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sociallyawkward--fics · 4 years

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Certainly Fucking Feels Like It

Alright!! This is a sequel to this tiny little oneshot I wrote a couple weeks back called I Have Loved You for a Hundred Years (that I didn’t even mean to write in the first place, and I didn’t mean to write this one either but y’all can thank ao3 user MsLalaga, and also while writing this second one I got ideas for a third and fourth one so I’ll just never be free lol, there’s more to come)

Word Count: 4458 words

[ao3 link]

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Geralt expected to be the first one awake the next morning, as usual, but instead when he peeled his eyes open, they were met by a pair of vibrant green irises staring curiously at him over Jaskier’s torso.

“What?” He grunted tiredly, making sure to be quiet enough to wake Jaskier.

Ciri didn’t speak for a few moments. “You… just looked so peaceful. Usually even when meditating, or even sleeping, you look sad or angry.”

Geralt grunted wordlessly and sat up, careful not to jostle Jaskier. “Go back to sleep,” he said softly, reaching over to run a hand through her hair and across her cheek.

She leaned her face into his hand for a moment and pressed an affectionate little peck to the base of his palm before laying back down and cuddling into Jaskier, ashen blonde hair splaying out messily across the abundance of pillows. Geralt sat there for a few minutes until her breathing evened out and just watched the two people who had stolen his heart rest. When he was certain Ciri had fallen back asleep, he carefully slipped out of the bed and quietly padded out of the room.

He forwent his boots or putting on any more layers as he left. He could feel the numerous wards Yennefer had surrounding the building. If someone unsavory or unwanted managed to get in, even his armor wouldn’t save him, then.

Geralt busied himself fixing breakfast for everyone in Yen’s spacious kitchen. It took him a few minutes to orient himself with where everything was, but soon enough he was cooking peacefully and relaxing into the familiar motions he rarely got to use on the Path. He was so focused and relaxed, even, that he actually missed the sound of Yennefer padding in.

“Good morning,” she purred, draping herself at a counter to watch him work.

Geralt stopped himself from jumping or flinching at her unexpected appearance. “Hm.” He grunted.

Out of his peripheral, he saw her roll her eyes. “Come, Geralt. Not even a morning greeting for your old friend?”

Just to be stubborn, he continued to avoid the greeting and moved on with the question he had for her. “Is Ciri going to become immortal and stop ageing through her youth?”

But Yennefer was also nothing if not stubborn. She draped her far-too-fancy nightgown gracefully over the ground and leaned against the counter next to him with her eyebrows raised.

Geralt rolled his eyes and growled out, “Good morning.”

She smiled at him, serene yet teasing. “Magic is a fickle thing,” she responded. “Seeing as it comes from chaos. Magic from love, even moreso. The chaos of love is not something I even will even pretend to understand.” She wrinkled her nose with distaste.

“Yes, we know you dislike that, Yennefer, but we’re talking about more than romantic love, stop making that face. I am not attracted to Roach, and I am certainly not attracted to Cirilla.”

Yennefer sighed as her moment of appreciating her disgust was interrupted. “It’s hard to say,” she said, checking her nails as Geralt began plating the food. “I didn’t sniff her out for traces of magic, I was more preoccupied with your bard and horse. It is possible, yes, that she will halt ageing and forever remain your little teenage daughter. What affect that would have on her, psychologically speaking, I cannot say.”

“Yennefer--”

“But,” she interrupted with a sharp glance. “Tell me, do you love her as much as you do Roach? Or Jaskier? And I mean the same amount, not the same way.”

Geralt resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose as he thought about it. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he had feelings, and Yennefer was asking him what he felt? He wasn’t exactly going to be the king of emotion identification, at this point in time.

“I… think so?”

Yennefer sighed with intense annoyance, but continued. “And how long have you felt this way about her?”

“Since the moment I saw her in the woods,” Geralt said without hesitation. “The moment she looked at me with such trust in her eyes and ran into my arms without a thought otherwise.”

A hint of a smile played at Yennefer’s lips as she turned to grab some drinking glasses from a nearby cupboard. “And tell me, it’s been, oh, a couple months? She’s at an age where children sprout up like beanstalks. Has she grown at all?”

Geralt took a moment to think about it. Jaskier had made a joke the other day about how tall she was getting, but that could have just been his usual teasing. She did seem taller when she hugged him the other day than when she had the first time, though…

“Yes,” Geralt said with uncertainty.

Yennefer helped Geralt carry the dishes of food to her extravagant dining room. “Then she’s probably fine. I’ll check for any magic on her, later, though it may be fuzzy because of her own magic.”

“Elder blood will do that,” Geralt grunted, pouring juice into the cups Yennefer had fetched.

“Now, you tell me something, witcher.”

“Hm?”

“What were they both doing in your room, last night?”

Geralt paused where he was pouring a drink. “Were you spying on us?”

Yennefer waved her hand dismissively with a disarming smile. “Simply checking in on you, you see.”

Geralt hummed and set the pitcher of juice aside. “Ciri had a nightmare.”

“Alright. Why was Jaskier in your room?”

Geralt furrowed his brow and stared at her. “I just said, Ciri had a nightmare.”

Yennefer cocked her head and crossed her legs. “Why didn’t he just take her back to his room to comfort her to sleep? Or her own? She fell asleep just fine without you, otherwise, and it’s not like the fresh sheets would’ve smelled like you. Why did he choose your bed?”

Geralt did not have an answer. Luckily, he did not have to come up with one, as a bright and cheery Ciri and a groggy Jaskier tumbled into the dining room only moments after he started thinking. He only hoped he hadn’t heard any of the conversation beforehand.

Ciri made a beeline for him when she saw and hugged him tight around his waist. Like every time she had hugged him so far, it took him a few seconds of hesitation to get with the program and wrap his arms around her fragile form. She gave him one last tight squeeze before releasing him and skipping over to one of the seats at the table with a fixed plate.

“Thanks for breakfast, Dad,” she chirped, almost unthinkingly.

She didn’t seem to realize what she said, but Geralt certainly wasn’t prepared for the words. He could only have one crisis at a time, dammit. And Yen and Jaskier’s grins directed at him were not helping matters.

Geralt filed that one away to deal with later, and gestured for Jaskier to take a seat. Breakfast was quiet as they devoured food that for once wasn’t heavily salted jerky or a fresh kill roasted half-heartedly over a weak fire in the cold air. Winter was approaching fast, and food was growing scarce, so having a meal like this (and not in an inn, where they had to pay for it) was a refreshing and much-needed change of pace.

About halfway through the meal, Yennefer and Ciri started leaning over their chairs to whisper conspiratorially in each other’s ears, giggling and smiling like children who thought they were getting away with something. Geralt let himself filter the whispers out into background noise instead of eavesdropping, let them have their fun.

“Well, that was a wonderful breakfast,” Jaskier said, far more awake now than he had been before eating. “Thank you, Geralt, for such a wonderful meal! Now, if all of you lovely people would excuse me for several moments, Ciri pulled me out of bed rather abruptly at the smell of good food and I would like to get ready for the day.”

Jaskier rose from the table and trailed from the room, an absent-minded hand dragging across Geralt’s shoulders and neck as he walked past. It was normal for them, and it never met anything before, but for some reason, after last night, the touch felt more, now.

“Geralt?” Ciri asked, startling him out of his thoughts. “Yennefer wanted to take me out to the market today. I was wondering, is that alright?”

Geralt hesitated.

“Oh, come on, Geralt,” Yennefer goaded. “Let her have a girls day, who knows how long it’ll be until I’m able to steal her away for another one.”

“It could be dangerous--”

“I’ll wear my hat!” Ciri blurted. “Or my hood, whatever you want!” She clasped her hands below her chin and gave him the most pitiful look she could muster. “Oh, please, Geralt, please!”

Geralt gave in quickly at that look, ignoring Yennefer’s smug expression. “Alright. But the hat stays on. And you’re not out too long.”

Ciri squealed with excitement and jumped out of her seat to race around the table and wrap her arms around Geralt’s neck. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Geralt couldn’t help the rumble of a chuckle that left his throat at her theatrics. “Go get dressed, Ciri.”

Ciri obediently raced off to do just that. Yennefer turned a smug look on Geralt, like she’d just gotten away with something that Geralt was not going to be happy about.

“No magic,” he said sternly, her look immediately setting him on edge, “unless for self-defense. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Looks like you and the bard will have the whole house to yourselves for a while,” Yennefer said, that self-satisfied look not even bothering to falter. “Perfect to take the time to talk to him about all this.”

Geralt felt his already slow heart stop. Sure, he had told Jaskier last night that they’d discuss it in the morning, but now, in the light of day and not in the private darkness of a bedroom late at night, he suddenly was very against that idea. Plus, hopefully Jaskier had forgotten the whole thing due to the late hour and his heavy eyes.

Yennefer frowned at him. “Stop that. You’re going to talk to him about it.”

Geralt scowled. “Don’t poke through my brain.”

She raised an unimpressed brow. “I don’t have to. I know how you think, and I know that look on your face.” Her face shifted into something a little more understanding. “Look, I understand feelings are exactly easy for you, but the man deserves to know that you’ve accidentally made him immortal and tied your lifelines.”

Geralt sighed. She was right, of course. That didn’t make it any easier.

Yennefer flitted off to ready herself for the day, as well. Geralt went about cleaning the dishes he used as best as he could. Ciri was the first one to come back out into the living spaces of the house, which was both surprising since she was the princess, and also not, considering she didn’t have much and Geralt couldn’t afford to pamper her. Hopefully, Yennefer could get her some nice things, even if it would make travelling a little harder with the heavier load.

Jaskier and Yennefer came back out at the same time, appearances both immaculate. They still somehow found ways to spout insults at each other, but Geralt knew better than to pay them mind, now.

“Come, Ciri,” Yennefer said, eventually extracting herself from the friendly insult-war. “Let’s have our girls’ day.”

Ciri bounced after Yennefer and shot Geralt a smug look, and Geralt immediately knew that she knew. Yennefer gave him a matching look as she herded Ciri out the front door.

“Talk to him,” she said obviously, and the door shut behind them.

“Talk to me about what?” Jaskier asked from behind him.

Geralt, predictably, chickened out. “Would you like more breakfast?” He asked, voice strained. “I think I’m still hungry, as well.” And he fled to the kitchen.

Jaskier followed him, albeit at a slower pace. “You’re avoiding,” he said.

“Jaskier--”

“Geralt, what do we need to talk about?”

“Jaskier--”

“Wait, does this have something to do with how weird you were last night? And you said we’d talk about it to--”

Geralt slammed the bowls and dishes onto Yennefer’s counter, producing a loud bang. His hands were shaking. “Jaskier, please.”

Jaskier stopped. Geralt didn’t plead, or really tend to have any manners at all, so he must have been taking Geralt very seriously at the moment.

“Okay,” he said eventually, after they’d stood frozen in the silence for far too long.

Geralt took a deep breath and nodded, starting to move again. Wordlessly, Jaskier sidled up next to him and helped him prepare the second breakfast that neither of them was really hungry for, but they were going to eat anyway. Jaskier was silent throughout the whole process, which was probably meant to try and let Geralt think, but truly it just set him on edge because Jaskier should never be quiet, let alone silent.

Jaskier took a deep breath as they set their second breakfast on the dining room table. “I don’t mean to set you more on edge, Geralt, I really don’t, but… you’re worrying me.”

Geralt resisted the urge to reach up and fiddle with his medallion.

“I just… You know how… Witchers don’t have emotions.”

Jaskier’s face went stormy. “And how it’s bullshit, yes.”

Geralt’s head jerked back a little in surprise. Whenever it was brought up, Jaskier always seemed discontent with it, but it was always met with a sigh and a teasing remark, never a response this angry.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at his recoil. “Geralt, come on. I have no doubt that such an idea was created by people who hated and feared people like you, just to make others fear and hate you. I’ve seen you, and unless you’re the most emotional witcher alive, there’s no doubt in my heart that you feel. You’re too kind and good to not, not to mention the way you look at Ciri.”

“But I--”

“I think you’ve just been told so much over the years that you can’t feel, that you’ve started to believe it. I think they hurt you enough and convinced you so hard that you’re the monster, that you actually thought it was true because so many people told you it was and that destroyed you. But I will not stand for that, Geralt of Rivia, no sir.”

Jaskier was panting when he was finished, face pinched in anguish and a little red with anger. He was always so expressive, always let his emotions burn bright and knew how to identify them. Geralt wanted to be able to do that -- was he jealous? Envious? Was there a difference?

He cleared his throat. “I, um, yes. I am coming to understand that, now?”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and leaned over the table. “Geralt, I know you’re not good with your words, but I am very confused and very worried and I would like you to speak very plainly about whatever the hell is going on.”

“I have feelings.” Geralt said.

“Yes, I’ve known this.”

“And you’re immortal.”

“Yes, very good, I--” Jaskier stopped mid-sentence and his eyes went wide as he sputtered, flinging himself back in his chair. He brought his hands up to his face, fingers splayed, and examined them like they held the secrets to the universe. “I’m sorry, I’m what?” He asked, voice getting shrill.

“Immortal.” Geralt said, internally wincing. He knew this wasn’t going to go well. “So is Roach, apparently.”

Jaskier looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Roach is-- what--I--” His voice went all high pitched and nervous. “How old is Roach?!”

“I stopped keeping track,” Geralt said honestly, his own nerves finally starting to pitch into his voice. “I’ve had her since… well, at least a decade before meeting you, possibly longer. Like I said, I stopped keeping track.”

At his tone of voice, Jaskier seemed to take a moment to collect himself. He took a few deep breaths before looking up, voice and expression far more calm. Geralt would’ve been inclined to think Jaskier was lying for his sake, it wouldn’t have been the first time, but he even smelled calmer, so Geralt believed him.

“So I guess it wasn’t my skincare that kept me looking so good for so long,” Jaskier said with a wry smile.

Geralt released some of the tension from his shoulders and let a huff of breath. Jaskier lit up, clearly (correctly) assuming that it was laughter.

Jaskier took another deep breath and let it out on a humming sigh and his scent started to pick up his usual honey-sweet happiness again. “Well, it’s a bit of a shock, but I can certainly work with this. Gives me more time for my music, more time with you and Ciri. Think of all the ballads I can complete, I’ll become the best bard in the continent with all my study! And I can continue to travel because my bones will never grow old and frail! Geralt, this is quite the blessing!”

Geralt smiled and he finally felt settled enough to start eating the second breakfast he had really only made to keep his hands busy. Jaskier started eating, too, but continued his constant run of dialogue between mouthfuls. Everything was fine again. Until--

“Wait,” Jaskier said, setting his fork down and staring at Geralt in confusion. “How did this even happen? How are Roach and I immortal? And what does this have to do with you having feelings?”

Geralt nearly choked. Which, of course, just seemed to make Jaskier more anxious.

“I, uh, it’s-- It’s an interesting story, actually.” He managed after a minute or two of searching for words.

“Geralt.” Jaskier said warningly, taking a page out of his book.

Geralt sighed, his shoulders drooping even as the walls around his heart came up. He shut himself away, prepared for rejection. Somehow, rejection hadn’t even been on his mind until he actually had to confront the words he was about to say.

“Turns out,” Geralt said slowly, feeling out the words in his mouth, “since I can feel. Turns out that I-- I--” Geralt cut himself off with a frustrated breath.

Jaskier stood from his place at the table across from Geralt, and somewhere deep inside himself where there still lived a hurt and confused child, Geralt was certain he was going to leave him there and never come back. But Jaskier simply walked around the table to take the seat next to him, scooting it close enough that their bodies pressed together, and grabbing Geralt’s hands lightly in his own so that Geralt could pull away if he wanted.

“Tell me,” he whispered, eyes filled with patience and something Geralt couldn’t place. “Please?”

Geralt took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Jaskier froze next to him. “What?”

Geralt was sure he felt something in his chest shatter and he felt the strange urge to apologize. And then to make things worse, Jaskier started giggling. Then he started laughing fully, having the gall to lean into Geralt and hold Geralt’s hands close to his chest while having that kind of reaction. Geralt tried to tug his hands back, but Jaskier tightened his grip.

“No, no, dear heart,” Jaskier said, scooting his chair impossibly closer. “I’m not laughing at you, cross my heart. Darling, I’m laughing from relief. Very silly, I know, but my choices were either laugh or cry and I figured this one would worry you less, so I just--”

It was Geralt’s turn to say, “What?”

One of Jaskier’s hands released his and came up to cup Geralt’s face, turn his gaze towards him. Geralt couldn’t help but lean into the touch, just like Ciri had done to him that morning (he resisted the urge to kiss Jaskier’s palm), and Jaskier smiled wider at the motion.

“Of course I love you, too, you oaf. Twenty-two years of following you around like a heartsick puppy and you never picked that up?”

Geralt’s voice came out strangled, “I--no!”

Jaskier giggled again. “I should’ve been more obvious and forward with it, knowing you, I suppose.” Then his brow furrowed. “I still don’t understand what this has to do with me, or Roach for that matter, being immortal.”

Geralt groaned and buried his head in his hands for a moment. When he looked up again, Jaskier was giving him the most besotted look, and he had to look away again in fear he would keel over from the sheer adoration in his gaze.

“Yennefer says that my love for the two of you is… so intense that it became infused with magic. My love has tied our lifelines together, so you’ll both live as long as I do, exempting any fatal wounds.”

Geralt risked looking over at him, and Jaskier looked positively giddy. Geralt almost had to look away again, but Jaskier started moving again and he couldn’t bring himself to. Jaskier swung himself into Geralt’s lap, straddling him on the chair so that they faced each other, and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist on instinct to keep him from falling.

Jaskier brought one hand away from his neck to poke at Geralt’s chest smugly, a grin forming to match. “You love me,” he bragged. “You love me so damn much that your love did fucking magic so that we’d be together forever.”

“Yes,” Geralt said, grateful that witchers couldn’t blush.

“You love me.” Jaskier said, playing with inflections. “You love me. You love me. You love me.”

Despite still being mortally embarrassed, Geralt grinned at him. “Would you like me to say it again?” He teased.

Jaskier lit up more, because somehow that was possible when he was already shining brighter than the sun. “Oh, absolutely.”

Geralt’s smile softened. “I love you.” It seemed like the words got easier to say every time.

Jaskier melted against him with a sigh.

“I love you.”

He earned a kiss to his jaw.

“I love you.”

A kiss to the cheek.

“I love you.”

To the temple.

“I love you.”

To the forehead.

“I love you.”

His nose.

“I love you.”

His chin.

Jaskier pulled back again and gave him a look so filled with love that Geralt’s mouth went dry. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

He barely managed to get the words out before Geralt’s lips connected with his. Jaskier made a surprised sound, but quickly melted into Geralt with a contented sigh. One of Jaskier’s hands slid up to tangle with his hair and Geralt groaned against his lips. His own hands splayed against the expanse of Jaskier’s back and pulled him impossibly closer.

They kissed gently for long minutes before Geralt pulled up as it started to grow more and more heated. He wanted to bask in the soft moment awhile longer, if he was able, and Jaskier seemed to have no complaints. He simply rested his forehead against Geralt’s, smiling gently as they shared their breaths.

“How long?” Jaskier eventually asked, voice so soft that if Geralt wasn’t a witcher, he wasn’t sure he would’ve heard, even with their proximity to each other.

“I don’t know,” Geralt murmured truthfully. “How long has it been since you’ve noticed yourself aging?”

At that Jaskier actually pulled back, brow furrowing. His eyes darted around the room as he searched his own thoughts and Geralt waited patiently. It took a few minutes, but Jaskier finally cocked his head and squinted a little.

“Maybe early twenties? It’s hard to pinpoint, you know? You don’t change much as you start growing into adulthood.” Then he paused, turning a fake glare on Geralt (and he only knew it was fake because that honey-sweet smell wasn’t soured by anything rancid). “You mean to tell me we could’ve been doing this for decades already? Melitele’s tits Geralt, have you any clue how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?!”

Geralt smirked. “How long?” He rumbled, mostly teasing.

“Since the moment I saw you in that damn tavern in Posada.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“Granted, I fell in lust before I fell in love. I fell in infatuation with you later that day, during our little scuffle with the elves--”

“It wasn’t a scuffle, we were tied at their mercy--”

“But,” Jaskier continued, giving Geralt a pointed look and a flick to the chest for interrupting him, “I fell in love with you a little more slowly. It was the small things, really. I was totally gone on you before I was twenty, though.”

Geralt smiled again. “Good to know.”

“Now,” Jaskier said. “I’m beyond ready for every wonderful thing this new relationship status is going to bring, but let me tell you, the thing I want to do most right now is to hold you and be held with you and lazily makeout in bed for hours without it going anywhere. Possibly also nap together. And whisper sweet nothings.”

Geralt chuckled. “Is that so?”

He rose from his chair and Jaskier yelped and grabbed tighter around his neck. He giggled as Geralt helped him wrap his legs around Geralt’s hips and gave him another kiss on the cheek in return. Carrying him bridal-style was probably more romantic, but Geralt never claimed to be a romantic. He gripped Jaskier by his thighs and carried him back to his -- their -- temporary room tossing Jaskier on the bed.

Jaskier grinned as he bounced before shucking off his doublet and boots and crawling up to the pillows at the headboard. Geralt followed quickly after him, suddenly glad he hadn’t bothered making himself presentable because it would’ve just delayed him getting his hands and lips back on Jaskier.

The first thing Jaskier did was reach up and tug the leather band out of his hair, the parts he usually had pulled up falling loose to frame his face. Jaskier stuck his tongue out playfully as he shook Geralt's hair out, making it fluffy and fly-away. In revenge, Geralt scrubbed a hand against Jaskier’s hair and laughed at the yelp he produced at the treatment, shoving Geralt’s hand away.

And then Jaskier pulled him down to the bed and wrapped himself around his body. Geralt, in turn, wrapped himself tightly around Jaskier. They couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began, and it was perfect.

“It’s not fair how much I love you,” Jaskier murmured against his lips.

“How unreasonable,” Geralt teased.

And they kissed. And kissed again. And again, and again, and again, and Geralt was certain he would absolutely never get sick of kissing Jaskier, no matter how much he was bound to demand it.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fanfic #immortal jaskier #my writing #power of love series

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antihero-writings · 3 years

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His Butler, and the Problem with Magic (Ch1)

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji x Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Crossover

Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian finds himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?

Character Focus: Ciel (Sebastian, Undertaker, Harry, Grell)

Notes: This is a fic I wrote for @elegantkittycat for a Valentines day secret-santa-style event I made a few years ago!

Yes, I’m aware there are typos in this chapter. I intend to fix them at some point.

If you’d be willing to comment and/or reblog, it would mean more to me than you know!! They really really help motivate me to keep writing.

Chapter 1:

The great hall, quite frankly, looked like Valentine’s day threw up on it. Those lurid pink flowers from lunch still lined the walls, but now bright streamers glided across the ceiling, big, shiny hearts fluttered in the air, reflecting mood lighting, and bubble hearts popped out of bouquets of roses, (each flower cut into hearts). The ceiling itself not only continued to drop confetti, but was blighted by puffy clouds that read the same banalities you could find in every Sweethearts box; Be Mine, and True Love, and XOXO. (The clouds may have actually read that outside too, but Ciel didn’t want to check.) The burly cupids from earlier in the week lumbered about the room, continuing to pelt people with off-key music, and cards that only the most hopeless and idiotic of romantics would provide, filled with the same empty statements the clouds read—(every once and a while a howler burst forth, and the actual band would come to a shrieking halt at “YOU’RE REALLY CUTE”).

Lockhart had insisted a Valentine’s day ball was in order—(a lurid end to a lurid day)—and remarked with a toss of his perfect hair and blinding smile that it would be ‘just the thing’ to brighten everyone’s moods.

The fact that Lizzie had been the first (of many, mind you) to offer her decorative expertise and assistance may or may not have contributed to the overall… valentines-day-puked-and-so-will-I vibe of the room.

Currently, said mission to lift the general spirit was failing; aside from the few school lovebirds, (who were already widely despised and avoided, without school-sanctioned and overly sugary displays of affection) most people took this as the perfect opportunity for your daily dose of sulking at the sidelines, and contemplating if magic was quite worth this amount of suffering. Not least of all Ciel, who was currently propped against the wall behind the food table. (Lizzie had pried him away from his brooding earlier to dance, but now he happily returned to the indent he’d made in the wall). He had made many attempts throughout the evening to sneak a piece of chocolate cake, but Sebastian always magically appeared to slap his hands away whenever he got too close.

Most people would have stayed in their dorms, given the chance. Lockhart, however, had sent everyone cards with his kissy face on them, telling them flirtatiously not to dawdle, and his commands got more sugary, and insistent, (not to mention awkward) the longer they stayed indoors, and floated over their heads until they dragged their butts to the ball. This was particularly affective at making sure everyone was there, because the girls melted for his voice, and the boys wanted to shut him up as soon as possible.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Ciel!” A certain Indian prince put his arm around the earl’s neck and noogied him.

“Wha—No!” Ciel struggled like a fish out of water. Upon release he wiped his hands on his dress robes (the robes Sebastian had thrown together for the event—his ‘thrown together,’ of course, looked like others ‘spent-months-laboring-over-this’)—as if he didn’t want to catch Soma’s contagious happiness. “And I’d thank you to not touch me so casually!”

“I’m sorry Ciel, it’s just seeing all this love in the air makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside!” he spun around, “Doesn’t it do the same for you?”

“That’s called acid reflux.”

Soma pouted.

“Ciieel!” Lizzie’s hug was a torpedo. She snared his hands and spun him around, “Come dance with me!”

“Ack…I just danced with you ten minutes ago! How many times do I have to dance with you before you’re satisfied?!”

“Don’t you want your fiancé to be happy?” Her green eyes, (which were already big), became the puppy dog eyes of a little girl who wants an expensive toy.

“Don’t you?” he grumbled.

“I’ll dance with you, Elizabeth!” Soma came to the rescue. “It would be an honor to dance with such a lovely young lady!”

She blushed—“Oh please! It would be more than an honor to dance with a Prince!”—and curtsied, shooting Ciel an icy look, before joining the dance.

The young earl folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.

As if that wasn’t enough sappiness for a lifetime, cloying words floated to his ears:

“Oh Professor Michaelis~!”

Ciel’s brow twitched.

“Come now Lavender, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Ahh, he’s so noble!” came a not-so-whispered consensus.

Ciel jerked his head to see the group of girls crowding around his butler, like birds to sunflower seeds in the park.

Rather than sharing his annoyance, and refusing their advances, Sebastian shimmered with flattery and flirtation. A few of them offered him boxes of chocolates and other sweets, which he took with flowery compliments, but surely had no intention of eating—it didn’t take a love expert to know they were all laced with love potions. (Or maybe he could eat them anyways; the jury was still out if love potions had any affect on the demon…some magical methods worked on him and others didn’t).

Ciel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “Don’t you have better things to do?!” he shouted over the throng.

Sebastian chuckled. “Mr. Phantomhive, don’t you know it’s rude to question a teacher?”

Ciel growled.

“These lovely ladies took time out of their day to offer me gifts,” the butler’s calm voice carried across the room. “It would be rude to refuse them.”

There was a syrupy sigh from the group.

“Ugh,” Ciel gave the opposite kind of sigh, and turned away before he gave into the urge to murder.

A familiar laugh at his side made him turn.

“What’s so funny?” he asked the Undertaker.

“Oh nothing much,” Undertaker forwent his usual dog biscuits for a piece of cake, “I just find your sour mood rather humorous.”

“You know me, I’m always in a sour mood.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he said, his mouth full of cake, “but,” he swallowed, “it seems the atmosphere of love and joy has put you in a particularly foul state of mind,” he pointed a black nail at him.

“I just don’t find romance being thrown in my face to make for a very fun evening, that’s all. One of Lizzie’s cutsey rampages is enough for me…but this?” he shuddered.

“Well, some would say it’s sweet. That it makes them feel happy and romantic.”

“When I rise to power, those people will be sterilized.”*

He laughed. “Always the life of the party, you are.”

“What? Are you one of those people?”

“I wouldn’t say so. But seeing you in such a state is worth all the romance any day.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he grunted.

Undertaker set down his plate and twirled in front of him, then leaned forward and spoke behind his hand, “What do you say we make this party…a party?” he reached into one of his drapey sleeves and pulled out a vial, teasing it in front of his face.

A quizzical look from Ciel made Undertaker whistle in the direction of the nearby punchbowl.

Ciel sighed and rubbed his temple. “Spiking the punch…really? Isn’t that a little too cliché, even for you?”

“I prefer the term ‘failsafes.’ Even you have to admit, the atmosphere could use a little...” he glanced around the room, “spiking. Besides,” he leaned in close and whispered, “this isn’t alcohol, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“…What is it then?” Ciel moaned, eyeing the ex-reaper.

He stood back up to his full height. “I’m not one to spoil the punchline before I tell the joke.”

The young earl sighed, “You really think we should deprive people of their misery? I’m not one to interrupt some good, old-fashioned sulking.”

“The general idea is that those who are miserable would like to…not be.”

“They also say that misery loves company. Misery and I, for instance, have quite the close relationship.”

As if called by them saying ‘misery’ too many times, Lockhart’s pretty face showed up.

Ciel coughed to cover his distaste.

“Ah Undertaker! Good to see you here! Everyone’s loving the party aren’t they?”—He gestured to the glowering room—“It’s so wonderful to see all these young people in love!” he gave a throaty chuckle.

“Well, I wouldn’t say everyone.” Undertaker had a way with honesty.

“What makes you say that? Did someone tell you they weren’t enjoying it? We can’t have that!”

“It’s not so much anyone specific, but—”

“…What’s that you have?” his eyes fell on the vial that Undertaker had barely tried to conceal. Despite Ciel’s theory that Lockhart was dumber than a bag of rocks (even if the rocks were magic), it didn’t take long for the truth to dawn on him, “Spiking the punch are we?” He held up an accusatory finger, “Naughty naughty. I would have expected this from one of the students, but shouldn’t a man of your stature know better?”

“What stature?” Ciel snorted.

“What’s that, Dear Boy?” Lockhart leaned forward.

Undertaker put his hand on Ciel’s head, covering his vision with his sleeve. “The young Er—student was just about to say that a man of my stature is not one to shy away from a little fun.” he put his other hand on Ciel’s shoulder, his grip a little too tight.

“I hardly think it’s ‘a little fun.’ We don’t want any students getting hurt, nor do we the party ruined, now do we? All it takes is one slip of the foot and someone ends up in the hospital.” He held out his hand, expecting him to hand over the vial.

“On second thought, do it,” Ciel whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be the kid who winds up in the hospital. Anything to get me out of this hellish party.”

“What are we up to?” Dumbledore joined the conversation. It appeared as though Lizzie had got to even the headmaster, as he had bows in his beard and hair, though he didn’t seem to mind much.

“I regret to inform you that our dear Undertaker has intents to spike the punch.” Lockhart said like he was a student tattling.

“Ah,” the headmaster said casually, popping a heart candy in his mouth and burping out a heart, “(Pardon me). Well you can’t blame him for trying to bring a little…sprucing up, to the room, can you?” he lifted his hands and smiled genially.

“Are you saying that my party is not of the highest caliber?”

“Oh we aren’t denying that you have an air for the grandiose, Gilderoy,” he began cutting the cake with his wand; “Mr. Phantomhive, would you like some cake?”

Ciel glanced at Sebastian, who was currently preoccupied, and tried not to smirk. “I’d love some, thanks.”

Dumbledore cut him a huge slice, handing it to him gracefully, as if he were dropping a tiny lemon sherbet into his palm instead of a mountain of chocolate. Ciel inclined his head in gratitude, (and made sure to eat a big bite when Sebastian was looking, and the incense on his face was worth it—he, of course, couldn’t do anything butler-like with the headmaster and another teacher standing there).

“Don’t beat around the bush Albus!” Lockhart cut back in, “What is it you’re trying to say?”

“No one denies your party-throwing skills, dear Professor Lockhart.” He stood, placing his hands behind his back, “But your em…” he cleared his throat, “other skills can sometimes be rather lacking…”

“I’m shocked, and hurt, Dumbledore.” He put his hand over his heart. “Shocked and hurt. I’ll have you know that I won ‘best party-thrower’ in three”—he held up three shaky fingers—“countries! I think that should more than make up for any spoiled brats who can’t see fun even if it’s standing in front of their face!”

“Was he talking about me?” Ciel murmured to Undertaker, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “I feel like he was talking about me.”

“And what countries were those?”

As they argued, Dumbledore inclined his head towards the punch bowl.

It was Ciel’s turn to be shocked. Everyone knew their headmaster was rather eccentric, but he didn’t take him to be so reckless. He’d expect this from Undertaker… but Dumbledore? He thought he had at least a little ‘responsible-grown-up’ in him (even though Undertaker was definitely a lost cause).

Ciel turned to stop the ex-reaper, but now a dotted outline remained where Undertaker previously had been, and a second later he saw a long-nailed hand appear above the punch bowl.

Ciel facepalmed.

Any desire he had to drink said punch, as well as be at this party at all, had gone into the negatives.

But, eh, at least he had cake now. So maybe it wasn’t all bad.

“Young Master!” Sebastian snatched the plate from his hand, “How many times have I told you—!”

“Oh, so now you can walk away from the girls?” Ciel spun to his butler, whose arms were full of assorted treats. (Ciel, of course, knew he’d probably have walked away sooner if it weren’t for Lockhart and Dumbledore).

He tapped his foot on the ground (which somehow didn’t imbalance the tower of sweets), “I won’t allow it. You’ll get a tummyache.”

“I’m not a child!”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at his whining. “That may be…but regardless, you have a delicate composition.” He leaned over and set Ciel’s unfinished plate in the ‘dirty’ pile. “Sweets of this size will certainly impair your gastrointestinal health.”

Ciel looked from side to side, hoping no one was listening, feeling his face grow hot. “Delicate!”

“Would you prefer a different term? Fragile? Frail?”

“I’m not a vase!”

“Tender?”

“I’m not a steak!”

Sebastian looked over his professor-glasses at him as if to say Do you think you’re talking to someone else?

Ciel groaned, giving his butler the victory.

Sebastian set his armful of gifts in a pile along the wall. Clapping his hands clean and wiping his brow.

“What, are you tired?” he mocked, knowing full well the demon couldn’t get tired. “Is having a bunch of high-school-girls fawn over you exhausting?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Sebastian joked back, feigning thought.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of—”

A mischievous idea curled itself around his brain.

“You must be thirsty,” he said in a mockingly-concerned voice, trying to lean sideways on the table by the punch (but he almost fell over, and had to catch himself).

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t really require hydration like you humans do.”

Ciel gave him a look as if to say No, go ahead, I won’t mind. You really do look exhausted.

“But I suppose it couldn’t hurt….If you insist.”

“Oh I do.” He smirked as he watched Sebastian pour himself a cup.

More likely than not it wouldn’t have any affect on the demon, but, presented with the potential, he wasn’t going to deny himself a few hours to imagine what it might be like if it did.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Young Master?” he asked before raising the cup to his lips.

“Oh…I’m just enjoying the party.”

That didn’t clear things up. Sebastian’s brow furrowed, but, after taking a sip, he didn’t have time to ask because—

“The party has arri-ved~!” a certain familiar voice sang.

Ciel was starting to wonder if this was God finally deciding to punish him. Both master and butler felt like they were going to be violently ill, and simultaneously had a thought something akin to that’s my cue to leave! Before they could even make the first step, however—

“Ahh Sebas-chan!”

They winced, turning slowly to see Grell waving a princess wave at the butler over the crowd, while Ronald followed suit, nodding and blowing kisses towards the girls.

“All this love in the air,” Grell materialized beside them (they jumped a little), and crossed his hands over his heart, staring blinkily into the ceiling, “Kinda gets you thinking, doesn’t it.” He sidled up beside the demon.

“If you mean thinking about ending your life, indeed, it does.” Sebastian showed him no mercy.

“Playing hard to get, are we? Ah! How saucy!” he slapped his shoulder playfully,

Sebastian sighed, folding his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the nagging presence.

“Ciel! Ciel! Are you going to introduce me to your friends?!” Lizzie and Soma arrived at his side, as if hopeless romantics were coming out of the woodwork.

“They’re most certainly not my friends.” He cleared his throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Old Chap?” Ronald asked, “We may not be close, but I thought all those times we tried to kill each other meant something.”

Lizzie stared at Ronald, inching slowly away.

“Oh that’s just…a joke we have,” Ciel defended weakly.

“Oh…” Lizzie looked away, then recovered quickly, “Well, anyhow, you didn’t tell me Prince Soma was such a lovely dancer!”

“How was I supposed to know?” he grunted, “I’ve never danced with him!”

“Don’t be so rude, Ciel!” Soma defended her, “Please, you were like a—what are those dancers called? That’s right, a ballerina! —You were like ballerina, Miss Lizzie.”

“Don’t be so modest! Ciel, should take a page out of your book!”

“What page?” Ciel demanded, “The one on being a spoiled brat?”

“Sounds like someone’s already read that one,” She punched his shoulder. Her attitude changed in a second again, “I’m so thirsty!” She reached for the punch ladle.

“Wait—NO!” Ciel grabbed her wrist.

She blinked. “What are you doing?”

“I—uh” his face was a thermometer slowly going into the red, “I just umm…You don’t want to drink that.”

“I don’t?”

“No…yeah…it uh, tastes like uhh… cat pee,” he started to pull her away.

“How would you know what cat pee tastes like?” Ronald’s butted in.

“Maybe a cat peed in my mouth one time, you don’t know my life!”

“I’m having a hard time believing a nobleman such as yourself—”

“I just don’t think she should drink it, that’s all! Is that so inconceivable?!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Sheesh,” he shook his head, “you Nobles are pieces of work!”

Ciel rolled his eyes, turning back to Lizzie. “Why don’t you go back to your dorm?”

“But… I don’t want to go back to my dorm.” Lizzie pouted, “I’m having fun! …Or at least I was,” she murmured.

“…Look I’m sorry. I’ll-I’ll dance another number with you, okay?”

As they walked out onto the floor, he watched the other students drink the unassuming punch over his shoulder.

*****

At the risk of sounding even more cliché; the day started like any other. Ciel got up before the other boys in his dorm to a chilly February morning, and started his routine—an aspect of which was speaking to Sebastian about today’s mission and objectives before classes began. Their current mission had to do with the Chamber of Secrets—such as figuring out where it was, if it existed at all—and the heir, who they were, and how to dispose of, or join them, accordingly. At this point, they had little to no leads. With his day robes on, and homework and books in hand, he slipped out into the hall.

He’d soon wish he stayed in bed.

Once the common room door closed, his day-from-hell would begin.

For a magic school, not much happened day-to-day. Well, that wasn’t true, Harry Potter added some…pizzazz. But it was still a school, and once you get used to the magic…normal-school-things happen.

Today was one of those days which reminded him that this was not a normal school.

Sure it was the day after Valentines Day, but did those Huffpuffs have to kiss in the hallways?

And guess what? You there, standing in the hall, blocking everyone’s way? Yeah, you. There is a perfectly nice wall behind you, just waiting to be leaned against (ignore the judgmental painting in the background).

And why did anyone who wasn’t in the throws of *shudders* youthful passion have this glazed look in their eyes, like they’d eaten pot brownies for breakfast?

Most of the time, the few students who were awake at this hour chatted and giggled, inflicting the general populace with the daily gossip, at which, sure, he would still roll his eyes and groan, but it was at least better than kissing and clogging up the hallway (as well as each other’s mouths).

He was relieved to finally reach Sebastian in the The Defense Against the Dark arts classroom.

This was one thing that was no surprise, as he shared the teaching position of the class with Lockhart—(no easy task, as they were both divas who didn’t enjoy sharing spotlight, and one was totally incompetent, and the other was as overqualified a professional chef at a kids easy-bake bake off. But their even-keeled headmaster had to give them each equal time teaching. At the beginning of the year, after it was decided which classes would get which teacher, some students begged the heads of houses to reconsider putting them in Sebastian’s class. Sebastian, amicable and excessive as ever, decided to host extra classes after school to satisfy the disappointed students).

“Alright, shall we pick up where we left off?” Ciel marched towards Sebastian, throwing his books on the nearest desk.

However, unlike his usual, attentive I-solved-all-our-problems-overnight-here’s-the-solution self, the butler stared out the window…he didn’t even pay his master immediate attention.

Said master tapped his foot impatiently on the ground and snapped, “Oy, Sebastian!”

“Mm?” the demon faced him, slowly.

Again, there was that glazed look. Like he had been in a donut factory.

“Young Master, I… didn’t hear you come in.” His eyes darted around the room.

“You bloody well didn’t,” he continued to tap his foot, muttering, “Demon hearing my ass.”

When Sebastian didn’t use said demon hearing to reprimand him for swearing, he knew something was wrong. He stopped being aggravated for a second and looked a little closer.

There was a smudge on his glasses. His hair was sticking up in front of his forehead, and there was some cat hair on his robes (probably from a clowder he kept in his room).

He was…imperfect. His appearance, while still practically impeccable by human standards was sloppy by Sebastian’s. His attention, divided.

And that was reason to worry.

Ciel leaned over the desk and snapped in his face. “You can ogle photos on your own time!”

Sebastian looked at him, but every time he focused on him, as if magnetized, his eyes reeled back to a photograph on the desk.

“Do you think…do you think he could like me?” Sebastian said in a strangely uncertain voice that didn’t sound at all like him.

“Huh?”

He had never known Sebastian to be uncertain of, or fascinated by, anything, and, more importantly, he had zero regard for whether or not people liked him. He also never pried his concentrations from the missions, especially not for something so trivial and/or emotional as photos.

Ciel walked around the desk to get a good look at it. He thought it might be Lockhart, as the room was crawling with his glimmering face. Instead, in a shattered case—(Ciel thought he might hurl)—the demon fixated on a picture of Grell.

The young earl vaguely remembered Grell giving it to him—mentioning passionately something about it being a way for him to be with him at all times, with hearts in his eyes. At the time, Sebastian had rolled his eyes, said, ‘is there a version of this when I can see you at no times?’ and tossed it into the drawer with enough disregard that the glass had shattered, and (now this is just speculation) hoped to never look at it again.

For what unholy (or holy, by demon standards…no, it definitely wasn’t holy) reason would Sebastian return to it now? And what’s worse, how could a picture of Grell possibly distract him from the task his master had placed before him?

Was it possible that all those pictures, cards, the cheesy lines, and sappy gestures, all the maudlin advances, had finally made it through to Sebastian?

Hell no. He’d watch the world burn before that happened.

Hang on a minute, let’s check.

Nope, still snow on the ground.

Okay, more plausibly, did he lose his mind?

Let’s tone it down a little; Maybe this was a—albeit not funny—joke?

“What are you on about?”

The demon picked up the picture. “Grell.” He rushed towards Ciel, putting the picture in front of his eyes—“Get that out of my face!”—“Do you think he’d ever want to be with someone like me?”

The earl began to laugh, a fake, loud laugh, then abruptly stopped.

“Very funny, Sebastian, you like Grell. Can we get back to work now?”

Sebastian grabbed a book off his table and Ciel had to duck to keep it from hitting his head.

“What are you on?!”

“I may be cleverly witty when the situation calls for it, but I am not joking, Young Master! And I’d thank you to treat my beloved one with respect!”

Ciel blanched, his eyes glued open, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. “You mean this,” he pointed to the situation at hand, the words soft and enunciated, a nervous laugh behind them, “This isn’t a joke?”

“No!” he cradled the picture, “I think Grell’s the most lovely person I ever met.”

He waited for the butler to burst into laughter.

…and he kept waiting.

He knew more than anyone, neither master nor butler pulled stunts of this caliber.

Ciel grabbed one of the scrolls on the wall and wacked his butler over the head with it.

“Quit playing around! We don’t have time for children’s games!”

“I don’t understand, Young Master,” he rubbed his head (as if that could possibly hurt the demon). “You aren’t insulting Master Grell, are you?”

“No, I’m insulting you, you twat!”

He swiped the picture from him (hurt flared in the butler’s eyes). “You see how the glass is shattered here?”

He placed his hand over his heart. “Who would do a thing like that to such a perfect face?”

“You, you bloody idiot! Don’t you remember?” he smacked his head with the paper again, making it crease, “When Grell gave you that you tossed it into the drawer and said you ‘wanted to see him at no times.’”

“Me?” he snatched the picture back, holding it tight to his chest. “No, I would never!” he said like Grell was the purest little ray of sunshine, and Ciel said he’d kicked a puppy yesterday.

“No, what you would never, is return said…” he cleared his throat and didn’t finish the sentence.

“I don’t understand, Young Master. Here I am, bearing my heart. Why must you squash it?”

His eye twitched. “To remind you you don’t have a heart!”

“I—”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” he slammed his hands on the desk, “There’s no way this can be real!” he slumped onto the desk and ran his hand through his hair, looking more deranged than the one who was actually delirious, “Why, in all that is—How—Why would you ever—?!”

“Be careful, Young Master, don’t let that anger fester; it’s bad for your health.”

And it dawned on him.

He slammed his palm into his forehead.

The punch at the party—it was so obvious. Undertaker had even told him it didn’t contain alcohol.

“Young Master, are you saying our love is not real? Are you insulting master Grell?” his voice became a sickening tone.

Ciel now fully understood the situation: Sebastian, having been given a love-potion—(turns out they did work on him…or, even if they didn’t, maybe Undertaker made some extra-potent, mutant variety that did)—and Grell being the first person he saw (or heard) after taking it, fully believed Grell to be his one-true-love.

And as he watched a shadow (much bigger than the demon’s human shape) spread across the floor, he realized he believed it enough to attack anyone who stood against said love. Even his master.

The young earl knocked into desks as he scrambled way, his outward attitude towards the situation performing a 180:

“Uh, no no! No, no, no! I believe you!” he grabbed his bag, “There’s nothing weird or horrifying about you being in love with Grell at all. I just was a little…mmmm surprised!” his voice went up an octave. He shoved a desk into the space between them, “That’s all?! I’ll…I’ll just be going, now! You uh…you go back to…what you were doing!” he gave him a thumbs up (something he’d never done in his life) as dashed out the door.

After getting some ways down the hall, he doubled over, breath sharp and fast, piercing his side, his thoughts whirring around.

He’d wanted to mess with Sebastian, but he, first of all, hadn’t thought it would work, and second of all, hadn’t meant to mess with him this much—especially not in a way that affected him. This wasn’t fun or funny, this was just…gross. And now he had to fix it, when, had he left the situation alone and not given Sebastian the punch in the first place, he’d have his demon butler to help him, and the predicament would probably be solved in less than a day.

Now when he saw the students making out, or walking around dazed, he understood the full ramifications of Undertaker’s little stunt.

Speaking of which…

He heightened his pace until he was rushing through the halls, speeding past dreamy eyes, and cuddly couples.

Everyone, everyone had been at that party. Not only had the whole school been at that party, the punch was one of the few things available for the sweaty and thirsty dancers to drink. Even the sulking folks, who didn't intend to dance, surely wouldn't have had a problem grabbing a snack or two, and, well, a cup of punch to go with it. Now instead of one night of suffering in a lovebird’s playground, the whole school could be set to pop music. And, like the villain in a fairy tale, it was his job to break apart the happy couples.

And his first order of business was to find the mastermind who put them together.

Undertaker performed many of the odd jobs around, and often made it a job to make things odd (but Ciel of course knew that his primary function was probably to make dead bodies disappear discreetly). He and Peeves were overly chummy, and their pranks could sometimes be unbearable…but neither had ever attempted something of this magnitude before.

He was close to Filch’s corridor—

When the bell rang.

In the pandemonium he had forgotten today was still a normal school day.

“Sebast—” he began, hoping for an easy way not to be late, but remembered that his butler was …otherwise occupied. He grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and hurtled towards the transfiguration classroom.

*****

“Mister Phantomhive!” snapped a clipped voice as he swung open the door, gasping for breath. “I thank you not to be late! And while you’re at it, not to disrupt my class while in session!”

“Sorry—” he clutched at his side, “Professor— McGonagall.”

“Usually,” she ran her fingers along her wand, stretching out the word, “I would give you detention. However, as it seems you are not the only one…out of sorts this morning” she drummed her fingers on the podium, giving Ciel a moment to look around the room—There were always a few latecomers, especially during first period, but the number of empty chairs rivaled the number of students present—“I will let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you,” he coughed—“Professor.”—And slumped at his desk like an old sock.

Thankfully not everyone had been affected by the spiked punch. Certain kids in class had that far-off look in their eyes, and a few even kissed in class (they were definitely sent to detention, though, of course, nothing much mattered to them but their newfound love). There were also teachers who had starry looks, and instead of giving them genuine lessons, muttered trite words about love, like a broken radio that only plays emo songs. There were, however, others who acted just as confused, annoyed and shell-shocked as Ciel at the current predicament. Clearly they had either found something else to drink at the party, simply not drank anything, or escaped the festivities somehow.

McGonagall was clearly among the unaffected, and while he was grateful for a little normalcy, he might have traded her for someone a little more lenient, and liked to see how her disposition changed while under the affects of love.

Throughout the day, he told the few students who were still awake and alive to the world that someone had spiked the punch with a love potion the previous night. This seemed to give them relief that they weren’t going crazy, still, none of them had any idea what to do about it. Love potions weren’t exactly considered an important course in potions class, especially not with a teacher like Snape—(in fact, a certain Ravenclaw had asked how to make a love potion in class on Valentine’s Day, and later Ciel saw that Ravenclaw mysteriously lost ten points). Some worried for their friends, while others eyes lit with an impish glint at the realization that—as long as they didn’t insult their ‘true love’— they could do anything to mess with their friends.

He had to give Undertaker at least a little credit: that day was one of the most memorable in his entire time at Hogwarts:

During transfiguration, on multiple separate occasions, students, instead of transfiguring their hamsters into dominoes, transfigured them into rings, and flowers used to profess their love, or even propose to Professor McGonagall herself. She only looked down her nose, and demanded where this talent had been the entire semester, and wracked up a body count of detention-bound students.

In Herbology, while not nearly as exciting as others, Professor Sprout went on and on about how amazing Neville was—(whenever he passed him in the hallway that day Neville looked as red as plants they tended to...He probably hadn’t had much of anyone else to talk to at the party).

If Divination wasn’t enough already, Trelawney made them look into their futures and see their potential for romance (…it was hard to tell if she was under the spell or not), and it was both worth noting, and a source of personal pride that she looked into Ciel’s and saw lots and lots of hate.

And best of all, during potions, which was his last class of the day, Snape looked like he was ready to kill someone…and got close when Lockhart burst in and proclaimed that he simply couldn’t take it anymore, that they were made for each other. (Out of all the the crazy, embarrassing things that happened that day, this was the one Ciel guessed would be the most difficult for either of them to live down).

Hilarious confessions aside, Ciel was relieved to find that the potions master was at least trying to counteract the curse himself, by having them make antidotes and anti-love potions, and drink them (allegedly, lots of students refused to drink them in earlier classes, so he had to forgo their Latin name and call them “Happy Sunshine Potions,” which was quite possibly the best string of words he’d ever heard Snape say, and the unaffected students looked like chipmunks holding in their laughter in when hearing it). Although this was another teacher Ciel would have liked to see under the affects, he was guessing the net worth of breaking the curse would be far greater.

However, as far as he could tell, currently, Snape’s attempts to douse the proverbial fire were ineffective. (Yet another reason to think Undertaker’s love potion was some mutant version).

At each break he had, Ciel attempted to find Undertaker—(Except at lunch, when everyone was screaming that Draco was running around, and in increasingly boisterous and/or risqué methods, trying to declare his love for Ron Weasley. While Harry and Ron were also running around, either avoiding him at all costs, or messing with him. It was, first of all, difficult to get around the crowd, and, second of all, not something to miss.)—But Undertaker had an ongoing disappearing act that had nothing to do with magic. The one thing Ciel knew, was that the old coot couldn’t have left; he’d want to see every glorious minute of the chaos he wrought, so Ciel wasn’t giving up on finding him.

After school, hungry, tired, and desperate (especially after a run-in with Peeves, through which he earned the ex-reaper’s location, but also a cluster of lipstick marks on his face) he finally found Undertaker back in the Divination Classroom (of course he just had to pick one of the tallest, most tiring towers to climb). The room was cold, and Trelawney was nowhere in sight.

The pretty, setting sky over the frosty roof outside didn’t provide an iota of solace.

Ciel rolled up his sleeves, his anger a newfound immunity to the cold, and, with fingers curled into fists, marched up to him.

“You.”

The Undertaker, resting against the windowsill, turned to the seething boy, grinned, and spoke as if this was no more than an ordinary meeting.

“My, Young Earl, looks like you’ve been getting busy.”

“Wh—?!” he remembered the marks on his face and rubbed them off on his sleeve as Undertaker cackled.

“You seem awfully upset about something,” Undertaker continued, “Don’t want to let it fester—as your butler would say.”

“You spiked the punch with a love potion.” The boy growled.

“Did I?” he put a finger on his chin as if thinking, “I can’t seem to recall.”

Ciel’s brow twitched. “You bloody well know you did, I watched you. Now tell me how to undo it.”

“How do undo it, you say? And why would we want to do a thing like that?”

“I am in no mood for your games.”

Undertaker shrugged. “‘Fraid I can’t help you then. You know the rules; no payment, no information.”

“The whole school is a joke! That’s your payment!”

He contemplated it. “Sure you wouldn’t like to give an old man a good chuckle?”

“I’m certain.”

He sighed. “I suppose you got me there. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t quite got to the whole undoing it part.” He twirled his hand in the air like the ringmaster in this show.

Ciel blinked, emotion flickering as he spluttered, “How can…? But you—? I—? What?!”

He laughed, and the Undertaker’s nonchalance and disregard made anger jumpstart his tongue.

“You made it, didn’t you?” he kept his voice low, and his hand on the wand in his pocket, marching forward, “You can at least tell me how you made it. Then maybe I can unmake it.”

Undertaker tapped his chin, as if knocking around the marbles in his skull, “Don’t much feel like it.”

“You don’t feel like it?! Listen here—!”

He no sooner pulled out his wand than it was in Undertaker’s hand. He hadn’t even noticed Undertaker draw his own wand.

Undertaker ruffled his hair as he walked by, dropping the boy’s wand back into his pocket, “Part of the fun is figuring it out for yourself, Young Earl. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

He headed down the stairs, leaving Ciel standing alone, angry breaths steaming up the chilly classroom.

*****

When Ciel trudged back to his dorm, all the energy he had used to run around that day had given up the ghost. He barely noticed the smooching and starstruck kids in the hallways anymore, and didn’t have the energy to send even a derisive snort their way.

Sebastian was supposed to be the one running around trying to find answers. These menial tasks were beneath him. Hard work, and running around, looking for answers, was no suit for a fourteen-year-old boy to wear. Oh, Ciel would devise a particularly difficult and useless task for his butler to accomplish once he—or someone—finally broke the curse.

Caught up in thoughts of needless revenge, he ran into someone in the hallway, sending both their books to the floor.

“Sorry!” The boy called.

As they both crouched down to pick up their fallen items, Ciel looked up to see unruly black hair, crooked glasses, and lightning-struck forehead.

“Harry Potter.”

“Yeah…?”

“Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m Ciel Phantomhive.” He held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry smiled, taking his hand.

“Likewise—er, sorry about your books.”

"It's alright. I seem to have some bad luck with that lately! At least ink didn't spill all over everything this time."

"That happened?"

"Yeah...It happened yesterday actually."

"Oh, that sounds awful."

"Nothing a little magic couldn't fix," he shrugged.

They both returned to their task.

“It looks like you haven’t been…love-ified,” Harry noted.

“You seem to have your wits about you as well.”

“Lucky us…Draco wasn’t so lucky though,” he laughed. “I heard someone spiked the punch at Lockhart’s Valentine’s day ball.”

“I heard that too.”

“A perfect end to the night, huh?”

“Hehe…yeah…”

Ciel turned to the next book, about to hand it to Harry.

Here’s the thing, about dark magic.

It has this sort of…pull. The more you use it, the more sway it has on you.

A pure soul looks at a dark object and feels uneasy, but doesn’t know why.

Someone who has participated in the dark before, let it creep in and corrode the soul, is attuned to the darkness. Like a resonant frequency, a humming in the back of their mind, putting them on the same wavelength, (and if they listen too long, they might shatter). They may not always know what it is, or does, and sometimes they wont recognize why something has this aura, but they will know that an object is not just that, in as much as darkness is not just the absence of the light.

Ciel Phantomhive was no ordinary student. While he may have learned from the teachers at Hogwarts, the reason he was here was at the request of the Queen, not for learning, and his most informative teacher, was Sebastian. Before they arrived at Hogwarts, Sebastian, going above and beyond as always, made sure he knew more spells than half the students in his year. More importantly, however, fear of the dark had long left them both. Knowing dark magic, they surmised, would put them ahead of their enemies (not to mention their friends...well, if you could call them friends), and could be a powerful trump card were the situation to call for it.

When Ciel looked at this diary everything slowed. Like in a movie, when you can hear your heartbeat, and the camera zooms in. From the moment he saw it he knew it would be both silly and dangerous to think it was merely a diary. One may pour their soul into the words dear diary, but the Something that lurked beneath it’s pages was far more than the heartfelt and trivial adages of teenage boys and girls. There was something living in those pages.

He knew it was alive. Unlike other dark artifacts, which gave off a hint, a whisper of more-than-I-seem, this was more than a whiff of untapped potential, or forbidden mystery; the resonant darkness, rather than a faint, inanimate hum, was a Horror singing old-fashioned lullabies to himself in the darkest corners of the pages.

Ciel was tired. Tired of running around, tired of searching for a cure, tired of doing all the work himself. He wanted an easy way out. That’s how he’d always been. People who like to take the long way ‘round don’t make contracts with demons.

So, in a moment of weakness…

…or a moment of strength

He slipped the diary into his own bag.

*****

That night, despite being interested enough in the book to steal it, he hadn’t had any energy to begin figuring out what that darkness was, meant, or could do. Nor did he have any energy to spend on figuring out the antidote to the plague himself. In fact, he had had so little regard for either, that he ignored the dumb looks of his roommates, slipped the diary into the chest at the foot of his bed, flopped facedown on top of his covers (screaming into his pillows for good measure), and went to sleep.

The next morning wasn’t much better. He woke up with a splitting headache, the love-zombies were still up to their shenanigans—(he half hoped it would end in the morning)—and when he tentatively checked on Sebastian, the demon had traveled further down the Grell-obsessed rabbit hole than before.

When Ciel entered the teacher’s lounge (it had taken a moment to find him) the smell of flowers smacked him full in the face. Unlike some of the teachers present, Ciel was unimpressed, and quite honestly queasy, to see that he had moved on from admiring the picture of his affection, to creating his own; or rather than a picture, a bust made of flowers of none other than his…erm lady-love, Grell.

Just like Sebastian, he was attentive to detail; only the freshest of flowers for his beloved, and each component of Grell’s complexion was a different flower: the coat was made of red Amaryllis’, the vest, brown orchids, the shirt, white hydrangeas, the face was pale dahlias, the eyes were green carnations, and the hair was, of course, roses. He wondered if Sebastian went far to find all of them, though knowing him he probably ran to the finest flower shop in Paris at 1:00AM that morning for them and was back before anyone could wonder where he’d gone.

Yes, quite far gone. But not far enough to forget the ‘offense’ Ciel had caused to his new master the day before.

Or perhaps Ciel had caused him new offense by blurting out “What the devil is this?!” upon seeing his labor-of-love.

If it was good idea in general for the public not to talk to the young earl, today, it was an inescapable rule: if people didn’t give him a wide berth, they learned quickly he was not in the mood for human (or reaper, or demon) interaction.

Wasting his time before class on pointless attempts to slap the delusion out of his butler was idiotic. So he headed to the library to actually try and make some progress, and picked up a book on love potions—(Madam Pince was too busy writing love poems to scold kids like him for going into the restricted section. Knowing this was a rare opportunity, he grabbed several more books he’d had his eyes on while he was there.)—with the intent to read up on counter curses every spare minute he got, not excluding during certain classes overtaken by horny teachers.

More students were missing from classes today, and those who weren’t were either more randy than before, or losing patience and brain cells every second they were around those afflicted. The teachers who were still in possession of their faculties—namely McGonagall, Snape, Vector, and Flitwick, (Madam Pomfrey was too, but she wasn’t present)—made an announcement at lunch, in front of their dreamy-eyed headmaster, that they were trying their best to find a solution to the problem presently.

While it was comforting to hear they weren’t sitting on their asses, and it would save him a hell of a lot of trouble if they did solve it, he didn’t expect they’d figure it out anytime soon. If Snape couldn’t figure it out on his own, he wasn’t sure they would have much luck, even together. Even if he had had faith in them, he wouldn’t have stopped his own research. He and Sebastian always did it their way, this was personality, not practice—(he’d learned from a young age he couldn’t rely on anyone else)—and a setback, even one that kept his butler from his work, wasn’t going to stop him.

It was during a disappointing lunch that he saw a flash of red in the doorway to the great hall. At first he thought nothing of it—it was probably a banner some kid made to impress their one-true-love, or a bunch of heart-shaped balloons, or a leftover decoration—it didn’t matter, he was going to try his best to eat, and read, in peace.

Until the ‘banner’ came inside to steal his food.

When he finally realized who it was, he practically screamed;

“Grell!”

“That’s my name darling, don’t to wear it out,” he blew a kiss, sitting up on the table.

“Love potions, huh?” in his horror, Ciel hadn’t even noticed Ronald had stolen the book (as well as a sandwich).

“Ooh!” Grell called, leaning in closer, raising his eyebrows. “Is somebody looking to trick some poor soul into loving him?”

“No! No, in fact I’m trying to un-romance someone, thank you very much.” He stood.

“That shouldn’t be too hard…for you.”

Ciel rolled his eyes.

“So, not that crushing the dreams of others isn’t in your repertoire, why do you want to do that?”

“It may be difficult for you to understand, but some of us don’t look for romance in every guy they meet,” he stole the book back from Ronald (who was starting to to look too interested for the young earl’s comfort.)

“Now that’s just rude,” Grell folded his arms over his chest and put his chin in his hand. “But, I’ll choose to ignore your impotence,” he turned, becoming more animated, “because you’re in charge of my Sebas-chan. Speaking of love,” he said the word like it was fine caramel, “where is my precious Sebas-chan?” he looked around, casting his eyes towards the blank spaces at staff table.

“He’s—”

Before the sentence could fall on his tongue, the words snagged on the mental image of Grell and Sebastian canoodling like schoolboys.

“NO!”

That caught their attention.

“I mean uh—” he coughed, “No…He’s uhh…I…”

He could barely think with these images making him sick to his stomach. He set down what was left of the lunch he was no longer hungry for, trying to shove his brain into the mode where it could formulate a cunning plan.

“Well? Spit it out, boy! We haven’t got all day! Some of us have plans. I, for one, have a hair appointment this afternoon,” he fluffed his crimson locks.

“You know what?” Ciel chose a more confrontational approach. “I don’t have to tell you where Sebastian is.”

“You don’t have to, darling, you should want to.”

“No. You know what? I don’t want to. And you know why I don’t want to?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

He had to think of something fast. Something clever. A good excuse.

“Why don’t you ever want to spend time with me?” he slammed the book on the table.

So much for that.

“Huh?” Grell, Ronald—(and Ciel’s own brain)—responded upon hearing the words.

“Yeah. You heard me.” It wasn’t the best plan—hell, it wasn’t even a good plan—but Ciel was committed at this point, and came up with a plot fiercely in his mind, “That’s right. It’s always ‘Sebastian this’, ‘Sebastian that’, but what about me?!”

“What about you, brat? You’ve never shown any interest in me. What happened to ‘we’re definitely not friends?’” he mocked his voice.

“….That’s what I say to my true friends.” They definitely weren’t convinced, so he added, “I’m only nice to my fake friends.” (Ronald lifted his head like a dog being told he was a good boy all along).

“Regardless if you’re telling the truth—which, I don’t believe you are—what makes you think I’ll give you the key to my heart now, after you threw away your chances? That’s no way to treat a lady!”

“I…I never had the chance to,” he looked away and hugged himself, trying to look pitiful, “what with you fawning over Sebas…chan,”—it made him sick to speak the nickname, but not as sick as he would feel if they found each other— “you never even pay me any mind.”

“What’s there to pay mind to?”

Ciel bit his tongue, and tried not to let that get to him, reminding himself everything could and would be far worse.

“Hey, hey!” Ronald stepped in the middle, noticing the rising tension of the scene, “There’s a simple solution after all; why don’t you and Mr. Sutcliff go for a walk today? That’s not too much to ask, right?” he turned to Grell, “You’ll still have time to see Sebas-chan before your appointment.”

“I suppose,” Grell bit his nails, ruining his manicure—which he quickly realized, and petted them as if to say ‘forgive me!’ “But I’d better get some quality time with my Sebas-chan!”

“Does that sound alright with you, Mr. Phantomhive?”

The thought of spending any amount of quality time with the reaper was repugnant. But not more repugnant than certain other thoughts and predictions his brain was happy to provide.

“Yes, that sounds just fine.”

“Then let’s get this overwith,” Grell stepped dramatically off the table, twirling his high-heeled shoes in the air.

Ciel’s thoughts exactly.

But there was something he had to do first.

“Erm, Ronald, would you mind doing something for me while we’re on our walk?”

Grell put his hands on his hips, suspicion and curiosity in his eyes.

“Uhh sure—I mean, that depends on what it is”

He pulled Ronald aside, towards the wall, out of earshot of the red-haired reaper.

“I just need to buy some time,” he whispered, “Will you please get Sebastian out of the teacher’s lounge for me.”

“Um…” he glanced between the two of them. “I suppose I could. May I ask why?”

“No you may not.” When Ronald seemed less than happy with this response, he added, “I can pay you back. Money, sandwiches…whatever you want.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he grinned.

“Alright, Grell,” he cleared his throat, “it appears as though you and I will be going for a nice walk together.”

“‘Nice’ would be pushing it.” Grell muttered.

Ciel couldn’t agree more.

*****

The scene reminded him too much of a Thomas Kinkade painting; the snow covered trees and grounds, the faint chirping of birds, the pitter of small animals in the snow, the patter of kids playing, as well as more than a few romantic escapades displayed for all the world to see—like everything else in this sugarcoated nightmare, it was so sweet and was sickening. Ciel spent great lengths trying to avoid the mystic hellscape that was ‘outside,’ and whenever he found himself forced into its grasp, he remembered why.

Well, he supposed it wouldn’t have been so bad…if it weren’t for the blithering idiot beside him.

“Yeesh… love really is in the air around Valentine’s day.” Grell commented in the direction of the kids kissing by the frozen river.

“Oh? I thought romance was…your thing.”

“When I’m involved! Not these ragamuffins slobbering all over each other,” he shuddered.

They spent a while in awkward silence, before Grell spoke, “So, what do I have to do to get you off my back, Brat?”

“Ohh just spend a little quality time with me,” Ciel sang, putting his hands behind his back and stepping in front of Grell like a mischievous schoolboy. “That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

Grell looked away. “I better be Carlos’ last customer today; my hair’s going to be a mess by the end of this.”

Ciel laughed fakely.

“So…” Ciel tried to think of something to talk about, “tell me about Carlos. Is he…cute?”

“Oh come on!” Grell stomped in front of him, “You can’t possibly mean any of this! You’ve never shown any amount of interest in me. I may be prone to fantasy, but I’m no fool!” he crossed his arms and looked away, then his green eyes trailed to him suspiciously, “What are you plotting?”

“Plotting?” Ciel laughed again, “Why so sinister?”

“Oh things are always sinister when Sebas-chan is involved,” he said ‘sinister’ like a radio announcer telling you that sinister is what you want, “usually it sends tingles down my spine! But this is just…” he looked down at the earl, his lip curling in distaste, “freaky.”

Ciel tried to ignore the fact that they were on the same brainwave today.

But he could see that he wasn’t going to fool him for long if he didn’t do something.

“Well…” Instead of formulating a suitable answer, he subtly pulled his wand from his robe pocket sliding it behind his back, and cast a little nonverbal spell that sent a snowball hurtling at the back of Grell’s head.

“Hey!” Grell spun around to two kids playing on the bank. “Which one of you imbeciles did that?! Haven’t I suffered enough?” he held up a split end of his hair.

The kids glanced at each other, confused.

“Now Carlos will have to give me the extra treatment to cover this!” he took a strand of hair and petted it.

Ciel smirked.

Messing with the reaper seemed both more effective, and more enjoyable, than chatting, so whenever a risky topic came up, he had a little extra fun avoiding the subject (goodness knows he needed it)—until enough time had passed that, if Ronald had done his job, Sebastian would be out of the teachers’ lounge, and they headed back into the school.

“Sebastian’s right around the corner.”

“He better be, Brat, after the hell-walk you took me on.” Ciel tried not to laugh when he looked at Grell—the sticks in his frazzled hair, the smeared mascara and lipstick, the muddy clothes (he had eventually stopped trying to protect or fix his appearance).

Ciel gave the fake laugh again, opening the door.

Despite requests and expectations, Sebastian was right around the corner.

There the demon remained (apparently he had been there all day) with a finished bust of the reaper sparkling beside him, not to mention a few more, smaller art pieces of the Redhead in different poses of increasing erotica.

Ciel felt all the anger that had been briefly soothed by messing with Grell re-entering his body with ferocity.

Why hadn’t Ronald removed him from this place like he asked? All he asked for was one simple thing, and he couldn’t even do that. Well, maybe it was his own fault he had put his trust in someone so incompetent as Ronald. Whoever’s fault it was, this encounter, and the memory of it, might just stain his brain forever, and someone was surely going to pay for it.

He turned towards Grell (the real one). Both his eyes and mouth were open wide, focused on the statue of himself, leering down at him with a flirtatious grin.

When the butler emerged from behind it, and saw Grell, he too froze, but in the quiet, reverent way the hot dude does when they see their love in romantic movies.

Ciel wanted to grab one, or both, of them and wrench them away from each other—exorcise the romantic spirits out of them (it’s an odd day when you want to exorcise a demon out of a demon), and maybe wring their necks—but he knew that would be met with more than a little resistance, (and using the Imperius curse in the teacher’s lounge would be more than a little conspicuous), and there was something rather mesmerizing about the scene; like a horror movie you can’t bring yourself to look away from.

Sebastian closed his eyes, giving a small smile before rushing to grab a rather large bouquet (likely made of the leftover flowers) and bowed, presenting them to Grell.

“For you, my darling Mr. Sutcliff.”

Ciel covered his eyes with his hand.

“For…me?” Grell’s words were distant and confused.

Rather than taking them with honors—Ciel saw between his fingers—however, he took a step back.

Sebastian held them higher. “Only you.”

Grell glanced between master and butler, and his hands shook as he took them (then his arms sagged with the weight).

Ciel shut his eyes tight, waiting for hell.

Soon the scene would turn into the amorous novel Grell always dreamed of, and that would be it. They’d find love in each other…or what passed for love when it comes to love potions. Should Ciel leave now and spare his mind the eternal horror? Or should he wait and just make absolutely sure that’s what would happen? Maybe there was some sick part of him that was even curious what would happen.

His patience, however, was rewarded;

“Get away from me you freak!” Grell threw the flowers across the room, and rushed to hide behind Ciel. “What the hell have you done with my precious Sebas-chan?!”

This time it was Ciel’s mouth and eyes that dropped open, staring, dumbstruck, like a bird that had hit a window.

Grell had flirted with Sebastian from the moment he met him (to be fair, he did this with pretty much every attractive guy he came across, still…). There were times when master and butler could use this infatuation to their advantage, but most of the time it was just a gigantic nuisance. Luckily, Sebastian shared Ciel’s distaste for the reaper’s advances, and never returned them. Since it had seemed impossible, before today, Ciel hadn’t had much time to imagine what Grell would do if the butler returned his affection. Not one of the sickening scenarios his mind had provided today had Grell rejecting Sebastian. Grell had always appeared superficial enough that Ciel guessed he wouldn’t care how or why Sebastian returned his feelings, just that he did. The fact that he could tell this was not Sebastian’s normal self made Ciel think slightly higher of the reaper.

But only slightly.

Maybe it should have made sense; it was the flirtation; the game, that Grell enjoyed, more than true romance, and heart. He had said so himself—he was just as disgusted by the teen romances in the courtyard as Ciel. (Though, to be fair, most adults generally found teen romance to be gross).

He couldn’t help but feel a growing pride and satisfaction that he would not have to witness any romance, or worse. That the roles of disgust had now reversed, and Grell could walk a mile in their shoes. Not that he thought Grell would become a better, less annoying person after this.

“I…don’t understand,” Sebastian’s eyes were full of welling hurt. He stood, staring at the discarded bouquet (which had all but exploded on the wall), “I’ve done everything for you…” he gestured around the room, “I thought this is what you wanted.” He looked at Grell like a puppy who had been thrown from a warm and loving upper-class home, out into the streets of London. He pulled out the picture he had barely stopped staring at since the other day, “Remember?” he held it up, “You said you would always be with me.”

Grell seemed torn, almost like Sebastian’s puppy-like disappointment drew his pity, but he backed away further, (still holding on to Ciel, almost making him fall backwards).

“What is this?!” he pointed, “Some kind of sick prank?! I want my sexy, coy Sebas-chan, back! Not this coddling fool!”

Ciel had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. This was too rich.

Sebastian looked at the ground, sadness, anger, rejection flaring in his eyes. Ciel would have liked to stay and enjoy Grell’s blubbering a little more, but he could see a demon-sized tantrum coming a mile away.

He didn’t make it a practice to touch pests like Grell, but in this case, he didn’t have much choice; he grabbed Grell and pulled him out the door, dragging him down the hall.

“What the hell is going on?!” Grell ripped his hand from the boy’s grasp and blocked his way, “Who was that idiot?!”

Ciel could barely breathe from laughing.

Grell blinked at him, then anger flared in his eyes again. Before he could catch his breath, Grell grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shook him, “What have you done with my Sebas-chan, you little Punk?!”

This made him regain composure quickly. He brushed his hands away and explained, “You remember the Valentine’s ball Lockhart threw?”

“Of course. My Sebas-chan was looking particularly dashing that night,” he blinked dreamily, then his expression changed as he remembered he had just seen Sebastian, and he was not so dashing today as previously advertised. “What did you do to him?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he half-lied, “Undertaker was the one who spiked the punch with a love potion.”

“Undertaker’s the cause of this?! He took my Sebas-chan from me?! Oh that sexy bastard hasn’t seen the last of me!” he started to march past the earl.

Ciel blocked Grell’s way. “I already talked to him. He didn’t have the antidote.”

“Well maybe he just needs a little roughing up!” he rolled up his sleeves and tried again to go around him.

“You really think a man who takes pleasure in ruining other people’s lives will help us fix this?” he said to his back.

Grell stopped, turned around, “Well you would know wouldn’t you?!” He looked away, biting his lip. “You put him back then!” he shoved his chest.

“Why do you think I was reading that book about love potions?!”

That quieted his rage slightly.

In that moment, a certain student walked by, though not one of Hogwarts. He was surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and didn’t even see them.

Levicorpus! Ciel cast, and the girls’ gasped as Ronald was hoisted into the air by his ankle, his clothes hanging off him (showing off his stomach, and a bit of his underwear—the girls’ blushed and giggled).

“Whoa, whoa! What’s this—?! Oh…” the young reaper blinked upon seeing Ciel, recalling the task the earl had given him, and he rubbed the back of his head giving a mock-sheepish smile, “Hehe.”

Ciel tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Would you care to offer an explanation?”

Now that he knew Grell had no intentions or returning Sebastian’s artificial affection, the fact that Ronald hadn’t accomplished the task wasn’t nearly as big of a deal, but it could have easily been catastrophic, the anger was still there—someone had to pay, after all—and letting those who disobeyed him off, without even a decent scolding, was a bad precedent.

“I’m sorry, Earl, but these girls…they just kept coming up to me! There must be something in the air today!” he held out his hands as if to say you really think I was going to turn them away?

Ciel rubbed his temple, muttering, “Nope it was in the punch.” He sighed, taking a step forward like a predator. “I’m going to let you off this time, but believe me, I won’t be making that mistake again.”

“Come on, it was an honest mistake!”

“And an honest—”

“Mister Phantomhive!” a deep voice rang out across the hallway.

Ciel winced.

“…Professor Snape.”

His footsteps were a judgment toll.

“Care to release Mister…?” he looked at Ronald quizzically, realizing he didn’t recognize him.

“Knox,” the reaper offered.

“Knox.”

“Yes, Sir.” Ciel murmured.

Liberacorpus he cast, nonverbally, and the reaper spun in the air until he was set upright again.

Strictly speaking, they weren’t allowed to do magic outside class, and the curse on the school evidently hadn’t made the potions master forgo any of the traditional rules.

“I’d like to know who you two are, and what you’re doing at Hogwarts.” Ciel felt a little smug thinking of the potential trouble they could get into….until Snape turned “As for you, Mr. Phantomhive…”

“Yes, Professor?” he said politely, as if his politeness could suddenly change his heart and get him a less-harsh punishment.

“Detention.”

“…Yes, Professor.”

Ciel glanced at Grell, who had crossed his arms and whose look said it’s-what-you-deserve.

“Well!” Grell broke the tension. “We can certainly explain who we are and what we are doing here…at a later date. As of now, I have an increasingly important appointment to get to—Good Professor, I’m so sorry you had to see me like this, I promise wont look this bad when when we next meet!” he bowed low, “Come along, Ronald!”

“Yes, Mr. Sutcliff!” He blew a kiss towards the girls.

“This isn’t over” Grell whispered in Ciel’s ear as he skipped by.

“Nothing ever is with you, is it?” he muttered.

“What’s that?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing, just excited for my detention!”

Snape raised an eyebrow, perhaps wondering if Ciel was under the spell after all.

*****

Ciel didn’t even go to class that afternoon, as it was double Defense Against the Dark Arts. Once again he returned to his dorm, and flopped onto his bed. He had only made it halfway through the day this time, and he was already drained. After some time resting (though his mind raced too much to actually take a nap), he finished skimming through the book on love potions. In the end, the only help it gave was a comprehensive list of the usual ingredients in love potions.

As he was putting the book away a diary fell out of the trunk at the foot of his bed. In the fatigue of the evening, and the tumult of the day, he had forgotten about his run-in with Harry yesterday.

He picked it up; the same simple, dusty, empty notebook as before—the simple, dusty notebook that was seething with dark magic. When he opened it to the first page he saw the smudged name T. M. Riddle. He hadn’t thought it was Harry’s in the first place, but was still displeased that the name didn’t sound familiar to him. He wondered if he was a student who dabbled in dark magic. Still, the power it held seemed more than what a mere student could conjure…

Ciel had never been one for feelings and the kind of sentimentality a diary implied, but it couldn’t hurt to try it out. There wasn’t much else to do but write in it. Evidently it wasn’t just a diary.

Setting it down on his desk, he flipped it open to the first blank page, got out his quill, dipped it in the ink, and began to write:

“February 16th

“Two days ago, Undertaker spiked the punch at Lockhart’s god-awful Valentine’s ball with a love potion.

“Now Hogwarts is infested with a swarm of insolent, love-struck zombies, because Undertaker is a—”

As he wrote, the words, instead of staying in place like words should, they were swallowed by the paper. As the earl stared, the ink resurfaced like a serpent beneath water, a reply forming from secondhand ink.

“My, that does sound awful.”

The words disappeared as soon as they came, then reappeared…

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

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sarah-bae-maas · 4 years

Text

Rowaelin AU!

AU! where the valg wars never happened, but Aelin and Rowan would always have met anyway

Masterlist AO3

***

“Dorian, as nice as this was, you need to leave.” Aelin smirked at the bare body next to hers, admiring the prince.

Dorian reached a hand over, smoothing it down her body and around dangerous places. “Of all the things I could do, why would I do that – Ah! Fuck.”He pulled his hand back, and held it to his chest as it burned. Aelin’s eyes widened, horrified at what she’d done. Before she could apologise for losing control of her magic once again, Dorian huffed and near-fled from the room, slamming the door in his wake. She didn’t even have a chance to apologise to her friend.

She was lucky her room was on the opposite of the castle to her parents, otherwise she’d fear they’d hear her escapades with the prince of Adarlan.

Maybe burning Dorian was a blessing in disguise. She did need to get some sleep – some fancy diplomats from Wendlyn, including some warrior that had been hired to train her, were arriving in the morning. She didn’t know if it would help at all, but she figured it couldn’t hurt. Even at twenty-one, her fire burned in uncontrollable ways. She thought maybe as she aged it might settle down, that somehow she’d magically be able to control it better, but it still flared up at the worst possible times. Like when Dorian tried to touch her. Luckily he was just a bit of fun, or this would be a serious problem.

She sighed, eager for tomorrow but dreading the likely-awful fae that would be her maker for the next few months. She decided that sleep would likely evade her the entire night, so she may as well find something to do with her time.

The halls were silent as she crept through them, her fae senses letting her know what ways to avoid so that she didn’t run into anyone else. Her body, tall and languid, thrived when in her fae form. Her human side was so erased that she’d fooled even the oldest of fae into thinking this was her who she really was.

Although only walking, a bead of sweat started to roll down her back. The air was dry as can be as a sweltering summer rolled in, the earth smelling of dead grass and dust. The back alleys she took to get to her favourite pub forwent pavement and let long-cemented clay guide her feet. The stone homes that lined the alleys were cool to touch, and she let them cool her fingers as she walked to her place.

Shady’s had been there longer than she’d been alive, and had been passed down through the same family like it was a royal crown. Not bustling, but not meagre, it was the perfect place to lose yourself. It also helped that it was smack-bang in the middle of a precinct the wealthy usually avoided. Dorian, for example, would never sully his fine shoes by walking on this dirt. Ha! What prisses. Anyone to scared to walk to Shady’s didn’t deserve it.

A little bell dinged as she entered, but no one looked up at her entrance. She had a hood over her head, or waist-length blonde hair braided back and hidden. Not many people were here at such an hour, only those who really wanted to forget themselves. Aelin ordered a pint and sat at her usual seat, scratching at the table.

Tomorrow will be fine. You can handle some old fae. You can do this! You’ve trained your whole life for this moment! Even if you can’t get grip on this, you’ll still be a Galathynius. Terrasen is your home. They’d never make you leave.

No matter what she told herself, she still felt butterflies roaring in her stomach. It wasn’t so much that she was nervous to meet her alleged mentor, but what would happen if the bastard couldn’t fix her.

It had been only a month ago that she and Aedion had overheard her parents discussing her fate if they couldn’t get her flames under control. Aelin could hear the love they felt for her in their voices, but it didn’t seem to matter as they considered shipping her off to Wendlyn, alone, until she was better. How could they suggest separating her from her family, from her life? Aelin could admit maybe there was someone in the Whitethorn lot who could teach her, but at what cost? To Aelin, spending potentially years away from those she loved simply wasn’t worth it.

Since then, her parents had pulled her aside and told her they were bringing someone to her, but Aelin knew exactly what that meant. This was her chance, and if she fucked it up, she’d be on the next ship out of there.

“You look awfully sad for someone so pretty. Maybe a drink will cheer you up?”

Aelin looked up at the low voice, surprised to see another fae. Although Terrasen was teeming with her kin, Shady’s wasn’t somewhere they frequented. He was tall, alarmingly so, and built like a castle. His skin was bronze and littered with scars, his dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. He was attractive – in the same way sin was.

“I’ve already got one.” Aelin pointed to the half-empty glass in front of her, her answer making the stranger smirk.

He leant in to speak again, but a male at the next table stopped him. “Give it a rest, Lorcan. She’s not interested, and you’re starting to look pathetic.” His voice was deep, the lilt to it making the butterflies in her stomach rest. He had a cloak on, an emerald so dark it was nearly black, and his hair was a neat and short silver, but slightly longer on the top. His skin was creamy but loved by the sun, and his eyes were a startling green. Although sitting, he clearly had some height behind him too, but unlike his friend he was not a castle; he was a palace. Elegant.

“She can answer for herself, stop being so sour,” the man, Lorcan, said.

Aelin was looking at the sitting man as she answered. “Your friend is right, I’m not interested.” She peeked a glance at him, and he smiled.

“Fair enough. And I’m going to consider that my cue.” Lorcan sauntered off to the corner and up the dingy stairs that led to the few rooms Shady’s hired out – usually by the hour.

Feeling intrigued and full of liquid courage, Aelin decided to sit at the table of the elegant fae. He barely glanced at her as she did. She rested her hand on her fist, squinting at him.

“What brings you to Orynth?” she asked.

“I’ve been to most corners of the world, yet Terrasen remained unexplored. The capital seemed like a good place to start.” He took a deep gulp of his drink, his fingers dotted with tattoos written in the old fae language.

Aelin, being a pervert, decided to breath deep, wanting to inhale the scent of the man in front of her. She frowned, the pine and snow from Terrasen too strong to get a read on him, despite winter being long gone.

“Who is your companion?”

“The brute that just left?” Finally, a small smile on those lips. “He’s like a brother. A very annoying, overprotective brother that won’t stop hitting on any woman with a pulse. I don’t imagine you came here to be seduced.”

“It’s not usually on my list of weekday activities. There are plenty of reasons I come here, although I’ll admit love isn’t one of them.”

A laughed lowly, the sound like the rumble of a dragon before it takes flight. “You must be young, talking about love as if it’s real.”

“You must be either old or bitter to believe it’s not. Or just very unlucky.” Must be bitter, there’s no way a male that looked like this had trouble finding women to warm his bed.

“Hm. Maybe.” His drink was empty, but he didn’t move from the table. “You been here your whole life?”

“I’ve been to every country on this damned continent, but this is home, always will be. I have no desire to leave. You make me think you’ve never been anywhere that’s made you want to stay.” She didn’t know what made her say it, but she could somehow feel the truth in her words. He looked at her, his eyes saying how do you know me so well, yet not at all.

“Be careful, soon you’ll know my most intimate secrets,” he playfully warned, a spark lighting his eyes.

“How deep can I go before you’ll stop me?”

“I don’t know, shall we see?”

Aelin grinned at the challenge. “Parents?”

“Dead since I was a child. Next.”

“No siblings then.”

“Took them nearly a thousand years just to have me. You?”

“Destroyed my mother’s uterus. What’s your profession?”

“Soldier, mostly blacksmith. If I were to guess, I’d say you were a handmaiden.”

“Pianist. I play every week at the grand theatre, if I had my way it would be every day. Favourite place you’ve been?”

“To war.”

“How incredibly savage.” She leant closer to him. “There hasn’t been a war in Terrasen for hundreds of years, won’t you get bored being here?”

“Lorcan has forced me to rest, said it’s best for my mental state; I couldn’t disagree more.”

“Do you have a second form?”

“Hawk.”

“What does it feel like to fly?”

He paused, considering his answer. His head tilted to the side, a strand of hair falling onto his face. Aelin resisted the urge to push it back. “Freedom, in its purest form. In the sky, there is everything and nothing all at once. No one to answer to but the wind.��

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Unfortunately.” He looked at her keenly. “You ever have your heart broken, since you’re such the optimist?”

“I’ve never cared for someone enough to have them hurt me.”

“You’ve been with a human tonight; I can still smell him on you.” From any other mouth, the words would have made her cringe, and then run off to tell Elide so they could laugh together. Instead, they sent a shiver down her spine. Dorian had been forgotten the moment she’d laid eyes on the male in front of her.

“Something tells me you don’t care.”

____

He couldn’t take her to his room since Lorcan was there, so he held her against a wall in a closet. His hands were under her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him, setting her alight. It took every spare thought to keep her fire under control as he kissed her, his tongue an artist as it painted her lips, neck, chest. She moaned as one of his hands wandered up the back of her shirt, her cloak long since dropped to the floor with his.

“You know this place better than me,” he said between kisses. “How likely are we to get caught?”

Aelin growled in response, summoning him closer. His shirt, so pristine for a blacksmith, was in her way. In her haste and forgetting her own strength, she tore it in two, leaving it in shreds in the floor. It only spurred him on, and he turned them around so he could sit her on a bench.

The sex wasn’t graceful, but by the Gods was it good. He had her clothes off in minutes, and she had never felt so aroused in her life. It was like every nerve she had was being played by his magic; like she was the piano and he was the master musician. It was quick, his tempo perfect to hit the exact spot it needed to every time, but he also had a stamina unseen in the human boys she had been with. He was a man; a full-blooded fae male that was biologically engineered to make her moan so hard she forgot her own name. At one point, when the tips of her hair had started to curl with flames, she nearly shoved him away mid-thrust. But as he looked at her fire unfazed, he simply doused them with a pinch of his own magic. Knowing she could truly let loose, she gave all that she had to him.

And by the Gods it was the best she’d ever had.

They were panting on the floor of a broom closet, him big enough that he had to prop his knees up. She was curled into his side, leaving thank you kisses alongside his body. He was puffed, and let out an airy laugh. “You should stop, or I’ll have to take you again.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to go for round, what was it? Six?” To let him know, if it wasn’t already obvious, that she was joking, she left an open mouth kiss to each of his abs. He was the best thing she had ever tasted.

Aelin looked up to the window the size of a plate and groaned. The sky was starting to lighten, and soon the palace would be awake and she’d have to meet the Wendlyn convoy sent by the Whitethorns. “But you’re right. I have to go.”

She stood up, and trying not to step on him, redressed. He eventually did the same, but not after admiring her body greedily.

“Last question, will I see you again?” she asked, not hopeful. Shady’s attracted transients.

“I’m staying here for the next week at the least. Do with that what you will.”

She grinned, kissing him once more before running away from the pub, drunker than any alcohol could make her. It wasn’t until she was back in her room that she remembered she hadn’t asked him the most important question of all – his name.

___

“Elide, I’m serious. It was mind blowing. Like, I could have set that building on literal fire. I nearly did at one stage!” Aelin whispered furiously as she sped-walked to the main hall. She was late, as per usual, but at least she had Elide at her side. It wouldn’t be so awkward with her there.

“Please, pleasestop talking.” And Aedion was there too, and in genuine pain from their conversation.

“Where can I get a man like that? You mentioned he had a brother? I’ll pay you to take me with you tonight.”

“Won’t it seem desperate if I go to find him less than a day after I left him? And I think that’s prostitution.”

“Aelin I do so much for you. The least you can do in return is help me get dicked down to the nth degree.”

“I’m going to impale myself on my sword.”

“Shut up, Aedion!”Elide and Aelin said simultaneously, before giggling to themselves.

She nearly tripped on her gown, the green organza ruffles on her dress a pain in the ass to walk in. She could also feel her crown starting to tip off her head, but Elide quickly grabbed it and pinned it back before it could. The sight of the three of them running towards the hall doors made the sentries guarding it laugh as they put their fingers to their lips, silently shushing them.

“They’re all in there, Princess, they’re just waiting for you.”

Aelin put a fake smile on her face, dreading who she’d find waiting behind that door. She stood herself in front of it, Elide to her right and Aedion to her left. She smoothed down the front of her dress, making sure everything was perfect to give the best, first royal impression she could. She had to impress the old fae that was to train her, lest she be sent to Wendlyn. Her hair was fine, her crown straight. Her dress was fitted in all the right areas but flared out to give the impression of modesty. Her favourite jewels were on, and her shoes – oh fuck, she’d forgotten to put her shoes on.

The sentries opened the door, not giving her a chance to panic.

“Introducing, the crown princess Aelin accompanied by her destined bloodsworn, Prince Aedion Ashryver, and handmaiden Lady Elide Lochan.” The booming voice welcomed her as she walked through the double doors, the people in the room dropping to their knees to meet her. The walls were lined with familiar and unfamiliar faces. All but her parents, sitting on their thrones, and one other stayed standing. A male, tall with silver hair, eyes the colour of evergreens. He was standing on the steps leading to the thrones, clad in armour and navy and black fabrics, clothing fine enough for a king.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Princess Aelin, might I please introduce Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, your new mentor.”

#rowaelin #elorcan #fanfic #AU!#sjm #throne of glass #kingdom of ash

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goldenretriever-nicknelson · 4 years

Note

GIVE. ME. A. PART. 2. TO. THE. BODY SHOT. BLURB. IMMEDIATE. Am NoT KiDdEd.

A/n: Hi lovelies! Wow it feels like it’s been a while. I’ve been struggling a lot lately with not only my mental health but writers block and each have been influencing the other. Anyway I finally wrote a part 2 to this blurb as requested by my lovely carebear and others. Here you are! Enjoy!

Word count: Somehow this managed to be 2k oops

Warnings: alcohol, swearing maybe?, jealous feelings.

The sun mocked you that morning, rising far too quickly and lighting up your room through the curtains you forgot to close. You rolled over and tried to block the light with your pillow, groaning as your head pounded in your skull and the bitterness of the alcohol remained on your dry lips.

With no chance of going back to sleep in sight you swung your legs off of your bed and rubbed your eyes. You noticed that you were wearing a pink button up shirt that definitely wasn’t your own. You put it down to someone lending it to you and went to get up from the warmth of your bed but what you didn’t expect was the little wince to sound from your floor.

“Ow.”

You gasped and looked down to see Harrison lying on a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows. He was also very shirtless which explained the familiarity of the shirt.

“Haz?! What the hell are you doing sleeping on my floor?”

“I was worried about you.” He laughed, rubbing his eyes. “You were pretty out of it and you asked me to stay so I did.”

The memory came flooding back to you - sobbing into Harrison’s shoulder, muttering about Tom drunkenly until you feel asleep on his shoulder with one last mutter of “stay”. Your cheeks flamed red, avoiding Harrison’s sympathetic gaze before he stretched.

You got up, stepping around Harrison. Once you reached the door you turned back with a small smile. “Thank you Haz.”

Harrison smiled up at you, sending you a wink as you left your room and journeyed into the kitchen. You shivered as your bare feet hit the cold tiles of the floor but the pace at which your heart was beating was enough to distract you.

You poured yourself a bowl of cereal and tried to focus on the task at hand instead of the sound of the bedroom door opening and especially the person walking out, you couldn’t help but steal a glance.

The girl from last night, still dressed in her clothes from the night before exited Tom’s room, heels in hand. She was followed not long after by a sleepy Tom who oddly enough was also still in his clothes from the night before.

They didn’t spot you as you kept quiet, instead exchanging a hug which also striked you as odd. Tom often didn’t acknowledge the girls as they left let alone hugged them maybe this was more than a one time thing. The thought made your heart drop as you grabbed your bowl, hoping to sneak back to your room.

Unfortunately for you a creaky floorboard ruined your stealth. Tom turned around and smiled sheepishly. The girl also turning to look at you.

“Oh hey Y/n.”

A strange look crossed the girl’s face at your name, you decided not to dwell on it too much as they said goodbye and the girl left with a kiss to his cheek. You entered your room and sighed as you leant against the back of the door.

“Aw nothing for me?” Harrison pouted, now up from his space on the floor with his jacket on and zipped up. You shook your head and tried to smile, sitting down with your bowl of cereal but not feeling very hungry anymore. “What’s up?”

You tried hard to not think about Tom and the girl who seemed to be more than a one night stand but your heart still hurt from the image. Harrison seemed to sense there was more than a hangover on your mind and he wrapped his arms around you.

After a moment of rambling about what you had seen and Harrison trying to tell you it was probably an act, you got up and exited your room.

Tom was sitting at the table with his head in his hands, but he lifted it up when he heard the door open. His eyes widened at the sight of Harrison coming out of your room and you dressed in his shirt.

You saw a look of hurt and… jealousy? Cross his face before he put on his regular charming smile and greeted his best friend as if nothing had happened. You furrowed your brow as you watched them before shaking your head and blaming your hangover for stupid thoughts.

Harrison left with a wave and a goodbye and then it was just you and Tom like it always was except now there was an unspoken tension between you. Neither acknowledged it but it was clear.

You were so desperate to break the tension that you started to speak of the first thing that came to mind.

“So have fun last night?”

Tom raised a brow at you, his rather blank expression unchanging. “What?”

“I hope you weren’t quiet on my account.” You let out a nervous laugh, internally cringing at yourself before you focused on grabbing a drink from the fridge. Tom watched you for a moment without a word before he looked back down at his breakfast.

Another stretch of silence passed before Tom was the one to break it. “So you and Harrison huh?” His jaw tensed as he spoke, eyes transfixed on the cereal in the bowl.

“Um,” You thought about your answer. This could be the thing to test the waters, see if his feelings were jealousy or something else. “No, he was just helping me out. I had a bit too much to drink.”

“Yeah those body shots are lethal.” Tom quirked a smug smile before he cleaned up and went to get ready for the day. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as you did the same.

~~~~~~~~~

The library was empty that day, not many people went to study on a Sunday. You were quite pleased at the emptiness, it made it easy to focus and to drive your brain into your work. Which you did for about an hour before your body started craving caffeine.

Thankfully the stall for coffee was just outside and was good enough to quench your need. You stood at the back of the small line consisting of two girls who were gossiping to each other. You ignored their conversation, instead choosing to scroll through your newsfeed on your phone. Until-

“I saw you with Tom Holland last night.”

You tried not to listen, you really did.

“Yeah he was nice.” The other girl shrugged and your heart fell into your stomach. She was the girl from last night, the one that had been doing shots with Tom, the one that had been standing in your apartment hours earlier.

“Nice?” Her friend questioned as you tried to hide your face in your hoodie.

The girl sighed as they grabbed their coffee and moved to the side. “Well he took me to his room and we were about to… you know. But then he just got sad.”

“Really?”

She nodded, holding her coffee tightly in her hands and making a disgruntled expression. “He started crying about his roommate and how in love with her he was.” She took a sip as her friend touched her shoulder sympathetically. “That girl’s so lucky and she doesn’t even know it.”

The coffee vendor asked you what you wanted but you couldn’t hear him, all you could hear was the girl’s words being repeated in your head. Your heart was most definitely in your stomach or throat now, you could feel it everywhere, pumping as quickly as it could.

You forwent the coffee and smiled to yourself as you made your way home, trying to run through what words you would say to Tom. Maybe you could just kiss him and surprise him like they do in the movies.

But then just as quickly as the elated feelings had come, they had been torn away by one particular thought.

What if it wasn’t true?

What if the girl had only been saying that because she knew you were behind her? Or to cover up the truth about what really happened last night?

Your heart slowed down as you reached the door, your smile faded into nerves as you entered and saw Tom playing video games. He waved at you without taking his eyes off the screen, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to beat the level. You smiled at him as he paused the game and turned to look at you.

The awkward tension from that morning had simmered away and it was just you and Tom again like normal. How could you possibly ruin that again? The words bubbled in your throat as he asked you what was up but they faded into nothing as you made up an excuse and headed for your room.

And that was that.

Or so you thought.

It was 2 weeks later when you were both invited to another party. It was louder than yours and you hardly knew anyone so you stuck to Tom like glue, not that he minded of course.

Eventually you ran into Harrison as Tom went to get drinks. You could feel the buzz of the alcohol coursing through your system as you spoke to Harrison, the smile on your face permanent as your thoughts drifted to Tom.

You saw the girl from the other party and the library enter with her friend and all of a sudden your jealousy kicked in as she greeted Tom. All of a sudden you were asking Harrison to do shots and making your way to the kitchen.

More people joined in as the shots got more daring including the classic body shot. Harrison had volunteered for you to finally do one on him and you smirked, feeling more tipsy than before as he poured the salt on him.

You looked over to Tom and saw that look again from across the room as you met his eyes - the clenched jaw and burning gaze. He made his way to you quickly and just before you could lick the salt from Harrison’s abs, he volunteered himself.

You made no objections as he took off his shirt and laid down, the salt on his abs as he smirked at you. “Go ahead darling.” You almost shivered at his words before you complied with the rules of a body shot. Lick. Shot. Lime.

But before you could finish, the lime went missing. You searched for it before Tom smirked and opened his mouth, revealing the green skin of the lime. He smirked as he took it out.

You felt as if you were in a daydream again but everything felt much more real. You pinched yourself to make sure and Tom furrowed his brow before you kissed him without a second thought.

You tasted the lime on his tongue as it swirled around yours, his lips melding perfectly to your own. He tasted like whisky, tequila, lime and Tom. He was what you had been needing and craving this whole time and even though your mind was deep in alcohol it didn’t take much to realise that you loved him.

When the kiss parted, both of you needing air, you both had wide smiles beneath the slight haze of alcohol which was steadily wearing off. The kiss seemed to bring you both back to Earth and finally right where you both needed to be.

Tom laughed and rested his forehead against yours. “I wanted to do that for fucking ages. I love you.” His words were soft and genuine, making your heart melt.

“I love you too.” You smiled and kissed him again, sure that you would never get tired of his lips. The kiss lingered for longer and was much sweeter than before as you explored every inch of his mouth.

It was Tom to speak first as a calm silence settled over you. The party was roaring on and yet it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

“Another body shot?” Tom smirked and you returned it with a bite to your lip.

“Try and stop me.”

Famous last words.

#katiesblurbs #katies blurbs #tom Holland x reader #tom Holland x y/n #tom Holland x you #tom Holland blurb #Katie writes

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elleonmybeloved · 4 years

Text

Irresistible Clover

Amnesia | Heroine x Kent Words: 3722 Chapter: 1 Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22448383/chapters/53637313

Summary: Hera's got it bad for her coworker and once temp math-professor Kent, but she thinks it's pretty clear that he's not interested in relationships, or her for that matter. But when a golden opportunity to spend some time with him presents itself, she just can't resist being a sucker for love.

Kent isn't good at social relationships and he's well aware of that. A romantic relationship would just be asking for trouble, and probably not worth all the effort. But when it comes to his clever coworker Hera, he can't help but insert himself into her life every chance he gets. It's so illogical, more than 50% of relationships in people his age end in heartbreak, but where is this urge to hold her, protect her, and kiss her coming from? Why can't he treat her like everyone else?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was official. Hera was having a bad day. Well, days, actually.

First, her power went off right in the middle of her favorite game Riddlemaster yesterday. She’d only been able to play half an hour more before her laptop had finally died, and she’d lamented for having to watch it on such a small screen the whole time.

Defeated, she’d turned in early. Not much else to do with the lights out.

Second, she’d been unable to sleep until 3am, unused to the pitch dark. She preferred to sleep with her night light on, and refused to be ashamed about that no matter how much Shin teased her about it.

Third, the power was still out when she left to go to work in the morning, and all the food she had to eat was in the fridge, which she couldn’t open unless she wanted everything in there to spoil.

Finally, only an hour into her shift at the cafe, she’d developed a nice sleep deprivation headache that throbbed painfully behind her eyes.

So she couldn’t help it if she was being a little less patient than usual.

“Hey Hera, could you load up a fresh batch of frozen strawberries? We just ran out.”

Hera looked up from the triple-order of parfaits she was making and eyed the three whole other mostly idle people that Mine could have asked instead of her. Frozen strawberries were heavy and as one would assume, frozen and would smart on her bare hands after just a few seconds of carrying the bag.

“I’m busy with an order right now.”

“Oh.” Mine looked extremely surprised, and Sawa who was working on sorting through tickets behind her wore a similarly shocked expression. Hera was usually quite polite with her speech. “Sorry.”

“Mm.” Hera didn’t think she sounded very sorry. Keeping her eyes down, she finished pouring the cream topping on the parfaits with a more aggressive squeeze than was necessary, and stalked off to go deliver them to the table before they began to melt.

Unfortunately for her, Ikki was ‘entertaining’ a customer at the bar which was right in her way to access the exit flap. Normally she’d just wait, but the parfaits were heavy, and if Waka noticed her serving half-melted ice cream she’d be the one to get berated later. And she really didn’t feel like listening to that.

“Excuse me.” She said shortly, looking pointedly at Ikki. “Coming through.”

His eyes widened and he hastily got out of the way. “Of course, my apologies for blocking your way…”

Hera didn’t respond, just briskly and carefully weaved around tables and customers to deliver her order.

Staring after her, Ikki made a short “huh” under his breath and then turned to the lady who was still giving him moony eyes as if nothing had even happened.

“Right - thank you for your kind words my lady, but actually we don’t accept those types of things here. If you have any additional questions or concerns please don’t hesitate to voice them. For now, I’m afraid I must return to the kitchen.”

“Aww… okay.”

Back in the kitchen, Shin was restocking the whipped cream and cinnamon while Kent stoically oversaw the cooking of what Ikki assumed was about to be one of their “Creamy Heart Gnocchi” plates. Mine was struggling to lift a large bag of frozen strawberries out of the freezer, although it was a matter of height rather than strength.

Ikki leaned against the doorway to avoid getting in the way.

“Seems like our cute little maid has her claws out today.” He stated probingly. He wanted to affirm that it wasn’t just him. While his eyes didn’t work on Hera, he fancied that his natural charm still worked on her just fine.

“If you’re -kya!- talking about Hera, then yeah, she’s like, totally bitchy today.” Mine grumbled, yelping as she finally succeeded at getting the bag down.

Kent made a displeased grunt of warning at the profanity.

“Grumpy, I mean. She scowled at me earlier when I asked her to get these for me!” Mine made a cute pouty face and demurred her posture to look pitiful.

“Restocking desert items is part of your responsibilities, not hers.” Kent corrected.

“Hpmh! Whatever. Let’s see how many customers she can please with that attitude.”

“Can you stop gossiping about dumb shit and get back to work.” Shin said, setting down a container of whipped cream a bit harder than necessary. As usual, he looked irritated.

Kent forwent correcting the profanity since he too wanted them to get back to work rather than conversing further.

Mine huffed and stalked out, forgetting to look like she was struggling to carry the heavy bag, holding it in one arm with ease. Ikki made an amused face and got the container of darjeeling that he had come in for originally and got to work brewing the tea.

---

Not that Hera had begun the day with much in the way of patience, but right now she was dangerously close to losing it completely. Just one more hour of torture and she could go home to what was hopefully an apartment fully restored with power.

There were no windows in Meido no Histuji, which contributed to it’s cozy den-like atmosphere which inspired customers to relax in the dim lighting of the cafe. It was probably good for business, but Hera would have liked to have some windows simply for the fact that maybe , she wouldn’t be dealing with a table of male customers who wanted more maidly services than she was willing to offer.

Since they probably wouldn’t feel so bold in the face of broad daylight.

Hera forced a polite smile and held the tray up higher so that it would block access to where her ample chest swelled her apron.

“Thank you for your kind words masters, but we don’t offer any of those kinds of services at this establishment.” She really should have been more cordial, but this was the wrong day for them to grope her. “It is stated quite clearly in our rules on the sign outside the cafe. Should you masters require some help to read it, I can gladly provide a chance to have my manager come personally reaffirm this.”

“You bitch, do you really think you’re in a position to make fun of us? Just provide us with proper service, it’s not that hard.”

“Right. Proper maids serve in silence with a smile.”

Were all teenage men this way? Horny, aggressive, and rude? Even her male coworkers were at least one of the three, considering Ikki’s womanizing, Shin’s rough speech and actions, and Kent’s cold and inconsiderate tendencies. At least Toma didn’t act that way, but he was like an annoying helicopter parent that liked to boss her around, which she appreciated even less.

Clicking the pen off, Hera decided to go get Waka instead of continue trying to take their order.

“Sir?”

“What is it, Hera?”

“Customers at table three just groped me under the pretense of trying to check I was taking their order right sir.” Hera would usually sugarcoat the situation but right now she didn’t feel like it. “I told them we don’t provide those services but they obviously aren’t taking no for an answer. I figured it would be best for you to decide how to handle the situation. And if you don’t mind sir, I’d like to take my break now.”

Waka’s eyebrows skyrocketed at her tone - a far cry from her usual sweet gentle voice. Though with the situation at hand he didn’t blame her.

“I see. Permission granted. I’ll handle the situation, thank you for notifying me.” He pulled up his gloves and pushed up his glasses and made for table three, a dark aura following him.

Back in the break room, Hera was slumped on the couch, eating the apple and peanut butter sandwich she’d cobbled together this morning like it was a feast, lamenting the lack of the bento locked in the forbidden depths of her fridge.

She was hungry enough not to care though, and when she finished she laid all the way down on the couch and pressed her hands against her eyes, wishing her headache would just go away already. Her boob was also kinda sore where the guy had jabbed it in his attempt to get a handful.

When she heard the sound of the break room door click and open, she didn’t even bother to move.

“Hera.” Great. That sounded like Kent.

“What?” She didn’t bother to sit up. “I’m on break.”

That was when the smell of food - some kind of cheesy pasta, she guessed - hit her nose. It was so good that she couldn’t bring herself to be ashamed of how she instantly started salivating.

She peeped through her hands. It looked just as delicious as the man holding it. Not that she’d ever had a chance to taste him. Now that was a dangerous train of thought, especially since her crush on him was clearly unrequited. It was pretty clear Kent wasn’t interested in dating, so she’d kind of given up on trying and resigned herself to admire him on her own.

“I noticed you were moving twenty percent more slowly than normal and look at the food you were serving 5 times more than usual. This has led me to believe that you may be hungry, so I brought this for you. Before you ask, yes, Waka has permitted it.” Kent said, setting the plate down on the break table, along with a fork, napkin, and bottle of water.

Hera took her hands off her eyes and raised her eyebrows.

“Wow really? Thanks.” She sat up and took the plate forking a large bite. Letting out a low groan at the rich taste, she wasted no time shoveling fork to mouth.

Kent was watching her with his usual impassive look.

“Maybe it’s just because I’m hungry, but right now this feels like the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Or maybe you’re just a genius in the kitchen.”

“Prolonged periods of time without food can cause large amounts of serotonin to be released upon the breaking of such a fast as the body’s way of naturally encouraging the brain to eat to regain the appropriate amount of nutrients.” Kent explained. Though Hera hadn’t asked for the Fun Facts, she didn’t mind this habit of his.

“This is more likely what you are experiencing. Although the taste buds do experience changes throughout late childhood and early puberty, they remain the same throughout adulthood. At your age they would not have made a change capable of such an effect.”

“That’s cool.” Hera remarked, setting the plate down to drink some water, feeling better now that she had eaten. “Just don’t go telling me all the nutritional information of the pasta because then I’m gonna feel guilty.”

“Well actually-”

“Ahh! Stop stop!” She covered her ears and glared at him. “I just said don’t tell me, don’t be mean.”

Kent did something then that she swore she never would have believed if she hadn’t experienced it for herself.

He smiled at her.

It didn’t last long though, because all too soon his expression returned to neutral and he held out the water bottle insistently.

“I need to get back to the kitchen. Make sure to drink it all or else you will get dehydrated from the sodium in the mozarella.”

Hera was left holding the bottle numbly, watching the door close after the tall young man. Slowly unscrewing the top, she placed the lip against her mouth and took a sip.

Did that really just happen?

---

Blissfully wrapped up in a cozy green blanket, Hera was sipping on a box of pineapple juice from the comfort of her sofa, her laptop balanced on her lap.

Work was over, her headache was gone thanks to the power nap she’d taken when she got home, and she was well fed. She hadn’t fully forgotten about the disgusting experience of a stranger grabbing a handful of her right breast, but leveling up three times in Riddlemaster was doing a good job of getting her mind off it. The trivia-based game was as mentally stimulating as it was fun, and getting the answers right made her feel smart.

Hera just liked this sort of thing. Finding out weird explanations for things was so satisfying for some reason. That’s why she’d decided to major in psychology.

On to the next question! Just two more and she’d unlock the next level and earn another 500 gold coins.

The picture above is a ______ because of

a) jaw and teeth

b) snout shape

c) both a and b

Taking a moment to study the picture, Hera was pretty confident the creature in the image was a crocodile. The creature in the picture had a kind of wide snout compared to other crocodiles, but she recognized the interlocking snaggleteeth that differed from alligators which had overbites.

Filling in crocodile in the blank, and selecting a she pressed submit.

Correct!

Hera grinned smugly at the upbeat chirp of the game as she got the answer right.

Alright, last one before she reached level 40! Oh she couldn’t wait for those 500 coins, that was enough to buy her avatar two new outfits! She already knew which one she wanted too. They’d recently released a Summer Festival set that had 3 different colors of yukata with a beautiful floral pattern.

Hera wanted the pink one with the gold hair ornament.

Which number represents the rate at which rabbits reproduce? This is called ______.

a) x = 1 + 2/x

b) 3.14

c) 1/89

d) 6.2831853071

Shit. Math, her weakness. Well, there was no time limit to figuring out the answers to the questions, so she usually just googled the subject of the question and tried to figure out what the answer was based on what she read…in the spirit of not being a cheater. But she really had no idea on this one.

Clearly the second option was pi, she knew that much. The first one looked like an equation, but it wasn’t one she recognized as being related to anything that could have to do with rabbit reproduction.

Twenty minutes later and several videos and wiki pages about rabbit production later, and all she really knew was that rabbits were horny and she was thoroughly stumped. None of the articles had even mentioned anything about numbers or math.

Hera bit her lip. She was so close to getting her Summer Festival outfit… and her pride refused to allow her to cheat. But the outfit was a limited time item that would be removed from the store during maintenance on the 15th of August. That was a little over a week from now, but she didn’t have all the time in the world.

Time for her last resort. The oldest one in the book, phone a friend! Well, text actually. Opening up her cell, she typed out a message to Sawa.

To: SawaiiK From: Hera-oine7 Date: 8-04 7:49:00

Hey (^-^)/ I know u r usually taking ur time in the bath right abt now, but if u have time can I get your help on smthg?

She opened up the Riddlemaster store page in another tab while waiting for a reply. Using the preview function, she removed the usual outfit her character wore (a greek style ‘goddess’ outfit she thought would suit it, since her ign was GoddessHera) and applied the Summer Festival outfit and began playing around with the colors of the trim and embroidery.

It was good motivation.

Her phone beeped from beside her and she sat up to retrieve it.

Hera! <3 Haha, yeah I was, but aniki made so much of a fuss about having to piss that I decided to just get out rather than argue with him abt using the 3 other bathrms in the house… -_-

And sure watsup? U were acting odd @work today, u feeling ok?

Oh right, she had been in a mood to go home without socializing in the changing room like usual, so Sawa was probably still reeling from her pricklyness towards Mine that morning.

Writing quickly, she replied.

Oh nah, it’s nothing like that, I’m fine. I was just tired lol.

She contemplated adding “ of Mine’s shit ” but that wasn’t very nice. The two might not get along ever since Mine overheard Hera talking to Sawa about her crush on Kent, but she wasn’t mean enough for Hera to justify talking trash about the girl for no reason.

I just need help with a question on Riddlemaster again hehe. (- 3-)’ Its abt math.

Hera sent it and sipped some of her juice.

LOL u r so addicted to that game! But ya ofc I’ll help. Wats the question

Hera took a picture of her laptop screen and just sent the image file through text. Would take a lot less time than retyping the whole question.

It took a few minutes before Sawa to reply.

Ok well. I tried but i have umm no freaking clue lol. (^~^)’’’ Neither does aniki. This is probly higher difficulty than normal college math. ...hey u know who u should ask? ;)

Dang. Well, she wasn’t surprised, considering her googling efforts had proven completely useless.

Idk, who?

It was times like these that she wished her parents hadn’t passed away without leaving her any siblings.

He’s TALL, he’s handsome, he’s rlly good at math, and you now have the perfect excuse 2 hang out with him :)

Oh. Kent. Hera considered it, crushing her juice box now that it was just bubbling noisily.

She’d written countless texts to him about all sorts of things hoping to start a conversation and catch his attention, but she’d deleted all of them because they were stupid and the last person she wanted to laugh at her was Kent. Or god forbid, think she was clingy.

But this was actually a situation where her asking him this made complete logical sense, so it was pretty safe.

The problem was, how would she turn it into something that would last more than 2 messages? It would be such a waste to squander this perfect opportunity. Her phone chirped again.

Do it do it do it do it do it!!! Hera!! No hesitation, get yo man!!

Hera laughed at the message, Sawa was probably interpreting her lack of a response as her convincing herself out of asking Kent.

Alright fine. Pray 4 me.

YESSSsss!! Tell me how it goes! It’s time for dinner so I’ll ttyl :)

Okay now… the hard part. Clicking out of Sawa’s contact, she scrolled down and clicked on Kent’s.

To: KentSJ94 From: Hera-oine7 Date: 8-04 7:58

Hey Kent, it’s Hera. There’s something I need some help with. It’s a math problem, sort of. Would you be willing to meet up with me to help me figure it out? I’m free this Sunday.

Hera re-read the message several times, seriously debating sending it. Was she really going to do this? What if he thought she was annoying for bothering him? After a moment she added on-

If not that’s okay.

That should cover her bases right? He probably didn’t like girls that were demanding. Okay time to have courage.

Her finger hovered over the send button.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and hit send. YOLO.

“Oh my god I can’t believe I actually sent it to him.” Making a noise of distress, she quickly closed her phone and put it under a pillow. “Ugh, why did I do that.”

She almost hoped he didn’t see it. Too bad you can only delete the sender side of texts.

Hera chewed nervously on the inside of her lip. Maybe she should go do something. Just sitting here looking at her phone was making her freak out. A bath like Sawa? But she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. A bath with loud music then. Maybe BOP bass boosted... and chocolate. Nice thing about being alone was that nobody could catch her stress eating.

She’d barely set a foot in the direction of the bathroom when her phone chirped. Hera was so wound up, it spooked her into a harsh jump.

She slowly picked up the phone with dread.

“Lord have mercy.”

Re: Hera-oine7 KentSJ94 Date: 8-04 8:05

I will be at my house on Sunday working on my thesis presentation. Come over and I will help you with your problem. Notify me if the issue requires preparation.

Hera stared at her phone.

No way. It actually worked? He had actually agreed to help and was inviting her over to his house.

...Maybe she should go buy a lottery ticket too.

Re: KentSJ94 Hera-oine7

Date: 8-04 8:07

Thank you so much Kent! I really appreciate it. See you Sunday @12:00?

His house wasn’t far away- she’d been there once before just outside when she’d asked to turn in some math assignments late due to being in the hospital for anemia before. She just wanted the extra time to doll herself up thoroughly before she got there. She wasn’t a morning person and well, go hard or go home.

His reply was very quick this time. That didn’t surprise her though, she figured he was the kind to stay on the phone until a conversation was finished. It struck her as the more “efficient” thing to do.

Re: Hera-oine7

KentSJ94

Date: 8-04 8:08

Yes.

Hera kinda wanted to laugh, it was so like him to respond like that. Well, brevity is the soul of wit and all that.

Looking back at the message history, she re-read Kent’s messages several times. There was this weird bubbly feeling in her chest that was giving her the urge to cover her face and squeal as loudly as possible.

Hera resisted it of course. She wasn’t a kid. But she did let out a particularly happy noise on her way to the bathroom that could only be described as a giggle.

Sue her, she was a girl in love. Grabbing her chocolate, she made for the bathtub, intent on taking a celebratory bath this time. Which of course, required sweets.

#amnesia #amnesia kent #heroine x kent

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taronfanfic · 5 years

Text

The After Party

A/N: This kind of links on from The Rebound, although not directly referenced. You can find parts 1 and 2 on the Masterlist

A sharp knock on his hotel room door drew Richard back up to his feet. He placed his golden globe down on the bedside table before padding across the thick carpet to see who was there.

“I fucking told you you’d win it!” Taron beamed in excitement as he immediately stepped in and threw his arms around Richard’s shoulders.

“Where the hell have you been all night?” Richard laughed as he stepped back and pulled Taron into his room without their bodies separating. “I thought you were coming to the after party?”

“Yeah, I was. I tried to find you but it turns out Netflix weren’t down with letting any old ugly mug into their party. Apparently you need to be an actor in a show of theirs, and preferably one who turns up with a bloody Golden Globe in hand!” Taron shook Richard’s shoulders, never breaking eye contact as he continued to let his pride and excitement flow freely. “Come on, where is it?” He bounced away from Richard and collected the award from the bedside table, looking over it in awe.

“I still can’t believe it.” Replied Richard as he ran his fingers through the back of his hair. The jacket from his Armani tux had been left on the back of a chair, his bow tie was undone and hanging loosely over his shoulders, perfectly framing the two open buttons of his crisp white shirt which revealed the top of his chest.

“This is insane, you deserve it so much man. So so much, honestly I’m so proud of you.” Taron gushed as he ran his thumb across the engraving and then placed the award back down.

“It’ll be you next year, Rocketman, don’t you worry.”

“Stop it, that’s never going to happen. This is your night anyway so forget about Rocketman and crack open the champagne for Bodyguard instead. You worked hard for this!” The bottle of Moet & Chandon had been chilling on ice since Richard arrived back to his room. He hadn’t wanted to open it alone but now Taron was there to celebrate with he had no reason not to. The cork was popped open and Taron ducked out the way of it as it flew across the room in his direction. The two men giggled together as Richard rushed to pour the bubbles into a glass before they soaked the carpet below.

“Have you even watched Bodyguard yet?” Richard asked as he handed the first glass over to Taron.

“No,” Taron blushed as Richard laughed loudly. “But I will, I promise you I will... Or maybe you could give me your Golden Globe winning performance now and save me a few hours? Just y’know, summarise the best bits or something?” Taron giggled.

“Ha, I bloody love you.” The smile never dropped from Richard’s face, even when he tried to drink the champagne from his glass.

“I love you too, man. I’m so pleased I was here to witness it all and celebrate with you. What are you even doing up here on your own though? You should be out on an all-nighter!”

“I know, I know. I was with my parents earlier and then they wanted to go to bed so I came back with them, made sure they were all okay and then I don’t know really. It’s all surreal and a lot to take in, I needed a moment of just, calm.”

“Then you got me showing up like an excited puppy at your door.”

“Yeah! Why are you back here too?” Richard reversed the question. “You should have women falling at your feet when you’re dressed like that!”

“Speak for yourself.” Taron tugged gently on the end of Richard’s bow tie as he swerved the question. “It’s been a good night, but I’m done with everyone else. I just wanted to see you.” He added softly.

“I’m glad you found me. Take this off and relax, we’ll have our own exclusive after party in here.” Richard’s slender fingers undid the button on Taron’s jacket before moving up his chest and lifting it away from his shoulders. He placed it down over the top of his own jacket as Taron loosened his bow tie and opened the top of his shirt to mirror Richard’s look.

“Ah god, that’s so much better.” Taron sighed as he kicked his shoes off and sat back at the top of Richard’s bed.

“What a night.” The mix of shock and happiness was still clear as day on Richard’s face. He brought the ice bucket and champagne over to the bed before relaxing again and joining Taron on top of the covers.

“Richard Madden, Golden Globe winner.”

“Stop it. This is all just a really weird dream; I’ll wake up tomorrow and…”

“Wonder why you’re sharing a bed with me?” Taron laughed.

“That’s the least surreal thing about all of this! You’re the one keeping me grounded right now.”

“The kid from Glasgow and the boy from Aber, both wondering how the fuck they ended up at The Beverly Hilton with a load of actual film stars.” They shared a knowing look of disbelief before their drunken giggles took hold once again.

“I don’t think this night can get any better. I wouldn’t change a single second of it and seeing it out with you by my side… can’t top that!”

“Well…” Taron announced with heavy suggestion. “There’s always one thing that’s guaranteed to improve any night.” He placed his now empty champagne glass to the side and pulled his bow tie slowly off his shoulders.

“You mean?” Richard raised his eyebrows, almost not believing his luck.

“If you want…” Taron smirked back. “Turn it into a little deal. Win one of the big awards, get sucked off in celebration.”

“What!” The pitch of Richard’s voice went up an octave as he looked away and then covered his face with his hands. “That’s totally going to end up being massively in your favour!”

“You’re more concerned about it being unfair on numbers than the fact it’s happening at all? Really? Also whose Golden Globe is that?”

“Mine.” Richard replied coyly.

“Exactly! So do we have a deal?”

“I think we have a deal.” He leant in and sealed the deal with a firm kiss. “Ready whenever you are, as soon as you said the words ‘sucked off’ I was gone.”

“Oh, Madden.” Taron looked at him lovingly as he reached down and started to undo Richard’s trousers, pulling his white shirt up and out of the way at the same time. With his hips lifted up off the bed, Richard tugged his trousers and boxers down, freeing himself for Taron. Short kisses were shared between the pair as Taron wrapped his fingers around Richard’s shaft and started to tease him up further. He worked from the tip down to the base and slowly caressed his thumb and finger around Richard’s balls, receiving a heavy moan in response. One last deeper kiss was shared before Taron moved down the bed and positioned himself, continuing to work his hand from tip to base as he decided where to go next.

“I’ve not done this before, this is going to be fun.” He mused as he spread his hands across the top of Richard’s thighs and caressed them up to his hips at a tantalising pace.

“Oh god, you’re being a tease. I thought you’d get straight to the point.” Richard lifted his arms behind his head in frustration but was soon silenced as he felt Taron’s warm lips engulf his tip. His eyes focused on the events below in an instant, the sight of it happening turning him on just as much as the feel of Taron’s lips tightly pulling away from him again.

“Sometimes the teasing is the best bit.” The smirk from Taron said it all. He might not have done this before but he’d been on the receiving end enough times to know how it should be done. His tongue dragged up the under side and flicked over the slit, lubricating Richard’s cock and preparing him for the main event. He kept the teasing up, slipping his lips over the tip but going no deeper, not until Richard was desperate for it. Light touches to his thighs and hips, inching his fingertips in towards his balls and caressing them gently gave Taron the sight he was after. Precum started to pool from Richard’s tip and he was quick to lap it up, giggling to himself smugly as he looked up to catch Richard’s blue eyes watching him closely.

“Go on.” He encouraged with a heavy breath and beaming smile. Taron combined his mouth and hand together and inched down tightly, testing out how far he could go before his gag reflex kicked in. He heard Richard groaning and pushed himself lower, hitting his limit and releasing his grip quickly. The rhythm was kept up by his fist as he composed himself and went again, slipping down smoothly and tightening his lips on the way up. He started to taste Richard again quickened the pace slightly, bobbing down over his tip as his fingertips circled around his balls. It wasn’t long before Richard was tensing up and swearing, his hand drifted into Taron’s peripheral vision and took a tight grip of the covers just as he released to the back of his throat. It made Taron’s eyes widen with the sensation before he swallowed and pulled away.

“Wow.” He swallowed again. “That’s quite something…” Richard could only laugh gently as he shuffled around to pull his boxers and trousers back up.

“You sure you’ve not done that before?” He asked with heavy suspicion and side eye.

“Promise. You’ve taken my blowjob-giving virginity.” Taron’s face lit up cheekily as he reached across Richard for the champagne bottle and proceeded to top his glass up.

“Claiming all the best awards tonight.”

“Don’t you forget it!” He handed the champagne back to Richard who forwent the glass and took a long swig straight from the bottle. “Every time someone mentions your Golden Globe, I want you to be thinking about this moment too. In fact…” Taron stopped to laugh to himself. “I’m going to bring it up in as many interviews as I can. Everyone will think you’re still not over the win, but I know you’ll be giggling to yourself because you’ll be thinking of our little deal instead.”

“You have such an evil streak in you, Egerton! Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you.”

“That’ll never happen. There’s way too much love here.” Richard knocked the top of the bottle against the side of Taron’s glass as they shared a knowing look.

“Best night ever.”

#madderton #taron egerton #richard madden imagine #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton fanfic #richard madden fanfiction #richard madden #richard and taron

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notveryglittery · 6 years

Text

ssps prompt #4

summary: Logan opens his closet only to find that none of his ties are blue. words: 2,600 / ships: none really. bits of each logan ship, so. warnings: a bit of panic, hurt feelings. notes: some out of character moments bc it's an alternate universe and also i can't write logan ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ read on ao3 / read more prompts (if y’all wanted to draw art of the sides in the colors i picked for ‘em... that would be... really cool...) @sanderssidespromptsummer @fandersfic-logan

Logan’s alarm went off at approximately 6:45am and despite the absolute mundanity of it, something felt wrong. He’d opened his eyes to blurry vision, which was not surprising; the expanse of sky that made up his ceiling was shifting slowly into a sunrise. When he reached over to his bedside table to retrieve his glasses, they were exactly where he’d left them. He was still wrapped snugly in the quilt Patton had made for him two years ago. The smell of coffee and bacon had permeated throughout the house. While it was all perfectly normal, something still felt inaccurate.

Sitting up, Logan put his glasses on, and looked around. His room was just as much of a mess as usual (an organized mess, thank you very much). The towering bookshelves were still stuffed full, his numerous desks were still covered in various notes and charts, the doors to the Memory Archives were still securely locked. He got out of bed and slid his feet into the slippers left beside his bed. Tucking the sheets back in and making sure not a pillow was out of place, Logan went next to the bathroom. It was here that the something became slightly more clear. The towels were no longer blue, but instead a deep hunter green.

“Patton must be doing laundry,” Logan deduced aloud, though he couldn’t recall the last time they had any sort of fabrics in this color. He went about his morning routine: took a shower, washed his face, brushed his hair and teeth, flossed. He dressed in a more worn pair of slacks, knowing they weren’t filming a video today, and thinking that he was allowed to be more comfortable. He forwent picking a shirt that bore his logo and chose a simple black button down instead. It was all perfectly normal, right up until he opened the drawer that housed his ties. Not a single one of them was blue. He blinked. He rubbed at both of his eyes. He closed the drawer and reopened it. The ties remained stubbornly not blue. Instead, they were the same dark green as the towels in the bathroom.

Logan was by no means dreaming; he’d certainly have woken up by now. Closing the drawer once more, he headed out of his room. He could hear Patton singing in the kitchen but it would be a waste of time and effort if he started with Patton when Virgil and Roman’s rooms were on the way downstairs. He knocked first on Roman’s door, noting that the decorations were different from last he saw. The stars were still there but his name was written in purple instead of red. Logan wondered if Virgil had done it in the middle of the night, as a joke. The sound of Roman doing vocal exercises reached him before Roman actually did. The door swung open a moment later. The prince was still in his pajamas and his hair was only half styled and—

“What are you wearing purple for?” Logan asked before he could help himself.

Roman tilted his head. “Good morning to you, too, Specs.” He brushed a hand over his silk pajamas, which were not red and gold, like usual. “And why? What’s wrong with it?” His expression looked a little hurt and his tone had gone just a bit quiet.

“Nothing,” Logan was quick to answer, knowing an upset Roman this early in the morning would only lead to disaster for the remainder of the day. “It’s just… different.”

“I always wear purple, Logan,” Roman said, looking at Logan now like he’d grown a second head. “It’s my color. You know,” and here, he paused to strike a pose, “the color of royalty?”

“Ah, yes.” Logan deadpanned, knowing now he wouldn’t find solutions here. “of course. How could I forget.” After a few more sentences of back and forth, Logan left Roman to finish getting ready. He’d planned next to see Virgil but upon remembering that it was still only 8 o’clock, decided to head down to ask Patton next. Virgil wouldn’t be awake for another four hours, at least, if they were lucky.

“Good morning, Lo!” Patton chirped the moment Logan stepped foot into the kitchen. It was a disaster zone: the sink full of dishes that needed washing, flour dusted every countertop, and every burner on the stove was in use. Patton was spinning around the space with ease, however, and… He was not wearing his favorite, light blue apron.

This time, Logan took time to figure out how to word his question. Patton was more sensitive even than Roman and better at hiding it. He offered to begin cleaning the dishes and Patton thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before returning to his tasks. Roman wearing purple because it was the color of royalty wasn’t far from believable, but it was the fact that he’d said he always wore it. That was a downright lie. Roman wore whites, reds, and golds. It wouldn’t be surprising if Patton had a number of aprons to choose from but he almost exclusively wore the light blue one while making breakfast. Today’s apron was cotton candy pink. Beneath it, his nightshirt was lighter in shade, with little prints of piglets. His pants were magenta. He wore flamingo slippers.

“Is that apron new?” Logan asked finally, turning off the water, and drying the dishes he’d so far cleaned.

“What, this old thing?” Patton giggled, twirling from the oven to the refrigerator. “Gosh, no! It’s my favorite one! You’ve seen me wear it lots of times before!”

No, Logan thought, no, I really have not.

“Oh, right,” Logan said instead. “It suits you very well.” Patton squealed at the compliment. The pink did suit Patton well but there was no denying just how wrong it felt. Patton’s color was light blue where Logan’s was indigo. Roman’s was red and Virgil’s was purple. The fans were spot on with their Rainbow Theory and Logan delighted in reading their speculations; Patton and Roman thought it fun, so why were they throwing it all off?

An hour later found Roman sitting with Patton and Logan at the dining table. Patton was checking the clock on the wall. “Do you think Virgil will be down soon?” He asked, looking between the two. Logan was distracted by Roman’s thoroughly purple outfit. What would Virgil say when he did finally wake up and see Roman’s attire? Patton had changed into one set of pajamas to another. He was still very pink.

After waiting thirty minutes more, Roman began to eat. Patton went to go check on Virgil.

“What’re you staring at so much for today, Logan?” Roman asked after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “You’ve never had a problem with my fashion sense before.”

“I doubt that.” Logan raised an eyebrow and gestured to all of Roman. “Your taste has always been far too extravagant for my liking. We’ve spoke before on your lack of practicality.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wearing heels!”

“I never said that.” Logan agreed, amused despite himself. “I only meant that your wearing heels when it least makes sense is something I simply do not understand.”

“Gotta agree with Lo there,” came a voice from behind them.

Roman’s head snapped towards the sound and he scowled at the speaker. “Well of course you would!” He returned to his meal, looking quite offended.

Virgil sat down next to Logan and gave him a sleepy smile. His hair wasn’t brushed and the bags under his eyes were very messily covered up with eyeshadow. Patton clearly hadn’t given him enough time to get ready. He was wearing orange. It wasn’t bad, by any means, but it confused Logan so terribly, that his mouth fell open.

“Seriously, Logan, what’s your problem with how we’re dressing today!” Roman snapped, dropping his silverware, and standing up. He stormed out of the room and Patton called after him, looking between the pair at the table and the prince stomping upstairs. He followed Roman.

Virgil was blushing under Logan’s stare. “What?” He asked defensively. His sweater was two sizes too large and he hid the lower half of his face behind one of the sleeves. It was also burnt orange, a deep enough shade that it wasn’t garish or harsh on the eyes. His pants were lighter, closer to peach, with pumpkins and bats printed across them.

“You… You’re wearing orange.”

“Yeah, and?” Virgil’s tone grew sharp and he was rising from his chair.

“No, wait,” Logan rushed to amend, getting up as well. Virgil stepped away, looking like he was accepting flight as the proper response to this situation. “I do not mean any harm. It’s just peculiar.”

“Oh, yeah, that helps.” Virgil crossed his arms over his chest, shifting on the spot, closer towards the stairs.

“I apologize. That did not come out right.”

“Thought you didn’t mind it,” Virgil mumbled, “thought you said it matches sometimes.”

“Did I?”

Virgil blinked, hard. “Are you suffering from foot-in-mouth disease?”

“Pardon?”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. His gaze went to Logan’s throat. “You aren’t wearing a tie.”

Logan’s hand went to his neck. “I hardly see what that has to do with this.”

“You always wear a tie.”

“We aren’t filming today. I thought it unnecessary.”

“What?” Virgil asked. “We are, too. We talked about it last night.”

This was all getting very out of hand. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, nudging his glasses out of the way as he did so. He sighed. He heard Virgil take a few steps closer to the staircase.

“You’re freaking me out, Logan.”

“My ties are all green,” Logan blurted before Virgil could move any further. “They are supposed to be blue. My color is blue.” He gestured to Virgil. “Yours is purple.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind his bangs. “My color’s orange.”

“No,” Logan said, frustration coloring his tone. “Thomas dyed his hair purple and we changed outfits and you decided you liked purple. It’s the color you chose!”

Virgil was shaking his head before Logan had even finished. “Roman is purple. He always has been, even before you guys accepted me. It’s the color of—”

“Royalty,” Logan interrupted, “yes, I know, he told me.”

“Alright, Logan, for real, what’s going on?” Virgil looked less upset with Logan now and more concerned about why Logan was acting the way he was.

“I don’t know! I’ve felt strange since I woke up this morning but I couldn’t understand why. It can’t be something as simple as this, they’re just colors.” Logan ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. Virgil moved out of his way. “I know I’m not imagining it, either. Patton’s always light blue and Roman is red. It’s how things have always been. Before the videos, we had colors we preferred and Thomas worked around it. The Rainbow Theory…” Logan paused, turning to face Virgil. “That’s still accurate, is it not?”

Before Virgil could answer, there was a tugging sensation in the pits of their stomach. “Speak of the devil,” Virgil said before disappearing. Logan sank out and back in with him. Instead of his spot beside the staircase, he was stood in front of the window Patton liked to be near.

“What is happening?!” He groaned.

“Hey, guys…” Thomas looked between the two. Logan wondered why in the world Virgil was stood next to him, in Roman’s spot. “I was feeling a little… nervous. Thought I would check in.”

“Ask Logan,” Virgil said, crossing his arms. “He’s getting all worked up about our colors.”

“Why are you standing there?” Logan asked Virgil instead of addressing their host.

“Where does purple Virgil stand?” Virgil snarked. Logan pointed to the staircase. “Oh, no way. I’d never steal the stairs from Patton.”

“I’m confused.” Thomas cut in. “What’s going on?”

“The others are wearing the wrong colors. I had begin to think it a prank though it seems a bit much to get you in on it, Thomas.”

Virgil and Thomas shared a look. “It’s not a prank, buddy,” Thomas said. “We’re just as lost as you are.” Thomas did seem genuinely puzzled. Logan was wondering if he’d ever find an resolution to this conundrum.

“I need to check the Memory Archives,” Logan said before he sank out. He returned directly to his room and retrieved the key to the doors. Unlocking them and slipping in, making sure to close and lock them again behind him, Logan paused to stare up at the ceiling. It was made of forty three screens, each linked to six consoles each. Logan headed without hesitation towards Console #254. Entering the password, he used the touch screen to flip through memories from the last two years. They flickered to life on the screen it was connected to. Logan watched as Thomas’ recollection of filming the videos and interacting with the Sides played in fast forward.

Sure enough, every appearance of Roman had him dressed in purple, Patton in pink, and Virgil in orange. To Logan’s surprise, every time he showed up, his tie was green. He hardly wore much color in the first place but this seemed to be enough proof. There was no doubting his ownmemory, however. Virgil preferred purple, given that it fit his edgy and dark exterior. Roman appreciated that red suited his bold personality. Shutting the console off and leaving through the doors, Logan paused for a moment in his room.

Perhaps if he went to sleep, it would all be back to normal when he woke up? This… alternate universe seemed worth exploring but he’d already upset two of the others. He wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of staying in what could end up a hostile environment. There was a knock on his door.

“Lo?” Patton called. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course,” Logan answered. “It’s unlocked.”

Patton let himself in and gestured to Logan’s bed. They sat side by side. “Roman’s pretty upset… Virgil didn’t seem too happy, either… Wanna tell me what happened?”

“None of you are wearing the colors that you normally do. I’m beginning to suspect I’ve woken up in an alternate universe of some sort.”

When faced with something he didn’t particularly know how to respond to, Patton laughed nervously. Logan thought it precious, not that he would ever say so. “That’s… interesting,” Patton said slowly, once he’d stopped giggling.

“I’ll apologize to Virgil and Roman. There’s nothing wrong with how they’re dressed. In fact, they wear the colors quite well. It is just… strange.”

“Oh, I’m sure!” Patton agreed, “that would be pretty weird to me, too!”

“I thought I might lay down for a bit. When are we filming?”

“In about two hours,” Patton answered, standing up and allowing Logan his space. “Do you want me to come check on you when it’s almost time?”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

“Okay, Lo.” Patton pressed a kiss to the top of Logan’s head. He skipped towards the door. “Sleep well! Sweet dreams!” He closed the door quietly behind him.

Puling the sheets back and tucking himself in, Logan removed his glasses, and stared up at the ceiling. It adjusted to his wants and needs so the room darkened as sleep overcame him. The last thing Logan thought of before he dozed off was how he hoped his famILY wouldn’t still be agitated with him when he woke up.

#sanderssidespromptsummer #sanders sides fan fiction #logan sanders #i HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS #IT'S A MESS AND I'M SORRY LMAO #dani writes

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