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deicidis · 2 years

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I Have Trembled My Way Deep

Morpheus x Naiad!Reader

Summary: The God of Dreams assists you in escaping Poseidon's obsession.

status: Completed One-shot

wordcount: 15.9k

warnings: Implied non-con (not Morpheus), slow burn ish?

18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibilities. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.

I have trembled my way deep into surrender

I have stretched my aching body across the world

I have stood at the threshold of your wonder

Bid me enter, Lord, allow me to unfold

—

You remember

that it was a game for Poseidon. A sport. Something to fill his spare time in his eternal life. For you? Your ruin.

The god of the sea appeared one day, at a beautiful dusk, where you had lain in your lake and watched Astraeus paint the sky. He declared his love so casually, smiling wide with his sharp teeth. Claimed he fell at the moment when you had visited the shore of his domain, and offered you a place to sit amongst his many mistresses of court.

But you never met him, and you were put off by his leery eyes on your skin. You heard the way he loves, cruel and unnatural and impetuous. He‘d confirmed the rumour himself when he seized you by the arms then forcefully attempted to take you to the sea after you refused. But your nails were sharp, and it had sunk into his cheek. You recognize the disbelief written all over his face, that a lesser being dared lay his hands on him. Then he grinned as he saw the blue blood running from the wound. Your stomach coiled in fear as you ran, but he ripped a lock of your hair first, then he’d let you go. Because he likes toying with his food.

In fear, you came to your mother for help in any way she could. To look into the future. But your mother only gave her tears and a sole advice; run far from here, if all else fails invoke the name of dream god, Morpheus. Pray to him and he shall ease your suffering.

Of course she would not risk an open war with the Pantheon and the death of her other children for you. She was not as young, as short-tempered as you remembered. This fact left bruises on your heart, even though you understood.

What good does a dream do, mother? You asked incredulously.

Everything, my sweet. She answered.

It was an absurd notion. Since when does a god give their kindness so easily without expecting something in return? But your mother had never given you false counsel before, so you kept her advice close to your heart.

You kissed her cheek and kissed her hands, then gave her your tears. She, in turn, steadied your hands that trembled in anger and sorrow. Kissed your forehead for a very long time as she held you close you almost couldn’t breathe. Her tears overflowing, her rivers and streams are hissing.

This felt like the tragedies you used to watch when you went into the city with your sisters.

Go. I will buy you time. Remember, call upon his name should all else fails.

It was a heartache to leave your Lake, your friends, and your sisters without so much as a farewell. Always moving during the night, sleeping during the day between the ravines, under the river, inside dark caves. Your cheeks are always raw, streaked with tears. Your heart never rests from beating in wariness. There was never a moment of respite. You ran until your feet hurt, your soles blistered. Your mind was a beehive, its queen in fear that infects the colony.

For every single day that passed, your resentment brewed towards the pantheons. They surely watched this misery caused by their blood. The Olympians were silent, the Olympians let it all happen.

Only sleep was the moment of peace to be had. It didn't come easily at first; you were always startled awake by the smallest sound, the snapping of a twig.The splash of a fish. Sprinted from your hiding spot at every little noise. You almost grew mad from the lack of sleep, the dark under your eyes increased by the day. So you swallowed your pride and you finally prayed to the god of dreams to give you a swift fall. A sweet dream where you are home among your sisters and friends free from your tormentor. He never fails to grant you one. Your mother was always right, you admitted bitterly.

You tried to prolong his blessings, but you had nothing to offer except feathers from some birds, little carvings you whittled with your small knife, ripe fruits you picked from the tree, your thanks and prayer every time you wake. For you are always awake at the right time. Strangely refreshed and fulfilled. Never a second too late for Poseidon to sink his teeth into your skin.

You thought Poseidon would grow weary of his chase. But a day turned into weeks, into months. A year turns into three, then four. And five. You weaved between cities and forests, found love but had to leave them, hiding in other Nymphs' habitats, betrayed by some. Somehow, you are always at the right time to move. Knew when something wasn’t right, when the air started to brine with salt. Mostly your dreams inspired your caution. And you thank your benevolent god for his omens.

But fleeing alone is not enough. Though your calves are stronger, your lungs endured, you were exhausted beyond what your heart could take. You want Poseidon to stop, to rot where he stood.

You want him to suffer and tremble just as much as you did, you want to plunge your pocket knife into his eyes and see his blue blood in his cracked open skull leaking into the ground.

So was the reason why you sat at the edge of a river bank and watched the twilight sky instead of running when you could sense that he was growing closer and closer. You were ready to end it all, and you will let it end on your terms, fresh water always feels like home. Let it be fresh water the last thing you see. Not one formed with salt.

"I know you’re here, little Nymph." His rancid voice bellowed out in the distance, Your resolve crumbled by the second. The knife you held to your throat trembled as your tears warmed your cheeks, and you feared it would be etched like a mark. Your body shivered instantly as you closed your eyes. Despite having nothing to lose, despite convincing yourself that meeting Thanatos is a better choice, there is a part of you that still clings to life and its abundance of delight to be found. Mother to be seen again. Sisters to hold once more. You realised you were never ready to toss the Obol in your pocket for Charon. So you dreamt of a better future as you did one last desperate attempt. You prayed to your God.

"My benevolent god, lord Morpheus, if you could hear me, I beg of you. Help me. Take me far where he couldn’t find me and you will always have my service." you whispered. It was a foolish attempt. Poseidon would’ve found you to the edge of the living world. Moreover you were no one, minor spirit of no import. No Olympian nor a daughter of one. Why should a god such as Dream meddle in your affairs? Still, the god of dreams was a salve to your burden, more than any other gods. Perhaps the only god.

"Your prayer is heard." Your eyes jolted open at a voice that was not Poseidon’s. You snapped your head to find the Dream God beside you, behind you, but he was nowhere to be found. Your heart palpated twice as fast. The hairs on your neck stretched upwards.

"Return from whence you came." He continued, and your body instinctively leaned into the water, finding the river had turned as black as the night, as still as one.

"Reach into me, and you shall hide no more." Once more, Dream God’s deep and quiet voice enticed and you paused, digesting his words that felt too good to be true. You turned to see how close your oppressor was and you could see the outline of his form between the trees. Your heartbeat was a hummingbird trapped in your ribcage, you felt like vomiting all over the water. There might be a greater sacrifice to be made by exchanging with Dream god.

But you would give Dream god your limb for that opportunity.

So you took a deep breath, steeled yourself, and plunged into the cold, dark water. Then unfastened the Peplos around your skin weighing you down. You swam deeper, deeper and deeper. It was a Sisyphean effort. There is no direction, no life could be sensed, no surface to return to, only a bottomless river. Your arms ached from carving the water in the endless dark, there was no way of knowing where it is above or below. Like swimming into the bowels of the earth where there is only Kronos, waiting for you with his primaeval emptiness.

It was hours. The darkness was suffocating and you were terrified beyond your mind, afraid of making an irreversible mistake.

Then, a speck of light can be seen. Pale blue, glimmering like a star.

You swam into it, almost in a frenzy, desperate for something tangible. It expanded as you swam, blinding and comforting, and when your body had passed its threshold, you had fallen wet onto the earth that was not from whence you came, but the homeland of a god.

—

You lay flat on your chest on the wooden plank of a bridge that stretched into the far distance, its foundation stood in the middle of blackened water. Your body limped, bare, devoid of energy. Your arms pulsated with shooting ache. But all of that was eclipsed by your silent wonder, for you are greeted with a night sky sprawling with billions of star clusters, its light shining pale blue layered with an iridescent sheen.

Is this where Dream God resides? So close to the stars and the very heavens.

As you drank all the splendour of Dream god’s domain, the dots in your field of vision expanded, until you realised it was not dust, but figures coming your way.

When they had reached where you laid, you met a beautiful pointy-eared woman, with black and white clothes you had never seen before. Behind her, a figure with unruly black hair wore a black chiton draped over one of his pale shoulders and the other fastened under his arm.

He bears that otherworldly beauty that seems to be reserved only for Primordial gods. A paradox of youth and antiquity.

"Here, let me help you." The woman said as she helped you to sit, she had taken a black fabric from the figure’s pale hand, which you swore was not there mere seconds ago, then wrapped you with it. The fabric was so warm. You sighed, melted into the cloth.

"It’s alright, you’re safe now. He can’t follow you anymore, the wretched beast." she said, mumbling the last part. Her eyes bore an irreplaceable warmth and kindness. As if she had known of your misfortune and suffering, familiar with it.

While he watched you silently with his bright eyes. His gaze was sharp and rigid.

As you clutched the blanket over you, he stepped closer, and you gazed upon him.

"(y/n), daughter of Nemea, blood of Potamoi, for as long as you are in the Dreaming none shall harm you and none shall enter my realm with the intention of one." he declared to you, his voice dark and low. But you think he mostly declared it to his realm, binding his words into the Dreaming.

And his words bind you.

Words that made you safe and secure. You felt it in your lungs, the air tasted light in the back of your tongue. You felt it in your blood, hummed gently and numbed your fingertips, all encompassing.

Your eyes stung and your lips trembled. It was a relief like no other and you could not contain your tears, murked by bone-deep exhaustion, 5 years of anguish and unchanneled rage. At the same time, you felt like sleeping for the rest of your life, never to wake to wash away this engraved weariness. You sobbed so hard, madly. You must have looked pitiful in their eyes. But you reckoned they won’t care what you looked like anyway.

—

The first week, you asked Lucienne where you should put the offerings for the God of Dreams. Wreaths of sweet-smelling flowers to scent his chamber and your best carving of Acanthus were in the basket you weaved. Lucienne informed you that Dream God desires no more offerings. You frowned at that. You admit that your offerings were modest, but you had always given him your best. Did he always detest your craft? Although you did not pry. You would only follow what he bid you, as his faithful servant.

In your spare time, you visit other dreams and nightmares, assist Lucienne with her books, and in exchange, she teaches you to read and write in a variety of other languages. She was pleasantly surprised by your new-found talent in linguistics. You absorbed everything remarkably fast.

Then you read. So many cultures with so many religions and gods you had learned, to find that Dream god and his family are beings older than the Olympians, even the Primordials. Consorting themselves not only to the gods of Hellas, but all over the world, was biting into a forbidden fruit.

Your entire life you thought the gods of Hellas were the only true gods. And it has left you in some form of existential dread.

Moreover, walking in the Dreaming and taking everything around you made you heave occasionally. Its infinite and ever-changing nature spins your head. But you are a highly adaptable being, and you adapted quickly, for survival's sake.

The Dream god was seldom seen, the first year of your stay your few glimpses of him were scarce, the number of times you see him when you were helping Lucienne in the library can

practically be counted with your fingers. The quiet flutter of his Chiton swept the floor. Often he didn’t even realise you were there, you didn’t make yourself be seen either.

When he saw you, you considered exchanging pleasantries, but you seemed to clam up whenever you mustered the courage. In truth, you wanted to be invisible. You wanted him to forget your existence so you could always be at the brunt of his indifference. You don’t know if he is as volatile as the other gods of Hellas, and should his wrath descend upon the Dreaming, let him forget that you exist.

So you stayed silent and arranged the books as he read quietly on one of the many intricate wooden chairs placed at the long table. You scattered all over the library except where he sat. When you truly needed to work where he resided, you waited as long as you could before he departed. Or silently arranged the books. You’d bow your head to him before leaving. He acknowledged you with a flick of his gaze.

—

It’s hard to keep track of time in the Dreaming when there is new splendour to be found every day. Like the Sirens you befriended in the frozen sea, the desert Golems you met on the barren wasteland, flora and fauna that do not exist in the waking world, or how one of Dreaming’s many meadows is filled with herbs grown from babies’ first tears. Not to mention Fiddler’s Green, where mirth is eternal and beauty is in its core nature.

Yet the dull ache inside you persisted. Stubborn and sore. There is no splendour in the Dreaming as comforting as your home. Your Lake.

A Naiad neglecting their habitat is not a Naiad. Do not ever forsake all-mother Gaea’s gift . Your mother used to remind you when you were but a tadpole of a water spirit.

When you closed your eyes, you could still feel its connection in the Waking World.Tranquil, one bank shaded by a great Willow tree, its tendrils leaning over the water, protecting your domain. Vast and wedged deep in the forest.

But you adapted, for survival’s sake.

So you trudged to the Dreaming’s many forests, trying to find a pattern in nature that resembles your Lake, even just a little. After days of searching, you found it in a clearing with a willow tree, taller and grander than yours back home.

You couldn't tell which was your luck or the kindness of the Dreaming. You were grateful all the same. When you touched its coarse bark, you breathed in deep. It reminded you too much of what was. Then you watch over the clearing for days, waiting for it to change at the necessity of the Dreaming, but it never did.

So you laid there to sleep under its overreaching branches every night. In a week, you had moved in completely there to live. Carved many woods from the branches that would fall whenever you wanted them to fall. Slept under the glimmering pale blue stars.

Like a blink, your second year passed.

You stretched like a cat on the grass after you had just woken up. The pink trickled in the sky, and soon the bright pale blue would follow. The Dreaming was pleasantly cold at that hour, and one of your favourite things is to watch Fenghuangs flying past the sky. They too like to stretch their wings when the sun is coming.

But your morning was interrupted by the stir of the wind, and you noticed the branches of the Willow slouching by inches. You did not know then that they were anticipating the coming of the Dream God, who had apparated silently into the clearing.

You stood abruptly—almost knocking yourself—and approached him, then bowed your head.

"My lord." You greeted him. Your heartbeat paced a little faster.

He regarded you with his bright, cold eyes. His black chiton swept the dewy grass.

"Is there anything I could do for you, my lord?"

"The question is, is there anything I could do for you ?" His voice was sharp.

"My lord?"

"Your mother reminded me to fulfil my end of the bargain. Have I not done that?"

"Bargain?" you still can’t understand his meaning.

"The bargain we made on the spring equinox. Of my Dream." he sounded somewhat impatient. Irritation laced the edge of his voice.

"My lord, I'm afraid I don't follow." you almost stuttered out your answer. Utterly lost. Your mother? Bargain? His Dream? You look at Dream God as if he grew a second head. Which is not that impossible in the Dreaming, you remembered.

For a moment, silence has passed as he scrutinised you. In that span of time you dug your nail into your thumb. And you focused on the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes because you couldn’t stand the pressure of his gaze.

"Do you know why you’re here, (y/n)?"

"Because of your kindness, my lord." you answer with a thought you used to have before he approached you with this business. Now, you’re not entirely sure.

Since when does a god give their kindness so easily without expecting something in return?

He sighed quietly. Closed his eyes for a second.

"Your mother did not tell you."

"If there was something to be said, she couldn’t. We- I was running out of time." There was a sharp prick in your chest. Your body remembered the fear of that day. You steadied your breath.

"Would you kindly tell me what it is, my lord?" you pressed further.

He ambled then stood beside you, his eyes swept around the clearing. You followed his line of vision.

"It was centuries ago, a rogue Dream had found their way into your family’s domain. Made themself a part of one. Fell in love with one her blood. By now you must have learned that the waking world is no place to inhabit for Dreams or Nightmares." he said, and you latch on to his every word.

"Nemea claimed that I could never have Basalt back without her blessing."

"She bound them." you murmured. Recognise your mother’s magic all too well.

"If I forcefully transport them into the Dreaming, Basalt would cease to exist if she didn’t sever the ties." he continued.

He had made her sound uncharacteristically cruel to you. She was not as young, as short-tempered. You reminded yourself.

"What did she want, lord? What did she bargain for?"

"Aid for her kin, should one ask for it. I granted her a life for a life. A Dream for a Naiad. Whatever aid they prayed for."

How convenient. You thought.

"She is a seer, lord." there is something bitter at the back of your tongue. Has the Dreaming always been exactly where you belong? Until when?

"Thank you, Dream Lord, For telling me. I would never know otherwise."

He pursed his shapely lips, the edge twitched slightly.

"I had assumed you inherited her abilities. That you passed your words once you settled here."

Blood rose to your face. Not for a lack of trying, the Dreaming is, thankfully, impregnable. But you have always been the runt of the litter, not entirely talented in magic or sorcery. The best you could do was cultivate your domain to the best of your abilities and heal injuries of the body. Nothing more, nothing less.

"No lord. Her talent did not pass to me."

His reply was silent acknowledgement, then his eyes travelled around the clearing, finding some of your carvings resting on the tree.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped.

"Oh this-this is where i sleep."

He looked at you with a slight pinch of his eyebrows.

"The city’s room is extraordinary my lord but-i feel closer to home in the open air." you continued.

Only silence follows, and you wait for him to depart.

But he lifted his hand instead, his fingers clawed and the Dreaming gave a subliminal sigh.

The wind that tasted familiar beckoned to you. At the same time, the clearing that was small, filled with only grass and a single tree, had turned into a perfect replica of your home. From every blade of grass, the Willow that stretched over the side of the Lake and its hanging leaves gently brushed the clear water, to the patches of Hellebore and Crocus around the bank, the water lilies dotting the water’s surface. Your heart squeezed at the sight.

"My subjects should feel at home in my realm." he claimed.

"Thank you, my lord." You said, barely able to contain the tears brimming in your eyes.

He only stared at you with an expression you could not recognise. Then left, leaving traces of sand behind.

You took off your ivory Peplos with a roaring sense of urgency. Then you ran, jumped into the water that caused a tall splash, swam and glided all over the Lake until your arms ached.

—

When you met Dream God in the library again, you didn’t hesitate to greet him. You don’t know how much he would tolerate you, but you found it quite liberating to know you didn’t have to cautiously tiptoe around him, relying on his kindness alone. Surely a simple greeting wouldn’t hurt.

Sometimes he approached you. You have become an efficient staff in the library, able to memorise all sorts of books from your new found love of reading, and Lucienne referred to your good work. Perhaps you spoke to him more than the last 2 years combined. After all, the number of times can be counted with your fingers.

And now,

The sun has set, the hush descends upon the Dreaming. You chew on Saffron from the many Crocus dotted around the lake as you sit bare on the shore. Day by day you wonder what your mother saw in the tendrils of your many futures. Tears have found their way burning your eyes. An underlying fear of the Moirae almost chokes you. The Fates spun, measured, and cut, pushed you into the Dreaming, pushed Eros to strike Poseidon with his arrows, and it was all too much for you to bear. You almost die because of it.

What could possibly be the fates weaved for your imminent future, you hope that it is an easy one. Your tears land on your thigh as you decide to whittle into dusk. You manage to convince yourself that this is a temporary solution, a temporary home. You will count the days until you can return.

—

Abel had invited you for cheese and sweets, and you had invited Lucienne to come with you. It was a Herculean effort to convince her because the royal librarian never seemed to take a day off for herself. But she finally relented because she couldn’t stand hearing your incessant whining about how much you would be heartbroken if she didn’t come.

What Abel didn’t mention was that he had wine, and all three of you drank the jugs empty, an ice breaker of some sort that made for an absolutely wonderful time with the two of them. You exchanged stories between the alcohol and laughed until you gasped for air. Moreover, you had never eaten such foreign delicacies before and you were pleasantly surprised by the explosions of flavour melting in your mouth.

"You must let me teach you! Let’s do it weekly so we can spend more time with each other!" Abel had kindly offered.

"I’d love to." was your answer, you’re genuinely excited to learn.

When you say your goodbyes to Abel and wave to Cain, it is already night. Even in your drunken state, the sight of the stars tumbling down at intervals astounds you. Falling towards the mountains, the forest, one finding its way in Abel and Cain’s residence. You notice dark grey clouds hanging around the moon. The Dreaming temperature is plunging cold and it mists your breath. There’s a lot of things that you can’t make sense of in the Dreaming and most of the time you ignore it, you’re positive you’d go mad if you try to keep up with each and every event. But these stars, on this particular day, feel menacing, ominous. As if it could scourge the Dreaming into ruin.

You wonder why at this exact time of the year this keeps happening. So you asked Lucienne.

"At this time of the year the lord will be in his chamber the entire day, mourning the day Maenads tore apart his child."

"No... Orpheus was his son?"

"He was." Lucienne said, staring into the sky.

"I can't-can’t imagine his pain."

"Nor i. One of these days reminds you that the Dream Lord is not unfeeling."

"Who can be unfeeling when you lose a child in such a way." You murmured.

Your train of thought screeches to a halt when you hear Abel screamed from inside the greenhouse. When you try to make sure he’s alright, Lucienne blocks your way. And explains that it is a very normal thing for Abel to scream.

The Dreaming belongs to hers and you always trust her words. Thus, you reluctantly choose to go home at her bidding.

"Can you walk?" Lucienne’s endearing concern warms you.

"Ha! Can I walk?"

Can i?

"Can you?"

"It’s very hard for me to get drunk." Lucienne clarifies.

"That’s… luck and a curse." You chuckle, and she gives you her sweet smile.

As it turns out, one has found their way in the shallow water of your lake. Drifting on the surface of the water. Pulsating with raw power, angry. Bright and beautiful. The tranquillity of your dwelling shattered by its motion.

And it pulls you, a clarity between your overlapping visions. Causes you to descend carefully into the water to collect them.

"Leave it." His dark, rigid voice stops you in your tracks. Dream God appears silently.

"Apologies lord." your speech almost slurs as you retract your hand and take a step back, rippling the water. You can barely see the outline of his form, but his eyes glimmer bright in the dark.

Like cats. You mused.

He does not acknowledge you, merely brushes past to wade in and gather the stars. Then disappear in a blink.

You fall to the shore and retch violently on the earth. Then, to rid of the bitter aftertaste of the vomit left on your tongue, you pick some Crocus and chew on some Saffrons.

The Dreaming has taken you in completely. Quieten your anger and despair, lulled you into complacency. Despite time refusing to blunt the edge of your bouts of melancholy, you don’t cry as much. The Dreaming turns time a little faster. Keeps you dancing to its tune until you are too tired to think. Sways you into your 13th year with ease.

You have waited long enough, and you muster enough courage to ask for news of the waking world, if it’s possible at all to return. Whether your tormentor’s dark shadow looming over your consciousness wanes and forgets.

You ask Lucienne if she has any information pertaining. But her mouth holds a shadow of a frown as she pulls you to sit beside her on the palace steps. Both of you just finished with your work.

"Lord Morpheus does keep an eye on the Olympian, and he bade me to watch over this situation’s development. He even tried to... inspire him away. But the Olympians are powerful. And your hair would make it so easy once you step into the waking world. I'm afraid not yet my friend."

You nod. Swallows thickly.

"Just a little longer." she whispers as she enfolds your hand gently in hers. You closed your eyes before she could see your tears, and held her fingers tight. You don’t know what you would do without her.

Just a little longer.

For every decade you set yourself up for disappointment. For every decade you ask Lucienne. And her answer is always the same.

I’m afraid not yet.

Just a little longer, my friend.

By the fifth decade, you stopped asking altogether. You no longer have the stomach to face those four simple words.

You choose to wait for as long as you could.

On a bright sunny afternoon, under the Willow, you are whittling the likeness of a rabbit you met at the bridge leading to the palace. Frida, she had introduced herself. The bunny with a perpetual childlike soul and voice. Whenever and wherever you think about her, a smile will find its way to you, a precious little grey furball tumbling about the Dreaming. So you’re trying your best to capture her likeness. So absorbed by your craft you don’t even realise the coming of Dream god.

"My Lord." You stand as you dust off your Peplos from wood shavings. The other holding tight to your Frida.

"Anything you need my lord?" you offer.

"Your mother pleaded that I deliver her message."

Pleaded. her longing represented in those 3 syllables and it pierces you.

"What is the message?" your voice almost whispers. Quickly you find your chest getting tighter and you dig your nail into the unfinished carving.

"That she begs forgiveness for her lack of action in the waking world."

You can’t exactly pinpoint when your tears were falling. Your mother is not an intense occurrence like it was for the first years of your stay. Shortly, Poseidon’s cruel visage wormed his way into your head and your heart feels heavier, faster. Breathing is becoming harder. With a violence your state of mind is thrown into those years. Your legs become as limp as the days you ran through the years of evading the Olympian and you lean against the oak tree, sliding down. Gasping for air. The last time this terror occurred was 419 days ago. You remember because you counted them.

The terror persists even for decades.

The dream god paces to your side, kneeling before you and clutching your free hand tightly in his.

"He can’t follow you anymore. Never as long as you're in the Dreaming." he said calmly. Kindly.

You swallow thickly, breath stutters in and out. Your tears leaking down your chin as you focus on the way his tight grasp steadily anchors you down, it’s strange because he is the very Dream and you had expected his hands to feel hazy and washed, merely a blur. A memory of a dying Magpie in your arms when you were a child.

But his hands are as vivid as your tears, as warm as your breath. Flesh–like as your own.

He holds your hand until you feel too tired to feel anything, until you unclench your jaws and steady your breath.

"Thankyou, for delivering her words." something passes on Dream God’s face.

"The guilt torments her."

"You’ve seen it?" formed her dreams too?

He gives you a nod.

Silence hangs in the air as you gently remove your hand from his. Not quite uneasy, not quite comfortable either.

Dream God flicks his gaze to the carving on your other hand.

"Who’s that supposed to be?"

"Frida, my lord."

"May I see?" You hand him the almost finished carving. Frida's imprint can be seen on your palm, indenting your skin, almost bleeding. You didn’t realise that your grip had been iron tight.

You notice that he observed your injured skin for a moment, then to Frida.

"You have a way with your hands." he murmurs.

So why did you turn it away?

"My lord? Can I ask you something... callous?"

"Ask, then." his eyes still on the miniature.

"Why do you reject my offerings?"

He ruminates on the carving, runs his thumb on the wood, then returns his gaze back to you.

"You are not here because of your devotion, but a pact from a very long time ago. There is no need for it"

"But I would still like to give you offerings." You confess. In truth, you feel the need to do something for him. He let you stay in his Dreaming, made you a perfect home. Never forced you into labour or harmful endeavours, even if he could. You almost feel like a parasite, gorging yourself on the Dreaming’s splendour and refuge.

"You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to." he replies quietly.

"What makes you think I don't want to, lord?"

He contemplates for a moment.

"Know that none of my subjects have any obligation for that."

He returns Frida back to your palm, then stands as he bids his farewell. Before he leaves, you plead for a favour.

"Please tell her… tell her I love her. Tell her I understand."

You try to be as silent as possible as you walk to the throne room, holding a recently carved statue close to your chest. You placed the wood carving at the front of his doors on top of freshly weaved flowers, hoping he would accept the likeness of beautiful Jessamy.

You don’t know if it’s an offering or a way of saying thankyou for his help amidst your bouts of terror. You hope he can see that it’s both.

"I suppose you are the one who made little Jessamy."

You almost drop the book in your hand as you swallow your scream. Sometimes the Dream god is silent to a fault.

"Yes, my lord. Do you like it?" your heartbeat races.

"It is beautiful." He said appreciatively. You let out an imperceptible sigh. The mere thought of his displeasure towards something that came from your craft—practically an extension of your being—would eat you alive.

"Do you need anything, my lord?" You offer him a smile you’re trying to contain.

"No, it’s fine." He says as he settles into his usual reading seat. You continue to busy yourself with shelving the rest of the books.

—

Once every couple of weeks, you whittle and weave more for the dream god. Most of the time he would show up the next day at the library. He would remark on your carving here and there, but he always comes to read on the long table, occasionally asking you to bring him the books he needs, or the many ledgers dusting on the shelves.

At one point, when his eyes are no longer on the book in his hand, lost in his thoughts as he sits on the long table, he ropes you into a conversation.

"How did you learn how to carve?" he asks out of the blue and it stuns you. He never asked anything about you before.

"Oh, well, one of my sisters taught me."

You realise he’s expecting you to continue.

"She’s much much older than me, wiser too. Photine is a delight." You explain. Thumbing the edge of a leather-bound book in your hand. A sharp tug at your heart has you breathing in deep.

"The Naiad with the brown hair." he follows, and you nod.

"I guess you know of her dreams too."

"Including you, once." He notes.

Oh, well, in that case...

"My Lord, what was the inspiration for giving me a dream where I was getting chased by a giant mango with serpent legs?"

He huffs a small laugh. An unfamiliar sight. The first time you’ve seen him and it almost feels odd. Like looking at a featherless bird you guess. A strangely beautiful featherless bird.

"My nightmares are imaginative creatures, but it wasn’t me who made it so."

"I see." you nod. Appreciating his candour.

You didn’t hear the dream god enter the library, but you’re getting better at noticing his presence. You can feel him nearer and nearer, his magic shifts the air wherever he is. Light and rife with something indescribable. It has a burning wood scent to it, which reminds you of a ceremonial pyre humans usually throw for your great cousin in her domain.

Your work is finished, but you are so used to seeing Dream God after your offering that you find yourself waiting for him. Passing the time by watching the glory of the Dreaming through one of the many window panes. Almost lost in its beauty and restlessness.

"Your craftsmanship is very beautiful too." You profess to him, who stands behind you, following your line of vision.

"Aeons of practice." He answers, his voice light and low.

"Do you see it as I do, your own creation? Or do you notice every little mistake you’ve made?"

He tilts his head slightly, digesting your words.

"The Dreaming is what I am, all of its flaws and beauty. But my dreams and nightmares are the progeny I wrought that can only be reared instead of control. They breathe into their own life. There is a marvel at the way they flourish to become their purpose."

Him and his boundless abilities, it’s hard to digest that he would even look in your direction, a thought you contemplate many times over. You inhale deep of that smell of embers, swirling pleasantly in your lungs.

"Why do you help me?" As you turned to face him, the words left your tongue before you could fully process them.

"Because it is a pact." He tips his head down at you.

"But you could just-ignore my pleas and she would never know, she could do nothing."

"And risk the fury of one of the first Naiades? Mother of the whole Pegaeae in southern Hellas?" His lips tugged upward. "There is no need for conflict, is there? It is a good-natured wish, and I am a being of my words."

You blink, did he just humour you? 53 years in the Dreaming and you barely scratch the full capabilities of Dream God. You know, not even your mother’s full wrath from the death of her hundred daughters would rival a speck of dust of his power.

"She knows what I am. Knew the extent of my abilities. Your mother is a clever Naiad. A capable seer in her own right."

"I don’t understand, why did you even bargain with her in the first place?"

He goes silent for a moment. "Maybe I was intrigued to see where the pact would go."

"I never thought that anthropomorphic beings could get bored." You deduced.

A moment of silence passes over him.

"Perhaps." was his only answer.

You close your eyes. Trying to recall the face of your mother but it was so long ago, you almost forgot what she looked like.

"How is she, Dream Lord? What dreams does she have?"

"She dreams of nursing her heart from the pain of losing you. Even in the waking world, she did only that."

"Is my mother in the Dreaming, lord?" you ask Dream God the next time you see him. Sitting at his usual seat.

"She is." His voice is careful, a brush inquisitive.

"Where is she?" you press further.

"Her dreams are turmoil over you and memories of her days as a sorcerer and a warrior. Or nightmares, precisely. This part of the Dreaming is a much calmer place. You won’t find her here."

"The edge of the Dreaming then? The part with the rusty black gates?"

"Yes."

A silence crawls its way. Concocting hundreds of scenarios for you to see your mother.

"I-can i-"

"No. The only thing you will find there is pain and suffering. Not who your mother really is. You will only harm yourself." his low voice warns you.

You nod.

"I understand."

You did not try to find your mother, but a kind Nightmare with dark rounded glasses informs you where Photine’s dream usually takes place. On the construct of Athens, in the heart of the city, toiling away in a workshop with her many carvings and chisels under the supervision of the masters.

"It’s the one with the blue door. You won’t miss it." he smiles a charming smile that almost puts you under some sort of spell. But the more you observe his smile, the more you realise it is more akin to a grin.

"Thank you, you don’t know how much this means to me." you return his smile.

"Don’t worry about it. It’s my pleasure, really ."

It takes days of walking and navigating through the Dreaming’s ever changing state. You have to pass the hanging gardens of Babylon and swim across the frozen sea. But you are determined to see her again, and the Sirens of the frozen sea have kindly accompanied you on your journey. Some of them even confess that they’re bored to tears in the barren region of ice and have nothing better to do.

When you finally reach the city, and find the woodworkers' workshop, the blue door is ajar. The sight of her long brown curls is enough to mist your eyes, tremble your lips. Suppresses your breath.

She is carving .

Always her biggest dream to become the very best. Some men and women are pointing at the statue she is sculpting, guiding her. Advising her to do better, she absorbs it all without so much as a complaint.

There’s a thin layer of iridescent sheen before the door, almost passing your notice. And the realisation of it makes you nervous. Somehow you know that it serves as a threshold. For what, you don’t exactly know, except your intuition is screaming you shouldn’t disturb its peace.

Your longing trumps your common sense.

"Photine." you call once you are inside the building. The men and women wouldn’t stop speaking, but Photine dropped her chisel onto the floor. Then turn to face you.

She reaches for your face, holding you between her palms, as if sampling you to see how much of you is real. Drinking in all your features. You struggle to hold back your tears. But Photine fails to do so. Her tears are leaking down her chin. Then her wail is the next thing that comes. Followed by her stuttering sobs. You try to contain her in your arms as her hands are holding on to you.

For a moment you think it was just a shock of seeing you after so long, and you try to tell her that you are safe and you will always be here. But her crying never ceases, even as you try to comfort her. The advice from the men and women becomes a little too loud, merging with Photine’s lament, her hold becoming a vice-like grip. Bruising. Everything leaps in magnitudes until all becomes too much, louder, deafening, spins you and the room is tipping over like the statue she carved minutes ago. Crashing to the ground and splinters into ashes.

A gust of wind swirls into the room, and before you know a vortex of sand swallows you whole.

You land on the shore of your Lake, on your knees as you cough your lungs out. Your throat feels scratchy, parched and painful. You drown your face and drink until you can hear the sloshing of water in your stomach. Then you lay on the shore, on your back, and found the crescent moon already hanging in the sky. A stubborn pulse slithers toward your eye,

You count the days until you can return to the waking world. You hope the end of the path will come soon.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. Didn’t even manage to slip into the water.

The coming of the dream god can be sensed. By the leaves, by the pattern of the wind, that approaching smell of embers, you know what he is coming for. So you offer the dream lord to sit beside you to enjoy the cool breeze of twilight, to watch the setting sun of the Dreaming. He surprises you when he silently sits next to you, and rests his forearm on his knees.

The dark purple had swallowed the blue in the sky and you watched silently. The Cicadas wheeze somewhere deep in the forest.

You don’t know what to say, except apologise for your insolence.

"There is an order of things even in the Dreaming." he reprimands kindly.

"I think… I think I turned her dream into a nightmare." you murmur.

"The Dreaming is a volatile place, you are not a Dream nor a Nightmare, and you went into a dream unstable."

You nodded. That doesn’t make any sense, yet it does. His dreams and nightmares are the purpose, the order of it, and you went past the threshold without so much as a permission. Disturbing procession. Oh, you hope they don’t hate you for it.

"I just miss her…" Your voice merely whispers, more to yourself than to him. There’s an annoying pulse on the right side of your temples, and you close your eyes.

"Am I to be banished, lord?" you ask the inevitable.

"I understand your affliction. It was a mistake that I'm sure you will not repeat."

You nod because he is right. That is a feat you will not repeat again. You have no intention of being a ghost that would terrorize your family.

The dream lord does not leave for a little while, but enjoys the cool breeze beside you in comfortable silence as he leans his other hand behind him. Both of you are lost in your own thoughts.

The twilight seems to go on forever. It seems the Dream God has willed it so.

The pain you will always carry. But this time, the ache in your heart ebbs away just a little more, and you feel a little less restless as the wind takes your worries away.

—

When you look at your reflection in the water, you wonder why you have not gained a wrinkle for the past two centuries. It’s true that Naiades live extremely long lives, direct descendants of Thetis and Okeanos are immortal due to the blood of their predecessors, whose blood is intimate to human devotion and beliefs. But your blood has been sorely diluted. A distant relative.

A minor spirit of no import.

You expect your appearance to change by this time.

You asked Dream God about this once you stepped foot in the library. A habit of some sort, seeing him there once every few days, his presence no longer hinges on your offerings. And you appreciate the comforting routine. In the way he comes almost weekly and takes place in his usual seat, in the scratching sound of the quill made from your hand filling in Lucienne’s ledger drifting between you. How easy he is to talk to once you know how to navigate his moods. Even his silence is an essential part of it.

But this time is one of many where you plague him with incessant questions.

"The Dreaming exists in between the universe. Every organism here is bound to a standstill. Time makes an exception for me."

"How is that even possible?" You couldn’t fill the gap between his words and your brain. Your quill lay forgotten on the long table.

"Because I have willed it so. Father Time has agreed." He turns a page of the book on the wooden surface, his eyes never straying from the written words.

"Father Time? Is... is that your father?"

"Correct."

The idea makes your head spin. The Endless are the children of Time himself? Observing the Dream God powers, that is proper.

"Is that the reason why in the Dreaming feels much faster and yet simultaneously slower?"

"Yes. Just like sleep feels brief and a dream lasts an eternity."

"Then I will never age as long as I am the dreaming lord?"

"As long as you’re here." he echoes.

You don’t know how to feel about your new found youthful immortality. You don’t even know how long you could stay in the Dreaming. When exactly is it safe for you to return? Does Poseidon even remember you? Would he pursue you still, from his unfulfilled demented inclination? Or you’re just one of many items long forgotten in his growing list of unfortunate victims.

You willed yourself to ask one more thing. Irrespective of how unprepared you are for the answer.

"Do you know if I can return to the waking world now?"

You see the way his hand shifts slightly on the arm chair, he lifts his gaze to you.

"No, (y/n). It is unfortunate that it’s still not." a trace of sympathy tinges his voice.

Your brows knitted together. Your nails dig into your sweaty palm.

"What, after all these years? Centuries later, he is still... still that? " you whisper. Needles stung the back of your eyes.

"In a way, you are the unattainable myth. You disappear in front of his very eyes, and seer after seer, oracle after oracle, he cannot locate you. Even the lock of your hair is ineffective. It is an obsession for him at this point, and as cruel as this sounds, it is a treasure hunt for him." A slight frown works his mouth. A hint of revulsion in the way he speaks of the ruler of the sea.

You grit your teeth until your temples ache. Your nose flares in anger as you try to calm your breath.

The dream lord scrutinises you with his sharp eyes.

"Thank you for telling me." you nod and finish your work as fast as you can. Then excuse yourself to return to your lake. Where you drown yourself to cool your burning face, your rage consumes you in bondage.

The Dream god’s revelation haunts you. Plagues you from falling into sleep. You twist and turn inside the water, rubbing your eyes. Biting your nails. And in the end, you return to the surface. Drape your Peplos and make your way into the forest. Weaving between the trees in the night. The grass damp beneath the droplets of your wet feet.

There’s that helplessness again. Your fate slipping away from your grasp as you feel the unbearable resentment simmering, threatening to spill. A dull shooting pain creeps in behind the back of your eye, seeping into your temple. You think you know where the pain comes from, that all the seconds and the minutes and the years of waiting feel pointless and small. That your centuries are nothing compared to the gods' eternal boredom. The end of the line has always been inconceivable. A myth you recite and recite and recite in pretence of a prayer.

That truth has always resided in your head, inside your skull. Becoming an infection that would never kill but torment. The unscratchable itch.

When is it going to end? When is it going to fucking end?

If there is a purpose behind all this, you don’t want it. You would spit on Moirae’s faces if you could. Carve out Poseidon’s heart if he has one.

Fine, fine . You will become a myth. You will make sure he will never find you again for the rest of his wretched eternal life.

The next time you find Dream God in the library, you ask him how long you are permitted to stay in the Dreaming.

The dream lord studies you with his sharp eyes. There is an underlying suspicion within you that he understands your meaning, knows what you are about to do.

"However long you want it to be, even for eternity." he answers.

The baby lamb with eyes as pale as the sky bleats gently in your arms. Walking through one of the Dreaming’s many meadows, you’re heading to the brother’s greenhouse. A basket slung on your elbow has been filled with figs you have gathered and you can’t wait to dip it in honey and enjoy them with Lucienne, Abel, Cain and Mervyn this evening, along with your favourite berry pie and tea in the midst of your weekly game of Senet.

When you reach the stony gates of the brother’s residence, you can see a familiar Chiton and pale shoulders, Dream God is conversing with Abel and Cain. Mervyn is already there too. Leaning against Abel’s greenhouse a good few paces from the other three. Puffing on his cigars, waiting for Dream God to leave so you all could start the game.

When the baby lamb bleats once more, Dream God turns in your direction.

"Good afternoon, lovely to see you all here." you greet them.

The turnip head smiles, waves at you and the brothers greet you back.

"(y/n)" there’s amusement in Dream God’s smile when he sees the lamb in your arms.

"What do you have there?" he asks.

"Oh, I think she’s lost. I couldn’t find her mother around. Do you know where she is?"

His smile widens, and you should’ve known that was not a good sign.

"That, is not a lamb, (y/n)"

"What-"

A scream leapt from your lungs as the lamb jerks and turns into a changeling in a flash at the flick of Dream god’s fingers, scurrying away into Abel’s House of Secrets. The little thing has a boar for a head and a baby for a body. Thankfully, your basket still dangles safe on your elbow.

"What just happened?" you ask, bewildered, heartbeat racing fast. You saw Mervin cackling with his hands on his knees while Cain wheezed his laugh. Only Abel asks if you’re alright, but even his mouth curls upwards.

And then there's the Dream God, chuckling lightly. You stare at him with widened eyes, incredulously, as you realise he is enjoying this.

"Oh, well, I'm glad that was amusing to you, lord." you feign annoyance.

He merely gives you a pretty smirk that makes you roll your eyes in defeat, but you can’t help your own smile too.

"Are you staying, lord?" you say as you hand Abel the basket.

"No. My affair has concluded."

"Abel and Cain are hosting a lunch. Would you care to join us? Lucienne will come too."

Abel stares at you approvingly, but Cain and Mervyn, well, their eyes are bulging out of their sockets, if Mervyn had one at least. They’re just begging for you to retract your question.

Dream God ponders for a moment, stares at you, and there is a consideration behind his thoughtfulness. Until he sees your friends turn still as stone, blanching, anticipating his answer, that he makes his decision.

"I have matters to attend to." Then he walks away, disappearing in a vortex of sand.

"Goodness (y/n) if you do that again you’re not coming to the next game." Cain hisses at you.

"Oh come on Cain, it was harmless."

"Yeah, I'm sure Lord Morpheus would be a wonderful guest." Abel, who sees the bright spot in everything, defends you.

"Kid, we all know he’d ruin the mood." Mervin chimes between his puffs.

Disappointment crawls its way at your friend’s reaction. Perhaps because you wanted Dream God to say yes and enjoy the wine that would make you drunk as the third round of the Senet begins. Or when the jugs of wine are empty the game would be long forgotten and everyone would try to outdo each other with the funniest stories. Sometimes the most dramatic, or the scariest.

It pains you that there’s a barrier between him and his own subjects, formed by each partisan through centuries of detachment from one another. Not all of his subjects could come to him on a daily basis and talk his ear off and annoy him with trifling questions, you realise.

Reasons within reasons. Most of all you just want to spend more time with the Dream God.

"Would you like to join me for lunch tomorrow afternoon, lord? Under my Willow. There’d be honeyed Figs and Berry Pie and Olive relish." you ask in the library. It was really spur of the moment question. One that’s been brewed by your constant prognostications, strings of what ifs.

A slight crease forms between his eyebrows.

"There will be only me, no one else." you add, still remembering how he immediately withdrew when he noticed your friends’ reaction. Your palms grow moist from anxiousness.

He was silent still, returning to the book in his hand.

Oh gods, i’ve embarrassed myself… oh gods-

"I will be there." he rasps. His throat bobbed slightly as his eyes never left his book. You almost sigh in relief, smiling widely. Your delight overflowing.

It’s too awkward. This is the part you didn’t think through. You don’t exactly know what to say to him, and he seems to be at a loss for words himself. Sitting under the Willow and the food spread out on the grass, you don’t know how to start the conversation as you offer him the honeyed figs. You know some things about the Dream God, but watching him chew and swallow is something so surreal. Like a turtle out of its shell.

Determined not to ruin this event, you opt to say whatever comes to your head first.

"To be honest I didn't know that the Endless ate at all." You almost stutter over your words.

"There is hunger, but we won’t die without eating."

"Does it get painful?"

"Not exactly."

"How long did you go without eating?"

He contemplates for a moment. "A year."

"Gods, you must’ve been busy."

"In a way. It was a time of war. Food is the last thing on my mind."

shit.

"I'm... sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"Well-I never know what to do without food. Naiades require very little sustenance as long as our habitat is healthy and humanity tends to us with their beliefs, but I get hungry all the time." you ramble as you stuff your mouth full of honeyed figs.

It has always been that way between humans and your kind. You feed on their beliefs, bask in your power with it, and in return you would protect Great Mother Gaia’s gift for them.

"Then it is a good thing the crocus around here is never ending." he remarks.

"The best part is that it blooms every single day! I nearly forgot to thank you for that, I get to eat all the Saffrons in the world. Well, I probably already did."

There’s an easy smile creeping its way into the lord’s mouth again. How you adore his unencumbered countenance as he is now. His usual cloud over his brow and the thin line of his mouth dissolving with the cool, gentle wind gliding along the areas of your lake.

After that, the conversation goes as well as you could’ve hoped for. Better even. He lulls you with stories of his time in the waking world, of other gods and even their dreams, visions of all the creatures that dream. Their subconscious hopes and beliefs, innovations and endless imagination.

"Even some of my Dreams and Nightmares are inspired by them."

"Is this a secret lord?"

"Don’t jeopardise my integrity." He smirks.

"Never." you press your fingers to your mouth. Biting a smile.

And you tell him the stories of your languid days as a Naiad. The way humans would find their way into your lake if you permitted it, for comfort with various injuries. How you’d grant their prayers with Hornworts and water lilies to soothe their ailing.

"You’re a healer?" he asks.

"Only for the body. If one consumes something from my habitat, then it will mend their wounds."

"Was it a gift from your mother?"

"No. But I learned it from her. You’d be surprised by the number of injured people wandering in the woods."

He hums in understanding.

"You’re a healer too, you know." you add and he only answers with a quirk of his brow.

"When it’s hopeless, all creatures that dream, well, dream. Of better things. You’re a balm for all living beings' pain. I’m grateful you’re here for all of us. I'm glad you exist." It was a sentence less eloquent than something you've strung together inside your head. But you appreciate the simplicity of what came out of your mouth, and a smile forms on your lips for him.

But you must have said something wrong, because there is a pinch between his brow and his lips are pursed thin. His gaze sharp, staring into your eyes. You’re afraid it might bore holes into your skull.

Your smile falters.

He stands just as you are going to inquire as to whether anything is wrong, avoiding your eyes, then walks a good few paces away from you as he disappears in a vortex of sand.

You were hoping you would find him at the library as usual the next week. But his absence is sorely felt when you wait for hours, almost the whole day, and he doesn’t appear. You ask Lucienne where he could be and she informs you that he is in the Waking World.

"For how long?"

Lucienne looks at you from behind her glasses, leans back as she clasps her hands on her desk.

"I don’t know. Lord Morpheus doesn’t make it a habit of telling me how long he is leaving."

"Right, of course." you nod. Biting your lip.

"Want me to pass a message once he’s back?"

"No! It's fine. Thank you, Lucie. Is there any work I could do?"

She hands you a ledger, then you scurry away before she can ask more questions, avoiding her inquisitive gaze.

You wait until next week. Then the next week, and then the next. He is nowhere to be found. You don’t want to flatter yourself and think you’re somewhat important for him to purposely avoid you. But it feels that way. You want to apologise for whatever offence you have caused but how can you do so when you can’t even find the traces of his sand.

Have you been too forward? Have you misread the situation before? Have you misread him?

"You’re out of the loop, kid. Come on. It’s your turn." The Turnip’s cigar plumes.

"Oh, sorry Merv." you took your pawn and placed it on one of many squares of the Senet.

"You behaved like this too at the last game. Getting sick of us?" Cain continues as he examines the board.

"She is sick for someone else." Lucienne quips, hiding her cheeky smile behind her cup. Nothing gets to pass Lucienne in the Dreaming and you know she noticed your growing agitation by the Dream God’s absence. It was only a matter of time before your friend’s confrontation.

"Don’t even start, Lucie."

"Now hold on a minute. (Y/n), what’s this about?" Merv chimes in, curious, suddenly intrigued.

"It’s nothing!"

"You know you can trust us, If you’re in trouble, we will help, (y/n)." Abel chirps.

"To an extent." Cain mumbles.

"Thank you very much, my dear friends. But I am not in trouble."

"Aren’t you?" Lucienne retorts. Her curiosity seeps through her teasing smile.

"Alright, maybe a little."

"Come on, kid. Spit it out"

You sigh loudly. Rest your hands on the round table for a moment. Then you start to recount the event. Pouring your concern amidst the blue smoke and yellow candles.

There’s a knowing look shared between your friends, when you whip your head to Lucienne, she avoids your eyes.

Oh no…

"What is it? What?"

"Eer… he’ll return. Just give him time." Mervyn scratches his Turnip cheek. Cain busies himself with the board and for the first time in a long while, Abel is silent, watching his own pawn.

"Oh no. I’ve done something awful, haven't i. Oh gods, he’s going to banish me!" you almost wailed.

"I can assure you it’s not that. If he wanted to banish you, you wouldn’t still be here." Lucienne laughs and chastises at the same time. Despite her smile, you know her enough to know that she despises the idea of you leaving the Dreaming unwillingly.

"You know, like I said, just give the big man’s time, kid. It’s fine. It’s not that. You’ll be fine. Now, are we gonna finish this or what?"

Abel suddenly slumps backwards and falls into the ground. Mervyn heaves a loud sigh and Lucienne only stares at Cain vacantly as he drops the knife in his hand.

"Last week, didn’t you promise you wouldn’t kill Abel in our next session?" you remind Cain pointedly.

"He took my place! I was about to take the second row!"

"That’s because it’s his turn, Cain." Lucienne retorts.

—

Enjoying the colourful Fenhuangs in the morning sky, you sit on the shore of your Lake, chewing on Saffron mindlessly, squeezing the purple flower in your hands as you memorise its velvet-like texture.

Like a deer wary of the faintest sounds, you feel it when a gust of wind comes your way and the hanging leaves dip gently into the water, the coming of Dream God.

Your heartbeat races, you feel like throwing up, but you take a few deep breaths, stand and grasp your Peplos hanging on the branch to drape it on your body.

It’s impossible to calm your pulse when the swirl of sand exhales Dream god into apparition. His black Chiton flutters gently in the whirlwind of sand. His comely face does not sport the furrow of his brow, or the thin sharp line on his shapely lips like the last time you saw him.

"My lord." you greet him and bow your head.

"(y/n)."

"Are you well, lord? I-i haven’t seen you in a while."

Steady. Don’t rush the apology just yet. You remind yourself.

"Yes I am." he replied courteously.

"I’m happy to hear that." You try not to reveal the panic that is practically strangling your chest by smiling.

Then he opens his mouth. Oh dear. Here it comes. You're going to get flogged.

"My apologies for leaving so abruptly, per our last conversation."

Oh. What?

There’s hesitation when he’s about to speak again.

"I…" he trails off, mulling over his next words. You feel your brows scrunching together, your mouth part just a slightest, as if you could taste his answer on the edge of your tongue.

You what?! You feel like screaming and shaking him by the shoulders when his eyes flicker to your mouth, back to your eyes, suspending his answer.

"There are matters that need to be tended to."

Goodnes. Is that it?

You nod along his words, unable to conceal your relief as you lean against the Willow. It seems your legs have forgotten their function.

Abruptly Dream God rushes towards you.

"Are you alright?" he asks with a worry. His hands are hanging midair, unsure where to place them.

But all you could do is laugh. At your folly and irrational augury. It seems to bewilder him all the more.

"(y/n)?"

"Forgive me, lord. I’ve been, oh I don't know. Foolish." You manage to say between your giggles.

"In what way?"

"I thought, I thought I said something wrong. And angered you, and then you’d banished me."

He blinks. Then grab your shoulders as his eyes latch wide onto yours.

"That is foolish." he admonishes, as if it is completely unthinkable for him to do so. You could only laugh more, placing your hand on top of his. Once your restlessness subsides you just realise how much you miss his presence in the Dreaming. The library. Next to you.

And that easy smile again makes its way to his mouth. His low and light chuckle follows not too long.

"Then, perhaps we should continue where we left off. Dust off the misunderstanding."

You sigh a smile.

"I’d love to, my lord."

That morning, he conjured Honeyed figs, Berry pies, Olive relish and many more. You talk and laugh and share silence into the evening. He willed the twilight to pass a little longer as you shared ripe peaches you sliced in half.

When a few weeks have passed, he seeks to do the same thing. You seek to do the same thing when a few weeks after that have passed.

—

You decide to take in the Dreaming completely. And it has taken you. Coddles and loves you, soothes your heartache and pain. You begin to call it home, in return, it mends your longing for the waking world. Changing your life at a steady, comforting pace.

The need to return to the waking world dissipates by degrees as the days passed, days you passed with your dear friends, your dear Dream god. Your dearest Dreaming.

—

Your smile is wide as you see Dream God approaching your home. But quickly falls when you notice that he does not return it with his usual smile of greeting, but rather with a pinch of his brow.

"Dream lord." You greeted him. Heart beating loudly. Something’s not right.

"Sit with me." He said.

You sat under the ever-expanding Willow. He sits on the opposite side of you.

"There is no easy way to say this, but your mother has passed, (y/n)."

It takes you a couple heartbeats to properly digest his words. You have almost forgotten what your mother looked like, but you think of her and your sisters often. And the love you bear for her, as she does for you, is still strangely familiar, burrowing under your heart.

"How?"

"In her sleep."

You sigh. Relieved. It has been more than 1100 years since the last time you saw her, and you thank those who protected her so she could die a natural death.

But her death was unexpected. You always expect your mother to be immortal. She may not be a direct descendant of Okeanos and Thetis, but she shared their blood more than her daughters.

That could only mean…

"The humans have forgotten her, don’t they?"

"The waking world changes fast." Dream God concurs.

You nodded. Your tears blur your vision as you clear your throat.

"Was she alone?"

"Her daughters are with her when it happened."

"Did she dream?" You asked with a broken voice.

"Yes."

"What did she dream about?" Your tears fall one by one. Your chest grows heavier.

"She dreamt of a different death. Holding Poseidon’s head in her hand, her sword in the other." Sobs leave your mouth. Your head feels a little dizzy, lighter. You grip the grass on the earth, feel as if you could faint and fall into the ground, but Dream God is inching closer to you, cradles your face delicately in his silken hands, then wipes your tears with his thumbs. Anchoring you down.

—

The dead must die forever. The dead are dead are dead are dead are dead. Returning to the pool of Atoms.

There’s a cruel thought, a line from one of many plays you watched with Photine in the city. It is a terrible reminder that grief and love are so closely interlinked. Vast and merciless and divorcing . You feel so small in the face of it.

You were hoping you could see her one day. You don’t know if you’re mourning the hope of seeing your mother once more or your mother herself. Both. You never thought it was possible to feel this much grief over someone you haven’t met in millenia.

After the news of her passing, days are spent under the Lake. Watching the sun raze down the moon in their routine as their light ripples on the water’s surface. You need to be in the water. Feel safest in it, closer to your kin. The generations of embrace of your mother and sisters are beholden in this very element of nature. It swallows your tears, takes it all and disperses it to embody your sorrow. It holds you there so peacefully for weeks that you forsake touching the surface.

Sometimes you feel the presence of the Dream God, but you don’t move a muscle to greet him. And he doesn’t disturb you in your fragile state as you contemplate your malady. He simply comes to see if you exist, then quietly departs.

On the 20th day, Lucienne stops by in the afternoon, calling you out, stirring the peace of the Lake. You begrudgingly rise and trudge to where she is, feel the water purposefully weighing you down as you sloppily lift your feet step by step. Begging you to come back with its droplets clinging to your skin.

Though you can’t lie to yourself, it’s good to see her warm smile and the slight pinch of her eyebrows.

"Haven’t seen you in a while."

You nod as you drape your Peplos over your unclothed body. Eyeing the basket in her hands that wafts a sweet smell, your stomach growls loudly.

"I know you haven’t eaten in weeks, so i won’t leave until you finish this loaf and tea Abel has so kindly made for you."

You smile for the first time in weeks. She did not mention your mother, and you are grateful for it. So you sit beside her under the great Willow tree.

It’s happening again. The dark in the sky, the unnatural stillness in the forest. The greyish clouds hanging over the sun. Even your Lake looks a little bleak, a little too tranquil. The lily pads wilted by inches.

The rain of stars would be in a matter of hours.

"I’m afraid we won’t see him until tomorrow." Lucienne says, as if reading your thoughts.

"Do you miss him?" She asks. Your lips are tight. You do. You do miss him.

"He misses you. Don’t know what to do with himself in the evening. He’s fussy when he can’t spend time with you and makes my job a little tedious instead." There’s a knowing smile on Lucienne’s mouth.

"Sorry Lucie." you mumble, and Lucienne drapes her arm over your shoulders.

"It’s alright, (y/n)." she assures with her gentle voice. Before you know it you’re crying again. This time in her arms, and she wordlessly let you clings to her coat and warm presence.

Once your tears have dried, she helps you clean the streak of tears and snot with a napkin. Then hands you the rest of the unfinished bread.

"I’m not joking when I said I’m not going to leave until you finish this loaf." Lucienne reminds and a laugh bubbles from you. You notice the relief written on Lucienne’s smile.

You don’t know what to make of it as you continue to chew on the sweet bread. You Know Dream God enjoys your company, but you didn’t know that it's at a point where he is capable of missing you. Especially one such as him, who could have any company he wants, one that is far more interesting than you. What does that say about you in his life?

Hopefully a friend. You mull over.

On that dusk, when Lucienne had left, when the waters of your lake reflected an even deeper grey from the sky, the first starfall landed on the shallow part of your water. You glide into it, then gather them in your hand, and it burns you, scalding and brandishing your skin with jagged edges. You quickly dip it inside the lake, cooling the diamond-like object with sharp points, clutch tight in your hand. You teeth clench from the burning pain. Searing through your flesh.

Why are you holding on to it? Why does it tastes so familiar?

In an instant, Dream God arrives on your domain, you are not at all surprised by his sudden presence. You felt it in the wind, the imperceptible stir of your Willow.

He looks tired. The edge of his Chiton seems to melt into his shadow that grows darker. The corners of his mouth are a little steeper. Eyes hooded with melancholy.

He strides towards you, waist deep in the water as he takes your wrist that clenches his star.

"Open it." he demands harshly.

You unfold your shaking palm and the star glows in anger, his eyes digest the burning skin on your hand. His brows stitch together.

"Look at what you’ve done." He scolds you as he takes his star from your burnt skin, hangs it back in the sky. Then his fingers hover over your wound, his fingers quiver slightly.

You don’t miss the hollow in his eyes. His youthful face emanates aeons of history and an antique lifespan he usually conceals. He looks… drained and exhausted.

Dream God has given so much to you, even by pact doesn’t lessen his actions and kindness. Seeing him like this is somewhat heartbreaking. Dispiriting.

You don’t know how his pain truly feels, you reckon it is much more painful than your experience of losing your mother, a natural progression of life, unlike the premature loss of one's child. But grief is grief. Perhaps there’s no need to measure it in order to understand its purpose. So you take his hand. Despite his confusion, he doesn’t raise his concern. You are leading him into the only comfort you know how to give him, trudging with him hand in hand until both of you are completely submerged in the water. Until your feet touch the earthy floor.

He seems to glow pale blue, hair as dark as the night, gently dancing in the water. He looks the part of a perfect Naiad, who could easily lure any man into his own demise with his bright eyes. Eyes that are always on you, when you tilt your head, when you remove the lush Hornwort from his face. Your unbrandished hand tight around him as you mused the frown on his mouth.

It’s true the water connects you to your mother and your sisters, but he created your Lake and its water.

He does not need words to say how distinctly sick he is at the desolation growing by the year on this particular day for you feel its destruction in the very water inside your lungs, infecting your bloodstream. How suffocating that looming shadow of despair thriving on this day, for he is every blade of grass and the very wine you imbibed, the very Hornwort you pushed a moment ago.

And he realises, you can feel it—see it in his eyes--that you know . In which he grasps your insides with all you consume, all you inhale to taste how much you are familiar with his grief by mourning your own.

You put a thousand wishes of consolation into one simple gesture. You slither your hands under his arms and wrap around his chest because you are not good with words.

You try to hold him just like how he consoles you under the Willow, and hope that it reflects his kindness even just a fraction.

Take the serenity you’ve given me and savour it for yourself.

You’re not entirely sure if it’s a pure altruistic reason for your Dream God, perhaps one of them is selfish. That you need someone to anchor you down before you slip away in madness. To prevent feeling alone in your sorrow under the surface of your Lake. His Lake.

But the water and the dreaming tremble imperceptibly. It’s hard to pay it mind when the Dream God circles his arms around yours, envelopes your back and buries his eyes on your shoulder in return. His fingers cling to your skin, almost desperate.

You and Dream god stay that way until your eyes fall heavy, your head droops on the hollow of his neck, until you are as still as the water surrounding you, as he does. His arms are a sense of comfort you haven’t truly felt in your long life.

When you woke up, it was dusk. Dream God is nowhere to be found, but the sky is greeting you with his dusk in a periwinkle shade.

—

For living almost 1900th years in the Dreaming, you learned one more language that no one can really teach you except for you and Dream God himself.

You can read Dream God as easily now, as he reads you. But that knowledge comes with the same cost he has paid to you, as you paid him, by baring your psyches to one another.

A mutual trade of need to be by each other's side. You choose to take meaning when he comes to you requesting for a stroll in the Dreaming’s many meadows, the bright sun would purposefully land soft on your skin. To his presence under your willow, passing away the day together with an evening meal that consists of fruits, pies, and laughter, current delicacies of the Waking World he would conjure. To the way he consoles you with his embrace when tears gather in your eyes at the thought of your mother.

He takes equal meaning when you remain in the library, waiting until the late hours for him to return when his responsibilities keep him long and away from the Dreaming. When you pass the plate of figs with drizzled honey for him and lick the excess sweetener remaining on your finger. When your presence can be felt beside him, lost in the volumes of books devouring the secrets of the universe, as he is lost in his own process of shaping Dreams and Nightmares.

And when the rain of stars comes, at the end of the day you trail beside him to collect his falling stars. The little jewels no longer scalds your skin. But the Dream God always mournfully apologises for the one that has, now merely jagged scars on your palm. To which you take his face between your hands and assure him you love the shapes it has left on you.

For each and every moment both of you have learned inches by inches. Accumulating language by centuries of communion.

It is a peaceful coexistence you and him affectionately clings to.

—

"I should like to think that we’re past titles, (y/n)."

Dream God demands as he’s helping you cinch the golden brooches on your shoulders to hold your Peplos together. One of his many gifts he had kindly bestowed upon you. Your hair still damp from the Lake, your skin barely dries because he conjures the afternoon meal before you even rose from the water. Impatient as ever.

"And what does that mean, Dream God?" you turn to him once he cinched all of the golden jewellery.

"That you should no longer address me as such."

You don’t understand why you are perplexed by the notion. You have become his friend, as he yours. It is only natural to call each other by names.

…that was partly a lie. You think you understand.

Perhaps, in a sense, some part of you silently worships him. For all your notions involving gods, you quietly revere the comforting hands that were on your shoulders a moment ago. And you uncover devotion when his skin touches yours, attain unyielding faith when you gaze into his eyes. In each and every title is in lieu of a prayer.

For you to call his name is somewhat akin to heresy, changing your carefully crafted divine custom, one that you’re unsure you’re ready for.

It places you on the same pedestal as him. You understand that he demands for this very thing. To be on the narrow and tall pedestal with him.

You sigh heavily as you try to cover your face, but he takes your wrists, gently pushes them down. His thumb lovingly runs over the scars on your palm. A flare of devotion stirs.

"Morpheus." He demands once more. His bright beguiling eyes search for yours, but you avoid them by focusing on the pooling darkness on the edge of his black Chiton.

"It feels wrong my-"

"Morpheus." he urges firmly. Lean down to find your eyes.

You bite the inside of your lip, The last time you spoke of his name was millennia ago. Aeons.

And you brace yourself for what feels like a blasphemy.

"Morpheus." you finally muster. The name is strange on your tongue and you swallow, swallow the name too.

A satisfied smile graces his lips.

"Morpheus." you repeat. Familiarising yourself with it. A rush of exhilaration spurs. His smile grows wider.

"Morpheus." Once more and a giggle slips from your mouth. His name tastes light and new and familiar.

The act did not take but gave you everything, no matter how unprepared you are for things to change within you, between him, you always found yourself embracing the uncertain future wherever he resides.

"Yes, (y/n)?" he answers and you laugh heartily. He follows. Dark and low and mirthful. Tickles and burns your skin and shoots arrows at your stomach.

—

The waking world has abandoned your former life. Morpheus explains that in your kind and your gods are no more than grand mythologies to lull children to sleep, for men to study. Other religions have replaced old beliefs, old deities and old ways of worship. Mankind does not believe the ancient ones anymore, and some creatures went extinct; the only legacy for your species.

Now, mankind cultivates their own nature, ravaging it themselves.

The news of your sisters’ death came one by one as the world discarded them. The death of Photine strikes you with overwhelming violence.

Devoid of power and human faith, she was forgotten, limped into obscurity and caved in on herself, met Death in her very own water.

The dead must die forever. The dead are dead are dead are dead are dead. Returning to the pool of Atoms.

You feel the ripples of the water, Morpheus wading to where you float in the shallow part of your Lake.

"Will I die like them?" you question, to him who blocks the sun, but mostly to yourself. Your tears trace the sides of your temples. Your sorrow is his too, you can see it in his glistening eyes. He takes your hand and enveloped tightly, almost desperate.

"No. I will not let that happen. My faith will always sustain you." He gently caresses your forehead, and kisses you there, featherlike and gentle, as if you could break from all your agony by the daintiest pressure.

—

Morpheus stands at a crossroad he plucked from the dream of a man longing to see his former lover on the street where they first met. The crescent moon and the decaying fields of Wheat came from a farmer asleep at her porch on witching hour, her rake in her hand long forgotten as she dreamt of ploughing her fields. Content with the life she had wrought of her own.

Yet it was not enough, the fates would always require more. His surrender and acceptance was found in the last night of a starved circus Lion, dreaming of her faraway home, for tomorrow she would meet his sister, Death.

And the iron sword in his coat, a symbol of righteous indignation, the boon, was a little harder to find. But one pierced through a monstrous serpent. It was found on the hand of a man fighting in the name of Jesus Christ. He was accused of murder in his smalltown home.

All is set and complete.

He steels himself by recalling his treasured one, his heart and friend, his darling Naiad's face, then sends gentle wind for her in the Dreaming.

And now he invokes their name.

"I, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, hereby summon the Fates."

A thunder strikes the air.

"The three who are one."

The wheat surrounding droops lower.

"The one who is three."

The black chiffon of theirs dances in the wind.

"The Hecateae."

The Fates stand before him, and he bows his head as customary.

"Morpheus, my, what a lovely surprise." the mother greets.

"Is it really such a surprise, sister-self?" the maiden taunts.

"It is only a matter of when." the crone scorns.

"Is this a social call, Dream king?"

"Unfortunately not, my ladies."

"Of course it’s not. We know what he wants." the crone spat.

"Think again Morpheus, there is no turning back. Are you sure about this, Dove?" the mother cautions kindly, ever attentive.

"I do." Morpheus says with stubborn conviction as he pulls the sword from his star–sewn coat, and the Fates unclench their jaws to swallow it whole.

"You will bind her to your fate just like that?" the maiden questions with her mischievous smile, she expects no answer from him.

"The Dream king has always been selfish." the crone sneers.

"three questions, one answer, love." the mother croons.

He clenches his fist, braces himself.

"My first question, the tool I need, where is it?"

"In the heart of Tartarus, where Chronos once fell." the maiden responds.

"My second question, will the deed be possible to enact?"

"Yes, but first you will toil for a long time, and after." the mother croons.

He nods, unflinching.

"My last question, the scale of the change. How much?"

The fates glare at him in a way they never did before. As if they too, revealing his answer, are passing the threshold that can’t be returned.

"An upheaval of the highest order. But nothing you and her could not overcome." For once, the crone's voice is faintly tinged with favor. If it meant something, he chose not to see it.

—

"Does my Lake still exist?" you question Morpheus as you sit beside him under the Willow, both of you leaning against the tree after you share ripe Peaches you cut in half. His black Chiton pools at the grass. Now watching the twilight sky of the Dreaming that stretches for hours.

"Fortunately, yes. Humans do not dare to venture in that part of the forest. A curse is said to surround it.

Your lips tugged upwards as you turned towards his profile. "Curse, or a nightmare?"

"Both, perhaps." a sly smile forms his lips.

A breeze and silence are blowing your way. You swallow thickly before asking the next question, one that has not been asked for millenia.

"And... and him?"

He straightens his body towards you.

"He’s wandering helplessly at the bottom of the sea. The sea belongs to humanity now, his power has abated. Most remember him only as a vessel for their own stories."

You don’t know what to say. Your hatred overshadows your relief that borne a spite for the olympian. You take joy in this news. And you hope that he will suffer more from something that is beyond his power to contain.

"He no longer has the ability to hurt you. I made sure of that." he claims with a conviction that leaves no room for any doubt to bloom within you.

"I really miss the waking world." was all you could say after quite some time, smothering the grass in your hand.

Morpheus gently takes your hand in his.

"Do you want to visit the Waking World?" he offers.

You missed a second.

"I don’t… I don't know if I can." It's been so long. Too long. The Dreaming has become a part of you so thoroughly. You become apprehensive at the prospect of leaving it, even for a temporary moment. Would the earth of the Waking World even feel the same in your hands? The air and its water?

Morpheus senses your agitation. He tips your chin to look upon him.

"I will come with you if you wish. Just think it over."

Your nod. Comforted by his bright, kind eyes. You watch the last traces of light in the horizon.

"Tomorrow I must return Corinthian back to the Dreaming. When I return–should you wish it–just tell me, I shall take you to the waking world. There is much I want you to see." he offers.

You are reminded once more of his kindness. Of his endless thoughtfulness for you. When you look upon his comely face, has it always been like this? Has your heart been filled and overflowing with so much love that has moved past the threshold of friendship? Since when did you have this urge to press your lips against his? Wondering what kind of divine blessing resides there.

You can’t help but caress his cheek and lean towards his lips, in which he captures yours so readily. As if he had been waiting for this moment for a long, arduous time.

Yes, you can see everything so clear then, the fog and the ache and every uncertainty clears away, the small pieces pulling together at the centre of the universe to create a larger picture, to make sense in your erratic fate. That you are merely borrowed parts that needed to be returned, from the drops of the rain, from the dirt of the earth, from the rays of the sky and the water in the lake. Here wherever he is, the centre of your universe, your future slowly and kindly enough to unravel before your eyes, returning home under his heart, returning home to him.

Morpheus pulls away reluctantly, and your eyes flutter open at the loss of his lips.

He caresses your jaw. You feel his perpetual love and devotion pulsing through his fingertips, tracing your skin. His eyes drink in your features fondly, consuming you whole. You desire nothing more than to be consumed over and over again.

"Do you want me to kill him?" Morpheus rasps.

The Dreaming turns still. Holding its breath in anticipation, awaiting your response.

Morpheus finds the answer in your eyes. Feel it in your lungs. And he nods in understanding as he kisses you once more.

#morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #this one is the longest thig i #i've ever written adbodawbobfaafw

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ghcstao3 · 8 months

Text

for @rainerestored — cowboys au

Wisps of sand sting Soap's eyes as he attempts to keep a steady aim on his opponent. He wishes the bastard could have chosen any other day for confrontation, any day not on the cusp of a storm—but Soap is not not going to defend himself, either, so here he has no choice but to stand and face the sheriff.

"This is the end, Johnny," Graves calls, with false amicability and a very real edge, "Your days as an outlaw are over."

Soap snorts. He's certain he's heard those exact words before, be it from Graves or someone else on the so-called right side of the law, so somehow, some way, Soap doubts that this truly is where his life stops.

But in any case. He doesn't falter even as dust clings to him like an uncomfortable second skin.

"Awfully bold assumption," Soap grumbles. He shakes his head, makes certain there's a bullet set in place. He knows he's quicker than Graves—he just needs the right moment. "Let's just make this easy, aye?"

"Stand down, then." Graves shrugs a shoulder. Soap can't wait to rid him of that smug look. Just a little longer. "That easy enough for you, partner?"

Soap scoffs. Rolls his shoulders. Readies his trigger finger. Opens his mouth to offer one last retort and—

A shot rings out, quick and brutal and loud. Soap frowns. He still stands, he still has all his bullets, and his gun certainly isn't smoking. He glances back to Graves and sees the sheriff is wide-eyed, gun forgotten at his clutches his stomach, where crimson blooms in uneven petals across his uniform.

Graves collapses. Soap doesn't allow his arm to fall to his side just yet, still uncertain of the origin of the shot.

Then a searing-hot barrel is pressed to the crown of his head, just beneath the rim of Soap's hat.

"What's your business?" A deep baritone asks, voice somehow muffled in spite of being near right in Soap's ear. It rumbles through Soap as his hands involuntarily raise in surrender.

"Was trying to save my honour," Soap rasps. "What's yours?"

Miraculously, the pressure of the barrel falls away from Soap's head. He hears the weapon be holstered, and Soap takes a deep breath.

"Doin' a shit job," the stranger mutters. He then adds, much to Soap's surprise, "John MacTavish."

Soap whirls around. "How do you—"

The words die on his tongue as soon as he's facing his saviour—and near murderer—and finds the man to be none other than The Ghost. Famed outlaw; a legend. Never captured, hardly seen, and believed by many to not even be real. Yet here he exists, clad in all black despite the heat, face half-obscured.

It's bad, Soap thinks, that his first observation is just about how nice The Ghost's eyes are.

"I know quite a bit about you, Johnny," Ghost hums.

Though Soap has hated that nickname from the mouth of many others—particularly a certain recently deceased sheriff—he feels a pleasant shiver roll up his spine at Ghost's use.

Soap cocks an eyebrow. "That so?"

Ghost nods sagely. He looks Soap up and down, assessing, before raising his chin. "I hear you're good with explosives."

"I might be." Soap says slowly, shrugging a shoulder. "What for?"

Ghost narrows his eyes. Soap can almost hear a smile in his tone as he says, "I have a job for you. If you accept, that is."

Soap tilts his head. His heart beats an erratic rhythm. "If I don't?"

There's definitely a smile now. "Then this really will be your end. Partner."

And, well. Who is Soap not to say yes to an opportunity to work with The Ghost?

#prompt #this got out of hand methinks #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #writing

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itsclydebitches · 3 months

Note

This has got to be one of the most frustrating screenshots in RWBY.

Fans can deny it as much as they like that Qrow was not responsible for Clover's death but this screenshot proves that he did. Tyrian may have struck Clover through the heart, but Qrow was the one who allowed it to happen by fighting him and whittling his Aura levels down to dangerous levels before breaking it. AND there was literally no reason for Qrow to strike him, Clover had Tyrian restrained, the literal serial killer was ready to be taken back into custody and instead of stopping the fight and surrendering...he decides the best course of action is to attack the man restraining the serial killer. Okay. The worst part is Clover's death changes nothing, whether he lives or dies doesn't change the fact that Qrow still gets arrested and taken to James.

The concept of responsibility in the canon is so hopelessly skewed. Personally, I consider characters at least partially responsible for an outcome if their action meets three criteria:

Did this action directly allow for the outcome to occur, even if it wasn't the final step? e.g. Qrow breaking Clover's aura = Clover is now vulnerable to death via Tyrian. No punch = new outcome (Clover not dying then)

Did the character have agency in this moment? i.e. they're not mind controlled, not threatened into taking an action they otherwise wouldn't consider, not manipulated or lead astray by false information, etc.

Was the character aware that this action could lead to a horrific outcome? Are they reliably informed of the risks? e.g. Qrow ABSOLUTELY understands the dangers of breaking someone's aura, in the middle of the tundra, while a long-established serial killer is attempting to murder them

Now, note that when I say "responsible" I mean in the sense of, "You should be held accountable for this" rather than the equally literal and ethically simpler, "You just did the thing." I'm just plain old responsible if I knock a vase over like, "Yeah, regardless of this being a total accident I am the one who knocked it over. No one else did that. I'm the responsible party, but in a chill, very forgivable way." I'm accountable-responsible if I willingly throw a ball across the room, knowing full well it might hit something, but not really giving a shit for stupid, OOC reasons.

The show tries to play Qrow's choice off as just generic-responsible (when it's not irrationally blaming Ironwood), but he's accountable-responsible. He made a choice of his own free will, understanding better than most (as a huntsman and someone who has faced Tyrian before) the danger that choice presented to his friend, and that choice directly provided the means of Clover's death. Qrow didn't murder Clover, but he sure as hell was an accomplice.

And RWBY is full of these moments that, like with Qrow, the story ignores or forgives a character because the action in question is taken by one of the heroes. The above criteria is why I hold Ruby largely responsible for them ending up in the Ever After (you made a series of informed demands that directly lead to this outcome), or why I hold Jaune responsible for Penny's death (you made the choice to end her life without persuasive evidence that she couldn't be saved), even though both obviously have villains taking that final step: Salem is the one actually attacking Remnant, Cinder is the one who stabs Penny. Yet neither character has to grapple with their choices; the story glosses over them by introducing a new emotional focus that makes us feel for the character instead, not their victim(s): Ruby doesn't have to own up to her actions as leader because she jumps straight to crying over how hard it is to be leader; Jaune doesn't have to own up to Penny's death because he jumps straight to being traumatized by a lifetime of Ever After isolation. As a side-note, this is very similar to one of my biggest issues with Bakugo from MHA: too often the story has him engage in horrific behavior, immediately introduces something Bad in his life - he's kidnapped, injured, upset that All Might doesn't love him best - and saving/comforting him becomes the new focus, bypassing accountability. Or, fans read the Bad Thing as divine punishment for previous actions... despite there being no connection between the two and thus no growth. Meanwhile, in parallel world, Ruby helps doom Remnant but it's fine because she's upset about something and all the story cares about is showing Any Emotional Reaction, not one that will demonstrate that the character a) understands how their actions lead to this outcome, b) understands why that's an issue, and c) strives to change their behavior in the future.

RWBY also plays the Dramatic Emotional Card. Like, you know that person who when you correct them about something they become SO over-the-top upset about their mistake that you wind up comforting them rather than allowing them to sit with the correction? Yeah. There's no space to let Qrow sit with his responsibility because the show is too busy having him rail against Ironwood, or stare his Super Depressed stare at Clover's badge. The cue to the audience is, "He's so upset! Feel for him!!" not "Damn, he fucked up... how's he gonna grow from this?"

Then to round things off the responsible hero is always narratively forgiven. Qrow stops the bomb with an unprecedented spout of good luck: Clover from beyond the grave helping him in his time of need (not literally most likely, but in a thematic sense). Ruby returns to a world with her image painted in alleyways as a martyr: Remnant overlooking all the ways she helped cause their predicament and, again, positioning her solely as the injured party, rather than a victim and a perpetrator (which, frankly, makes Ruby more boring!). You're not supposed to hold them responsible, but if you do don't worry, here's a "hopeful" scene that explicitly says blaming them is a mistake.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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illuminatedvisage · 10 months

Text

waiting for this story to end before i begin another.

Pairing: Jing Yuan x (GN) Trailblazer!Reader Summary: The General attempts to write you a letter. Warnings: Angst, Pining Notes: Title and quote taken from the poem, "Waiting for This Story to End Before I Begin Another" by Jan Heller Levi

it’s been a long time since jing yuan has needed to grind his own ink, but he has not forgotten the ritual of it. dropping water onto the inkstone, unwrapping the cake, dragging water from well to plain and grinding, slowly, in measured circles until the soot dissolves into the proper color. these days, his hands are more accustomed to handling paper over steel, to signing off laws over swinging his blade, but there is little art in the way he must handle his work—fastidiously, meticulously, planning for every eventuality. water defies such control, and ink makes such defiances permanent, which is perhaps why he’s chosen to write a letter to you in this way.

how else to express a heart honestly than to relinquish control of it?

i wonder—

i wish—

i want—

but how to begin? he tries a dozen different times, crossing off each false start, trying to put together his thoughts into some sort of coherency. it is easier said than done, and jing yuan, for all the merits he has earned and the battles he has won, does not consider himself brave enough to speak these things out loud. if he should stumble over his words, unrefined, unbecoming of his age— if those clumsy words should somehow fly to you like birds and reach your ears—

jing yuan laughs at himself. perhaps he hasn’t yet let go of the illusion of control.

he crumples the paper and begins again, setting out a new page, grinding more of that glossy ink. he finds it difficult to explain himself to you, even more so to do it without expectation, without trying to predict your response to the confession that pours from the tip of his brush—

i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you

he wonders when he fell in love with you, wishes he could pinpoint the precise moment when you began, unintentionally, to take up space in his heart. could he have stopped it? would he have, given the chance? or would he, having seen the pattern of your conquest, have simply let you advance piece by piece until he had no choice but to surrender—and look forward to that surrender if it meant you kept rewarding him with your careless smiles and unadorned camaraderie, if you kept treating him with a casual intimacy that makes a curl of pleasure and affection settle in his stomach.

the door clicks open, letting in a cool breeze and you, standing cocksure in the entryway of his office. your smile is warm as your hip checks the door closed. “looking awfully lonely in here, general,” you say, giving the room a slow once-over before resting your eyes on him. “have you come in here to take a nap?”

jing yuan sets his brush down, returns your smile with one of his own. “it’s not often that the seat of divine foresight is empty like this,” he tells you. “i thought it might give me a moment to finish a letter i had to write.”

for a moment, you look worried, as though you’ve interrupted some important business of his. but the glimmer in your eyes returns when he beckons you over, eyeing the paper that he covers up with the flat of his hand.

“top-secret luofu business?” you ask, tilting your head this way and that to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s hiding.

“something like that.”

“should i really be here, then?” you ask, before your smile slips into a grin, fingers already twitching for the piece of paper. “or are my information-sharing privileges still active? is it stellaron related? is it stellaron hunter related?”

“actually,” jing yuan admits, without really knowing why, “it’s a love letter.”

you pause, blinking rapidly, nose scrunching in confusion before a startled laugh bubbles out of you. “fine, fine,” you say, holding your hands up in surrender, “keep your secrets. i didn’t come here for that, anyway.”

“and what did you come for, illustrious trailblazer?”

“did you seriously forget?” you set your hands on the table, leaning in close until you are all he sees in his field of view. “the farewell party? to celebrate the successful containment of the stellaron? and the once-in-a-lifetime partnership between the express and the luofu?”

“it’s a long lifetime.” he hopes you don’t notice the way the words stick in his throat.

“not for all of us. so that’s why i’m here, to drag you back with me,” you say. your hand is already wrapped around his wrist, tugging him up, away from his desk. “by force if i have to.” he likes this about you, your easy manner, the way you treat him like an old friend; he likes it less that, like his old friends, you too will leave him on his own.

he doesn’t budge, gently releasing your grip on his wrist. but he doesn’t let you go either, not yet, fingers lingering in your own. it is the first time he’s held your hand, and it might be the last. “no force necessary. i’ll join you just as soon as i’m finished with my business here, so wait for me by the door.”

you huff but relent, pulling away too soon. “you work too hard,” you scold good-naturedly, “even though it always seems like you’re slacking off. are you sure i can’t convince you to jump ship for a while? the express has an extra cabin with your name on it.” your lips twitch as you fight off a laugh. “maybe you can even convince pompom to give you a whole car, oh great arbiter-general of the xianzhou luofu.”

a pang of some unnamed emotion goes through him. could it be as easy as that? to take your hand in his and say yes, say please, say i’ll follow wherever you go. he wants it to be but instead he retracts his hand, laying them over each other on his desk to stop himself from reaching for you again. “my place is here,” he says, and not beside you.

something in your gaze wavers, with sympathy or perhaps pity, he doesn't care to know which, and your voice goes soft as you step back, away from him. “right, then. i’ll wait for you outside, until you’re ready.”

his eyes follow you long after the door has closed. he looks at his letter, the ink smeared by his hand, and crumples it in his fist.

A/N: i can't stop writing for this sad, sad old man. and prob blade when more of his lore comes out.

#jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr jing yuan #forgive me if i don't know how to tag these yet i'm simply baby and figuring it out #inspired by jing yuan flirting with the trailblazer over text. you can't tell me he isn't flirting!! you can't #.illuminations #.xianzhou luofu

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seungkwanslowqualityenglish · 4 months

Text

Tangled Hearts

✿ Synopsis: He was your number one rival, after being caught in a compromising position with him, you find yourself in a circumstance where working with him seems to be your only solution. A torn sheet of paper with a list of rules holding both of your signatures, being the only thing connecting you two. Yet, what if you find yourself wishing that paper was not the only thing tying you two together.

✿ Who: Park Jeongson / Jay [Enhypen] & Gender Neutral Reader ✿ Word Count: 19733 Words ✿ Genre: Angst/Fluff ✿ Warnings: Explicit language, forced kissing, kissing, bodily harm, bleeding. ✿ Request: No ✿ Enjoy.

“Read it and weep,” Slipped from your lips, slamming the exactly twenty-nine page report, which has a bright red A plus with a ninety-nine drawn in large letters and circled, onto his desk. “It seems someone didn’t do that well,” Mockingly left your mouth, as he quickly tried to cover the bright red A with a ninety drawn on in it large letters and circled, opting to just shove it into his folder instead of attempting to cover it. “If you need help you could always ask, I’m sure I could find the time in my schedule to tutor the less fortunate.” Was said with false pity lacing each word, nothing more than sarcasms dripping from each word that left your mouth.

Jay was quick to scoff, hiding the papers within his folder, before pushing your report from his desk, wishing you would just turn around at your table, instead of bothering him. “At least I got an A, or did someone forget that B you got yesterday.” He quickly retorted, laughing at the obvious displeasure upon your face, as he brought up the score you had received on your literature essay the day before, an eighty-nine, meanwhile he received a ninety-seven. “If you need help you could always ask, I’m sure I could find the time in my schedule to tutor the less fortunate.” He said, directly mocking what you had just said to him.

“Damn, y'all got nineties?” The person who shared the table with Jay inquired, as they looked between your papers, before looking at his own. “I got a thirty-two.” The voice was quick to add, which a thirty-two was a generous score, seeing how he only wrote about two pages and one of the two was not even on the topic the reports were supposed to be on.

As you stared at the person who dared interrupt your bragging, Jay was doing the same. “Shut up Beomgyu.” Came from both of you at the same time, like some sort of coordinated circus act. Speaking at the same time, Jay and you made eye contact, an obvious look of disgust coming upon both of your faces. “This doesn’t involve you Beomgyu,”

Beomgyu was fast to raise his hands up, symbolizing that he surrenders. “God calm down, I was just saying, I’d kill for a ninety-nine, or even a ninety.”

“Beomgyu, you would probably kill for a seventy, you have like what, a forty-three in this class.” Jay was quick to say, turning his attention to the guy besides him, hoping you would take the hint and leave him alone. Luck however in his favor, since at that exact moment a loud voice was heard clearing at the front of the class, drawing everyone’s attention.

Unable to retort to either of the men, you simply picked up your report, placing it into your folder, before focusing on the professor in front of you. Professor Jung was luckily not one of the hardest professors at your university, however, she did assign the most essays and reports. Today was no different, you had finished a month long report, and here she was ready to assign another report. The only question on your mind, was what would the topic be,

“You all have done various reports and essays for this class so far this semester, so this month’s assignments, you will instead have a month long project. I know, you are disappointed you aren’t getting the monthly report and weekly essays as usual, but instead all your focus will be towards this project, so no reports or essays this month. This project is twenty percent of your grade, so make sure you work diligently, it can really hurt you, or it can really help you. The next two months will be one large project instead of two smaller projects, so remember who your partner is, they will be with you on this project until the end of the semester.” Professor Jung spoke, her eyes shifting towards Beomgyu as she said the last part.

“I will be pulling it up onto the board momentarily, however I have chosen who you will be working with, make sure you get together with who you are paired with a plan out a schedule that will work for you. On our front desk, we have five papers, you will need one of each per group. One paper is a log, you will need to write down the time and date you meet up to work together and sign off on it, you need to meet up at least 5 times, to get full credit for that portion of the rubric. The next paper will vary group to group, they are upside down so you can not look through them; these are what you will be creating and if you need to create it to withstand a certain condition. You should all know we have been discussing urban building, rural building, and natural disasters; these sheets give you a prompt and some have a natural condition, you may be planning and building a kindergarten that can withstand the torrential tornados of the area, you maybe planning how to build a hospital in an area that does not have one for hours around and has extreme winters and summers, or you may be planning and building something that will be contained in the dead space under an elevated highway system. The third sheet is of the required components of your build and your documentation, each of these must be included for you to get full credit on this section. The fourth sheet lets you know what is needed of your models, the minimum and maximum height and size your model can be. The last sheet is a list of questions that should be answered throughout your report. Please do not wait until the last minute to do this project, it is a lot more than you think it will be. Any materials for your builds can be taken from our department storage, however, make sure not to waste them, or take way more than you need.” Professor Jung finished her monologue, opening up the file with the pair's names onto the smartboard of the classroom, before starting to retreat towards her connected office. “Here are the pairs and class is dismissed. Get to work on your projects.” She said, finally entering her office, yet not closing the door behind herself, leaving it wide open for any students that have questions.

Looking down at the paper on your desk, the notebook sheet was filled with perfectly written and spaced notes. You documented everything she said was important, and wrote the main details of the project down. Making sure to make your things up, except for your folder, to put the papers into. Knowing that the professor made your pairs, you could only hope that Beomgyu’s name was not next to your own, since that would mean doing the whole project solo. As you thought about being paired with Beomgyu, a few other classmates names came to mind, Winter, Taehyun, Yuna, and others; each one being just not the best to be paired with, either they were failing or just barely getting by, and you would be damned if you let them ruin your straight A’s in this class. The lowest score you had received from Professor Jung was a ninety-four, and you planned to keep it like that. However, you did not have long to dwell on who you would be working with, as you heard an anguished muffled yell from behind you.

“She has to be joking,” Jay was quick to say, shooting Beomgyu a dirty look, as his seatmate started to laugh, knowing why Jay was so mad. “Don’t even start with me Beomgyu,” He said, the venom dripping from each of his words, causing Beomgyu to immediately shut up.

Beomgyu noticed in his own silence, that you were silent, but also that you were packing your things. “I guess someone’s not as mad as you, maybe they wanted to work with you.” He was quick to say, rising from his seat before poking at your arm, with a laugh. “Am I right?”

Feeling the finger poke at your arm, you moved your arm, staring up at Beomgyu with a look to tell him to stop. “Are you right about what? Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked him, finally deciding to look away from his grinning face, the only thing to look at being the board in the front of the class. “This is a joke right, this has to be fake, no way am I working with him.” You were quick to say, rising with a start, unable to believe what you had just read.

On the board was a list of names, Taehyun and Yuna, Beomgyu and Sakura, Winter and Karina, and right under that sat your name, next to one you would never wish upon even your worst enemy. “No way am I working with Jay,” quickly left your lips, grabbing your bag, you planned to make your way over towards the professor's office, this could not be happening, and you could not be expected to work with him. Hell, you would rather work with Beomgyu, the person whose highest score in the class was a fifty-four, than with Jay.

“Think I want to work with you either sweetheart,” Jay was quick to say, walking past you with ease, making it to the professor's office right before you did.

Beomgyu stood back, enjoying the show, watching as you both stormed into Professor Jung’s office. “You might not want to work together, but it seems she wants you to.” He called out on deaf ears, since neither of you were listening to a single word from anyone, instead being consumed by your anger of the situation.

Walking into the professor's office, she looked up, gesturing to the door. Jay was quick to close the door, given the look in her eyes, you knew she had done this on purpose, and it let you know that you were not going to be successful in getting a partner change. “I can not work with them.” You said, just as Jay did, once again speaking in complete sync. As you had prior, both exchanged a dirty look, shocked that they spoke in sync once more. “I would rather work alone than with them.” Was said, both completely in sync again, causing an amused look from Professor Jung.

“You two are my brightest and best students. I don’t know what is going on between you two, this whole little hate situation, but it needs to end. The architecture business isn’t as large as you may think it is, and both of you, being as bright and excellent as you are, will more than likely be working together once you graduate. You two need to figure out whatever this little problem is between you, sort it out, and work together. You will not be getting separated, you will not be doing this project alone, and you will not just do the work on your own. You have been paired together, so you will be working together as a pair, I will not be changing my mind, this discussion is over, go get started on your project.” Professor Jung was quick to say, ending any argument before it started, not even giving either of you a chance to plead your case.

Leaving her office, you felt dejected, and honestly, Jay felt the same. She dismissed the two of you and did not even allow you to get any words in, instead ending the discussion and sending you on your way. Exiting her office, the classroom was empty, not even Beomgyu hung around to bother the two of you. Leaving the office, there were exactly five sheets of paper left on the table at the front. Grabbing them, you sighed, guessing you would be having to work with Jay, despite how much it hurt you to think of. “Modern art museum surrounded by a garden, no major environmental conditions affect this area.” You read off the paper, just before it was stolen from your hand.

“If you think I trust you with our project’s papers, you are dreaming.” Jay said, starting to shove the papers into his bag. Just wanting to leave this classroom, go to his apartment and forget this ever happened. Being paired with you was the worst thing that could have happened for his day, he would rather work with Beomgyu, or any of the other names on the list of slackers of the class, than you.

Cringing as he shoved them into his backpack, you reached in, grabbing the papers back before he could zip his bag. “You could at least have the common fucking courtesy to not crumble the papers into small balls.” You said, starting to flatten the papers out, before putting them into your own folder. “You know, then maybe we can actually read them, when we need them.”

Jay scoffed, watching as you treated the papers with such gentleness, attempting to fix the crinkles he made in the material. “Whatever you say sweetheart, whatever makes you feel better.” He said, just zipping his bag up before removing his phone from his pocket. “Just give me your number and we can plan when we’ll meet up,” He started, planning to insult you once more, by saying he just could not stand to breath in the same air as you any longer, yet seeing Professor Jung leaving her office, a new stack of papers in her hands, for her next class, he decided not to.

Looking up, seeing his eyes catch onto something, you knew Professor Jung was in the room. Knowing that, you stopped your own arguing, simply just putting the papers into your folder, and your folder into your backpack, before zipping it up. Giving him your number, you found yourself leaving the classroom right after him, the two of you headed in different directions as you headed to lunch. It took not even five minutes for you to receive the first message, ‘this is Jay’, being all it said.

Before you knew it, it was the end of the day, you were on your way to the library, having planned to meet with Jay there after your last class ended. While walking through the various shelving units, you searched each of the tables, looking for the familiar sharply dressed black haired man. He had told you that he would be here after your last class, so you consider that maybe you should have walked with him here, seeing how you had all the same classes. That was how all this started, being the same major, you both took the recommended course loads, and therefore ended up in all the same classes. It being semester three of this, with five more to go, it was only natural that the two top students in each class would begin to compete with one another, being rivals.

Walking through the aisles of the library, each table seemed to be full of students that were not him. In another life you would have been working with anyone else in the class, or better yet your professor would have allowed you to work alone, but instead you were stuck in this life, and stuck with him. Maybe in your other life things went differently, you were the top of your class, no need to compete with Jay for that spot; yet, for every life you were top of class, there was another Jay who was top of class. Throughout your endless search for the male, you were growing tired, where could he be hiding in this library. Rather than just having to search every nook and cranny of the library, you should have made him give you a specific place to meet at, which you would the next time you meet.

This was the first of your five mandatory meetings, and it seemed like it might not even happen. Anger filled your being as the thought that Jay had lied, wasting your time like this, crossed your mind. Getting ready to head back towards the entrance and leave, you found yourself standing at the stairs to the fourth floor, the last floor of the library. Deciding you may as well check it, seeing how you checked all the other floors, you started your way up the stairs. The fourth floor was rarely used by students, one half of the room was full of old books from the archives, while the other half of the room was filled with a variety of children’s books and stories. These archive books were not available to be checked out in the university's library system, but were allowed to be used while on this floor. This part of the floor was usually only used by medical students, using the books that were so heavy they were unable to be removed from the podiums on which they sat, while the other part of the floor was only used by the education majors, selecting books to read to their practicum classes and books for their children’s literature reports. Weaving in and out of the shelving units, even going as far as to glance into empty study rooms that usually remained vacant at this point of the semester, honestly they usually remained empty at every point of the semester, he was nowhere to be seen.

The anger you had felt before ascending the stairs started to return, the fact that he had wasted your time like this, you had been searching throughout the library for almost thirty minutes for him. It angered you how he did this, practically sending you on a wild goose chase for him, when he obviously was not in the library during this time. The only places you had yet to check were the bathrooms, and you were definitely not going to be checking in them. Rounding the corner you exited the tall shelves full of old ancient books, most of which were factually inaccurate at this point, but too costly for the university to dispose of, into a much different scene, tall shelves full of colorful children’s books in a variety of languages. Walking through the first few, you started to hear voices, they were unintelligible from where you stood, but were louder the further you walked. Glancing at the books displaying brightly colored covers with anthropomorphic animals wearing a variety of clothing you thought to yourself, of course I would find Jay in the middle of the children’s section, these books are probably perfectly his reading level.

As you neared the first corner in the children’s section, the voices became a lot louder, it was a female voice, and they were repeatedly whispering, yelling a name. Getting closer you started to recognize what they were saying, it was Jay’s name repeatedly; the girl was saying Jay, Jay Park, Park Jongseong on repeat, like she was trying to call some sort of dog. Immediately turning on your toes, you walked in the opposite direction, not wanting to run into what sort of banshee was a few shelves down calling out for Jay’s name like they were calling a lost dog. Walking directly into the next corner, you found yourself being grabbed by the arm, back pushed against the cold hard deep brown wood of the side of a bookshelf. Immediately you opened your mouth to scream, but instead a hand was quick to cover your mouth, muffling any noise. Looking up, you realized the hand belonged to none other than Jay, as he kept you from making any noise, his eyes staring into yours with a pleading look, begging you to say nothing. With a nod, his hand moved from your mouth, the pleading look stayed in his eyes. “Why they fuck are you hiding up here? What the fuck are you doing?” You whispered to him, trying to move from his grasp, but his hold on you kept you exactly where you were.

As you started to whisper, Jay could only hope that Yujin was unable to hear the two of you, otherwise she would be all over him again in just a minute. “I’m trying to hide from Yujin, so if you could keep it down, once she leaves we can work on our project.” Jay whispered through clenched teeth, trying his best to keep the two of you hidden on the bookshelf edge, hopefully just out of Yujin’s line of sight.

Upon hearing the name slip from his lips, a moment of realization hit you at that name, Yujin. She was a girl you noticed back in the second semester, it was freshman year and she for some reason got obsessed with Beomgyu and some other guys in your classes. Beomgyu was always bragging about how smoking hot she was, that was until she realized Beomgyu’s future was not as bright as Jay’s. She transferred into your architecture classes at the beginning of your second year, but quickly transferred back into her original major, once she realized how hard the classes were. Honestly, she was a joke to everyone in your major, she would attempt to attach herself to any guy that would catch her attention, especially to any major that she felt would be rich. She had her try with the medical majors, none giving her time of day, she then tried to shoot her shot with the computer science guys, but they honestly were mostly too focused on coding to pay attention to her, the engineering guys did not even let her start, and then it was the architecture majors. None of them would let her around them either, Beomgyu being the only exception, and he was honestly the only one of them she did not want.

Knowing her history around the college, how she described herself as majoring in becoming a missus, made the whole situation even more hilarious to you. Yujin, whose whole goal was not to graduate university, but instead to get married to someone that will be rich, seemed to have set her sights on the one and only Park Jongseong. His discomfort brought you joy, it reminded you of a freshman student you had tutored for one of your professors, he thought it was more than just tutoring, swearing he had fallen in love with you, always asking you out and not leaving you alone. “If you aren’t interested in her, just let her know, I’m sure she’d leave you alone after being told.” You mockingly said to him, recalling the exact words Beomgyu had told you last semester, overhearing your complaints about the freshman, Alex, words Jay agreed with at that moment. Yet, in this moment, based on the look he immediately gave you, they were words he did not agree with any longer.

Opening his mouth to respond, he immediately closed it again after hearing the voice getting closer and closer to where you were standing. Yujin’s shrill voice saying Jay on repeat like a broken record. The voice was getting closer and closer, like some twisted version of Marco Polo where only one person calls out, and in this version you definitely did not want to get caught by the one calling out. Jay’s body pressed closer to yours, the voice getting closer and closer.

“Jay, I found you.” Yujin’s voice started to say, finally seeing Jay’s backpack, but luckily not seeing where you stood. She started to make a beeline down the aisle, easily walking as quickly as she could towards the man she had spent the last thirty minutes or so in the search of.

Hearing her footsteps get closer and closer, fear set into Jay, and you were able to see it on his face, knowing good and well that once she was here, Yujin would probably not be leaving him alone. You started to open your mouth, a comment for Yujin loaded, to let her know where he indeed was. The comment however never came.

Jay looked around, trying to find a way out, Yujin getting closer and closer, terrifying him more than anything. As he looked around for a way out, he caught your eyes, keeping eye contact for only a second, he tried to find a way out once more. As Yujin was almost there, he did the unthinkable, bending down he pressed his lips against yours, rendering the both of you frozen for a moment, completely unsure of what just happened.

The two of you just stand there, frozen, letting Yujin see exactly what was going on. Before you knew it a shrill scream was heard, she was shocked at what she saw evident by her voice. “You fucking asshole Jongseong,” She started to scream, “You’ve had a significant other this whole time you asshole, leading me on like I had a chance.” She said, the venom dripping from each word she said. With a huff that sounded more like a muffled scream, she turned on her heel, storming off, leaving the two of you alone, lips pressed against one anothers, and confused as to what just happened.

Once she was out of the area, the two of you finally parted, Jay moving away from you, making sure Yujin was actually gone. As he did that, you were unable to stop your hand from coming up, hitting him square in the chest, causing him to let out a labored breath, before stepping back once more, out of your arm’s reach. “What the fuck was that for Park Jongseong?” You whisper yelled at him, the last thing you wanted to do was attract Yujin’s attention back to where you stood. “I have to disinfect my fucking mouth now” Was muttered under your breath, as you wiped at your mouth with the sleeve of your plaid cardigan.

Stepping back away from you, attempting to dodge another slap that never came, Jay stared at you, his eyes catching the look of disgust that was held in your own eyes. “Sorry, you think I wanted to do that, it was the only thing I could think of to get rid of Yujin. You know how she is, a damn piranha, once she sticks herself on you, she doesn’t leave. I didn’t know what else to do.” He started to ramble, attempting to explain why he did what he just did. As he spoke however, he thought of how Yujin was the campus gossip, if she had not already, soon everyone would know what just happened, who he was kissing, and everything.

“Maybe talk to her, if you aren’t interested in her, just let her know, I’m sure she’d leave you alone after being told.” You said, mocking him once more for the words he agreed with that were once said to you. “Maybe instead of putting your disgusting lips against mine, you could have used your words, and just told her you don’t like her. Maybe spoke up for the whole male population of the school, maybe humbled her a bit, instead of kissing me.” Was said, each word making you angrier and angrier at what he just did. “Do you even know what you just fucking did? Everyone and their mother is going to know what you did, in like thirty minutes. The devil moves fast, but Yujin moves faster, especially when it involves the object of her misguided affection at that moment in time.” You said, what was to happen, finally hitting you. “She’s going to tell every fucking one.”

Jay shakes his head, wanting to do nothing more than forget what had just happened, what he had just done, what he had honestly just started. “Let’s just work on our project, I doubt she’s gonna do much. She’s all bark and no bite. Sure she’ll run her mouth, but who is gonna believe her.” Jay was quick to say, thinking of all the times the two of you have started arguments, knowing there was no way anyone in their right mind would believe Yujin if she said she found the two of you kissing. Honestly, most people would not even believe Yujin if she said she saw you two in a room not arguing, even that would be a stretch.

The anger in your eyes remained, despite his words, since you knew she would talk, and people would listen. Even if they did not believe her words, they would still humor her, they would listen to her talk endlessly about whatever it was, and this week it was yourself and him. “I swear to god, if I have even one person approach me about this bullshit, I will make your life even harder than it already is.” You were quick to threaten him, wanting nothing more than to go home at this point, but knowing you needed to start on your project.

Grabbing your backpack, you were quick to walk towards the isolation rooms in the middle of the floor that separated the children’s section from the archives. Entering one, you left the door cracked, hoping that Jay had the common sense to follow you. Sitting down, you were quick to start unloading your supplies, getting everything from class laid out. Ready to start working on this dumb project with him, knowing the sooner you get started, the faster you can get away from him.

Jay was shocked at what he heard, listening to you threaten him, but he oddly understood why. Watching as you started to blaze a trail, walking away from him, he quickly grabbed his own backpack, walking quickly to follow you. Entering the isolation room after you, he was fast to do the same as you had, spreading out his supplies on the table, getting ready to start the project. Working together, the two of you decided upon some basics of your assignment. Despite having plans to get as much done as you could, the drama with Yujin had delayed your start, leaving little done, before you decided to finish for the night.

Exiting the fourth floor, you found a set of eyes on you, averting your eyes as one of Yujin’s friends caught sight of you and Jay leaving the fourth floor, you just continued walking. Unbeknownst to you, what Yujin had seen was already spreading along campus, especially amongst your circles. It would have been nothing more than hearsay, had it not been accompanied by a photo taken by a Yeji, one of Yujin’s friends who worked in the library, who happened to be monitoring the cameras at that exact moment.

Exiting the library you were quick to realize a short buzz to your phone, opening it up, you saw nothing more than a message from Gaeul, one of your friends. The message said nothing more than ‘Jay? Really?’, alerting you that the mouth of Yujin had started to spread what she saw across campus already, much to your dislike.

Entering class the next day, it was odd, everyone’s eyes were shifting between Jay and yourself, yet none of them said anything. You had hoped that the rumor would just stay between Yujin and her circle, but obviously that wishful thinking had not done you well at all, since it seems everyone knew, even the teachers. Luckily no one said anything, most people were too afraid to speak up knowing how easily the two of you would give other verbal lashings with your words, too intelligent for many to even attempt to say anything. Well, that was until Beomgyu spoke up, once you sat in your seat next to him.

“Enemies to lovers arc, am I right. I totally called it. The chemistry I sensed between you two, I totally know you two were totally hate fucking after class, I just fucking know it.” Beomgyu was quick to say once you sat next to him, Jay was on one side, while you were on the other. “Here let me switch you two seats, so you two lovebirds can sit together.” He said attempting to stand up, before Jay’s hand roughly grabbed his arm, pulling him right back down into his seat. “Oh, I see,” he started, like he was some sort of detective genius, instead of just an annoying classmate and friend. “A lover spat, I see. Probably wanted to keep your relationship on the downlow a bit longer, am I right, that photo Yeji sent around must have made it really hard to do that.”

Ignoring Beomgyu was an art, if you were to be honest. He could be saying anything in the world, and your selective hearing would kick in, and only hear what it wanted to hear that fell from his overactive mouth. Yet, this time, your selective hearing was unneeded, you listened to each word he said, anger starting slowly, until it peaked at the last thing he said. “What photo?” You were quick to ask him, grabbing his arm, your nails digging into his arm as you started to squeeze his arm. “What photo are you talking about Beomgyu?” You repeated, each word getting deeper and deeper, as the anger started to take you over. It was expected that Yujin would run her mouth, telling everyone and anyone that would listen, a photo accompanying her words, that was crazy, there was no one on the fourth floor yesterday except for the three of you.

Beomgyu grimaced, shaking his arm from your grip before grabbing his phone, quickly pulling up the campus drama twitter page that had been created long ago by students that had not enough work to do, and too much free time. “See, this photo.” He said, showing it to you, before showing it to Jay, knowing if you had not seen it, Jay probably had not as well. Holding his phone out, so the three of you could see it, he gazed at the photo. “Who would have guessed my two besties would be caught making out in the library, like naughty, naughty, you couldn’t choose a better place, the children’s section of the library. What if there was a child there? You two would have scarred it for life, imagine looking for Pinkalicious and instead seeing you two sucking face, horrifying.”

Staring at the photo, you found yourself speechless, the anger that was within you found itself slowly being replaced by embarrassment. Not only did the whole campus know about Jay and you kissing, but here there was a photo to prove it. A photo that had not only spread through your department, but the whole campus at this point. Staring at the phone in Beomgyu’s hand, you were unable to stop your eyes from shifting down to the limited comments that were available, each one saying that they either saw this coming, or pointing out the fact you were making out in the library like heathens.

Unable to keep yourself calm, you decided it was best for you to leave. Skipping class was unlike you, but with the feelings that were filling you heart in that moment, you felt it was best, needing to get away, to just have a day off. “I, I’ve got to go.” You quickly muttered to Beomgyu, gathering your items as quickly as you could, before leaving the classroom.

Watching going through whatever turmoil was going on in your mind, Jay found himself caught up in the thoughts going through his mind as well. On one hand, Yujin would leave him alone now, but on the other, everyone thought the two of you were dating. Watching as you stormed out of the class, he was confused for a moment. You were often so strong, always willing to fight, but here you were all but running, and it looked almost as though there were tears pooling in your eyes as you left the classroom. He was quick to stand up, deciding to follow you, after all yesterday he said no one would trust what Yujin said, but he had not bet on her having a friend that was employed at the library and working yesterday afternoon. He ignored Beomgyu’s call to make sure his lover is alright, just wanting to do something he had never wanted to do to you before, apologize.

Leaving the classroom, you were unable to make it far before an arm grasped your own, stopping you where you stood. Coming face to face with no one other than Alex, the younger man stood there, obviously uncomfortable with what he was going to be doing. “Hey, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come on to you if I knew you had a boyfriend.” He said, almost like all those times he made you uncomfortable would have been okay if you were actually single. His words said one thing for certain, he was only sorry at the thought that he had attempted to come onto another guy's significant other, not that he was actually sorry for making you uncomfortable with his constant advances and appearances. Alex opened his mouth, about to speak more, but seeing someone over your shoulder, he instead closed his mouth, just bowing his head, muttering one last thing before running off. “I’m really sorry.” He muttered, but it was more directed towards the figure behind you, than to you.

From how Alex reacted, you did not need to turn around to know who stood behind you, it was of course Park Jongseong. “What do you want?” You asked, your voice cracking, as you finally turned around, looking him in the eye. You wanted nothing more than to continue running, but seeing how he already followed you this far, you knew he would follow you wherever you left to go.

As Jay’s eyes made contact with yours, he knew he was right, there were tears in your eyes. The person that was always so strong, always willing to fight, stood here in front of him, tears filling their eyes and their voice cracking, breaking. “Um,” He started, suddenly feeling unsure about what he was going to say. He suddenly felt worried, what if what he said made those tears actually start falling, what if he just hurt you worse than you already were. You might have been rivals, but other than in the case of grades, he did not actually want to see you hurting. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, I didn’t know that she had someone that would do that. If I was honest, I didn’t think Yujin would have any friends seeing how insufferable she is, let alone a friend that works at the library.” He said, like it helps somehow, like his apology would make everything better.

Shaking your head, you turned on your heel once more, starting to storm off. The only thought on your mind was getting home as quickly as possible, getting back into the safe walls of your apartment, only there could you forget everything that happened and all about Jongseong. Had you been looking behind you, you would have seen Jay reaching out his hand to grab you, only to clutch at air, as you moved before he could catch your arm. Weaving through the students, you ignored all the stares, especially when you heard the footsteps behind you, only attracting more attention than you had before. Walking faster and faster, you practically ran out of the hall, down the flight of stairs, and then out the front entrance of the building, just needing to get away from all of this, to get away from everyone, to get away from him.

Jay was quick to follow you out, he weaving through the students as you did, walking fast just behind you out of the building. Seeing you rounding the corner, he started to actually run, easily catching up to where you stood, grabbing your arm, yanking you back towards him. “Please, just hear me out.” He started, keeping a hold on your arm as he spoke, knowing the moment he let it go, you would run once again, and he would have to chase you all over again.

You stood there in silence, not wanting to do this now, honestly not wanting to do this ever, but you found yourself turning around, finally deciding to confront this issue. “Hear you out about what? How is it not a total trainwreck that all of our classmates think we are together? How is it not a total violation of my privacy that some photo of you kissing me is spreading around online? How I should be lucky it was you since I obviously couldn’t do any better on my own?” You started to rant, unsure exactly what was coming from your mouth half the time, your brain just taking over, and running on autopilot, words falling out without much of a thought put into them.

Jay shook his head, staring at you, listening to each thing that you said in that moment. “Just hear me out,” He said again, finally getting a nod from you, as you crossed your arms. “I know you think this is the worst thing that could happen, but think of it how I’m seeing it now. Yujin and her crew haven’t bothered me once, since those photos were spread. Think of that freshman, he apologized to you, have any of the other underclassmen been bothering you since those photos started to spread.” He started to explain, as much as he hated to suggest it or look at it this way, he valued not being followed by the girls that only came to college to find a husband even more.

“He didn’t apologize to me, he apologized since he thought he was messing with another man’s significant other.” You told him to start, pausing before continuing. “And yeah, sure, none of the other under or upperclassmen have bothered me since the photo was posted.” Quickly followed after, thinking of how none of the guys that were in your direct messages had messaged you within the last twelve hours.

“I’m just saying, they don't bother me and you aren’t being bothered anymore either.” Jay explained, the idea coming together in his head. “All I’m saying, let them think we are dating. Hell, we could pretend to be dating, that way we can keep our sanity, we keep them away from us, and we don’t have to worry about them bothering us anymore.” Jay suggested, unsure of what he thought this was a great idea, but he enjoyed the space he has gotten since they decided to leave him alone a little too much.

Scoffing at each word he spoke, you found yourself shaking your head, pretending to date, letting them think you are, what kind of world is he living in. “You must be the single stupidest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting in my life.” You started, staring at him in disbelief. “Pretend to date, no one would believe that, and that’s possibly the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

Listening to you speak, he shook his head, listening to how easily you discredited his idea. “Just think about it. When those pictures spread, all those freshmen that were bothering you stopped, just cold turkey, no longer messaging you anymore. They didn’t even question anything, they saw that photo and just believed it, so I think they would. But, you know if you would rather, we can deny it and I’m sure that one freshman, what was his name, Alec, would have no problem being quick to ask you out again, you know, if you want that.” He explained, seeing how easily they believed a photograph, saying you were dating would probably work just as easily.

The grimace quickly grew onto your face at his words, the mention of Alex finally making your mind think, maybe it is not that bad of an idea. “No, no, don’t.” You started, finally thinking about what he said fully. “But how would we make it believable, no one's gonna just believe it just started or anything, they are gonna want to know details, information, and the backstory.”

“Simple, we just worked out a fake backstory. Like how with our project we need to give our building a backstory, just like that, except it’s us.” Jay started to explain, “And we can just share our favorite things with each other, that way we know some things about each other, so if anyone asks, we know.” He said, nodding at his own idea, knowing it was a great one, but seeing the apprehension on your face, he continued. “We could consider this a project itself, like we are doing a project within our project.” He said.

Nodding your head, as much as you hated the idea of it all, the idea of being left alone seemed too good to resist. “Fine,” You started, before thinking of something that would definitely help this situation. “We need rules if we're gonna do this."

This was how you ended up sitting across from him, surrounded by an empty cafe, two half empty coffee cups on the table, and a notebook with a blue gel pen sitting on top of it. "Rule number one: no catching feelings." You were quick to say, writing it down, before looking up at Jay, seeing him nodding at the text.

“Rule number two; tell no one.” Jay added, seeing an odd look from you, as he spoke. “Don’t lie, I know you’ll tell Gaeul, and you and I both know, she can’t keep her mouth shut for anything.”

Nodding at his words, you quickly wrote it down. “Rule number three: no romantic shit.” You said, starting to write it down, only having the words rule number three down, when Jay’s hand stopped yours from writing.

Jay shook his head, grabbing your hand, stopping you after you had written down what rule you were on. “We have to do some of that romantic shit, as you put it, otherwise people won’t believe it. What about instead of ‘no romantic shit’, you put ‘only romantic shit when around others’.”

Shaking your head, you could not believe what he was saying, but you understood it to an extent. “What about, ‘romantic shit to an extent when others are around?” You proposed, seeing him nod his head, you quickly wrote it down.

“Rule number four: once all of this is over, we go back to hating each other, like none of it ever happened.” Jay suggested, watching as you wrote it down, before seeing you write rule number five, putting don’t fall in love again. “Why list that twice?” He questioned, just to see you shrug at the question. “Really helpful.”

Signing the paper, allowing him to sign it, you folded it, placing it into a pocket in your folder, almost like it was a real contract. “I guess we need to learn some basic things about each other too while we are at it.” You said, finishing your coffee, just before Jay gets up to get himself a new coffee.

That was how your day was spent, going over favorites, creating a backstory, making sure it was believable to others. “So, we hit it off after working together in a class last semester, kept a bit of a situationship before deciding to make it real this semester. We are still super competitive, but we don’t hate each other. Your favorite color is purple. You play the piano and guitar. Your favorite season is autumn. You enjoy cooking and playing video games.” You said, listing off the things you came up with, how you started to date, facts about him, and Jay did the same for you. As the cafe started to get more crowded, you realized how it was nearing noon, nearing the time that more and more students would be getting out. Noticing this, you decided to call it good for the day, allowing tomorrow to be your first official day dating.

"Hold my hand you dumbass." Was muttering under your breath, you attempting to slot your hand into Jay’s, as the two of you walked to class. The both of you slightly shivered as your hands finally intertwined, but luckily was invisible to the student eye, they instead saw a sweet couple walking hand in hand to class.

Jay had to resist the urge to grimace as his fingers intertwined with yours. “Your hand is sweaty.” He muttered under his breath, just loud enough you could hear it, but no others.

“And your hand is clammy.” You retorted back to him, allowing him to hold the door open, the two of you walking through the halls of the building your classes were in. Making your way to your classroom, you could tell other’s eyes were on you, but you honestly did not care, just happy at how the few underclassmen you had chasing you, were finally leaving you alone.

Entering the class, luckily it was empty, except for one person. One person who never comes early, but he could not resist the urge to see his favorite couple this early in the morning. “Oh, look at the lovebirds, even so enamored this early in the morning.” Beomgyu was quick to yell. Walking closer, you noticed that he had moved over into Jay’s seat, leaving his seat empty to allow Jay and yourself to sit together. “My favorite couple, making my heart swell with joy, I feel like cupid.” He started to ramble, running his mouth like he did shit in getting the two of you together.

Sitting down, Jay followed quickly after, seated next to you. The two of you grabbed your things out, getting ready for class to start. At some point both of you were just ignoring Beomgyu, he was talking like he was a relationship god for getting you two together. Only hearing the odd word from him, you were able to put together that he was talking about starting a company, a dating company, getting paid to pair couples together, since he was the human version of cupid.

You were ignoring him, until he started directly talking to you once more. “I’m just saying, I’m like a godly matchmaker, like if it wasn’t for me manifesting, you two wouldn’t be together. Like I manifested this, I could charge others and become a millionaire, you two being my first and favorite success story.” Beomgyu rambled on, like he had any part in this at all.

“Shut up, Beomgyu.” You were quick to tell him, having enough of this constantly rambling and talking. Holding his hands up, Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, causing you to ball your first, almost like you were planning on taking a swing at him. Shifting, Beomgyu was quick to lean as far back as he could, knowing you would not hit him, but not taking any chances. Jay was quick to catch your hand in his own, unfurling your curled fingers, and intertwining your hands. Starting to pull your hand out of his, a look of disgust almost coming over your face, you noticed the odd look from Beomgyu as he saw you moving, then the look upon Jay’s face, that made you just stop moving in all, staying still just accepting your fate. Staring down at your notebook on your desk, you slowly let out the breath you were holding out, trying to calm yourself. The last thing you needed to do was something stupid, since you knew if Beomgyu knew the truth, everyone on campus would within a matter of minutes.

Beomgyu was quick to make a soft noise, staring at the couple in front of his eyes. “Aw, don’t be shy, you two can hold hands in front of me, no need to be shy.” He started, thinking your reaction was shyness from him being there. “I am basically like your fairy godfather, so it’s okay, hold hands, sit together, kiss, it’s all good. I wish I was in love, seeing you two makes me want someone of my own.” Beomgyu started to talk again, going off topic with ease, going on and on about how he wants someone, how he actually thought Yujin was pretty hot, but she said he was not smart enough for her.

At some point, you were unable to hear Beomgyu anymore, the only thing on your mind being how Jongseong’s thumb was drawing small circles on your palm, just barely grazing the surface of your hand without a single thought. Despite the desire to rip your hand from his grasp, you knew what it would look like to the others, and the need to push the idea of this relationship, freed you from more things than you would gain from denying it. Since the rumor started there were no more weird guys in your direct messages suggesting tutoring sessions, that they hoped would turn into more. Jay was noticing something similar, since Yujin started the rumor, no longer did he receive the lingering stare of the single girls in the class, nor did he receive the whole spiel about how he was so handsome and so smart and they would like to go out with him. Despite the pain of the situation, the pros were outweighing the cons at this moment.

It was not long before your professor entered the classroom, her presence bringing all conversations to a stop as she started to teach. Only then did you let your hand drop from his, taking notes and making sure you document everything she said of importance. It felt odd, sitting in class next to Jay without the desire to argue with him, but honestly pretending to be with him was doing you more good than arguing with him would. The freedom you felt in this moment was nice, you were able to focus on the lecture and work, without the thoughts lingering in your head of the guys that would usually bother you within your social media.

Class ended at exactly the moment the video the professor was playing ended, she had her presentation timed down to the minute for the most efficiency. Placing your items into your bag, you went to stand up, only to be met by Jay grabbing your bag from you, swinging it over his shoulder. Watching as your bag landed on top of his backpack, you had to stop yourself from physically recoiling at the action. The rational part of your brain begged you to rip the purple strap of your bag from his hand, telling you to carry it yourself, but seeing how you had already frozen at his actions, you tried to just push on. Finally standing, you followed him out of the classroom, luckily, or rather unluckily you had your next class with him; you actually had all your classes with him, the fun of being the same major with identical course loads.

Walking besides him, fingers became intertwined, as your shoulders bumped together. Throughout the halls, you finally met a dead zone, no one being anywhere near the two of you, and the classes in that hall still being in session for a while more. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t carry your stuff?” Jay was quick to whisper around your ear, seeing him glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

Nodding, you found yourself understanding why he took it, but part of you wished he had not. “I have to disinfect it now since you’ve touched it.” Was all you replied back, continuing to walk alongside him. During this time, you thought about what led you to be in this situation, and how it seemed like the plot line of some b-rated drama. If anyone would have told you that you would be walking hand in hand with the person you considered your worst enemy, your biggest competition, Park Jongseong, you would have laughed in their face, and gone on with the rest of your day. Yet, despite the impossibility of that statement only a week ago, here you were doing just that. Finger intertwined, shoulders bumping together, with your bag slung over his shoulder, the two of you being a picture of a perfect college relationship, the kind of thing you would see a photo of on the instagram of someone who peaked in high school, yet thinks them and their significant other are the it couple of the campus.

Jay said nothing, just a slight laughing slipping through his lips, as he heard what you said. The rest of the walk was silent, until he opened the door to the next class for you. “After you,” he muttered as you walked past him, as he held the door open for you. The two of you quickly found your seats, placing your backpack on your table, before taking his seat behind you.

The silence of you two being the first in the classroom however did not last, as Beomgyu entered the classroom, taking his usual seat beside you. Class started without fail, and leaving class was just as it was before. That was how your day went from then on, Jay carrying your bag as the two of you walked hand in hand towards your next class. Having all the same classes made it irritating, as you had no chance to get away from him, or have any bit of freedom without him being around. Beomgyu sitting near the two of you in each class made it even more insufferable, as he talked about being a fairy godfather and how he was a top tier matchmaker, when he did not match shit.

This routine became a standard for the upcoming days and weeks. Like clockwork, Jay would be waiting outside your apartment building, the two of you would walk from the apartments to the architecture building. You would walk to class, and then after class you would walk to your next, this would repeat until the end of the day, when Jay would walk you back to the apartments. Each day he carried your bag without fail, you even stopped making jokes about disinfecting your bag, each time he touched it. It felt odd letting him do it, he carried your bag with little complaint, not even your actual boyfriends had done that, each having some sort of complaint about the weight of your books, the size of your bag, and what was in it. Instead, Jay carried it without word, even when the two of you would meet up to work on your project, he carried it, even when you knew no one around went to the college, or knew who you were. He was being a better fake boyfriend than your real boyfriends had been boyfriends. It was irritating to think of how someone you hate, was somewhat treating you better than someone who claimed to love you. Despite the cute acts, the two of you still exchanged harsh words, academic arguments happened over rushed whispers, others thinking it was a loving couple exchanging sweet nothings and compliments, when instead it was really bragging about grades and competencies, pointing out each other’s flaws in detail, and letting one another know about failures and disappointments that the other brought about.

Even as you met the requirement for meeting for your project, the fake dating continued, soon branching from just being while class was in session, to when around campus, and eventually when off campus as well. Lunch meetings, you refused to call them dates, became a regular occurrence; as did dinner meetings, and shopping meetings. The two of you genuinely looked like a perfectly put together couple, unknown to anyone that within the idyllic fantasy was two people who were practically strangers putting on the performance of their lives. This was how you ended up here, at a party.

You were never one for parties, preferring a small close knit party to a large frat rager. Yet, Jay having to attend these frequently, thanks to his friends Heeseung and Jake, brought up how odd it appeared for him to show up alone, and he could only say you were sick so many times, before the boys would start questioning things. This was how you ended up here, holding a half empty cup, Jay had sworn it was water, but part of you had yet to pull together the desire to test whether it was water or vodka. You were standing near Jay, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist, as he chatted away with his friends. As he noticed you standing uncomfortable, he shifted the two of you, and his conversation around, moving towards the open sofa and recliner in the living room of the frat house.

As Jay took a seat, he noticed you going to sit besides him, immediately stopping you. "Don't worry darling, you can sit on my lap.” Jay said aloud, pulling you into his lap in one harsh movement. “Gotta sell this to the people don't we?” He softly muttered in your ear, knowing that you and only you were able to hear that. Yet, it was true, it would be odd if the ‘oh so in love’ couple were sitting apart. It would lead to rumors, is there trouble in paradise, was paradise nonexistent, is the couple no longer a couple. These rumors would open the idea of too many things, most that would not bode well for either of you, so it was easier to pretend to be a cute in love couple, than be truthful.

Leaning back, you felt comfortable in his lap, despite every part of your rational brain telling you to stand up, get away from him, to not think he was comfortable to rest against. The smell of his cologne filled your nostrils, it was a warm and comforting scent, and you hated it, you should not like it, and it should not have grown comfortable to you. As the night drew on, you found yourself getting cold, having not dressed properly for the frat party, you had no jacket or coat to keep you warm. As Heeseung and Jake left to refill their cups, "I want your hoodie... to sell the dating lie,” You told him, turning around, to look him in the face, knowing that it was honestly only partially a lie, you were cold and it would sell the dating lie, but you also wanted it since it smelled like his cologne, a scent you had grown to like, a scent that you should buy your future boyfriend, once this whole situation is over.

“Next time dress properly,” Jay was first to say, almost like a mother scolding her child for not wearing a jacket when going outside in the cold weather. Yet, despite this, he easily slipped it off, helping you to slip it on over your head, and straightening it once you had it on. As he did this, one of the nearby drunk girls started to fawn over the two of you, her friend dragging her away as he lamented about how no guy would ever do that for her.

The peace from Jay’s friends leaving was waning, as someone even more annoying showed up, Beomgyu. Sober Beomgyu was annoying as hell, so you could only imagine what sort of level of hell drunk Beomgyu would unlock, and you were not prepared for it, whatever it was. Beomgyu was quick to sit besides the two of you, he was practically sitting on Jay’s lap almost, as he tried to get closer and closer to the two of you. “Lookie here, it’s my favorite couple.” He started, each of the words slurred, and his speech drawn out. “You two little love birds, I love you both so fucking much.” He continued on, watching as the two of you looked at each other, the eye contact you shared being enough to egg him on further. “Oh, no, don’t let me interrupt this little lovers moment. You two just do your little lovers thing. I see you eyeing each other, you two can kiss in front of me, you can also do more, I wouldn’t judge, my sweet little love birds.” Beomgyu continued on, encouraging the two of you to kiss, at some point, he stopped talking, just staring, encouraging, almost as though he was waiting for it.

Despite how badly you wanted Beomgyu to leave the two of you alone, it seemed in his drunken state, the only thing that would get him to leave was the two of you doing exactly what he wanted, the two of you kissing. Despite your unspoken pleas and prayers, he did not leave, and instead you found yourself turning to Jay, unsure of what to say, yet, luckily Jay spoke instead. “I don’t think he’ll go until we kiss, just play along.” He whispered into your ear, receiving a short nod, before his lips were on yours.

The kiss was more intense than the one you shared before, the one that started this whole mess, it was no longer just his lips pressed against yours, but yours were reciprocating. As your lips moved against each other, Beomgyu let a single gasp slip, he was absolutely enraptured in what the two of you were doing. As he reacted like a shocked movie goer, you felt Jay’s lips moving around, from your lips to your chin, but you found yourself unable to tell him to stop. Beomgyu’s gasp simply encouraged Jay’s actions, as he started to kiss along your neck, making his way down your throat. Eventually stopping at one specific spot, starting to suck along it, as your hands made their way into his hair. Tugging at the strands of hair, Beomgyu was not the only one caught up in the actions between you and your fake boyfriend, yells from Jay’s friends soon caught your attention, and at that he finally parted from your neck.

Resting your head on his shoulder, trying to hide the redness that was overtaking your face, you watched as the drunk spectators all went on. Beomgyu back to the kitchen for another drink, while Jake dragged Heeseung with him onto the dance floor. "Do you think they bought the act?" Came out as a breathless whisper, as you still tried to catch and retain a stable breath.

"While I kissed you down your throat? They definitely did, honey." Jay was quick to whisper back in your ear. His words were stable and steady, he was not as out of breath as you were after that, despite him being the one who did most of the action.

As he spoke, only one thing came to mind,“This doesn’t change anything between us.” You were quick to whisper into his ear, wanting to make sure to establish a boundary, a line, that no matter how many times you may have to do this, it changes nothing. He is your fake boyfriend, you are his fake significant other, and that is all you are to each other. Your words were more for yourself than him, a reminder to yourself, since you were finding yourself able to bear his presence. A presence you honestly would have only weeks ago hated being around.

Sensing a shift in the mood, Jay was quickly to get you standing, before he led you towards the roof. Finally getting away from everyone, you felt the freedom to be yourself, as did he. Yet, somehow instead of staying apart on opposite ends of the roof, you found yourself standing next to him. Staring up at the stars, the night sky was gorgeous when the common light pollution from the surrounding buildings was not obscuring it.

The silence with him was oddly comforting. Just the two of you, the cool breeze, the scent of his cologne in the air, and billions of stars illuminating the contours of each other’s faces. It was not long before Jay’s voice broke the silence, he started to point out different stars, different constellations, and explain some of them to you. It was odd, in the two years of classes you had with him, you would have never guessed he had a secret love for astronomy. Yet, you were not complaining, your eyes just following his pointing, observing the stars as he pointed out everything. “I would have never guessed you loved astronomy.” Was muttered, just barely heard by Jay.

Shifting his hand from one star to the next, he heard your words, just barely audible over the sound of the rushing wind. “Did you ever care to ask?” He murmured back to you, allowing the topic to drop, as he continued to tell you more about constellations. “There are also some we can’t see without a telescope, like the Perseus and Andromeda constellations.” He started, shifting so he was laying against the roof, tugging your sleeve, pulling you down with him, before he continued. “Princess Andromeda was the daughter of Queen Cassiopeia, she was very beautiful, so beautiful that the Queen proclaimed her more beautiful than Poseidon’s daughters. Poseidon, not liking that, decided to punish them, sending a sea monster, Andromeda’s own father, King Cepheus thought that if they sacrificed her, the sea monster would go away. However, before the sea monster could devour her, Perseus saw her, falling in love with her at first sight. An agreement was made, he would kill the sea monster, and in turn would have her hand in marriage. Yet, she had already been promised to another man, he fought for her and won, then boom happily ever after.” He told you, unbeknownst to you, it was his favorite constellation and story, it was one that had loved since the moment his mother told him the story when he was young. His mother had a love of astronomy as well, teaching him everything she knew, his own favorite constellation, being hers as well.

Laying on the ground, Jay’s arm around your shoulders, keeping your head from resting on the dirty ground. Despite the chill of the wind, it felt comfortable, you felt comfortable, he was oddly comforting as he spoke about the constellations. It was interesting, you could tell when it was one he liked, he spoke with more conviction, with more joy, he enjoyed the topic more, than he did when talking about the generic ones he did not like as much. Your head rested on his shoulder, eyes still staring straight up, captivated by the twinkling and shining stars above your head. So many thoughts came to mind as you observed the stars, yet, none of them slipped past your lips, instead you enjoyed the silence, enjoying the moments before you would return to the party.

It was Jay who broke the silence, his voice soft, you barely heard him, and even then, you still think you misheard him. “You think we’ll end up falling in love.” The words were quiet, not even entirely audible, but he honestly did not care if you heard him, nor did you care whether you heard him properly.

At his words, you found yourself getting up quickly, reaching a hand out to him, to help him up. “I think we should go.” You were hastily saying, wanting to get out of here. The ideas flooding your mind were not welcome, and after spending the day with him, you just wanted to be all alone to suffer with the thoughts going on in your mind.

Instead of standing, he just stared at you, the stars illuminating the area behind you, broadcasting you like some sort of beauty, but he could only wish it was someone he actually loved standing in front of him, not you. It took a few moments before Jay stood, the two of you making your way out of the party, ignoring the calls and yells from his friends and Beomgyu. Leaving the party, a sudden wave of fatigue hit you, Jay walked you to your apartment, before leaving to go to his own.

As you found yourself falling into your bed, the thoughts of what had happened tonight flooded your mind. The thoughts flowing through your mind at lightning speed, before you eventually found yourself lulled to sleep.

After that night, you found yourself oddly enough getting closer and closer to the male, becoming accustomed to his presence, feeling uncomfortable when not around him, it was almost like you were really dating. It was just like a friendship was being formed,or something, you were unsure what exactly it was. No longer did your time alone consist of bickering constantly, but instead it was filled with actual conversation, sharing interest, and more than just bragging and arguing.

This was how you ended up with him sitting at your kitchen table on this Sunday afternoon. You two may have already met the requirement for in person meetings for your project, but the desire to go above and beyond by both of you, made that requirement nothing more than a simple number. Both of you had easily gone over that number, sometimes even meeting twice in one day to work on the project, both destined to get the highest score possible on this assignment. It was on this day that you were working on the display aspect of your project.

Two days prior both of you had raided the supply closet, taking just exactly what you needed for your display, to make the perfect model of a modern art museum and the surrounding garden. Jay sat trimming down little fake bushes, starting to create the outline of the garden, while you sat attempting to open another package of fake plants. The utility knife you were using made quick work of the thick tape keeping the package closed, but it also made quick work of your hand, slicing your palm as you made a quick downward movement, not closing the blade quick enough. A pained gasp came from your mouth, as you dropped the knife, it closed before hitting the floor with a sound. Trying to hold your hand, attempting to stop the bleeding, the action was caught by the person sitting across from you.

"Why did you hurt yourself?" Jay was quick to say, his body moving around the table towards you with speed. He quickly grabbed your hand, the napkins on the table from your midwork snack, quickly being pressed against the wound, as he tried to stop the bleeding.

Watching as Jay tended to your injury, you found yourself trying to tug your hand out of his. “It’s not that bad.” Was what you said first, but he did not listen to you in any capacity, just continuing to apply pressure to the cut. "None of your-"

Jay’s grip on your hand did not leave, he instead started to steer you towards the sink in your kitchen. Luckily it was only a few feet from the kitchen table that you two were seated at working. "Yeah, then fuck you. My bad for caring." He said without much thought, starting the sink, allowing the water to stream out. Removing the napkins, he pulled your hand under the water starting to wash out the cut, while seeing how deeply you had injured yourself.

"For an asshole, you make a pretty good boyfriend." fell from your lips as he cleaned the injury out. Taking care of you like someone who genuinely cared for you would. It was odd, no one was here to see his actions, but he still gently tended to you, cleaning out the cut before starting to get ready to bandage up your hand, once you pointed him towards the first aid kit you kept in the kitchen.

As he made sure you would not bleed out on your floor, he finally released your hand, leaning against the counter of your kitchen, looking at you, before grabbing the kit. “I could say the same about you.” Jay was honestly a bit surprised at how well this had been working, how easily you two played the part, your Oscar worthy performances tricking everyone around you.

You would never admit it, it would hurt your ego and probably inflate his, but sometimes you wished it was not fake. The enjoyment of being around him, how he genuinely listened to you and gingerly treated you, he was a better boyfriend than your actual ex boyfriends were. You found yourself wishing when he would kiss your cheek, that he was doing it out of love, not because Yujin was staring. You found yourself wishing when he was carrying your backpack to and from class, that it was actually because he was your boyfriend, not because he was just playing the part. It hurt sometimes, hearing the comments from others about how perfectly matched the two of you were. Both overachievers, getting degrees in architecture, and a desire to be top of the class; so many similarities, of course the two of them would fall in love, but you genuinely wished that look of love others claimed to see was real.

Resting against the counter, you sat on the marble tile as he started to bandage your hand. When it started, holding his hand felt like nothing, you could only feel how sweaty and clammy his hand was, but as the days turned to weeks, it felt more comforting, almost like maybe it was where your hand belonged. You would never admit it to him, the thought that you felt maybe you were falling for him, maybe you were no longer feeling that hatred and pain you once felt for and around him, but instead you felt a slight tinge of joy when walking hand in hand with him, when seeing his face seated next to you in class. Sometimes you even find yourself getting lost while thinking of the idea of his face, the idea of his lips against yours once again, the idea of this all coming to end sometimes soon and the pain you would hold afterwards.

It was not long before Jay had finished tending to your hand. “And there you go.” he muttered, before helping you down from the counter where you sat. His hands felt natural around your waist, as he picked you up before putting you back down. You enjoyed the feeling far too much, way more than you should. You should hate the idea of his hands on you, the idea of his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you close, but you did not, you could not even if you tried.

You were the one who so vehemently demanded the to add the rule about not falling in love, so passionate about it, you added it twice, it being rule number one and number five on the singular piece of paper that bound the two of you together. You just wanted to say fuck the rules, fuck the paper, and fuck the feelings you were having. Weeks ago you would have thought your dazzling personality would enrapture this man enough to fall in love with you, someone he would never have. But instead, here you were the one breaking your own rule, finding yourself falling in love with someone you would never have, since one day all this would be over, you would say the contract is finished, and he would go happily upon his way, and you would do the same. Yet, he would be a lot happier seeing this end, than you would be.

Sitting back down, Jay took the packages, instead handing you the ones that were already open. “So that doesn’t happen again.” He explained, starting to empty the boxes so you can work on the project without the risk of injuring yourself again.

The project was one that was simple enough to complete, the museum had already been built from foam, and all you had to do was arrange it and the garden. The afternoon quickly turned into evening, and soon you were putting the finishing touches onto the display, and it was ready to be presented to your professor. Having already completed all the written work, it meant that your project for this money was complete. You may have hated it to start, but you were thankful that partners were for the rest of the semester, not just this project, since at least it meant you had two more months to enjoy this treatment, to enjoy being with Jay, before it would all probably come to an end.

As Jay placed the display on the island of your kitchen counter, it was odd, there was a knock at the door. You were in the midst of putting everything up, about to tell him to grab his stuff so he could leave. Moving away from the table, you did not even make it to the door before it flew open. Standing there was your mother, a person who had your spare key against your better judgment.

“My baby,” The older woman said, kicking her shoes off with speed, before crossing the few feet that separated the two of you, pulling you into a hug. At that action, you were unable to move, just letting her hug you as much as she wished. After a moment, she finally released you, looking around, a gasp slipping out of her mouth with ease, as she sees Jay’s shoes sitting on the ground by your shoes. “You have someone over?” She was quick to ask, just as Jay exited the kitchen, coming to look for you.

The scene was an odd one, your mother fawning over Jay, just assuming he was your boyfriend without much word from you. “This must be the young man that Beomgyu set you up with.” Your mother said, but you were stunned at her words, unable to speak. “He’s such a lovely young man, he told his mother all about how he was playing matchmaker and set you up with such an amazing young man. His mother told me all about it at our monthly hair appointment.”

Honestly, you should have expected that much, Beomgyu did believe he was some sort of relationship god and that he manifested the relationship between Jay and yourself. You also should have expected your mother to find out about it sooner or later, after all she was best friends with Beomgyu’s mom, that being a large reason why you were somewhat friends with the odd person. Sheer panic set in, you wondering just what he had told his mother, and just how she twisted those words in telling your own mother.

Jay was oddly able to sense the stress you felt from this situation, and reacted accordingly. Seeing the woman that he overheard call you their baby, he assumed this was your mother, and seeing how she seemed to know about the fake relationship, he acted accordingly. “Yes, I’m Jay, their boyfriend.” He said with ease, walking closer, sticking out his hand to your mother, however your mother was quick to pull him into a hug, squeezing him just as she did to you.

“Oh, if I knew you were here with your boyfriend, I would have come on a different day to visit you.” Your mother started, finally letting Jay go, acting as though she would have come another day, when you know she really would have come today, just probably at an earlier time. “I was going to take you out to dinner, but I may as well just take you both, my little love birds.” She said, as she eyed the two of you, going as far as to send a wink your way. You knew from that alone that you were in for an earful later, she was probably never going to shut up about how handsome and polite he was, or about how he was nicer in the five minutes she knew him than your ex’s were.

Jay was quick to shake his head, starting to refuse the offer, starting to come up with some lie so that he could leave, but seeing the look on your mother’s face, he knew it would not work. “Um, sure, why not. I have no objections, Mrs.” He said, his hand slipping into yours with ease, watching as you nodded your head.

Your mother was quick to notice his action, a smile quickly coming upon her face. “Oh goody, come on children,” She started, turning on her heel to go towards the door once more, “and don’t call me Mrs. just call me mom,” she added, conveniently stopping herself from saying since she’d be his mother in law soon, despite how badly she wanted to, slipping her shoes back on before opening the door. “Let’s go, mimosas wait for no one.” She said, stepping out of the apartment, waiting on the two of you.

This was how you ended up sitting next to Jay, while your mother sat across from you, leading the conversation. She went on and on about what she was doing in life, her job and everything, especially mentioning everything she had heard from Beomgyu’s own mother about his matchmaking abilities. She then turned the conversation onto Jay, doing her best to get the ‘get to know the parents’ conversation out of the way. He spoke with her with ease, it made you slightly saddened watching the two of them speak, she was getting along better with Jay than she had any of your other ex’s, and this was not even a real relationship for this level of attention. When you agreed to fake date Jay, you never thought that it would lead to the two of you having a nice dinner with your mother, and it was oddly going great.

As the three of you started to wrap everything up, Jay excused himself for a moment. During this time, your mother wasted no time starting to talk. “Oh my gosh, he’s so nice and polite. You really picked a good one this time, unlike your ex’s. He’s so handsome too, like oh my I’m going to have to tell Beomgyu’s mom all about this, she’ll be so proud her little boy set you up with such an amazing man. And you two are the same major and all, and he’s just as passionate about it as you are. I just think it’s a match made in heaven.” Your mother rambled, she honestly would have continued, had it not been for her seeing Jay on his way back to the table. Sending a quick wink to you, she stood, and you followed, the three of you making your way back towards your apartment after she paid.

"I'm pretty sure my mom likes you way more than any of my actual partners." Was the first thing out of your mouth, once Jay and yourself were safely within the confines of your apartment. It was honestly ridiculous, the first one of your boyfriends that your mom likes, is the one that is not really your boyfriend. Every other one she had some sort of complaint about, he was too work oriented, he was too controlling, he was lazy, he was uncaring, he was rude. But she had not a complaint for Jay, instead she spilled out compliments, he is committed to his school work, he is passionate about architecture, he is kind, he is polite, and he is handsome.

To your dislike, laughter was all you heard from Jay for a moment. “I guessed that,” he said through his laughter. “The way she couldn’t even wait until I was out of earshot, before she started talking. What was it she said again? ‘Oh, he’s so handsome and polite, unlike your usual boyfriends’.” He said, recalling the exact words your mother had said only minutes prior to the three of you leaving the restaurant.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” You muttered, walking through the living room, you found yourself sitting on your sofa. The scene felt too comfortable, like the man in front of you was not someone you would have argued with and yelled at only weeks prior. The comfortable feeling you gained around Jay was not on your list of things that might happen, it was not even anywhere near the list. Repeating the mantra in your head, you were the one after all that added ‘no catching feelings’ to the list, not just once, but twice.

Jay laughed at your words, still in the process of removing his own shoes, just as you had. “Oh, don’t worry, I will.” He jokingly said, following you without a word into the living room. He went to sit beside you, the tone in the room completely shifting, he watched as you shot up, sitting straight, causing him to look around, remembering where was. He was not with his friends, he was at your apartment, and he needed to leave. “I think I’ll head out.”

“I think you should go.” You spoke at the exact same time as he did, both seeming to realize where you were, the tone of the room was no longer jovial and happy, it was awkward and unsure. You were unsure of whether you wanted to really go, but you had already spoken, already told him to leave. You were also unsure how he would react if you asked him to stay, would he say no and leave or would he laugh in your face, or maybe he would catch on and make fun of you for possibly breaking one of the few rules you had outlined for this.

Jay was quick to nod his head, bag in his hand, and he was out your door before you could think of anything else. Standing up, you were fast to follow him, closing the door behind him, locking it, before leaning against it. Staring at the beige wall across from the door, you tried to compose yourself, but failed. Back against the door, slumping down, you found yourself sitting on the floor. Soon your hands were covering your face, soft sobs coming from your mouth as the events of today and the past few weeks finally fully started to be interpreted in your mind. The soft sobs quickly turned to full sobs, your shirt becoming tear soaked quickly, unable to stop the tears from falling.

The thoughts of the feelings you felt holding his hand, kissing him on the cheek, him kissing your cheek, it was all too much. He would carry your bag, he would always wrap an arm around you, he would walk you to and from classes, even carrying your stuff when you would work at the cafe or library instead of letting you. It was too real, it felt too real, you wanted it to be real. The realization that you never really hated him, was a tough one. You two were always nothing more than rivals, encouraging each other to do better, to get higher scores, to try to outdo the other. He was so much like you, you had the same passion for your chosen field, enjoyed all the paperwork and crafting, and had the same desire to be the best. This whole situation was not something you would have thought would happen, you were usually happily fine just competing with him, not having to be around him except in class. Yet, finally admitting to yourself what you felt was difficult, but the worst part was knowing he did not and would not feel the same. Your mother loved him, you felt like at some point you would love him as well, but he would never love you.

Hands intertwined, you found yourself being walked from class to the library, once again the two of you meeting to make sure your project was finalized. If the events of the past few months were odd, no longer were you arguing and yelling, instead the conversations consisted of teasing and light bickering. No longer did the two physically cringe when your hands met, instead you silently reveled in the feeling, how his hand enveloped yours and felt within your grasp. Enjoying how he would lead you around the campus with ease, hands intertwined, swinging to and fro as you walked side by side.

The end of the semester was coming, and you thought that it would mean the end of whatever was going on between Jay and yourself as well. The semester would end, the fake dating would end, all the feelings you had towards him would be pushed aside, and the next semester you would come back and fall back into your pattern of being rivals and hating one another. At the start of this agreement, you genuinely could not wait for it to be over, but now as it was nearing its end, you wished for it to continue. Struggling with the realization of your feelings towards Jay, even fake dating him was better than nothing, and you would rather continue doing that, than having nothing from him.

Faking dating him was better than being nothing more than a rival to him. The feelings you felt you wished would just disappear, push them into the back of your mind like they never existed, like they had never existed. Soon you will go back to just being a rival with him, the only thing connecting the two of you is the desire to outdo the other, the need to score higher, to do better, to be the best. The warm feeling flooding your chest when you held hands, would be gone. The joy you felt from just spending time with him, even if it was nothing more than doing homework together. The happiness that would overcome your being, just from the small things he would do when with you. Meeting him in the morning, him having gotten you your favorite morning drink, would stop. He always carrying your favorite snacks in his bag, for mid study session snacks, would no longer be there. He remembered and always ordered your favorite pastries, when the two of you would work at the cafe, would be gone. Most of all, he walking you to and from class, making sure you got home safe, and constantly checking in on you throughout the day, would stop.

As the two of you rode in the elevator, Jay could sense something was wrong. There was no conversation flowing, there were no witty remarks, and there was nothing going on between the two of you. “Hey,” His voice was soft, as he caught your attention, his hand coming up, tilting your face up to look at him. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his thumb starting to stroke your cheek. “Do you not feel well?” He added. As you attempted to shake his hand off your face, he however stood there, not moving. “Hey, tell me what’s wrong. If you don’t feel well, we can finalize the project on another day. I can take you back to your apartment, we can get you your favorite tea, and just take a rest day.”

"You're not my boyfriend, why do you keep saying romantic and caring things?” You were unable to stop the first thought in your mind from slipping past your lips. Immediately after, you gasped, realizing what you had said.

Jay however did nothing more than laugh, hearing your words. "So... you think I'm romantic and caring.” He replied with ease, a smirk starting to come upon his face, at your words.

“No,” Immediately slipped from your mouth, attempting to answer him and defend yourself. “I just…” Unable to think of a reply, with all the thoughts in your mind, none of them came out. There was no one around, so why was he being so sweet to you? Why did he always do this, getting you coffee and tea in the mornings, getting you snacks, making sure you were alright. These were things a boyfriend would do, which he was not yours, and a fake boyfriend would not do these things in private. Jay not only did those things around others, but also when it was just the two of you. He would always say some bullshit about how he likes to be consistent, but consistency was making your heart skip a beat, consistency was making the butterflies in your stomach go crazy, consistency was making you feel things for him that you should not be feeling for him.

Luckily, you were saved by the elevator doors opening, unable to respond, and instead just listening to his laughter, before he pulled you from the elevator, over to your usual table. The past few days had gotten harder and harder to spend time with him without the feelings flooding your mind taking over all rational thought. It was getting to the point that you were unable to spend time with him, without wishing this was real, that the way he held your hand was genuine, that the way he spoke to you was all you ever wanted in the world. He was so sweet and romantic and caring, but it was not real, it was not actually a relationship, despite how badly you wished it was.

“Hey, if you don’t feel well, we can just raincheck today?” Jay’s voice breaks your train of thought, he watches as you shake your head.

You did not want to let him know what was going on, and instead just put a smile on your face, wanting to get this day over with. “I’m fine, let’s just finish this up and then we can go our separate ways.” You suggested.

Jay was quick to look around as he heard your words. “Let’s finish the last parts of the project, and then I think we need to go to the cafe, to talk about our, you know, situation.” The finalization of your project was completed with ease, just making sure that each and every part of the rubric was answered and all ready to be turned in.

As the both of you had checked the last question on the paper, making sure it was answered, you started to pack up your supplies, ready to leave, to finally get back to your apartment. However, you were unable to get all of your things packed, before Jay’s voice caught your attention. “Hey, let’s go to the cafe, we need to discuss something. Then I’ll walk you home, okay?” He said, and you only nodded, just wanting to get this day over with.

Once again, you were hand in hand with him, Jay holding your backpack, as you walked across campus with him to the cafe. As you took a seat in your usual spot,the secluded table at the corner, you waited for Jay. It was hard to keep yourself from smiling as he put down your favorite drink. He always remembered all these little things. These were things that even your ex’s would not remember, your favorite drink, food, snack, and just everything. Despite the desire to enjoy the moment, you left the drink where it sat, looking up at Jay. “What did you want to talk about?”

Jay was sipping at his coffee when he heard your voice, deciding he might as well just get to the point. “I know we said that we should just do this until the end of the semester, but I think it might be good for us to continue after coming back from winter break.” He was quick to say. “I just think it would be best, like Yujin and her friends have been leaving me alone, and I know the freshmen aren’t bothering you, and I just think it would be best for us to continue. I mean, I feel like we don’t hate each other as much anymore, and just don’t you feel better without having to worry about them. We can just continue and then maybe once Yujin latches onto someone else, we can end it.” He offered.

Nodding your head, you found yourself agreeing without even thinking about it. “Yet, I guess that makes the most sense.” You said without a single thought in your head, you were trying to not think about this. Trying not to think about how his hand would hold yours, how he would kiss your cheek, and how he would say the sweetest words to you without much thought. Trying not to think about how much it would hurt hearing those words knowing he did not really mean it, holding his hand knowing he would rather be holding someone else’s hand, and feeling his lips on your cheek knowing it was only there for show.

You watched as Jay responded with nothing more than a nod, sipping at his drink once more. The silence was usually comfortable, yet, you found yourself uncomfortable. Sipping at your drink, trying to finish it a bit quicker than you usually would have, wanting nothing more than to leave. As you quickly finished the drink, you stood, grabbing your bag, throwing it over your shoulder, before Jay could try to grab. “Take your time, I’m just gonna head out.”

Jay was fast to stand, watching as you started to grab your stuff. “Hey, I’ll walk you back.” He said, starting to grab his own things, it was odd how you wanted to leave so quickly, but he did not question it.

Shaking your head, stepping away, ready to go. “No, it’s fine. Just enjoy your coffee, I just want a moment alone.” You tried to assure him, watching as Jay slowly nodded, before he slowly sat down, deciding not to fight you on this. Leaving the cafe, the walk back to your apartment was lonely, you were accustomed to Jay being beside you, his pace always slowed down to meet your pace. As you walked, you had time to think, the thoughts of everything flooded your mind. The thoughts of what you had agreed to, and how it was affecting you, only months ago you would have not enjoyed just being with Jay, only months ago you would have not wanted to be around Jay, and only months ago you would have not been falling for Jay.

December came and went with little fanfare. The project was done, presented, and graded with a wonderful score of ninety-eight. Winter came and went, the break being far to short, before it was time to resume classes. The weeks you had away from campus gave you time to think about everything that was going on, and think you did. However, you came to no conclusions, instead every single thought helped you in no way at all. As winter break came and left, you found yourself back on campus, falling back into the routine you had with Jay from the semester before.

Being the same major, having the same classes, and the same professors meant that the two of you were often together. It was routine for you two at that point, Jay picking you up from your apartment, walking to campus with you, walking you to class, and then at the end of the day walking you back to your apartment. It was hard to pretend like everything was alright, especially like the whole relationship was nothing more than your contract.

It was almost the end of January when the two of you went out to your first part, from being back on campus after winter break. Of course it was a frat party, once again Heeseung and Jake talked Jay into coming to the party, and he only agreed if you were to come with him. Parties were still not your thing, specifically frat parties. The faint smell of body odor, the faint stickiness of all the surfaces, and the loud booming edm music playing through the speakers; it was just not what you enjoy, but you were here for Jay, not yourself.

Sitting in his lap, after he said some shit about saving a seat for the others, felt odd. You would rather be sitting alone, maybe five feet away from him, or even just in a total other room, that way you would not be feeling these butterflies in your stomach at how his hands held you around your stomach. “I need some air.” You said to Jay, before prying his hands from you, and standing up, quickly going out the door. The stuffiness of the room was too much, the feeling of him holding you was too much, and the thoughts in your mind were too much. Leaning against the porch fencing, you found yourself sitting on the ground, trying to calm yourself, knowing you would have to go back into the party at some point or people would ask questions.

However, you were unable to relax too much, since after only three minutes, Jay was slipping out of the door to rejoin you. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked, sitting on the porch, right besides you. “If you don’t want to be here, we can leave.” He offered. “You also don’t have to come with me to the parties, if you don’t want to.” He added. Jay would never admit it, however he did not want you to be uncomfortable, and he felt bad for having you come with him, since you were obviously not enjoying yourself here. He was not one for these large parties either, but someone had to keep Jake and Heeseung from themselves, and until their other Sunghoon made it here, it was Jay that had that task.

Shaking your head, you leaned against the fence, just closing your eyes. “No, it’s fine. You can go back in, don’t worry about me.” You were quick to tell him, but had you been looking, you would have seen the look on his face that told you he would not stop worrying, and he would honestly probably worry more.

“Hey, let’s go.” Jay said, standing up, offering you his hand, deciding if you were not going to tell him what was going on, then he would take you elsewhere. “Heeseung and Jake will be fine until Sunghoon gets here, it’ll only be like ten minutes, what’s the worst they can do in that time, shave their heads? They wouldn’t, they couldn’t pull off being bald.”

Looking up at Jay, you found yourself laughing, before finally giving him your hand, letting him help you up. Jay was fast to lead you through the house, out of the house, and then down towards the close convenience store. “Thank you.” You muttered, unknown to you whether you heard him or not.

“It’s okay, but you need to tell me if you don’t want to be places. I’d rather leave than make you stay somewhere you don’t want to be.” Jay told you, leading you over to the outdoor table, outside the convenience store. “Stay right here, I’ll be right back.” he said, pushing you into one of the seats.

Sitting down, you watched as Jay went into the store. Not even ten minutes later, he exited, bag and two bowls in hand. Jay had set one down in front of you, looking at it, you noticed it was your favorite ramen. That bowl was soon followed by a bottle of your favorite drink, and then a bag of your favorite snacks. “Thank you.” You said to Jay, watching as he already started to eat his ramen, he encouraged you to do the same.

“Honestly, I don’t really like frat parties either.” Jay started, as he watched you start eating. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for Heeseung and Jake needing someone to keep them from doing stupid things, I wouldn’t go either. I probably haven’t told you about why they need to be babysat when they drink, have I?” Jay continued, as he ate his own food. “So once, they were both completely shitfaced, like drunk off their asses, and they got this great idea, well great to them. They decided to go get matching tattoos. They found some shady little place that was still open, and got matching tattoos. They somehow thought it was a great idea to get brothers tattooed on each other, but they misspelled what they wanted, so instead of saying brothers, it says bothers.” As he told you, Jay found himself happy, watching as you started laughing at his story, it was one of the first times in a while he had seen you genuinely happy. He was unsure what was going on, but he did not like it, despite the fact he would have not admitted it to you.

Listening to him, you found yourself laughing. Oddly enough, the tattoos saying bothers instead of brothers made sense as well, since Heeseung and Jake were both a bother to many people. “I can’t believe that’s why they need a babysitter.” You muttered, looking down as you noticed that you had finished your ramen, the snack and drink being soon to follow.

It was not long before both of you had finished everything, and Jay started to help you clean up, throwing all the trash away. “I guess I’ll get headed home.” You said, as Jay spoke.

“Wait right here for a moment.” Jay said, standing, and heading back into the store.

Watching as he walked away, you decided maybe the night did not need to come to an end so soon, and instead waited for him. Soon he returned, bag in hand, and soon your hand was in his other hand. He started to lead you towards your apartment, but you somehow knew that you were not going there.

Jay led you through the streets, going towards the park that was near your apartment. “I want to show you something.” He said, taking you through the streets, towards the grassy knolls of the park. It only took about ten minutes of walking more, before he found where he was taking you.

Soon, you were in an open field, the close street lights were blocked by tree cover, and the only light illuminating the area was the cloudless sky. As you were staring up at the stars, seeing how clear and beautiful the sky was, Jay was busy opening the bag, spreading the blanket he had bought out on the ground, sitting down, before grabbing your hand, to get you to do the same. “This is what you bought.” You muttered, before sitting down next to him. Soon, your back was on the blanket, staring up at the stars, as Jay did the same.

As you started to stare up at the sky once more, Jay started pointing out the constellations, with you starting to point out the ones that you remembered. Had you turned to see Jay’s face at that moment, you would have seen him staring at you, instead of the sky, enamored with the fact that you remembered them from all those weeks ago when he told you about them for the first time. As you explained what you recalled from all those nights ago, Jay found himself fading into sleep. Noticing how quiet he was, you sat up, being sure not to wake him. “All those weeks ago you asked if I thought we would fall in love. I don’t know about you, but I know I have.” You whispered, finally having the confidence to admit it, after the wonderful night you had with him, yet you knew you were screwed, since he would never love you back.

You allowed him to rest for a few minutes more, observing his features. Maybe you were attempting to memorize his face just in case things went back, really for when things went bad. He would be your one that got away, but did he really get away if he never loved you back. After about ten minutes, you started to shake his shoulder, waking him. As he woke, soon the two of you were headed back towards your apartments, all while you decided you needed to do something, to let him know you really feel, so he can reject you, and you can move on from these feelings.

"I hate this so much. So much. How'd you talk me into this again?" Jay’s voice said, looking around at the pink, white, and red decorations with disgust. He was never one for any of the school events they held, off campus events, and even the frat parties to this.

A laugh left your lips as you dragged him alongside you. He did not want to be here, but alas here he was, by your side, despite his dislike of these events. “Come on, lighten up. We had to come, Beomgyu invited us to join him and his girlfriend of the moment.” You started to tell him, laughing as he groaned, knowing he would have to deal with Beomgyu outside of class today. “Also it’s a holiday for lovers, Beomgyu would have questions if we didn’t show up.” You reminded him, keeping up appearances, to the others, you had been dating for almost six months, it would have been odd if you did not come to this event. While you had other motives for inviting him, you let him believe that it was just because of Beomgyu’s invitation.

Meeting up with Beomgyu and his girlfriend of the month, was quick, the two of you quickly going off on your own, leaving him and his girlfriend on their own. Jay may have hated college hosted events, but he honestly did not hate it as much, when he was accompanying you. Sitting at a table, you watched as Jay enjoyed some of the provided foods, while he might hate these events, the food was not that bad, and your company made it almost worth coming.

The night drew on, the two of you dancing and enjoying your time together. It was not long before you had dragged him out of the party, into the impeccably decorated flower garden the university had prepared for the event. Walking through the maze-like garden, the two of you found yourself besides a flower wall. The pink, white, and red roses aligned for the perfect couples photograph.

Jay had to stop himself from laughing at the scene, the flower wall being nothing more than a backdrop for couples to take cute photographs, looking towards you, he easily spoke up. "If this is some plot to confess your undying love for me, you could've just said so." Jay’s voice cut through the silence, easily capturing your attention, reminding you that you were not alone. His voice held a teasing tone, like he was about to make some snarky comment about where the two of you were standing.

It was in that moment that you decided you had enough. You had enough of your heart skipping a beat, enough of the butterflies in your stomach going crazy, enough of your feelings that you tried so hard to suppress. Deciding to put it all out there, to risk it all, either you would leave knowing he feels the same way you do, or you would leave embarrassed, knowing you were the only one to break a rule. “And what if it is?” You muttered, watching as he simply placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. Looking around, there were few people in the area, most were leaving the event, but it still automatically reminds you of his keeping up appearances statement from so many weeks ago. "Are you faking it-" You started to ask him, voice soft so only he could hear, expecting nothing more than for him to agree, to play the part of the sweet couple sharing a kiss in the middle of the Valentine’s Day event.

It was unexpected when his lips met yours. Being quick to kiss him back, you were unsure how long the two of you stayed there, the scene being one out of a movie. "I can't seem to fake anything when it comes to you, love.” Jay muttered against your lips, his hand moving from the side of your waist, to behind your neck. “I can never seem to fake anything when it comes to you.” He added, before fully reconnecting his lips with yours once more.

The kiss however was broken shortly after, moving back from Jay, looking up at him. “Tell me you are telling the truth.” You softly said, looking up at him. “I don’t know if I could handle it if you tell me later that this was all for show. If saying you love me was all for show.” You muttered, just thinking about how easily that would break you, here you were opening your heart up for him, confessing how you felt, and if afterward he said it was all to make the fake dating seem better, it would break you more than you would care to verbalize, to tell him. He could destroy your heart with ease, and all you could do is hope he feels the same way as you do.

“It’s the truth,” Jay started, grabbing your hands, pulling yourself closer to him once more. “Nothing but the truth.” Was added, his lips making contact with yours once more. His hands wrapped around your waist, your hands coming up to his neck, one intertwining into his hair, tugging him closer to you, as though close was not even close enough.

The kiss however was quickly ruined, as an annoying voice was heard from behind the two of you. “Your mom will just love this photo.” Beomgyu said, somehow having found his way to you, taking a photo, sending it to his mother to show your mother.

Jay and yourself were quick to reply. “Shut up Beomgyu.” Was said in tandem, voices overlapping one another’s, causing laughter to come from you, as Jay shot the male that was only feet away a dirty look. Putting his attention back onto you, Jay was quick to lean back down, your lips finally meeting once more, knowing that despite your original thoughts, it was not only you who broke a rule, and maybe it was for the best in the end.

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

Vent - Steve Raglan/William Afton/Springtrap x Female Reader

Chapters 34-35 (Finale)

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content and blood kink

Also available on AO3 Chapter 34 | 35

Chapter 34 ~ the ritual ~

William awakens to find you kissing the mark you’d carved along his rib the previous evening. Your tongue traces along the new scab. The blood flowing within his body instantly pools into his cock.

“Good morning,” you greet him. Your hair is mussed. He attempts to comb it with his fingers.

The older man realizes he’s lying horizontally across the bed. He’d fallen asleep that way apparently. You straddle his hips and bend to kiss his mouth. He can still taste the metal there from the dark ritual you’d shared last night. You impatiently shove at the swathe of hair that falls down and your mouth covers his again. Hungry. Ravenous. You reach for his erection, guiding it to your entrance and sheathing it, moaning at the sensation as he fills your body. William hisses. His thumbs dig into your abdomen as you begin to raise and lower yourself. One pushes along the new laceration and you moan even more, clutching his hand and pressing him more deeply. The fragile fibrin threads holding the cut closed loosen and weep blood. William’s head arches back and he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

It’s the yellow rabbit’s face he sees.

The blood paves the way.

You continue to grind yourself down. In the mirror he sees you working your body against the ravaged yellow suit. The rabbit’s eyes flare.

The blood lights the path.

You touch his injury. It’s fire.

William rolls and pins you beneath him. The yellow rabbit reaches a steel encased hand for your throat. He thrusts forward and the motion reopens his wound. The lifeforce leaks out, warm and sticky. It flows down, down, down. He fucks it into you. Smears it on his fingers and feeds it into your eager mouth.

The blood opens the door.

The hand on your throat tightens. The reflected image of the rabbit’s costume is violent against you. Your hands caress the damaged metal and fur, tucking into the open spaces, touching forbidden things. The alloys and cables and computer chips and circuit boards were never meant to be stroked like this. Your lips worship the frayed ends and hollowed spaces when the grinning, decaying face dips down to kiss you.

William spills his seed and the yellow rabbit rejoices.

Free.

Chapter 35 ~ remember ~

You don’t know what’s happening to you.

You’d thought yourself so full. Full of William’s love for you. Full of your love for him. But you’re still so hungry. The blood sates you but it never lasts. You want more.

You sit at a desk in Parts and Service. Your sketchbook is open before you, turned back many pages to the image of the yellow rabbit. How long it had been since you’d last seen him. How long since he had warned you.

How long it had taken for you to finally remember what had happened that summer day nine years ago, the barrier your mind had shielded you with for so long finally surrendering as easily as your and William’s flesh had parted beneath the knife.

The yellow rabbit had come to you. Whispered sweet words and comforted you. You’d just been a lost little girl, drifting away like that purple balloon from your dream, tapping against the glass, trying to escape. He’d lured you with false promises. Then he’d tried to murder you.

The man inside the yellow rabbit craves your demise.

***

Afton finds you sitting there an hour later, still staring at the drawing. You hear him inhale sharply when his eyes fall on the page before you.

“The yellow rabbit knows you,” you say softly. “Do you know him? I think you must.”

“Yes.” The admission is dry, harsh, as if he hates issuing it.

“He warned me about you.”

“I know.” The words sound as if they are choking him.

Your eyes meet his. “I remember now.”

***

William’s hand closes over the edge of the desk to steady himself.

“Remember what?” He inquires, even though he knows.

“The yellow rabbit tried to kill me. The man inside of it. In this room, nine years ago.” Your voice is so calm. Resigned. Accepting. “He took a knife from the desk. He reached out to grab me, but I ran. I ran and ran and I got away.” You pause. “Or so I thought. It’s you, isn’t it? The one inside the suit. You brought me back here. You want to—”

“—I would never hurt you,” he interrupts quickly, cupping the side of your face. “Never in a million years. I’ve pushed you too far with the cutting and I’m sorry for that…”

“But why? I like it. I enjoy everything you’ve ever done to me. For me.”

His poor sweet girl. Once so gray. Now painted red. Bloodstained. Beloved, but broken, because of him. He’s gotten exactly what he’s always wanted, hasn’t he? A witness. A partner. A soulmate. A match made in the deepest, darkest depths of hell.

You grab a handful of his tie and pull his mouth to yours.

William moans inside that kiss. If it was what you wanted, he’d give it to you. He would deny you nothing. His spine straightens and he lifts you to your feet. Links your hands together. Calloused in smooth that’s now a little rougher than it had been several months ago. The budding engineer, the new architect of his designs already bearing signs of dedication. He guides you forward, back to the dining room crowded with guests. He still has much to teach you and it begins here, in this very room.

”Choose one,” he whispers beside your ear.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #springtrap x reader #springtrap x you #william afton #steve raglan #fnaf movie #fnaf fanfic #springtrap

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perpetuelledaydreaming · 6 months

Text

Ivy | chapter fourteenth

listen to: False God - Taylor Swift (playlist here)

warning: infidelity. violence. blood. for this chapter is mostly grief.

word count: 2.1k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fii!!

The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over your batter body. The blood on your hands had dried by now, as well as the tears in your eyes as you drove through the narrow grey road. With no helmet on, you finally feel like you can breathe as your mind plays over and over again a collection of the last twenty-four hours.

Rooster’s bloody lip, Jake’s blood on his face. The way they looked at you and everyone looked at you as you exited the base with blood dripping from your body. How you’d brushed off Jake as he tried to talk to you after the exercise, how you’d undressed willingly to Bradley, how you didn’t tell him you were his. Jake’s face when Bradley told him you’d slept together, Bradley’s face as Jake told him you’d been together for five months.

You barely realize you need to stop before you go farther than you intend to. You hear the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Summer was slowly slipping away; it ended for you when Jake and you had broken things off, though. Your heart weighs heavy as you walk on the grass; a part of you wants to keep pulling away from this.

You hadn’t been there in a while.

You’d visited only once since you’d come back.

“Hey, Dad,” you start softly, your voice quivering. Kneeling, you brush away the fallen leaves, clearing a space to sit beside the cold stone. You trace your fingers over the engraved name, the memories of him flooding back.

Thomas ‘Iceman’ Kazansky

1959-2022

You wonder what you can say; your heart feels so heavy as you watch the tombstone. A constant ache that you had never indeed addressed.

“I really wish you were here right now,” Tears well up in your eyes as you continue. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I feel like I’m messing everything up,”

You pause for a moment, watching his name expectantly. I wish you could feel him, hoping he could send you a sign. You need him here, you’ve fucked up everything, and now you’re entirely alone. You’re alone because he left you so, so soon. He isn’t there. He will never be able to make it right. You broke everything, and there’s no way to make it right.

Suddenly, grief overwhelms you. Your shoulders shake with the weight of your emotions, and your tears fall freely, splashing onto the grass beneath you.

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” you admit through your sobs. “I’m angry at myself for letting it get this bad, I’m angry at you for never allowing me to look beyond what you wanted, I’m angry for,” you stop yourself. It is useless to blame anyone but yourself; it is your fault. Silence lingers for a second. “I should’ve been happy with just Rooster, right?”

You stare at the stone as you bite your inner cheek.

“Right?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. Deep down, you know it can’t be the truth; you’re lying to yourself and him. It can’t be true because you know that being as happy as you were with Jake meant that it wasn’t a mistake.

“I don’t know how to make it better, and now we will go to a death trap together, and,” you take a sigh, attempting to calm down the way your chest aches. “If I choose one, I lose the other,”

Defeated, you sit next to the stone, your back to one of the sides while you try to stop crying. The lump in your throat doesn’t surrender until a while has gone by. The memories of Ice flood back, a bittersweet montage of all the lessons he taught you, the compilation of them in your mind. To find clarity, you go back to those moments. You go back to what you learned, hoping to find an answer.

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall Ice’s voice. A lesson you learned when you started to fly with him, you can feel him. In one of those times, he let you take control of the flight when you were barely a teenager, one of those airplanes he’d gotten just to teach his kids, which mostly ended up being just you.

“Don’t let anything get in between you’re flying,” he’d told you during that sunset after you’d made a wrong turn. “Nothing gets between you and this plane. No fear, no tears, no one, and nothing. You and your wingman have to get home safe before and above anything,”

When you open your eyes, leaning drowsily back against the stone even further. You can finally breathe as you make your decision. You want it to stop; you want to put a pause on your life, on the decision, and you are hurting—they're hurting. You want to save their lives and know you’ll put them in more danger if you don’t stop.

“Dad,” you murmur as you turn to the rock, secretly hoping to see him beside you. “I wish you were here,”

You can feel him; you can imagine him nodding in understanding; you wipe away the few tears in your cheeks before standing from the grave.

You don’t arrive at your house until the twilight of the day casts a warm, golden glow that bathes your body in a soft, ethereal light. That is how Jake’s eyes fall on you; you seem so small. You have looked like that for Jake since this morning. The first time Jake had seen you like that was after you’d told him about kissing Rooster, then when he’d broken up with you. Before, it wasn’t feasible for Jake to see you in another light that wasn’t strong and decided, confident in yourself.

You curated yourself so well in front of everyone before, he’d come to realize. No one is close enough ever to see the cracks. He wondered as your eyes fell on him if it was indeed a privilege to see you this torn apart. It didn’t feel like it, not when he could see your swollen nose and the dried blood on your body, eyes bloodshot from crying so much; he knew it well. It felt like even less when your eyes darted to the other side of the door, where Bradley was standing.

They’d managed to get themselves to the nursery before they continued to tear themselves apart. Still, while Bradley was getting the stitches to his busted lip and Jake was getting checked to see if his nose was not effectively broken, they were biting each other’s heads off with insults and allegations.

It wasn’t Jake’s proudest moment; the regret of letting you go alone in such a state was also eating him alive.

At least until now, you don’t seem as broken anymore.

Bradley notices it first, though. Perhaps because he has known you since he could remember, maybe it is because he also knew his uncle Ice like the back of his hands, he is not quite sure. But he is confident that, for him, it is pretty obvious that you’ve made a decision.

You know he’s aware of it too, the way the corner of his eyes wrinkles, even with all the bruising, you can see it too. His face was etched with concern and anticipation, then something worse, fear. Jake’s anxiety doesn’t scale up until you speak.

“Will you come inside?”

The words come from you reasonably soft, but they pick it up immediately. The determination is unwavering. You are resolved. Neither Jake nor Bradley, who’d been pushing for an answer in the morning, were ready for you to have decided it that fast. The tension in the air is palpable as you open the doorstep into the room. The sun’s dying rays paint long shadows on the floor.

Jake and Bradley suddenly are apprehensive about entering the place. Holding out at the other side of the threshold as you take off your shoes and look for clothes, you cringe as you watch your jacket and shoes from the day before on the misarranged couch. Quickly, you rearrange everything as well as you can while waiting for them to come in. You hope Jake doesn’t notice, but he does.

He can’t stop following you with his gaze.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” You ask them without looking, effectively avoiding Jake’s unwavering gaze.

Bradley’s frustration is suddenly palpable as he watches how nonchalant you’ve turned after all this. “You’ve chosen,” he says as he enters the room.

It is strange how much can change in 24 hours. Yesterday, barely at the same time, he thought he was getting you back. Now, nothing can be farther from the truth.

“I have,”

Jake clenches his jaw as he expectantly waits for you to say Bradley’s name. He wouldn’t be surprised. He knows he was never the good guy; he knows he has played dirty before, trying to force you to decide. He isn’t the good guy you would’ve wanted. For a second, he lets himself think that he might be able to be happy for you and him.

“I’m not choosing either of you,”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” you state firmly. Bradley’s frustration is evident, but you press on, your gaze steady as you continue. “I’ve thought about this long and hard, and I refuse to let my emotions control my decisions. It’s not fair to any of us, and it’s time to put an end to this,”

Bradley’s voice takes on a skeptical tone. “How are you putting an end if you are not making a choice?” he scoffs.

Your eyes dart to him, the tan skin and his caramel hair. You know him so well that you can trace the wrinkles in his forehead by memory now that he’s frowning. It seems unfair to him; how could it not? He had you this morning, in a bed, in his arms. An illusion.

“We are going to get ourselves killed if we continue down this path,” you answer back firmly, your chest heavy as you watch Jake and then Bradley. “Nothing is more important than trusting each other, and we have less than a month to do so.”

Bradley persists, his frustration simmering. “You’re using the mission as—”

“—an excuse,” Jake’s voice suddenly interjects firmly. You snap your head towards him as you watch him softly. There’s nothing in those sea-foam eyes that can tell you what he’s thinking.

You counter, “It isn’t an excuse. I’m doing what’s best for the sake of your well-being, for our well-being, for the team. I am not choosing either, and that’s my decision.”

Bradley’s brows furrow. “You’ll have to pick a wingman.”

You bite your inner cheek as you lean against the marble table where Jake and you’d spend so many nights together. Him cooking, you reading. Conversations always ran long. If it wasn’t conversations that ran long, it was kisses.

“Maverick’s going to be my wingman,” you state softly, without looking at them, avoiding their reaction.

“What?” they bark at the same time. The disbelief is palpable.

“I’ve called him. You are better off without me, and you’ve done this exercise with each other. Neither Cain nor Simpson want to see me interacting with either of you in the sky anyway,” you try to sound as reasonable as you can, but there’s no hiding that you’d also convinced Maverick of the choice.

Bradley persists, “But we’ve been—”

“The decision was taken,” you interrupt firmly. “The mission is first, and I’m taking my emotions out of the equation, and that’s it,”

Bradley’s mouth opens for a moment and then closes. He stares at you wide-eyed, with utter shock at your words. There wasn’t a day where he wouldn’t think to fly without you before, not being your wingman but putting him together with Jake; even after everything, it feels too much like a betrayal.

“You’re running away from them,” Jake speaks suddenly.

Your eyes dart to him. There’s a feeling of betrayal in his words. It wasn’t a lie. Part of you knew it was the wisest decision, but it was a decision where you would’ve been let off as quickly as you could, without hurting the other one, without letting the other one go on a mission with a broken heart. You were washing your hands from this mess.

“I’m not,” you retort. Your heart was racing, your voice suddenly turning strange and hoarse.

The effect those sea foam eyes have on you is not fair. You feel naked now under them. You twisted yourself in so many ways for them, for them to keep looking at you like they used to.

“And after the mission?” Bradley’s voice breaks whatever thoughts you had on Jake.

You look down. Not wanting to answer because you wished that there wasn’t a timeline, that this could be suspended in the air, your eternal wish.

Jake’s eyes linger with yours; he knows it already.

“She’ll have to choose after the mission,” he says softly. Already too aware of what was coming.

“You’ll have to choose then after the mission,” Bradley agrees, lingering heat from the previous events from the night before still simmering in his chest, all that anger turning into harsher words.

“If we don’t die first,” Jake replies. It’s barely a whisper, but all of you get it.

If you come back. If all of you come back. That word always taunting you, now you couldn’t look at either of you anymore.

“Let’s worry about not dying first. I want to shower now. Can you please go?” you say, avoiding their gaze.

Jake’s the first to leave; you know his steps by now. You don’t need to see him; he doesn’t need to see you to know you’re both defeated. Bradley, though, lingers in the sun for a moment. He wants to say it almost involuntarily, always waiting for more information, always expecting you to confide in him.

Now, you seem as cold as Ice was.

“You know you’re making a choice here, right?” Bradley insists as he decides to leave; you raise your head to watch him. “Not choosing is a choice. Choices have consequences too, Brat.”

an: Honestly I am so thankful to anyone who is still reading this. I am so excited for the next few chapters we are only missing five and I really want to end this by the end of this month. thank you all for still keeping up with this I know I've been flaky and I am sorry! everything hasn't really been easy but your comments light up my days.

Taglist: @laracrofted @double-j @inky-sun @alanadetigy @teenwolf01 @beebslebobs @materialgirl01 @daisyhollyxox @piceous21 @elicheel @supernaturaldawning @midnightdevotion @hangrymama @ashann7 @maverick-wingman @snap-crackle-and-pop-blog @ebonyhogan24 @teddyluvs2sing @happypopcornprincess @untoldshortsofthefandoms @xxshea-barnesxx @sweetheart-im-the-boss @je-suis-prest-rachel @bregarc @imagineteller1 @abaker74 @lilylilyyyyyy @nemtodd-barnes1923 @loveless-simp @fucktthisworld @deliciouslydisturbed365 @laluneveillesesureux @emma8895eb @tandefeaffe @potato-girl99981 @jstarr86 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mirrorball-6 @grxcisxhy-wp @that-one-random-writer @dempy @zbeez-outlet @djs8891 @sgt-barnesveins

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ikeromantic · 21 days

Text

Distance

A Chevalier Michel fanfiction. Approx. 3000 words. This scene takes place in Chapter 14 of the main route and is told from Chevalier’s POV. Part 14 of a series.

Chapter List

Chevalier glared at the report as if his icy disdain might change the words there.

“It’s an uprising in your own lands. Embarrassing, isn’t it?” Clavis almost seemed gleeful. “They’ve taken the border fort and set up blockades on the road. The villagers are supplying them with food and other resources.”

“Shut up.” Everything Clavis said was already clear on the page. He didn’t need to hear it spoken aloud.

Clavis smiled thinly. “What are you going to do?”

“What I must.” Chevalier stood. “Make the arrangements.”

“Already done.”

Chev nodded. His brother was efficient at least. He left without another word, though his thoughts strayed. Emma.

His soldiers met him at the palace gates, their gazes as hard and cold as his own. They understood what would be needed. He gave them a grim smile. “We have a fort to retake.”

Another troop might have shouted with false bravado at his command, but not his men. There was no joy to be taken from this battle. Only duty. They saluted, silent as the grave, and then followed Chevalier as he rode through the dark streets toward the northwestern territories. His lands, his people. His fight.

He glanced back at the palace just once. Was she asleep? Was she dreaming? Chevalier felt an odd ache in his chest at the thought of not seeing her in the days ahead. But the Belle had no place on a battlefield. He did not want her to see . . . Chev shook off the foolish thought, the memory of her gazing at him in fear. Her wide eyes and tear soaked lashes.

No.

There was bloody work to be done, and the opinions of one naive girl could not - would not - change that. It did not matter if the Belle saw the Brutal Beast or no. There was no place in duty for such considerations. And if it made her fear him again, well, perhaps that was for the best. He cloaked his heart with ice and rode on.

The village was in chaos when the knights arrived. Desperate attempts to fortify it against the inland road clashed with loyalists trying to dismantle the same barriers. The fort itself sat in the distance, all gates closed and barred.

Chevalier knew Black would try to negotiate. Talk them down. Take weeks, perhaps months to determine who the guilty parties were. And such gentle tactics would leave traitors seeded in the midst of the citizens, cowards as well, waiting for the next moment a betrayal would be to their advantage. He would brook no such delays, nor imperfect results.

“First secure the village,” he called. His knights slammed fist to shield and then split off into their separate companies, each led by a handpicked commander. Chev’s personal guards stayed close to him as he rode into the fray.

As expected, the commoners put up little real fight. When presented with a professional soldier in opposition, most surrendered. Others tried to fight back, organizing badly equipped sorties. Those died fighting, their efforts more nuisance than dangerous. The real battle was with the traitor soldiers. Some hid in the houses, attacking when the knights least expected it. Chevalier’s troops spent days clearing the village building by building. Days of bloodshed and misery.

Attempts to negotiate were met with failure. The traitors seemed to have no unified demands. Mostly, they were just angry. Angry at the sacrifices they’d made for their country. The loss of loved ones, dreams of hearth and family fading as duty claimed their youth, living through the pain of past wounds. An ache in their hearts that turned to poison. And the second prince had an idea of how deep that poison went.

Chevalier faced it with the unshakeable certainty that he was protecting Rhodolite. His life, the lives of his knights, and the life of any villager were forfeit to the greater good. Even if sometimes it was hard to hold to that vision when covered in the blood and filth of a battlefield. The peaceful future he worked toward felt distant and impossible.

Grim resolve kept him advancing. The knowledge that any other action would only lead to more death and despair. But, he found an odd thought filling his mind in the midst of the chaos. Emma. Her gentle smile and playful gaze. The kindness in her, and the strength of her heart.

Foolish. What was the value of one woman’s life that it should settle his soul in the midst of this slaughter? And yet. He did not chase her from his thoughts.

Support arrived from the capitol just as the fortress broke. The traitors spilled from the gates, hungry and desperate. Chevalier’s knights met them just outside the village in another wave of carnage. The slaughter was less one-sided this time, as their enemies were well equipped. Professional soldiers with arms and armor, fighting with all the determination of cornered rats.

The village would be in the Clown’s deft hands, leaving Chevalier free to focus on what mattered. He gazed out at the battle, the fort, and the border beyond. At the edge of the fighting, he noticed a familiar mop of unruly red hair. Jumbo. Why had he stirred himself to - “Oh.” The sound left him in a sudden exhalation. An irrational response he tamped down with a grimace.

“Stay here.” He motioned to the knights at his side as he rode toward his youngest brother. Jumbo stood beside the Belle, his usual lackadaisical smile missing. Chevalier scowled. He could not imagine what madness infected his brothers. To bring the Belle here, to a dangerous place. Her life - her duty - was at risk. And while he cursed the Clown and Four Eyes for allowing this, he also cursed himself. This was a possibility he should have anticipated.

“What are you doing in a place like this,” he growled. Chevalier dismounted with a leap and strode toward the two.

The Belle was staring at him, he realized. Her eyes were wide with horror and disgust. Blood soaked the hem of her skirt and stained her hands and the slip of paper she clutched in them.

It took Chevalier a moment to realize there was a body at her feet. A knight. And not just any of his troops. The fallen man was one of his scouts. “Ah . . . so he is dead.” He took the scrap of bloodied paper from Emma’s hand, knowing it was for this that his scout died. “He seems to have been of some use.”

Emma’s expression crumpled as if she were about to cry. She didn’t understand what he meant - that this death had meaning and purpose. That this knight served a greater good, and this sacrifice mattered. She only heard the cold, flat tone of Chev’s voice. But she didn’t cry. Her jaw firmed and she looked the prince right in the eye. “This man was one of your knights, wasn’t he?”

“Indeed.” Chevalier watched her, curious whether or not she could see the death as he did. Or if she would fall to simple emotion.

“Th-then -”

“Don’t bother saying something foolish, like ‘You should mourn the dead’.” Chevalier interrupted. Grief was a pointless emotion. It could not return the dead to you, nor ease the sense of loss. What mattered was ensuring the death meant something. That this loss, and the loss of every soldier that died in this action, protected Rhodolite.

“I . . . I . . .” The Belle stammered, uncertainty taking the words from her lips.

Chevalier gripped the bloodied paper, his knuckles white beneath his gloves. “I have no use for the dead. And once someone is no longer useful, that is that.”

Her eyes widened further, conflict playing out in her horrified expression. Emma’s mouth opened once. Twice. The third time, she managed to speak, her voice cracking under the weight of the tears she refused to shed. “Don’t you have a shred of humanity in your heart?”

Part of him wanted to reassure her, but that would be a lie. An unnecessary lie. It was better for her to understand what he was. A man that forsook his own heart, the right to his own feelings, and replaced them with the logic and reason needed to protect the country. Not individuals, as no one man or woman was Rhodolite. But the whole. He could not allow himself to mourn one dead man. Nor even a hundred. “I have no need of such a thing,” Chevalier replied with an icy calm.

Jumbo watched, his mouth pressed to a grimace of disapproval. Something hard and angry glinted in his gaze.

“Take the simpleton and go home at once.” Chevalier gave the order without shifting his gaze from the Belle. She wilted, her shoulders falling. Soon she would cry, he thought. He finally looked up at the red head. “If you want to join the mountain of corpses, that’s a different story.”

“Chevalier. You . . .” Jumbo’s fists clenched at his sides.

Chev didn’t wait to see if his warning hit home nor whether his orders were followed. After this, she would leave. She had to. There was no reason for her to stay. He mounted his horse and rode back to the battle. This little detour took him long enough, though at least he’d gathered the report his scout brought in. He ignored the feel of the Belle’s eyes on his back, the hurt betrayal in their depths. She would fear him now.

His chest tightened at the thought and Chevalier snorted, mocking himself. He was no lovestruck princeling. If he felt anything in this moment, it was only the strain of battle and the need to quickly end this fight with the anti-war faction before it brought greater consequences. A truth, if not the whole truth.

Pacifying the traitors in the fortress took days. The turn-coat soldiers fought well, but in the end, they could not stand against the Brutal Beast’s relentless assault. Days of violence, surrounded by blood and death. Chevalier felt no pride in the final moments of victory. The outcome was inevitable, delayed only by the number of bodies willing to throw themselves upon his blade.

He was exhausted, though it did not show.

Chevalier left his camp, eager for a moment alone. The cool evening breeze was a welcome respite. There was a small lake nearby, and at this hour it would be empty and peaceful. It was there that he turned his steps. As Chev crested a small rise, the lake spread out before him. The water was still, and in it he could see the reflected glory of the sunset. But he wasn’t alone. A small figure knelt on the rocky shore. One he regarded with a certain degree of incredulity. She was supposed to be gone. Home. Safe.

His eyes traced the curve of her neck, the sweep of her hair. That little stubborn piece that always escaped her bun hung now beside her ear, brushing the slope of her shoulder. Chevalier walked slowly, letting himself savor her presence before she noticed him. He knew she would be angry, her eyes accusing.. The Belle was supposed to see into the hearts of men, and he hoped she might see . . .

Perhaps that was the problem though. He was a beast without a heart. The useless organ discarded for his duty. The Belle could not read a page that was not there, no matter how clearly she saw.

“You’re very likely to be attacked if you wander alone in a place like this,” he said, finally drawing her attention to him.

She didn’t look up from her handwashing. Blood stained her cuffs, rolled to the elbows as they were. “Prince Chevalier. Why are you -”

“Just taking a little breather,” he admitted. His gaze drifted to her partially submerged hands. A jagged cut marred her skin, seeping blood into the cool lake waters. Chev reached for her over her squawk of surprise. He pulled her arm close enough to evaluate the wound. “You’re hurt. Did a patient scratch you?”

“No!” The Belle jerked her arm away from him with such violence that he didn’t consider trying to keep his grip on her. She was trembling, he realized.

A heavy weight pressed in on him as he held her gaze. “I was only examining the wound.” The explanation felt flat, pointless. Chevalier could still see the fear and revulsion in her eyes. A cloud of pain and anger over their clear depths.

“I’m sorry . . .” Her breath was shallow, her words barely audible.

“That’s why I told you.” He paused and took a steadying breath. A familiar coldness settled over him. “I’m not a decent human being. I am the Brutal Beast.” Chev saw the way her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at her sides. “If you’re afraid, then run away. You don’t need to force yourself to be in my presence.”

For a moment, it seemed she would run. Her muscles tensed, a slight turn in her posture. And then she went still as her eyes filled with tears. Unable to hold back any longer, they slid wetly down her cheeks.

“You’re an eyesore.” He sighed, irritation creeping into his tone. She should have run. It would be better for her. But instead, she stood there weeping. For what? “It makes me want to give you something to really cry about.”

The Belle didn’t reply. Her hands shook as she wiped at the streaks on her face.

Chevalier searched for something to say, but he had no comfort to give. There was only the numbing cold inside him. And that pressure in his chest. He felt as if he could not breathe. Chev turned and walked away.

His steps led him to his tent, where he lay down on the uncomfortable cot. He could hear the sounds of his knights as they chatted beside their campfires. A quiet murmur, the crackle of the flames. Chevalier closed his eyes but he could not sleep. Emma surely hated him now. She understood what he was. Saw with her own eyes his unforgivable nature. Her tear-streaked face settled behind his eyelids.

Chevalier sat up and lit his lamp. A book would distract him. He pulled a book from his pack. The words washed over him, the characters taking life in the lines. But the unfolding drama of the enemies to lovers tale slipped away from him as his mind kept returning to Emma. He cursed himself for the foolishness of it.

After several attempts at distraction, Chev finally got up. He decided he would go check on her. Because of her injury. Which was surely why she haunted his thoughts. She was too much a fool to care for herself and he . . . he needed to make sure the Belle was safe and healthy. His duty, as a prince. The rationale was solid, even if he didn’t fully believe it.

Emma was settled in a village home for the night. Chevalier found her easily enough, the guards lounging outside her door were an easy giveaway. He nodded to them as he let himself in. A low fire burned in the kitchen hearth, giving the inside a dim red glow. He stepped into the open bedroom, his wintery gaze fixed on the bed along the far wall.

He could see her figure in the tangle of sheets, tossing and turning. Sweat-soaked and grimacing in the grip of nightmares, her sleep less than restful. Chevalier crossed the space with silent steps and knelt beside her bed. He took her arm with a careful grip, his touch gentle as he rolled up her nightgown sleeve. “As I expected. You didn’t even treat it.”

The jagged red wounds ran down her forearm, already swollen and warm to the touch. He took wound salve and bandages from his pocket. Chevalier didn’t note the small smile that lifted the corners of his lips as he applied the medicine with a tender touch and then bandaged her.

“N-no! Don’t . . . touch . . . me . . .” Emma cried out in her sleep.

The words hit Chev like a slap. He tied off the bandage and let go of her. Though he could not know what she dreamed of, he could well imagine. Sweat beaded her brow, her expression twisted with dismay as he watched in silence. Another heavy sigh left him. “You really are foolish.”

He wasn’t sure if those words were meant for her, or for himself. Chevalier took her hand in his, unsure what to do. In books, the charming prince would kiss away the nightmare. But he was no charming prince. He gave her hand a squeeze, hoping the slight pressure would calm her. It seemed to, as her expression relaxed again.

“You wouldn’t be having nightmares if you hadn’t come to the battlefield.”

Emma slept on, oblivious to his lecture.

Chevalier said nothing more as he held her hand. He kept ahold of her until he was sure her night terror had passed. She was still, her breathing even. Chev carefully prised his hand from hers and tenderly stroked a hand through her hair.

He wished . . . but wishes were meaningless. The prince left, closing the door quietly behind him.

“You’re sure kind to the Belle.” Clavis’ voice was teasing, his golden gaze full of barely leashed laughter. He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening as he glanced between the closed door and his brother. “Well well. What’s the meaning of this, hm?”

Chev regarded the third prince with icy disdain. “Not everything has to have meaning.”

Clavis nodded slowly as if thinking it over. “All right. Perhaps I misspoke. I thought surely you would have a reason though.”

“There is not.” Chevalier hoped this would be the end of it, but with Clavis . . . A moment of silence passed between them. “You are the one who treated her wound.”

A pale brow rose. “Oh? Is that the story we’re telling then?”

It was clear Clavis would not go along with this without explanation. Chev felt his jaw clench and then he sighed. This was not a battle worth fighting. “I’m well aware that my actions are nonsensical.” He held his brother’s gaze, willing him to accept this vague answer.

Clavis stared at him, his smile faltering for a heartbeat. Something akin to surprise flickered in his eyes.

A slight dip of his chin was all the confirmation Chevalier needed to turn and leave. He didn’t want to say more. Not to himself, much less to his brother. He needed to escape that knowing smirk. He needed distance. His steps were quick, graceful. Out into the dark and quiet night.

#ikemen prince #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #fanfiction #otome #fanfic #otome guys

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bonearenaofmyskull · 2 months

Text

The OP has turned off reblogs at the time I'm posting this, so it seemed wise to move this discussion about the authenticity of Hannibal's love for Will over here. I want to give it its due, and the open invitation to discuss was out, so here is some context and my response.

The original ask went:

Hi! I've wanted to write about this for a long time, and your blog seems like a safe space. Let me give you a heads up—I am not against shipping at all. I am aware of the antis in your ask box, but I promise I am not affiliated with them. This is just a friendly direction. So, if you are truly open to discussion, I want you to view Hannibal as a selfish, manipulative, and extremely violent person. Notice how he is power-hungry and wanted to keep Will in his chokehold, never viewing them as equals. Hannibal created this delusional image of Will in his mind and inserted himself into Will's delusional world. Look at his actions again in season 3. Can you point out one scene where you can write, "Oh yes, Hannibal loves Will"? The problem with the antis is that they are questioning Will's feelings for Hannibal when they should question Hannibal's feelings for Will. Hannibal only liked Will when Will behaved like Hannibal—notice that in season 2. Does it change your view on them now?

OP didn't have anything to say to this, and my response was critical of anon's choice to bring this to OP's inbox, but the relevant part of what I said to the current discussion included the following:

...the basic rule [of writing discourse] is--if you're the one to posit the claim, then it is your job to support it.... You can't possibly do the leg work needed here to give your side its due. This is such a hefty claim that you've posed--that Hannibal's worst personality defects negate any authenticity/sincerity in his emotional response to Will--that the support it needs is probably running in the 6k words range. Or more.

To which @melancholymournia responded:

Let's start a discussion then --

I believe Anon has a valid perspective. They were seeking opinions and I believe it's within their right to do so. Anon's main argument is that Crimson should view Hannibal as an antagonist, as he embodies a sinister role in the narrative. Hannibal's love for Will is portrayed as selfish, driven by desperation for understanding. Anon points out Hannibal's creation of a false image of Will in his mind, particularly evident in Season 1's exploitative and abusive behavior. Anon contends that Hannibal only appreciates Will when he mirrors Hannibal's actions,evident in s2 and Will's attachment stems from trauma and a sense of justice. Will attempted to kill Hannibal numerous times and even succeeded, but Hannibal's plot armor consistently saved him. Despite this, according to Bryan, it's "Will Graham's story," implying that Hannibal's eventual demise was always a possibility. Hannibal maintained manipulation over Will even in Season 3, from start to finish. People's justification of the Dolce scene and romanticizing the gallery scene surprises me, considering both instances involved plans for mutual harm. Despite Will expressing fatigue with the chase, questions about why he fell for Hannibal linger. After discussions, it became clear to me that his attachment wasn't love but a trauma response to his abuser. In Season 3, even when Will urged Hannibal to leave, Hannibal surrendered, manipulating the situation rather than acting out of genuine love. Hannibal caged himself to ensnare Will, who later moved on with a family, but the fandom struggled to accept it, mirroring Will's Stockholm syndrome-like attachment to Hannibal. Hannibal continued harming Will, sending the Dragon to kill Will's family to manipulate him into a meeting. Ultimately, Will chose death to escape both Hannibal and himself, feeling a resemblance to Hannibal in his mind. Throughout the seasons, Hannibal's actions show a lack of genuine love, portraying him as a greedy figure taking relentlessly from Will and ultimately causing his destruction.

I think this is a teachable moment about meta and what it needs to be successful. So this is my response--partially aimed at the content of what you've said here, and partially aimed at talking about meta itself and what it needs and how to do it justice.

I think when we're thinking about writing meta that is successful, we need to be thinking about what it is we're trying to achieve. Personally, I ascribe to the belief that "the aim of argument, or of discussion, should be progress, not victory." This doesn't mean I or anyone else won't fall victim to being petty once in a while--we're all human here, I think--but that if we're doing our jobs the best we could be doing them, then we should be focused on getting to a shared deeper understanding of the text, rather than on trying to "win." Above that, I think our fandom has lost a sense of this in its discourse in the past couple months.

In pursuit of that, I don't think how you opened, with defense of anon, was wise. This argument, if it needs to be made, needs to be made for the perusal of the fandom, not specifically for one person. Crimson neither needed nor wanted to be a target. "They were seeking opinions" and having a "main argument is that Crimson should view Hannibal as [anything]" are essentially exclusive statements. Anon was not trying to get Crimson's opinion: they were trying to sway it. You stepping in to defend anon when more people than just myself have recognized the troll-y or even malicious aspects of the ask puts your argument in a bad light, which honestly doesn't serve you well. If your primary purpose is to make the argument (and actually sway opinions yourself) rather than to defend anon (create teams/advance fandom drama/"win"), then it would be better delivered if you maintained an air of neutrality by at minimum, avoiding commentary on anon themself.

That could be done by starting your own post and tagging the interested parties and just focusing on the topic at hand and ignoring anon. Or this could be done in your response by saying something along the lines of just "This is an interesting idea that I haven't seen discussed enough. I think..." and then proceed to say what you think. That then shifts the conversation to the claims being made rather than the people who make them, and how they made them. (Note my primary objection to the original ask is exactly about anon's behavior and choices rather than to the points themselves.)

So setting the issue of anon's choices aside, we next need to look at who the audience is (the broader fandom) and how they can be swayed. Because isn't that the goal, here, ultimately? It sounds like what you and your friends want is to shift general fandom attitude away from the merry-murder-husbands interpretation and into something more cognizant of the fucked up nature of the show.

And this is not in and of itself a bad goal overall, depending on how far you take it. But whether you succeed in this goal or just end up driving people out of the fandom because of the drama or because they become disillusioned with the ship itself is a very fine line to walk, and I'm not sure the people who have been walking it lately realize just how delicately they need to step (not necessarily you specifically--I don't remember seeing your name around before this tbh). It's not progress unless people come around to your way of thinking without becoming fed up and hurt and leaving.

(Obligatory reminder to my own follower base here: I don't condone people going around to anyone's inbox or comments specifically to harass them, regardless of what their opinions are. I am fully of the opinion that we can all play in the same sandbox together without throwing sand in each other's eyes, even if we think the other sand castles are ugly.)

One troubling fact of the whole-fandom-as-audience as it exists currently is that people have differing notions about what the fandom believes on the whole. To sum up, there seems to be three camps: "merry-murder-husbands," "Hannigram-BAD," and "Wtf happened to my peaceful fandom."

If you haven't deduced it already, I belong to the third group.

Merry-murder-husbands and Hannigram-BAD both seem to largely think that everyone who doesn't belong to their own group belongs to the opposing group. But I don't think that's a useful place to write meta from. Tonally, it's going to be off-putting from the very start to anyone who isn't in your own camp, even if their camp is just "Wtf." Getting your point across is also going to be extra difficult if people are from the opposing group--they're going to feel attacked or at the very least, condescended to.

For starters, your (and anon's) talking points aren't going to be focused on what matters to the Wtf crowd. Where this comes up in this particular discussion is with these points here:

Hannibal as a selfish, manipulative, and extremely violent person.

He is power-hungry and wanted to keep Will in his chokehold.

Hannibal as an antagonist, as he embodies a sinister role in the narrative.

Hannibal's love for Will is portrayed as selfish, driven by desperation for understanding.

Hannibal maintained manipulation over Will even in Season 3, from start to finish.

People's justification of the Dolce scene and romanticizing the gallery scene surprises me, considering both instances involved plans for mutual harm.

Hannibal continued harming Will, sending the Dragon to kill Will's family to manipulate him into a meeting.

Hannibal caged himself to ensnare Will.

To the Wtf crowd, this is sort of like arguing that water is wet. Is Hannibal, the biggest pile of dicks that ever existed, actually a big pile of dicks? Well, iunno...you tell me? Nobody from this crowd is arguing that Hannibal isn't a big pile of dicks. So this is basically spinning your wheels.

As to the merry-murder-husbands crowd, this is all justified because deep down, Will is just as big a pile of dicks as Hannibal, and Hannibal being a big pile of dicks to Will just uncovers Will's true dick pile qualities so they can go off and live as merry-piles-o'-dicks together. Now, personally, I think this particular response is full of circular logic and just plain wrong, but the point here is that you're never going to win against it by writing points that play into it. This crowd will move the goalposts on this discussion to a discussion about Will's character, and then you'll be dealing with that instead of the points you want to be making about Hannibal.

This also sets aside that some of these points could be argued against on their own specific merits. Does Hannibal really want to keep Will in his chokehold, or does the real excitement for Hannibal come when Will turns the tables on him? That's a whole meta post by itself, frankly, and more than we can discuss here feasibly. But it does highlight another problem with these points: some of them are interpretations and conclusions in and of themselves, not actual points of evidence.

There's an additional problem in the overall argument with multiple points being about Will rather than Hannibal:

Ultimately, Will chose death to escape both Hannibal and himself, feeling a resemblance to Hannibal in his mind.

Despite Will expressing fatigue with the chase, questions about why he fell for Hannibal linger. After discussions, it became clear to me that his attachment wasn't love but a trauma response to his abuser.

Will's attachment stems from trauma and a sense of justice. Will attempted to kill Hannibal numerous times and even succeeded, but Hannibal's plot armor consistently saved him.

Will…later moved on with a family, but the fandom struggled to accept it, mirroring Will's Stockholm syndrome-like attachment to Hannibal.

Despite this, according to Bryan, it's "Will Graham's story," implying that Hannibal's eventual demise was always a possibility.

The original anon defined this problem as "The problem with the antis is that they are questioning Will's feelings for Hannibal when they should question Hannibal's feelings for Will," but these all shift the discussion back onto Will, into places that serve your opposition rather than serving you. So even if you "won" this part of the argument--which is easier said than done--you still wouldn't have proven your point about Hannibal, you will have just made observations about Will.

Again, this is all beside the point for the Wtf crowd, and playing into the hands of the merry-murder-husbanders.

So what do we have left? These are the rest of the statements:

Hannibal surrendered, manipulating the situation rather than acting out of genuine love.

Hannibal's actions show a lack of genuine love, portraying him as a greedy figure taking relentlessly from Will and ultimately causing his destruction.

and

Hannibal created this delusional image of Will in his mind and inserted himself into Will's delusional world.

Hannibal only liked Will when Will behaved like Hannibal—notice that in season 2.

Anon points out Hannibal's creation of a false image of Will in his mind, particularly evident in Season 1's exploitative and abusive behavior. Anon contends that Hannibal only appreciates Will when he mirrors Hannibal's actions,evident in s2.

I've grouped them like this because they are each united by theme: one, that, as I put it in my original reblog, Hannibal's worst personality defects (his selfishness, manipulation, and sadism) negate any authenticity/sincerity in his emotional response to Will; and two, that Hannibal's image of Will in his mind is incorrect enough that it means that he's fallen in love with his idea of Will, rather than with the man himself.

I think we can all see that the second of these--although perhaps the more accurate one--is going to be plagued by the moving goalposts I mentioned above. In order to prove it, you've got to prove that Will isn't the person Hannibal perceives him to be. That might be doable with the Wtf crowd (probably why I see it as a more accurate concept, since I'm in this crowd), but it's going to be MONUMENTAL to try to get the merry-murder-husbands to see it this way. If you're willing to fight those off, well, you might make some headway with people who are more open-minded.

But it's going to be complicated by the fact that you're going to have to also prove the first claim in order to make the second stick, because the problems with the first one will set up problems with the second. And that first claim is going to be real difficult to prove.

Here's why: the basic presumption of the first claim--Hannibal's worst personality defects (his selfishness, manipulation, and sadism) negate any authenticity/sincerity in his emotional response to Will--is that it defines love in the kind of platitudes people use when they're teaching their children not to allow others to mistreat them. It's syllogistic.

A. Hannibal is greedy and manipulative and destructive with Will.

B. Love is not greedy, not manipulative, and not destructive.

C. Therefore Hannibal's feelings for Will are not love.

But we all know the problem with a syllogism: if either of the premises are false, the conclusion is also false.

In real life, premise in B. may or may not be a useful way to look at love, but that's beside the point here. The question is, Is the premise in B. the way the show Hannibal presents and defines love?

Fortunately for us, the show has given us two explicit statements on love and what it is and what it means, one in "Shiizakana" and one in "Secondo."

In "Secondo," the conversation is between Hannibal and Bedelia:

B: What your sister made you feel was beyond your conscious ability to control or predict. H: Or negotiate. B: I would suggest what Will Graham makes you feel is not dissimilar. A force of mind and circumstance. H: Love. He pays you a visit or he doesn't.

This view of love is that it is outside of the control of the one who experiences it. In order to support that Hannibal does experience this kind of love when it comes to Will Graham, then all you have to prove is that he had super strong feelings toward Will that caused him to be out of control, to badly predict his own behavior, and that he did stupid shit rather than negotiate his choices well. I think...well, these are all fairly easy to prove. Hannibal set his whole neatly curated world on fire for Will, all the while thinking he was in control when he was totally out of control. This would be the "Did you think you could change me, the way I changed you?" problem. Up until the moment that Will points out that he already did change Hannibal, Hannibal really thinks he's negotiating this force of mind and circumstance just fine. Meanwhile, he makes himself sad by getting Will incarcerated and mad at him, he plays his get-out-of-jail-free card with Miriam Lass, and then this loses him his very favorite murder identity of the Chesapeake Ripper, and eventually his home, practice, ability to live under his own identity and ultimately his freedom. The fact that he tries to control something that is very much out of his control is evidence for, not evidence against, defining his actions as motivated by love. At least by this definition.

The other definition presented in "Shiizakana" is probably the more damning one:

H (in Will's mind): No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.

If we stop after the first statement ("No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them") then it might seem like we have something workable with regards to the idea that Hannibal is in love with an idea of Will rather than the man himself. By this reasoning, because he's focused on his image of Will--his imago--then his love is less than fully aware of who Will really is. So maybe it's not really love.

But unfortunately that isn't the end of the statement. Seeing that person's potential (Hannibal's idea of Will) is part of being fully aware of them, by this definition. Will then coming to see that same potential in himself--the cause of him throwing them both off the cliff instead of just Hannibal--happens through Hannibal's love for him. And if Will does go full dark murder husband (the jury's still out on this, obviously, and will probably be out forever), then that would be because Hannibal expressed his love, in all those selfish and destructive and manipulative ways. Even if Will doesn't go full dark, where he has expressed his darkness--with Chiyoh and her prisoner, with touching Frederick Chilton's shoulder, with attempting to kill Hannibal himself, with his deceptions and manipulations and obvious enjoyment of terrorizing Freddie Lounds, etc, etc, whatever--is still that potential coming true.

This is going to be a really difficult point to argue past, especially because the show is largely concerned with transformation as an expression of love, all the way back to Garrett Jacob Hobbs and most of the murders of the first season. It may not be the way one should view love in the real world, but it's the way love is defined in the murderworld of Hannibal.

And that even leaves aside numerous other points, including but not limited to:

violence as an expression of love and/or sex

Bedelia--who herself disagrees with Hannibal's assessment of Will's character--nonetheless defining Hannibal's feelings as "in love"

the imago as an image of a loved one carried by the unconscious during a person's entire life, which is still defined as love even though it idealizes that person

the fact that Will planted Hannibal's imago himself

So if this is something that you really want to pursue, all this is what you're up against. It's a tall order, and that's probably why no one has really broached the issue much in the past except as a sort of moral judgment against shippers.

The limits of what I've laid out here include the interpretation of the cliffening being Will's rejection of going full dark. That's got some room to move, but it's problematic because if he fully rejected the concept of that being his potential, then he doesn't actually need to throw himself off the cliff, and additionally, it's undermined by the Bedelia leg-eating scene which suggests Will's involvement. Ultimately, it's also fully speculative--you only have those two scenes to work with, and everything else that falls under the general umbrella of speculations about S4 and beyond are just that--speculations. Not evidence.

There's probably an argument somewhere that the show draws a distinction between wholesome love (like Jack and Bella) and Hannibal's kind of love, but I don't know if that distinction is strong enough that Hannibal's love is not love at all, in the show's terms. Especially because Jack and Bella's love is partially defined through how her coping with death changes them both. But you still have the problem of it being about different types of love, not one thing being called love and another thing not. Overall, this would be hard to find all the pieces of and would require a lot of studying the stories about love that are outside of Hannibal and Will, and this would be challenging even to me, but it might be worth a look if someone wants to do that massive amount of homework.

I guess that's kind of where all this ultimately leads me, and back to the original point I made about why this kind of discussion doesn't belong in any one person's inbox. These are big questions: they can't be fully argued in a couple paragraphs. At least not well. The fandom is sorely missing meta writers at the moment who are willing to take the trouble to do the full amount of homework and effort that is required to really say something insightful. Mostly it just seems like people want to toss off a couple paragraphs and "win."

That's always been a problem with meta in fandom. It isn't a problem we're newly inventing. Everyone has opinions, regardless of the amount of thought they've put into them--but for the Hannibal fandom specifically there used to be more people who were willing to really dedicate themselves to getting to the bottom of things, to making progress understanding the show be the purpose of discussion and analysis, rather than achieving victory over a perceived group of people who are understanding the show "wrong." Right now there's...maybe one?

To be clear, I don't count myself as in that group of one person who is willing to work that hard. At least not for the most part. There's nothing wrong with opting out of that effort.

But there is something wrong with pursuing that "win," if it comes at the expense of people's peace of mind, the fandom family's unity, and deeper understanding of the show.

So if you want to have these discussions, please have them, but have them at the level that they deserve to be had. If there has to be a call to action at the end of the post, I suppose I'm asking people to do the homework--to watch the show ten more times, start to finish, to have the episodes ready to go at a moment's notice during a discussion, research existentialism and Christianity and Revelations and the original books and films and what Bryan Fuller and the cast have said and what the other meta writers said over the past eleven years.

But at the very least, let's stop letting our annoyance with each other dictate our understandings of the show itself. Yes, some interpretations and some people can be super annoying (believe me, I've been there!), but that has no place in generating bias over what the show itself has to say.

#hannibal meta #hannibal #bear replies #hannibal lecter #hannigram #will graham #hannibal fandom meta #what is love #oh baby don't hurt me #don't hurt me #no more

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cardansriddle · 10 days

Text

Gilded Serendipity - (tom riddle x oc)

Part 3/10: "False God"

Story summary: A summer meant to be spent in the tranquil seaside mansion of Rosier's was not supposed to sway hearts like rustling leaves. Sereia Nova was most definitely not supposed to feel drawn to Tom Riddle. Yet August had a way of weaving chaos and desire together, only to dissolve into the shadows, leaving behind a bittersweet aftermath- an ephemeral illusion of love.

(gif not mine)

PART 1 PART 2

chapter warnings: sensual themes.

A/N: took me a whileee but here is the third part!!

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

The subconscious was always a bitter thing. It liked playing wicked games with its owner, taking the things the person did not want to think about out of that pocket of forbidden thoughts and bringing it to the very front of the mind.

Sereia was cursing her brain as she was hurriedly descending the stairs. Her mind was cruel, replaying the night before like a broken film reel, unrelenting in its vividity. She could still feel the ghost of his touch trailing illicit whispers along her skin. The shape of his lips haunted her own.

She was going insane, and there was nothing she could do to put an end to it. With that one kiss, Tom had sunk his fangs deep into her vein, poisoning her blood with the feel of him so she would not dare forget it. Sereia had spent a good hour in the bath, scrubbing her skin raw until it was red and irritated, yet his touch remained imprinted. No amount of effort could wash away his claim.

"Merlin's beard, Ria, did you sleep at all? You look like...death."

She huffed and shot him a sharp glare. "Not in the mood, Tony.""

"Woah, alright. Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today." He grumbled, putting his hands up as if to surrender. The witch was half-tempted to hit him, but stopped when Walburga entered the room with a sly smirk curling on her lips.

"Who woke up in your bed?" She questioned. Her eyes flicked to Sereia, and they suddenly shone with mirth. "Our Sereia here? It was about time."

Sereia's cheeks flushed at her comment, and she helplessly looked at Antoine to say something. But before he could utter a word, Avery strutted into the room.

"What was about time?" He asked lazily, barely attempting to cover his mouth as he yawned. "Well?"

"Sereia and Antoine here. Apparently they were up to no good last night." The brunette winked cheekily, and shot her an approving smile. "I must say, dear Ria, I did not know you had it in you. Always thought you were a prude."

Sereia was sure her whole face was the same shade as the maroon wine Avery was holding in his hand. The boy stared between them for a moment, before frowning. "Salazar's spit, Antoine. I wanted to woo her this summer." He paused, as if reconsidering, and then strode towards the girl. She barely registered more people filing into the room as he leaned closer to her. "But, I assure you, should you fall into my arms, I will make you see the stars. I am much better company in bed than Antoine."

"Avery, enough." Tony warned from next to her.

Walburga laughed. "Well, Avery, Abraxas, you owe me ten galleons. They fucked before winter."

I buried my face in my palms. "Tony!"

"Everyone, shut it. Sereia and I most definetely did not fuck. So please, shut your mouths."

"But—"

"You misheard, Walburga. She did not sleep in my bed. We are strictly platonic."

The girl seemed to recover from her embarassed state and added. "Exactly. It's more of a he's my brother type of situation and what you all are suggesting is— it's just gross."

She lifted her chin, attempting to rid herself of the embarassment and mortification that the conversation had caused. Straightening her spine, she regarded eeryone around her. They all looked either amused or confused. When her eyes met Riddle's, she had to surpress her shudder at the intensity behind his heated gaze. She could not quite read his expression, but the displeasure was as evident as ever. Flashes of the previous night suddenly invaded her mind, and she had to avert her gaze quickly lest she blushed once more.

Clapping his hands, and snapping the girl from her brief memory lane, Antoine drew the attention to himself. "Great, let us end this conversation now!" He questioned from beside her, and she felt the ghost of his fingers brushing against her elbow in reassurance. Her gaze subconsciously saught Riddle's, and when she saw the dark look he was shooting to where Antoine's hand was touching, the girl stepped aside. Her friend shot her a confused look, but she just shrugged.

"Can we eat now that that's settled?" She rose an expectant brow, gesturing towards the table that had already been set and filled with food. Avery was the first to break the pregnant silence, huffing and puffing about how he was starving. Seria shared a look with Antoine before following Avery's lead and taking a seat. As she placed some fruits onto her plate, the chair beside her was pulled back and she could feel before she could see that it was Riddle. It was bizarre— the way she could simply feel the air still whenever she was in his presence. It was like the very atmosphere was telling— no— warning her that he was near, that she should brace herself to face him.

His clothed arm brushed hers as he shifted, and the girl had to resist the urge to shiver.

"Salazar's spit, Riddle, are you not parched in those clothes?" Antoine suddenly questioned, and suddenly all eyes were on the wizard.

"Some people have the decency not to walk around naked, Rosier. Perhaps you should take notes." Walburga muttered snidely.

"It was the middle of the night! Am I supposed to walk in a whole three-piece suit at the crack of dawn?"

"A shirt and sleeping pants would suffice."

"Can you cut it out? This is making me lose my appetite." Abraxas grumbled abruptly, his voice slicing through the escalating bickering. A smirk of triumph flashed across his face as the table fell into a silence. He grabbed his cutlery and digged into his breakfast aggressively.

Sereia, feeling a lack of appetite, mechanically nibbled on assorted fruits. She tuned out Lestrange and Rosier as they began squabbling again about another matter she did not care to know. She was about to reach for her goblet when a warm breath tickled her cheek, drawing her attention.

"Had I known you'd run to Rosier to finish what I started, perhaps I would not have let you slip away so easily, little siren." Tom whispered lowly, Tom murmured, his lips grazing the curve of her ear with each syllable. The girl try as she might, could not help the shudder that ran through her body.

He noticed. Of course, he did. He never missed a thing. Yet, before he could revel in his discernment, she retorted, her voice a low hiss meant to avoid alarming the others nearby. "How dare you?" she countered, struggling to keep her voice subdued. She truly could not believe the nerve of him to imply such a thing. "I did not run to anyone. Antoine and I certainly did not spend the night together, so I'd appreciate if you refrained from implying that I'm a whore."

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

"I did not."

"Whatever. But if we are talking about whores, why not talk about you?" She turned her head to meet his gaze squarely. "You are the resident whore of Hogwarts, perhaps second place to Avery, or maybe you just hide it better." She watched as surprise flickered across his features for a fleeting moment before he swiftly masked it, as if it had never been there at all. "I will not be a plaything, Riddle. While you may find amusement in Walburga, you will not find me so compliant," she declared, her tone firm, before redirecting her attention to the others at the table. Meanwhile, Tom studied her profile, a barely perceptible smirk tugging at his lips. She was a fiery little thing, and oh how he relished a challenge.

Not used not having the last word, he leaned to whisper in her ear once again. "You may resist all you want, but I will have you succumb to me." he murmured, his gaze searching her face for a reaction. She responded with a smirk, but she did not deign to meet his eyes.

"Maybe I will consider it... if you beg."

He laughed loudly at that, genuinely amused at her bravery. Everyone at the table suddenly diverted their attention towards them, disbelief flashing across their features at seeing Riddle laugh.

"Is he—"

"Salazar's spit..."

"What's so funny?"

Tom hummed softly, a languid smile lingering on his lips as he casually draped an arm over the back of Sereia's chair. She clenched her teeth in frustration at his nearness, struggling to push aside the unwelcome flood of thoughts crowding her mind. "Miss Nova here has a good sense of humour, that is all."

Sereia lowered her gaze, avoiding the curious stares of those around her, and brought her goblet to her lips in a feeble attempt to distract herself.

"Sereia—"

The girl sprung from her seat with far more enthusiasm than was necessary. "Time to go for a swim!" she declared with a forced smile, her discomfort palpable, before hastily departing from the table, nearly breaking into a run as she fled the house.

Walburga's gaze shifted to Tom, flickering between the self-satisfied, lazy grin etched on his face and the intensity of his gaze fixed on the doorway through which Sereia had hastily departed through mere moments ago.

"Look at little Sereia starting to charm boys." Abraxas snorted, looking at Antoine with a mirthful smile. "You will have to work overtime to ward off the boys now, mate."

"Shut it. I do not do anything of the sort. She is free to court whomever she likes whenever she likes." He paused, rethinking his words. "Except you all."

"Really? How about the time in third year you hexed Arnold because he kissed her on the cheek?" Avery rose a brow.

"Or the time in fourth year you petrified that git who was going on a date with her?" Malfoy added.

"Remember when—"

"Alright! Alright! So fucking be it! None of you are allowed to pursue anything romantic, sexual— especially sexual— relations with her. Off-limits!"

"Mate, that's unfair! She's not even your sister, you can't put a ban like that!" Avery whined, rolling his eyes in a very exaggerated manner.

"She is like my little sister in every manner except by blood."

Dahlia Greengrass pouted, looking affronted at the way the wizards were behaving. "Leave it be, everyone. Would you rather ruin your friendship with Antoine by pursuing Sereia? The entirety is Hogwarts isn't enough for you all to corrupt?" She questioned. "Leave the poor girl alone."

Riddle observed the scene unfolding with a curious glint in his eyes.

"Thank you, Dahlia." Antoine said gratefully. "Now that everything is loud and clear, let's go join Ria before she starts wondering what took us so long."

Everyone muttered their agreement as they stood.

"Tom, would you like to head to the library first?" Walburga asked as everyone started filing out of the room.

Tom glanced at the witch momentarily before looking away distractedly. "I shall like to rest for a bit before rejoining the company." He did not wait for a reply before striding away in the opposite direction.

Walburga watched his retreating back, the familiar bitter taste feeling her mouth as it always did whenever he disregarded her in such a belittling manner. She begrudgingly followed after the group, glancing back one last time in hopes that Tom also would, but he had already disappeared up the stairs, and the girl heaved a sigh in disappointment.

Her sharp gaze fixated on the distant figure, observing as the girl who managed to coax a rare laugh from Tom Riddle swam gracefully in the water. Sereia Nova had never posed a threat in her mind. Antoine's best friend had always been a sweet little thing, too pure to be around the likes of them. Though Walburga harbored fondness for the girl, her desires lay elsewhere — with Tom Riddle.

She pondered the allure that Sereia held for Tom. Was it her innocence, her sweetness? Or was she simply another conquest in his relentless pursuit to tarnish purity? Perhaps, she mused, innocence was a challenge for him, something to be conquered and corrupted at his whim.

At least that is what Walburga told herself as she smiled bittersweetly at the younger witch.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

"Ria." Antoine began, his tone firm, signaling to Sereia that a lecture was imminent.

"I know what you're going to say, but it's nothing alright? I am not involved with Riddle...like that." Sereia interjected, her words rushed and defensive, preempting Antoine's anticipated disapproval.

Antoine's furrowed brow softened slightly, but skepticism still lingered in his gaze. With a resigned sigh, he conceded, "I will choose to take your word for it. But I will tell you this, Ria— my friends are all off-limits. They are the worst pick of the bunch for any girl." He paused, as if another thought had just invaded his already disturbed mind. "Actually, just do not go for any Slytherins. You can go for uh...Hufflepuff perhaps? They do not have a bad bone in their body. Be kind and all that shite, yeah? Yeah. No Gryffindorks either I suppose, they're all gits—"

"Tony!"

"What?"

"Would you like to arrange who I will be marrying too? Stop acting like my father. Fine, I will not date your friends out of my respect for you, but other than that you have no right to dictate who I can and can't date."

"But—" Antoine began to protest, but Sereia cut him off with a firm stare.

"Dahlia!" Sereia's sharp call drew the attention of the girl, who began to swim over with a curious expression. Sereia shot a warning look at Antoine, silently telling him to behave.

"Yes, darling?"

"Nothing. It's just an effective way of shutting him up." Sereia smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"What is?"

"Any mention of you."

As Dahlia's cheeks flushed with a soft hue of pink, Antoine's face transformed into a vivid crimson, the color spreading like wildfire across his features. Sereia couldn't suppress a satisfied grin as she watched the effect of her diversion tactic unfold. "Well, I'll leave you be. It's time for my nap!"

"You just woke up!"

"Nope, that was a while ago." "Nope, that was a while ago," she singsonged, her voice carrying over the gentle lapping of the waves as she began trudging out of the water, droplets cascading from her form like shimmering diamonds. Her eyes met Avery's across the distance, his grin mirroring her own playful one as he responded with a mock salute, the sun casting playful glimmers in his eyes.

As she approached the shore, she glanced over her shoulder at the call of her name, catching Abraxas's gaze, his eyes alight with something she could not decipher as he swam towards her, his sleek form slicing effortlessly through the water. His expression morphed into a sickly sweet smile as he drew nearer.

"My dear, dear Sereia," he greeted her with exaggerated warmth, his voice dripping with faux sincerity.

"What is it?" Sereia replied, her tone laced with playful anticipation, already bracing herself for his inevitable request.

"Would you be so kind and bring us a wine?"

Sereia raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you ask one of the house elves?"

"You see, I'm craving a particular one and seeing as the creatures can't read...it complicates things. Can you get me the Chateau d'Yquem?"

Sereia couldn't help but laugh at his audacity, her playful demeanor unwavering. "Does Antoine know you're drinking his most expensive reserves dry?" she retorted, her tone teasing

Abraxas replied with a casual shrug, his smile unapologetic. "He encourages it"

Sereia rolled her eyes. "Alright. But know that you are very annoying." She conceded, her words accompanied by a playful splash in his direction.

"Thank you, Sereia," Abraxas replied, his sweet smile bordering on saccharine as he watched her depart, a twinkle of mischief gleaming in his eyes. Sereia narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously before turning on her heel and heading out of the water. She quickly slipped on her sheer beach cover over her wet swimsuit, debating whether to change into dry clothes or return to the water after fulfilling Abraxas' request.

She hummed a random melody as she walked away from the private beach and slipped into the garden that lead to the winery, running her hands through her wet hair and slicking it back.

She trekked the familiar path through the greenery, each step accompanied by the gentle rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. The summer sun cast golden rays that danced across her skin, warming her with its tender caress. As she neared the fountain, its marble basin shimmered in the sunlight and the girl resisted the urge to dip her fingers into the cool water.

"Out for a stroll, little siren?" A familiar voice, smooth as silk and laced with a taunting edge, shattered the serenity of her surroundings.

Her movements stilled, her senses alert to the presence behind her. She hesitated to turn, wary of facing the figure who she had been trying to cast out of her mind. She knew as soon as she met his eyes the thoughts of yesterday's kiss would come back to haunt her once again—or the bold teasing she had unabashedly engaged in during breakfast.

With a steadying breath, she shut her eyes, grappling with the urge to flee or confront him. Before she could decide, a warm breath ghosted over her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Tom had drawn closer, his proximity suffusing her with a mixture of apprehension and something she dared not name.

"Or have you come to see me beg?" He murmured into her ear.

Suppressing the rising panic in her chest, she attempted to step away, only to find his hand firmly encircling her waist, anchoring her in place. Her breath caught in her throat as his touch ignited a flurry of conflicting emotions within her. Her gaze dropped to the hand sliding further until his entire arm covered her stomach.

"Unhand me, Riddle. I am just going to the winery." Sereia tried to protest against his advances, her voice twinged with defiance that wavered due to his proximity.

"Are you now?" He asked, and even though she could not see him, she could feel the amused smirk that was no doubt on his face.

"Yea—Yes. I am expected to return." She insisted.

Tom hummed, a low, tantalizing sound that sent a tremor through her core. "What a shame," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. Just as she thought he was going to let her go, he abruptly spun her around to face him. Caught off guard, she stumbled, her heart pounding erratically as she braced her hands against his chest lest she crashed into him. "You will not be going back anytime soon."

"What?"

"Can't have you running to Rosier to finish what I started. That would make me unseemly would it not?"

"Riddle, what are you say—"

"It would create the impression that I leave a lady unsatisfied. Which is insulting." His lips brushed hers with every syllable, and Sereia was finding it harder by the second to resist the temptation of him. She desperately willed herself to push him away and leave before the situation would escalate any further. But she was immobilised. He had her right where he wanted, and her traitorous body was craving him. Any further protest was cut short as his lips captured hers in a searing kiss and she found it bothersome how she did not hesitate to kiss him back.

His lips moved with a fervent urgency, coaxing a response from her that she couldn't deny. Each brush of his mouth against hers sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her, erasing whatever had remnants of rational thought.

Her hands moved on their own accord, sliding over his chest, collarbones, and moving up to tangle themselves in his dark hair. He groaned as she tugged at his locks and the world around her fell away at the guttural sound. His kiss was a tempest, fierce and consuming, igniting a fire within her that blazed with undeniable fervor. She yielded to him, her senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of his touch, every nerve in her body electrified.

His hand moved to the hem of sheer cover dress, fingers brushing against her inner thighs before bunching up the fabric and tugging it upwards. Tom stepped towards her, forcing her to blindly walk backwards until she felt marble digging into her back. He broke away from the kiss to momentarily lift her to sit on the edge of the fountain.

Sereia suppressed a whine at the loss of contact, but a loud moan escaped her throat when his lips fell to the hollow of her throat and sucked, no doubt leaving a bruise with his ministrations. She should have told him to stop— or at the very least not mark her up for all to see, but she found she did not care. She wanted—no— needed more of him.

Her fingers dropped to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling, trying to pull them open. She had only gotten half of them undone when he grabbed her wrists. "No." He panted. "This time I will make you beg. We can save that for next time."

Sereia was confused, but was quick to retort. "What makes you think there is going to be a next time?" She asked through laboured breaths, dazed eyes roving over his dilated pupils and his swollen lips. For the first time ever, he looked like a mess, and Sereia could not get enough of the sight.

Tom only smirked in response, his fingers going under her cover to pull at the strings of her bikini bottoms. She trembled beneath his touch, her pulse racing with a heady mix of anticipation and desire.

"Because I am going to make you beg for a next time."

Sereia's jaw dropped when he sunk to his knees, his eyes ablaze with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

#tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle fic #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x female reader #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle angst #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x you #gilded serendipity

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