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onyxoverride · 3 years

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Camellias at Sundown

Miche Zacharius x Reader

◙warnings: forbbiden love, mutual pining, happy ending, some angst (familial death + longing,) soft smut minors dni (18+), cunnilingus + stockings, fingering + mirror, then finally sensual sex, Erwin x Levi mentioned.

◙word count: 8k

◙summary: Miche Zacharius has a duty as the only son to the rich Zacharius family to play out his role as the future lord of the estate. But he’s been in love with the you, the gardener of the estate ever since he was young and with inhibitions lessened, he pursues you.

◙note: thank you so much @lady-lunaaa for beta-ing this I appreciate you endlessly to the moon and back. This is for Rias 3k Richboy Collab!! @bakugohoex thank you for letting me participate! I am also doing Yuji which is here: Sweet Secrets. Please support everybody else's fic as well thank you for reading I hope you enjoy!!! I think this may be my favorite thing I've written so far :0

Miche Zacharius has seen the inner workings of his own gilded cage since he was young. Each bar engraved with different obligations — to his family, to his standing in society, to everyone around him except the person he wants most.

When he saw you, it was when you were not old enough to work properly. Playing with the trimming of hedges your mother snipped while he was studying Latin and Italian with a ruler smacked against his wrists every time you caught his eye. To say the least, he had a lot of bruises.

When he and his friends, that he had to make through his position as a rich man’s son, sat outside his eyes would always go to you. Snipping away at the extensions of blushing flowers, some crimson, others an innocent white but all smelling just as sweet. A mixture of jasmine and citrus, subtle but still sweet. This is when his friend Hanji would nudge him, push him towards you in a childlike fashion. The only time where they could truly represent their age. Erwin would chuckle behind a teacup while throwing a glance at his young raven-haired butler, sharing an amused subdued smile. And while his mentors and his nanny weren’t looking he would sneak to you, as quiet as he could almost as if he’d scare you but he is simply too large, even as a child. Making sure his eyebrows aren’t drawn because apparently he looks intimidating like that before getting your attention with a cough (he can hear Hanji laughing behind him at his behavior.)

“Uhm…” his foot is tapping the grass behind his heel while he rubs the back of his neck. Too focused on how he presented himself to you to think of what he should say until he catches the sight of the flowers in your hands, calloused and overworked from the daily work.

“The flowers- uh- what are they?” grimacing at his own words, scolding himself because seriously? They’re obviously fucking flowers you just said it Miche-

Your laugh cuts his thoughts off. Gentle and subdued after years of learning how to be quiet around the people you serve, “they’re camellia’s,” you grasp the blossom of one of the pink flowers and offer it to him.

“Oh,” flower set into the plain of his hand makes it seem smaller than it truly is, blushing against his hand and his face just as pink, “well, they’re very pretty…”

“I’m glad you think so, young lord,” and it all comes reeling back, tethering him to reality once again as you try to continue your duty. You spare one last glance, hoping your mother doesn’t see how wanting it looks.

His tailored suit feeling all too tight as he walks back to his friends, they’re teasing him. Tugging at his shirt while he gives a faux laugh to appease them. He keeps watching, attention torn between the small flower he delicately holds, sweet smell seeping into the lines of his hands, and you. You, who keeps working as quietly as you can, trimming out the weaker flowers so the strong will shine through.

That night he presses a flower into his favorite book and hopes the smell never fades, nor this memory.

■

Instead of asking Nanny for stories or a snack before bed, he’d ask about you. Words travel as quick as fire amongst gossips and as good-natured as the woman who raised him is, she still finds entertainment in running her mouth and knowing too much. So, she’d tell him everything, and often. About how your father passed when you were young like his mother did, how your mother raised you in the small gardener’s house with a small bedroom shared between the two of you. About how your father and mother were the best gardeners they’ve ever had and you were developing your skills even quicker than them, like all of you had a sixth sense for nature. About how you don’t even know how to make or pour proper tea like most of the servants but survive through your skill, hands tracing vines, and keeping track of the tastiest fruit to share with the estate when the grapefruit and lemons bloom and ripen. About how on your eighteenth summer, only a few years ago, your mother passed and you now live alone in the gardener’s house. Even if he has heard it over and over again, he’d tug Nanny’s dress and wait for her to tell her more. Including the mundane about how you trip over yourself too often to count when you enter the house. As quick as fire — you’d hear about it from some other servant that joined you for dinner. Trying to hide heated cheeks and covering your face with the bread you eat. You’d say nothing for the time being, not wanting to drag him further down into a possible affair that would ruin you and him if he continued to pursue this childish crush. But each and every servant, especially the older ones, found it so endearing and just a bit as worrying. They still orchestrated to have you around even just a bit more so he would have more stories to listen to, and you’d slip out little facts about yourself knowing Miche would in the end hear those words. If not from your mouth, at least from someones.

■

Often Miche wonders why he was born at his stature. Not height, though it does become worrying when everybody shies away from him because of how tall he looms. His class stature. Money rolling off of everything he owns simply because of his blood and how he comes from a line of skilled detectives with a superior sense of smell that makes their job seem like child play. It’s not like he wants to spend his life sending you longing looks. The few times you’ve interacted carved into his mind, waiting for the time he doesn’t need to engrave and savor. They are few and far between with barely anything shared besides conversation and gentle innocent touches, loving looks with no words to address them.

Even when his father became ill, he sought you out before anybody else. You know how he longs for you, pulling at your heartstrings every time you catch his gaze. The first time he’s become vulnerable for anybody is when he caught your arm, late at night in the kitchens after arranging some citrus arrangements for his sick father. He’s silent at first, only a small huff through his nose while his hair covers his eyes. He doesn’t like his father, they never cared for each other particularly. It’s as if he barely knows the man, which may be the part that hurts his heart the most.

“Young lord-”

“No-” he sighs, fingers trailing around your wrists, “just Miche. For you, please, just Miche.”

Not once has he ever broken his tough demeanor, carefully crafted from a young age due to his upbringing, but now it’s crumbling even just a bit.

“M-Miche,” it feels unfamiliar but not unwelcome on your tongue, you can see how his muscles unravel at the sound of your voice. You have craved his touch and attention and now that it is night, inhibitions are lessened and comforted by the blanket of stars and quiet household, maybe accepting it isn’t too bad now. Hands gentle around his, realizing just how big they are in comparison to yours makes him huff in amusement. You can tell he doesn’t wish to talk about what plagues his mind, it’s not quite your business to ask either but you bring his hand up to your lips. Not kissing, just grazing over the writing callouses he’s developed and over the flushed joints. He leans forward, pressing you gently against the counter as he pulls his hand away from you. For a moment you’re worried you have overstepped your boundaries, misinterpreted something, but he presses your hands into his face. He looks so much more mature now than from when he stuttered to talk to you as a child. Eyebrows finally relaxed even just a bit from the forever intimidating scowl he wears, eyes closed and savoring your eternally calloused and injured hands running over his scruff. The sweetness from the flowers permeates your skin and the citrus you handled earlier slightly sours the scent. Nonetheless, it comforts him. Your warmth, your scent, and your gaze settled on him. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like being the only one you’re looking at even if just for a moment. The curse of selfishness love brings upon an individual is unusual to him, you would think by now he would have gotten used to the sting that courses through his gut whenever he realizes over and over again that you are not his, and he is not yours.

Silence extending to the two of you before he presses a kiss into your knuckles, “you should come into the estate more often.”

“Inside would be strange for someone who takes care of plants,” you say, amused with how childlike he sounds despite his deep voice.

“There are plants inside.”

“The maids take care of them,” you caress a thumb over his lips as he sighs, “but I suppose arranging more vases wouldn’t be so bad.”

You cave all too easily for his puppy-dog eyes and the adoration hidden behind his words. But this is all you two can afford. Stolen touches and soft beginnings, hand pressed into his chest with a small kiss into his knuckles and both of you are ripped away from each other once again.

His gilded cage feels too tight.

■

At first, Erwin thought it was just a young man’s infatuation with another person his age. A young and childish crush on a pretty girl that smelled like flowers but gradually as they got older, the others of his social group realized it was much more.

Miche contemplates the scenes outside too sorrowfully for a man who is not mourning. It’s easy to see he’s trying to look for something or perhaps someone. Erwin caught on early why he gazes so strangely outside the window and how Miche twirls flowers between his fingers whenever there’s a vase of them around, fingers trailing along petals and putting them back trying to make the arrangement look undefiled.

For a skilled consultant detective, he leaves a horribly obvious trail.

“From what I know, you’re not supposed to be pursuing a servant,” a chess table sits between them, untouched for a moment for the sake of tea.

“You have no room to talk, Erwin,” he cuts a glance to Levi standing quietly until he scoffs at the insinuation. The red that invades his cheeks cannot be tsked away. They have all been together since they were children — there is no way Erwin and Levi’s secrecy could slip past him, Hanji, and Nile. Miche’s superior senses and being groomed into a detective, he was the first to figure it out. Nile did take much longer to catch on. Too busy chasing after his now soon-to-be wife.

“I’m aware,” he pauses to take a sip of his tea, “I simply said you’re not supposed to. I never said not to.”

Miche hides his face behind the teacup, cursing Erwin for saying anything because now he is putting agency behind his pining. But he is not like Erwin, someone who can be satisfied with secrecy, and he is not like Hanji, someone with a harem under the spell of their charms. He wants you to be his, shamelessly his, loudly and proudly his, and he wants to be shamelessly yours, to tell everybody that his love resides in a beautiful woman with calloused hands and a sweet voice.

He was never strong in the first place when it came to you but now it seems his strength is withering away completely.

■

Ever since Miche mentioned wanting you in the estate more, you have been learning some new skills. Who knew making potpourris could be so useful? The maids inside the estate seem to love them, making the closets smell sweet instead of stale, they even requested some for the bathrooms. You agreed as long as they could spare some cinnamon for you to use in it.

Late in the evening with a sheer bag of your homemade potpourri, you sneak into the household. Catching a glimpse of Miche is not exactly rare but definitely not as common as you both hope. Better than before but still not enough for either of you. There’s a place in your heart that craves to be completed and you know only Miche can satiate it.

What’s frustrating is that the dress code inside the estate is different, so you had to trade some fresh lavender for a pair of white stockings instead of your usual gardening attire. Your clumsiness rears its head once more, tripping on your way to the bathroom on the second story not even realizing Miche is there before he’s holding your arm so you don’t fall flat onto the floor.

It’s highly embarrassing. Tripping so messily in front of him. There’s an art in the way the rich ladies swoon and faint prettily so the one they want to court can catch them but that was nothing of the sort. You see this as an inconvenience not an art form, completely frazzled and stuttering but Miche sees a chance. Erwin’s innuendo bounces around in his head and before he even thinks, he’s pulling you into the bathroom with him, looking into the hallway before closing the door.

He finally takes a moment to process the situation. You and him are alone, in a secluded bathroom away from anybody at the moment. This may be the only chance he has at the moment to pursue you. But instead of being the suave bachelor he should be, he catches a whiff of the strong potpourri and stutters out, “what’s-what’s this?”

Watching a dignified man fall over himself is endearing, seeing his cheeks glow like when he was a kid and his green eyes look more lively when they catch yours, “Oh! I made it. To make places smell good...”

He nods, barely listening as he leans closer into you, pressing you against the sink counter. You are sure you sound foolish but neither of you are really paying attention to that, “you know we shouldn’t be alone together. If anybody sees us-”

“No one will, I promise.”

There’s a firm confidence in his voice you cannot deny, letting his hand trail up your arm and to your jaw.

“Can I?”

The possible consequences of your actions melt into puddles at his desperate look, begging and pleading even just for a kiss. You give in, nodding into his hand.

He’s unexpectedly... soft. Holding you like fine china with barely brave kisses, finally indulging in an almost life-long craving is euphoric. There is a small moan pressed into your connected lips and as soft as this moment is, knowing you make the only son of the renowned family of the Zacharius’ sound so pitiful is revitalizing, filling you with confidence that you never had the courage to grasp onto.

Grasping onto the lapels of his coat, you pull away just for a moment, feeling his hand trail down to the peaks of your ass. Just being touched by him sends heat coursing through your veins and puddling into your nethers. The tops of his cheeks to the tips of his ears are red as roses as he pushes out another request, “can I... touch you more, please?”

His age deceives him, now he looks so young and bashful that you cannot help but laugh, “have you never...?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just-” he curls down into your neck, “you’re different.” You’re special, is what he truly wants to say.

It is risky. Both of you in a stray bathroom in the estate, both of you of completely different class standings, both of you completely head over heels in love with each other. The warmth of his hands linger on every part of you they have touched, your jaw, your hips, your ass. Maybe the risk is worth it.

“Then touch me all you wish, I have no objections.”

Immediately his hands descend to your thighs, pushing up the uniform dress until he is able to feel your skin under a thin layer of stocking. Trailing his fingers to the warmest part between your legs and it isn’t until you are keening and gasping that he finally pulls you to sit in the chair present in the bathroom for visiting ladies purses. Miche is quick to be on his knees between your legs, working off your shoes to set a stocking-covered foot on the juncture of his thigh as he flips the skirt over his head. Now you cannot see him but you can feel him. Hot breath huffed against your thighs sending a shiver through you.

“You’ve served my family so well,” large hands around your ankle and thigh to keep you in place for him while he is kissing at your cunt through your stockings and panties, “let me serve you now.”

The kiss is a muted feeling because of the fabric but nonetheless, it makes you suck in a breath, watching his head move underneath the dress.

Part of him does not wish to cause you inconvenience but the impatience moves his hands before his mind catches up, blunt nails pinching at the fabric covering the place he can smell that is so purely you. Pinching until a little hole is created so he can wiggle a finger in and tear the fabric a big enough hole to reach your cunt. The rip startles you but the fact that he is desperate enough to act so beastly sends a shiver down your spine. God, this is the scent he could only catch a few rare times, the scent he fucks his fist to at night wishing it was you. But now is not the time to dream. His fantasy is brought to life before him, finally able to push your panties aside and stare at your cunt despite the darkness of your skirt covering him. He lets his hand ghost over your clit, savoring how your hips jump a bit, gathering your slick on his fingers and watching how it pulls thin only to finally put his mouth upon your mound. Not minding the curls accenting it or the lingering smell of soil permanently stuck to your skin. In fact, he prefers it because all of these traits are so distinctly you and he cannot get enough of the fact that he is between your legs and under your skirt.

A hot tongue presses firmly against your lower lips, licking in between until he is pushing his face nose deep into your cunt, nose knocking against your clit as his tongue works around your hole. Your head falls slack against the wall, you fold the leg he is not holding against the chair next to his head as your other foot knocks against his growing bulge. Even just feeling his member beneath your covered foot makes your eyes widen because of the size and how desperately his hips chase the pressure. He’s fumbling to hold your leg firmly against his tightened pants, pushing your ankle against his cock as he devours your cunt with dedication. You wish you could at least see him in his full glory but for now, you are satisfied with this.

If anything, you would compare him to a desperate dog humping your leg and lapping at your nethers like it is his last meal on this earthly plane. You find your hands wanting to dig into his hair but the best they can do is clench the fabric over his head. Your hips are following the flow of his tongue, his other hand placed on them to guide your juicy cunt into his mouth while he moans into it. You can just barely feel the edges of his scruff scratch at the sensitive skin around your inner thighs and cunt. The depth of his voice reverberates through your clit and you can feel an orgasm march steadily along your belly while Miche continuously rolls his hips into your ankle. He could cum just from the smell of your cunt sticking to his lips and nose, just imagine how he feels right now.

But he keeps his pace steady despite some of your squirming, licking until he feels his scruff is soaked by your cum and immediately sets to work on cleaning up your juices with his tongue. You keep a hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds. One last thrust into your leg and he is falling apart quickly, cum sticking to his underwear as his hand roughly grips your thigh so he does not moan loud enough to attract any unwanted onlookers. If only you could see how his eyes roll back and his jaw clench.

Again, you feel a hot breath against your thighs as he shifts your panties over your soaked cunt. He pulls back as you gather your skirt to your hips so you can see him and what a sight it is. Heady green eyes and breathless pants paired with disheveled hair and a wet face and beard, licking his lips and huffing through his nose until most of your juices are gone with his tongue and fingers assistance.

Your hand is still present over your mouth, almost frozen in shock about how both you and Miche crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. Not that you exactly care anymore, your hands pull his face to yours and into another long-winded kiss where you can taste your own juices and his soft tongue once more.

Reluctantly, he pulls back, adjusting your shoes back onto your feet and leaving a wet kiss to your inner thigh before helping you up.

“I should... wash up. You leave before me,” he presses soft kisses onto your scarred knuckles, turning you toward the door with a tap on your ass that leaves you giggling out a farewell.

Next time he wants to see your face when you cum. He would forfeit heaven and earth just experience you once again.

■

The local police came to him with a theft case not long after you two’s... endeavor. Since he has been busy with that, he has not been able to see you besides the occasional glances into the garden. The case was relatively easy too, despite having to pick up for his father’s lack of presence due to his illness that is slowly chipping away at his life. The theft is either the victim’s brother or his brother’s wife and now it is up to the cops to figure it out and knowing them, it will be a slow process with too much paperwork. Miche can already feel the forming headache swelling on his temporal lobe and has already asked one of the maids present to whip up some soothing tea. Chamomile cannot fix his problems but it can make the stress knot in his shoulders untangle just a bit.

What you did not expect is the said maid shoving the tray of tea into your hands, trading them for the rose potpourri you were delivering to Nanny and pushing you in the directions of Miche’s office. Obviously, she took the chance for you and Miche to interact some more, spurring on the continuation of forbidden love even if it was partially for their entertainment. First of all, you do not even know how to pour tea. You are not a maid, you were never trained in that area but put some garden shears in your hands and you could make the garden look pretty as a painting. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Wrong. Your hands are already shaking when you meet Miche’s eyes, his eyebrows shooting to his eyebrows and cheeks flushing, memories rushing back into your minds. The heat of his eyes travels up your neck as you silently set the teacup down beside him. For a second, he observes quietly, letting his eyes venture over you and huffing in amusement with how untrained you seem in pouring tea but enjoying it nonetheless.

But he wants his hands to adventure you, letting his fingers rest on the back of your knee that just barely peeks out of the skirt while you pour as if asking for permission. You throw a glance at him and a nod, setting the teapot onto the desk, bracing yourself on the wood as his hand quickly travels to your inner thighs. Pulling you closer to him with a firm grip on your thigh only for him to pause when he feels the torn edges of the previous wound he inflicted upon the stockings you are currently wearing.

“You’re wearing the same stockings?” he whispers fervently, dropping the paperwork in his other hand in shock.

“Well-” you wish you could explain that these are the only stockings you have and how a hole in the crotch does not necessarily make them unwearable and you do not feel like trading more things for a pair of tights you never wear except inside the estate. If only you knew what that does to him, cock already hardening in his pants at the memories and feeling of your soft skin underneath his fingers. Instead, he pulls his chair back, pulling you to sit in his lap as you catch a glance of someone from across the room. Your heart almost bursts out of your chest before you realize that someone is just you, a reflection in a mirror set against a display case. He adjusts to let your legs be opened wide by his. It does not matter if you crush him or not. You could crush his lungs, and he would still try to let his last breaths be of you.

He can see how the overfilled cup of tea sloshes over the rim but more importantly, he can see your embarrassed face in the reflection of the mirror. A mirror he has been meaning to move somewhere else but is glad he has let it stay at least this long in his office. Fingers trail over your exposed panties, pushing into your clit. The way you moan his name sounds like melted honey over his heart but your expressions are more sinful than anything he has ever seen. Contorting with a bitten lip while his fingers soak themselves with your juices. The only thing of his that has been inside you is his tongue but now he feels the plush hotness wrap around his digits, crooking up into the softest parts you are unable to reach yourself.

Both of you know someone could come in or be listening so you try to keep yourself quiet but with how he is pulling the most unholy sounds out of your body. Letting his fingers dip deep inside you to curl and watching with a chin on your shoulder how your mouth opens in a panting moan. You can feel his cock sitting heavy against your ass, rocking back to please him even if a fraction of the pleasure he is giving you. He takes a firm hand to your breasts to make you lean back into him, holding you firm almost wishing you two could melt into each other as your cunt swallows at least three of his twisting fingers. He wishes he could see how your wet pussy takes his fingers in the mirror but his desk cuts off the image. Your face is plenty enough for him to enjoy, as well as the smell of your cunt permeating the air around him, causing his hips to rock into your ass steadily. He watches you intently until your eyes meet his in the mirror, feeling your insides clench sporadically and having to bring his thumb into your mouth to muffle your loudness.

Maybe one day your voice can be set fully free for him to enjoy. But for now, he savors how your cunt soaks his fingers and how your tongue wraps readily around his finger. Panting in his lap, you grind backward, meeting his desperate grinds until he is finishing in his underwear once again.

Miche holds no shame in finishing in his pants as long as you are pleased before it. Though the temptation to feel your cunt wrapped around his cock instead of his fingers settles in quickly. You catch your breath while leaning back onto him, letting him press kisses into your neck and up behind your ear, letting your hand comb through his hair. There are wishes floating between the both of you of how you wish you two could stay in each other's arms a little longer. But before duty can call both of you away, there is a hesitant knock upon the door causing both of you to fly away from each other, his hands coming to flip your skirt down over your ass and you giving him a handkerchief to clean his fingers off on before the maid that attends to his father peaks in.

“Young lord, your father...”

And with a sorrowful squeeze on your hips, he leaves to follow her, unable to meet your eyes.

■

If Miche could see the inner workings of his gilded cage, he can also see the lock that keeps him in it — His father, currently teetering on the edges of consciousness and the call of death. A sickness that struck him in his old age and kept him bedridden for at least two years.

It is not that he wants his father to die. He would not wish death upon anybody, he just wishes his father was able to understand his passions or him at all before he leaves this world. But instead, he keeps his infatuations secret otherwise running the risk of being disowned despite being the only son. He wishes he could show his father how beautiful the garden you tend is, how beautiful you are. How he would risk everything to be with you, how if you could just hold your hand in front of his father even he’d be able to see...

How if his father could just wake up. But instead, he sleeps. Peacefully, almost suspiciously so. The maid was right to get him. The doctors say his time is approaching and Miche has to make the decision to keep him alive but unconscious or pass away peacefully.

It takes five days for Miche to decide.

It takes five days to plan the funeral as well.

This is one request you wish you never had to fulfill. Preparing arrangements of lilies for the funeral of the father of the man you love. It is not strange to not speak to each other for days but this is different. This time sorrow pulls him away from the one thing that could ease this pain. But for a moment as you prepare the flowers in the church for the service, he is able to be alone with you once more.

You wish you could see him wearing a black tux in a different context. Instead, his eyes are darkened, looking as if he hasn’t slept in days. Cautiously, you let your eyes wander around the church making sure no one besides you and him are present before running into his arms. Leaning into his warmth as he takes a deep breath, curling into you.

The church is completely silent before you speak, “I’m sorry-”

“Don’t.”

How many times has he heard “I’m sorry for your loss” in the past few days? He is tired of it. Tired of being reminded how he probably is not as sad as he should be for his father’s death. The only person that did not say the usual line was Erwin, who clapped his back and said “some doors close for others to open.”

“I wish I could help,” you let your hands rub across his back as he rocks the both of you.

“You are.”

“The flowers don’t count-”

“Not with the flowers.”

You go silent once again, letting him hold you just to find some respite before pulling away. He needs to be the official lord of the estate now, composed and elegant to greet people and thank them for coming. Calloused thumbs smelling of lilies brush over his cheeks before he is pulled back with the sounds of expensive shoes hitting the wooden floor of the church.

Miche hates the smell of lilies.

■

Five more days until Miche is able to reach out again. A note with fancy script you can barely read delivered to you by a giggling maid saying, “Bring camellia’s to my chambers tonight.”

Camellias are still in season luckily. Heart beating fast as you cut some flora at his request, finally you get to see him once more.

The blanch whites and biting red of the camellias do not exactly make the most beautiful arrangement, but they look sweet, almost childish with each other. As you work on different parts of the garden your foot taps the grass flat out of nervousness and you keep glancing towards the sun as if the evening could come any sooner.

Miche himself is pacing back and forth in his room, glancing at a dusty book that has not been touched in years before adjusting a blanket over a chair.

Just as the sun sets your impatience gets the best of you, gathering your bundle of flowers before trying to sneak into the estate without anybody seeing you on your way to Miche. It would just be more of a hassle to be interrogated by other maids or worse, Nanny. But before you manage to knock on his door it is swung open and you are pulled into a kiss that steals your breath. You are trying to mumble against his lips that someone will see the two of you but he only pulls back for a moment.

“And? I am the lord of the house now. It doesn’t matter.” You suppose it doesn’t.

“I could take you against every wall of this house, they can’t do anything.”

You smack his chest with the flowers as he gives you a playful smile, kissing you loudly in the hallway before pulling you into his room. He sits you on the edge of his bed as he walks to his bookshelf, leaving your eyes to wander. Old fencing swords on display, his family crest messily embroidered into a piece of fabric, some stray chess pieces scattering the countless amount of bookshelves present. There is even a vase filled with a variety of dried flowers that you recognize from the garden you have tended since you were young.

There is a quiver in his step as he retrieves a dusty book from the shelf, nerves making his leg shake as he sits next to you. He’s acting too formal, it makes you stiffen and shift your full attention as he clears his throat.

“Do you remember when we were young, in the garden?” Tilting your head you almost say there were plenty of times when you two were young and in the garden, but the most memorable one was when he was staggering and lanky, walking up to you red as a sunburn and leaving with a flower pressed into his palm.

“That time you asked me what flowers were?”

Miche’s face turns just as red as when he walked up to you as a young boy, still the memory haunts him but more than anything he remembers how hopeless he felt after he held a small flower in his hands, knowing he could never truly pursue you. Until now.

There is a flattened pink disc that still lingers with the sweet scent of camellia. Something close to jasmine that has long seeped into the pages of the book. It contrasts the fresh red and white flowers in your hands so readily, freshly bloomed in the spring sun and picked just for him.

“Yes,” he clears his throat once more, hoping his nerves will clear with it, and sets the dried flower into the palm of yours. Of course, you remember this. A bloom you snipped too short that your mother would have scolded you for if she saw. A bloom you gave to him hoping it would satisfy the want in his eyes.

It was when he realized his gilded cage was too tight. A gilded cage that now has no lock, door swinging open for Miche to finally stretch his wings.

“I am the lord of the house now,” you nod, wondering at what he is getting at, “and I am the last Zacharius,” uhhuh, “and the police won’t stop working with me even if I run the chance of losing my social status...”

The blood in your body rushes to your face so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. He holds your hands, thumbing over the fresh flower petals before kissing your knuckles of the hand that holds the dried flower.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Unless you don’t want me to say it.”

Tears are gathering in your eyes and you can’t help but smack his broad chest with flowers over and over until he is giggling and fallen flat into the bed beside you. Letting the petals fly across the sheets until you are fully satisfied with the hits you have served. The singular dried pink flower is amongst the carnage of petals, discarded and forgotten in the sheets.

“Can I take that as a yes?”

You swing a leg over his hips, “yes. Always yes.”

He gives you a boyish smile of true excitement before he leans up to trap you in his arms, pulling you into a kiss filled with smiles and giggles.

“Since you are on top of me...” he sets your hips closer to his, letting his slowly growing bulge be known.

“You’ve become less gentlemanly with me, it seems.”

“I will always be a gentleman to you, my love, let’s say I am now more honest, shall we?”

You hum into his lips, letting his hands venture underneath your more casual dress to feel bare skin, ghosting over your ass only to feel no presence of panties.

“If innuendos make me ungentlemanly, what does no panties make you?” he breathes against your lips.

A whisper of “who knows” is the response he receives before you are rolling your hips into him, capturing him in another messy kiss as his hands meld into the fat of your behind, guiding you in your grinds. Intoxicating, every kiss you allow him only pulls him further into the mix of you and flower petals.

It only takes a moment to flip the two of you, letting him push your dress up until you are pulling it off yourself. Miche sits back to watch for a moment, letting his eyes adventure across the body he has never fully seen but craves more than anything before he unbuttons his own shirt. Slowly, almost temptingly so until he reveals himself fully to you. The hunger to see him in his full glory finally satisfied and glory is the most accurate word to describe him. Strength set in his broad shoulders and chest with a bit of pudge settling on his belly decorated with a brunette happy trail leading to the biggest cock you have ever had the pleasure of seeing. Intimidatingly big, accented by heavy balls with cute curls. He lets you stare as he does the same, the last of the setting sun shining through the window to shine on your skin along with some of the petal carnage sticking to your body. It is only when you close your legs after shifting your gaze that he settles on the bed once more, kissing the tops of your knees

“Must you really hide from me?” He has been knuckle and tongue deep inside you, it is long past the time for such shy, albeit adorable, actions.

You bloom into his embrace, letting your legs fall open to frame his own and his eyes settle straight onto your cunt. He gives a sly boyish smile, licks his lips, and before you can close your legs with a squeal of “don’t stare!” he dives down. Once again letting you feel the softness of his tongue on your lower lips and clit, gathering spit onto your clit to let slide between your folds to your hole to help with the next step.

It is a quick kiss to your cunt before he pulls himself up and over your body, rubbing his scruff along your neck before letting the tip of his cock tease your clit. A soft exhale of his name breathed against his hair, and he kisses your jaw, mumbling into your ear, “can I?”

Your nails make residence on his back as you echo your previous words, “always yes.”

Once more he captures your lips, swallowing your gasps as his tip stretches you out slowly. Part of him wishes to see how your pussy blossoms open at the coaxing of his cock but he would much rather experience your first official time together up close. Hearing every moan and hiss he pulls from you and feeling your nails scratch against his back. Resisting the temptation to cum immediately when he feels the softness of your cunt wrapping around him.

But he pauses when you whisper a small ow, not pushing any further until you say and peppering kisses onto your eyelids as you sigh in pleasure. Now you know for sure he is definitely big enough to hurt, “damnit.”

“Sorry love, almost halfway I promise.”

Half? Halfway? “Almost halfway?”

His chuckle reverberates through you, embarrassed with how you are implying how even half of his cock is hard to take. He pushes another kiss onto your lips, rolling his hips in and outwards only a tad to soak more of your juices on his cock. Inch by inch he sinks into you, pulling back whenever he feels your face grimace to coat his cock with more of your self-produced lube, thankful you are aroused enough to even produce any. Until he is fully seated within you, even him not moving makes you breathless.

Hands press into your cheeks making your eyes open to look into his. A beautiful green no plant could ever wish to achieve. He whispers against your lips once more, asking for a sign to make sure you are ready and quickly you answer back yes. Locking your legs behind his thighs to roll back into his, the stretch is stinging at first but the more thrusts he sends into you the less of a problem it becomes. Eyes rolling back into your head and mouth open to let moans fly free, the pleasure is nothing compared to his fingers or his tongue. His member hits the softest parts inside of your walls, pulling an orgasm out of you before you even realize it. He holds you as you spasm around him, letting your nails dig into his back and resisting the urge to cum with you.

Patiently, he waits until you are trying to catch your breath to pull out, tugging his cock covered in your juices to spill his cum onto your belly. Later, he will think about the possibility of having children. For now, he wants to enjoy every moment with you, just you.

More kisses are pressed into your face that you gladly return, letting him rest above you in a comfortable cage. However, the night is just beginning — why waste the dark embrace of the stars with sleep?

■

Late in the morning, there is a knock on Miche’s door which tears his warmth away from you. Throwing a robe on before peeking the door open to see Nanny standing there with a smile on her age-worn face. His heart drops to his toes, knowing that your endeavors will now be shared with every single servant in the house if they did not happen to hear them last night.

“Should we bring you two breakfast — no, lunch — in bed?”

There is a blush settled in his cheeks because essentially he is being teased by the woman who raised him but he only mutters out a yes please, before making his way back to the bed to curl around you once more. A warm hand placed over your puffy and abused mound to ease at least some of the sourness settling in. But at least finally you two get to bask in the heat of each other in the comfort of his own bed, even if there are still flower petals sticking to both of your bodies.

■

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“But I did,” Erwin adjusts his tie in the mirror, one set against a display case in Miches office. As much as Miche objected at first, it was easy for Erwin to become an Officiant and Miche will forever be grateful for why.

A pretty silver band set with precious stones is twisted around between Miches fingers. Erwin speaks up once again, “Nervous?”

“No,” he huffs out of his nose, “excited.”

■

Never once in your life have you imagined maids fretting over you like a highborn lady. Adjusting your dress and hair until you have to shoo them away otherwise you would go mad. You aren’t exactly sure how fancy ladies stand so many hands on them. It is not a huge voluptuous dress either, you did not want one. The maid dresses were even too fancy for your taste, becoming all too accustomed to overalls caked with soil or casual dresses with branch-tugged tears. It hurts knowing nobody but his friends will be here, neither of your parents being alive to see how happy the two of you are but you know your mother would scold you with tears in her eyes and kiss your forehead to know how proud she is of you. You are not sure what your father would have done but if he loved you as much as your mother claimed, you hope he loves the happiness you are experiencing as well.

Levi is waiting at the door for your arm. After becoming close to him throughout a year of officially being Miche’s partner, you two have grown close, bonding over being born in lower status’ than your lovers and teasing the both of them when they show particularly pompous attitudes. And whenever Hanji would flirt, instead of being met with heat down your neck like it was at first, you throw playful quips back until they are keeling over, laughing their heart out.

Levi is silent, but he tucks a red camellia behind your ear with a hand lingering on your cheek. You are lucky he even decided to show affection but you know everything he does comes from a pure place in his heart.

The ceremony is informal, only you and his friends beside another maid and Nanny that has been keen on getting you and Miche together present. Erwin is there to officiate and Levi steps on his foot to cut a soon-to-be long speech short so you two can shut up and kiss already, in Levi’s words.

If only Erwin, Levi, Hanji, Nile and his wife knew what that garden has seen in the early hours of the morning when both you and Miche were struck with the idea of fulfilling a fantasy. Then surely they would not be stepping around the base of the grapefruit tree so casually. The maids already know — quick as fire, remember?

Miche Zacharius has seen the inner workings of his own gilded cage since he was young. But now, finally after all these years, he can experience the life he has always wished for, filled with freedom and passion blowing under his stretched wings.

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰: @kenmachishi @novvabeam @armins-bowl-cut @yourtamaki @jeonmahito @peachysimp @thethyri @bakugos-cumsock @peachy-momos @tetsunormous @ixwrites @bakugohoex @iwaizoomies @ectacy @bunnelliee @snkfade @iiraven @babieweeb @dancingazaleas @jellyfiishing @flamingblinglove @whats-her-quirk @venenat3d @erenpapi @ive-always-hated-you @michezacharias-wiki

𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤 !! ʕ◔ᴥ◔ʔっ♥

Did you enjoy? remember any and all feedback and thoughts are appreciated and enjoyed. I’m sending you love and well wishes.

//: 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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miraculous-trinity-leo · 3 years

Text

Tᕼᗴ ᑕᕼᗩOTIᑕ ᗩᑎᘜᗴᒪ

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

Chapter 5: Don't Jinx It!

·•·—–·•†•·–—·•·

Chloé Bourgeois... A girl that can be described in many words

"She's absolutely ridiculous! I can't believe you have to do an art project with her of all people!" - Alix sprawled out on Marinette's balcony

"She can't be that bad, besides we might become friends." - Marinette sketching some designs

"Believe me, even I think she's a bit much... She's snobby, annoying, rude, immature, spoiled, she basically has the “I'm better than thow” attitude to a T."- Kagami sitting next to the flowerbed while reading a literature book

"See? Even Kagami agrees... Just don't talk to her, actually don't even move if you're in her sights. She's like a T-Rex, she can't see you if you don't move." - Alix

… … … … …

"Hello, I'm Marinette, it's nice to meet you." - Marinette reached out her hand as she smiled

*Que Alix facepalming herself while Kagami lets out a sigh*

"Whatever, I'm Chloé, but I'm sure you already knew that." - Chloé

They started their project and most interactions went the same way, Chloé would sit in a chair near the window and paint her nails while Marinette did all the work. The next day Marinette and Chloé were the only ones in the art room.

"Okay, let's get started." - Marinette skipping her way over to the art supplies

"You do that, I'll just sit over here." - Chloé walking to her chair

"... Say, is it fun painting your nails?" - Marinette looking over to Chloé

"Of course, what girl doesn't like nail art?" - Chloé

"Well, painting on a canvas is kind of like nail art, here try painting something." - Marinette handing Chloé a paint brush

"Please, I don't do art." - Chloé refusing the paint brush

"But you ‘Paint’ your nails." - Marinette

"It's different!" - Chloé

"Okay, how about this, if I can do a magic trick for you, will you try painting just a little bit?" - Marinette

"...Fine, impress me." - Chloé giving Marinette her full attention

Marinette pulled a seed she got earlier that day out of her pocket and showed it to Chloé

"A seed?" - Chloé giving an unimpressed look

"I'll turn it into a flower, as you can see I only have this seed, and there's nothing up my sleeves. When I turn back around this seed will be a flower, are you ready?" - Marinette still holding the seed for Chloé to see

"Just do it already." - Chloé

So, Marinette turned around putting her free hand over the seed, and imagined it growing. When Marinette turned back around, all Chloé saw was a fully bloomed Common Rockrose flower, leaving her stunned.

"How did you do that?!" - Chloé walking up to Marinette to get a better look at the flower

"Family secret." - Marinette with a small smirk - "So, you want to try painting now?"

"... Fine." - Chloé pouted her lips and sat down at an empty canvas while Marinette walked to the table beside it, and Marinette may or may not have seen a small smile on Chloé's face while she grabbed some more paint.

After about 30 minutes Alix and Kagami came in and found Chloé and Marinette flinging water paint at the canvas

"Ha!" - Marinette whiped her arm out, watching as the wet paint from the brush splattered onto the canvas

"Ha HA!" - Chloé doing the exact same motion, but with a little more flare

Kagami and Alix just stared in amazed silence... they had created a master piece... It was a magnificent painting showing a meadow with many flowers in an almost hazy dream kind of look, it had a blue sky and a faint rainbow in the background behind some clouds on the horizon

"It's *sniff* Ridiculously beautiful..." - Chloé

"And you thought painting was boring." - Marinette teasing Chloé

"... Isley-Quinzel, look me in the face and say that again." - Chloé

"And you- ("Boop" - Chloé) -Hey!" - Marinette got booped on her nose by Chloé's paint covered finger

"I admit it was fun... to some extent. Now lets act like this never happened." - Chloé getting ready to leave

"How the hell did you get Chloé to paint?!" - Alix snapping out of her surprise, which caused Chloé to get startled and trip, knocking the paint onto Marinette and herself in the process

"Well... that was a colorful entrance." - Marinette now covered in blue, pink, green and red paint

"Utterly Ridiculous!" - Chloé now covered in yellow, dark green, and blue paint

"Ooops?" - Alix shrugging her shoulders

*facepalms* - Kagami

… … …

Marinette and Chloé had to walk around school covered in paint, definitely getting a few awkward stares from the other kids. About an hour later, each pair of students presented their shared work of art. When Marinette and Chloé went up, both holding their masterpiece while still covered in paint, stunned the other students.(Not because Chloé was 1. covered in paint, 2. actually carrying the painting, and 3. had a smile on her face) Needless to say they got an A+, and for the rest of the day Marinette, Chloé, Alix and Kagami hung out laughing and having fun. Not long after that the other kids started making bets on who Marinette would befriend next, and how long it would take for that someone to be an instant friend.

Chloé ended up spending a lot more time with the GPS and eventually...

The girls sat around in a circle within Marinette's room with all the lights off, only having a single lamp in the center of the room to add an ominous glow

"Are you ready to take the oath?" - Alix

"Yes, but why do we have to make it look like some utterly ridiculous ritual summoning?" - Chloe

"I agree with Chloé, I'm not allowed to summon the unnatural or paranormal." - Kagami

"Well, let's forget the paranormal stuff for now, ehem. Chloé Bourgeois, do you promise to always have our backs..." - Marinette

"Through the good and the bad..." - Alix

"To say the truth and nothing but the truth." - Kagami

"Wrong oath Kagami." - Marinette whispering to Kagami

"...... To always stay on the path that is straight and true..." - Kagami

"To uphold the justice in this crazy world..." - Alix

"And to guide those who have abandoned the light... Are you ready to join the GPS?" - Marinette

"Yes." - Chloé

"Girls, time to eat- ... Marinette, please tell me you aren't summoning the unnatural like Harley did that one time." - Selina just opening the door and seeing basically a ritual gathering

"In mom's defense, she was trying to get rid of the spooky spirit." - Marinette

"That was from a story Ed made up that one time, you wouldn't stop seeing the shadows ‘moving’, and then Harley thought she saw them move, and she ended up doing a ritual to get rid of it, but we ended up with the cursed toaster ghost. And now all bread we toast is burnt back home." - Selina

"... But burnt toast is the best!" - Marinette

"Ivy told you that it would make you grow quicker, which then tricked you into liking burnt toast, which isn't tasty at all." - Selina

"*dramatic gasp* You Take That Back!" - Marinette

"Nope, now come down in 3 so we can eat." - Selina closed the door and walked away

"You girls agree with me right?" - Marinette turning to her friends

"... Marinette, how can you think burnt toast is good?!" - Alix

"It's... burnt." - Kagami

"Ehhh, it's okay." - Chloé

"Thank You!" - Marinette hugging Chloé

"... un-second thought, I retract my ‘yes’ to that oath." - Chloé

"Too late." - Kagami

"You're stuck with us..." - Alix then leaned over and whispered in Chloé's ear - "Foreverrrrr."

……… ……… ………

After they had their food they went back up to Marinette's (ritual free) room and started playing Ultimate Mecha Strike 2.

After a few rounds of Marinette dominating Ultimate Mecha Slaughter Strike 2, they moved on to watching some Jurassic Park

"So... your mom cursed your toaster?" - Chloé

"... maybe." - Marinette

"Honestly though, who in their right mind likes burnt toast?" - Alix

"Apparently Marinette." - Kagami

"It's kinda like thin burnt rice crispy treats, just minus the sugar." - Marinette

"*dramatic gasp* You Take That Back Right Now." - Alix

"You don't even know what rice crispy treats are, do you." - Marinette now looking away from the TV and directly at Alix

"Not a clue." - Alix

"It's an American treat, it's actually really good, not to sweet, and not to crunchy." - Chloé

"This is why you are part of the GPS." - Marinette hugging Chloé - "You understand most red blooded American treats, and for that I give you my thanks." - Marinette now starting to tear up

"What are we, chop liver?" - Kagami pointing to Alix and herself

"Well unlike you two, I have seen the other side... I swear, they're all hillbillies, and they live in the worst weather ever! Sunshine state my ass, more like out door saunas 24/7." - Chloé ended up mumbling her last few words

"... That's Florida, and it's not that bad, it never gets hotter than 115°F, and that's during summer." - Marinette

"... No wonder you like burnt toast... your brains were burnt with it." - Alix

"I didn't live in Florida, I lived in New Jersey, and the weather is better there." - Marinette

"That's what she said." - Kagami stuffing her face with popcorn

……… ……… ………

Over the course of the next few months Marinette taught the GPS all she knew about parkour and self-defense, at first they wondered why she knew so many different techniques of self-defense, until she explained where she grew up had a few unpleasant people. They still think she's meta.

When Winter rolled around she was to head back to Gotham for the next month and a half. She was packed and ready when the GPS burst into her room.

"Don't leave! I need an Ice skating buddie!" - Alix clinging to Marinette

"You have Chloé and Kagami, besides, I'm pretty sure Kagami is better on the ice than I am." - Marinette accepting the fact she won't be getting Alix off her anytime soon

"It's Not The Same!" - Alix becoming a human koala on Marinette's back

"She's going to see her family, show some restraint!" - Chloé detaching Alix from Marinette

"No!" - Alix getting out of Chloé's grip and reattaching herself to Marinette

"There's a new attraction with a big ramp jump for the ice skating rink." - Kagami on her phone

"Really?! Let me see!" - Alix detaching herself to look at Kagami's phone, only to see the normal boring ice skating rink - "You tricked me." - Alix gave Kagami the stink eye

"It got you off of Marinette at least." - Kagami putting her phone away

"I'm gonna miss you girls." - Marinette gave them a big hug

"You better not do anything stupid while you're back home." - Chloé

"I would never." - Marinette thinking of the time she ran from the Bat-Birds

"What city in New Jersey do you live in again?" - Alix

"That's-" - Marinette

"Kitten you all set for Gotham?" - Selina opened the door and saw Marinette in a big hug with the girls - "Oh, you girls are here, hope you said your goodbyes because we're leaving in 10 minutes." - She then closed the door to make sure everything was ready downstairs

"... ... ..." - Chloé/Alix/Kagami - "You live where?"

"Gotham...?" - Marinette slowly backing up to grab her luggage and make her way to the door

"Oh hell No!" - Kagami standing between Marinette and the door

"You're staying!" - Alix clinging to Marinette again

"Gotham's a death trap!!!" - Chloé joining Alix and clinging to Marinette

... ... ...

After some convincing the girls let Marinette go, and she was now on the plane that would take her back home.

"... They really think Gotham's a death trap?" - Selina relaxing in the first class seats she got them.

"It's not that bad is it? I had asked them what they thought could even go wrong." - Marinette

"... Well literally everything can go wrong in Gotham... It's not to late to get off actually." - Selina getting up

"Not you too!" - Marinette grabbing her Aunt's hand

"I'm joking Kitten... you are wearing the bullet proof vest under that coat right?" - Selina

"Of course." - Marinette

"Then we should be fine..." - Selina now sitting back down and looking 10 times more nervous than before

"..." - Marinette put her hands together and mumbled under her breath - "Please don't jinx it. Please don't jinx it. Please don't jinx it. Pleeeeease don't jinx it."

……………… They had an hour delay, had to switch flights and couldn't eat anything because it looked like it would give them food poisoning, and they didn't get a wink of sleep......... but they made it to Gotham in one piece... at 2 in the morning.

"You jinxed it." - Marinette dragging her luggage sleepily

"It can't get any worse now-" - Selina

"No!-" - As Marinette tried to stop her Aunt from finishing her sentence, a truck past by the curb and sent a blanket of powdered snow flying into them - "-say it..."

"...Okay, now it-" - Selina was cut off by Marinette stuffing her mouth with the last secret cookie she had

"Don't anger the jinx gods, please." - Marinette pleading to her Aunt

After Selina finished the secret cookie she called Ivy to pick them up. They waited about 15 minutes before Ivy, along with a sleeping Harley in the back seat, picked them up. As they got in the car Harley jolted awake

"Are we dere yet?" - Harley rubbing her eyes

"Yes, and in our snow covered glory we entered the car." - Marinette giving her mom a hug

"I missed yuh so much, it just hasn't been de same wit'outcha cupcake." - Harley returning the hug

"And what about me, did you miss me?" - Selina getting comfortable in the passenger seat

"Ehhh." - Harley tilted here hand from side to side as she continued to side hug Marinette

"... Have I ever told you how great you are at warm welcomes?" - Selina giving Harley the stink eye

"She didn't mean it, you know she has no filter at this hour." - Ivy pulling up to the stoplight

"In other words her honest opinion of me being back is ‘ehhh’, I'm glad she thinks so highly of me." - Selina resting her head on the window

The ride to their base was peaceful, they arrived and went to their rooms after Marinette gave her moms and aunt a goodnight hug. As Marinette went to sleep in her bed, Bud and Lou jumped onto the bed and curled up next to her, as she stroked their fur, she couldn't help but feel excited to spend time with her family and friends. She soon fell asleep in the calm silence of her room, the last thought she had before drifting off, was that she was happy to be back home.

·•·—–·•★•·–—·•·

Chapter 5 complete, hope you're all having a magnificent day, rockin' all the positive vibes and staying safe !BUG-OUT! 🐞💮🐞

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜Tag List〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

1st Place★: @jumpingjoy82

2nd Place★: @myazael

3rd Place★: @solangelo252

@fandom-trapped-03, @zorua-adorable, @blueblossombliss, @thefangirlwholiterallydies, @woe-is-me0, @lady-bee-fechin, @jayjayspixiepop, @kashlyn, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @buginetye, @our-preciousss, @vroomtaka, @alessialeone6997, @doll246 , @aestheticnpoetic, @moon5608, @moonlightstar64, @kking13

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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years

Note

*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.

* * *

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch.

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So that’s why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * *

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and very desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them . Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation.

It’s like this every time.

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

* * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.”

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says.

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier.

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers.

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up.

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor.

* * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him.

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings.

“That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not … that surprised.

That hurts.

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing.

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?”

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter! He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before? Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly, embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden.

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously.

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco —”

“Poor Draco’s fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!”

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am not laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them, wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling.

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest.

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

#anna writes #answered #drarry fic #god i had sm fun writing this tysm for the prompt 😩

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jihyuncompass · 3 years

Text

V Flower Shop AU Headcanons

The second half of this request from @otherlandshark ! My goodness I’ve missed my dear Mint man <3. I tried to keep it mostly fluffy, but there’s a little bit of angst in there. Since I can’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this Shark! Love you lots!

Warnings: Mentions of Suicide (Relating to Rika)

Jihyun/V

The first time you saw him had been in early spring.

The weather was starting to get warmer, flower blossoms starting to grow on the ground and on the trees.

On that warm spring day the sound of the bell by the door ringing grabbed your attention.

You’d been working on your newest flower arrangement. Bunches of flowers scattered around your table. The fragrant scent overwhelming your senses.

Tearing your gaze from your work your eyes met the Mint eyed stranger in the doorway.

You shouted out a greeting to him, your usual “Welcome in!” that you told every customer when they came in.

The man had smiled and greeted you back. His voice was warm and gentle, a voice that just radiated comfort.

You did return to your work, but your eyes kept wandering towards the man. Watching him as he admired the arrangements you’d put together earlier in the day.

Keeping your gaze careful you made sure he didn’t notice how you were watching him.

After looking around for a while he eventually came to the counter with a bouquet in hand.

“Is this all for you?” You asked. He nodded. “Are these for anyone special?” You asked.

“Yes.” The man said with a warm smile. “They’re for my fiance. Rika.”

You finished wrapping the bouquet and taking the money from him. “Well this is a perfect choice for a romantic partner. I’m sure your Rika is a lucky woman.”

He’d lifted the bouquet to rest in the crook of his arm and thanked you. You’d watched him as he left, the warmth in his voice lingered in your mind.

You’d returned to your arrangement in progress. Lifting the yellow daffodils to add in for the next one.

The mint haired man returned again a few weeks later. This time he was followed by someone, a bright eyed blonde woman.

You tried not to eavesdrop on them. Still, you couldn’t help but look at them, and listen to the way they spoke.

“What do you think of these, beloved?” The man asked.

“They’re beautiful V.” She said, her voice like the man, V’s, was gentle. “I think they’d look beautiful on the kitchen table.”

“I agree.” He said. He looked up towards your work table briefly meeting your eyes. You smiled politely and returned to your work. Forcing your eyes to stay attentive to your work. Greeting them both with a smile when they did approach your table to check out.

He returned many times. Sometimes with his beloved Rika, sometimes alone. At one point he was coming in almost once a week to pick up a new bouquet.

You made small talk with him, each time learning a little more about him. His name was V, though that wasn’t his birth name. He was a photographer, he and his fiance had a charity group they ran together.

He talked passionately about the RFA, Rika’s Fundraising Association. Named for his fiance. He often talked about the members, and their upcoming events.

His love for the organization was shown when he’d asked if you’d be willing to provide flowers as decorations for their upcoming party. You’d agreed in a heartbeat, spending long nights arranging carefully constructed bouquets.

The first time you saw V away from the flower shop was at this party. You arrived at the party venue an hour before the event’s start time, wearing your work apron and your car full of flower arrangements.

You’d were briefly questioned by a brown haired woman with a clipboard and RFA badge. Asking if you were the florist, if you had identification. You explained that V had paid upfront for these, and asked where they should go.

V was in the main hall, dressed in a tailor made suit, beside him was Rika, wearing a dress clearly designed to match her fiance’s. They were speaking with a tall dark haired man with a serious expression, the serious looking man looked familiar somehow. Maybe you’d seen him somewhere.

Like you did at the shop, you did your best to not eavesdrop. You were here for a job after all, and one that did pay very well.

“I didn’t see you come in.” V’s voice pulled you from your mind. He was standing in front of you, his eyes looking right into yours, his eyes moved to the arrangements. “These are wonderful. I knew you would make something perfect.” V said.

“I’m glad you like them!” You said, your cheeks red from his compliment. “This is quite the event you have here.”

V’s smile grew. “Yes, we’re hosting many important people tonight. We’re hoping we’ll be able to raise money for a good cause.”

“What are you raising money for?” You asked out of curiosity.

“This time we’re raising money for children in orphanages. The money will go to finding good homes, and giving them a brighter future.” He admired the bouquets again. “Your choices of flowers always amaze me. They’re always so perfectly chosen.”

Your face burned more. “You’re extremely kind V. I always want to make the best arrangements I can. I’m glad you appreciate them.”

“I do, and I’m sure our party guests will too.”

“Well.” You said clearing your throat. “Next time you host a charity party, I’ll do the arrangements for free.”

V’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t ask that of you. You deserve to be paid for your work.”

You shook your head. “The work you do is important, I want to do my part.”

V’s surprised face shifted to a warm one. “Well then. I may take you up on that offer.” You still felt the warmth in your cheeks, still you smiled at him.

He continued to shop at your store nearly every week. Yet you started to notice some changes over time.

At first it was small, he looked more tired. Then Rika stopped coming in with him as much, and when they did come in they didn’t look like their normally blissful selves.

Then you brought flowers to the next party, and as you set the bouquets up you heard the sound of the couple arguing behind a closed door. You didn’t hear their words, still, you heard the harsh tones.

Then, a few weeks after that party. V stopped coming all together.

A few days after you realized, you saw an article in the paper.

RFA founder and Photographer’s Fiance Rika Kim dies of Suicide.

You stared at the photo of V’s beloved Rika printed in black and white. Apparently she’d thrown herself off a cliff and into the ocean. Reading it your heart ached for V. You wanted to reach out to him, make sure he was okay, but you had no real way to contact him.

You made a special flower arrangement. And sent it to the funeral home listed to be handling her celebration of life. In it, a note to V expressing your condolences.

Weeks, months passed without seeing V again. He was like a ghost, one moment he’d been a part of your weekly routine and then he was gone.

Seasons changed, the trees growing and losing their leaves. All the while, you thought about the gentle mint eyed V. How kind he was, how thoughtfully he chose bouquets. How he always knew every flower's meaning. His love of daffodils.

A year and a half passed. You struggled to remember V’s face now, his voice only existing in your memory, yet every time you added a daffodil to an arrangement. The memories of him would come rushing back.

The warmth of the late summer forced you to wipe away sweat from your brow. You made sure your fan was on while you watered the potted plants on one end of the store. You gently poured the water from your watering can, making sure not to overwater the vibrant green plants.

The ringing of the bell up made you stand up straight. You turned towards the door to greet the customer before your words got caught in your throat.

V was standing in the doorway. However, now he wore a pair of dark sunglasses and a white cane held in his hand. Still, it was V. The V you had missed so much.

“V?” You asked. The man’s head turned toward the sound of your voice. “It’s been so long.” You said.

V looked sheepish. “Yes, it has been a long time.”

You set down your watering can. “I heard about Rika. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He sighed. “Yes, I got your bouquet too. It was very beautiful.”

Your smile was tense. “Thank you.” You looked him up and down, your eyes getting stuck on the cane. “Is there something I can help you find, V?”

He took a shaky breath in. “Yes actually. I’m looking for an arrangement but-” He sighed. “My eyesight, it’s pretty much entirely gone now. So I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”

You looked at your work table then back at V.

“I’ll make you one.” You said. “I’ll make sure it smells good, for you.” You walked towards V, carefully taking the man’s arm.

V smiled, his ears tinted pink “I’d hate for you to go to so much work for me.”

You smiled. “Never too much. Especially not for my favorite customer.” You led him to the chair by your work table so you could start his arrangement. “Now, would you like daffodils? I know they’re your favorite.”

V pressed his lips together. “Actually, do you have the Lily of the Valley?”

You smiled. “I do. Why that flower if I may ask?”

Behind his glasses you saw his glassy eyes close. “I like their significance.”

“The Return to Happiness” You said quietly. V nodded. “Well, I’ll make sure there’s plenty of them for you.”

V left the shop holding his bouquet. A small smile still on his face, and a large one on yours.

He returned the next week, and you had already prepared a new arrangement for him. One where the fragrance of the flowers was most important.

The two of you continued that, every week. Each week with a new bouquet made only for him. And each time, you added flowers to express your feelings for him. Wishes of happiness, of healing.

Of friendship.

Of love.

V came in at his usual time, while you finished up his order for the week. You called out a greeting to him, making sure he safely made it to the counter.

“This one has the season’s newest blooms” You said, holding it close so he could smell. “I think the smell is really nice, it’s not too strong but it’s still very present.”

V took the wrapped bouquet. But he seemed quieter than usual, and you noticed the pink tinge in his ears.

“V?” You asked. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t want to be too forward but.” V started.

“Yes?”

“There’s an event being held at the nearby gardens. To celebrate the new season. I was wondering, if you would like to go with me?”

You smiled and reached out to gently touch his hand.

“I would love to.”

#mystic messenger #mysme #v #jihyun kim #kim jihyun #mysme v #v x mc #headcanons #oh BOY i've missed headcanons #very refreshing <3

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kookieswan · 3 years

Text

Amaranth Blurb #2

Apprentice!Jungkook x Royal!reader (f)

Word Count: 715

Warnings: Slight angst, Some fluff

Summary: As you wander the gardens, an unforeseen omen stirs up fear in your heart.

Note: Another small blurb from Amaranth! I’m having a lot of fun with it ✨ I will continue to be cryptic and not reveal much because that’s also very fun. Feel free to ask questions though, I might answer.

———————————————————————

The castles garden has always been beautiful, fresh flowers blooming often depending on the season. Even in winter, Namjoon had somehow managed to find variants that would brave the cold. There’s no such issue now in the summer, a sea of colors blooming across the widespread garden.

Kicking off your shoes, you allow yourself to drag your feet through the slightly damp grass. Everything around you is shimmering from the light rainfall earlier, and you light the lamps around you with the flick of your wrist. It never stops mystifying you how otherworldly this area of the castle seems to be.

You spot your favorite flower, amaranth, and smile as you pick up the pace as you wander over to it. It’s the prettiest shade of red you’ve ever seen, the stems and leaves a peculiar purple color. Picking one from the vine, you hold it to your nose and inhale. It smells sweet of course, but also safe and familiar even.

The flash of a memory runs through your mind, you and Namjoon sneaking out late to view the garden at night when you were only but a child. He was usually calm and focused even back then, but in that moment he giggled along with you, excited to see all the flora and fauna. It’s the first time you ever saw the red flower, Namjoon gently picking it from the vine before placing it in your hand with a giddy little grin.

You smile at the thought, content sigh leaving your lips as you make your way over to one of the benches nearby. Running your fingers over the petals softly, you wonder quietly if there’s different variants. You’ve only ever seen white, but perhaps there was a blue or purple variant?

“Princess!” Glancing up from the delicate flower you hold in your palms, you spy Namjoon making his way over to you. He’s stumbling through the garden, holding a number of books in his hands. Probably something or another to do with your studies of magic or how to properly rule a kingdom.

“Namjoon! Just the man I was as looking for. I have a question…” You trail off, but he has his full attention on you now. He brings his books to hold in one arm, gaze questioning but a smile on his face.

“Do amaranth ever come in any color other than red?” He instantly shakes his head. Knowing him, he’s could probably tell you about every flower in this damn garden in detail.

“Yes! Occasionally they’re purple. There’s never been a different color noted in any of the research I’ve skimmed other than that though.” Humming a little, you take his words in as he starts to talk about your meetings in the morning. Apparently he hadn’t tracked you down to hassle you, he just needed to go over you itinerary.

“I’ll be going now. Try not to stay up to late princess, I don’t want to find you at 4am raising the pantry again. Oh, and Jungkook is on his way here.” You roll your eyes but smile, bidding him a goodbye as he walks off. It’s not that late yet, but you’ve been having troubles sleeping lately. It’s curious, waking up so often when you used to sleep like a rock. You’re also curious about why Jungkook is so late…

Your thoughts are interrupted as you feel warm liquid in your hands, the strong smell of steel in the air. Going completely rigid, you slowly turn your eyes downward and try not to gasp in horror. The once beautiful flower you held is blood red, thick globs dripping through the cracks of your fingers and flowing down to the grass below. You attempt to allow some of your magic to flow through it in a panic, but nothing happens.

“Hey!” Jungkook’s voice booms from the direction Namjoon left from and you whip your head up, tossing the mush that was once a flower over your shoulder. Jungkook would catch on in to time that something was amiss, this was clearly an omen of some sort. Reaching down, you wipe your hands hurriedly on the grass, standing up to walk forward at a brisk pace.

Amaranth is supposed to be everlasting. If it can die, then anything can.

#amaranth #jungkook x reader #jungkook one shot #jungkook drabble #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts drabbles

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Affliction II. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: general yan stuff, mentions of previous abusive relationships, isolation and self deprecation. word count: 3k. link to the previous part.

There aren’t many places left where you feel comfortable enough to be yourself.

Not an identity that was painstakingly crafted for the sake of self preservation, but your genuine self. Here in the midst of Giorno’s grandiose flower gardens, you’re given the scant opportunity. Whether it be paranoia, or if it holds some ground in reality, there’s a possibility that guards are watching over you from afar. Lost in the thickets of nature, even if you’re being fenced in against your will, is preferable to the suffocating walls of the mansion. There isn’t a lot you’re willing to praise Giorno about, but his taste in flora is breathtaking. Palettes of complementing colors mesh together in a wide array of nature, stepping into it like entering a new world.

This particular section is your favorite. Azaleas are in full bloom around you, the sweet scent wafting to your nose. Stone garden benches, slightly aged by weather and covered in moss, make for a nice spot to collect yourself. This time of day, a sizable tree provides shade from the oppressive Neapolitan sun. Taking in a deep breath, you consider what to do for the reminder of the day. There isn’t much in the ways of entertainment, not in the sense you’d grown used to. No using the internet, or interacting with anyone that isn’t Giorno, aside from rare exceptions when you need food. Some of your hobbies are provided for, but the inspiration to partake in them when in captivity is dwindling at best, nonexistent at worst.

You’ve had plenty of time to mope around the long, seemingly abandoned halls that make up your prison. After nights of incessant tears and sighing, you’ve made up your mind to make the most of the dreadful situation. Biding your time for a possibility of escape is all that can be done. Walking around the gardens almost felt like a form of reconnaissance at first, scoping the foreign territory in hopes of locating a weakness. Frustrating hour after hour would pass, no convenient cracks in the wall or fencing making itself known. Of course he wouldn’t make it that easy, not after all the apparent effort that went into kidnapping you.

The sun is beginning to set in the sky, the lengthier days of summer beginning a downwards trend as September soon approaches. You frown at the sight of clouds bathed in rays of golden light, knowing what unique horrors night time brings with it. During the day you get to be on your lonesome, making as much space between you and Giorno as possible. While there are some fortunate nights where he’s too engrossed with work matters to seek you out, Lady Luck hasn’t been on your side lately. He’s been woefully insistent on spending dinner with you, wanting to form a bond that you hold no interest in. You’d sooner seek out the company of a snail than Giorno Giovanna.

When the crickets begin their anthems, the moon hanging high overhead, your freedom is restricted even more. The heavy weight of this realization pushes against your chest, a fresh wave of chills running through you. Anxiety is a finicky creature, making itself known at the worst times. Having a choke hold on you at its own leisure, preventing you from making any meaningful progress. It’s been somewhere around a few months now, you believe, since the encounter that changed your life for the worst.

Shaking your low hanging head at the thought, you occupy yourself with the parchment sitting on your lap. It’s coarse against your skin, a much needed anchor to keep yourself from drifting away from this world. That’s right, you’ve come here for a reason. You’ve had this blank piece of paper, that has beckoned you to fill it for some time now. The problem being, the lack of proper equipment to use on it. Some pieces of charcoal that you found earlier after lunch sprang hope anew, the tool familiar in the best of ways. Holding with it fond memories, a desirable distraction from your bleak outlook on life.

The guards that take care in shadowing you didn’t protest when you took it, so you assume it must be allowed. Bringing the dark instrument down to the parchment, you begin a rough sketch of an azalea plant in front of you. As you make the various shapes that define the flower, time almost seems to speed up around you. Before you register it, the sun has almost finished its descent into the sky, your hands fully covered in residue from handling the charcoal. Too absorbed in perfecting your work, you fail to notice approaching footsteps from behind.

“--[First].”

A surprised gasp leaves your lips at the unexpected greeting, your head whipping around to identify the source of the intrusive noise. Panic bubbles within at the sight of Giorno, who is taking a keen interest in what you are working on. From how at ease he looks, it’s difficult to gauge his thoughts. His visage never offers insight to his mind, always schooled and taciturn. He must be awaiting a response from you, but your mind is a state of panic. This activity isn’t something that’ll get you in trouble, is it? Subconsciously, you move the canvas to the side, your fingers wrapping around the edges uncomfortably.

You need to say something, but the words die in your mouth before coming to life. Pushing through your storm of dread, you offer a response. “I… I’m sorry, if I wasn’t supposed to.”

Turquoise eyes regard you in kind, taking a seat next to you on the bench. He’s generous enough to leave a respectable gap, but is still too close for comfort. From how his lips are turned into a soft smile, you want nothing more than to believe you won’t be chastised for this innocent indulgence. Spending time in Giorno’s presence is akin to navigating through a minefield, never certain what step may end up being your last. All of the promises he offers feel unfounded, the sickly sweet assurances of never harming a hair on your head. Why should you believe him? He’s given you no reason to take his word as concrete, and you can’t see that ever changing.

You remember the scent of blood. The nauseating sound of bones crunching, how flesh sounds when thrown against a wall. How when approaching death, the eyes grew bloodshot, lips trembling as they took on a haunting shade of blue. It’s the stuff of nightmares, watching a life snuffed out right before you. Matteo, someone who had been your companion, was gone before you could even process it. The strain on your relationship with him is unforgettable, but having to see his body tossed aside by a ghostly force? Witnessing how limp his limbs were, the same arms that once sought refuge in long ago?

You’ll never forget the devil Giorno is, no matter how much he paints himself as a saint.

“I had no idea you were interested in art,” he chooses to ignore your previous comment, wanting to redirect onto more positive things. “You have a real talent for it. Had I known, I would’ve prepared a wider array of art supplies for you.”

The compliment has the opposite effect as intended on your person. Instead of filling you with validation at the wholehearted praise, the words ooze down your skin like droplets of corrosive venom. A sudden disconnect between your creation is torn, and you can no longer stomach to look at it. How an object of beauty can turn into a reminder of your captor in a few measly seconds is a peculiar thing. When he leaves for work the next morning, you consider the possibility of destroying it all together. A last ditch effort to rid yourself of this revolting feeling that creeps down your spine.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself.”

There are multiple ways of interpreting your words, ranging from a dismissal of Giorno’s presence to humility. He spins it in his favor, as he’s showcased his brilliance in doing so. Your lack of straightforward animosity towards him serves to backfire every time.

“It’d be no trouble. Truth be told, I’m lacking an in-depth knowledge of the arts. What kind of equipment would suit you best?” Giorno inquires with a tilt of his head, his eyes leaving the impression that he can see the full dimensions of your soul. Ignoring him isn’t going to be of benefit, so you provide the bare minimum to satisfy his quest.

“It’s… more of a personal preference, what an artist chooses to use.”

He’s not letting you off the hook just yet. “What do you prefer to use?”

“The basics. Pencils, watercolors, the like. Nothing too fancy.”

Giorno looks fascinated at anything you offer him. Even if you only speak when spoken to, it’s a good place to start. Your muscles tense as he leans closer, to get a better look at the drawing of flowers. His eyes scan every stroke, seeing how it all culminates into a grander picture. You move your legs over, internally pleading that he’ll leave you alone soon. Speaking for him with any amount of time, no matter how small, is exhausting.

“Azaleas, correct?”

At this guess, you nod in confirmation.

“Please, should you ever need a reference for flowers, let me know. I’d be more than happy to provide it for you.”

The chance to refuse this offer is fleeting, curiosity taking over at how he reaches for a rock on the ground. Taking it into his hand, he puts it in full view. You blink at the uncanny series of events, wondering why Giorno is putting a simple rock on display. Any semblance of understanding is stolen from you, as the colors twist into a different assortment. The spherical shape shifts into a stem, the bud on top growing light pink petals. He watches with amusement at how you look at it closer, mouth agape.

“W-what?” It’s a weak whisper, betraying the full extent of your awe. How did he pull this off? It isn’t like a cheesy magic trick, where the rock would slide somewhere, only to be replaced by a flower. No, you witnessed the full life cycle of the flower. He chuckles lowly at your childlike wonder, preparing a palpable explanation.

“It’s an ability of mine,” he elaborates, placing the newly former azalea on your lap. “I can make any living thing.”

Is this a dream? To test the theory, you rub your eyes, uncaring of the smudges likely left against your skin. When your eyelids flutter open once more, you’re still in reality. Wanting to inspect the flower closer, you lift it up, close to your eyes. Studying every aspect of it, from how soft the petals are to the firmness of the stem. While not a professional botanist by any means, there’s no denying that this is a real flower.

“Any living thing…”

The words dance on your tongue, parroting his words back to him to make sense of it all. “Does that include animals?”

“Naturally. Is there anything you’d like to see, [First]?” He tempts you with promises of spectacle, fully aware of how bewitching Gold Experience’s ability is. Numerous ideas flood through your mind, possibilities infinite. Thoughts ranging from your own favorite animals, to cute creatures that might improve your mood. While creating bouquets of any flower might be an intriguing prospect, you’re more drawn to seeing animals. The only animals you’ve had contact with in the longest time are occasional frogs that congregate near the running foundations at night. Everything else is reduced to sounds, from owls to cicadas.

It’s when you see Giorno’s knowing smile that something deep inside you stirs.

He’s basking in the lightheartedness you’re exuding. This… this ultimately doesn’t change a thing. Giorno is a terrible man, who has taken so much from you. The hedges surrounding you both suddenly feel suffocating, a merciless reminder of who it is you’re dealing with. Beauty pales in comparison to real freedom. Every day has been the same as the last, an infinite loop of going through the motions, destined to never make progress. All of this has been thrusted onto you by Giorno Giovanna, a man in relentless pursuit of your heart.

None of this is right. Being near him is enough to too much to take.

You hold your tongue, eyebrows furrowing at Giorno bringing out all this conversation from you. It’s humiliating how all your efforts to deny him the desires of his flesh never work as intended, this one of the many times he’s bested you. Now that you’ve spotted his game, you clamp shut like a clam, intent on hiding the pearl of yourself from him. You’re intentional in looking away, the luxury of him maintaining eye contact with you a memory of the past. Sensing the barriers you’re putting up against him, Giorno stands, dusting off his expensive pants. He offers you a nod of acknowledgement, pivoting on his heel and calling out to you over his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Too absorbed in your self deprecating thoughts and misery, you offer up no response. Footsteps crunching against the vegetation on the ground fade away, your heart pounding violently against your chest. Something wet caresses your face, teardrops falling and smudging your art. Your sniffling grows in volume, becoming a full set of sobs. Hands shaking by your side, you hang your head low, biting your lower lip to the point of drawing blood.

Feeling like a man possessed, you wildly rip away at the canvas that taunts you so. The sound of paper ripping pales in comparison to the natural ambiance of the summer night, and you pay it no mind. All you want is an outlet for this surge of emotion. Any guilt over littering the ground with remnants of your work dissipates when you remember how servants will scurry like insects to clean up after you. For extra measure, you pick up the former rock, glowering at it. Breaking the stem with your hands, you throw it as far as you can manage, not able to stand the sight of all it stands for. None of this even begins to remedy the abhorrence that clogs your heart for Giorno, but it’s a start.

Exhaustion seeps into every pore of your being, and you retire to your room.

- - -

He notices a lot of things about you when you’re asleep.

There’s clear serenity on your countenance, far away from the world of unfortunate reality. Giorno catches every rise and fall of your chest, how delicate your breaths are, the way your long eyelashes flutter against the soft cheeks of your face. When you’re lifted from the depths of deep sleep with a dream, frustration overtakes you, eyelids twitching. He’s inquisitive on the nature of your dreams, that must take the form of nightmares. What is it that haunts you? There’s a twinge in his heart at the possibility of it being him.

The first time you reached out to him in your sleep, he thought it a trick of the lights. A fine delicacy he doesn’t deserve to gratify himself with, as a reminder of his own sins. You’re too good to him when you’re like this, arms subconsciously reaching out for something to grasp on. A few times, you found a pillow, content with it in your arms. In moments like this one, your hands touch the bare flesh of Giorno’s chest, drawing yourself against him. He stays perfectly still, recognizing the humiliation you’d face should you wake. No, this is just fine with him, enough to satisfy a dormant hunger.

He can’t help himself, ghosting his fingertips up and down your bare arms. Goosebumps dot your skin from the motions. It’s a selfish wish, that you’d always be like this around him. Giorno would be a fool to think of himself as anything but self-serving after all he’s taken from you. Your future, freedom, your life. What is possibly an attempt to justify some of the extreme measures arises, Giorno incapable of hiding the scowl of your former situation. Such a kindhearted person, diluted by scum of society, churns his stomach in repulsion. The original plan didn’t include offing your former partner, but righteous fury overtook him. It isn’t often Giorno’s composure can crack, but seeing you belittled was all it took.

All the damage inflicted on you left gaping wounds, too great for Giorno to heal.

He witnessed how radiant you’re capable of being, how your face glowed the first time you met. It’s a fond memory now, a way to placate him. Anything less than honoring the memory of you treating his wounds is a disservice to your person, Giorno incapable of offering nothing but high praises for you. This highlight of humanity, a pinnacle of what people are like at their best, is what motivates his goals further. To see Italy become a better version of itself, eradicating the nefarious plots that fester in the shadows.

You rub your head against his chest, murmuring incoherent words in your sleep. His heart leaps at the endearing sight, wishing he could stay like this with you for eternity. In the midst of his musings, his own Stand materializes into existence, unblinking eyes considering every curve and dip of your body. Gold Experience Requiem wishes you were capable of acknowledging it, having to be content with observing you from afar. It’s a double edged sword. There’s an opportunity to wrap phantom-like appendages around your waist, you only believe it to be a gust of wind. Touch starved as Giorno is, he’s willing to accept any scraps of your touch he has access to.

Tiny pieces are better than nothing.

Tomorrow will bring troubles of its own, yet he can’t find it in himself to complain. Your scrutiny is wholly deserved, and all that he can offer in meager attempts to reconcile is effort. To be better for your sake, and his own.

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #yandere giorno #giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #yandere jojo's bizzare adventure #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo x reader #my stuff #commissions

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Text

here is a part 2 of my valentine’s day one-shot from the other day!! part 3 of them actually celebrating is coming fri, but wanted to make it a lil countdown:) also big creds to @udontfuckangie for their post about ian getting mickey stargazer lilies for valentines bc it… truly made me feel so many things and i had to write this

Ian didn’t really remember ever celebrating Valentine’s Day for real— not like everyone else in middle school or high school, like when Lip was off buying flowers for girls or Mandy was trying to get the guy she liked to ask her out— but he definitely remembered celebrating it as a kid, when he’d have to scrounge up some shoebox from under his bed and bring it to his overcrowded classroom to cover with colorful construction paper and make shitty valentines to swap with his friends. Those were the days when Frank was around some, and so was Monica— he remembered one year, when he was maybe 5 or 6, when Monica was there and he had come home with a thin pink slip of paper from his teacher saying that he needed to bring in valentines for his class. Monica had whisked him down the street to the dollar store where they’d ransacked the rickety shelves of all the art supplies they could carry, and then they sat at the kitchen table for hours gluing glitter to cut-out hearts.

So maybe that’s why Ian’s heart had melted last Sunday, when Franny had mentioned that she needed to buy valentines for her class at school— Ian knew it was stupid, or whatever, but he knew how far a few solid childhood memories could go in this neighborhood, how those types of moments were the stuff you lived on for years afterwards when things got harder and darker. So while he’d been caught up in so much shit lately, for a couple of hours on that Sunday afternoon all Ian wanted was for Franny to soak up that feeling like a sponge—to make memories with her like the good ones that he’d had with Monica, the ones that stood out and burned in his chest like a hot branding iron when he remembered them.

And then a yawning, sleep-soft Mickey had stumbled into the kitchen, and the three of them were nestled beside each other at the table doing fucking arts and crafts; and for some reason it made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and got him thinking about how fuck it, he wanted to give Mickey a Valentine’s Day this year— not in the weird, heteronormative bullshit way, but in the way that he could just kind of… show Mickey how much he meant to him, how Mickey still made his heart feel like it was going to explode out of his ribcage even after the years they’d been together. This was the longest time that he and Mickey had ever been together consecutively, the longest time they’d slept side by side before something dark curled its fingers around them and pulled them apart, and he wanted to do something to acknowledge that— something to start their forever, as fucking cheesy as that sounded.

Of course, Mickey had no concept of Valentine’s Day or any of that shit, which made the whole thing all the more perfect— Ian wanted to catch him off guard, wanted to pull them both out of the funk that had been hovering over them for the months after the wedding, when everything turned brittle and stale once the bills started to pile up. They were better now—or at least they were trying to be— but it still meant something that half of their time being married had been spent navigating a fucking global pandemic and squabbling with each other and barely making ends meet.

So now it was the day before Valentine’s Day, and Ian was standing on a busy Chicago street corner in the bitter cold, watching the bundled passersby briskly walk by to scramble inside and stave off the chill. Ian hadn’t been to this neighborhood since his days working at the club, or maybe once or twice when he was hanging out with people from the youth center; the pristine glass storefronts with minimalist displays nearly blinded Ian’s eyes after the past ten months of being accustomed to the crumbling paint-chipped architecture of the South Side. But he was here on a mission; in front of him stood the high-end, boujee as fuck florist’s shop, one of the top-rated ones in the city according to the quick search he’d plugged into his phone.

Ian normally didn’t give a shit about stuff like this— to him, a flower was a flower, and a chair for a wedding was just a goddamn chair— but he knew Mickey, for some reason this sappy shit was a whole lot more important to him, no matter how hard Mickey tried to hide it. All the symbols and the fanfare meant something to Mickey—it meant that they’d made it, that they got to have a normal fucking life together, beyond both of their wildest dreams. So if Ian had to brave a stupid, gentrifying flower shop on a chilly Friday afternoon to make Mickey happy, then that was what he was going to do.

A soft bell tinkled as Ian entered the shop, immediately surrounded by the nearly-bare shelves of minimalist bouquets. The store was incredibly cramped and narrow, with overly-peppy music playing low, and was packed tight with wire-rimmed glasses wearing, re-usable bag toting hipsters standing in a line all the way to the counter. Shit. This line was going to take all day—and who the fuck knew if they even had what Ian was looking for? A looming pang of desperation started to churn in the pit of his stomach as he lurked by the doorway. Fuck it, he had to do this.

Before Ian really processed what he was doing he was quickly darting past the line, getting a series of dirty looks from everyone he shuffled by.

“S’cuse me, coming through, floral emergency.”

Finally, he reached the counter, sliding in beside some girl in her mid-twenties with a punk haircut. “Uh, sorry, can I just ask if they have what I’m looking for real quick?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “If you’re desperate enough to cut the fucking line, I’d say you’re worse off than I am. Men are fucking clueless.”

Ian nearly grimaced, but tried to twist his face into a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.” He turned to the cashier at the counter, a dude with a man bun and a floral button-up shirt who looked pretty amused by this whole situation.

“It’s the day before Valentine’s Day, honey. Everyone here is in a floral emergency.” The cashier sighed, looking Ian up and down appraisingly. “What’re you looking for?”

“Uh. I think they’re called… stargazer lilies? The ones that bloom at a specific time, or something? We were supposed to have them at my wedding, but then the venue got burnt down by my husband’s homophobic father, so we kind of had to pull the whole wedding thing together on short notice— it’s kind of a long story, but I really, really need to get these flowers for Valentine’s Day.” Ian leaned in close over the counter, hoping he didn’t look too desperate. “It’s our first one together and it’s been a fucking shitty year and it would just— it would mean a lot.”

Ian finally exhaled, and hoped by some miracle that this cashier, or someone in the fucking universe, would take pity on him.

The cashier pulled his glasses down to the bridge of his nose, tapping away at the iPad on the counter before glancing up. “Hmm. I’m sorry honey, you’re fresh out of luck. Those lilies bloom in the summer mostly, and no one around here really has them. You could maybe check one of the little flower shops down the street, they do special orders and stuff this time of year—but I’ll be honest, I don’t know if you’re gonna get these flowers by tomorrow.”

Ian felt disappointment bubble up inside him. Of fucking course there were none of these obscure flowers in Chicago the day before Valentine’s Day— he’d had this grand idea of giving Mickey a perfect Valentine’s Day, of starting off on the right foot, and he still put this shit off until the last minute and couldn’t give Mickey what he deserved. Mickey would’ve never made this mistake.

Ian cleared his throat. “Shit. Well, uh, thanks anyways.”

He turned, heading for the door and getting ready to be assaulted by the bitter cold again. Okay, there were a couple flower marts down the street, he could try that— but he had a sinking feeling that the results would be the same, that he’d be left empty-handed tomorrow with nothing to give.

Okay. Focus. I’ve gotta plan a bunch of shit for Valentine’s Day by tomorrow.

What would Mickey do?

The flat drone of the dial tone made Mickey’s head buzz, the same dull vibration he’d heard dozens of times that week. Finally, he heard the click of someone answering.

“Hello, this is Sizzlers, how may I help you?”

“Hi, it’s, uh, it’s Mickey Milkovich. Again. I’m just checking in one more time to make sure we’re all good for tomorrow?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, like the hostess was taking a moment to compose herself. “Yes, Mr. Milkovich. Since this is the… seventh time you’ve checked in in the past week, I believe, everything has definitely been arranged as you requested.”

Mickey cleared his throat. “Uh, good. Thanks. We’ll be there for our reservation at 8.”

He clicked his phone off and flung it down onto the bed. It had been nearly a week since he’d decided he was going to try to give Ian some kind of Valentine’s Day like the normal fucking couple Ian wanted to be, but he had to admit, this shit was hard work; he had to think of the perfect place he wanted them to go, had to call and make a reservation and arrange everything perfectly— and then there was the matter of deciding what to get Ian, because apparently married people also got each other fucking gifts on Valentine’s Day, which sounded like overkill to him. He’d been scrolling through Buzzfeed “Valentine’s Day Gift” lists for the better part of the afternoon, and even snuck some of Debbie’s chick magazines into the bathroom to sift through articles like “Ten Things to Get Your Man for Valentine’s Day” or “Best V-Day Gifts for Newlyweds.” Finally, after fucking days of plans stirring in the back of his mind, Mickey finally thought he had all of the pieces together; the reservation was made, the timing was set, and he’d even stopped by some fancy fucking chocolate shop on the other side of town on the way home from the Alibi earlier that afternoon.

Everything was planned—now there was just one thing left to do.

Mickey grabbed the crumpled piece of paper he’d set on the bedside table, the one he’d been staring at all week. Fuck it. He grabbed a discarded pen from the windowsill, from the collection of pencils that Ian kept next to his notebooks.

Mickey sighed as he put the pen to the paper. Now comes the hard part.

part 1 is here! and part 3 is here!

#this has been such a fun lil distraction this week!!!#actual cute fluffy content coming friday lol #<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian and mickey

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nelllraiser · 3 years

Text

garlic dread | milo & nell

TIMING: the middle of spring, before the portals opened. PARTIES: @wickedmilo & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: milo just wants to help nell with her plants, but nell has other plans.

With spring coming into its prime, Nell’s garden had been thriving in addition to her greenhouse. During the time she’d been struggling to pay off her hospital debt, watching the numbers of new flowers in her garden dwindle had been one of the hardest cutbacks, the blooms and otherwise being one of her simpler joys in life. But now that her father had paid off the hospital without the witch’s permission, it meant that she was able to spend a little more money than usual on some new little plants and the like. Which was how she found herself walking home with a plethora of green and leafy friends in her arms, barely able to see over the lot of them as she made her way out of the plant nursery. She was nearly out of eyeshot from the other townies— which meant she was only steps away from being able to freely use her magic when another person caught the corner of her eye. Where the hell had he come from? She was instantly annoyed despite the fact that the young man couldn’t have any inkling of his unintentional meddling. Hopefully with any luck he’d disappear soon enough of his own accord, and then she’d be able to hover her new plants home with minimal effort. Another look towards the guy had her brow scrunching up in thought. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place why.

Milo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to smelling people before he saw them. It was a strange, and uncomfortable instinct. Usually he discovered he wasn’t alone through sight, or through sound. The regular ways. But when the fresh scent of vegetation and potted soil managed to reach him on the evening breeze, he glanced upwards, curious to see where it was coming from. There was a woman on the other side of the road, walking towards him with her arms full. He could only assume she was an avid gardener, nobody else would buy quite so much when they knew they needed to carry it home. For a while, he was too distracted by her plants to pay any real attention to her face, but as she grew closer he began to recognise her from high school. What was her name? Was it Penelope? He felt sure it was, but he also had a feeling nobody ever actually called her that. Jeez, it was so difficult remembering back on a time where he had barely been present. Always high, or on the verge of inebriation. If somebody wasn’t his friend, they faded away almost immediately after graduation. Regardless, it felt rude not to offer his help. He had been meeting so many people from his past, as of late. This could be an opportunity to make a new friend, somebody who didn’t know what a mess he was. “Hey!” He called from where he was standing across the road, there were no cars, so he knew she would have no trouble hearing him. “Any chance you want some help?”

Highschool maybe? Was it highschool that she knew him from? Nell didn’t really want to ask, not when she was trying to hurry home, and get this guy out of her hair so that she could get her magic up and going. “Yeah- no thanks,” she dropped her reply quickly, taking on a fairly dismissive tone, hoping he’d catch the hint and leave her alone. Still...it was nagging her that she couldn’t place his face. It was definitely from highschool, but she’d had barely a handful of friends back then, and everyone else knew well enough to just leave her alone. Even though the normies couldn’t have known she was actually a witch, that didn’t stop the age-old fear of things they didn’t understand from settling in when it came to Nell Vural.

At first, they’d been taught it by their parents at the hands of a disastrous childhood birthday party where a kindergarten aged Nell had accidentally summoned a swarm of Wolpertingers out of her birthday cake. From then on, all it’d taken for her schoolmates to avoid her was a couple of violent altercations born of shitty people and her temper, and a few more mystic incidents for them to steer clear and whisper behind her back. But they’d had no problems coming to her when they wanted something more salacious, hook-ups underneath and bleachers and in empty classrooms. Apparently it had been fine enough to screw the creepy magic girl, just not get on her nerves or be her friend.

Milo faltered as Penelope turned down his offer, both surprised and irritated by the way she casually brushed him off. He was trying to be friendly, not to mention the fact that he recognised her from high school. She had every right to say no, of course. But he felt like he had decent grounds to be annoyed. If anything, it was an opportunity for good company, a mutual opportunity. Crossing the road without looking, confident he would hear any cars if they got too close, he raised his eyebrows at her. “I’m going to assume you have no idea who I am.” He half teased. “But I swear I’m not a creeper about to follow you home. Come on, let me help.” He gestured to the plants in her arms, knowing he didn’t need to point out how overwhelmed she was by her load. “I’m trying this new thing where I’m not an asshole, you know? This would really help my credibility.”

Nell. The name came back to him suddenly, along with the reputation she had once managed to build for herself. He had stayed largely out of her way, watching her arguments in the corridor from afar, listening when people whispered about her while making no move to acknowledge the rumours. Honestly, anybody willing to say ‘fuck you’ to societal standards and enjoy sex for what it was had his respect. But it made him wonder why he had never gotten to know her back then. Given what was so often said, she seemed very much like his kind of person. Had she changed since? He definitely had, in more ways than one. “Nell, right?” He asked, unable to help himself. “It’s Milo… Summers. I used to hang around with Kyle.” He had no idea whether she even knew who Kyle was, but given they had both spent most of their days filling the boy’s bathroom with smoke, he figured she had probably heard of him.

To be honest, Nell didn’t entirely mind if some random guy from highschool got caught in the crossfire of her impatience— especially when she was over eager to get home, and get her plants all settled in. Was it rude? Probably. Would she ever see the guy again, and did she really care when she hadn’t even known him well enough to properly attach a name to face? Probably not. She simply raised a brow as he confirmed that no- she couldn’t quite place him within the confines of her highschool memories. “I’m not worried about you following me home.” It most likely wouldn’t turn out great for someone anyway if they decided to follow a girl back to the house where three witches, a reanimated corpse, and a literal demon dog lived. He was trying not to be an asshole? Why did she have to be a part of that when she just wanted to get home as fast as possible?

Popping her mouth open to give him another denying reply bordering on rude, surprise flit over her face when he managed to remember her name— which quickly turned to intrigue as he mentioned the name Milo in conjunction with Kyle. Oh shit, this was Milo. The same Milo that had been hanging around the werewolf during the time he’d been turned. Along with his name came a few more vague memories from her school days, finally recalling him to be someone along the lines of a stoner who was often in detention. “Oh- Milo, right,” her expression instantly shifted into one that was much more open now that she realized he was actually someone she wanted to talk to. “That’s funny- I was actually just talking to Kyle the other day, and he mentioned you.” Milo didn’t need to know that it had been in the middle of Nell’s moonsitting. Ugh, she supposed this meant she should let him carry a couple things. “Sorry- I was just excited to get home.” She could be perfectly amiable when she wanted something, and she definitely wanted to know more about Kyle during his days around being bitten.

Milo could pinpoint the exact moment Nell began to realise who he was. He had no doubt in his mind her memories were vague, or based primarily on hearsay, but it would be hypocritical of that to bother him when his memories of her were the very same. “That’s me.” He agreed. “If you ever caught me in any compromising positions, now is the time to forget- you know, for the sake of my dignity.” He teased, laughing at his own joke. “I’d rather be judged on my new mistakes, of which I’m sure there will be many.” Her expression was far more open now, almost warm as she observed him, he wondered what she was thinking. It didn’t take her long to sate his curiosity. “Oh, you were?” He asked, his smile growing at the mention of his friend. He had only recently learned of Kyle’s lycanthropy, but strangely he found the knowledge comforting. He felt closer to him now than he had when they were at school together, despite seeing him then on a near daily basis. “What did he say? Good things, I hope?” Grinning easily, he glanced down at the plants still balanced in her arms. “Excited to get home because of this? Isn’t it a little late to be buying vegetation?” Holding out his arms, insisting she pass over some of her items, he caught her eye again, hoping she could see that he was trustworthy, and being sincere in his offer. “Here, come on… I swear I really do just want to help.”

Had she caught him in compromising positions? Maybe once or twice when they’d shared a detention, but highschool seemed so far away by now that sometimes it felt like an entirely different lifetime all together. “Sure- the sake of your dignity,” Nell echoed, biting off a teasing remark about how she wasn’t sure she could spare something he didn’t have. But she was going to be nice, she reminded herself. People didn’t talk to women about their werewolf friends if they thought they were an asshole. “But yeah- I just saw him right around the full moon,” she dropped casually, wondering if the phrase would trigger anything in Milo. Did he know about Kyle and his wolfy tendencies? “Honestly, it was so late when we were talking I barely even remember what we were saying,” she lied easily, not missing a beat. “But I doubt it was anything good if you’re that concerned,” she teased, testing the waters of what she could get away with. While he held out his arms, she let out an internal sigh, knowing she’d have to let him help if she wanted to get information from him. “I have a greenhouse,” she explained while carefully handing him a few of the plants, already feeling rather overprotective about letting him carry them. “It’s not too far from here.”

Milo grinned, glad Nell was willing to play along with his joke. “Much appreciated.” He replied, nodding his head with mock sincerity. But his smile quickly faltered as the conversation circled back around to Kyle. The full moon. It was such a specific thing to say. It jumped out at him, almost startling him out of his lighthearted demeanour. Did she know? He couldn’t see any other reason for her to mention the lunar cycle. So was she testing him? Trying to figure out whether he had also been trusted with the information? Hurrying to compose himself, he could only hope she hadn’t noticed his expression slip. “That’s a weird fucking way to measure time.” He teased, doing everything he could to sound casual. “Do you not own a calendar? Like a normal one, without moons on it?” Forcing a quiet laugh, he actually wouldn’t be surprised if Kyle had nothing decent to say about him. He wasn’t particularly worried, the reason they got along so well was due to that very fact.

Feeling a strange sense of triumph when his company finally handed over some of her plants, despite not knowing much about her, he could see how much she cared for them. He made an effort to be gentle, holding them as though they were delicate, and breakable so that he wouldn’t cause any damage. Despite genuinely wanting to be of assistance, it would also help to earn her trust, and for some unknown reason, he found he really wanted to. “Define not too far?” He prompted. “Did I accidentally volunteer to walk miles with this stuff?”

The hesitation in his smile was caught by Nell’s sharp eyes. She might not have noticed it if she hadn’t been looking for any hitch in Milo’s demeanor, but the falter was more than enough for Nell to continue her digging. “You know how White Crest is-” she began, careful to keep the levity in her words. “-always obsessed with the moon and her cycles along with ten million other weird things that wouldn’t fly in other towns. So what if my calendar has moons on it?” She didn’t need to get into the fact that Milo would be hard pressed to find a person that adored the moon more than a werewolf or spellcaster did. The two were generally unified in their waxing poetic of the big, powerful, and glowing lady in the sky. “Kyle didn’t think it was weird that I like the full moon.” Perhaps she was coming on a little too strongly, but if Milo didn’t know what she was referring to, it wouldn’t matter. Normies didn’t generally assume that any mention of the full moon and a person meant the guy in question was a werewolf.

The greenhouse was Nell’s haven, a place that only a select group of people were allowed to enter, and she already had plans to leave Milo at the door of it once they arrived on property. “Are you gonna complain after you did this to yourself?” she teased back, her steps taking them further into the dense trees of the nearby woods. The Vural home was a part of the Outskirts and the forest that made up the less populated area. “It’s just through the woods a bit.”

Milo wanted to counter Nell’s point, to tell her she was being ridiculous, and laugh at how pretentious she sounded, like he might have once upon a time. But now he knew she was right, now he knew far too much about what happened below the surface of his sleepy, unassuming hometown, and he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. “Said you and every other tumblr girl obsessed with astrology.” He muttered, figuring that would have to be enough. If he abruptly dropped his teasing then she would notice, he knew she would. “Maybe Kyle is also a tumblr girl obsessed with astrology.” He countered, his mind still working to process the strange words leaving Nell’s mouth. It all felt calculated somehow, as though she was carefully choosing them to elicit some form of reaction. But what did she want from him? What was she expecting him to say?

“Oh, I complain no matter what.” He insisted. “Did Kyle not tell you? It’s one of my more favourable traits.” He followed her as she led him into the forest, wondering where her house was located. He only knew the houses in town, and maybe a few of the buildings on the outskirts. He felt stupid for not realising some people needed to walk through wooded areas to get to their homes. “It’s just through the woods a bit sounds like the last thing somebody hears before they’re murdered.” He pointed out, offering her a smile over the plants in his arms so that she would know he wasn’t being serious. Besides, he had already been murdered once. Surely that lowered his chances of being murdered for a second time. That or he had the worst luck in the history of mankind. “You aren’t luring me out here to kill me, are you?”

Nell’s eyes rolled seemingly without command, all too used to being compared to the cottagecore girls that love to emulate spellcaster culture and teachings. The humans loved to play pretend until a real witch was staring them in the face, and they realized their fear of the unknown outweighed their desire for crystal and starry aesthetics. Subtly was not her aim while she continued on, wondering if she could simply pressure Milo into revealing whether he knew Kyle’s secret or not. “That’s why you think Kyle has a glowing moon lamp on his wall? He’s a tumblr girl? I wouldn’t be surprised if I caught him howling at it one day,” she finished with a laugh, still waiting to see whether Milo would connect the dots.

“Kyle told me lots of things,” Nell answered cryptically, having quickly abandoned her ‘nice girl’ act. Not that she wasn’t being nice anymore, just that she was letting more of her edge shine through. After all, fear could be a decent motivator as well. Of course she wasn’t actually here to murder the young man. She just wanted to know more about the time Kyle had been turned. With a laugh she shot Milo a coy look over her shoulder before answering his next question. “Oh no, I’m out of the human sacrifice phase right now.” It’d only been once that she’d spilled a human’s blood for magic, and she’d do it again if the situation was as dire, but for the most part she had no interest in taking human lives in exchange for magical power.

Milo laughed, unable to help himself. “I’ve never been to Kyle’s place so I have zero knowledge of moon lamps. I have, however, seen them advertised on Instagram, so it still fits with the aesthetic.” Keeping his expression neutral at the mention of howling, it was becoming very obvious to him that Nell knew Kyle was a werewolf. He almost wanted to ask her how she knew, but if he admitted to also knowing then he would come very close to outing himself as a part of the supernatural world. Nell wasn’t his friend, this was the most they had ever spoken, so he refused to willingly make himself vulnerable. Raising his eyebrows in a show of polite interest, despite attempting to seem casual, his gaze was sharp, watching Nell for any sign or tell that might imply she was aware of his ‘undead’ status.

“He did?” He asked, almost daring her to tell him what was said. Surely Kyle wouldn’t have confided in her like that. There seemed to be an unspoken rule among the people he had met so far; you never told somebody else what a person was if you didn’t have permission to do so. Maybe there were exceptions to the rule, things he didn’t understand just yet, but he trusted Kyle not to out him. In the same way he hoped Kyle knew he could be trusted not to tell people he was a werewolf. “Hm, good to know.” He muttered in response to the joke on human sacrifice. He was glad they were able to move back into familiar territory. He enjoyed teasing, he was good at teasing. And it carried them further away from both Kyle’s predicament, and his own. “Because I’m sure I’d be a pretty useless sacrifice. Whatever demon you worship would probably send me back and ask for a working replacement.”

“Really? It sounded like you were good friends the way he told it,” Nell commented smoothly, not actually having all that much interest in the closeness of their friendship at the moment, but figuring she should at least pretend. But her patience was wearing thin, and either Milo knew what she was speaking of or he didn’t. So with a huff and turn of her heel, she would have folded her arms over her chest if she hadn’t been holding the plants. Fixing Milo with her hardest stare, she carried on nonetheless. “Look- you either know what I’m talking about or you don’t. So just tell me if you know or not, and then we can move on.” If he thought her weird and demanding he wouldn't be the first, and most certainly not the last, but she didn’t really care about the opinion a random person from highschool might form from this interaction as long as she got to ask the questions she wanted answers to.

“He sure did,” Nell replied with the beginnings of a smirk, giving Milo nothing when he seemed determined to do the same. Let him wonder at what Kyle had shared. Maybe he’d reveal too much by asking his own questions. “Why? Were you worried he said something about you?” It was a stab in the dark, and she had no real reason to think Milo might be worried about things he’d rather keep private. But she knew most people had something they wanted to hide. Milo most likely wouldn’t be an exception. She let him laugh at what he perceived to be a joke, waiting with a natural face until he was done, making no effort to join in. “I’m glad you thought it was funny. Demons don’t work like that, though.” Still, she was somewhat amused that he'd managed to stumble onto the demon portion of her magic. Not that he knew that.

They were close to the Vural property now, and the moonlight could be seen glittering on the glass of her greenhouse in the backyard of the house as the woods began to open up.

“We were.” Milo clarified. “Way back when we were at school. I ran into him the other day but… that was the first time in years.” He couldn’t understand why Nell was taking such an interest, but every word out of her mouth seemed to set him more on edge. There had to be an ulterior motive here, only he couldn’t understand what it might be. His eyes widening as she suddenly decided to take a direct approach, one he definitely hadn’t been expecting, his step faltered. He wasn’t able to hide his surprise, but he did everything he could to compose himself quickly. A few beats of silence passed before he managed to find his words again, and he knew it was essentially too late. But if he admitted he knew what Kyle was, he admitted to knowing about the supernatural. That was one step too close to her realising he was a part of that world too. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped. “And you’re being really fucking weird.” He gripped at her plants, angry at himself for offering to carry them. If his hands were free he would be able to walk away from this, remove himself from the situation.

Glaring at his company, his chest tightening at her words, he wondered whether Kyle really had told her what he was. For all he knew, she hated vampires. Maybe she really did intend to kill him out here in the middle of nowhere. Who knew of his location? Nobody, and he didn’t have time to shoot anyone a text. If he disappeared now, he disappeared forever. Only Nell would ever know what happened to him. The thought caused his stomach to churn uncomfortably. “Why should I be worried?” He demanded, kicking at brush, and brambles as he passed through them. “Forgive me for not knowing how demons work.” He added, more convinced than ever that this might actually be the end for him. Surely she wouldn’t risk hurting her plants though. At least he had that. She needed to wait until he put them down, and then he could reevaluate the situation. Maybe even make a break for it.

“Really? Why’d you guys lose touch?” Did it have to do with the whole werewolf thing? Nell continued to pry, her nosiness knowing now bounds as she tried to learn more about Kyle around the time he was bitten. If she understood him and his control then, maybe it would help with teaching him control now. The second show of surprise on his face only made the witch feel even more confident about her choice to confront him, even if he wasn’t giving anything specific away. She supposed if there was one thing to be said about Milo— it was that he was loyal. Which was unfortunate for her in this situation. Still, it was good that Kyle had friends who wouldn’t easily out him. Not that she should care about Kyle and whether his friends were suitable. His snappy response had her lips pursing, her temper flaring for a moment even though she knew she’d been the cause of Milo’s new shortness. “And you’re being really fucking rude.” She was used to being called weird, and though she’d set herself up for it, the word still held the gravity of all the times she’d been ostracized for being ‘weird’ while growing up— especially when coming from the mouth of an old classmate. “But if you wanna be a little shit about it, be my guest.”

She rolled her eyes at his comment about demons, no longer interested in curbing her words or being overtly nice now that it seemed he wasn’t going to give her any information. Nell hadn’t meant the words in a correctional way. They’d been more along the lines of informational. “Maybe you should be worried cause you’re acting exactly how people who have secrets would act.” Finally they’d arrived at her greenhouse, and she set her own plants on the ground so she could raise a charmed key to the door. If Milo hadn’t been here she would have used her magic to undo the lock that would respond only to her magical signature, but it’s be difficult to explain such a thing away. “You can put the plants down now,” she commented dryly, suddenly eager to get rid of the guy.

“We used to smoke in the bathrooms at school together. That’s not exactly something you keep doing after you graduate.” Milo pointed out. Not every friendship had a foundation strong enough to last. He knew Kyle because they shared a passion for breaking trivial school rules, and often wound up in the same detentions. Spending time together because you were essentially running on a schedule wasn’t quite the same as actively arranging to stay in contact. He was incredibly glad he had run into Kyle outside of the university, more than grateful considering Kyle was a part of his terrifying new world. But had they not crossed paths again, reaching out probably wouldn’t ever have crossed his mind. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that. “I’m being rude for pointing out you’re being weird?” He asked. “That’s bullshit.” Maybe he should feel guilty for being so cold, it was very possible Nell had good intentions. But until he knew for sure, he wasn’t giving in. And if he genuinely didn’t know about Kyle then this defensive anger would be coming very naturally to him. “I’m not being a little shit about anything, you’re the one demanding information I don’t fucking have.”

Narrowing his eyes as Nell came to a halt in front of the door to a greenhouse, he couldn’t exactly tell her she was wrong. He did have secrets. But then again, so did everybody. He definitely wasn’t alone in that fact. “Or maybe you’re projecting.” He countered, though he had no reason to believe she was. Watching as she opened the door, it suddenly struck him that a greenhouse might count as a part of her private dwelling. There was little chance of him being able to set the plants down inside if she didn’t first invite him in. He wasn’t sure whether she would be content with him putting them down on the floor, so he hovered awkwardly in the doorway, realising after a few moments had passed that she really wasn’t about to invite him inside. Despite him carrying her plants for her, despite him trying to make polite conversation. He had only been met with a confrontational attitude, and apparently now a distinct lack of thanks. Finally putting down the plants in his arms, lining them up beside the doorway he was trapped in, when he straightened up again, he was more than ready to shoot his company a glare. “What?” He demanded, unable to help himself. “You really aren’t going to invite me in?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking rude,” Nell shot back, her own temper stoked by the appearance of Milo’s. “You think you can just go around calling people weird?” It was more the principle of the matter than anything, the fact that Milo seemingly thought he had a right to call her names and get away with it. She snorted at his claim of ignorance, still not entirely sold when it came to him knowing nothing. “I’m asking, you’re the one getting all offended about it. Which makes you a little shit,” she replied snarkily, a smugness entering her voice.

A roll of Nell’s eyes, and she was fixing him with a withering glare from inside her greenhouse. “I don’t give a shit about people knowing stuff about me.” Or at least she specifically didn’t really mind if someone knew she was a witch. In honesty she thought it beneficial that people knew of her power. If people knew she and her sisters had power, they’d be less likely to mess with them. As for the more personal feelings in her life- those were the things she was bad at sharing, and letting people in on. She might have thanked him if she’d wanted his help in the first place, but now she wasn’t all that keen on giving him the satisfaction. At first she was pleased, and now surprised that he hadn’t walked into her greenhouse of his own accord. Had the guy finally decided to show some manners? The choice of his words were rather specific, and had her head cocking to the side with intrigue. He wanted her to invite him in? Arranging her new plants on a nearby worktable, a bulb of garlic caught her eye, and a flicker of connection fired in her brain. Well...there was only one way to find out if her newest suspicion was anything of substance. With a quick and easy flick of her wrist, she launched the garlic towards Milo without warning, savoring the flash of satisfaction she felt from the childish move. “No- I don’t think I will.”

“I mean, if they’re being weird then I don’t see an issue with it.” Milo countered, an edge to his voice to match the edge in Nell’s voice. He wasn’t exactly sure how they had ended up where they were but as far as he was concerned, she was entirely to blame. Maybe if she hadn’t pushed him, maybe if she wasn’t so desperate to talk about Kyle. “I’m not getting offended.” He added, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to wait in the doorway. “I’m getting annoyed, there’s a distinct fucking difference.” Letting out a huff of breath, he didn’t care how she felt about people knowing her information. Even if she was projecting, he was hardly interested in learning her secrets. They were probably more akin to which manure makes the best fertilizer, anyway. Something he would be more than happy to tell her.

In fact, he was in the process of opening his mouth to do so when he was distracted by her suddenly, and very pointedly throwing an object at him. Instinctively, he reached up to cover his face. But it wasn’t until the object hit him that he was able to discern what it was. If his body’s reaction to the plant wasn’t enough to give it away, the scent was very nearly overwhelming. It was a bulb of garlic. An actual bulb of garlic. Who even grew their own? He couldn’t understand why Nell would go to the effort when you could literally buy it pre-crushed in jars. Immediately feeling a jolt of disorientation, he scrambled to bat it away, fangs protruding, eyes flashing red as the skin it made contact with began to sting. “What the fuck?” He demanded, righting himself to stare at Nell with open disbelief. He wasn’t sure whether she had chosen the garlic on purpose, or accidentally stumbled upon what he was, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was no point in trying to hide from her. Not now. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He raised his voice, his indignation only growing as he was given time to fully process what had happened. “Did you just- you just threw garlic at me!”

You really aren’t going to invite me in? Milo’s words were thrown into clarity as she watched the flash of his fangs appear, and his apparent aversion for the plant became clear. “You’re a vampire.” Nell’s words weren’t so much a question as a means of telling him she’d seen the changes, and put the earlier and smaller hints together that she hadn’t thought to put as much stock in. Her stance took on an even more guarded pose, not knowing Milo well enough to feel confident in making a judgment on whether he was a vampire more along the lines of someone like Harsh, or someone more murderous or bloodthirsty. Either way she certainly wasn’t going to be inviting him into her greenhouse now. The witch’s arms folded across her chest, cocking her hip to the side as she gave the young man a thorough up and down, sizing him up in that same way she used to measure threats in the Ring. “So that’s why you were being so squirrely?” Did Milo being a vampire mean he was more likely to know of Kyle’s werewolf status?

“No shit. What gave it away?” Milo bit out, brushing himself down as he retracted his fangs, making a point of continuing to glare at Nell. He watched her as she shifted to take a more guarded stance, one that made it clear she was now actively scrutinizing him. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but he felt himself shrink a little under her gaze regardless. It was impossible to know what she was capable of, it was impossible to know what anybody in White Crest was capable of. Though he wasn’t exactly holding a torch for self preservation, if she decided to attack, his only real option would be to run. So he opted to stay where he was for now, awkwardly rubbing at his wrist where it had come into contact with the garlic. All he could do was stay silent, and hope she wasn’t trying to figure out where best to plunge a wooden stake. His skin was no longer stinging but the ghost of the feeling was there, he tried not to let it distract him. “I wasn’t being squirrely. Fuck you. You’re the one asking weirdly specific questions about somebody who isn’t even here!” He pointed out, indignant in the face of the accusation. “I know why, by the way. You’re not being subtle.”

Nell didn’t hesitate to return Milo’s glare, still not even entirely certain how they’d gotten to this point in the first place. Maybe she’d pushed too hard, but that wasn’t anything new for her. It was another one of the many reasons people in highschool had avoided the witch. There weren’t many people who took kindly to her abrasive personality, and it had been even more extreme back in those days. “Well most vampires walk like they have a stick up their ass so that was probably it.” Sorry Harsh. She made the mental apology to her friend, not actually believing the words, but wanting some childish way to retort Milo’s snark. Nell didn’t actually have anything against vampires so long as they weren’t witch hunters like Miriam, or lacked control in a way that made them a constant and active threat to others. “You were being squirrely. Basically dancing around my questions and shit, and getting all uppity.” Her eyes rolled again. “I gave up trying to be subtle about fifteen minutes ago, I’m not stupid enough to come on that strongly without being aware of it.” She’d learned that well enough through her time as a monster catcher and bounty hunter. “So you know Kyle’s a werewolf, then.” At least they’d gotten it out in the open. “Did you know when he was changed?” Now she could ask her questions point-blank.

Milo let out a huff of breath. “Oh, yeah? Have you ever thought maybe that’s just the vampires having to deal with you?” He countered. He wasn’t sure how they had managed to go from a genuine conversation to what could almost be considered an argument. But he wasn’t about to back down, it wasn’t in his nature. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure she wanted him to. “Because you were trying to get me to out a friend!” He explained, wondering whether she might be able to understand his reasoning, maybe even appreciate it. She had made it relatively clear she knew what Kyle was, but she could have been using him to get confirmation, to go behind his back. He would never forgive himself if he gave information to the wrong person, especially information that wasn’t his to give. “Without knowing what you know, did you honestly expect me to just come out and just say it? We aren’t friends, Nell. We said like two words together throughout the whole of high school.”

Narrowing his eyes when she brushed off his comment, insisting she hadn’t been aiming for subtlety, he waited, wondering whether she was going to say the words out loud. Say what they both knew, what he was continuing to carefully dance around. And then she did, and it was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Yes.” He said finally. “Did he tell you that?” It still felt strange, talking about it with a stranger. The least he could do was find out whether Kyle had confided in her, or if she had somehow pried the information out of him. If he had willingly been honest with her then he would begrudgingly accept the fact that she could be trusted. “Why?” He asked, some of his anger beginning to fade away. He was curious now, more so than anything else. “Do you mean did he tell me when it first happened? Or just… do I know when it happened in like, the timeline of our lives?”

“No it’s definitely a you problem,” Nell quipped back, unwilling to take any responsibility. “And I wasn’t trying to get you to out a friend. I was seeing if you already knew. It should have been obvious that I knew by the way I was asking- so you wouldn’t have been ‘outing’. Unless you’re too clueless to connect the dots between me talking about the moon and Kyle. You literally just said I wasn’t being subtle, though.” She rolled her eyes at the mention of them not being friends. As if she cared about something like that when it came to the random guy from highschool.

“Yeah, we talked about it.” That’s all Milo needed to know when it came to what she and Kyle had spoken of, the deeper conversation they’d gotten into with sleep still tugging at their eyes and the sun barely glinting over the horizon on Kyle’s patio. Her stubbornness made her balk at Milo’s request for why she wanted to know, but she doubted he’d answer her questions if she wholly refused to reply to his. “I’m trying to help him,” she supplied vaguely. “And I mean the second one- do you know when it happened in his life and stuff.”

Milo narrowed his eyes, but stayed quiet, allowing Nell to answer him despite her attitude making him want to interrupt. It would be so easy to cut her off, to argue, but he held his tongue. Resisting the urge so that he could hear what she had to say to him. It didn’t take long for his patience to falter, though. For his frustration to grow exponentially. Could she really be so oblivious? “You weren’t being subtle.” He bit out. “But for all I knew you only suspected Kyle. Isn’t that the oldest fucking trick in the book? Pretending someone confided in you so that you can get information on them from the people they actually trust?” Letting out a huff of breath when his company rolled her eyes, it was everything he could do not to turn around and leave. He only had two reasons to stay. He wanted to know more about Kyle, more about Nell, about the friendship they apparently shared. And he was also incredibly confident his continued presence would annoy her. If he left now he would only be giving her what she wanted, and he was petty. Undeniably so.

“That’s all you’re giving me?” He asked. “You talked about it?” Coming to realise she was never going to give him the information he wanted solely because she knew he wanted it, he decided to focus on what she was telling him. Or more accurately what she was asking him. “Do you think he needs help?” He hadn’t considered the fact that maybe his friend wasn’t coping. His version of support usually consisted of sharing a drink, and talking until the sun began to rise. What if Kyle needed more than that? Mechanisms that were actually considered healthy by society. He wasn’t any good with those. “Yeah, I know when it happened. I mean, obviously I didn’t at the time. I knew something was up, but it was only after seeing him again that he told me why he started acting so shady way back...”

“Oh my god, I know I wasn’t being subtle. I literally just said that was the point- that was I was doing it on purpose.” It was becoming rather apparent that something just wasn’t aligning all that properly between Nell and Milo, and the witch was starting to wonder if perhaps they were two people who simply tended to get along like water and oil. Or maybe it was just the conversation they’d chosen. Either way, she was annoyed. She mirrored Milo’s huff, while her eyes gave yet another roll. Nell had lost count of how many times she’d done it since their conversation had begun. “You’re the one who came up to me, remember? If I was actively trying to find out if Kyle was a werewolf, I would have orchestrated some way for us to meet. Not some stupid chance thing.” She’d done it countless times while she looked for bounties.

“I’m not telling you what we talked about,” Nell replied haughtily. It wasn’t any of Milo’s business, and it wasn’t as if she was going to tell a guy who’d only annoyed the shit out her thus far about the traumas she and Kyle had shared. “It’d be shitty when it was just for Kyle and me.” As for Kyle needing help...that was a question Nell was more willing to answer. Even though Milo was unbearable, he was Kyle’s friend. Someone that might care to help. And Kyle needed all the help he could get. But she didn’t want to outrightly expose Kyle, and she remembered how he’d wanted to set the boundary of requesting help from others. But still...she worried. “It’s...not easy adjusting to being a werewolf on your own.” That was the most specific she could get without outrightly saying he suffered with control. “He hasn’t had anyone to teach him.” She was disappointed that Milo hadn’t known at the time, but intrigued by the mention of Kyle having acted differently. “He started acting shady, how?”

Milo set his jaw. He was over Nell’s attitude, much like he suspected she was over his own. And his desire to hear what she had left to say was infuriating. Why couldn’t he just turn and leave? It should be easy to abandon their ridiculous conversation. “Yeah, I was trying to be nice. That might be a foriegn concept to you.” He snapped. It wasn’t fair that he was being blamed for how their interaction had played out. He had approached her with good intentions, it was utterly undeniable. “How am I supposed to know what he’s told you and what he hasn’t? Jeez.” He ran a hand through his hair, doing his best to expel his agitated energy. “I don’t need to know what you talked about. I think I just need to get out of here.” The longer they spoke, the more apparent it was becoming that they weren’t going to find a common ground. Maybe in another situation, under a different circumstance. But certainly not here, and certainly not right now.

He actually turned to leave, finally finding the motivation, before Nell hesitated. He noticed it, noticed the way she faltered at his question, and it made him wonder just how much he had yet to learn about Kyle. “No shit.” He muttered, stopping in his tracks. “It isn’t easy adjusting to being a vampire either.” His heart ached at the thought of Kyle, so young and scared. But there was nothing he could do to change the past. All he could do now was focus on the future, on being there for Kyle in any way he was able. “I know how that feels.” Pushing his glasses further up his nose, his expression momentarily softening, he caught Nell’s eye. Sharing in her concern, in her obvious affection for the werewolf. “It doesn’t matter.” He brushed off her request for him to elaborate, knowing the information wasn’t important. It wouldn’t help anybody now. “Just- I don’t know, be there for him, I guess. And I’ll do the same. We don’t have to like each other.”

Nell didn’t bother even considering that he’d claimed to be making an attempt at being nice, past the point of caring either way. And if he wanted to leave she certainly wouldn’t stop him. But then again...she hasn’t quite gotten to ask everything she’d wanted to. And though she was more than willing to try and bully the answers from him, she tried to think of Kyle— how upset he might be if he heard that she’d done her best to force answers from his friend. So she bit her tongue— quite literally digging her teeth into it in an attempt to exercise the very limited restraint she held. “Then go,” she replied, trying her best not to reignite the animosity in their conversation.

But then Milo had to go and insinuate that...perhaps he related a little more to Kyle than not. A reluctant prickle of sympathy flickered in her gut, and she did her best to squash it down for the time being. She was already barely treading water when it came to helping Kyle, and she shouldn’t add a vampire who had proven annoying as hell to her plate. Still...maybe she’d message him later, and try and figure out just how much Milo was like Kyle. But being there for Kyle was something she could do. And despite her argument with Milo— she was glad to hear it was something he was planning on as well. “Great. Then we’ll...watch out for Kyle.” Her stubbornness and petty nature made it hard to agree with the vampire who’d been a frustration. Still...in the end Kyle was more important. With a still angry shake of her head, she watched Milo as he left the property, and waited until he was out of sight to turn back to her greenhouse. She’d bother Milo later.

#// shoutout to jessie for being literally the most patient person in the universe <3 #ch:milo #chatzy #garlic dread

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

Text

Part 2 of MCU/Twilight verse

“That MCU crossover I’m writing that actually hasn’t mentioned the MCU at all yet.”

Alt 7: Found Family

Rating: T for swearing

Words: 2,551

Summary: Twilight X MCU crossover. The Snap doesn’t just kill humans. What happens next?

Notes: Is this even Whump-y enough to count to Whumptober? I don’t know, everyone’s grieving. I made myself watch Endgame again and I found something useful. I know it probably feels like I wiped out a lot of characters, but there’s method to my madness. I’m desperately resisting the urge to make some obvious corrections to the MCU, and I’m pretty sure the last two chapters are going to be needlessly self-indulgent. And yes, I need a title.

Part One here

two. survivors

What happens next?

It’s a good question, and one Alice used to be able to answer. Her predictions have… well, they haven’t stopped, but there are less. Maybe she’s not saying everything but he doesn’t press.

They stay in Forks. It’s the easiest option, really. They have resources at the Forks house - all of Jasper’s computers, Rose’s cars, Carlisle’s medication stash. And for, now, it makes sense to keep up the masquerade - the orphaned Cullen kids, in that big old house.

And Seth Clearwater. Neither of them have made more than polite inquiries about the Quileute reservation, because what can they do, really? They weren’t allowed on the land, and nothing they offer will be accepted. Seth doesn’t want to talk about it either, so they just… don’t. Not yet.

The first announcements and news reports are hard to listen to - half of all living creatures. Humans, animals, plants, sea-life… just gone. Then there are the people who survived, but died in the aftermath; the patients in surgery with the dust of their surgeons sinking into their chest cavity, the passengers on an airplane, the school bus with no driver. The news plays on, listing losses and catastrophes until he loudly asks if Seth wants to play Xbox instead.

Alice goes with them, and sits crosslegged on a recliner, watching them.

“Carlisle would have liked that,” she says suddenly, when Emmett realises the error in picking a war game - should have opted for a racing game instead.

“Liked what?” he asks, as he gets up to change the disc. Seth doesn’t say anything, playing with the recliner buttons instead.

“‘Half of all living creatures’,” she quotes. She’s been wearing one of Jasper’s t-shirts under her cardigan, and the scent of his brother is fading the longer she wears it. “Carlisle would have appreciated that. That the universe thought we were living creatures. Might have convinced Edward that we weren’t total monsters, either.”

Seth looks up at her, confused. “Why wouldn’t you be living creatures?” he asks, concentrating at the recliner tips him right back.

“We don’t breathe or age or change,” Alice says, a smirk playing around her face as Seth yelps when the entire chair begins to tip, but luckily it doesn’t fall.

“But you eat,” Seth accepts the controller Emmett passes him. “And you’ve got families. That means you still count.”

“I wish we didn’t.” Emmett doesn’t realise he’s said those words aloud until he realises Seth and Alice are both staring at him. He wants to explain that if they didn’t count, then there wouldn’t be five vases lined up on the mantel (three empty) full of dust. That he wouldn’t be sitting here playing Xbox with Seth Clearwater, and Alice wouldn’t be wearing leggings and her husband’s t-shirt, looking brittle and tired. That he wouldn’t go into their room every night, and bury his face in Rose’s clothes to keep himself from going insane.

But he doesn’t need to. They both understand - Alice sits with Seth when the boy sniffles and tries to hide it; Emmett hears Alice padding around Jasper’s office, having a conversation with thin air, questions asked to silence. If there was some loophole they could grab with both hands and exploit, he knows he and Alice and Seth would take it, humanity and life and all those upright and moral things be damned.

“Just what everyone needs,” Alice muses, leaning back and stretching like a cat. “A world where humans and animals were cut in half but the vampires weren’t.”

And she’s right. That would be a mess. The fucking end of times.

“That would be a cool movie,” Seth says absently, focused on the screen and forcing Emmett’s car off the road and into a ravine.

Alice watches them play for awhile before getting up. A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door and low voices. Charlie Swan, with Carlisle’s phone. Emmett lets Seth win a second race, focused on the conversation Alice is having - why it took Charlie so damn long to bring the phone, how they’re holding up; his irritation at the delay it took to get Carlisle’s phone is tempered when he hears the genuine concern Charlie has for Alice. He doesn’t know much about Bella’s father, but he seems like a good guy.

Not that Alice needs to act the part - she looks broken. Most of the time he feels like he’s seeing a part of her that he shouldn’t be seeing, that the loss and grief that becomes her is somehow shameful to witness; it’d be less awkward to see her naked than to see her twisting Jasper’s t-shirt in her hands with that glassy look of hopelessness she tries to hide.

Alice feels the same about him; that Emmett without Rose is devoid of that joie de vivre, that endless good humour, the extra joke. He feels tired in his bones, deflated, and distracted with the space in his chest that Rose used to fill. He feels like an old man, when he was never finished being a young man, never made it to middle-age.

But they are trying. Especially with Seth in the house - he’s taken over the bedroom that Esme planned to give to Bella, mostly because it didn’t stink of vampires as much as any other room; and neither of them wanted to dismantle Esme’s studio or Carlisle’s office. It wasn’t really much - a mattress and boxspring, a dresser and desk. Alice had given him a laptop to use, and found some new bedding for him, and occasionally even remembered that a fourteen year old boy shouldn’t be eating pizza six nights a week, and probably needed more boundaries than they were giving him. But Alice isn’t maternal, and her attempts at forcing vegetables and a bedtime on Seth usually get forgotten within a day or two.

Charlie Swan leaves, and he listens as Alice puts Carlisle’s phone into his vase, and then he focuses on the game so that Seth doesn’t think he’s letting him win because of pity or anything.

—

It’s not until late summer than people start bothering them. Parents of classmates who suddenly don’t have any children of their own to worry over. Colleagues and acquaintances who feel some kind of lingering responsibility. Busy-bodies, usually a part of some self-aggrandising self-appointed community group butting into everyone’s grief.

Alice ignores the early attempts to interfere, to crack open both the metaphorical and literal door for anyone who isn’t Charlie Swan. She’s taken to doing the oddest tasks, but Emmett doesn’t ask. At the moment, she’s painting every single door in the house with a swirling pattern of flowers that is tiny and detailed and fills up the day. Esme would have a conniption if she saw her lovely doors like this (he remembers when Alice and Jasper first arrived, and her art projects ran afoul of Esme - she had apologised and channeled that manic energy into embroidery instead; there’s a pair of unspeakably ugly curtains hanging in the Vermont house from one panicked week when Jasper went off with Peter and Charlotte).

Then the harassment starts - both her and him, since he’s apparently considered her ‘guardian’. Alice hangs up the phone numerous times wordlessly before being so outstandingly rude to Mrs Newton that both he and Seth stare at her before Emmett remembers he’s actually supposed to be in charge - as far as the rest of the town knows, at least - and calls to deter any more visits or phone calls or casseroles because Alice isn’t well and the disruptions are upsetting her.

If Carlisle or Esme were here, they’d think to send Mrs Newton flowers or something as an apology, but they aren’t, and no one can get Alice to apologise when she doesn’t want to, and Seth confided in him that she’s crying when he’s hiding in the garage and Seth is totally at a loss over what to do about a crying girl that isn’t Leah, so maybe they’ll just leave it at that. Give the town something new to gossip about.

But it does spark sudden realisation in both Cullens about a topic that has been long forgotten - school. Alice and Emmett have both graduated, but Seth had not. Seth had another four glorious years in high school, even if the Res school is down to double digits of enrolments, and probably won’t even run every weekday.

Seth whines and begs and negotiates until Alice stamps her foot and demands to know what Sue Clearwater would say and that makes Seth all small and miserable, and Alice hates herself and Emmett solves the problem by making a large donation through one of their anonymous charities to the Res school so that Seth can at least do online learning, and apparently that’s a huge deal that is on the local news, and that makes Alice and Seth laugh because only Emmett would stop a teenage boy’s whining by revolutionising a tribe’s educational provisions with a cheque large enough to sustain a small city for a year.

But it’s good help - it means the children who suddenly have no parents and have to raise siblings can still study; it means that half-empty classrooms don’t necessarily mean half-empty classes; it also means that other tribes with larger losses and no way of schooling are invited to join them.

That’s one good thing they’ve managed.

He also fixed the backdoor as good as new, so it should be two, but he’s pretty sure that doesn’t count now that Alice has painted flowers blooming and dying all over it.

At some point they both bully Seth into going home again, to get his own stuff - clothes and bedding and photos and all those things you look for when you’re in a house that isn’t yours. He yells at them, they yell at him, and he storms off. But now there’s a photo of him with his parents and sister on his dresser, and a bunch of books crowding his desk, and the world’s most beat-up DS under his pillow. There are more photos, somewhere - Emmett knows that because Alice knows where they are and then one day there are two framed photos joining the vases on the mantle - one of Sue and Harry Clearwater on their wedding day, and one of Leah laughing. Neither of them knows what happened to Sue or Leah precisely on that day, but Seth doesn’t bring the ashes with him, so they don’t ask.

Summer folds into fall, and what’s left of Esme’s gardens wither up. Charlie Swan checks on them every few weeks, sounding tired. There’s a lot of work for him right now - mostly community and social issues, like scared and orphaned children hiding, people struggling with money, grief, religion. There’s been some shortages of food, since there’s less being grown, less people to process and package and ship it, and a little town hours outside of Seattle is not a priority to whomever is deciding where to send a milk delivery.

They order Seth’s food from high-end places online that deliver them quickly and quietly; Alice starts choosing long-life and bulk items, and no one needs to ask because it’s obvious things will get worse before they get better. Seth holds a pretty intense grudge against the powdered strawberry milk, though.

But food shortages are the least of their worries, as Alice uses the dining room wall to start taking nonsensical notes, and Emmett’s heard enough stories to know that losing a mate can be… well, he’s not having much fun, but the very last thing he needs is to wrangle Alice if she’s lost her mind. Dead or not, he knows he could never lay a hand on her even if she did go nuts out of love for his family, out of respect for Jasper, and out of this funny bond they’ve somehow formed, being the last ones left.

The notes turn into lists, lists of everyone they’ve ever known, in her swirling handwriting. Even people they know are gone, like Bella, goes on the list.

Then she starts striking out names, like she’s slashing with a knife - Carlisle, Esme, Jasper, Rosalie, Edward, Bella, Charlie, Sue, Leah, Sam, Jacob, Paul… Slash, slash, slash.

Then it starts getting interesting. Peter and Charlotte are gone, but so are half the goddamned Volturi (Alice smirks as she crosses out Caius, Jane, Alec, Dimitri because imagining Aro on his throne with grief-mad Marcus and only the minions is a pretty picture indeed). Carmen and Tanya have survived, but Kate, Irina, and Eleazer are gone. Garrett is alive, but Randall and Mary aren’t. J Jenks didn’t make it either, which makes things… difficult.

Alice scowls darkly as she scratches out Maria’s name, and Emmett wonders if it’s because she didn’t get to do the honours of destroying the Mexican harpy herself. Or because wherever Jasper is now, so is Maria, and Alice is left behind.

Finally, she is done, and the list is nearly balanced in living and dead. Alice’s left eye twitches, and whatever she’s thinking she doesn’t say as she stands up.

“Alaska and then Mexico, then,” she says to him, and he gives her the Look that he gives her and Edward and Jasper every time one of them forgets that not everyone has a gift and some of them have to use their words.

“We need to check on Carmen and Tanya; I think they need us,” Alice explains, still examining the list. “I saw that we need to go. And then we’re going down to Mexico.”

“Maria’s dead,” he gestures at her list, and Seth wanders in stuffing his face with Pringles, and turns white at the sight of Esme’s freshly defaced walls; evidently Motherly Wrath is something universal across all of the species.

“Maria’s dead, and left behind a bunch of fresh newborns,” Alice sounds tired. “There’s no one left for clean up, Em, no one who knows. And it will be bad if we don’t step in soon.”

There might be something cathartic in that for Alice, undoing Maria’s life’s work. Maria’s lands weren’t exactly in the wealthiest or most populated lands these days - Jasper kept a secret map that wasn’t at all a secret - and if going down there and taking off a few heads saves a mother or father or child, then maybe it’s worth the hassle.

“Fine. Alaska and Mexico,” he agrees, and Seth cheers.

“Road-trip!” he declares around a mouthful of chips. Alice rolls her eyes.

“I’ll make you up a passport,” she says, not even bothering to argue with the younger boy that he’ll be joining them. “We’ll take the Jeep, Em - Rose just finished it.”

The words hang in the air for a second, and he nods in agreement. There might be something in that, taking the last gift-gesture-offering Rose ever did for him on their End-of-the-World Road Trip. Alice can rip the heads off newborns, he can drive around in the SUV his wife carefully and lovingly put together just to please him, and maybe he’ll buy Seth a beer in Tijuana.

Closest thing they’ll ever get to therapy, he supposes.

#my fic: jar of hearts #alice cullen #emmett cullen #seth clearwater #twilight fic #i should check the jalice prompts again for ch 3 #but is this crossovery enough for a crossover?#like we're aggressively not talking about the avengers yet #we'll get there #i promise the roadtrip isn't just an excuse to run into captain america buying a milkshake or something #there is plot and purpose #we are above that sort of cloying and anemic meet cute #in this fic at least #others not so much

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sam-roulette · 4 years

Note

Timsasha; angst; a lamp, a fountain, and a map?

(I am going to hurt you I am going to rip your heart out This is just a little TimSasha wedding story!! Hope you enjoy <3)

vows, brittle and old

“My hair looks fine, right?”

“I think the zipper here is getting caught…”

“I can!!! Take those off your hands if you need help-”

“Good Lord, Tim,” Jon said, exasperated, “you’re going to pass out at the altar.”

Tim’s hands fluttered uncertainly in the air in front of him for a moment before he brought them closer to his chest, sheepish. “Don’t think I could fall asleep if the Queen herself commanded it at this point,”

“What’s the Queen got to do with it?” Martin pondered, setting down the last box of tiny decorative lamps. “Seems like she’d have better things to worry about,”

“I don’t know, it just,” Tim gestured somewhat helplessly, “came to mind? You know, commands and orders and whatever are monarchial bull but maybe the shock of seeing some random royal away from a guillotine will do- something,”

“You’re spiraling,” Jon deadpanned.

Tim frowned, “I’m not spiraling.”

“He’s just nervous,” Martin patted Tim’s shoulder sympathetically, shooting a little look at Jon. Tim made a mental note to tell Sasha to double down on the “make sure Martin gets the bouquet” plan they’d been cooking up. “The man’s getting married! Cut him some slack!”

“I will do no such thing.” Jon said, “He’s still in the way,” But Tim could see that he was fighting down a smile. Jon was a lot easier to read than he thought he was, and honestly, if he’d really been as stoic as he tried to pretend to be, Tim might not have made him his best man. But it was plain to see that Jon was happy, and the feeling was infectious.

The lamps had been Sasha’s idea. She and Tim had wandered around the garden all those months ago in the precious first planning stages and found that there was nowhere to feasibly hang the fairy lights he’d thought about putting up for the reception. It’d been a bit of a disappointment, but Sasha came through as always; he wasn’t even sure where she’d managed to find so many little vintage-looking electrical lamps, but they were a marvel, settled on top of the dark tablecloths.

Martin was doing a remarkable job of setting up, of course, but Tim just couldn’t find it in himself to sit still.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t need my help?” Tim asked instead, watching Martin continue to set up.

Martin sighed from where he’d been unloading the lamps, gesturing with a faux rustic-gold ornament. “No, Tim, we do not need help- and you shouldn’t be helping!”

“All you need to do is go and look pretty,” Jon said, “Shouldn’t be hard for you,”

“Oh, Jon,” Tim mock-gasped, “you think I’m pretty,”

Jon rolled his eyes, “Pretty annoying, yes,”

“But. Still pretty, right-?”

“You look very pretty, now please go check on the altar,” Martin cut in quickly, a few notes of red dusting his cheeks after he realized how quickly he’d cut in. Tim grinned. He couldn’t help teasing Martin, when it was just so Easy with a capital E to get him rankled. “P-Please.” Martin added again, belatedly.

“Aye aye,” Tim said, giving a little salute, unable to keep his smile from widening. It was a little soothing, seeing that these two were the same as ever. Definitely helped with the jitters.

“Ah- don’t forget the map,” Martin said, almost offhanded as he pressed the little square of folded paper into Tim’s hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim said, “See you there!”

Tim waved as he disappeared into the little hedge maze of greenery, hoping his cheeks would be alright after today. He still couldn’t stop smiling, God- and sure, it was just the best day of his life which was going to be shared with quite literally the best human being on earth for the rest of their natural-born lives. It was just this life-changing emotional event. But Tim could play it cool. Save all that energy for the hours of revelry or, better yet, the vows.

Even in the relative quiet of the garden, he couldn’t help it. Leaving the sounds of Jon and Martin’s good-natured bickering behind, Tim’s thoughts were just as loud as ever, and the only thing on his mind (always, always) was Sasha, Sasha, Sasha.

Sasha was walking down that aisle in a little less than an hour. God, Tim could feel his heart threatening to leap out of his chest at the thought- abort mission, life’s too damn perfect and happiness meters are so high the whole thing’s going nuclear. Tim was turning left at every hedge with his brain fluffing up like clouds and he, genuinely, didn’t know how anything could top this.

Tim was so in love that it physically ached. He was sure that was just the nerves- it’d felt like an eternity since he’d seen his Sasha at this point!- but the squeeze of his heart in his chest was so profound that for a moment, he needed to pause. Beside him, a wall of pink mandevilla vines towered up, smelling sweet and lovely in the June air.

Wait, Tim suddenly thought, Why do I have a map?

Tim slowed to a stop in front of the flowers, eyebrows furrowing. It’d seemed so normal in the moment that he hadn’t really thought about it, but it was odd that Martin had given him a map, right? Like, that was a weird thing to be given. The garden wasn’t really all that complicated to go through. He just had to…

Hm. He’d thought the venue owner said nothing would be in bloom until that evening.

…

Tim shook his head, frowning to himself. Maybe this had been getting to him more than he’d thought- the nerves, the anticipation of seeing Sasha walk up the aisle, looking like he’d never seen her before… He wished he’d taken a little peek before when he’d had the chance, if only to assuage his nerves. Just the tiniest little peek, long after Sasha had laughed in that beautiful way of hers and kissed him on the lips and said to be patient. Maybe then he’d have room to remember the map.

He unfolded the thing to see what he’d forgotten in the initial daze of premarital bliss. Made sense to, right about then, when he was pretty sure he was in a part of the garden that he hadn’t been in before. The last thing Tim needed was to be late for his own wedding- even if it’d be funny later on, Sasha would never let him live it down!

Maybe that cheerful thought was why it took him a moment to recognize it to be a map of the Archives.

…

… Alrighty then!

Well, mix-ups happened to the best of people. Martin really had been doing a lot to make sure the reception was being set up, so it made sense that maybe he just mixed up the maps somehow. The garden map probably would have looked newer than this old thing anyway- something far different from the rough, rusty lines, looking like the hurried work of someone trying not to be caught…

Tim was just glad he almost certainly had time to make it to the altar. The garden wasn’t very big, even if he was standing by a wall of thoughtlessness, so he’d probably loop his way back around eventually. Gave him time to think, in the end. More time to rehearse his vows.

The flowers by his side swayed lightly in the summer breeze as Tim stood, adjusting his cufflinks and thinking.

“Really Tim,” Jon muttered, even more exasperated than before. That was Tim’s fault, probably- wasn’t a good idea to be pissing off your best man. What was that old trivia fact he’d heard? Something about best men being there to act as bait in case of evil? That was a high enough price for Tim to forgive a little stalking following.

“Sorry, sorry!” Tim said, smiling sheepishly. “I was just- y’know, thinking of the vows,” Which, of course, had to be perfect, because Sasha was going to be perfect and he just knew he couldn’t mess this up.

(Was it weird that maybe he was still trying to parse out whether Persephone or Proserpina would be a more thematic mention? Perhaps, but Greek versus Roman had such different vibes. Tim wasn’t sure about likening himself to Hades or Pluton. Maybe Janus was an option-)

He wasn’t moving because he was apprehensive. He wasn’t moving because he was in love. There was a difference.

Jon understood. Jon was watching him, after all.

“She’ll be walking in five minutes,” Jon hissed out, harried.

“We better get on out there, right?” Tim asked, smiling.

The grip he suddenly had on Tim’s arm was a vice, filled with strength that Tim wouldn’t have expected from the scrawny stick of a man. He’d been so harried lately (about the wedding of course) that Tim was honestly surprised he apparently had the time to keep his strength up.

The brush of pink flowers as they walked directly through the vines barely registered to Tim, who was just so happy that it was finally happening. Here and now, in the garden, surrounded by everyone they loved, he was going to marry the love of his life. (And underneath were others that they loved who couldn’t make it.) Why else was it so hard to breathe but for the anticipation?

The altar was neatly set up, dwarfed by the massive fountain at the garden’s center, rising so high into the air that it felt like something from a fairytale. Atop a stone pedestal sat a tall woman, holding in one hand a simple horn to her ear and in the other, a glassless mirror. The water flowed from the horn and from her fingertips around the mirror and from around her waist, gently sloping into the basin below with crystal clarity and pooling around her stone feet. It had been the feature that sold Tim on the place immediately.

The fountain woman had no face. Tim had tried, before, to find the angle that would let him take a peek at the “hand mirror” she held before herself, trying to find a way to see her face and complete the impression of the art piece, but he never could get a clear shot.

For a moment, Tim toyed with the idea of asking Jon, who was fidgeting by his side and making a bit more of a fuss about the whole wedding, to help him see if the fountain’s face was inside the mirror.

Then, he wasn’t thinking much of anything. Sasha was here. It was starting.

Tim held his breath as from the other end of the aisle, Martin gently held aside the curtain of willow vines and gestured the bride forward. Sasha stepped delicately through, raising her ivory skirt just enough to keep from tripping over the fabric before she smoothed it down.

Tim’s heart stopped dead in his chest, and oh, she was radiant. Even with the pearly opaque veil covering her features, she was a vision, standing taller than he had ever seen her in a dress that swooped low on her brown shoulders and trailed out behind her. The sleeves were embroidered with flowers, reminding Tim of the summer clematis Jon had dragged him through, and her curls were pinned up in an elaborate coif dotted with pearls.

Tim only wished that night would come sooner, so the sky could gaze at her and weep for jealousy- no amount of stars or galaxies could compare. Even through the gloves that slipped into Tim’s hands, Sasha’s hands were warm, and he could feel her smile.

Tim loved her so terribly that it just might kill him.

“You’re beautiful,” Tim breathed, ignoring the preacher’s beginning statements.

Sasha huffed out a little laugh, voice so bright it bathed them in sunlight, “You haven’t even seen what’s under the veil,”

“I don’t need to,” Tim said, feeling happy tears prick at his eyes. He just barely avoided biting his lip, trying to suppress them. He at least wanted to start crying after they’d declared their undying love for each other. If he started now, he might not have been able to stop.

“I love you,” Sasha breathed.

Tim’s heart was beating for the love of it. “I love you too- always will,” With trembling fingers, Tim slowly lifted the veil so he could see her face. The fabric moved fluidly with the motion and, fully exposed to the light of day, Tim saw…

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She stood before him, full lips painted a soft petal pink and parted gently. Dark brown freckles dotted her tawny skin in constellations, all seeming to lead to the beauty mark under her left eye. And what big eyes they were, large and brown and gazing at him with such love that Tim felt faint. She was tall and picturesque, as though she’d stepped off the stone pedestal fully formed, a beacon for poets to celebrate and lovers to mourn for.

Tim looked at her face and his heart sang, I know you, I know you, I know you.

Tim whispered, “You’re not Sasha.”

The woman looked at him in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. Those full lips took on a worried twist. “Tim…? That’s,” She smiled a bit, shaking her head, “Come on now- of course I am! Don’t tell me you forgot your beautiful bride already?”

This woman was beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful woman that Tim had ever seen and a dream come true put in a form able to stand in front of him. He looked at her and was overwhelmed with how much he wanted to take her face in his hands and hold it there, close to him. He asked, louder, “Who are you?” and his brain was spinning on its axis, falling out of orbit.

Why isn’t she here?

What did she do to Sasha?

The woman’s smile was fading. “I’m… I’m Sasha. Tim, we- I’m really Sasha. Are you…?” She was reaching her hand out.

“Where is she?” Tim asked, taking a shaking step back. There were murmurs from the crowd of onlookers, but he couldn’t make out their faces like this, not out the corner of his eye. He might have been able to remember their faces if he or Sasha had any family left alive. “Where is she?”

“I’m right here,” Sasha said, eyes widening. She was pretty- so damn pretty that it made Tim’s chest ache like he should know this like this is irrational or a trick or-

This was a trick. It had to be.

Taking another shaky step back, Tim nearly tripped over himself as he looked out toward the crowd of onlookers, calling out, “Sasha! Sasha, this was- it was a funny joke. Come on, I know you- you wouldn’t just,” His throat caught on leave me.

“Tim, please,” The imposter said, reaching a hand out to him, “This really isn’t funny. You know me!”

“No,” Tim said faintly, “No-” He turned back toward the crowd. Jon stood in the audience and watched as Tim started rushing away from the altar, “Sasha! Where are you, Sash? Come on, it’s- you’re here, right?!”

“I am! I’m right in front of you!” Sasha cried desperately, rushing after him and taking him by the shoulders. Her hands were so warm against his shoulders. The real Sasha was always cold. “Tim, please. Look at me.”

(Sometimes in more ways than one- was he really so surprised to have been left at the altar?)

(He wasn’t moving because he was in love. He wasn’t moving because he was in love.)

The woman asked him, “What do you see?”

Tim slowly turned to face her, searching. She looked at him so earnestly, so desperately that it made him want to believe. Could someone lying look so close to genuine tears? Could someone lying have that much power in her voice, the much fear?

Could Sasha have any of those things? The Sasha he knew?

(He knew the answer.)

“I don’t know,” Tim said. The woman recoiled as though it were a physical blow, her hands jerking away.

“But…” The woman whispered, voice high and reedy, “I thought I was unforgettable?”

There was something to that. Something familiar. Something-

The world winked out.

Tim awoke in darkness, tears streaming down his face that he didn’t understand. The face of the woman in the dream who claimed to be Sasha but wasn’t was already retreating into the black, disappearing before the first of the tears cluttering along her lower lashes could fall.

And as Tim looked up at the ceiling, more awake than he’d felt since Prentiss, he wondered what had brought this all on, bewildered and feeling even more bewildered when his chest still ached.

He had fallen out of love with Sasha James months ago.

For a moment, Tim peered up at his ceiling and waited for the remnants of tears to dry. For a moment he considered getting up and starting the day early, or at least finding something to eat. In the end, though, he didn’t want to deal with the thought of having to go to the institute later or dealing with Jon outside the window, watching. Always watching.

Tim rolled back over and closed his eyes. He could stand to stay in bed for a bit longer.

#timsasha #tim stoker #sasha james #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #angst #canon compliant #wedding fluff #:)#unreality tw #sam tag

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queenofheaven82 · 3 years

Text

PART III - Abandoned

Lacey folded her arms, shivering under Max's letter jacket which was draped over her shoulders. She tried to make as many of his games as she could, even when she had to bring her homework with her. For all Max's faults, she knew his hockey playing had little support at home -- his dad had preferred he'd played football -- so she tried to encourage him.

Looking up every so often from Twentieth Century in the U.S., she would spot his number sixty-four on the ice. He skated across the rink at a dizzying speed, skillfully guiding the puck when it came to him. Hockey always looked so easy to play from this vantage point.

But as good a player as Max was, there were two people who thwarted him when he played against Eden Hall: the Ducks goalie, Julie "The Cat" Gaffney and, of course, Banks. Banks was twice as fast as Max, and Lacey noticed the way he sailed alongside Max almost menacingly, usually managing to finagle the puck away. He was deft at dodging defense and was completely unafraid of engaging guys that were bigger than him.

However, something was different tonight. Adam skated more slowly than usual, and each tackle against the wall he took seemed to take him longer to recover from. Finally -- for the first time Lacey had ever seen -- Coach Orion benched him. She could tell Adam was not happy. He took off his gloves and slammed them down on the bench, pacing restlessly until Coach Orion came over and uttered what looked to Lacey like a few harsh words, but followed it with a hand on the young man's shoulder. As little as Lacey knew about hockey, she had to admit, Coach Orion seemed good for the Ducks. He had begun as their JV coach a few years ago, but it became very apparent the team's bond was unbreakable, and Coach Orion moved up to Varsity with the team he had become so proud of -- the Mighty Ducks.

Lacey felt a little guilty paying more attention to Adam than Max during the game, but she was still trying to figure him out. She knew that as a twelve-year-old she'd probably been naive to put the boy on a pedestal simply because he'd offered his scarf when her nails were bleeding. But at the time, it had been the kindest thing a peer had done for her in a long time. As much of a hardball as Mr. Banks was, Adam surely was raised right on some level. The small, seemingly insignificant act showed he had compassion.

But did she really know anything else about him? Not exactly. He seemed quiet and somewhat serious, but she never saw him outside of hockey games. Yet his actions at the party indicated to her that he wasn't anything special. Just a guy, a good hockey player. Yet still, she struggled to keep her focus away from his strong presence when he was close by.

What was wrong with her? She added her recent fascination with Adam to the mental list she was keeping of ways she seemed to be changing lately. The culprit had to be senior year. Her mom had warned her about this -- the change in priorities, in interests, and the confusion about life in general.

Soon the game ended without Adam ever getting a chance to go back on the ice. Without his toughest competition, Max soared, his success only hampered by Gaffney. In the end the Ducks won anyway, but Max seemed quite full of himself for the goals he'd scored.

It usually took awhile for Max to take off all his padding and gear and then get a shower, and Lacey was tired of sitting on the bleachers, so she made her way into the frigid night air, tossed her history book in the back of Max's newly repaired car and decided to walk around the campus of Eden Hall for awhile.

The buildings stood tall and proud, covered with ivy in places with huge, well-lit walkways and flowers blooming on either side of her. What would it be like to go to school at this place? To have money and influence at all?

Lacey's mind wandered as she strolled along, trying not to venture too far from the car so she would be able to tell when Max was ready to go, but she had to fight the urge to explore every square inch of this place. She saw a fountain in the center of a nearby courtyard, closed down for the winter, but she could just imagine how beautiful it would be in the summer sunlight.

"Um, excuse me!"

Lacey was jarred from her tranquility by the sound of footsteps running up behind her. She couldn't see well enough, even by the streetlamps, to identify the girl, but her voice was friendly enough.

"I think you might have dropped this." As the girl approached, she held out a pink and purple koosh ball, half the rubber strands missing from it.

Lacey's face felt hot as she reached out and grabbed the ball quickly. "Oh, it's... my little sister's," she forced a smile. "Thank you. I guess it fell out of my bag. I was keeping it for her..." She tucked it quickly into her purse as far down to the bottom as possible.

"Oh, you have a little sister?" the girl beamed. "I do too, back in Bangor. I miss her like crazy, being this far away."

Feeling responsible to be at least a little friendly given how abrupt she was in retrieving the koosh ball, Lacey forced a pleasant tone. "You're here from Bangor, Maine?"

The girl nodded, holding out her hand. "Julie Gaffney."

Lacey's brows shot up in surprise. The goalie for the Ducks? She'd never seen Julie before in person, underneath all the pads and face shields. She wasn't sure what she'd imagined Julie to be like, but certainly not like this: normal and friendly with long braided hair and a sweet, girl-next-door face.

"Lacey Primmer," Lacey returned the introduction.

"Are you a student here?"

"Oh, no, I'm... we're from R.M. High. My boyfriend Max and I," Lacey replied.

"Max Shipley?"

"The very one," Lacey chuckled.

"Oh gosh, no kidding! First line center for the Rockets." It was Julie's turn to raise her brows. "He's really good! Stiff competition."

Lacey nodded, smiling. "Yeah, hockey's his life."

"I'm just as guilty," Julie grinned. "Since I was old enough to skate. So, have you ever played?"

Lacey shook her head. "I'm no good on ice, or skates at all, actually. But it is pretty fascinating to watch you guys."

"Yeah, it's fun," Julie sighed fondly. "That's something Coach Bombay really taught us back in the day -- have fun, above all else. It is just a little nice to win, though" she chuckled. I almost thought we weren't going to pull out, though, when Adam was benched."

Lacey opened her mouth, wanting to... say something? Ask something?

"He seemed to be hurting," she blurted out. "Does he have an injury?"

Julie took a deep breath and shrugged. "Honestly, nobody can figure out what's wrong with him lately. Something's definitely changed, but he's keeping mum. Of course though, that's Adam. He keeps it all locked down tight, if you know what I mean. Probably just how he was raised. Keep a stiff upper lip, that kind of thing."

Lacey nodded, thinking back to the party.

"You know Adam, too?" Julie asked.

"Not really," Lacey replied. "I mean, I've seen him around at parties I've gone to with Max..."

She declined to specify that she meant only one party.

Julie giggled. "He catches eyes, for sure. Handsome guy."

"Oh, I don't mean it that way," Lacey cut in quickly, letting out a short laugh. "He's just, you know, this supposed legend. He commands a room when he comes in, I guess 'cause people know he's the star of the Ducks."

Julie nodded. "The good thing about Adam, though, is that he's all about hockey, not really the glory. I know all jocks say that stuff, but it's really true with him. He stays totally focused on the game. I mean, when he cheers after making a goal, it's because he's just happy he made it."

Lacey nodded again, thoughtfully.

Julie rubbed her hands briskly, wrapping her scarf around her more tightly. "Well, it was nice meeting you! I'm glad I could give you back your sister's koosh."

"Yeah, she'd really miss it," Lacey smiled. "Thank you. Maybe I'll see you at the next game."

Julie laughed. "Sure, that would be cool. It's good to know Shipley's girlfriend isn't a total snob."

Lacey returned a light laugh. "Right. Well... take care, and good game."

As Julie walked away, Lacey felt warmed to the soul. It had been so long since she and another girl had had a good conversation. But Max was out of the locker room now and making his way to his car, looking around in the dark for her.

"I'm here," she jogged back to him. "Good job tonight, Babe." She went around to the driver side and gave him a long kiss.

"I know," he grinned when she pulled back. "Here." He opened the door and she jumped in and scooted over to the passenger side.

"I'm glad you got your car fixed, by the way."

Max snorted, getting in after her. "Yeah no shit."

They rode in silence awhile.

"Max?"

"Yeah?" he reached out and slung his arm around her shoulders.

"What do you think will happen after we graduate?" Lacey let the words drop.

"What do you mean?" he glanced over for a second as he steered the car out of the parking lot.

"I just... I mean, I don't know. You're going to be going off to Minnesota State on a scholarship, and I'm just... going to be here."

"Yup. Good ol' community college," he chuckled.

Lacey felt a stab in her chest. "Max, you know that wasn't my choice."

"Then don't do it. Why would you ever want to stay in this place? I mean get out, see the world! Come to State with me."

"You know it's not that simple," she let out a deep breath. "I've tried financial aid six ways to Sunday, but somehow I still don't qualify... and then there's Mom."

"Your Mom will be fine, Lacey, God. She's got Stuart. Aren't they ever getting married?"

"I have no idea. But until then, if that even happens, she needs me to work, help her with the rent and utilities. You know how Phil Banks is about his stupid rent. No grace periods for us..."

Max snorted. "Well yeah, what do you expect out of a Banks? Ruthless assholes. Anyway, if that's what you wanna do, I mean whatever. But Lacey, I gotta be honest."

Lacey inconspicuously reached into her purse to squeeze her koosh.

"I don't know if I can do the long distance thing. It might be nice to find some girls to just talk to at school, you know? Not that I'd forget you, of course," he added quickly. "I wouldn't take anyone seriously, just... I don't want to get too lonely from missing you," he tightened his arm across her shoulders.

Lacey paused a moment, trying to register the emotions spilling in through her head. "So in other words... you want to date other girls because you just can't be alone. From the sound of it, we may as well just break up before college, am I right?"

"Oh, hey, no!" Max answered quickly. "I mean... we could maybe take a break and stuff, but I wouldn't just dump ya," he laughed light-heartedly as though they were talking about which gallon of ice cream to buy at the grocery store.

"Well, thank you for that," Lacey smiled sarcastically.

It completely went over Max's head. "You're welcome, Babe."

The next words came out of Lacey's mouth before she could stop them -- a bad habit she was adopting lately. "Then Max, I don't know if I want to give myself to you at prom. I mean, if we're not more serious than we are, why should I?"

The thing was, Lacey said these things and meant them, but she wasn't necessarily sad about any of it. It was feeling to her more and more like she and Max had run their course. So why keep putting off this talk?

At the letdown she just issued, Max stiffened. "I thought you wanted to, Lacey. I mean, you told me you did, and... it's just sex, right? Not like it really means all that much, even if I do go off to school and we decide to take a break. It'll be a good time, we can experience it for the first time together, so... why not?" He shrugged and glanced over, but his face betrayed the fact that he knew he'd messed up with his flippancy.

"Oh, okay. Well it's good to know you're keeping it casual," Lacey murmured. Not wanting to continue this talk, she reached down and turned up The Verve's depressing The Freshman. She despised this song normally, but right now, she just wanted to drown out anything else Max might say. At this point, given each of their personal resentments, it would be a miracle if their relationship even made it to prom.

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For a couple weeks, Lacey was plagued by hers and Max's discussion, which seriously affected how much attention she paid at school. Her focus even suffered in British literature, her favorite class. And as much as she was able, she avoided Max. It wasn't hard, because semi-playoffs would be coming up and he was busy with extra practices.

One Monday a few weeks into November, Lacey was due at the Cat's Cradle a little early in order to cover for an absent employee. She made sure to hurry down the school steps as quickly as she could to avoid running into Max just in case he didn't have practice, and skirted down the back alleys in order to get to the shelter as inconspicuously as possible. Not that it mattered -- Max knew where she was sure to be on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.

She burst through the shelter doors which had been recently painted into a cat-shaped stained glass effect, and slung her bookbag down in the customary corner, giving a big smile to Alice. "Hey Alice. We have any new ones today?"

Alice's brow furrowed. "That was a little abrupt an entrance, Lacey. Was it a difficult day at school?"

"Oh, not really," she replied quickly. "I just wanted to come check on Stella. Is she getting along any better since last Thursday?"

Alice led Lacey to the kennels in the back room, opening one on the upper row. A dainty looking, long-limbed, yellow cat -- small to be two years old -- began to stir, rousting from a nap. In just a few seconds she was on her feet, nuzzling Lacey's hand for attention.

"Hello, Sweet Girl," Lacey cooed. "Have we found a forever home for you, yet?"

"Not yet I'm afraid," Alice sighed. "Everyone always wants the kittens."

"But she almost looks like a kitten," Lacey protested. "And she's so affectionate and easy-going."

"Well do remember, Dear, cats go less quickly than dogs do. Dogs are usually what's preferred. But people don't often recognize the virtues of cats. These beauties deserve to at least be loved and cherished, don't they?"

"Yes... they do." Lacey cradled Stella like a baby, as she was one of the few cats who would let her do this. "I'd still give anything if I could have one of my own."

At that moment the tinkling of the front door bell sounded. Hilda, Alice's grumpy associate, was up front today, but despite the dour-faced older lady's brusque mannerisms, she would be able to handle whatever was happening, so Lacey stayed put. This would either be someone wanting to adopt or drop off -- the second of which always broke Lacey's heart.

Alice had moved on to the next kennel, replacing food and water for pompous and wiley Sir George, while Lacey continued to nestle the purring Stella. "Someone will come for you soon," she whispered, giving the cat's forehead a quick kiss.

That's when Lacey heard a tiny chorus of mews coming from the front room.

"So you're dropping off?" she heard Hilda's low, no-nonsense voice.

"Guess so," Lacey heard a young man answer. "We-- well, I-- found these while I was checking on one of our rental properties this afternoon. They were laying in a box, just left behind by the family, so..."

She heard Hilda huff. "The things people do. Did they seem in distress? When were they last fed, do you know any of that?"

"... Not really," she heard the strikingly familiar voice reply. "My dad usually says call the pound when this happens, but... they're kittens, and I just thought maybe a shelter might be better..."

Unable to help herself, Lacey carried Stella with her and went up front to take a look at the new kittens. But before she was able to see them in their box, she saw none other than Adam Banks standing beside it.

Of course. His dad did own rental properties on this side of town. She would know, because she lived in one.

Adam lifted his eyes to meet hers and he froze. Lacey was pretty sure this was due to her being the bearer of his big pill secret, so she averted her eyes and looked toward the cardboard box.

Hilda sighed. "I see you didn't put a blanket or towel in here for them."

Adam shifted and opened his mouth to say something, but Hilda waved him off.

"Nevermind, you brought them here at least. I wonder how long it's been since they've eaten."

Lacey looked over Hilda's shoulders and saw two of the most beautiful calico kittens she'd ever seen. One was long-haired, the other medium-haired. They were walking shakily around the box, mewing no doubt in protest at being unable to find their mother.

"I... don't know. I'm not sure if the tenants took the mom... or what." Adam looked awkward, but concerned as he peered into the box.

"Alright, well..." Hilda clucked her tongue. "Lacey, will you get bottles ready? These little ones need full bellies."

Lacey glanced at Adam once more before going to the refrigerator in the breakroom and taking out the kitten formula, warming it in the microwave slightly before ensuring there were no hotspots, and bringing the bottles back out. She was surprised to see that Adam was still standing there, watching the kittens.

Alice came around the corner just then. "Hilda, Tippy didn't quite make it to the litter box again, and I've got to feed Rainbow. Can you help me out?"

Hilda took one of the bottles and pushed it toward Adam. "While you're here, might as well make use of you. Here, feed one of them." And with that, she bustled away.

Adam blinked, looking at the bottle for a minute.

Lacey figured this meant she was to feed the other kitten, so she set Stella down on the counter for a moment and took the shorter-haired kitten, who had more black in her than the other predominantly orange one. "You take that one," she instructed Adam. He did so without complaining, and Lacey was surprised at how gently he maneuvered the kitten to where he could fit the bottle in its mouth.

Both the kittens took to the bottles so quickly Lacey was surprised. Usually it took a bit of coaxing. These babies must both have been hungry. They couldn't have been older than about three weeks old.

"So what are you doing here?" Adam spoke first, glancing up at her then back down at the kitten in his arms, not seeming to care that he was getting fur all over his denim jacket and nice green polo shirt.

"I volunteer three times a week," Lacey replied, not looking at him, but keeping her eyes trained on the kitten.

After a moment, he spoke again. "I'm not some addict. You can look at me, unless you think you're too good to."

She heard the irritation dripping from his voice, and finally looked up. "I saw the game between Eden Hall and R.M. a few weeks ago. You got benched. What was that all about?"

Adam looked back down at the kitten, shifting it in his arms when it seemed to become distracted from the nipple. "It's just... I..." he stammered, taking a deep breath. "Look, I'm not ready to talk about it, alright? Just know I'm not taking something to... enhance myself or whatever."

"I know that," Lacey replied quickly. "Percocet is for pain. So what hurts?"

Adam looked back up at her, eyebrows raised. "I don't even know you. So it's hardly something I'm going to tell you about. Why do you even care so much?"

Lacey was at a loss. Her kitten seemed to have drunk enough for now, and kept moving her head from the nipple, so she set the bottle down and lifted the kitten up, placing it against her heart and rubbing its soft fur. "Can a person not care just because they do?"

Adam studied her quietly for a moment. He had a bold stare, his eyes round, blue pools that held a million emotions, a thousand untold stories in them. Lacey was unable to shift her gaze, but finally he did, evidently satisfied with her response for the moment.

"What are they? Boys or girls?" Adam pulled his bottle back as well, setting it on the counter next to Lacey's.

"Calicos are almost always girls," she replied. "When a male calico is born, it's a mutation and they usually have something wrong with them, like blindness..." Lacey sighed. "I wonder why anyone would leave two kittens this young behind."

Adam shrugged, holding up his kitten and examining it as it mewed. He smiled at it, the first smile she'd seen out of Adam this close. Lacey felt a draft blow through her heart suddenly, but swallowed hard, willing it to go back down.

"I don't know. People leave lots of stuff behind. It's just a shame that that also includes living things."

"So you're doing your dad's dirty work now?" Lacey inquired.

Adam glanced back at her. "You know, my dad's not a monster. I don't know why people think that. It seems like people don't care much for businessmen, and definitely not landlords. But Dad's fair. He can't help it that people don't always keep up with their rent and it falls back on us to keep the utilities up. So sometimes, we just have to be..." he searched for a word.

"Ruthless," Lacey finished for him. "I happen to be one of your dad's tenants. Well, my mom and I, and my sisters. And my mom can't always be prompt with rent. But she tries really hard, and sometimes she just needs a little mercy."

Adam looked over at her and stared for a moment. Her heart began to hammer.

"Do I know you?" he finally asked. "I mean from somewhere other than you being Shipley's girlfriend?"

Lacey took a deep breath, going behind the counter to find a blanket to put in the box for the kittens while they awaited a kennel. "Yeah... you do. Or did, kind of," she murmured.

Adam looked at her more closely. She felt her cheeks burn when she glanced up again. His sharp browline furrowed in thought.

"I'm... Lacey Primmer," she breathed. "I met you years ago when you played for the Hawks. Your dad was hassling my mom in the rink parking lot over rent, and... I was biting my nails." She let the rest of the story unfold in his mind, and watched as the memory seemed to flit through his eyes momentarily. "Oh... yeah. You bit them to bleeding, didn't you?"

Lacey took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I... I did. I have this condition where I..." she started, but stopped abruptly. "It was just a thing, but thankfully I've outgrown it."

Adam still watched her. "I think I handed you something to clean up with."

Lacey nodded again, turning back to the kittens. "I should take these two back to find a kennel."

Adam still stood there, looking back at the kittens, seeming content to let the conversation go. After all, it sounded like they both had secrets to keep.

"Do you give them names?"

"We do," Lacey replied. "Got any suggestions since you brought them in?"

"Ah I don't know," Adam chuckled. "Whatever you think, I guess."

"Come on!" Lacey smiled. "I want to hear what you'd come up with. NHL players?"

"Nah," Adam shrugged. "They're girls. Um... Violet and Veronica. How's that?" he gave a half-smile.

Lacey laughed. "Violet and Veronica? Really?"

Adam's face went serious. "Violet was my grandmother's name. She died last year."

Lacey paused. "Oh, I'm... I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

It was Adam's turn to break out into a laugh. "Sorry, couldn't resist. My grandma's name is Laura and she's living with her third husband in Florida. In perfect health. Violet and Veronica just popped into my head. What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing!" Lacey tried to resist the urge to slap his arm, but that would have been too familiar a gesture. "But gee were you ever about to make me feel like a first-class jerk."

"Nah, I don't think you're a jerk. I know plenty of those." Adam shifted, reaching in his pocket and pulling out keys. "Alright, well... guess they're in good hands. So I'd better get back." He turned to go, then paused and turned back to Lacey.

"Did you not know you were biting your nails that short? How could you not tell they were bleeding?" he asked.

"I..." Lacey paused. "I don't know, I just zoned out I guess. It was nothing new, but... I never got to thank you. For being nice."

Adam shrugged, his tone surprising her with its gentleness. "Anybody would have done that."

No they wouldn't. And they hadn't.

"Still. Thanks."

Adam gave a nod. "Yeah, okay. Take good care of them, all right?"

"Yeah," Lacey smiled. He smiled back, though glanced off before turning and going out the door.

Lacey bit her lip and watched after him before turning back and picking up the box holding Violet and Veronica.

#mighty ducks #adam banks #1990s nostalgia #trichotillomania

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themuzzleofnemesis · 4 years

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3–Memory of the Four Seasons; Scene 4

The Muzzle of Nemesis, pages 102-107

Among the luggage that had been carried over to this room from my house in the forest, there were several items that didn’t actually belong to me.

My mother’s old clothing. It would be impossible for someone who didn’t know me to distinguish between mine and my mother’s belongings, so there wasn’t really any helping that.

I had put them away in the closet, but finally today the time had come for me to put them to use.

They were Jakokuan kimono—I picked out a red one.

Long ago my mother had taught me how to tie the sash. It was still a lot more time-intensive than I had been expecting to put on clothing of a style I wasn’t used to, but I managed to put it to rights well enough.

I rushed out of the room and climbed the stairs.

…As I thought, it was a little hard to walk in.

Eventually I arrived at Shakuson’s door, and when I opened it I could see that he was finished with his own preparations.

“Oh, you’re done getting dressed up.”

Shakuson seemed much better than me at dressing well with a kimono. The way to wear a kimono properly must have been one of the things he’d been taught about his ancestry.

“Yeah…”

I was a little annoyed at his half-hearted remark.

I would have liked him to praise me at least a little for going all out to dress up in a kimono like this.

“Well then, shall we go? The summer festival’s gonna start soon.”

I left the room with Shakuson.

Lucifenia’s summer festival. Its history was quite old; apparently this custom of launching fireworks into the air had begun around the 500s of the Evillious record.

Out of displeasure with the neighboring country of Elphegort, the ruler of the time, Princess Riliane, had ordered that the forest that served as the border between them be set on fire. A certain artisan watched the flames as they blazed, and had seized upon the idea to use cannons to make flowers of fire bloom in the sky—I didn’t know how much of that was true or not.

Shakuson had taught most of that to me. Each time I learned of the extent of his knowledge, I would somewhat regret not having pursued my education more.

“But—why kimono?” I asked Shakuson as we were walking along together.

“Hm? Because it’s elegant—El-e-gant. Obviously you wear a kimono to the summer festival.”

“But we’re the only ones wearing them.”

“Because this is Lucifenia, not Jakoku. But don’t mind them. It’s very sophisticated for us to stick to our own sense of fashion.”

“Hah…I guess so.”

Over these past few months I had been able to see quite well that he was, indeed, a weirdo.

It wasn’t like he was always like this. There were times when I would run into him in town by chance while he was doing his rounds, and during those times he had seemed to have a very serious air around him, and he conducted himself very coolly among his coworkers.

Which one was the real him?

It wasn’t like Shakuson was my boyfriend, and I also hadn’t “used my womanly wiles” as Bruno had put it.

Only, at some point we had just naturally started getting along.

Shakuson was unlike any man that I had met until now. He was smart, and gentle-mannered. There were times where he would seem very mature, and then suddenly start acting childish.

He was a strangely bewitching person. When I was with him at least, I was able to forget about the bad things in my life.

"Oh…It's started."

Shakuson looked up in response to a loud noise that reverberated through the night.

Following his lead I also looked up at the sky.

--A ball of fire was slipping through between the stars.

Eventually the ball of fire broke apart, and a large flower ring bloomed in the darkness.

“So these are…fireworks…They’re so beautiful.”

This was the first time I had seen fireworks.

There were no flowers like this in the Millennium Tree Forest either, ones with such a beautiful shine.

“…You look happy, Themis.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. You’re smiling.”

Perhaps I was happy from being able to see the fireworks.

Or maybe—

Several balls of fire shot up into the air, and then a red flower garden burst into the night sky.

“Oh, wow…That’s so amazing,” I cheered without thinking.

“Ha ha, they really went all out this year.”

“Is it not always like this?”

“The summer festival last year when I moved to Rolled at least wasn’t to this degree. …Well, maybe it’s because they don’t know if they’ll be able to do a festival like this next year.”

“You mean—”

“The war. You know that the crown prince of Asmodean was murdered, right?”

“But the killer was caught and sentenced, wasn’t he?”

As I could recall, the culprit was someone from the Lucifenian Republic.

“The radio announced a little while ago that the verdict’s come down. –Ten years imprisonment. It’s much, much lighter than predicted. It’s hard to think Asmodean’s gonna be quiet on this. They might wind up declaring war on Lucifenia.”

I didn’t know much when it came to statewide politics. Even so, I knew that the relationship between Lucifenia and its neighboring countries hadn’t been so good lately.

Shakuson heaved a great sigh.

“Political instability, casualties from all the bizarre phenomena—sometimes I can forget it all because of how peaceful this town is, but…I can’t say the situation in Lucifenia is good. Lately there’s also been an issue of important figures being assassinated.”

…I knew a great deal regarding that particular case.

Ghislain Aug, Rodolphe Hugo, and Thabana Johnson.

They were all people I had shot and killed under orders from “Master.”

“You’ve seemed busy lately, Shakuson. How has your investigation been coming along?”

“…Not good—I haven’t gotten a single clue. There’s not a shred of evidence connected to the killer left in any of the murder sites. No doubt about it, this is the work of a pro.”

“…I see.”

Even if the police had managed to find anything, Shakuson wasn’t likely to speak about it to a civilian like me. He wasn’t so foolish as that.

I grew the slightest bit afraid.

Not of being found out for murdering people.

If Shakuson were to learn that I was an assassin—then I would never again be able to watch the fireworks with him like this.

“You’re trembling a little…Are you cold?” Shakuson asked me worriedly.

“…Just a little.”

“Looks like the fireworks are almost over…How about we head back, huh?” he said—taking my hand.

“Yeah…Sure.”

Then we headed home, my hand in his.

And, as if they never were, my tremors ceased.

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nightingiall · 4 years

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head in the clouds: part viii

{story page} // {read on wattpad} // {characters}

Their time at Hightstown has come to an end.

It’s a bittersweet moment for Rory. With less than two weeks left of the resort’s summer season, she’s left in the position of having to start packing up her belongings and begin saying her goodbyes.

She spends three days attempting to empty her dresser of clothing, only able to get past folding a few things up into her suitcase every day before an overwhelming sense of sadness consumes her and she has to stop. The feeling only grows more and more each day, a lingering sensitivity that takes root in her chest and grows into vines that curl around the angles of her frame, knots that tighten so much until she feels like she can’t breathe.

Even sitting around at the pool yelling “Walk don’t run!” at overzealous children makes her sad. She’s never been particularly passionate about lifeguarding, but it’s the routine of it, the tradition of coming back to Hightstown every summer to mind numbingly stare at the beautiful, glistening blue of the pool and going back to her quarters every night smelling like chlorine that she will probably miss the most now that there’s the prospect of it never happening again.

Now that summer is nearly over, she’s hounded by all the possibilities of the future. Of the good and bad and everything in between. She thinks of now having to find an actual job, in an office, probably with cubicles, and how much she doesn’t actually want that. She wants to create, wants to fill the world with the strokes of her pencil and find a way to do art full-time. But she knows her mom will probably disapprove of that. Rory has already gotten a business degree and now she has to find some mind-numbing job that probably severely lacks in any sort of creativity. And she has to deal with that for the rest of her life.

The only time she feels some semblance of normalcy is when she’s with Niall. They steal moments together in between lifeguard shifts, walking over to one of their places after, hands intertwined as they giggle about something or the other on the way. It feels natural in a way Rory hasn’t felt in a long time. She feels as though she had previously been drifting through life, taking each day as it comes and trying to figure out what her purpose is, and being with Niall is like a breath of fresh air.

He is equal parts compassionate lover and trustworthy friend. She doesn’t have to pretend to be someone she is not around him because he accepts her for who she is. And he’s not a distraction either. He’s not like Jasper James or Johnny Torres. Their relationship isn’t made up of superficial conversations and heated kisses that are only indulged in when intimacy is a craving that stings at their skin. In fact, everything she has ever thought about intimacy in general has changed after Niall walked right into her life. Every touch seems much more meaningful when genuine feelings are involved.

It’s authentic in a way she’s never experienced before, like all of her previous relationships were too surface level for her to realize until she met Niall. She doesn’t think she can fully explain it because of how new it is. He listens when she confides in him about her deepest thoughts and emotions, encourages her to pursue her dreams instead of being tied to the expectations of her mother, who wishes for her to pursue a more practical area of study, as though the arts, on which the world thrives, is not practical.

Everyone else has noticed how different this is too.

One day, she caught Gigi smiling absentmindedly at them when they were all in Harry’s living room watching a movie, Rory curled into Niall as he mindlessly twirled his fingers through her hair. Gigi had averted her gaze when she made eye contact, but Rory managed to catch her in the kitchen later on in the night to ask what that look was about, and Gigi simply took one of Rory’s hands in both of hers, eyes glinting as she honestly replied, “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you look so at peace with another person, and it’s kind of beautiful to watch.”

Leslie pointed it out once when they were all at Niall’s place. She was sat on the floor with her legs crossed, rolling a ball back and forth with Spike. She had waited for the room to empty out a bit, as everyone got distracted with the cake Niall baked in the kitchen, before looking up at Rory to say, “I think we have to thank Niall for a lot of things that happened this summer.” When Rory inquired what she meant by that, she’d said, “Well for one, he found this little fella,�� referring to Spike, petting his fur as he curled into her lap, “and also because he somehow helped bring our Rory back.”

Even Chester, who was back for only a few days to make sure some logistical things were set into place before he officially went off on vacation, picked up on the difference. Rory and Niall had gone over to the kitchens because Niall had found out that Chester knew about Spike and still supplied them with food scraps for him. He wanted to personally thank Chester for his kindness and understanding, so he baked him a berry tart as a small token of his appreciation.

Chester smiled in his wide, blinding way when Niall presented it to him, dark eyes sparkling gleefully. Food was, after all, indeed the way to win him over. But most of all, Chester was the sort of person, older and experienced as he is, to be moved by genuine acts of kindness, and Niall had spades of benevolence spilling from his veins. “Aurora,” Chester had said quietly to her when Niall was too busy admiring some chocolate truffles on the counter, “you picked a good one this time, sweetheart.”

And so, to hear from her most trusted confidantes what she’s felt in her heart for so many weeks has her feeling so buoyant with bliss that she thinks perhaps she can float right up into the clouds.

For now, though, she lets herself into Niall’s place, wearing the nicest dress she brought with her to Hightstown, feeling giddy with happiness. He’d insisted that they needed to have at least one date night before leaving, saying “We can’t let the summer end without me taking you out on a date...I have the perfect plan.”

He didn’t let her in on any specifics of this plan, maintaining that it’s all meant to be a surprise, but she catches a tiny glimpse of whatever he has up his sleeve as she walks into his kitchen, finding him carefully lowering something down into a bag at the counter. She smiles to herself at the lengths he’s gone to make this day happen.

“Boo!” she gets out as way of greeting when it became clear that he didn’t notice her presence, her hands jolting against his sides. She giggles when he startles, a small gasp leaving his throat. He turns to send her a faux glare before he starts laughing too.

“Cheeky you are, sneaking up on me like that.” He shakes his head, but he smiles that sweet, soft smile of his, that she’s come to adore, down at her when she wraps her arms around his middle. His fingers reach to gently brush her hair from her forehead, tucking the strands behind her ear, and Rory thinks she’ll never get tired of the way he somehow never fails to make her heart feel as though it’s doing somersaults in her chest.

“Hi,” she breathes, a proper greeting this time, holding him closer. Now that they’re lapping at the last dregs of summer she can’t seem to stop doing that, savoring him, because she doesn’t know where the next season will take them.

“Hiya, beautiful,” he replies, voice a soft murmur in the silence of his kitchen. His thumb strokes her cheek for a lingering moment before he leans down to press his lips to hers, a warm softness that seeps into her and fills her up, her body absolutely melting into him. His eyes shine brightly when he pulls away. “You ready?”

Rory smiles, nodding. She can’t seem to stop doing that around him, smiling so hard it feels as though her cheeks could rip right open. She thinks if that were to ever happen she wouldn’t even mind. He grabs the bag he’d been fiddling with earlier with one hand and tangles his other into her fingers. Before they leave, they glance over to check on Spike, only to find him napping peacefully on the couch.

The evening air is a cool whisper across their skin, the slight breeze perfumed with the subtle scent of the late summer flowers that have started to bloom. Rory’s heart gives a slight twinge in her chest because she can’t help but think of how much she doesn’t want this to end. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve been so sneaky about,” she says, squeezing his fingers slightly. “You’ve been rushing off from the pool without me for days.”

Niall laughs. He pulls her closer with an arm draped loosely across her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her cheek. At that, Rory laughs too. “Right. Sorry about that by the way.” He smiles at her when she wraps her arms around his middle, their strides matching easily. “I wanted to make tonight special, is all.”

Rory rolls her eyes at that, but her insides rush with an immense flush of adoration for him. “I didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic.”

Niall knocks his hips into hers, grinning wildly. “Don’t act like you’re not into it.”

She huffs on another laugh, shoving at him playfully, but she doesn’t get the chance to reply because apparently they’re nearing their destination, Niall stopping her to place his hands over her eyes as he leads her forward. “Is this really necessary?” she grumbles, but Niall was absolutely correct earlier—she is indeed very into it. No one had ever gone to these lengths to do something special for her before. The realization makes her wonder how she’s been settling for any less in all her years of dabbling in romantic relationships.

“Shut up. We’re almost there.” His words are a quiet murmur against her ear and a wave of goosebumps ripple across her skin. She has the sudden urge to kiss him silly. They walk for a few more moments before stopping. “Okay, he says, and because of his proximity, she doesn’t miss the deep breath he takes, as though he’s nervous. The thought has a flash of fondness coursing through her. He removes his hands. “Open your eyes.”

Rory doesn’t know what she had been expecting, but the sight that greets her takes her breath away. They’re in the hidden away garden that separates the Shacks from the Residences. The groundskeepers had planted some bamboo a few summers ago and they’re surprisingly tall now, enclosing the space along with other soaring plants in a sort of green sanctuary. Niall has somehow managed to drape strings of edison lights across the trees, the bulbs throwing warm hues of soft yellow across the blanket on the grass, a picnic basket resting over top.

She can’t help the gasp that passes through her as she takes it all in. It’s unlike anything she could’ve ever imagined. It’s so thoughtful and so perfect that she’s nearly in disbelief that it’s even real at all.

“Do you like it?” When she looks over at him, he’s watching her a bit apprehensively, and it takes every ounce of self control not to throw herself at him like a crazy person at the thought of him being even remotely nervous about any of this. She doesn’t think any person in the world could be presented with this and be the slightest bit dissatisfied.

She realizes now that she’s holding her hands to her face and she huffs out a laugh. “God, are you kidding?” She reaches out to give his fingers a squeeze. “I love it.”

That makes him smile again, and he tugs on her hand to help her sit along the blanket. He was even so thoughtful to place some throw pillows around for comfort. She’s still taking it all in when he’s presenting her with a bouquet of assorted flowers which were resting atop the picnic basket. “For you,” he says, and she swears his eyes sparkle, bright flashes of blue that rival the colors of dusk swirling in the sky above them.

She can’t help but shake her head at him, because the emotions swell up in her until she feels the overwhelming need to possibly cry it all out. “I can’t handle you,” she gets out, taking the flowers only to crawl over to wrap her arms around him and press her face to the curve of his neck, hiding the way a blush is stinging at her cheeks. “You’re too cute.”

Niall laughs so bouyantly and happily that she thinks that if he does one more adorable thing then she’ll just burst. She has never in her life felt as whipped for a person as she does now. He is sunshine incarnate, brilliantly luminous even though the actual sun has long sunk below the horizon. His skin is warm as she presses her hands to his face when she pulls back, her fingers stroking the tops of his cheekbones, taking in the way he flushes a soft crimson, the dazzle of his eyes, the gentle way he smiles at her, before she leans in to properly kiss him.

He readily drinks her in, his lips a plush warmth, tongue tasting of something distinctly sweet, and she melts into him as his hands press down her spine to hold her close. “Rory,” he breathes, sighing into her when her fingers curl into the collar of his button-down shirt. She hums, an acknowledgement, but lips never leaving his. “The ice cream—gonna—melt—” is what he gets out through the kisses.

She smiles against him, gasping slightly when he pulls her further into his lap, clearly having no intention to stop anytime soon either. “Don’t care,” she mutters. He laughs and then she laughs and they’re too wrapped up in one another to notice the world still spinning around them.

They do stop eventually, ending up eating dessert first because the ice cream did indeed nearly melt. Niall made his special vanilla-caramel cheesecake. Rory wrinkles her nose when he presents it to her, a generous scoop of ice cream on the side, because she’s never really been a cheesecake person. But when Niall insists that she at least tries it—and really how can she refuse when he’s gone through so much effort—she thinks that maybe he’s got magic in his fingers because it’s quite possibly the best thing she’s ever eaten. She nearly takes another slice before he stops her with a laugh because they’ve still got everything else in the basket to get through.

So, she pours them some wine and he arranges the dinner he prepared prettily onto some plates and they drink, eat, and laugh to their heart’s content. Around them, the bamboo clink together in the breeze, crickets chriping somewhere, singing a song only they know. It’s all a symphony of summer that engulfs them, warm winds kissing their skin as the two of them lounge back when they’re done with dinner, catching glimpses of the stars through the towering garden plants, limbs tangled together.

And somehow, it’s one of the happiest moments of Rory’s life.

***

Niall’s lips are mouthing a flaming hot trail from her navel up her torso and sternum and throat. Rory can feel every part of him, her back arched against his mattress as his hands dance across her skin, hips rocking a gentle but firm rhythm that has her seeing stars.

“Rory,” he murmurs, and she thinks that is quite possibly the best her name has ever sounded coming from his lips, voice open and breathy around the edges, a raspy whisper in the silent semi-darkness of his room, loud enough for only her ears and the sheets. “You’re gorgeous.” She can’t help the sound that leaves her throat, not with how those words leave his lips so reverently, so blissfully.

He kisses her and he tastes like the extra slice of cheesecake they shared when they got back to his place, tongue swiping along her lower lip, hot and searing. She gasps against his mouth when he hits a spot inside her that makes her writhe with the depth of pleasure that floods through her.

There are 12 days left of summer and Rory doesn’t want it to end.

***

“Come to the lake with me.”

The words are out of Rory’s mouth before she even has time to think about it, but when they’re all out in the open, she realizes how much it’s been on her mind for the past few days. She and Niall have been talking a lot about the future, especially now that their time at Hightstown is quickly coming to a close with only three days left.

But the thing is, they only ever really talk about their goals and aspirations, all the things they want to accomplish within the next few years now that the world of opportunities is within reach. They often skirt around the issue of them, addressing it in vague terms before dropping the subject altogether with the idea of picking it up another time.

However, it is time that they no longer have.

The last couple of days have been spent helping each other, as well as their friends, pack belongings into luggage and boxes. It always surprises Rory how much stuff she seems to accumulate over the course of a summer, and now that she and the rest of the recurring seasonal staff are faced with their last few days ever of working at Hightstown, they’re finding belongings that were left with other long-term staff or with each other. Stray articles of clothing that the girls had leant each other or miscellaneous items like shoes or someone’s box of drunk jenga tiles found at houses that hosted parties.

It’s this strange experience of packing years of her life away, accumulated over the multitude of summers spent here, that has Rory feeling an unusual sort of stirring in her chest. One of nostalgia and excitement. The bleakness of having to let all of this go paired with the thrill of new adventures.

Niall, for her, is a feeling that is sort of stuck in the middle. She’s never felt this way about another person before, so sure and safe in their presence, so convinced that there is a permanent place for them in her life. While summer may be coming to an end, she doesn’t want whatever this thing she has with Niall to end too.

He looks up at her now, eyes watching her quizzically. They’re in her bedroom where she’s trying to stuff a few more spare items into her luggage and he’s lounging on her bed, looking through flights for Ireland, where he’ll spend some time with his family before taking off to see the rest of the world, his gap year now a full-fledged plan as opposed to simply a possibility. “What?”

She shrugs, giving up on the luggage in favor of shuffling into the bed next to him. “Come to the lake with me,” she repeats. “We can spend another week together. Gives us more time.” There’s an unspoken addendum to her statement: Gives us more time to figure out how to take our relationship from here.

He must hear this implied meaning behind her request because she can see when the weight of her words settles over him. “Are you sure?” he asks, but his eyes flicker with something that looks like hope.

She’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “Yes.”

He closes his laptop and places it to the side, turning his entire body towards her, giving her his full attention. “Will your family mind?”

Rory has considered this. She’s never brought a boy home to meet her family before, even though her mom is always insisting that she meet the people Rory is always spending her time with. She doesn’t think anyone will mind. It’s not like Niall is a secret; she’s mentioned him in conversation a few times over the course of the summer. And her mom is very perceptive. She probably knew of Rory’s feelings for him before Rory realized them herself. So she says to Niall, “It’s just my mom and Nani. I’m sure they’ll be happy to meet you.”

She can tell that he wants to smile from the way the corners of his lips twitch the slightest bit, but he holds back. “I’d love to go,” he says sincerely, hands finding hers like they always do these days, fingers easily tangling together. “But how about you make sure with them that they’re okay with that first.”

There’s a slight pink tinge to his ears that tells her he’s nervous, perhaps at the prospect of meeting her loved ones. There’s a gravity to that notion that indicates a sort of seriousness about their relationship. Rory knows it hasn’t been that long for them, but something in her heart tells her that this is not impulsiveness on her part. After all, she’s always been cautious about anyone she’s dating meeting her family. This is different. This is Niall.

So she reaches out to gently push back his fringe and press her lips against his forehead, reassuring him that she’ll share this idea with her mom and that she’s sure they will not mind his presence at their end-of-summer holiday.

He smiles and she thinks that both her mom and Nani will fall in love with him as she has.

***

“A boy?!” Rory’s mom exclaims over the phone when the idea is presented. She can hear the way her mom turns to face Nani, her voice muffled the slightest bit when she excitedly states, “Rory wants us to meet a boy!”

“A boy?” she hears Nani repeat, though it sounds significantly less enthusiastic than it did coming from her mom. “Why?”

“Mom, please,” she hears her mother telling Nani, “she’s old enough to date boys, you know!” Rory can’t help the way she snorts out a laugh at how ridiculous they’re being.

Still, she’s feels a surge of gratefulness for her mother at that moment. She’s always been a lot more understanding than other brown parents, perhaps because she grew up in the States and has a more modern viewpoint on relationships than her older counterparts.

There’s unintelligible chatter for a few moments. Rory can’t hear clearly but it sounds like Nani huffs, a signal that her mother has won this particular argument. “We’d love to meet him, Rory,” she says now. “Of course you can bring him to the lake!”

When she hangs up, she turns to Niall, who’s still sitting on her bed, eyes widened nervously at her. A laugh still lingers in her throat. “They’re fine with it,” she says, shrugging, and she grins at the visible way he sighs in what appears to be relief.

There are 9 days left of summer and they’re going to make the most of it.

***

There is not a cloud in sight today.

The sky swirls with the colors of the setting sun, reflecting into the lake below, muted oranges and soft pinkish tones blending together to create that seamless sort of gradient that one can’t help but stop and admire.

That’s exactly what Rory does. She’s lounging on the patio swing out on the deck, sketchbook in her lap, eyes on the sunset as her mind flickers with other thoughts. Visiting their lakefront rental with her mom and Nani whenever she gets back from Hightstown is another summer tradition she often looks forward to. There’s something soothing about spending evenings lazing about, taking in idyllic views of the lake surrounded by towering evergreen trees. A picturesque oasis that’s all hers for a week.

It turns out that she was right. Her mother and Nani have absolutely fallen for Niall and his boyish charm. He makes her mom laugh with his stupid jokes, the two of them settling in the sunroom with chai in the evenings. He’s even managed to steal Nani’s heart, though that’s more to do with the fact that he manages to concoct these magical desserts and she has always had a sweet tooth.

They both love Spike too. He spends the days following her mother around the cabin, the two of them quickly becoming inseparable. She even spoils him rotten with treats, also making sure he gets enough exercise in to make up for it.

One night, they’re sitting around the sunroom with chai and Niall tells them the story of how Spike was obtained, how terrible Mrs. Dreyfuss was to him, and how they nearly got caught hiding him. Mom and Nani listened to him with rapt attention, gasping at all the right parts, eagerly asking questions. The three of them laughed so hard by the end, when Niall recounted other anecdotes of Spike, and Rory coudn’t help but simply watch them interact, heart nearly bursting with fondness. She relaxed back into her chair, sipping on her chai, utterly contented by it all.

Then, the next night, her mom, ever the wistful idealist, says to her: “I hope the two of you stay in each other’s lives somehow. Even if it’s not necessarily romantically.” They were in the kitchen tidying up after dinner, Rory pausing while wiping down a glass. Her mom continued to wash the dishes, words leaving her lips matter-of-factly as though none of it was a big deal. But Rory knew from the fact that they were even having this conversations that it was. “He has done more good for you in a summer than anyone in years.”

At the time, Rory simply watched her, mind abuzz. “What do you mean?” Her mom didn’t respond then, but thinking of it now, Rory realizes how much more confident she’s become in articulating what she wants to do in life. She even shared her sketchbooks with her mom, something that always made her nervous. Which is probably why what happened a few moments ago makes so much sense.

She didn’t see it coming, really. Niall was with Nani in the kitchen, watching intently as she taught him about gulab jamuns, diligently taking notes in his little recipe notebook, and Rory had been sitting in the sunroom with a glass of lemonade, looking out at the lake, lost in thought. Her mom had approached her, steps silent even with the creaking floors of the cabin, and Rory startled when she turned around and happened to spot her standing behind her.

“I think we need to talk about this,” her mom had said to her, and it was only then that Rory noticed the large envelope she was holding to her chest. Her mom took a seat next to her, eyes softened in a way that told her it was going to be a serious conversation, and Rory’s stomach turned slightly as a result. The envelope was handed to her and when she turned it around, she found that it bore the logo of the art school she’d applied to on a whim ages ago.

A lump formed in Rory’s throat, her heart stuttering slightly in her chest. She’d forgotten about it, honestly, too caught up with the summer’s shenannigans to obsessively check if she’d gotten in, figuring that they’d just send her an email if they wanted her. She really wasn’t expecting a response anyway. She barely made the deadlines and had probably missed the window in which to accept her admission if she somehow made it in. And besides, she figured that once the summer was over she’d have a conversation with her mom about possibly pursuing a career in the arts, the thought of living out the rest of her life in a corporate environment growing unbearably distressing.

She hadn’t told a soul that she’d applied to art school. Not Gigi. Not even Niall. At the time she thought it was all a longshot. After all, who in their right mind would accept her miniscule portfolio for school in New York City? When she looked at her mom, she found her watching her a bit sadly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked Rory, voice quiet so Niall and Nani did not hear.

Rory had shrugged and looked down at the envelope again. “I don’t know.” Her voice was a mumble. “I didn’t think it get in, to be honest.”

Her mom had placed a comforting hand over hers. “Sweetheart, I know I push you sometimes but all I ever want for you is to be happy. I will always support you in whatever you choose to do. You have to know that.”

Rory smiled, eyes wide. “Really?”

Her mom had laughed. “Yes, really. If art is what you want to do then so be it.”

Rory plays those words on loop in her mind now. The patio swing rocks gently in the breeze, sun slinking below the horizon, the colors of the sky intensifying slightly. This is not the turn she expected this trip to take, a running theme throughout the course of this whole summer, but she feels a sort of peace settle over her now, blanketing her in comfort. The past few weeks were spent worrying over what she was going to do with her life after the summer ends, and now, she has a clearer view of what the future might look like.

Her thoughts are interrupted with the back door sliding open, Niall appearing from it wearing his signature grin. “Rors,” he says, settling into the swing with her and pulling her legs over his lap, a laugh already knocking around in his throat. “Just wanna let you know that we’re never breaking up because I would very much like to enjoy your grandma’s sweets for the rest of my life.”

A laugh bursts out of her at that. “Damn, now I can’t break up with you at the end of this trip like I planned.” Niall shoves her playfully, rolling his eyes and feigning offense. But it only lasts a few moments before he’s pulling her into him again and she gives him a gentle peck on his nose. “It’s a good thing someone will carry on her recipes though, ‘cause me and mom are hopeless in the kitchen.”

Niall hums. “Yeah, the soup you made last night was a little bit salty.”

She whacks him on the shoulder, huffing. “Hey! That wasn’t an opening for criticism!”

“Okay, okay, sorry!” Niall gets out, and then they’re both erupting into a fit of giggles. Their laughter fills the air around them, seemingly bouncing off the wood of the patio and rippling across the lake that stretches on in front of them. It’s as though every time Rory feels like she couldn’t possibly feel any happier, she’s proven wrong.

They settle down soon enough, Niall tucking his head into the curve of her neck, his hands stroking shapes along her thighs, his warmth seemingly seeping into her skin. She twirls her fingers of one hand around the strands of the soft brown hairs at the nape of his neck, the other still holding her sketchbook to her lap, and they silently watch the sunset together, bodies pressed so close that it probably would have been difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

When the sun is no longer visible and the sky begins to swirl with the dark blues of dusk, Rory turns to him, placing a hand over his. “Guess what.” Niall shifts to look up at her, eyes flashing expectantly. She smiles at him. “I got into art school in New York.”

He sits up, eyes widened momentarily before a huge grin breaks out across his face. “Seriously?” She nods and he laughs happily. “Rory! That’s fucking amazing!” His hands are grabbing at her shoulders in his excitement and when he pulls her in for a hug, she laughs too. “Holy shit. I’m so proud of you,” he says, voice muffled into her hair.

“Thanks.” He pulls away only to send her the most beaming smile, eyes glittering even though the evening is transitioning to darkness. “I’m not actually going because I missed the deadline to send in my acceptance. But, it’s nice to know that I at least got in.”

Niall pulls her in to press a kiss against her forehead, her nose, then down to the corner of her mouth. “I’m still proud of you regardless,” he murmurs, lips brushing against hers before closing against them in a gentle kiss. They haven’t exactly been able to do this around her mom and Nani so they often steal moments like this together, tucked away in some corner so they can take each other in. “You’re so fucking talented. The world needs your art more than you think.”

She kisses him again and again until they’re breathless and gasping for air, and still it doesn’t feel like enough. “Ni,” she whispers, even though there’s no one around to hear her words, only the trees and the lake. She looks at him and her heart races in her chest, because once again she feels as though they’re running out of time. “We’ll be okay, right? When the summer ends.”

Niall sighs slightly at the way her voice breaks a bit, holding her close, his fingers tucking her hair behind her ears. “Of course.” He says it so confidently that she wants to believe him. “The way I feel about you...I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. Whenever I’m with you, it just feels…”

He trails off as though he’s searching for adequate words to express himself and, somehow, Rory knows exactly what they are, because she feels the same way. “It feels right.”

Niall breathes out a relieved laugh. “Yes. Exactly.” He tangles their fingers together, resting their hands over her sketchbook, which is still sitting on her lap. “From the moment I met you, I felt it. Like an instant connection. And I don’t know where the future will take us. But I want you in my life. In any way possible.”

Rory feels as though a huge weight is lifted off her shoulders. For him to say everything she has been feeling for weeks is sort of validating, and she knows now that while she cannot control where their lives will take them after this, she does not need to worry about losing him. Because something in her heart tells her that he will be in her life for a long time.

She smiles at him, holding their intertwined hands over her heart. “We’ll be okay,” she says, now suddenly full of certainty.

Niall kisses her and it feels like a beginning. They have transformed each others’ lives for the better. That is one thing that will not change.

***

Labor Day weekend rolls around quickly and they spend it by barbequing and drinking and watching fireworks light up the sky, bursts of sound echoing throughout the trees around them, sparks reflecting off the glassy surface of the lake. Rory wraps her arms around Niall and pulls him in for a kiss when it’s all over, skin tingling with goosebumps when he smiles against her lips.

He tastes of sugar and wine and everything she’s ever wanted. She’s engulfed by him, and she knows she’ll never forget this moment, nor this summer, when she fell in love with a gorgeous boy, who kisses her like he means it and cradles her heart in his hands, a promise never to break it.

Summer has come to an end. Rory does not know what the future holds, but she does know, without a doubt, that Niall and his heart of gold and his large, stolen cat is in it.

And that, for now, is enough.

—

a/n:

my dear readers,

wow. i can’t believe we’re here at the end of another story. this was initially meant to be a oneshot and somehow, 50k words and several weeks later, here we are.

i started writing head in the clouds at the end of last summer, after i finished little do you know, as a sort of palate cleanser. i wanted to write something different and more lighthearted as i felt like maybe i didn’t write enough stories like that. i ended up abandoning it, because i didn’t really know where i was going with it plot-wise, only to pick it back up again during quarantine. all this free time actually came in handy because this was one of the easiest writing experiences i’ve ever had. after months of feeling like i probably was never going to write another story again, the words seemed to just flow out of me with this one.

i’m actually really sad this story is over. i procrastinated writing the end because i did not want to let go of rory and niall, who have become my constant companions throughout this whole quarantine. i thought about maybe adding more parts, but i think an important part of writing a story is knowing when to stop, so here we are at the end. i hope you all enjoyed this story as much as i loved writing it. i can’t thank you all enough for reading and for leaving me some really wonderful messages. whenever anyone tells me they enjoyed something i wrote, it honestly means the world to me, and a genuinely don’t have enough words to express my gratitude.

i do not know if i will ever write another fic again. lord knows i plan too much and write too little. but i do know that rory and niall have a special place in my heart. i hope you love them as much as i do.

lots of love,

jess

—

taglist: @thicksniall @itsaniallworldafterall @verorax @booksncoffee @halfpinthoran @stylishmuser @riptidehoran @awomanindeniall @brehonodea @rosesofsilver @httpsjune

#head in the clouds #1dff #writings #niall horan fanfiction #one direction fanfiction #niall fanfic #niall horan fanfic #niall horan imagine #niall horan preference #1d fanfic #1d fanfiction #niall horan x ofc #niall horan x woc

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finch-writes · 4 years

Text

veneration

✧ haiba alisa x gn!reader / fluff, meet-cute ✧ warnings: there’s one out of context timeskip spoiler here

✧ is there a word for, even if it is only for an instant, falling in love with a total stranger? ✧ cross-posted to my ao3 here

You first meet her in the early afternoon of mid-spring, when the seasonal flowers are in full bloom and the air has the slightest promise of summer ahead.

The corridors of your university are familiar territory by now, winding stairs and questionably rickety elevators, narrow hallways that are way too claustrophobic in the midst of students leaving their just-finished lectures. Honestly, you’re just glad that the majority of your classes are just a little out of the way. They can be hard to get to at some times, but there are less people to contend with.

With your lesson finished for the afternoon, you’re on your way out of the building (something easy to eat sounds really good right now; maybe ramen? Though you aren’t sure you’re that hungry), when you cross paths with someone you haven’t met before. You stop in your tracks; she’s the only other person in the hall, but you feel like you might just have fallen into the role of an unwitting voyeur just by being in her presence.

She stands by the bay window, one hand raised to the curtains to keep them out of the way. The slight tilt of her chin turns her scrutiny towards the garden, attention fixed firmly on something amid the flowers two stories below. The golden light of late-afternoon shifts in ripples over platinum hair, a well-kept silken wave that cascades down her back. Her blush-pink blouse has a red pattern you can’t quite make out, but you suspect they might be a fruit of some kind.

There’s a curious grace to her posture that belies the youth in her face, reminiscent of a monarch whose compassionate eyes constantly trace the well-loved lines of her kingdom. How long has she lived to see her people flourish under love and guidance? What has she seen, who has she loved, in the eternity that trails in her wake?

If she were an everlasting queen then oh, what you wouldn’t give to be a knight in service to Her Majesty.

The curtains fall and sway when she lets them go a moment later, dancing in the peculiar rhythm of gravity. She turns to you without losing a single line of that peculiar posture.

Her eyes are so green. You’d liken them to emeralds, but that might be cliche, so you settle to file them away as chips of green-glass bottles caught by the sunlight. But they aren’t just that either; they’re just a touch bluer than that, as if someone had dusted the finest layer of a winter sunday’s morning beneath the verde.

The corners of her eyes crinkle just so when she smiles politely, melting any lingering frost that your mental comparison might have garnered, and your breath catches. Did you die? Surely you have. There's no way someone like this exists on your earth.

“Hi.” You say, eloquently.

“Hello.” She responds. Her voice is high and clear, flush with the ring of a thousand chimes even if you cannot find their source.

Is there a word for, even if it is only for an instant, falling in love with a total stranger?

(Maybe not, but you know there are words to describe falling in love with someone you have grown to know as well as yourself. Perhaps that will suit your heart a little better.)

“Are you new?” Your venture is shaky at best, but apparently this peculiar piece of divinity has chosen to humour you because her eyes sparkle when she shakes her head.

“Ah, no - I don’t attend here. I’ve been hired to model for an art module the university is teaching this semester.”

“You’re a model?” You echo, barely catching yourself from voicing the awe-filled murmur of that makes a lot of sense.

“I am!” She chirps, enthusiasm shining through the cracks in her eloquence. You suspect that you’re being bathed in sunlight just from the upward twitch of her smile.

“Do you know which building you’re going to be in?”

“Well …” The smile slips from her face, replaced by a soft frown. She places one hand on her cheek, averting her eyes for a moment. Her brows furrow. “I was looking for the administration building, so that someone could point me in the direction I’m meant to be going. I came here today for that reason, actually. But I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere!” She buries her face in her hands, and through the gaps in her hair you can see the tips of her ears turn red.

“Oh, I- I can show you back if you want!” The offer slips out before you can really think to catch it, and you raise your hands a little in a placating gesture. She peeks through her fingers at you, blinks a couple of times, and slowly lowers her hands from her face. There's still a slight pink tint to her cheeks.

“Really? I don't want to cause you any trouble.”

“My class is finished and I was heading back that way. It's no problem at all, promise.” You smile, and the reassurance seems to settle her somewhat because she relaxes back into that easy grace she'd transfixed you with when you had first seen her. Hope blooms across her features.

“Thank you so much!”

You wonder briefly, as you exit the building by her side, how she managed to get this lost. Your building isn’t exactly easy to find (unlike the admin building where she claims that she needed to go). It’s both exasperating and incredibly endearing at the same time, and you can’t quite keep the smile off your face. Despite appearances, maybe she is simply human like you.

At the side of your nameless sovereign you walk in companionable quiet, as if you've known each other for scores of years rather than a few moments. You keep an eye on your surroundings with the practised ease which speaks of your being a student here - perhaps more so than usually would. She does not know the little pitfalls and potholes of the campus paths as intimately as you, so you feel duty-bound in a sense to make sure she doesn’t trip.

Perhaps there is still room for a knight in slightly dented armour by the side of a clandestine queen.

“This is the one. I’ll walk you to the building, if you want.”

Her response is an affirmative nod, and the small motion warms a hollow space in your lungs that you hadn’t quite been sure what to do with until that moment. You take a breath to ask a question; you aren’t quite sure what it would be, however -

Pushed by fate, or perhaps just right on cue, her shoe catches on a notorious crack in the pavement as the two of you approach the administrative building. The question dies in your throat as she yelps, tottering forward, but - by some divine intervention - you're just as fast.

Your grip on her arm isn't exceptionally graceful but it's enough to stop her fall, and you haul her upright in one smooth motion. Her hands are warm against your forearm as she steadies herself. You catch a whiff of perfume, somewhere between peach and vanilla; soft and sweet, like she.

The two of you linger for what might just be a heartbeat longer than necessary before dropping your hands, shy smiles directed away from the other. Your gaze is caught by the shift of her shirt against her arm; her shirt is patterned with what you think might be lychees, but you'd need to see the fruit in person to be sure. It’s you who breaks the silence first, piping up among the brush of a soft breeze that rustles at your clothes.

“You okay?”

“Yes. You saved me again.” There's a teasing lilt to her voice, that soft smile back in place which instils a soft sense of yearning. She brushes pale strands out of her eyes, tucking the wave of platinum behind her ear. She startles slightly with no trigger, and reaches for the bag slung over her shoulder.

“Here.” She searches through her bag for a moment, pulling free a pen and a notepad. Brows creased, she scribbles something on the page and folds it over before pressing it into your hand. Warm, you note, but the fleeting moment ends before you can form enough thought to follow the impression. “I have to get going now before the office closes but thank you for helping me!”

She flees with a wave and a swirl of peach-vanilla perfume, that soft pink flush back on her cheeks. A cape would not be out of place trailing in her wake, tangling in the wind left behind by hurried footsteps.

As quickly as she entered your life she’s gone again: leaving you with your thoughts, oath-bound with nothing to shield once more. A fleeting moment granted by fate at the side of a nameless regent, light personified in the form of unlit hair and green eyes. You remain in the late afternoon sun for a moment, free hand raised in farewell, thoroughly stunned by her sudden departure.

I forgot to ask her name.

...

Alisa rustles through her bag and laments over the fact that she had her business cards with her the whole time. It must have been awkward, watching her scribble on a note like that, but she'd seen no other option.

Her phone lights up with a text from an unknown number, your introduction sitting on the screen alongside an affirmation that you'd been the one to help her out today, and she smiles. She didn't fancy herself a queen by any measure besides confidence, but maybe there was something to be said about a knight in shining armour coming to her rescue in an unfamiliar place.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #alisa haiba #haiba alisa #my writing #1500 words of me being a hopeless gay? yeah

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