#on a more petty note this is what happens when you don’t read books nor have friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taestefully-in-luv · 3 years

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The Island | KTH (Two)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10.4k

Warnings: swearing

Notes: Hi everyone! Here’s ch2 of the new story, hope you guys like it. let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @monvieesdaebak @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @everythingnamjoon @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni

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You don’t think you have ever been this bitter in your life—and you have a few things you can be bitter about. You could honestly make a list. But this? This is the ultimate bitterness and you hate it. It is driving you absolutely nuts! You’re alone with a man on an island…that’s lonely enough, right? Well, said man doesn’t even want to talk to you…that makes it ten—no, a million times more lonely. And you have every right to be bitter about that. So, yes maybe you are being a little petty when guys do interact.

It’s not like you are trying to purposely be petty, no, it’s not like that. You just can’t help your smart ass mouth or how childish you can become. Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind completely though, he just has his own smart ass comments or he becomes childish himself. It’s a horrible mix! Neither of you win! And you always want to have the last word but with Taehyung as your opponent it’s almost impossible.

“Maybe if you weren’t always following me, they would have sent us home by now.” Taehyung states bitterly as he puts his slice of bread on top of his now made sandwich.

“I’m not following you.” You roll your eyes, “I have to eat too.”

“You can’t wait until I’m done?”

“You look pretty done to me…” You point at his sandwich and he scoffs.

“I still have to eat it.”

“Eat in your room for all I care.”

You and Taehyung are getting along just fine…maybe not swimmingly but like, fine. It’s been a couple weeks and you have mostly stayed out of one another’s way but it’s moments like this that you end up interacting.

“I think I’ll eat at the table, thanks.” He grabs his sandwich and makes his way to the dining room table, sitting down with a thump. He aggressively picks up his sandwich and takes a bite while showing you a smart ass smile.

“Fantastic,” you state, “Me too.” You finish pouring milk into your cereal bowl and set it back inside the fridge. You dramatically make your way over to the table as well, giving him a wide grin as you sit down in front of him. You slightly slam your bowl down on the table, some milk dribbling over the edge of the bowl and Taehyung snarls.

“Great, you’re making a fucking mess.”

“If you went up and ate in you room you would have no idea about this mess.”

“But you still would have made this mess?”

“Ignorance is bliss, Taehyung.”

“You’re such a…” he stops, setting his lips into a firm line and you lean your head forward, clearly curious about what you are.

“Such a…?” you blink at him repeatedly and his lips curve upward into a charming smile.

“A fucking brat.” Taehyung grabs his sandwich again and takes an obnoxious bite while grinning and you give him your best annoyed eye roll.

Okay, maybe a little less than fine. This company has got it all wrong! All. Fucking. Wrong. You two are barely getting along! It’s just eye roll after eye roll, smart ass comment after smart ass comment. That’s it. That’s the relationship. Taehyung barely spares you a glance throughout the day. You do your own thing and he does his. You won’t lie though…you are curious what he gets up to…the last week he has left the house and doesn’t come back until sunset…and he comes back sweaty and exhausted.

You want to ask what he does, you do, you really do. But something tells you he wouldn’t even tell you even if you begged. And you’re not about to beg for this asshole.

So, you guys keep to yourselves save the occasional breakfast/lunch/dinner run in. While he does god knows what, you have also been trying to keep yourself busy. You have recently learned to cook a couple meals, nothing too fancy but you feel proud. You play a lot of games, read a lot of books and watch a lot of movies.

But to put it simple—You’re bored. Fucking bored. You miss human interaction. You hate to say it but your food run ins are mostly on purpose at this point…you just want someone to chit chat with for a few moments even if its unpleasant conversation—because hey! At least it’s conversation.

You and Taehyung eat in silence after your little convo, he and you share strange eye contact…you call it strange because it’s more like he glares at you and you glare at him. Your eyes never leave one another. You feel like he’s trying to cast like, black magic on you, maybe something where if he glares enough you will burst into flames. You assume this because that’s exactly what you’re doing.

“Stop looking at me.” Taehyung finishes his last bite, wiping his mouth clean with a napkin.

“You stop looking at me.” You fire back and he sighs, folding his arms across his chest.

“Why would I look at you?”

“Why would I look at you?” you mock, shoving a spoonful of cereal into your mouth and Taehyung squints at you.

“Oh yeah, real mature y/n.” His lips curl inward and he relaxes his arms at his sides as he stands from the table.

“I’m going to my room now.”

“You literally don’t have to announce everything you do.” You raise the bowl to your lips and drink back the leftover milk. You don’t want to look at Taehyung’s expression, you know you’re being ruder than usual. You’re just bitter. Yeah, pretty god damn bitter. You hear Taehyung release a long breath, and you’re starting to think he’s right, maybe you are a brat.

“Goodnight y/n.” he says much softer than you were expecting.

Yeah, maybe you are a brat.

~~~~~~

You’re snuggled up on the living room sofa, the TV plays some cartoon movie you found on the shelf (obviously one of his picks). The movie is on a low volume as you have a book in your hands. You just started it this morning and you have not put it down, it’s called The Roommate, a funny and sexy novel. Too bad your own roommate is nowhere near funny nor sexy. Okay, maybe he’s a little sexy. But his attitude is the opposite of sexy so therefore he isn’t sexy. Yeah, totally. Whatever you have to say to yourself, right? It’s evening now and you’re almost done with the book, you have hardly taken a break from reading. This reminds you of your last memories before the island…the night before you were…kidnapped. Yeah, kidnapped. That’s how you would describe it.

The night before you were like this…snuggled on your sofa in your parent’s house…

“All I’m saying is it doesn’t seem like you’re trying that hard to—”

“Honey, relax.” Your dad cuts in. Your mom is going on and on again about how you still haven’t found another job.

“Relax? Our daughter suddenly left her job and moved back to town!” Your mother throws her hands up, “And she won’t even tell us why!”

You sit here, your knees to your chest as you read your book. You try your best to ignore your mother…you two have rarely ever seen eye to eye. If you told her why you “quit” your previous job and why you had to move back home she would probably find a way to blame you.

“She will tell us when she’s ready.” You hear your dad whisper to your mother. “Don’t push her, you know that makes it worse…”

You can’t help but nibble on your lips, starting to feel the anxiety build. You try to focus on the words on the pages in front of you but they’re beginning to become blurred.

“Oh what is she 5 years old? You treat her like a child! She’s an adult she can handle a little confrontation.”

Your eyes lose focus on the words in front of you, instead all you see is blurred vision thanks to the tears that try to visit.

“I’ll be going to sleep now.” You announce, closing your book and setting it on the end table next to the sofa. “Goodnight.” You grab your phone and stand from your place on the couch. Thankfully, your dad offers a soft ‘goodnight sweetie’ and your mom just nods her head.

You make your way down the hall to your bedroom, opening and closing the door quickly. You lean back on the bedroom door and sigh out, blinking away any tears that tried to appear. You won’t cry. Not again. You feel your phone buzz in your hand, startling you. You unlock your phone to see who messaged you when you see it lit up with a notification from him. You feel your whole world collapsing. Why the fuck is he messaging you?

You stare at your books pages, in deep thought as you recall your last night before the island. You don’t want to remember honestly. You shake your head, ridding yourself of your thoughts when the side door opens in the kitchen. It’s Taehyung. He’s sweaty and clearly exhausted again…what the hell does he do outside for so many hours?

“Hi.” You say, looking up at him from your book. Wait. Why did you greet him?

“Hi…?” Taehyung is just as surprised as you are, with his wide eyes and open mouth. He scrunches his brows together as he eyes you. He gives you a small wave, confusion written all over his face as he begins walking through the entry way and heading upstairs.

You sit here embarrassed as hell. Why did you say hi? And why was your voice so high pitched? You turn red, redder than you probably can imagine. You drop your face in your book and groan, wishing you didn’t say something as simple as ‘hi’.

You have to remind yourself you two aren’t talking. That your roommate here at Casa de la Trapped, isn’t looking to become buddy buddy with you. Which sucks because you are human, you know, a social creature. What’s the harm in becoming friends? Sure you two banter, but you can tell he isn’t a bad guy. You just don’t get any bad vibes from him, in fact sometimes it seems like he’s forcing himself to be closed off.

You try to go back to your book when you hear a faint yelp from upstairs. Did Taehyung just kind of…scream? You sit here with your book, your ears in the direction of the stairs trying to listen for any indication that something is wrong. But it’s silent. You decide to go back to your book when you hear the noise of Taehyung running down the stairs. He is out of breath by the time he reaches you, standing next to the sofa.

You quite literally choke on your spit when you see him. This boy just don’t give a damn, huh? He’s standing here, trying his best to breathe evenly with nothing but a dark red towel hanging lowly around his hips. You gulp at the sight of him. You knew he probably had a nice body but you were not expecting this. His strong build surprises you, his soft, caramel skin glows even in this lighting and his muscles flex with every movement.

“Uh,” you begin, setting your book down again, “Can I help you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Taehyung rushes to say, he sounds much different than usual. His voice is usually calm and deep but right now it’s panicked like a child.

“With what?”

“There’s a spider in the shower, I need you to take care of it.”

“You want me to kill a spider for you?”

“Kill?” Taehyung brings a hand to his chest, a shocked expression on his face. “All life is precious, y/n.” he pouts. “Just get it and take it outside.”

You tilt your head and try not to laugh as you look at him…he looks bothered, that’s for sure. But god, what a baby. Can’t even take care of a small bug by himself.

“Fine. Show me where it’s at.” You rise from the couch, pointing at the direction of the stairs.

“Yes, yes. I’ll lead the way!” Taehyung walks quickly. He makes his way upstairs with you following right behind him. He leads you into the bathroom when he brings back the shower curtain to show you the spider.

“Well?” you ask expectantly. “Where is it?”

Taehyung turns to face you, his face as white as a ghost.

“It was just here, I swear.”

You roll your eyes as you fight back a grin.

“Sure, Taehyung. Are you sure you weren’t just trying to show off your body?” you shamelessly drag your eyes down his body and he goes red.

“W-Why—why would I do that?” he murmurs out, “Plus, I am sure you’ve already imagined what I look like without clothes.” He recovers quickly, a smirk making its way on his face.

“Not likely.” You say nonchalantly. “Well, if there’s no bug—”

“Wait! You don’t expect me to use this shower still, do you?” He looks panicked again, like a small child.

“Uh, yes?”

“The spider could be lurking anywhere! Let me use your shower.” He suggests, loving his own idea. You on the other hand, do not love his idea.

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“Yeah, nah.”

“y/n…” He whines, “Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” You raise a brow, a small smirk creeping on your face. “Okay, have breakfast with me tomorrow. And you actually have to talk to me.”

“y/n…” he warns. “You know we shouldn’t do that.”

“And I want 5 facts about you.” You stand your ground, your hands on your hips as you speak. “And I’ll give you 3 about me.”

“How is that even fair?”

“I’m the rule maker here, Taehyung.” You narrow your eyes at him, “Get used to it.”

Taehyung walks closer to you, his breaths reaching your skin.

“Oh y/n.” Taehyung’s voice goes low, “I definitely make the rules.” There’s a moment of strange tension as he stares down at you…then he’s speaking again. “If you only give 3 then I only give 3. That’s the deal.”

You stare up into his dark eyes and you struggle to swallow your own spit, he might only have a few inches over you but maybe they are a little intimidating.

“F-Fine. Use my shower.” You step out of his way and gesture towards your room. “See you at breakfast tomorrow.” You wink.

Taehyung rolls his eyes but this time it almost seemed playful and not overly dramatic. You don’t want to get your hopes up but when he’s not being closed off and frankly, rude, he’s really not that bad.

“Don’t get used to these types of deals.” Taehyung throws over his shoulder as he walks to your room. “Basically, don’t get used to me.” He says a little quieter, but you still hear him and you frown.

“Like, I would want to!” you yell out.

Taehyung does not want to leave this shower, ever. He’s almost kind of bitter that he let you have this room! You get the awesome rain shower and he’s stuck with some plain, basic shower head in the guest bathroom. He eyes all the different bottles that sit on the shelves inside the shower, these must be all the bottles you use in your real life, he thinks. He grabs the shampoo and opens it to sniff it. He’s never gotten close enough to you that he can smell your hair but man, this is what you smell like? Delicious. He squirts a generous amount of the shampoo in his palm with an evil glint in his eye and massages it into his scalp. Whoops, did he just use your shampoo? Oh well. He rinses his hair out and uses your conditioner as well, but he doesn’t stop there. He uses your body wash too! It smells divine and its making his skin so soft.

Taehyung just knows that him using your shit would bother you, he just gets that vibe. And he’s not sure why but riling you up is quite fun. Taehyung turns the water off and grabs his towel and starts drying off…he steps out on to the shower mat and eyes the room as he dries himself. He sees you organized all your lotions and whatever other products onto the sinks counter top, he sees how empty “his side” of the sink is. It previously held all his belongings that he had moved into his bathroom—the guest bathroom.

“Are you almost done in there?” He hears you knocking on the door. “I want to take a shower before bed!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He whispers out, “Hold on!”

Taehyung wraps the towel around his hips again and goes towards the bathroom door, he stops to check himself out in the mirror before opening the door.

“I’m all done, cry baby.” He rolls his eyes and you secretly hope they get stuck like that for how much he does it.

“Me, the cry baby? You wouldn’t even use your own show—”

“—anyway, bathroom is all yours.” He breezes past you, but stops before exiting the bedroom. “Um…” he turns around, “See you in the morning.” And then he’s walking out.

~~~~~~

You made eggs, bacon, pancakes, and have fresh fruit in a bowl all set up on the dining room table. For some reason you are too nervous to call out for Taehyung and let him know that breakfast is ready…you know, 30 minutes ago. You just patiently wait, sitting here tapping your fingers against the wooden table.

Another 20 minutes pass by when you hear faint footsteps from upstairs…he must now just be getting up, you think. You rush to reheat up some of the food before he makes his way downstairs. You set the bacon, eggs and pancakes back down on the table and make yourself busy like you haven’t just been waiting for almost an hour.

Taehyung finally walks through the kitchen, his face evident with sleep and his hair sticking out in all directions. He blinks at you lazily before his eyes widen in panic.

“B-Breakfast. I forgot—”

“It’s okay, I just finished.” You cut him off with a strained smile. “I see you like to sleep in.”

“Most days, yeah. Because I go to bed so late.” He admits sheepishly. Then he smirks. “Can that be fact number 1?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Oh, you’ll allow it? How gracious of you.” Taehyung takes a seat at the dining room table and he starts with grabbing two pancakes from the pile and setting them down on his plate.

“You cooked all of this?” He asks, surprised.

“No, the other people who live here did it.” You deadpan.

“Always a smart ass.” He says while pouring syrup all over his pancakes, “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“Right…” you make your way to the table and take a seat in front of him. You start with some pancakes as well, waiting for him to finish with the syrup so you can pour your own generous amount. He notices you waiting, his eyes finding yours and the corner of his mouth twitches into a sort of half smile. He slides the syrup across the table and your hand goes out to grab it, your fingers touching his.

“S-Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

You both get out at the same time. You stare at one another for another few seconds before Taehyung rolls his eyes,

“Big deal, our fingers touched. No need to get weird.” He chuckles, and you feel your heart feel all fucking weird.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “What’s fact number 2?”

Taehyung takes a bite of his pancakes and moans into the syrupy mess, his eyes finding yours again.

“Oh? You’re greedy for information.”

“I’m a little greedy.” You admit, “So?”

“Fact number 2…I’m almost 5’11.”

“So you’re 5’10. Just say you’re 5’10.”

“But I’m not just 5’10. Because I am almost 5’11.” He groans, “Can’t you just humor me here?”

“Okay Mister 5’11.” You laugh, “My fact number 2 is that I have one older sister.”

Taehyung nods his head, remembering the picture of you and some other girl that you looks a lot like you.

“I see.” He swallows his food, “So you’re the baby of your family?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” He smirks at you, “You have that baby of the family vibe.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you give him a curious look and he looks at you like you can’t be serious.

“Because you’re…you know,” he gestures towards you with a knowing look and you scoff.

“No, I don’t know.”

“Brat.” He states simply. “Because you’re a brat.”

“Whatever.” You grab for some eggs and bacon, and Taehyung does the same.

“So, what’s fact number 3?” you ask, piling some eggs onto your plate.

“Already want the last fact? We are barely just eating.” Taehyung points out. He shovels some eggs onto his own plate once you are done, and sticks a piece of bacon into his mouth.

“Greedy, remember?” you remind him with a smirk. “So?”

“I’m sure you already gathered this but…I’m an aspiring musician.”

“I figured you were…that, or an artist.”

“Art is just a really fun hobby for me.” He admits. He loves to paint but singing and making music is where his true passion lies.

“What’s your last fact?” he stuffs his face with another piece of bacon, you watch him as he eats the crispy meat.

“Umm…” you look up at the ceiling as you think, “I used to think I looked bad in sun glasses but then I got over that…so now I buy any cool, funky sunglasses I can find.”

“That’s a really random fact.” Taehyung chuckles, “I like cool, funky sunglasses too.”

“Wow, are you saying we actually have something in common?” you tease, bringing a forkful of eggs to your mouth.

“Don’t get used to it.” He says dryly. “Since we said all of our facts, I guess I can go now.”

“You’re not going to finish your food? Taehyung…” you place your hands on the table. “They’re not going to assume just because we are talking that we are falling in love for Christ’s sake.”

“Don’t want to give them any ideas.” Taehyung says a bit harshly. Your face falls into a frown and you stand from the table.

“You can finish your food. I’ll leave.”

Taehyung blinks up at you and opens his mouth to say something but he remains quiet. You shake your head at him and walk off into the living room. If he wants to continue this “Little to no interaction” thing then so be it!

Taehyung sits here with his appetite lost. He holds his fork in his hand out in front of him and attempts to cut into his pancakes when he just gives up. He drops the fork onto the table and sighs out.

“y/n…” he calls out but you ignore him. “y/n!”

“Don’t talk to me.” You say with as much attitude you can muster and Taehyung silently mocks your words. He grabs his fork and aggressively cuts into his pancakes and takes a bite.

“Fine by me!” He yells out with his mouth full.

“You’re so annoying!” You groan and Taehyung silently mocks your words again but you can’t see him.

“And you’re a brat!” He says stuffing his mouth with another slice of pancake.

Great. For a moment there you thought you two could almost get along but he is set on this bullshit of not talking. You walk to the shelves in the living room and choose a new book, another romance novel. You take a seat on the couch, and curl up into a blanket. Taehyung can do whatever he wants! You’re going to enjoy your book and forget all about his annoying ass.

~~~~~~

Taehyung is finally dressed into some shorts and a sleeveless shirt as he makes his way out of the house. He is going to continue working on his little…project. You are probably wondering what he gets up to everyday, he thinks.

He is working on building a raft. He wants to escape this island but he doesn’t know how to build a fucking raft and this company didn’t necessarily give him the tools to escape. But he’s figuring it out. He is quite literally breaking tree branches and going from there. But it is taking time but apparently he has all the time in the world. 3 months? 6 months? A year or even more? He releases a long breath as he walks the path to where his “raft” is. If anything it’s just nice to get out of the house and breathe the island air. This whole thing kind of just gives him something to do and he knows this may not really work but he’s got to try. He’s a man of action after all.

He finally sees his “raft” chilling against a tree close to the beach and he walks up to it. Already feeling frustrated just looking at the pathetic thing. He has to make it big enough for two people…he isn’t an asshole, he doesn’t plan on escaping by himself, leaving you here.

He goes to his knees and holds it up, he feels his frustrations bubble over and he throws it to the ground. How the hell is he supposed to escape with this shitty thing?

He slams his eyes shut and sinks into the sand. He wants to go home. Things aren’t easy here…he can’t sleep. He is surprised he’s eating as much as he is, and he has mostly bad interactions with you. And he knows that it’s his fault. But he knows this is for the best but he can tell it’s not what you want. To be honest, this is actually really hard for him. He tries to come off as cold and closed off so you won’t take an interest in him but he’s dying! He wants to talk to you too! He is probably one of the most social of his friends! He has a lot of friends and he loves talking and hanging with them.

Taehyung feels his eyes become wet with hot tears and he grits he teeth together in irritation. He wishes he was home with his friends, with his family, with the girl he likes. He misses everyone so bad. He knows the night you two were “kidnapped” was the last day of the year, meaning they started this experiment January 1. He recalls his last few nights before the island…it was his birthday.

“No! I want him to open my present first!” Jimin whines and Taehyung can’t help the wide grin that adorns his face.

They’re all out at a bar, the music is loud and the alcohol is nonstop. Taehyung is surrounded by his closest friends, plus Hana—the girl Taehyung has been crushing on for the last year. She brought along a couple of her friends to this night out of celebration.

“He can open whoever’s he wants first…which is mine, right?” Jungkook hands Taehyung a box and Taehyung chuckles.

“Just for that, your two are going last.” Taehyung says, “How about I open Namjoon’s first since he planned this night?”

Namjoon gives the other two boys a cocky grin as he hands Taehyung a bag.

“Can I go after Namjoon?” Hana’s sweet voice is heard over the blaring music. She looks absolutely gorgeous tonight, her pink dress doing her a million favors. Not that she needs the favors, she’s always gorgeous.

“Y-Yeah.” Taehyung blushes, “But you didn’t have to get me anything…”

“Really? You practically yelled at us when you thought we weren’t getting you anything.” Jimin playfully comments.

“Shut up dude.” Taehyung grits out, “Anyway, let’s see what Joonie got me.”

The night went on, the music got louder, the alcohol kept on coming. Taehyung is so happy. Everything is perfect. He doesn’t think anything can ruin his good mood.

“Want to dance with me?” Hana’s words leave her pretty, pink lips and Taehyung finds himself nodding yes before he can even register what she said. He would literally do anything she wanted.

“Then come.” She waves him over with her small, manicured hand.

Hana and Taehyung end up on the dance floor for quite some time…he’s too drunk to be nervous like he usually is. His large hands grip at her tiny waist as he brings her in closer, she lightly moans when she feels his hard body against her.

“We should talk.” Hana breathes out, “About us.”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide, panic starting to make its way into his body.

“What about us?”

Hana chuckles lightly, she goes on her tip toes and places a soft, sweet kiss against Taehyung’s lips.

“Nothing bad, I promise.” She takes his hand and leads him outside the bar, out to a little patio. Taehyung has a huge smile on his face as he follows her outside…it’s not the first time they’ve kissed but he still can’t get used to it.

“You like me right?” she asks, pointing to herself. She’s got that sweet smile and Taehyung feels his nerves spiking.

“Yes.” He finally breathes out.

“Good. Because I like you too.” She admits, she closes her eyes for a moment, Taehyung spots the golden eye shadow that is painted over her lids. She opens her eyes again and he spots a sadness in them.

“But…” she begins and Taehyung feels his smile fade.

“But what?”

“No…it’s nothing.” She clears her throat, “You should take me on a date. And soon.” She giggles. Taehyung feels his smile grow and he nods his head.

“I would love to. We can—”

“Hey Tae!” Hobi’s voice cuts him off, “Yoongi says he just got off work and is on his way!!” He cheers happily. Taehyung turns to face Hobi and gives him a thumbs up before he’s spinning back around to Hana.

“Let’s go inside. We can discuss more on our date.” She smiles, taking his hand again.

“Sure.” Taehyung grins, his stomach doing a million flips. “Let’s go!”

Taehyung feels a few tears escape his closed eye lids as he sits in the sand. It’s too early to be in this state, Taehyung thinks. But alas, he can’t help it. He misses his life. This island put his life on complete hold. What if he’s stuck here for a year? Would Hana wait for him? It’s not like he’s expecting her to…but he thinks he would wait for her.

He stands to his feet, wiping his face of any leftover tears and he begins working for the day. He finds new trees with branches that would be easy to cut down and he resumes his little project. Hours and Hours go by and Taehyung is sitting on the beach’s sand and staring out at the water. He’s tired, he’s sweaty and he’s hungry.

Taehyung starts making his way back to the house now that the sun is setting. It’s pretty orange glow sets a relaxing mood and Taehyung feels grateful. He walks up to the side door that leads to the kitchen and watches you from the window. You look calm as usual and he feels himself feeling frustrated all over again…how are you so calm? He was having a meltdown on the beach earlier and here you are cooking dinner with a small smile on your face. He doesn’t understand you. Does this whole situation not bother you? No…he knows it has to bother you but how are you able to be so relaxed about it?

He opens the door and walks inside, startling you. You bring a hand to your heart when you see him but then visibly relax after a moment or two.

“You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles lamely. And then he’s walking up the stairs leaving you to your lonesome.

~~~~~

Month: 1

It’s been a month. A whole month! It seems Taehyung has gotten even more distant with you…no major interactions since you two had breakfast together. He keeps his comments to you brief in passing and he barely makes eye contact. You’re fed up. You’re lonely. You need interaction and you can’t always cater to him! He can suck it up for once and do what you want.

Feeling brave, you give yourself a pep talk in your bathroom mirror. That’s right, you are going to just go for it! You are going to demand that he hang out with you. You fix your hair in the mirror and nod to yourself. Yeah, you got this. You exit your room and stroll down the hall to his bedroom, once you are standing in front of it you lean your head against the door, your ear lying flat against it as you try to listen for him. The room sounds pretty quiet…maybe he’s sleeping? No, no. You’re just trying to find an excuse not to do this, aren’t you? Ugh, pathetic.

You raise your fist up and begin knocking on his door. You’re left with silence…you’re being ignored. So you knock again. And again. And ag—

“What?!” Taehyung swings open the door, revealing that he was indeed maybe sleeping. His hair is doing that funny thing where it sticks out in every direction and his eyes are barely open.

“This better be important.” He huffs out.

Suddenly, you feel a wave of shyness wash over you. You feel kind of bad you interrupted his nap…but you got to stay strong.

“Please hang out with me.” You blurt out.

“Huh?” Taehyung looks at you as if you’re crazy. “Not happening.” He quickly says.

“Just play a game with me, or maybe we could watch that movie…”

“I don’t want to do anything with you.” He raises his voice just the slightest and you flinch.

“Yeah? You think I want to do things with you? Like you specifically? Hell no! But I just want to do something damn it!” you flail your arms up, and breathe out heavily. “I am so fucking tired of always being by myself, it’s literally driving me insane.” You admit, you look off to the side as tears threaten to wet your eyes. “I am alone every single day. It has been a month, Taehyung? Did you know that? You’ve left me lonely for an entire month! I am going fucking crazy!” you bring your hands to your hips, “I have tried learning to cook all these god damn recipes as a way to distract myself but dude, I don’t even like cooking. I read all day too…I have all these imaginary book friends and that’s where I meet my social needs, isn’t that insane? Oh my god, I am going insane. And you?! How are you okay?!”

Taehyung is left speechless at your rant. He realizes that this loneliness is really getting to you…he admits he isn’t much better. But he kind of likes that you’re beginning to spiral. Is that mean?

“W-What game?” he juts out his bottom lip as his eyes slide to the side.

You stare at him with wide eyes as your chest heaves. You screw your eyes closed, and bring a hand to your head.

“What game?” you open your eyes to look at him, “That’s all you have to say?”

“What game y/n?”

You glare at him, huffing out deep breaths trying to calm yourself.

“Mortal Kombat.” You spit out, “I really want to kick your ass.”

Your fingers work the buttons on the controller as you test out every god damn combo you can…and damn it is working because you are on fire.

“You could have warned me that you actually know how to play…” Taehyung pouts.

“You should have just taken my word for it, you loser.” You continue to kick his ass in the game, you are pretty good at pretending his character is actually him.

“One more game, y/n.” Taehyung begs, “I will beat you!”

“You haven’t won even one match, Taehyung. Just admit you suck.” You chuckle darkly.

You press a few more buttons until you see the word ‘Fatality’ grace your screen, you stand up in excitement yelling out your victory, you laugh like a god damn maniac and he can’t help but chuckle. Taehyung throws his controller to the ground and pouts dramatically.

“I know what will make you feel better.” You turn to face him, calming down.

“Nothing will heal this wound, y/n.” He states, throwing the sofa’s designated blanket over his body.

“How about we watch that movie you like so much?” you offer with a smile but Taehyung goes stiff at your question.

“I think we should just call it for the day…” he looks awkwardly to the side and you slump your shoulders.

“Oh…okay.”

“Listen…it’s not you—”

“Just stop.” You hold your hand up, “You want nothing to do with me, I get it.”

“y/n…” Taehyung looks down at his hands…he does feel bad. It’s not like he didn’t have fun with you just now. He just wishes this was all different.

“I’ll be in my room—”

“Teach me how to make one of the recipes you learned.” He cuts in.

“What?” you ask, completely off guard. “What?” you repeat.

“I said,” Taehyung breathes out, “Teach me how to make one of the recipes you learned.” He’s not just trying to be nice…he’s also, you know, hungry.

You hate yourself because you light up like the sun almost immediately. You wish you were strong and you could tell him to fuck off but instead you become the god damn sun from how brightly you shine.

“Really?” you ask with the most hopeful eyes.

“Yeah.” Taehyung laughs, “Really.”

“You mean…you want to actually spend time with me?” you ask bluntly.

“I guess you can put it that way if it makes you feel better.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, but it’s in that playful way you only ever get to see so often.

“It does make me feel better actually.”

“Well, then.” He stands up and motions his hand towards the kitchen. “Shall we?”

“Are you going to be annoying the whole time?” you ask, “Or will you be serious about learning?”

“God, woman.” He rolls his eyes again. “I hope I annoy the shit out of you.”

“Oh, you already do.” You gesture for him to go to the kitchen first.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Somehow I believe you.” This time it’s your turn for the dramatic eye roll. “Now come on.”

“Oh my god. You aren’t even listening!” you yell out over Taehyung’s nonstop humming and whistling.

“I truly believe cooking is like an art, you know?” he continues to whistle some made up tune, “These instructions are like…a guide but you can kind of do what you…” he makes a fist with his hand and shakes it in front of his face. “… you want.” He finishes. “Yeah, these are more like suggestions.”

“Can we please just follow the directions.” You deadpan. “I want this to taste the way it’s supposed to!”

“You’re no fun.” Taehyung says nonchalantly. “Cooking should be fun.”

“Cooking is so we can eat.”

“These dumplings are going to taste fine, y/n.” He assures you with a grin.

“You say that but…” you look at his pile of failed dumplings. “But…” you show him with your hand the absolute mess he’s made.

“Your point?” He raises a single brow and you scoff. There’s no way he is serious, absolutely no way.

You notice Taehyung is staring at you, his eyes look everywhere but your eyes and you start to feel nervous under his gaze. He has one of those dark, intense gazes that you just can’t shake off your mind.

“What?” you finally ask. “Something on my face?” you joke.

“Actually, yes.” He blurts out. “So much flour.”

“Oh.” You start to turn red with embarrassment, “Where? Here?” you point to various spots on your face with a towel and he just shakes his head.

“No, there.” He points but you still miss it.

“Just clean it off me!”

“You want me to touch you?”

“Yes, please touch me.” Then your eyes expand in size. “Wait, that sounds wrong.”

“You have a dirty mind, y/n.” Taehyung shakes his head again, “You’re just all kinds of dirty.”

“Oh my god, stop.” You look at him with your flustered as hell face, your face is probably redder than ever and it feels so fucking hot.

“Here.” Taehyung grabs the towel from your hands and begins wiping your face clean. “Your face isn’t dirty anymore.” He pulls his hand back, “But your mind still is, huh?”

“Will you just shut up?”

“Will you just shut up?” he mocks how you usually would and you roll your eyes. Hard.

“Doesn’t feel good does it?” He teases, “Getting a taste of your own medicine.”

“Can we please just focus on this recipe?”

“Fine.” He breathes out, “Except I will ignore this recipe completely and do what I think my ancestors want me to do. They whisper in my ear that these need more garlic.”

“You are so annoying.”

“Okay, I get it, Taehyung.”

You reach behind you and untie your apron and place it on its hook by the pantry. You walk over to the dining room table and take a seat.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Taehyung quirks a brow as you rest your head on the table.

“Resting. Letting you do all the work. You can cook from now on. I give up.”

Taehyung shakes his pointer finger at you and walks your way.

“Oh no, no, no.” he grabs on to your arm and begins dragging you up. “This was your idea so we are cooking together.”

“Uh, actually this was your idea.”

“Oh.” Taehyung’s mouth hangs open as he realizes how true that is. “Not one of my better ideas…” he admits.

“Oh? Do you usually have good ideas?” You make your snarky comment and Taehyung let’s go of your arm.

“Usually the best.” He says, a cocky smile making its way on his stupidly handsome face.

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Well, you don’t know me.”

“Oh? And whose fault is that?” You jab at him and he visibly deflates.

“You know 3 things about me actually.” He gives you a half smile.

“All I remember is that you’re almost 5’11.”

“Well, that one was the most important. So your head is in the right place.”

Taehyung doesn’t realize it because you didn’t say anything but his face is full of flour as well. You stare up at him and start to laugh. Taehyung looks at you, confused. An adorable pout forms on his lips as he begs you to tell him what’s so funny.

“Your face.” You point at him and his fingers go to touch his skin.

“Clean me.” He commands. “I cleaned you, it’s only fair.” He points out.

You nod your head and walk towards the counter to grab the towel, Taehyung follows closely behind you. You turn around quickly and your chest bumps into his.

“Oh sorry.” He says while scratching the back of his neck, “I got too close.”

You nod lamely, but neither of you step back. Maybe expecting the other to do it? You decide to ignore that and you reach up to clean his face. He has flour everywhere. No joke. This dude is messy. You kind of laugh as you wipe his face clean, he can’t help but laugh too. His breath mingling with yours as you two giggle.

“We are kind of a mess.” He admits, his tone is soft—almost shy. You slow down the patting on his skin and you gaze into his eyes for a moment. They’re dark. They’re powerful. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment when Taehyung clears his throat and you bring your hand back down.

“There.” You say, “All done.”

“Should we finish cooking?” Taehyung grins down at you.

“I don’t know, what do your ancestors say?”

“They say you’re a smart ass.”

~~~~~~

“Do you think we could…we could do this again?” You and Taehyung are standing outside your bedroom door. Why did Taehyung walk you all the way to your door? The world may never know.

“Do what exactly?” he asks as he sways back and forth in front of you

“Play a game…or cook dinner…or you know just hang out.”

“Maybe… once a week we can play a game or watch a movie or something…” he gets out awkwardly.

“Wow, you’ll grace me with your presence once a week?” you roll your eyes, “How generous of you.”

“Listen…” Taehyung looks at you more seriously, “I know social contact is important for like, our mental health or whatever. But we shouldn’t push it.”

“You’re so…”

“I’m so what?” Taehyung steps forward and you gulp.

“So unfair.” You whisper. Taehyung bows his head down, he feels like he is shrinking. Because you’re right, he is being totally unfair. But he thinks this is the right move, the smart move.

“Y/n…” he sighs, “I’m doing this so we can leave.”

“And what if your little strategy isn’t working? It’s been a month Taehyung.” You point out, “And we’re still here.”

“I know, I know. Jesus, woman.” He breathes out, his dark eyes finding yours. “Look, they will get bored with us.”

“How can you be so sure?” you step forward. “What if we aren’t boring to them?” you whisper, your eyes staying on his.

“That’s why we should interact as little as possible.”

“Taehyung. No offense. But do you really think I want to interact with you?” you spit out, “I just need something, anything. I just need someone.” You step closer, “And you happen to be the only person here.”

Taehyung’s brows pinch together as he looks down at you, a frown decorating his face. He…he doesn’t want to be hurt by that.

“Once a week y/n. That’s all I can offer you.” He steps closer to you, his feet bumping into yours, “Don’t get greedy on me.”

You tilt your head up and chuckle,

“I told you I’m greedy though.” Your eyes stay on his, his piercing gaze causing you to shudder but you don’t break contact and neither does he. He’s challenging you, you can feel it. His eyes begin to narrow as he stares down at you, you wonder what he is thinking. He sighs out, his breath hitting your face and you blink up at him. You’re about to say something, anything when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. You mean to keep your eyes on his eyes, you really do but you don’t. You hate yourself for dropping your gaze down to his lips. He smirks as realization hits him.

“Goodnight y/n.” He says, his voice so deep and low it catches you off guard. Then he’s stepping away from you and heading towards his room, leaving you at your door. You release the longest, shakiest breath as you watch him disappear.

You open the door to your bedroom and walk inside, you wish you could yell out in frustration. You wish you could scream into your pillow and know for sure he can’t hear you. You wish you weren’t here.

You change into some sleep clothes and slide into bed. You pull the blanket up to your nose and kick your legs dramatically. This guy is so annoying! Why can’t he just not care and live life normally so you can be normal too! Listen, you aren’t fucking thrilled about this either. But you’re handling it a lot better than he is. Why is that…? Why are you handling this so well? Maybe it’s because your real life is a fucking mess and this truly is the vacation you needed. You know, you know how pathetic that sounds.

You close your eyes and try to sleep but memories of your real life keep hitting you. You hate this. You hate all of this. You’re lonely. You’re all alone. In this this life on the island but also in your real life. You’re so fucking alone. You feel tears prick your eyes and you let yourself quietly sob for who knows how long. You wish you had someone to lean on…just in general. But you lost all of your friends at work…you lost your boyfriend…you only have your parents and even they are fed up with you.

After crying tears after tears you decide you’re thirsty. You tip toe out of bed and make your way downstairs…the house is so quiet and dark. It’s relaxing and also depressing. You finally make it to the kitchen when you scream bloody murder. Sitting in the dark at the dining room table is Taehyung.

“Wow, y/n. It’s not next week yet.” He jokes. You quickly turn on the dining room light and look at him like he’s insane.

“You fucking scared me!” you exclaim loudly, “And why are you awake?”

“I have trouble sleeping…” he admits, he scratches the back of his neck and gives you a sheepish grin. “What about you?”

You step closer to the table and Taehyung’s eyes slightly expand. He notices your swollen eyes and puffy lips. Had you been crying?

“Hey…are you okay?” he whispers out, standing from his chair.

“Don’t act like you care so suddenly.” Your eyes slide to the side, “I’m fine.”

Taehyung looks down, guilt burying itself into his body. He looks up at you and tries to speak but he doesn’t know what to say.

“I just came down for some water.” You tell him. “That’s all.” You walk over to the fridge for the pitcher of cold water then you walk to the cabinet and try to grab a glass from the top shelf but you struggle. You huff out and close your eyes in frustration when you feel Taehyung’s chest on your back.

“I’ll grab it for you.” He says softly. He reaches for a glass and hands it to you, you take it from him and offer him a small thanks.

“See? That’s something only people who are almost 5’11 could do.” He teases and you look at him with a serious expression. You look down at your feet and sigh out before you let a giggle slip between your lips.

“Goodnight Taehyung.” You look up to study his face, and you see his smile fade.

“What?” you ask.

“Once a day.” He says. “We can hang out once a day. But that’s it.”

You feel your heart do something funny…you feel your tummy doing something weird too. You feel your entire chest get hit with a wave of….something.

“It’s fine, Taehyung.” You finally say after a quiet moment, “I don’t want to push you.”

“This isn’t for you.” He smiles, “I think I need the social contact too.”

“Well, no fucking duh.” You state with the roll of your eyes. “We can’t isolate ourselves…it’s so unhealthy.”

“I get it.” He breathes out, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“And every day after that until we’re out of this place.”

~~~~~~~~

The next couple of days you and Taehyung play some games or watch a movie together, just doing at least one activity a day. Just like he said you two would. Admittingly you do feel better about this arrangement. Not talking at all was a pain in the ass and terribly lonely. Sometimes Taehyung will come to the living room and play a game by himself while you read, just sharing a space without really talking, even after he did his one activity with you. You hate to admit how much you like that he does that.

It’s not like you want to get to know him specifically…but you would like to sort of know the person you are living with…that makes sense, right? It’s not him! It’s just that he’s the only person here…and you want a friend. Yes, you can admit you want a friend. You aren’t going to fall in love with the dude…you just want someone to talk to and hang out with. God, is that such a crime? Plus, you’re in no place for love. If the company truly knows you, with their “research” and all then they should know you are not ready for any type of romantic relationship.

You lay here on the couch, your legs hung over the arm of it while you stare up at the ceiling. It’s hot out today and this house happens to come with a lovely pool. The ocean is scary so no beach for you…but pool? Yes. You lay here, wondering what Taehyung is up to. He went out again today like he usually does, you wonder if you can ask him about it now…now that you guys aren’t on total terrible terms. Nah, you will wait a little longer before you ask. Instead, you rise from the sofa and head upstairs to change into a swim suit.

You have a lot of options, to be honest. This place did not lack on the clothing items! You decide on a simple dark green bikini, you try it on and decide you like the way it looks. A lot actually. Have you lost some weight? You guess the lack of fast food options has made you a little slimmer, and the amount of fresh food that’s available here. Plus you started lightly working out in the home gym, sweating a storm.

You head back downstairs and go to the back where the absolutely lovely porch is located…it’s a whole wooden deck. With a glamorous pool in the center and a hot tub off to the side. You wish you really lived in a place like this—not here, specifically. (For obvious reasons) You shrug off the towel that’s wrapped protectively over your body and make your way to the pool. You don’t know what you’re being self-conscious for…Taehyung doesn’t usually come back until sunset and it’s barely the afternoon.

You dip your toes in the water first…it’s pretty chilly but you handle it, dipping your body further and further into the water. You shiver just a bit before dunking your head underneath, letting the water consume you. You stay underwater, opening your eyes and staring at the blue nothingness.

“I love you.” He says for the first time, making you float on air. You knew he was going to say it soon, you could feel it but you were not expecting it here.

You two are sitting at Cozy Coffee, your favorite place to relax and read and write. You are in the middle of writing a very intriguing sentence when your fingers stop typing in reaction to his confession.

“You what?” you ask, a small smile adorning your face. “You love me?”

“Yes.” He reaches for your hand across the table, “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I had a feeling.” You tease. “But I…”

“You don’t have to say it yet if you aren’t ready,” he squeezes your hand, “I can wait.”

“No!” you squeeze his hand back, “I…love you too.” You admit softly.

He brings his hand back, folding his hands together out in front of him and sighs out, his breaths escaping him softly.

“These past 6 months with you y/n…” he begins, “Have been the most wonderful.”

“They have been pretty nice, haven’t they?” you smirk. “Tell me your favorite part?”

“Any part where you’re naked, for sure.” He laughs and you gasp.

“Hey! Behave.” You warn with a smile and he keeps laughing.

“I’m serious, this is the best relationship I have ever had. You’re definitely the best girlfriend…all these other girls have been crazy.”

You frown at that, “Why crazy?”

“Ugh, you know how women can get.”

You don’t like the way he said that, you feel your smile twist into another frown.

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. Because you aren’t like that. You’re different.”

You smile again, once again feeling special with his praise.

“Different how?”

“Jeez, you ask a lot of questions.” He half jokes. “I don’t know, you just are.”

The water is starting to sting your eyes as you continue to hold your breath, memories flooding you. This water isn’t the only thing trying to drown you. You finally squeeze your eyes shut and swim up to the surface, gasping for air once you reach it. You breathe out heavily as you try to catch a breath, your wet hair dripping down your just as wet face. You swim to the edge of the pool and lift yourself up on the ledge and sit with your legs still in the water.

Why do you have to think of him?

After an hour or so that passes and plenty of sun later you decide you’ve had enough of the day outside. You stand to your feet and grab your towel and dry off, draping the towel over your right arm. You’re still pretty wet you admit, but nothing crazy. You head for the house, walking through the back door. Once you enter the house the cool AC hits you, causing you to shiver but you decide a warm shower will solve this. You turn the corner in the hall to head upstairs when your body slams into another body. You run into Taehyung hard causing you to tumble over and fall on top of him.

Taehyung yelps out when he makes contact with you, his body falling to the hard tiled floor and he winces. You fall on top of him, your chest smooshing his face. Yeah, your boobs in his face. That’s what that fucking means. Your wet boobs in his sweaty face.

“What the hell?” Taehyung mumbles between your breasts, “Get off me.”

You’re quick to try to scramble off his body, your hands landing in all the wrong places as you try to lift yourself. He groans loudly when you make contact with his lower hips and his hands go to grab your wrists trying to stop you from moving around so much.

“Chill, chill.” He breathes out slowly, still holding on to your wrists. He makes his way out from beneath you and pulls you up by the wrists.

“I wasn’t this sweaty before you ran into me…” Taehyung observes, “How wet are you?”

“I wasn’t this wet until running into you. How fucking sweaty are you?!”

“Fair.” Taehyung says with a smirk, then he’s blinking at you. “You went swimming today?” he eyes you up and down and you immediately feel insecure under his intense gaze.

“Uh, yeah.” You take the towel that’s draped around your arm and go to cover yourself with it.

“Why are you getting shy now?” as sly smile draws itself on Taehyung’s face. “You didn’t seem this shy just a moment ago with your tits in my face?” he questions with a low voice.

“Oh my god, can we not bring that up?” you begin to blush and you hate yourself for it.

“Why not?”

“It was an accident first of all. There will never be a time again where my boobs are in your face.”

“Oh you’re making the company sad.” Taehyung pouts.

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes and Taehyung laughs. His laughter dies down though when he shamelessly eyes you again.

“Green is my favorite color.” He says while walking past you and heading upstairs.

You stand here, embarrassed as fucking usual. Your whole body warming up and you don’t even feel that cold AC any longer. You breathe in and breathe out. Taehyung is not making this stay very easy, is he?

~~~~~~

Month: 2

“Don’t you use that blue shell!” You scream at the air around you, your eyes concentrating on the screen ahead.

Taehyung smirks, working his fingers on the controller. God, he can really move his fingers. Wait, why the hell would you think that?

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

You are both totally immersed in your game, the finish line in sight. You jump to your feet in rushed excitement as the finish line is soon approaching. You need this win to tie with him on your ongoing competition in Mario Kart. You’re both oh so close, the anticipation rising. Like, honestly you might shit yourself. Taehyung also leaps to his feet, joining you at your side. Now you are both screaming at the screen, your throats will totally pay for this later. You are jumping up and down, yelling at one another , slamming your fingers on the controllers, harshly pressing down on the accelerator button. You can see it. Its literally right in front of you! AND you are ahead of him! The finish line! Your screams getting louder and louder…when…you are graced with a black screen.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” You yell in unison.

You turn to face Taehyung, the one you hate the most right now. Your eyes dark and your voice low.

“What did you do?”

“ME? I didn’t do anything!” He says accusingly.

“You must have! You knew I was going to win—”

“First of all, we don’t know that.” He cuts you off all matter of fact. So annoying.

You look at him incredulously.

“THAT’S IT! I’m going to strangle you!” Before you can take a step towards him to you know, kill him, the screen turns a bright white, catching your attention. Lucky dude. Your focus now on the screen, you look at it with your head tilted to the side. There are black letters at the top of the screen and you decide to read out loud whatever this caption says.

“Re…Request?” your eyes scan the word slowly. “Oh. Oh shit,” Your eyes go wide, you turn to face Taehyung, his expression mirroring your own. You had completely, like completely forgot about the ‘Requests’. It has been a couple months of silence so how could you not forget? You wonder if this company is finally ready to move …this…along. Whatever this is.

Only seconds pass before more black words appear on the screen. Your eyes stay on Taehyung though, too nervous to read what comes next.

Taehyung must realize you have no intention on reading anymore because he exhales deeply and faces the screen.

“Okay, here goes…” he begins, “The two subjects must…”

#bts #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst

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chosonore · 3 years

Text

part three | epiphany

epiphany [noun. a moment when you suddenly feel that you understand, or suddenly become conscious of, something that is very important to you ]

pairing: kamo noritoshi/f!reader

summary: your relationship with noritoshi was like a game of cat and mouse; no matter how hard you tried to escape from him, he would always find his way back to you.

wordcount: 9.1k

content/warnings: friends to enemies to lovers, language, angst, smut!!!!, dom!noritoshi, noritoshi is mean, oral sex, fingering, begging, edging, biting? (he gives u a bite like once), dry humping, riding, lowercase intended [UNEDITED]

a/n: i... will not comment on this. lmfao i can’t believe i wrote all of this filth. please have mercy on me, this is the first time i’ve every written smut and i’m not really good at it fhuewhiu (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) i think this is the angstiest chapter by far but i promise, no more from the next chapter on! i hope you enjoy (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ will also add the series playlist to the masterpost so check it out if you wanna!

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noritoshi watched as you angrily stormed out of the room, slamming the door forcefully. he leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. now you've gone and done it. the words came out harsh and hurtful, force of habit deeply engraved into his brain. never was it his intention to hurt you so deeply, to push you away. but it was the only way to protect you from his family. noritoshi was well aware that he was a mere pawn in the stupid game that the clans were playing. he was the golden child, only accepted into the family because of his cursed technique. the cruelty he experienced was something he would never forget. he seeked revenge, for his mother and himself. but this was his own problem to handle, not wanting to drag his mother or you into this mess.

for years, noritoshi had suffered quietly, his only motivation being the protection of his mother and you. rarely did he ever show any emotion, nor did he know many to begin with - but he knew he loved you. his suppressed adoration brought out ugly facettes of his personality: jealousy, frustration, anger. if his family ever caught wind of how much he loved and cherished you, it'd be the end for the both of you. he didn't doubt that they'd already arranged a partner for him to marry. noritoshi hated how they held onto traditions that had no place in this time any more. how they still engaged in these petty clan fights when now it was most crucial to stick together. he swore to himself, as soon as he would become clan head, everything was going to change. but until then, he had to get through this.

how much longer he could deal with this, he wasn't sure. it did bother him that you got so much attention from everyone else; it irked him even more to see that you flirted back sometimes, completely unaware of the effect you had on them. his heart yearned to be yours. as much as he didn't want to be selfish, he couldn't help but indulge. noritoshi still felt your lips on his, your smooth skin, how pliable you were in his arms and how you gave in, into him. was it unfair of him? he supposed so. if he ever got the chance to explain the entire issue to you, he would have to beg for your forgiveness, undoubtedly.

summer rolled around faster than you’d anticipated - it meant that you could finally get some room to breathe and just do nothing for a while. the third years had graduated a week prior, making you feel a little sad and wistful. you’d miss todo a lot now that he left the school but made him promise that he would drop by whenever possible. noritoshi however- you hadn’t spoken a word to him ever since that incident. it was frosty between the two of you, even the teachers had noticed and tried to not let you close to each other. while you hadn’t thought about him in a while, sometimes the thoughts were creeping up on you. some type of closure would have left you feel more at ease but having talked to your mum about the issue, it helped you move on. regardless of how he had made you feel, you would live your life for yourself now.

summer break was long and you didn’t have anything in particular planned - the two main events were your summer vacation with miwa as well as your training camp at tokyo tech. the spring tournament also had its good sides, you guessed, you were able to ask shoko and gojo to teach you over the summer. having witnessed shoko’s healing abilities first hand, you were hellbent to become as good as her. never again would you feel anxious and useless about your skills, you would become an excellent on field healer. you were looking forward to spending time with everyone there as well, especially since yuta was coming home for the summer break. you couldn’t shake the little crush you had on him, it creeped up on you whenever you talked on the phone or texted each other. subconsciously, you hoped that something would bloom out of it but hope was a fickle thing that could quickly turn into misery.

before you left for tokyo, you decided to visit your parents at the kamo estate, hoping that you wouldn’t run into noritoshi on your way there. as far as you knew, he was busy on missions, rarely ever coming home. you greeted the guard at the front entrance, making your way to your family’s little house near the outskirts of the estate. despite the uncomfortable atmosphere that was surrounding the entire estate, you still couldn’t help but fall in love with the gardens and sculptures over and over again. you couldn’t lie, growing up here was wonderful. deciding to make a little detour to the koi pond, you skipped towards the arch bridge. below you, the fish were happily swimming around, glimmering in all kinds of colours. you peered at them, leaning against the railing. as a child, you always liked to dip your feet into the water on hot summer days, promptly earning a disapproving glare from your mum. you always ignored her though, claiming that she couldn’t stop you from getting some kind of refreshment.

as you watched the koi and took in your surroundings, footsteps made you halt in your musings. one of the kamo elders must have gone on a stroll around the gardens; you whirled around to greet the person. your throat grew dry and constricted when you saw noritoshi walking towards you, looking so casual and carefree in his loosely tied yukata. should you greet him? after all, this place was his in some way. but your friendship (could you even call it friendship?) ended on a bad note, did you really owe it to him? neither of you made a sound until he stood next to you, leaning against the railing. you tried your best not to look at him and focused on the pond below you, staring so intensely that you thought you might have lasered some holes in the surface beneath you.

how much longer would you stand here? could you just leave? but then, wouldn’t it be even more awkward? not that you cared anyways. you hadn’t talked to each other in months. as you pushed away from the railing, noritoshi cleared his voice and turned his body towards you.

“y/n.”

you froze in your steps, looking at him like a deer in headlights. behind you, the wind was rustling up the leaves, adding to the tense and awkward atmosphere. you tried not to scream at him in frustration - it would only end up in yet another fight. yet, noritoshi looked strangely vulnerable in this state, seemingly not knowing what to say to you either. it appeared he simply spoke to you without considering how to further the conversation. he looked like he wanted to reach out to you but simply didn’t know how. you couldn’t fall for this - it had happened before.

“how have you been? i heard you’re going to tokyo tech for training,” he started after a moment of hesitation and gave you a wry smile. huh? you were confused. why was he asking you about this now? it was because of megumi and yuta, wasn’t it.

“it’s… it’s none of your business,” you said with a strained voice. even though you felt uncomfortable with his presence around you, you couldn’t take a step away from him. perhaps you were hoping for an explanation from his side. perhaps you were just relieved to see he was okay, after all the missions he’d already been sent on. “i don’t see how i owe you an answer after… everything that happened between us.”

noritoshi stayed silent, balling up his fists. “you’re right. i’m sorry,” he mumbled, hiding his hands in the sleeves of his yukata embarrassed. “i… i want to explain myself. at least as much as i can tell you and if you’re okay with it. can we move it somewhere more private? i don’t want any of the elders seeing us.”

you hesitated. on one hand, noritoshi sounded sincere but your history spoke for itself. and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. like a moth to flames, you were always drawn to him. like the center of your universe, everything revolved around him. curiosity got the better of you, nodding before you could stop yourself. noritoshi let out a sigh in relief, stepping towards a more secluded area on the estate, one that you were very familiar with. as children, you used to spend time there a lot, hidden from your parents eyes and without any care in the world. the little corner was surrounded by tall cherry trees, adorned with smaller bushes and a little bench underneath the tree crowns. as noritoshi made his way there, he glanced behind him, making sure that you wouldn’t just leave him and vanish. true to your word, however, you trudged behind him and kept your distance. not once did you look him in the eyes, avoiding his gaze altogether. you were afraid it would make you weak in your resolve, walls crumbling and falling apart like paper mâché.

arriving at the bench, the two of you sat far apart, mirroring the distance between your hearts. you reminisced the old times, the memories making you queasy. whenever you spent time here as children, you would sit close to each other and read books together or just told each other stories. all that’s left was bitterness, heavy and suffocating on your tongue. “what is it that you wanted to tell me?” you questioned him, folding your hands on your lap. you were clenching your hands hard to keep them from trembling, not wanting to show him any weakness.

noritoshi was questioning his own resolve - he shouldn’t tell you anything, should’ve stayed away from you. the yearning was too strong; it was one of the few times he would ever get to see you again before being sent to yet another mission. noritoshi wanted to be selfish, to savour your presence until he was satisfied. maybe you would understand, at least a little bit. he didn’t expect you to forgive him, nor did he think you would let him crawl back into your space. but being close to you was enough.

“i know no amount of apologizing is going to make this better or even take the pain you’ve felt from my treatment but i want you to know that i’m really sorry. you didn’t deserve that whatsoever. i can’t tell you the exact reason why but- but i don’t want to leave you in the unknown any longer,” noritoshi recited his reasons so fast that you almost weren’t able to follow. with each word, your confusion visibly grew. but instead of feeling anger, as you should have, your heart grew heavier with disappointment. his confession was somewhat of closure but not quite. why couldn’t he tell you the reason? was it really so important? important enough to hurt you? you couldn’t understand and you didn’t want to.

“i don’t understand. why can’t you tell me? in case you didn’t realize yourself, this entire thing makes no sense. i don’t understand why you suddenly started hating me. we were close friends, we grew up together. are you telling me you never felt that way? that you weren’t and still aren’t able to trust me with this… reason? and why would you dump this onto me now? i would’ve been content not knowing anything at all,” you vented frustrated, sending him a glare. noritoshi was taken back by your outburst, gnawing at his bottom lip as he looked at you guiltily.

“i… fuck, i don’t know how to explain this without giving away too much, okay? i know it’s stupid but it’s complicated and i don’t want to drag you into this. i trust you, more than i trust anyone but this wasn’t… it wasn’t because i didn’t trust you,” noritoshi took a deep breath. “my entire goal was to protect you by keeping you away from me. and yeah, that was the only way.”

“but why-”

“now that i’ve left school, i’ll most likely be traveling a lot… i won’t be able to see you, let alone keep my eyes on you to make sure you’re okay. i just wanted to be fucking selfish for once, just needed to see you again. you don’t want to see me, i get it. i’ve been nothing but cruel to you and i don't expect you to ever forgive me. but i promise i'll make it up to you."

"noritoshi," you clenched your jaw, brows furrowed as you leaned over, jabbing your finger at his chest. "i don't want to play this game of cat and mouse with you. let's just stay away from each other, okay? nothing good comes out of it anyways. either you want me by your side or you don't, easy as that. you don't get to decide when to get back into my life just because you feel like it."

you just couldn't show him how hurt you were. whatever opening you would reveal, noritoshi would use it against you. he had always been and will always remain your weak point. you made peace with the fact that he was your first love but would probably not be your last. a dam broke inside you as you felt the warmth of his chest, memories flooding your senses. that day was long forgotten, exiled out of your memories until now. there was never a moment that allowed you to reflect on it. you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it and his confession had confirmed the suspicions. noritoshi wasn't the type to engage with people he strongly disliked, much less be intimate with them. there was more to it that he simply refused to disclose to you. you had to put an end to this endless circle - a clean cut until the two of you were ready to face each other again.

taking a deep breath, you withdrew your hand and clutched it to your chest. "this isn't going to work out the way it is. you keep pulling and pushing, without giving me an explanation and- and i'm tired of it. i'm tired of getting hurt. i used to like you a lot, i had a crush on you-"

"you what?" noritoshi visibly paled, unnoticeably inching closer to you. he never realized.

"-and i kept hoping that one day you would return the feelings. i'm a fool, for thinking we could ever get anywhere," you smiled bitterly, slowly getting up from the bench. "let's go back to being enemies, okay? pretend this never happened. it's obvious we need to grow as people, independently from each other. maybe it's good that we'll go separate ways… if fate wants it, we'll find back to each other. and hopefully by then, you'll have a good explanation."

conflicted, you didn’t take another step, staring down at him. he looked small and meek as he sat there with his usually broad frame hunched over and kept his eyes on the grass below him, fiddling with his fingers. as if sensing your gaze on him, noritoshi tilted his head to look at you. his mind was elsewhere, far far away. he didn't realize he was staring at you with blank eyes until you came closer and leaned down concerned. you were so close to him, he could almost feel your breath fanning across his skin. you liked him. noritoshi fucked up, majorly, and he felt like everything was slipping from his fingers. his carefully constructed walls, the mask he kept on at all times and the unwavering resolve to push through until he'd become the head of the clan, they all came crumbling down when you announced that you would leave for an indefinite amount of time.

"don't leave," the words came out like a whisper, barely audible in the chimes of the wind. your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words, heart clenching at the sight of such a vulerable noritoshi - a reflection of your 'toshi. he reached out to you, hesitantly glasping your hand in a weak grip. as if he was afraid, prepared even, that you would go anyways. "please," he pleaded a second later, intertwining your fingers with his. like the wings of a hummingbird, your heart was fastly beating at this display of intimacy. it made you feel warm and cold at the same time, filling you with dread and the looming fear of consequences.

but what would he do if his last source of hope would leave him? ever since his mum left, he sparsely had contact with her until the contact eventually ceased to be. never did she reach out to him or react to his attempts to rekindle the relationship. throughout his adolescent years he had lonely, the guilt gnawing at his conscience. if only he could be stronger, more resilient. stand up to the elders and stand tall and proud, being nobody else but him. you gave him hope, that he could someday return to you, even if it remained a simple friendship. a beacon of light would always be one as there was always light at the end of the tunnel. panic filled his head as he realized that you would abandon him and this time it would be final.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," noritoshi mumbled in a begging tone and slowly drew you closer, until you stood between his legs. his face was basked in the evening light, accentuating all the features you liked about him. his kind, steel blue eyes that harboured depths of emotion and mystery like a restless ocean. his long hair that flowed with the wind, not being wrapped up in the bindings for once. the wisps of hair that framed his slim face. it was an unusual sight, making your heart clench in melancholy. he looked so innocent like this, the gentleness in his facial expressions more visible now. as if feeling your resolve slipping away, he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist and pressed his face in your chest, exhaling shakily and slowly. you let him, gently petting his hair.

underneath his breath, noritoshi murmured something. his voice was muffled in the fabric, making it difficult to understand what he was saying. you made a confused sound, leaning down slightly to better listen to him. not expecting him to move as well, you suddenly found yourself face to face with him and much closer than before. "i love you," he breathed out, pressing his lips against yours in a fluid motion. they felt scalding against yours, as if reminding you to stay away and yet soft, inviting you back in. finally gasping for air, you pulled away, fingers coming up to touch your tingling lips. noritoshi gave you a hopeful look, fingers dancing across the expanse of your back.

slowly, you backed away from him, avoiding his glance. you were in shock, not being able to process his confession. the entire confrontation had quickly escalated and you weren't able to follow. though the words made your heart clench, you couldn't help but feel like they were empty words. empty, simply thrown into the mix to elicit some kind of reaction from you. "i'm sorry, noritoshi. i- i can't return this, nor do i… i don't feel like i can believe you," you told him with a heavy heart. he opened his mouth, about to retort something when you cut him off. "please just let us move on from this, okay? i- i'll leave now." you sprinted away from him, tears stinging in your eyes. how could words that you've always wanted to hear hurt this much? how dare he play with your emotions like this, using your weakness to his advantage. he wasn't serious, and you were sure of it. there was no way in hell, after all those years that he'd spent being a menacing asshole.

love was a fickle thing but what was it between noritoshi and you? treading the line between love and hate, tilting more towards the other but not quite. never far apart and connected to each other like an invisible thread of fate was intertwined between you. it wasn't love and it wasn't hate but everything in between.

you stared at the piece of paper in your hands, mildly offended. how dare gojo? why would he do this to you? yeah right, because he liked to see you suffer. and he wasn't even here to get an earful from you. clenching your teeth, you tossed the note on your table and moved towards your closet to pack. it was no use complaining about it, in the end the mission had to be accomplished either way. years you'd gotten away with rarely ever meeting noritoshi. the sorcerer community wasn't big to begin with but with skill and determination, you were able to dodge every encounter. the handful of times you met, he always kept his distance though you always felt his watching eyes on you. megumi had told you that noritoshi was to become clan head soon - the elders had finally given in and the handover would be taking place soon.

apparently noritoshi had proven himself to them, both in strength and leadership skills. even you had taken notice of this. you'd only caught a brief glimpse at him at the last gathering but could tell that he had matured, exuding an authoritative and strong aura. but you had grown as well, no longer the meek girl you had been. you were more confident in your skills now thanks to your diligent training with shoko and yuta. moments of insecurity rarely entered your mind anymore. the relationship, or rather lack thereof, between you was rather frosty now, merely limited to an awkward greeting or a simple nod. the tension was palpable, no one wanted to come in the line of fire. for the most part, people had left you alone and not dared asking about the issue, not even your own mum. but of course, gojo then had to enter and send you on this stupid mission that apparently had to be done in pairs. you would’ve been fine with anyone but noritoshi.

it was a rather unpleasant curse that you had to deal with, gojo told you that it required two people to keep it in check. though you didn’t understand his reasoning, seeing as noritoshi was a grade one sorcerer now. gojo had simply left you a note on your door after he left for his own business (pure cowardice, in your opinion). the note let you know that you would be staying overnight, gojo had already booked a hotel room for you and gave you instructions for the report that you had to fill out later. you were to meet up with noritoshi at the hotel before then heading out to investigate, work out a strategy before attacking. you sighed, tossing the bag near the door before crawling in your bed. how would you face him again, for an extended period of time, after all those years of silence? it was best to just get it over and done with, efficiently and quickly. depending on how fast you were, you might even be able to catch the last train home. you couldn’t sleep, feeling restless and anxious about the entire situation. still, you closed your eyes, trying to get your mind to rest. but all that floated around in your brain was the sound of rustling leaves, accompanied with soft lips on yours.

coincidentally, noritoshi was already in the city the curse was situated at, deciding to then check into the hotel first before you’d meet up. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous - he didn’t know how to navigate the entire mission with minimal communication. he knew you didn’t want to talk to him, choosing to give him curt and snappy responses instead. cooperating was out of question, you disliked his presence and he could feel it. seeing that gojo had coordinated this (instead of doing the mission himself, like he was supposed to), noritoshi didn't expect anything to go well. weeks prior, gojo had pestered him about the title that was bestowed upon him. "so what's your first deed as the kamo clan head?" he had questioned noritoshi, grinning from ear to ear. noritoshi had shrugged and simply told him that he would go about his day. there were no plans, not yet at least. "so you're not gonna go and woo your lady?" this all knowing idiot. just thinking about it made his blood boil again.

noritoshi’s patience was already wearing thin upon seeing that gojo had booked one room for the two of you. with one bed only. he swore that gojo's secret skill was to give everyone headaches. complaining was useless, the hotel couldn't give him another room as everything was booked out due to it being the summer holidays. they'd deal with it somehow, even if he would have to sleep on the floor. noritoshi was placing his bag and outerwear in the closet when the door clicked, signaling that you'd arrived. for a brief moment, your eyes met but as soon as they did, your eyes had flitted somewhere else. you placed your bag on a nearby chair, rummaging in it until you found your sword and other supplies that you would be taking with you.

noritoshi remained silent, not wanting to upset you. he waited until you were ready to go, soundlessly following you. it was awkward but expected. at first, he was somewhat able to tell what you were looking for and gave you pointers in the right direction. it seemed to irritate you and you started venturing off on your own, simply leaving him behind. it frustrated him, after all you had a job to be done and needed to be as careful as possible. as a result of your uncooperativeness, it took longer than usual to map out a strategy. even longer because you refused to follow his suggestions and rather made up your own, knowing full well that they weren't as efficient.

the aftermath was… rather unpleasant. while there were no casualties, the two of you looked absolutely filthy and were in need of a good shower. noritoshi was angry, he didn't want to blame you but the entire situation got incredibly messy because of your stubborn head. hadn't you attacked him on your own, he would've been able to get rid of the curse swiftly. you'd snapped at him, asking him what his problem was. after all, the mission was finished and over with. involuntarily, noritoshi had to snort. you came back to the hotel late, far past midnight and still, you had the nerve to nag on him the entire way there. he'd let you use the shower first before hopping in himself. without a word you left the hotel room to grab yourself some snacks, stomach growling in protest.

noritoshi was seldom petty; as he put his robe on and entered the room, discovering that you hadn't come back yet, he promptly decided to give you a taste of your own medicine and stubbornly take the bed. what would you do about it now? he was peacefully reading a book in the dim lighting of the room when you came back. you almost dropped the snacks that you grabbed, narrowing your eyes at him. noritoshi ignored you, turning another page in the book unbothered. huffing in annoyance, you stomped over to the other side of the bed. noritoshi continued to ignore you.

"i'm not sharing a bed with you," you stated, crossing your arms in defiance. you didn't have any other solution but you were not going down without a fight.

noritoshi just narrowed his eyes at you and replied equally annoyed: "childish much, huh? just put some pillows between us if it bothers you that much. we're adults, for fuck's sake. and we've shared beds before, so i don't know what your problem is."

at this point you were fuming, you'd rather sleep on the floor than go anywhere near him. you wanted to wipe that stupid look off his face because you knew he was right and he knew it too. you were being childish and you couldn't deny it. there was no real reason to the quarrel, you wanted to be as insufferable as possible.

"it's different now!" you hissed indignantly. noritoshi looks at you incredulously, not getting your point. "you're a man now and- and it makes me uncomfortable!"

truthfully, it was more the fact that you were painfully aware of his presence now. noritoshi hadn't noticed but your feelings came crashing back in, filling the entirety of your being with yearning. each and every time he came too close, you dashed and didn't give him the opportunity to look at your face. the pained expression on your face was obvious, you weren't able to hide it. despite the hostility, you couldn't help but care. no matter how much you denied it, you would always habour feelings for him and were very much attracted to him.

"that's why i told you to put pillows between us??"

okay, that's it. "i can't stand being anywhere near you! you're a prick and i hate you," you snarled at him. to seal the deal, you hurled one of the pillows at him and watched triumphantly as it hit his chest. the angry look in noritoshi's eyes, however, told you that you fucked up. gritting his teeth, he tossed his book aside and lunged to grab you. you squeaked in surprise and wiggled out of his grasp, wrestling out of his arms until you stumbled and awkwardly landed on the bed, beside him. noritoshi keeps a tight grip on you, glaring down at you. now you've really crossed the line.

all confidence left your body when he hissed: "what. is. your. problem." you fucked up, royally. once noritoshi was mad, you were in for a ride. it was best to keep him in good spirits, appease him a little so he would ease up. you scrambled panicky and tried to apologize, pathetically wiggling in his arms.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry! i didn't mean it, please let me go!"

noritoshi kept a steel grip on you, moving between your legs and pinning your hands to the mattress. his face inched closer, you could feel his breath fanning across your neck. you stayed still, breath hitched as you waited for his next move. noritoshi's voice was raspy, lilting with an emotion that you couldn't decipher. "you're being a brat, y/n. look at yourself, you've hurt me… tsk, how are you going to make it up to me?"

you couldn't tell whether he was joking or genuinely hurt - your intuition told you that he was simply playing with you as payback. no matter how far away you strayed, you always seemed to find yourself back in this position. he was hypnotizing, alluring even. not giving him a reply, you stared at the ceiling, frozen in thought. while you'd been intimate on more than one occasion, noritoshi had never acted this way. so… possessive and strict, the tone in his voice told you that he wasn't up for any more quarreling. you were at a loss for words.

noritoshi, not being happy with not receiving an answer, decided to take matters in his own hands. he nipped at your neck playfully, making you yelp in surprise before pressing kisses against your neck. your skin was tingling, shots of electricity moving up your spine. when there was no objection on your end, noritoshi took it was an okay to continue. hands squeezing yours, he resumes his work, giving you soft and almost unnoticeable kisses. other times, he was pressing harder, sucking your skin gently. you wondered whether he left some marks - delirious on pleasure, your mind focused back on him.desire overtook you, no longer was your rationality at the forefront. in the depths of your heart, an emotion that rarely made an appearance emerged. it was flooding your senses, your conscious and mind, begging you to give in.

by the time noritoshi reached your lips, you were writhing. you expected him to kiss you but then he stopped, making you involuntarily whimper. you wanted more, wanted to savour it. a small smile found its way onto his lips as he brushed your hair back and cupped your chin, making you look at him.

and you swore that he knew, he just had to know what a mess he's already made of you in such a short amount of time as he asked, "what's wrong hm? what do you need, baby?" you fell for it, hook line and sinker. you thought to yourself, fuck it, the opportunity was right there. he may be an insufferable dick and you might fight more than you get along but the opportunity was there and god, did you want to be selfish. for just one night, you wanted to be his. you leaned up to kiss him but noritoshi pulled back, clicking his tongue, repeating again and this time more firmly, "what do you need?"

you couldn't help but stare at him, how his slightly damp hair framed his face, his chest that was exposed by the loosely tied bathrobe and how it revealed parts of his thigh. you wanted to see more of him, touch him. there was a burning feeling inside your chest, it was clawing at your skin, trying to break free. you grew more restless as he stayed still and gave you a stern look until you grasped the hem of his sleeves and whimpered quietly, "please kiss me."

it felt like an eternity until he pressed his lips against yours, everything that was so unmistakably him flooded your senses. his scent wrapped around you until your brain couldn't make out any more coherent thoughts other than him. 'toshi, 'toshi, 'toshi, your 'toshi. he moved so languidly; his lips were warm and soft but bruising at the same time, kissing you with fervour. you began to ease into the kiss, letting go of all your inhibitions. you could worry about it later, you'd decided, this is a future you problem. you wiggled in his hold, hands coming up to push at his bathrobe. noritoshi didn't budge and continued to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip - your hands became more restless, desperate to touch him. he made an unenthused noise, biting your bottom lip as if warning you to not push him. still, he somehow obliged and sat back on his heels, taking his bathrobe off and throwing it haphazardly to the side.

he looked ethereal, somewhere in the distance you thought you can hear angels singing. you reached out to touch him again, earning you yet another warning glance from him. “where do you get the confidence to do whatever you want after that little stunt you pulled earlier?” he questioned you in a low voice. whatever snarky remark you had on your tongue was thrown out of the window when noritoshi leaned down to touch you, slowly pushing your oversized shirt up to reveal your shorts, then your bra.

your breath hitched in your throat, you couldn't tell what he was thinking because even in this state he kept his perfect poker face on. and when he undressed you, you almost felt embarrassed of how eager you were to rid yourself of your clothes. yet you felt exposed - noritoshi didn't make a sound as he just studied you as if you were a luxurious meal presented on a silver plate, the sound of his breathing alone making you squirmish. he didn't give you the satisfaction of a compliment nor did he let you know what he thought, instead leaning down to kiss you again.

before you could deepen the kiss, he’s already moved down to your neck. you mewled in disappointment, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your hands in his hair. this time, he let you touch him, too absorbed in his mission to paint the skin of your neck in hues of red and purple. noritoshi moved lower when he was finally satisfied with his work of art, you’re a great canvas, he thought to himself. the burning feeling in your chest was flaring up again, you felt uncomfortably hot and the only relief you got was him touching you. he must know, he was doing this on purpose. you were convinced. a surprised gasp left your lips when his tongue swiped across your nipple before wrapping his lips around it. his fingers flicked the other one and- oh god did it feel so electrifying, so delicious, so good. you moaned his name, gently tugging on his hair as he continued his ministrations. “noritoshi,” you whimpered, trying to grind against his thigh. “please- please touch me.” he moved faster than you could react, snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin.

“i am touching you,” noritoshi responded matter-of-factly, cupping your breasts. “is this not enough?” you shook your head, making him chuckle. he took his sweet time, lathering your chest with the utmost attention. at this point you were sure you’d soaked through your panties and onto the sheets and you were desperate. finally, his lips left your nipple, his breath grazing them, making you shiver. he seemed to enjoy it, enjoy the effect he has on you, how you were writhing for him and him only. with swift movements, he removed your panties and your legs were thrown over his shoulders - how are his shoulders so broad - and he pressed kisses to your inner thighs. “look at you,” he cooed, glancing up at you. “you’re so wet for me and i haven’t even touched you here yet. are you craving me?”

“yes,” you mewled truthfully, wiggling your hips slightly. you missed how his face lights up in delight, loving how you’re slowly but surely coming undone for him. he was placing kisses everywhere but where you wanted him, where you needed him. you were at his mercy, he alone decided the pace. the desperate little tugs at his hair left him unbothered, you couldn't even move properly because he was keeping a tight grip on your hips, holding them down onto the mattress. “do you want me?” you nodded quickly. “then beg.”

"i'm not- i'm not gonna fucking b-" you didn't get to finish your sentence as noritoshi gave your inner thigh a bite.

"language," he hissed in irritation. "we can do this all night, baby. i don't have any qualms about keeping you here, making you squirm until you know not to treat me like that." to emphasize his threat, his hands languidly stroked your inner thighs, inching closer to your heat. goosebumps raised across your skin. noritoshi paid no mind to your laboured breathing or how you stared at him in disbelief. you would not beg him more than this, this stupid asshole, who did he think he is to expect you to do as he says? as if sensing that your attention wasn't on him anymore, one of his hands reached up to pinch your nipple.

you felt his fingers grazing your pussy, flicking over your clit but not quite touching it. yet the pleasure, coupled with the sharp pain of his pinching, was enough to make you delirious. you moaned his name, hips rutting up slightly to meet his hand. noritoshi pulled away abruptly and made you whine in frustration. "noritoshi!" you whimpered again, closing your eyes in embarrassment. "please just- just touch m-"

you felt another, harder pinch, tingles shooting straight to your core. "look at me," noritoshi growled and you opened your eyes quickly, not wanting to disappoint him again.

"please touch me, please just… i need you, need your lips or fingers," you struggled to find the right words, huffing in frustration at your weak attempt to persuade him. "please make me cum, please. i'll be good for you, i promise, i promise. wanna be good for you."

a sardonic smile graced noritoshi's lips, your begging music to his ears. he almost wished you could see yourself like this - the yearning evident in your eyes, your glossy eyes. what would you say? how quickly your resolve had crumbled, even though you'd vowed to yourself to keep him at an arm's length away from you. what was more heavenly to his ears are your moans and he intended to draw every last bit out of you tonight.

when his tongue finally made contact with your cunt, a loud moan leaves your lips, you almost sob in relief. your thighs trembled slightly, threatening to close but noritoshi was quick to pry them open and delved deeper into your heat. he alternated between lapping at your folds, then dragging his tongue across your clit before giving it a suck. your hips rocked against his face, meeting his movements as if it was already second nature to them. you thought you were seeing stars when you inched closer to your climax. tugging at his hair you whimpered out his name, letting him know that you're close, so close. that's when he pulled away, smirking at you as your high slowly ebbed away. you made a noise in protest, brows pinching in frustration but noritoshi just cooed at you condescendingly.

"you seem to forget who's in control here," he tsked at you, dragging his thumb across your clit. your hips jerked. "but, baby, you look so pitiful, i might just feel sorry for you."

hope sparked in your eyes when he pressed a brief kiss to your lips before slipping his fingers past your folds, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. "ride my fingers," he commanded and you reacted immediately, eagerly rutting against his fingers. you missed the dark glint in his eyes, the look that tells you you were not easily let off the hook whatsoever. pleasure was clouding your judgement, heightening your sensitivity to his touch. a loud moan fell from your lips when noritoshi curled his fingers, hitting a spot that otherwise was difficult for you to reach. your hand came up to cover your mouth, too embarrassed about other guests possibly hearing you.

noritoshi withdrew his fingers, thumb pressing against your clit. you gasped desperately, pawing at his chest to plead him to continue. "i want to hear you. don't you dare hide your moans," he told you, only sliding his fingers back into you when you complied. noritoshi was still kneeling, watching as you moved your hips against his fingers with fascination. while you'd kept a steady rhythm at the beginning, it was getting more and more sporadic. you were close again, noritoshi could tell. and yet it wasn't enough, he had to get you closer to the edge to then break you after.

"o- oh fuck," you cursed, gripping the sheets tightly as noritoshi moved his fingers, repeatedly hitting the spot that made your toes curl. you were to close, you could cum, soon-

"noritoshi!" a frustrated sob resounded from you as he pulled away, looking down at you with a satisfied smirk. your hands came up to wipe the tears that were welling in your eyes. you bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying as you watched him pop his fingers in his mouth, licking your essence from them. the sight alone made you feel hot and bothered. in the dim light of the room, noritoshi looked downright sinful. the way his broad frame was casting a shadow over your form, his glistening eyes, the sheen of sweat on his body and how his hair was hanging in his face.

"please let me cum, please! i- i want you so bad, want you in me… noritoshi, please give me it," you begged quietly, crawling towards him. noritoshi felt his heart soften at your cute face - you were so easy to read, he enjoyed teasing you. small hands reached out for the bulge in his boxers, experimentally pressing and nudging at it. noritoshi hissed uncomfortably; he was painfully hard and ready to cum as well but he couldn't, not yet. wanted to play with you more, mapping out the entirety of your body until he memorized how you reacted to his touch.

swiftly flipping positions, he pulled you on top of him, placing you directly above his crotch. you sank down immediately, sighing shakily as you pressed your cunt against the bulge. the boxers had to come off, they were the last barrier. you had to feel his skin on yours, wanted to be closer. noritoshi's hands shot out to stop you, giving you a warning look. you understood, withdrawing your arms to rest on your sides. pressing his bulge against you, he guided your hips to move against it, folds dragging across the fabric of his boxers. the friction was delicious, especially when he rutted against you, pressing against your clit. it took you a few tries until you figured out a comfortable rhythm, placing your hands against his chest as you moved on your own.

noritoshi kept his eyes on you. brushing your hair out of your face so he could get a better look at you, he then rested them near your thighs. "are you close?" he inquired when your movements became quicker and you nodded in reply, giving him a pleading look. he raised his eyebrows at you, shaking his head ever so slightly. "you don't get to cum without my permission."

he could see the conflict and hesitation, dancing in your eyes, how you were contemplating to go against his commands. noritoshi's heart filled with pride when you slowed down, thighs trembling from the restraint you kept on yourself. "good girl," he rewarded you, leaning up to kiss you. you whimpered against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. you were a sight to behold, noritoshi mused. slick spread across the fabric of his boxers and your thighs, kiss-bruised lips and the love bites that were blooming across your chest. he was proud to be able to have this effect on you.

it didn't take long until you were close again, this time begging and pleading him to let you continue. noritoshi supposed he toyed around enough, ready to give you what you were so desperately craving. lifting you up slightly, he pushed his boxers down and reached to the side, fumbling with the drawers of the night table before being able to pull out a condom. you watched in curiosity, as he put it on then lined his member up against your pussy. he dragged the head of his cock against your clit a couple of times, making you jump in surprise before letting you sink down. a long, relieved moan left your lips as you felt him fill you up to the brim. you'd never felt this full and good. jerking your hips against his slightly, your legs trembled as he perfectly hit that spot inside you effortlessly. his name fell from your lips like a mantra, letting everyone know that he was the one pleasuring you.

noritoshi let you adjust to him before wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, driving his hips up against yours in an almost punishing tempo. your lips parted in a silent scream, no sounds leaving them other than heavy breaths. "f- fuck, noritoshi! i'm so close, please let me have it, please-" you begged sobbing. you didn't think you could survive another edging, it would utterly crush you. knowing that you were at his mercy, you complied with his orders. never had you felt this much pleasure, with anyone. noritoshi accomplished what others could never - setting your nerves ablaze with a simple touch.

"cum for me." your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, leaving you writhing in his arms until you rode it out. noritoshi continued to move against you in a languid tempo, lovingly pressing kisses across your face. you slumped against his body exhausted, aftershocks still wracking through your body. he stroke your back gently, giving you a short kiss. "can you take another one?" he asked, making you look at him. though your mind was hazy, you could tell that he was caring, wanting to make you feel as comfortable as possible despite his mean side. you nodded, your words slurred as you told him: "mhmm, still want you, all of you."

noritoshi was laying you on the mattress, freezing mid-way as he hovered above you. could it be? there was no way. he brushed the thought off quickly, leaning down to kiss you. you sloppily returned the kiss, blindly moving your hands around until you found his, intertwining them happily. swiftly, he entered you again - now taking his sweet time. the pace was slow but filled with force, making you see stars. you wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his skin. you blinked in confusion as noritoshi whispered sweet nothings into your ear. tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him - you wanted him, so so much that it hurt you. you imagined you weren't in this situation, that this was simply intimacy between lovers. that you were his and he was yours, with no care in the world.

driving his hips against yours faster now, you could tell that he was close. lifting your hips to meet his movement, you whimpered against his lips. you wanted to pleasure him as much as he did you. the sight of his screwed shut eyes, panting heavily as he came, it nearly knocked the wind out of your lungs. noritoshi buried his face in the crook of your neck, whimpering quietly as he thrusted a few more times before coming to a halt. for a few minutes, you remain in this position, basking in the afterglow. he removes himself from you, telling you to stay put as he left to get some wet towels from the bathroom. as you laid there, your cunt wasn't the only thing that felt empty.

your eyes were glossing over and you were once again reminded of the fact that you couldn't have him. that he’s not your ‘toshi. you sat up slowly, spotting the mirror across the room. you stared at your reflection in your mirror, horrified at all the marks noritoshi had left behind and suddenly it dawned on you that you don’t understand why. you didn't care about each other - why would he mark you like this? your heartbeat sped up at the thought of him possibly, maybe, returning your feelings. that he wasn't just toying with your feelings to get back at you.

noritoshi returned, giving you a small smile as he signaled you to lift your arms a little so he could wipe you down. the gentleness in his actions made you sniffle emotionally; he paid attention to every single detail, making sure not to miss a spot. once done, he placed the towel on the nearby chair then returning to wrap you in the blankets and cradling you against his chest like a baby. the sound of his breath nearly lulled you into sleep. you leaned against his chest, sinking into the blankets. "are you okay? was i too rough?" noritoshi asked after a moment of silence. you didn't reply. why was he acting like this? as if you were a couple, as if he really cared.

"y/n? you don't have to reply, but at least give me a hand sign, so i know you're okay," he repeated again, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. you turned your head away from him, trying to hide your tears. it wasn't long before you started crying uncontrollably, hiding your face in your hands. noritoshi started panicking, fussing over you and tried to pry your hands away so you would look at him. repeatedly shaking your head, you pushed him away from you.

"w- why couldn't you always be this gentle to me?" the words finally left your mouth, accusatory. "i- i didn't deserve any of this treatment and i still struggle to understand why it happened. i should hate you, hate you so much and yet i don't? why can't you love me the way i love you?"

speechless, noritoshi pulled away from you, arms sinking to his sides. it made you sob even harder, thinking that he was going to leave you again, like he always did. he never stayed, only came to wreck havoc, leaving you to pick up the pieces. "y/n, i'm sorry, i-" he drew you in, pressing you against his chest. you were confused at your own outbreak of emotions, not sure how to calm down. "i'm not sure what you thought, but i meant it when i told you that i love you, all those years back," noritoshi mumbled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

you shook your head vehemently. "i don't believe that, not for one second. you've hurt me for so long and suddenly you had a change of heart?"

"i know it's hard to believe, but i promise i'm not lying. i do love you. with all my heart," noritoshi lifted your chin slightly, wiping the tears from your eyes. gently, he kissed you. "back then, i wasn't able to tell you but… things have changed now and i'll tell you, okay? but not now, tomorrow-"

"no! you'll just leave again and act like nothing happened and i-" you panicked, clinging onto him as dread washed over you again. he was going to leave again, the mission was over after all and you'd go separate ways again.

"i'm staying." noritoshi said firmly, holding your hands so you couldn't flail around anymore. "i'm not leaving you, okay? go to sleep, i know you're exhausted… when you wake up, i'll be there. we'll discuss things in the morning."

"promise?"

"i promise."

you didn't know why but this time, you trusted him. at least a little bit more than before. nodding slightly, you pressed your small frame against his. noritoshi's calming scent wrapped around you, lulling you into sleep. he watched as you fell asleep in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he settled as well, closing his eyes.

"i love you, y/n."

p.s.: i hurt myself writing this too haha but i swear this was it with the angst

#jujutsu kaisen #noritoshi kamo #kamo noritoshi #noritoshi #noritoshi x reader #noritoshi kamo x reader #kamo noritoshi x reader #noritoshi kamo x you #noritoshi x you #kamo noritoshi x you #noritoshi kamo imagines #kamo noritoshi imagines #noritoshi imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #fic: sanguine #writing

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cassava-49 · 3 years

Text

I Won't Say I'm In Love

Felix had always walled himself up to not love again and be fooled by it again. Not again, never again, but why? After building up this façade, why is it crumbling to his feet? Right, it's because of her.

A beacon of light and love. Her dark blue hair is as deep as the color of the depths of the ocean where one can swim too deep and drown by its beauty. Her bluebell eyes that are as light as the sky that can make anyone think that they were falling down from heaven as you stare deep into them. Her warm bubbly feeling that can make anyone cozy up with her and let their guard down without their knowledge.

Ever since she transferred here and joined his circle of friends he can't help but feel drawn to the warm sweet atmosphere. He can't have it again. He doesn't want to put his heart on the line again only to be broken into millions of tiny pieces like how she had. He doesn't want to hurt again with that knowledge of not getting his chances since she is already desperately in love with his dim witted cousin.

He then turned his attention to his friends who were chatting happily over lunch. Talking about some silly antics that had happened during class. But he couldn't help but watch her close her eyes as she laughed and cover her mouth. The sound of her sweet laughter was, how would the books describe it, music to his ears, tiny sweet bells that sounded at an hour of beauty. He watched as his friend Claude balanced an orange on the tip of his nose, as Allan subtly made it fall by accidentally jabbing his side.

He continued to watch the bluenette smile and laugh, not noticing the subtle glances Allegra was giving him. The bell rung, signalling the students that they had 30 minutes before classes began again. This made his friends get up and take their trays and brought it to the counter.

"Well, see you guys later," Marinette said to her friends as she headed to the art department wing for her lesson. As she left, she didn't notice the penetrating stare the blond had fixated on her back. But the blond didn't notice the looks his three friends were sharing as a grin crossed each of their faces. Felix turned around to be greeted by these suspicious grins as he let a scowl cross his face, knowing what the three would say.

"No," was all he said to the three as he stalked away. "Come on Fe. We know that you know that you like her," Allegra told him as she walked with him. "Allegra, stop it. You know that I will not love again nor put myself to it after how the past had ended," he said his petty reason. "This is not like you dude. The Felix I know would not let the past be the reason for fear and ignorance," Allan backed. "No one will ever be worth my time in that aspect. And it doesn't help that she looks like her," Felix replied in distaste of his words.

"You know that she's the earth and heaven to you. You can't just run away from your feelings cause your bad at hiding these kinds of feelings," Claude spoke. The four continued walking until they were outside the building for their food and lockers. "I have learned my lesson in loving Claude. I will not throw myself back into this cliche and have what is left in my heart torn into pieces," Felix replied as he tried to keep his face in pure frustration and his thoughts in denial. However, it wasn't entirely working mostly because of this conversation.

"You can't deny it bro, we can read you better than others and all that we can see is a lovesick puppy thinking that it was just the meat," Allan said as Allegra kept on rolling her eyes at Felix's answers. "Hon, we're not buying your bs right now. We all saw how you change around her. You definitely care for her and ever since she cracked you, you began to grow it," Allegra added. "Grow what?" Felix asked getting irritated at his friends persistent jabbings. "A love sickness that you obviously have bad," she continued with her banter.

"That is highly impossible. I am not interested in Marinette in a romantic way," Felix said trying to wrap his words in ice. "Oh, hi Netta, didn't see you there," Claude said which caused Felix to turn his attention to where the boy was, only to find their school mate Antoinette pass by. But Felix couldn't help but let a sigh of relief and disappointment cross his face. But when he turned he was faced with a poster of Marinette and her club's saying that they would be exhibiting their art and a small pageant for the young designers that will be held tomorrow, February 14. He couldn't help but stare at the bright eyed designer in her cute sailor outfit. He couldn't help but let his fantasies run wild until someone broke him out of it. "If you ask someone right now, they would definitely say that you have it bad," Allan commented as Felix scoffed. As he tried to deny and tell his treacherous heart to shut up and let his head think.

He then faced his friends with a glare and said, "Claude your department's that way." Claude then let out a huff and rolled his eyes at the blond and went to the direction Felix had been pointing. "But just face it and say that you're in love," he said as he continued walking. This made him roll his eyes at his friend and caught the scoffs of the other two. "You two just go before me. I need the bathroom," he stated as he made his way to the closest restroom. Once inside, he went into a cubicle, locking it and resting his back at the door as his stared at the ceiling. He sighed and dropped his head letting his thoughts run back to the past.

...

"Hey Felix~~," a bubbly voice called from behind. Irritation crossed his mind as he recognized that voice. The said owner of the voice took a seat next to him as he quietly made his research in the library. "What are researching on?" the bluenette asked as she looked over his notes. Annoyed by her antics, he closed his notebook and the other books as he began packing to leave the insistent girl.

But this did not stop her as she stood up from her seat and went in front of him and waved two tickets directly at his eyes. "I was wondering if you don't have anything to do later, we can go to the theatres and watch this new movie, you know the one about 'The Little Prince' I saw you reading the book and I wondered if you would like to watch it. I'd even allow you to rant about it," she said in a hopeful tone. He then saw his friend at the back giving out yes signals. He let out a sigh and said, "Fine I'll go." This made the girl smile and jumped for joy as she gave him the details.

This was the start of the simple dates and happy experiences and, to his astonishment, love. Yes, after getting to know the bubbly happy girl he started developing feelings for the young girl. After about 10 dates he finally asked her to be his girlfriend. This made the girl tear up and engulf him in a tight hug after giving him a loving kiss on the cheek.

They had such a good relationship, it even got him out of his shell, slightly. He would be caught flirting in public and show a bit of PDA. He couldn't help it, he loved her deeply and wished that their relationship would last. He loved everything about her; her personality, her blue eyes, her long dark blue hair that were tied in twin tails.

Today was their second year anniversary, they were at the Ponte des Arts, just enjoying their time as they ate ice cream. He looked at the girl at his arm and smiled as he softly spoke, "Bridgette." She then gave a hum of response and looked up at him with a half smile. This made his heart drop as he realized that there was something troubling him. "Is there something bothering you?" he asked, scared of her answer. This made the girl sigh and let go off his arm as she took his hand and looked directly into his eyes. "Do you love me, Felix?" she asked, tad uncertain. This made his eyes widen and took both of her hands and kissed her knuckles and replied, "Truly, deeply, ardently and all the words that can increase the meaning of my love for you."

As he said that he notice a hint of heartbreak pass in her eyes. Just as he feared she lowered her gaze and removed her hands from his, as she stared at the ground. He then watched her eyes well up with tears as she brought her hands to her face to cry in. This caught him off guard as he put his hands on her arms wanting to hug her. But she pushed him away, this broke his heart as he watched his girlfriend cry in front of him and not wanting to be comforted by him.

After a few more sniffles she looked him in the eyes and said in between sobs. "I-I-I'm p-pre-pregnant," she said as he felt his world shatter. But slowly rebuild and a smile appeared on his face as he said, "It's alright, I know 16 isn't the ideal age to be parents, but I'd be glad to have a family with you." He then slowly placed his hands on her shoulders as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms in a comforting manner. (Side note: the age of consent in France is 15)

This didn't comfort the girl at all as she cried more. She then looked him with sad eyes and spoke, "T-t-th-that's the th-thing. T-the b-baby i-i ---." But she wasn't able to finish when someone pulled her away from him and glared at him. "What she meant to say is, the baby's not yours," he said with a smirk. This made him give a look of confusion and then realization came dropping on him. He then remembered that they had only done it twice and he was very careful, he had a condom on and made sure that it was of good quality.

He then looked at the two in front of him and asked, "I-is it true?" This made Bridgette freeze as she recalled this tone as his frightening tone from before they had been dating. She slowly nodded, afraid of meeting his gaze. "How long has this been going on?" he asked in his icy cold voice that set fear into anyone's hearts. Unable to answer the boy next to her answered for her, "Actually we had been getting it on since last Christmas and I claimed her long before you did," the Asian man said to him. He then turned his attention back to his "girlfriend" realizing that last Christmas she went back to Seoul(Let's just say that she's Korean since MLB was first released there. Another side note: Age of consent in South Korea is 16).

"Why?" he asked. However, she wasn't able to answer as she tried to hide in the arms of the other man. This made the shards of his earlier shattered world to break more at this action. Trying to keep his cool he then said, "Congratulations. I will back down for the both of you. I wish that you find happiness with him." With that he gave the man a killer punch and walked away, not wanting to notice the look the crowd was giving him.

...

He sighed at the awful memory not wanting it to happen again. He gave her his world, his dreams and his whole being. Thinking that she would do the same, but in the end she broke him, in the last way he thought she would. As he continued to think about it he felt tears prick his eyes, to which he immediately removed. His thoughts came rushing back to Marinette's sweet smile, comforting presence and lovable companionship. This got him sighing as he whispered to himself, "I've got it bad."

The day ended and the gang regrouped as they went straight to the bakery for final fittings. Felix walked quietly by Marinette's side as she began discussing about the adjustments she'd had to make with their clothes. Allegra began gushing about how amazing her designs are even without adjustments. Allan just told her not to worry and be confident in her talent, while Claude was just asking what treats her parents were handing out. Felix on the other hand had just been admiring her talk.

"Hey Felix, you seem out today. Are you OK?" Marinette asked him as she turned her attention to him. This caught him off guard when she turned her attention to him. He only gave her a curt nod as a light blush dusted his cheeks. They then arrived at her home and were all showered with affection by her ever doting parents who insisted that they all stayed for dinner.

The group was in her room as she made a few adjustments to the clothes she's supposed to present the next day. "Maddie this is amazing. I love it," Allegra cooed as she spun around in her white dress, which had three horizontal lines at the collar of the dress and the lower part of the skirt, close to the hem. While a navy blue jacket, sailor inspired, was matched with it, and to top it off, she wore a white sailors hat with her hair curled at the bottom part. "I'm glad you love it Allegra," Marinette replied as she beamed with pride. She then turned to the boys to find them standing with each other in a pose that they probably didn't notice.

Claude wore a fit round neck white shirt with black horizontal stripes with white ankle length pants, and a black sheer scarf was placed around his neck, while a white hat with black lining topped off the look. "Do I look fat in this shirt? I feel that I look fat," he commented as he stared at the pattern, earning a laugh from the girls. "No, it doesn't. I mean you wear vertical stripes all the time," Mari commented. "You look fat all the time," Allegra added as the group laughed again.

Turning her attention to Allan, she could see that the denim fabric fitted him perfectly. The denim polo shirt with rolled up sleeves and tucked in his denim shorts, that was held by a brown leather belt made him look simple yet stylish, and just like the others he wore a captain's hat. "Well, if you feel fat, I feel like something's missing," Allan critiqued. This made Mari give a designer's look at it as she placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head to the left. "You're right, but what can make it look more complete?" she pondered as she eyed the clothing. After a second, she snapped her fingers and made her way to the other scarps of clothing she had sewn. "No, no, not that one. Nope. Ah! There you are," she stated as she made her way to her model and tied a handkerchief around his neck and tucked it under the collar. "Better," she stated as she looked at the finished product.

She then looked at her last piece, which was being modeled by Felix. She blushed at the sight of him in a form fitting white blazer that was open to reveal a dark navy blue color that had white horizontal stripes covering the bottom half of the shirt. His legs seemed to look more fit at the sight of the royal blue pants seemed to be showing the wonderful shape, since it was slightly fit. Although he looked a bit confused at the clothing as if uncomfortable. This caused her to be concerned at the possible mistake. "Is the fit alright?" she asked hesitantly. "The designs are fine, but like you said, it's the fit. But it's just the blazer, it's a bit tight on my shoulders," he commented as he pointed at the points to be fixed.

"Alright, I'll get it done, but I'm going to take your measurements again just to make sure," she stated as she went over to her desk to take her measuring tape. "Maddie, you wouldn't mind if we change out of this?" Allegra asked. "Sure go ahead and feel free to—," she began but was unable to finish when she saw the three race out of the room. Realizing what they had done she felt her face heat up a little bit as she faced the blond who was taking off the white blazer and folded it nicely and placed it on the chaise.

He looked up to find that they were the only people in her bedroom. He cursed his friends quietly at the betrayal as he watched her make her way to him. She began taking his measurements but found it difficult with his height. This made him chuckle slightly, surprising the young designer at the reaction. "You know you could stand on a stool considering your short stature," he said. "It doesn't mean that you're taller than me by 6 inches I'm already short," she replied with a huff. He then bent down to her level saying, "Everyone who is shorter than me, I consider short and small."

This got him with a notebook slammed at his face as he saw an irritated Marinette. He then smirked and continued, "Considering that you are '6 inches' smaller than me, makes you seem like a cute munchkin that I can put in my pocket." He watched as she got more irritated at him as he insulted her height. He continued on bantering about her being shorter than him that he did not expect her to finally jump on him and say, "You know that fact that we only have a 6 inch gap makes it easier for me to jump on your back." The two continued roughhousing, forgetting about what they were supposed to do.

After a few more minutes of fighting, Felix got the upper hand and threw her up on her bed as he joined her and began attacking her with tickles. She began to laugh uncontrollably that she was having a difficulty to breath until she finally tapped out, which made him stop his attacks. He then got off her and laid down next to her as they began to calm down.

"Don't insult me with my height again," was all she could say before they got back to what they were supposed to be doing. "You're right, cause size doesn't matter," he jokingly replied as he turned to face her with his head propped up with his arm. This got her to roll her eyes at the blond as she also turned to face him. This was when they both became self conscious about their positions causing the two parties to blush uncontrollably.

Mari then let out a cough and said, "You should, um, y-you know, change." With that she got of the bed and began fixing the things that were out of place after their game.

...

It was the day for their clubs fashion show, and a lot of famous figures were there to watch. Well, that was to be expected from a prestigious school where most of the students were children from well off families. There they could see their parents along with their friends. But looking at the more out shining personalities in the crowd was also where they could find the Agrestes and their secretary, the Bourgeois family, Clara Nightingale, Jagged Stone and others.

Marinette can feel the excitement and the anxiety, and she can see that the rest of the club was also having the same panic. Their theme was "Summer and Beaches," with different sub themes from the designers. One designer had swimsuits, another had Hawaiin style, there was one that had a Tex-Mex theme, one was carnival themed, there was a bohemian theme, tropical, floral, animal and there was Mari's sailor theme.

She can see all of them were too anxious that they were able to dress their models to the T. There was also one of them that threw up because of the pressure. They then watched as one theme after another was called. When it came to her designs she saw the impressed looks of the audience, even from Chloe, although she probably doesn't know that it was her design. She even saw her former classmates looking at the designs as if for the first time. This pained her a bit since she made sure to incorporate her designer tag there but it doesn't seem like they noticed.

Once the show ended, the designers were called up front for their recognition. They were all trembling, nonetheless, were able to make it up front as they were applauded by their success. She could hear the excited cheers of her family and classmates and from a few personalities who seemed to be waiting for her appearance. She watched her former classmates' jaws dropped as they felt stupid not realizing that those were her designs.

After the whole exhausting show they were all dismissed as the group hugged and shook hands in congratulations. Mari was engulfed by her friends and were overly happy at her success. She hugged them backed and thanked them. They then went to their favorite cafe and celebrated. But one by one they left, leaving Marinette and Felix alone, again.

"Outstanding performance as all ways," he commented still trying to deny the rapid beating of his heart towards this girl. "Thanks, but I'd say the same for you guys, after all you guys modeled for me," she replied. This got their conversation moving and they were deeply enjoying each others company when unexpected guests came.

When they heard the door chime they didn't really mind until those people went directly to their table. Marinette froze at the sight of her former friends and classmates. She could feel Alya's glare as she stared blankly at her drink.

"Seriously Marinette, no note, no message. You just disappeared into thin air in the second semester not even telling me!" Alya exclaimed. Felix glared at the girl as he took Marinette's shaking hands into his and gave it a tight affectionate squeeze that gave her strength. Channeling her inner snarky self, she took a sip of the drink and said, "I saw no reason to tell you about it. It wasn't like I heard you all wish that I should just leave Lila for good, like transfer."

This made the rest of the class flush in guilt, except for Alya. "Really Marinette, are you going to turn yourself into the victim again. Can you stop saying that? We know that YOU wanted Lila out of school for good!" she accused. This just made Marinette look at her drink and begin tilting her cup in different directions as she answered, "Wow, you make it sound like I got Lila 'almost' expelled. It's not like I 'almost' got expelled for stealing her heirloom and taking the key to correction of our exam. Or I was the one who have that 'disease' that makes me spout out nonsense." At the end she moved her pupils to look at them to find them processing what she said.

"If that's all I think that we should go," Marinette stated as she set her finished drink down and took Felix's hand and began to leave. "Not so fast, Marinette. You are not leaving until Lila comes here and you apologize to her," Alya said as she grabbed her roughly by the arm. This infuriated Felix so he stepped in to intervene.

"Unhand her, now," he said as he glared at Alya. She in turn glared back at him and said, "Get your nose out of this." He then went fully in front of her, using his height as an advantage to intimidate her. He saw her slightly flinch but still did not comply. After showing no signs of letting go, he forcefully grabbed her wrist and tightened his grip making her let Marinette go because of the sudden pain on her wrist.

"Alya I'm here," they heard someone call. "Lila, great timing," Alya replied as she smiled and winced at the girl. She then turned back to the two and said, "Now, apologize." Marinette then asked, "For what?" This made the blogger more infuriated as she began recounting the times she had injured her, bullied her, humiliated her, insulted her, accused her and other forms of abuse. "Are you done?" she asked after she had recounted all of the 'times' she had attacked the Italian.

Before Alya could say anything, Felix cut in, "Now if you please, I would like to take my girlfriend out now. You lot have already wasted our time and disrupted our date." "I don't give a damn about your fucking date," Alya seethed as she got more frustrated by the pair. "I know, but I'm sure you are interested in keeping your reputation," he said as he pointed at the customers who were filming and whispering about them. Nino then approached his girlfriend and tried to calm her down but it didn't help, it only made her more aggressive. Blind with rage, she threw a strong punch at Marinette making her nose bleed.

Felix then clapped his hands in sarcasm, which brought the lady blogger back to her senses. "Ma-mari, I didn't, I'm sorry," she fumbled. "Ladies and gentlemen, the blogger of the Ladyblog," was all Felix can say before wrapping and arm around Mari and helping her with her nosebleed as he took her out of the building.

...

Now, the pair was seated in her room, her on the chaise and Felix on the floor as he began tending to her. Once he patched her up neatly they settled down. Marinette shift uncomfortably in her seat as she had been replaying the scene in her head. But what she couldn't get rid of was how protective Felix was when he claimed to be her boyfriend. She blushed again at the thought.

"Are you alright?" Felix asked in concern when he saw her heat up. "Y-yep, OK me, no. Me OK. Wait, I mean, I'm OK," she stammered. Felix smiled at her as he shifted uncomfortably as well trying to forget what he said in the heat of the moment.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Mari spoke up, "So earlier at the cafe, things got out of hand didn't they." Felix only nodded not wanting this to go to that direction. Feeling his discomfort, Mari just got straight to the point. "W-when you said that I was your g-girlfriend, did you say it out of–," but before she could continue, Felix stopped her by saying, "I want you to be." This made them pause and look at each other in surprise.

This sudden realization and confession was not what Felix had in mind. So he turned his head to the other direction so to not see her face of discomfort. To his surprise, instead of rejection, he felt two arms hug his torso and a small body pressed against his side. He turned to find if it was what he think it was, Marinette hugging him tightly and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I-I'd like that," was all she could say that changed his world. Here he could see a woman who would not cheat on him for she hated liars and lying. Someone he could trust not to break his heart in the worst possible way ever. He did not see her in Marinette anymore. Now he saw the person Marinette is, a loyal friend and companion, an honest and trust worthy person who would not string him around because of guilt and displeasure.

This was all that he needed before he took her and kissed her sweetly not finding any resistance in her at all. That was all the confirmation they both needed until they found themselves sleeping next to each other, arms protectively around them and the lack of clothing was all they could think of as they relished in each other for they wanted the other more than they had wanted their pasts.

#miraculous ladybug and chat noir #felix culpa #felix pv #felinette #marinette dupain cheng #marinette x felix #quantic kids #alya salt #lila salt #class salt #allegra #allan #claude #Hercules #a bit of angst #kinda fast paced #consenting individuals

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karahalloway · 3 years

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(Un)Common Attraction: Chapter 13 - The Table of Exiles

Series: TRR (following the events of Book 1, with some changes)

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Harper Gale)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Book Synopsis: Harper Gale is a small-town girl working as a waitress at a seedy New York dive bar. After a chance encounter with nobility sees her jetting halfway around the world to compete for the hand of the Prince of Cordonia, her dream of seeing the world starts to come true sooner than she expected. But as the completion heats up, Harper quickly learns that life at court is a lot more than just pretty dresses and fancy balls, and that the polished aristocratic smiles often hide deceit. Does she have what it takes to rise above the gossip and intrigue of the social season, and beat the nobles at their own games? And, more importantly, does she actually want to become the queen of a small European country? Or will her heart have other ideas?

Masterlist: (Un)Common Attraction

Chapter Summary: It’s the night of the Snowball, and Harper resorts to some drastic measures to get fed before the all important Cordonian Waltz...

Word Count: 3,200

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (very minor swearing)

Please read: Author’s Note

Also available on Wattpad.

Chapter 13 - The Table of Exiles

Back in my room, I stare forlornly at the shimmery Grecian goddess gown that I had picked out for tonight's ball. I had genuinely been looking forward to wearing it, partially because it was exquisite, and partially to see the look on Olivia's face when I walked into the ballroom.

But following Drake's revelations about the covert photos that had been snapped at the bachelor party, something as petty as an uppity rivalry no longer seemed so important.

I shuddered to think what could have happened if Drake and Bastien had not been able to buy the pictures back... My face would have been splashed on the cover of every gossip rag on both sides of the Atlantic, which would've no doubt generated even more press frenzy. I knew that neither my family nor my friends would've been able to look at me the same way again if things had spiralled out of control, even though I knew it was not at fault.

And, as if that wasn't bad enough, Drake had let slip that Maxwell may be one of the suspects. I knew that Drake had asked me to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but I didn't think I would be able to look my sponsor in the face again and trust another word that came out of his mouth. In the back of my mind, I knew I was probably jumping to conclusions, and if Maxwell was somehow involved (which was unlikely, given what I knew about him), then there probably was some kind of logical explanation.

But as much as I tried to calm my rapidly beating heart and inject some semblance of objectivity into my chaotic thoughts, I didn't seem to be able to keep the sheer paranoia from overwhelming me. I had never felt so powerless and so used in my life, knowing that someone had been watching every move that I had made with Christian, and had wanted to exploit it for their own benefit.

There is a soft knock on the door behind me. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I rearrange my expression, so I don't look so much like someone who's seen a ghost and open the door.

"Hey, Harper," says Hana, standing in the corridor dressed in a gorgeous dress decorated with gold and silver sequins that sparkle like diamonds with her every move. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Oh, yeah..."

"Okay..." says Hana, not wholly convinced. "It's just, the Snowball is about to start, and you aren't dressed yet..."

"Shit..." In the course of my brooding, I had completely forgotten the time. "Could you help me get ready?"

"Of course," smiles Hana, stepping into the room. "Is that your dress?"

"Yeah," I reply, hurrying into the bathroom to quickly wash my face and smear on some makeup.

"It's beautiful," she breathes. "I can't wait to see you wear it."

Emerging from the bathroom, having applied some pale pink lip gloss and silvery eyeshadow, I pull my oversized jumper over my head and strip out of the rest of my clothes. Pulling the dress on, I say, "Could you help me with the clip at the back?"

"Sure! After all, you helped me with my zip back at the Palace boutique."

"I had never understood why designers insist on making dresses that require at least six pairs of hand to help you get into and fasten up..."

"I know, right?" agrees Hana, fastening the intricate clip of the halter neck. "Beautiful. But what are you doing with your hair?"

"Am I going to look stupid just leaving it as it is?"

Hana inspects me. "I could fashion you a simple braided updo, if you wanted."

"Do we have time for that?"

"I think so. It won't take long."

She gestures for me to sit on the upholstered chair in front of the vanity. Stepping behind me, her fingers work quickly to pull my hair into three separate braids, which she then twists together and pins up.

"Wow," I breathe. "That's perfect!"

"You're welcome," smiles Hana. "Are you ready to get going then?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I sigh, squaring my shoulders.

Fake it 'til you make it, Harper, I tell myself as Hana and I make our way downstairs into the ballroom.

* * *

"Ladies..." greets Maxwell with a bow as we enter the ballroom.

I feel an instant tightening in the pit of my stomach at the sight of him, but I concentrate on maintaining a neutral expression.

"Maxwell," I force myself to say with a smile that I hope doesn't look like a grimace.

"It's a pleasure to see you, ladies," grins Maxwell, seemingly oblivious to the less than happy feelings raging inside me. "I must say, both of you look stunning."

"Thank you," replies Hana, lowering her eyelashes demurely. She takes in Maxwell's expensive-looking tux, complete with purple cummerbund. "You look quite dashing yourself."

"Quite," I mutter, as I scan the ballroom, trying to avoid eye contact with Maxwell.

The theme of the night was definitely winter wonderland and Olivia seemed to have spared no expense in her mission to wow us with her hosting. Frosted pine branches decorated with sparkly gold pine cones and scented candles served as the centre pieces for the round tables, while the dainty white wicker chairs had been dressed with baby blue and silver ribbons that trailed to the floor. And, to top it all off, our hostess seems to have hired an entire symphony orchestra to provide music for the dancing.

"Will you be joining us tonight, Maxwell?" I hear Hana ask.

"Unfortunately, no," he replies with a dejected look. "Since Bertrand isn't here, it falls to me to represent House Beaumont at tonight's event. So, Olivia has actually seated me at the head table."

"Well, at least you will have Prince Christian to keep you company," Hana says.

"Yes, but he will probably be too busy fending off Olivia's advances," sighs Maxwell. "Truth be told, I would much rather sit with you two."

"Where are we sitting?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

"The furthest table at the back," he admits with an apologetic look.

"Why am I not surprised...?"

"It's just for the initial part of the evening," Hana points out optimistically. "We'll be able to mingle once the dancing starts."

Maxwell's face drains of colour. "Dancing... Oh my God, Harper! I completely forgot to teach you the steps for the Cordonian Waltz!"

"Don't worry," smiles Hana. "We went over the steps this morning. Harper's a natural."

"You did?" gasps Maxwell. "Thank God for small miracles!"

"Don't you mean thank God for Hana?" I ask dryly.

"Of course," he smiles sheepishly. "Now, ladies, if you'll excuse me, I need to make my rounds."

"Are you sure you're alright?" whispers Hana as we watch Maxwell disappear into the growing throng of people.

In addition to the nobles who had arrived at the same time as us yesterday, Olivia seems to have invited half the kingdom to her ball, and despite the bad weather, most of them had shown up.

"Yeah, just got some things on my mind."

"If you're worried about the Cordonian Waltz—"

"No, it's not that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not at the moment. Looks like the evening is about to begin, so we should probably find our seats."

"Okay."

We make our way towards the back of the room, scanning the elegantly scrawled name cards, looking for our table. In the furthest corner, we finally find our designated seats.

"Welcome to the table of exiles," greets Drake, giving us a wry salute with his glass.

He is not dressed quite as grandly as Maxwell, but he could still turn heads in his silvery grey suit and black shirt, the top two buttons of which he had left undone.

I was starting to sense a pattern...

"Drake!" exclaims Hana. "You're at our table too?"

"I'm not exactly Olivia's favourite person... And neither are you two, by the looks of it."

"Even though she probably meant it as an insult to banish us to social Siberia, I'm actually glad that it's just the three of us back here," I say, flopping down next to Drake. "I'm not sure I have it in me tonight to make polite conversation with some stuffy noble I don't even know."

"Agreed," says Drake. "Out of the limelight, we can relax."

A sardonic scoff escapes me. “Yeah, as much as one can relax at a high-brow social gathering…”

Drake glances at me. Leaning slightly closer, he asks quietly, "You okay?"

"Oh, you know, just dandy," I mutter dejectedly, throwing the linen napkin angrily onto my lap.

"Just hang in there," Drake whispers back, brushing his fingers against my hand under the table. "Bastien and I will get to the bottom of it..."

"What are you two whispering about?" asks Hana.

"Oh, nothing," I say quickly, adjusting the napkin in my lap.

As much as I liked Hana, I didn’t want to burden her with my problems… especially when she had so many of her own to deal with. Plus, I wasn’t really in the mood to rehash the entire story right now, while I was still trying to come to grips with it…

"Just counting the sheer number of people that have shown up tonight," Drake adds casually. "Livy must’ve threatened everyone with divine retribution if they didn't make an appearance."

"Yes, it is much more of a full house than I was expecting, especially given that snowstorm," agrees Hana. "I hope they start serving dinner soon... I'm famished!"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," warns Drake. "Where we're seated, we'll be the last to eat. If there's even any left by the time they get to us."

"You're joking..." I groan. "That's low... even for Olivia."

"What can I say?" he shrugs. "I've been to enough of these things by now to know how the playbook works."

"Good thing we had that pizza, then..."

"You had pizza?" gasps Hana.

"Oh. Yeah," I mumble, feeling bad for not having invited Hana. "I bumped into Drake after we finished practicing the Cordonian Waltz and I convinced him to share the pizza he had managed to smuggle in."

"But where did you go? I didn't see you in the dining room..."

"Livy has a not-so-secret cellar where she keeps all her fancy wine," explains Drake. "I had planned on hanging out there by myself to catch a break from the aristos, but Gale ended up inviting herself."

"I did wonder where you disappeared to," muses Hana. "But to be honest, you didn't miss much. Olivia managed to convince Prince Christian to go on a private tour of the chateau's painting gallery with her, so the rest of us were left to pass the afternoon as we wanted."

"So, what did you end up doing?"

Hana suddenly blushes. "Actually, we played a game called Twister..."

"You what...?!"

Despite my foul mood, I could not help finding the idea of nobles attempting to play Twister absolutely hilarious!

"Maxwell brought it along with him and convinced us to play in Olivia's absence. I had never played before, but it is a game that requires a surprising amount of strength and dexterity."

"Let me guess..." I chuckle. "Your many ballet lessons came in handy?"

"Actually, yes," she admits. "I did not think that I would ever have to rely on that particular skillset at court, but it did prove to be useful."

"I can't believe I missed that!" I laugh, feeling the tension inside me starting to uncoil a little bit. "It must've been a sight to see all the nobles contorted around each other."

Just then, a pair of side doors swing open and a veritable army of servers emerge, carrying piping hot bowls of soup to the waiting tables.

"Mmm... That lobster bisque smells delicious," sighs Hana as the aroma wafts towards us. "I do hope we get some."

"Well, considering that Livy probably gave the waitstaff specific instructions to leave our table unfed until the very end, I seriously doubt that..." mutters Drake.

"Not if we take some decisive action!" I declare.

Shoving my dark thoughts about the photo conspiracy to one side, I scan the ballroom.

Spotting a nearby waiter, I try to catch his attention by sticking my arm up in the air and saying loudly, "Hey! We're still waiting over here!"

"Nice try, Gale..." smirks Drake, watching the waiter give us a brief glance before hurrying away. "But I think the waitstaff are more terrified of what Livy will do to them if they disobey her, than the complaints of a guest. This ain’t a restaurant where they're concerned about getting good reviews."

"Well, if it were, I would give it no stars... The service is terrible," I grumble.

Despite the delicious pizza earlier, I was starting to feel hungry again, and if I was to make it through the evening, and the Cordonian Waltz, I needed to get some food in me. Not to mention the fact that Hana probably had even less to eat that I had.

"All by design," mutters Drake. "All by design."

"Shame," sighs Hana. "The food does look excellent."

I spot another waiter heading towards us with a bowl of bisque. Determined to get my hands on it this time, I opt for a much more dramatic course of action.

"Please..." I croak, reach out towards the soup like a zombie. "I haven't eaten all day. I need food..."

"Gale, are y—?"

Seeing that I now had the waiter's attention, and ignoring Drake, I decide reel in the soup quickly.

Shoving my chair back with a loud scrape, I stagger to my feet, blocking the man's path. Laying the back of my other hand against my forehead and fluttering my eyelashes for added effect, I gasp, "Please... I'm about to faint... I need..."

"Oh, shit!"

Drake jumps out of his chair, sending it to clattering to the floor as I let my kneels buckle. He lunges forward and manages to catch me just before I hit the deck.

Grabbing into the lapels of Drake's jacket, and rolling my eyes into the back of my head, I moan, "Please... food..."

Peeking up furtively from beneath my lashes, I can see the waiter staring at me with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a shocked goldfish.

"Come on, man!" pleads Drake, catching onto my ploy. "Just give it to her..."

After a moment's hesitation, the waiter verily throws the bow of bisque onto our table, spilling some of it in the process, and beats a hasty retreat away from us.

"Harper!" cries Hana, rushing over to us. "Are you alright?"

"Aww, Hana," I smile. "Did you fall for that too?"

"Wha-? That was... You weren't...?"

"No, I didn't actually faint," I reassure her as Drake helps me to my feet.

"Though next time, warn me before you decide to take a dive, girl," he grumbles. "I may not be able to catch you like that again..."

"Oh, I have faith in you, cowboy," I reply with a grin, patting his arm as he steers me back to my chair. "Plus, I like to keep you on your toes."

Drake shakes his head, but I can see a small smile on his face as he rights his chair and sits down again as well.

"I can't believe you did that!" exclaims Hana, still staring at me in disbelief. "Or that it actually worked..."

"Having worked in a few restaurants, I've seen people do some crazy shit to get a waiter's attention," I reply. "But, Hana, you better eat your soup before it goes cold."

"You did this for me?"

"Yeah. You said you were starving, so dig in!"

"That's really kind of you, Harper, but after all the work you did to get it, I would be much happier if we all shared it."

"It does smell great," I concede, my stomach rumbling in agreement. "If you're sure...?"

"I'm sure," confirms Hana with a smile.

"Alright then," I say, grabbing my spoon and shuffling closer to her. "To the victor goes the spoils!"

"Huh... this is actually really good," admits Drake.

"I'm in lobster heaven!" sighs Hana, closing her eyes in bliss.

"I agree," I add, savouring my own spoonful. "Rich, creamy, and they didn't skimp on the lobster."

"Shame there isn't any more of it..." says Drake as we quickly polish off the bowl.

"But, we still got to try it," I declare. "So, in your face, Olivia!"

"At least it's not the worst service I've ever had..." muses Hana.

"You've had worse than this?" I gasp.

"Believe it or not, I've been to a wedding where the food wasn't served until midnight. They got hideously behind schedule and decided to do an open call for speeches before dinner. It took hours!"

"Heh," scoffs Drake. "You think that's bad? I can tell you a real horror story." Adjusting himself in his chair, he raises his hands dramatically. "Let's set the scene. Casual get-together. Lots of people I don't know, but what's new, eh? There's a bar, man's true best friend. So, I figure I'll grab a drink. I go up to the bar, and... there’s no whiskey!"

"No!" I exclaim, slapping a shocked hand onto his knee. "How ever did you survive?!"

The corner of Drake’s mouth twitches wryly. “Well, it was a hard choice between getting through the evening stone-cold sober, or making do with some fizzy pisswater… I chose the latter."

"Aww, that must've been so terrible for you..." I say with an exaggerated pout as I try to suppress a grin.

"It sure as hell was," he agrees. "Not only was the evening dull as fuck, but I didn’t even anything decent to drink to help pass the time.”

Hana gasps at Drake’s emphatically delivered cussing.

I stifle a snort of amusement.

“But it taught me an important lesson,” he continues. “Always carry your own booze. That way, you're always prepared and never disappointed."

Suddenly, another waiter appears to deposit two more bowls of bisque on our table. We glance at the offering dubiously.

"It's ice cold!" I decry.

"And there's no lobster," adds Drake, dribbling the soup off his spoon with a sour look on his face.

"But, thanks to Harper's quick thinking, we were able to get a taste of the real bisque while they were still serving it," says Hana.

"I would not be surprised if Olivia had these prepared especially for us from a secret stash in the freezer..." I mutter, shoving my bowl away.

“I’m with you there," grumbles Drake, dropping his spoon in the bowl. "She's been intentionally screwing us the whole evening."

"Some people..." I sigh. "You'd think that being a duchess and having all this money, she'd use her power and influence to do some good in the world. Instead, she insists on treating everyone around her, with the exception of Christian, like dirt."

"Like I said at the Masquerade," says Drake, "these aristos only care about themselves. So, if you want to survive, you gotta look out for yourself."

"I am beginning to understand what you meant," I mutter, glaring up at Olivia.

The story continues in Chapter 14 - A Waltz to Remember

A/N1: I know the colour of the dress that I link to is a burnt gold, rather than pearl. But the style of the dress is what I had in mind, so just imagine it a different colour 🤗

A/N2: Personally, I’ve always hated Drake’s grey suit in canon… Not a flattering colour on him at all… But, I know it’s kind of a trademark look for him, so I decided to pay homage to it in a way, though I ‘jazzed’ the look up a bit while still keeping it relatively understated (as you’ll see from the Pinterest link, the type of suit I had in mind is a kind of dark grey with a bit of a sheen to it - it’s not a flashy ensemble by any means, but still more interesting than plain old bleh grey).

Permatags (let me know if you want to be added!)

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @petiteboheme @aussiegurl1234 @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @princessleac1 @secretaryunpaid

#uncommon attraction #drake x mc #drake walker #trr fanfiction #harper gale #the royal romance #hana lee #maxwell beaumont

28 notes · View notes

pocket-void · 4 years

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A Cup of Coffee

A/N: I am so incredibly relieved to have finished this, but anyways! This is the second fic for Smaller Sides to Life, and I hope it’s alright. (Might make a mini list for that eventually) ^///^ I feel better about this story after thinking about it, and honestly I’m pretty content! Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day/night. u///u

Pairing: Loceit Words: 3596 Content: Flustered Janus because it just kind of turned out that way akjefabekf, it’s mostly Janus’ POV, there’s like a handful of swear words, it is fully light hearted u///u Summary: Janus and Logan always share the kitchen in the morning, being the earliest ones to rise. They never really talked, nor were they ever close, but it turns out that maybe they both have wanted to be.

Google doc if you like reading Cambria font or something, since I haven’t quite figured out Ao3 and don’t know if I ever will. >///< Also I believe uh, @sophiexteresa you wanted to be tagged...?

“Tssss...ouch.”

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee.

Some days it’s rich, fulfilling, and satisfying; a perfect and refreshing way to start the day. A cup that wakes you up with a gentle spreading warmth and wraps you in its delicate aroma that soothes your mind.

Other times however, it’s bitter, bland, and too watered down to really be properly enjoyed, resulting in a disgusting aftertaste that lingers just at the back of your throat; a constant reminder of what could’ve been, a better cup of coffee. It’s doubly worse when the coffee is not only bad, but also way too hot. The only possible benefit of the harsh sting that comes from the first sip is that it completely numbs the taste buds, effectively nullifying the admittedly awful flavor of the beverage, which of course will inevitably come creeping back regardless because there never truly is an escape from the shame and disappointment that is failing to make something as easy as a cup of joe.

Perhaps the simple truth was just that Janus was not very good at making coffee. He was never going to admit that, obviously. Heavens no, he’d rather down another cup of scalding bean water before that ever happened. It’s not like he’d be able to taste it right now anyways, with his stupid numb mouth and all. Still, the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep something as simple as coffee consistent was definitely an odd flaw that weighed heavily on his stubborn pride, much more than any petty insult ever could. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it all that made it feel like such a thorn in his side. Hypothetically, one should be able to follow a procedure each and every morning and end up with a, if not identical, similar tasting brew each time. Well evidently that was not the case with Janus, much to his chagrin. Out of the seven days in a week, he could maybe make a decent pot only during two of those days; maybe three if he was lucky. Over the course of a year he has drunk more overheated, burnt, and under extracted cups of coffee than he could even bother to count, which he didn’t, because it was frankly beyond embarrassing at this point. If coffee wasn’t such a crucial part of his morning, he wouldn’t hesitate to label it the absolute bane of his existence. Curse those pesky grounded beans.

“...Are you alright?” A voice calls out from the other side of the kitchen. Seated at the dining table just a few feet away was Logan, halfway through a book just like he was on most days. His own empty mug casually placed atop a scattered collection of papers that no doubt contained endless notes on various facts, vocabulary words, and details of the coming week’s activities.

Of course, how could he ever forget the second most embarrassing part of his already lackluster mornings. The fact that the only other intelligent person in the living space had to watch him do this ridiculous charade every day. They’re the only ones who’d ever be awake at this time of day, as such is the fate of two people with actually proper sleeping habits. He has no clue how Logan manages to bear witness to this laughable display with a straight face, though perhaps the man was just not really paying attention. As he was, more often than not, too absorbed in hastily scribbling down notes about whatever topic had caught his attention that week to probably care about Janus constantly burning his delicate tongue over and over again. Which, to be fair, was a good thing. Wasn’t it? Totally. Right. Of course he wouldn’t want Logan to see him act a fool, why was he even asking. It’s not like anything he was doing was ever going to be as interesting as whatever the man was reading up about, as disappointing as that was. Not that it mattered currently, seeing as how for once he did manage to notice and- Aw shoot he completely forgot about that didn’t he.

Janus simply makes a face and squints, lips still slightly parted as he held his tongue between his teeth. He sighs and, with a mildly sarcastic gesture of one hand, replies with simply “Yes”.

Logan responds by raising an eyebrow, gaze still remaining firmly upon him.

Now maybe it was the way the gentle sunlight filtered through the slightly fogged up windows, or the way the dust danced under those soft golden beams, but the sight of Logan seated at the table somehow seemed to shine with an almost unfair ethereal glow. Now if only the reflection of his glasses didn’t also obscure his eyes...

Janus blinks. “Oh it’s just great.” He finally complies, rolling his eyes and ignoring the fact that he was probably just blankly staring for the past few moments. You know, like a fool. Which he was not. “Nothing big, just the usual.”

“The usual.” Logan repeats, sounding rather unimpressed. To which the snake reacts to by immediately placing a gloved hand over his heart.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

“Quite the contrary,” The other shuts his book. “I am well aware of the fact that you tend to make this mistake on a nearly daily basis.”

The record scratch was almost audible.

“You-” Janus practically stumbles at the revelation that Logan was, in fact, actually aware of his struggles with the abominable coffee machine and its products’ disastrous burning touch. Memories of his daily mishaps slowly begin to flood his mind, and as he recalled each and every previous morning, the sound of nails being hammered into what might as well be the coffin of his tattered pride echoed louder and louder in his ears. Well it was either that, or the blood that was currently rushing through them from his suddenly racing heart. For a moment he wasn’t even sure how to respond, but the creeping heat that soon invaded his face was all too prevalent to ignore; a burning sensation rivaling even that of his tongue.

In hindsight, he was perhaps the foolish one to not expect someone as perceptive as Logan to notice such things. Maybe it was wishful thinking at best. But surely nobody could’ve foreseen Logan ignoring the mistakes he was making even after taking note of it, right? Logan, who’s known to instinctively attempt to remedy mistakes when he saw them. Logan, who gets way too caught up in silly errors and misunderstanding figurative statements. Surely he would’ve said something, anything. But he knew? He knew and he didn’t say anything? He knew and he just watched as he made a fool of himself every day? What would’ve been the purpose of that? Was he secretly mocking him? Did he find this amusing? Janus winces. That thought perhaps stung more than it should have.

He quickly turns away with a flick of his capelette and pretends to occupy himself with cleaning up the counter. Focusing his attention to the obnoxious yellow of his gloves rather than the gaze he still felt on his back. “Ah, so you knew.” Janus mumbles, managing to muster up his best attempt at remaining casual. “Did you even need to ask, in that case? Didn’t think you would be paying attention to whatever I was doing.” Honestly—now ain’t that a joke—he wasn’t really even sure what else he could say to that. “You have better, less mundane things to be paying attention to, no? Surely I’m nowhere near as interesting as the books you oh so love to stick your nose in.” The soft chuckle that emanated from behind just made him want to coil up into a ball and dissipate even more, but he stands his ground. He’ll just...get through the morning and subsequently try to never think of this moment ever again. He’s totally fine.

“I wouldn’t say you aren’t interesting, Janus.”

Ok nevermind, maybe he isn’t-

“I beg your pardon?” Janus almost instantly snaps his head back towards the man at the table. A decision he immediately regrets as he locks eyes with a softly smiling Logan—gently leaning forwards as his chin rests upon crossed hands—and Janus feels his composure once again fly right out the window.

“I said I find you interesting.”

He takes a deep breath. “Don’t repeat that, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said-”

“No no, I didn’t mean that, actually stop.”

Logan quirks his eyebrow yet again, in the snarky yet triumphant way that showed when he knew he was right about something. While the confidence was admittedly charming, Janus for one really wishes he’d stop doing that. Especially right now.

“Would you like me to elaborate?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.” No he fucking didn’t, why the hell did he say that. He nods curtly, setting his coffee cup aside as he awkwardly leans against the counter for support more than anything else. Ignoring the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave this current predicament, he hoped to god, the bastard, that the panic settling in his bones wasn’t showing on his face.

Logan smiles a little. “Well personally, I rather enjoy our time in each other’s presence during the morning.”

He enjoyed his company? “Well I certainly wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’ve also observed that you tend to have great difficulty making your preferred morning beverage the way you like it, correct?”

Ouch. “No?”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Logan replies without pause. “While I find your persistence admirable, I think we’ve reached the point of reasonable doubt a good while ago.”

“Mhm, yeah, great. Great. And are you just going to sit there and humiliate me, or are you actually trying to make a point?” Suffice it to say, he was not a big fan of hearing about it.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to offend or belittle you in any way.”

Janus scowls. “So what? Have my mistakes finally bothered you enough to actually speak up about it?”

“Well, I had anticipated you asking for assistance one of these days, but it seems like I have underestimated your tenacity.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he opens up one of his notebooks. “Truly a miscalculation on my part.”

“Miscalculation?” He gives a weary glance at the notebook. Logan had tons of them; each one having a different color or pattern that denoted their specific purpose. A sudden realization hits him as he gets a brief glance of the yellow cover. “Have you been observing me??”

“For the past few months, yes.” The man looks back up with a click of his pen. “Is there a problem?”

Is there a problem? How the hell does he just say these things? Of course there was a problem! How in the world was he supposed to live this down knowing that Logan didn’t just notice him every morning, but also was most likely taking excessively extensive notes? He was beginning to think that his attempts to make himself less conspicuous in the morning had subsequently led him to be less perceptive about what the other was doing instead, and that was an irony that he did not want to think about right now.

“Well I simply don’t see any benefit for you in doing that.”

That actually seems to make the other take pause. “There is no benefit.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There is no benefit.”

“You really need to stop repeating things when I-” Deep breath Janus, deep breath. “I’m not actually asking you to- Nevermind that, why are you doing this then?”

Logan lightly taps his pen against his chin. He shrugs. “I just wanted to figure out the best method of assisting you.”

“Oh and why would you ever care to do that?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. Just a quiet, all encompassing silence interrupted by only the occasional distant chirping of birds, as the two remained where they were in the kitchen on what was supposed to be a typical Tuesday morning.

Truth was, he didn’t want to hear it. And for one moment, just that moment, time seemed to slow. As Janus stands by the counter, with the bittersweet smell of his still cooling cup of coffee gently wafting his way and his eyes still focused on the twinkling starry blue that was Logan’s eyes, something within him was absolutely terrified. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know why. Or perhaps he did, but for the sake of himself he had never dared to acknowledge it. He couldn’t. How could he? His world sat upon an ever delicate balance, and he was not one to step towards any risk of tipping that scale. So he never did. As much as he wishes he could. To be important. To be just a few feet closer. To be just one seat away. To be sitting at that table, silently listening to Logan rant about the latest book he oh so loved to stick his nose in, and to take a sip out of a cup that was not his own. As much as he wishes he could. But no, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Yet a part of him still hopes, and he curses himself for it.

Every part of his body is telling him to get out right now. To run. To spare himself the agony being here instead of literally anywhere else. To save himself before whatever words that were about to leave Logan’s mouth completely shatters the status quo that he was already accustomed to. He knew he was hoping for too much, it was too late to take anything back, and at this point even if it were just a kind hearted gesture from a well meaning acquaintance, he didn’t think his currently pounding heart could bear the affirmation of what he already suspected. It was frankly a lose-lose situation. A situation he should’ve known better than to get himself into. A situation where he knew the best solution was just to leave.

Which is why within that moment, just one moment in which time had seemed to slow, when Janus is suddenly pulled back into reality as he now finds himself glancing upwards at Logan, who was now standing a mere two feet away. He instinctively attempts to take a step back, but his heel taps against the counter, clearly surprised at the sudden shift in positioning. Had he really been that lost in thought? Janus finally breaks away his gaze to look to the side, holding his breath as if he were bracing for whatever the other had to say next.

“Am I not allowed to?” The unexpected softness in Logan’s voice was so incredibly unfair, and it obliterated any guard that he could have ever possibly put up.

“I- No, you just...” He inhales rather sharply. Get a grip. “Just why would you-”

“Janus.”

He looks back and suddenly they’re face to face, barely a few inches apart, and within moments he completely forgets how to breathe.

Logan laughs. He laughs. With a tenderness he has never seen etched across the man’s typically serious face. Janus stares, completely mesmerized by the beautiful yet admittedly confusing sight, and forgetting about just why he was so flustered not too long ago. He feels his hand be slowly taken into another as Logan lifts to hold it within both of his own.

“Would you mind if I made your coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks, voice barely a whisper and lips still curled in an enchanting smile.

It was a request that barely registers itself in Janus’ mind, but he quickly manages a nod after swallowing practically nothing; his mouth suddenly dry. The only thing he could focus on was just how darn close those lips were, or how deep his eyes were, or how he still smelled faintly of chamomile tea, or- “Please.” He states, with whatever remaining dignity he had left.

The other seemed pleased with the answer, and the silent understanding that was present between them felt almost too nice to be true, yet it managed to put all of his worries to rest. Part of Janus wishes time could stop right here, with his hand delicately held between Logan’s and his heart quietly swelling within his chest; the other part promptly snaps him out of that ridiculous fantasy to focus back on what was actually happening. Logan hadn’t yet moved from where he was.

“Uh…” Janus lightly bit his lip, the next thing almost paining him to suggest. “Could you perhaps...let go now?”

“Of course.” Logan says, loosening the hold on the other’s hand. An admittedly disappointing gesture, but it’s not like anyone was going to admit that. “There are still tasks that we must both attend to.” But before he steps back to return to his seat, he gently leans in to lift Janus’ hat and plants a soft kiss upon his forehead. The expression Janus showed as a result is surely priceless as his eyes grow wide and heat instantly flares across the rest of his face yet again. He couldn’t even get a word of protest out before Logan walks away after a small pat on his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“...Right.” He replies, and promptly excuses himself from the kitchen as fast as humanly possible. He genuinely didn’t think he could handle staying there for much longer. His head was still spinning from everything that had happened, and the simple promise that was to be fulfilled the next morning sat heavily on his mind for the rest of the day. Did he know what he was doing? Was it on purpose? Was he allowed to believe in what he hadn’t thought was possible before? Janus places a hand over his forehead, the feeling of warm lips touching against his skin still rather fresh in his memories. Maybe, he could allow himself to enjoy it? What a dangerous thought, but ever so enticing. Here he thought that he could avoid it forever, and eventually it would be forgotten. Like a fool. Which he just might be.

It was something he’d probably never escape, but was it a curse? Or a blessing? Or perhaps it was neither, since neither of those things exist. But alas these feelings did, and if he couldn’t throw them away, then he’d have to keep them.

The next morning inevitably came, and with great anticipation Janus pauses a few steps before entering the kitchen. He places a hand over his heart, as if the action would somehow manage to soothe its wild rhythm, and takes a deep breath. He enters, hesitant and still groggy from just getting up, completely not knowing what to expect.

Logan was there, as usual, sitting at the dining table, papers scattered all across the surface and eyes attentively scanning through the pages of yet another book. It felt almost like a crime to disturb his concentration, but a new detail catches Janus’ eyes. A second cup, placed but a foot away from the other on the table; the area around the mug being mildly less cluttered as if to make room.

Janus finally steps forward to make his way to the table, his arrival being politely greeted with a “salutations” from the other, and immediately given an offer to sit.

“Here?” He gestures, giving a tentative glance towards where he was used to standing. A comfortable distance away, by the counter. But now that safe haven seemed so far away.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that he pulls out a chair and takes a seat. His eyes wander towards the various papers that cover most of the table’s surface. Notes, facts, and schedules, just like he always imagined. The confirmation of being correct about something never fails to amuse him. He sneaks a peek at Logan, whose gaze also shifts up from his book without lifting his head.

“Reading about coffee today are we?” Janus chuckles.

“There can be a surprising amount of depth to any subject.”

“Hmm.” Janus hums. “...Tell me about it.”

And so he does.

While the two sit in tranquil harmony, with Logan explaining the intricacies of coffee, from its history to its benefits to its various methods of consumption, and Janus patiently listening while staring down at the drink that was poured for him beforehand, in the cup that he has always used each and every morning before. Amidst the pleasant atmosphere and the comforting voice of another, he eventually takes a sip.

It was perfect.

“I’m pleased you like it.” Logan comments, noticing the content expression on his face.

“You really did your research huh.”

“It took a few months. It was difficult to gather data when there was no consistency in the methodology that you used.”

Janus coughs and glances away again, but he hears the small chuckle underneath Logan’s breath.

“I can walk you through the process one day if you’d like.”

“I think I’d rather leave it to you.”

“A wise course of action.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.” Janus mumbles, smiling a little to himself and completely accepting defeat in that regard.

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee. And now, sitting here at the table under the gentle light of the rising sun, perhaps every following morning could be similarly warm, fulfilling, and just as perfect as well.

After all, every cup was now going to be just the way he likes it.

#I won't always write Janus this way #but it's not my secret favorite dynamic for nothing lmao #the writing process for this fic was so funny #y'all should've seen #I think I'm happy with it despite it all and that's what counts!#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #mock writes #logan sanders #ts logan #janus sanders #ts janus #loceit #Smaller Sides to Life

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suburbanbeatnik · 3 years

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The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART THREE

So there’s a lot of controversy over the exact nature of Franz and Sophie’s friendship. At the time, it was was rumored they became lovers. Satirical prints of the two were even published. But I’ve browsed a few recent-ish books about the Habsburgs, and they don’t seem to think the idea of a Franz/Sophie affair holds a lot of water. However, Aubry thinks it’s possible— even probable.

He took refuge in his tenderness for his young aunt, Sophie. She was still the woman whom he preferred. Perhaps she was his only love, the one to whom he owed his first embrace and the one who best satisfied him. She had been at first nothing but an elder sister. In his empty boyhood she had given him the only warmth of friendship he had known. Become a man he had asked for more, and Sophie consented, it is said.

They saw each other everyday at the Hofburg, in the little salon belonging to the Archduchess. It was always towards evening when he was tired from his work or his horseback rides and she relaxed from duties of the court. Oftentimes they would be alone, and they would take their tea by lamplight, reading aloud or talking over the happenings of the day. Reichstadt gave Sophie his full confidence. She knew his anxieties and his bitternesses and she gave him back his courage. She would place her fingers on his forehead, and stoke his hair, which shone like silk in the dim light. He would look back at her with quiet happiness, and she would smile back at him as she sat there in a low-cut gown, the coils of her hair caught up in a veil of white lace, and around her throat a ribbon of black velvet with a pendant, which was a miniature of her father, King Maximilian of Bavaria. [Aubry pg 215]

Aubry paints a compelling picture of Sophie’s restless, clear-eyed youth, intelligence, strong will, and free, simple, natural ways, which stood out like a star against the stultifying pomposity of the Habsburg court. Not surprisingly, she hated her husband, a coarse blockhead mainly obsessed with hunting. She spent every hour she could with Franz, driving in the Prater, breakfasting together, or walking in the garden, often accompanied by Sophie’s son Franz Joseph (Sissi’s future husband). Like his father, Franz loved children and was great with them. Add his intelligence, passion, and incredible good looks, I would not blame Sophie one bit if she’d had an affair with Franz.

Aubry also points out that at Schoenbrunn, Franz’s quarters were directly above Sophie’s, and connected through “a little staircase unknown to any chamberlain.” They also spent many afternoons completely alone.

They would venture through the Tyrolian garden to the limits of the vast wooded park and on out into that smiling countryside where vineclad hills gently rise above meadows, patches of woods and cultivated fields. There they spent the most beautiful hours in their lives, talking less of the future and of glory, we may be sure, than of the present and of love. No definite information as to these meetings have survived. All that is known from authentic documents is that they were frequent in the summer of 1831. Nor is there any trace, either, in spite of careful searches, of a correspondence between Reichstadt and Sophie. The Archduchess died at an advanced age, after a checkered career. She must have taken care to leave nothing behind her. The archives of the Hofburg show only the mother, and the princess interested in questions of State. [Aubry pg 217]

Aubry then considers the contention that Sophie’s son Maximilian was actually fathered by Franz. Aubry thinks it’s at least possible, but I don’t think it is. Just look at pictures of the guy— he’s 100% Habsburg. He looks exactly like Franz Karl. The Bonaparte seed is strong; if Napoleon was Maximilian’s grandfather, you’d be able to see it somewhere. But you can’t.

Anyway, after the golden summer of 1831— probably the second happiest period of Franz’s life, after his childhood—it was all downhill from there. Very, very downhill.

Franz’s lung issues came back with a vengeance. It didn’t help his main doctor at this point was a foppish Italian obsessed with liver ailments— he thought all of Franz’s problems stemmed from— what else?— the liver. That winter Franz became major of an infantry regiment stationed in Vienna, and distinguished himself drilling his men to perfection. Which is kind of sad, really; but that’s all he was allowed to do, be a parade-ground soldier who never got his uniform dirty. He ate little, and slept less, so eager to show that he could be a real soldier, like his father. His health plummeted, and he contracted a catarrhal fever. The Imperial family gathered around Franz— except for Marie Louise, who was too busy back with her little court at Parma, “nibbling bonbons at the Opera.” Of course she protested her “cruel anxiety” about Franz’s welfare, but she wasn’t about to go anywhere. After all, she couldn’t think of endangering her own “precious health” journeying to Vienna.

Reichstadt must have felt the desertion keenly, but he voiced no bitterness. He had grown accustomed to suffering in silence, and those who forgot him, he tried to forget. [Aubry pg. 224.]

So, once again, Marie Louise disappointed her son. But Franz had Sophie; and he also had Prokesch back, who had happily returned after Metternich forced him to go to Bologna (Metternich didn’t trust Prokesch, and did his best to keep the two friends apart). The two men now knew the full stranglehold that Metternich had on the monarchy. Franz would not even be able to take a single trip away, not even for his health. It was do or die.

The two concocted a plan, and it was a decent one. Once he’d recovered, at winter in Vienna, he would be able to slip away from the secret police, as he had when romancing Naudine Karolyi. “He and Prokesch would reach Styria or the Tyrol in disguise and from there, taking advantage of connections which the major would try to establish in a preliminary reconnoissance, they would reach the Papal States where the Duke would ask asylum of the Pope.” Letizia Bonaparte and Lucien, who lived there comfortably, the Pope deferring to them, had money and connections. “Sheltered by the head of the Church and his grandmother, on a soil not only neutral but sacred, he would be free to complete his novitiate for the throne. Prokesch foresaw that it would be not a very long one. He predicted the fall of Louis-Phillippe in two or three years at most, and after a period of anarchy, the return of Napoleon II by agreement between France and the Powers.” [Aubry pg 232]

Alas! Metternich caught wind of the scheme, and banished Prokesch to Rome in January of 1832. What a blow this was! But the major agreed he could use the circumstances to do the agreed reconnoissance and meet in secret with Madame Mère. The two men parted with great emotion.

But this is the last time they would ever see each other. By the next summer, Franz would be dead.

* * *

After the departure of one of his only friends in the world, depression overwhelmed Franz again. It didn’t help when he received a letter from Napoleon’s last valet, Marchand, who had been trying for years to contact Franz about a few items of “sentimental value” that Napoleon had left for his son. But there was a note from Metternich on the letter, that briskly said “no attention could be paid to Marchand’s request.”

And that was it. Franz knew had no recourse. He wouldn’t even be able to get his father’s coffee service. How petty, how disgusting, how mean Metternich was! Napoleon had been dead for over a decade; why couldn’t he have one single sentimental item left to him in his will? Was it that important? That much of a matter of importance to the State, to the bloody Holy Alliance, that he couldn’t hold the same coffee cup that his father held?

And bitterness ate away at him. He was only 21, but he felt so old. He hated humanity. He hated himself. He wondered why he was still alive. Perhaps he would have been better off if he had died as a child. He had expected so much of the future— but there was nothing but the coldness and emptiness of an eternal prison.

Despair ate at him like a worm. And he grew sick. And sicker. He coughed and sweated and grew weaker by the day. His doctor’s liver medicines did nothing, and then bleeding did less, and Metternich kept refusing to see Franz moved to a warmer climate.

The Chancellor was pleased by the turn of events, of course. “He sent world to all the embassies, and Marshal Maison was asked to inform his government, that ‘the condition of the Duke of Reichstadt was so serious that his mother has been informed.’” [Aubry pg 244]

A pregnant Sophie, at last returned from her tour of Hungary, did her best to nurse him. “She sat down at his bedside and hushed him whenever he tried to speak. She would read aloud to him and it was she thereafter who gave him his medicines and guarded his door from any importunate intrusion.” [Aubry pg 245]

Franz still worsened. The Emperor was not present; he was detained in Trieste, and when he returned to Austria, he avoided Vienna, staying at the summer castle of Persenbeug, along with the “ninny” Ferdinand and the blockhead Franz Karl, while Francis’s wife claimed that seeing his dying grandson would have a deleterious effect on his health. Count Dietrichstein also decided to leave, on the excuse of his daughter’s confinement. Aubry says:

He must have known that Reichstadt was lost. Could he just have been an indifferent soul underneath his courtesy and his outward expressions of affectionate anxiety? He may have been. Count Maurice Dietrichstein was born a sensitive man and an artist, but life at Court had dried him up, undoubtedly leaving him in the end with the heart of a chamberlain. He forgot his former pupil at his daughter’s bedside and allowed him to die without a word of friendship. [Aubry pg 250]

For Franz, it was a slow, agonizing death march, punctuated by an an abcess in his lungs rupturing— and a final communion taken with Sophie at his side, in what Aubry compares to a “mystic marriage.” Louise arrived at last, after dithering over her departure, claiming “slight indispositions” as a reason for not leaving sooner, and then coming to Vienna via “easy stages” over the course of a fortnight. Of course, when she saw how badly off her son was, emaciated and hacking up blood, she began to cry.

There with that spectre of the hollow eyes before her she may perhaps have understood at last the true identity of that youth whom she had neglected for two years, and how guilty she had been all along toward him. She alone could have protected her child against Metternich’s policy and against himself. She could have saved him from those years of moral anguish and that tragic solitude which had ruined his health sooner and even more than any disease. That in her weakness she had lost him a throne might be excused, but however cowardly as an Empress, she might have shown herself a good mother. Vienna was her true place but she had preferred Parma with its ease, deserting the son of the greatest man in her age to sate her voluptuousness in the arms of her lover, nibble bonbons and preside over well-served dinners. [Aubry pgs 252-252]

Of course, Metternich made sure to look in on Franz while he was dying.

Through a half-open door however the Chancellor was allowed to see the patient in his bed. He gazed for a moment, then turned and walked away without a tremor, without a word of sympathy for the mother and doubtless without any remorse. [Aubry pg 255]

Franz knew he would die. “Must I end so young,” he said, “A life that is useless and without a name? Ma naissance et ma mort, voilà toute mon histoire. Entre mon berceau et ma tombe, il y a un grand zéro.” He did not quite say that on his deathbed, but it was close. Very, very close.

It took monumental efforts to keep Franz alive at this point. He was a barely breathing corpse. He could not swallow food; his throat had swollen up; his coughing seem to tear his body apart; and he could barely sup barley-water and milk. He had even been given mother’s milk at one point. His legs were swollen, and he was cold as ice. Deprived of his dearest friend Prokesch, who was meeting with Letizia and Lucien in Rome, his fellow captains in his regiment stood by his bedside.

The end came on the morning of July 21st— a thunderstorm brewed in the air, the air damp and thick and charged. He cried out— “death! I want nothing but death!” — and then— “Harness the horses! I must go to meet my father! I must embrace him once more!”

Then he whispered: “How I am suffering! When will this sad existence end?” [Aubry pg 260]

At last, he called, gasping, sweating, for his mother. (Sophie, still recovering from childbirth, was left to sleep, something which she never forgot.) Louise was brought in at the last minute, and managed to faint dead away in the middle of the room, completely prostrate on the floor. I’m imagining the priest having to step over her for his last rites, but apparently she managed to get to her knees by the bed just in time for Franz to look at her. That, one instant, and then he stopped breathing altogether.

Franz’s grandfather, back in Persenbeug, away from any inconveniently dead grandsons, called Franz’s death a possible blessing for Europe.

As for Sophie, once the news was broken “delicately” to her…

…she lost consciousness for several hours and the attack was followed by a high fever. Her milk dried up. For several days her life was despaired of. She gradually recovered. Those who knew her thereafter no longer found the gay and simple Archduchess. All the gentleness seemed to have left her. There was a sting in everything she said. The truth was that her youth had died with Reichstadt. She was to have intrigues, love affairs, ambitions, cares of State. But she had changed in spirit, or rather she had attained in a few days the mood of her maturity, with, in her heart’s depth, a regret and a bitterness which would endure until her death, five years after the disaster of her son Maximilian. [Aubry pg 265]

* * *

And so ends my recap of Aubry’s King of Rome. Ugh, this could have been more depressing!? Anyway, I’ll write an epilogue soon explaining what happened to everyone after Franz’s death.

Part One

Part Two

#napoleon II #sophie of bavaria #marie louise #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #l'aiglon #eaglet #duke of reichstadt #octave aubry #francis II #habsburgs #count dietrichstein #archduchess sophie #prokesch #metternich #depressing stuff

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cherryblossomfreak · 3 years

Text

HELLO, MY NAME IS SHAPESHIFTER. WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

NOTE: THE FOLLOWING DESCRIPTIONS CANNOT ACCURATELY BE DESCRIBED AS KINTYPES OR FICTOTYPES; AS A SHAPESHIFTER, THE FOLLOWING ENTITIES ARE SIMPLY THE FORMS I KNOW BEST.

I've already posted quite a bit about the forms I'm most acquainted with on this blog, but due to a terrible combination of insomnia and hypomania on this warm evening, I found myself typing out the "comprehensive guide" to my identity. Before I begin, please know that I can mentally shift into countless beings - if a figure in a painting or fictional character resonates with my soul, with what I call "the root" of every form I can take, I might shift involuntarily... and I never know at the time if it's a cameo shift or forever.

Please bear with me; I know I'm repeating myself quite a bit with this post... but I started this blog because I needed a place to express myself - fearlessly, and without shame. This blog is an act of defiance, and I'd like to thank you for being a part of it.

THE SEVEN DEVILS

THE ANGEL: The angel in me is stoic... He's seen men lose their minds to drugs and lose their lives to suicide. He's been threatened with a knife, with a pair of scissors and with a hand to his throat. His name is Moshe, and all I just mentioned really happened to me - I've been abused, raped, threatened and rejected. He arose from years of trauma... tall, lean muscled, with long brunette hair and dark wings. From the backs of his hands to his shoulders are an array of eyes - in gold, violet, ice blue and emerald green. His voice is husky, friendly. He's Atlas at heart, but he doesn't talk about it. Not with anyone.

THE ALIEN GOD: Key... he's the result of psychosis. After two years of unchecked schizophrenia, I found antipsychotics that work for me - but Key is a part of me now. Around seven feet tall, with snowy white skin - his arms are longer than a human's and he's improbably slight. No fingernails or toenails. His lips and the inside of his mouth are green - so is his hair. He has red eyes, slit pupils and a birdlike voice... a smile that can turn from friendly to terrifying in an instant. Sometimes he has green wings and a spindly black crown... he has an avian personality called "pretty bird" and a divine personality without name, with a booming voice - he can even remove his face to reveal another, godlike face with two eyes, a nose, and an array of eyes where his mouth should be... when he does this, he wears the "normal face" as a necklace. He's an alien. He's a trickster god. He's torn between good and evil and is tormented by memories of eternity... noemata.

THE CANINE: I've had a canine self since I was only a preteen... like so many others, I first thought myself a wolf. I taught myself how to howl and was my school's "wolf girl." It took a long time to realize I was the loner, the scavenger on the fringes, a denizen of both the urban and wild places of this place. Scrawny and skittish, with amber eyes - belonging to no one and nowhere. I am a coyote. I don't know how it started, really... I guess I've always felt more canine than human.

THE COMIC BOOK VILLAIN: so many of us see ourselves in infamous villains like him... for better or worse, we identify with the rejection, bitterness and violent urges of the misanthrope. One day, I stopped identifying "WITH" the Joker. I started identifying "AS" the Joker... very specifically Heath Ledger's interpretation of the villain. It was the result of schizophrenia, of course... within the perpetual agony caused by hallucinations and delusions, I found peace in this identity. I was untouchable... I was free. In moments of torment, I stopped walking and started stalking. The voice of my internal monologue became disturbed, almost inhuman... the jokes I told to myself kept my head above water, and I didn't care how alone I was. Nobody knew I was suffering for over two years... they still don't know, really, even after I admitted myself to the hospital and sought help. Joker didn't surface as a coping mechanism; he's the result of mental illness... but I credit my survival to him. Because of him, I laughed so hard my ribs were sore.

THE MOURNER: I first read James O' Barr's "The Crow" after the suicide of my first love, and as a result I identified strongly with the titular character. Again, in the throes of debilitating mental illness, I began to experience drastic changes in personality. In a shift, my thoughts turned into poetry - very dark and symbolic, a mixture of pretty Gothic themes and violence. I was more graceful. My inner voice is low and melancholy in a shift, and this profound sadness is always with me.

THE SPIRIT: this form is a spirit associated with death, and he doesn't have a name that I'm aware of. His face is comprised of the skull of a wolf with the antlers of a deer. His body - a hunched skeleton with a still-beating heart - is shrouded with a tattered black cloak. He speaks with an old, crone-like voice and is best described as gentle and eccentric. He's a petty thief and hoards shiny rocks. This form first appeared in false memories caused by psychosis.

THE DEMON: I'm concluding this list with the demonic identity that has always been a part of me. Always. He hisses. He snarls and grimaces. He has an insane, even malicious grin, and it's triggered by dark, heavy music (Nine Inch Nails is the best example) as well as "creepy thoughts." Interpet that however you'd like. I don't know what he really looks like. The main thing I know about him is that he ultimately wants to use his violent urges and demonic traits for good - to help animals (dogs, specifically). He can't stand humans.

IN CONCLUSION, MY ANGELS, MONSTERS AND VIGILANTES FROM ALTERNATE UNIVERSES:

THANK YOU if you took the time to read the entire post. I know it's tedious; this post is just an elaboration on things I've discussed in previous posts. But as I stated earlier, I joined Tumblr out of this desperate, urgent desire to both explore my identity and express the parts of myself that even the ones I love most neither understand nor respect.

It's 10:30 PM, and I'm restless and sleepless and loveless and listless - but I love you more than you know. Good night.

- from "The Vague Diaries"

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vampiresuns · 3 years

Text

The Stories Of Dead Kings | Prologue, Part 3

✴︎ THE STORIES OF DEAD KINGS ✴︎

4.5k words. In which the Palace continues to bring out things long ago buried within Anatole, the investigation commences and he makes an unlikely friend. CWs: Memory loss, death penalty.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Antu did not like the white dogs. A shame, because Anatole loved that breed — he had only seen pictures of it, drawings in books and a couple of paintings, but he thought it was a fantastic one all the same. They looked so funky and given his preference for raccoons, it was no surprise he favoured fuzzy, slightly funny looking but beautiful animals. He’d pet them later.

Antu liked the voice that called to Anatole even less. While he didn’t like it either, Antu reacted with a viciousness Anatole had never seen before.

Stay back! You’re not wanted! He threatened, his voice echoing in Anatole’s mind as he bared his teeth at the open air.

No! We don’t like it in there! You can’t make us go!

With the dogs pulling him through his clothes upstairs, he had to hold onto Antu for dear life, fearing his familiar would launch himself at the dogs. It made him a blur of hands, fur and hair.

“Ouch, Antupillán, don’t scratch me!”

As soon as they’re in the dark hallway, the dogs vanished, but Antu did not seem any more calm. Still in Anatole’s arms but ready to jump if needed, he was still growling at nothing and every time Anatole tried to make an advance, trying to walk down the hall to explore the room by the end of it, Antu tried to bite his hands.

“Fine, fine, fine, Antupillán, you win.”

When the ghostly voice purred behind them, Antu climbed over his shoulder before Antole could stop him. Of course his raccoon threw himself at an apparition, because demanding fair trials out of the Countess of Vesuvia wasn’t excitement enough for the furball he had for a familiar.

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Anatole tried very hard not to growl at Portia when she brought him breakfast, but the Palace kept hours that were too early, even for him, who had become a relatively early riser out of habit — waking up at dawn was too much, what had happened to seven AM? At least she had come with coffee, coffee he chugged while he listened carefully at her.

He had no clue about how to feel about the clothes, though the shirt was a dream come true. Cross-tied and with a V neck opening, big bishop sleeves, and matching, deep emerald green pants and a sleeveless long coat. The coat had a gold embroidered trim, and it reached his ankles, It would flutter deliciously as he walked down the hallways, the clack of the black boots with a golden plate shoe tip against the marbled floors.

Everything was miraculously his size; he didn’t still comprehend nor trust the Countess’ motives for giving him clothes, especially when he had brought his own. Anatole might not have a personal tailor, but he was very dedicated and careful about his clothing. He always strived to be well dressed, so what was the reason for it? Ease him after his opinions last-night? That felt too much like trying to buy him into the Countess' good side. However, while it was true he didn’t know how to feel about her, he felt it was unfair to automatically assume the worst. This required further analysis.

Portia left his room and he looked at the clothes with a sigh. He examined for a minute longer as he ate another pastry. He looked at Antu, who was still pretending to be an angel after jumping from his arms to fight a ghost out of all things.

He was eating some grapes.

It’s pretty.

“We don’t accept gifts from people we don’t trust.”

Who’s we?

“Oh, is that how it is?”

You have never been very good at lying to yourself.

“And you’re awfully insightful this morning, huh?”

Antupillán continued eating his grapes, this time in silence. He had a point, Anatole supposed. It was a gorgeous outfit but he hadn’t been lying to himself when he said he didn’t accept gifts from people he didn’t trust, and after last night, he wasn’t sure he was on the best terms with the Countess, even if she did seem civil enough afterwards. He couldn’t wear this, even if he really, really wanted to. It would be wrong, it would betray his principles, it would—

It would have to do because when he turned to check where he had left his clothes, he realised the Palace’s staff had taken all of them to laundry them. When Portia had mentioned that, he had assumed they’d only take the clothes he was wearing last night.

“Fuckers.”

He hated people rummaging through his stuff. He was very, very close to deciding to throw all caution and professionalism to the winds and be contrarian as could be. It was a bad idea, but there was a part inside himself which had been kept dormant for the most part. That part made him want to remind people he wasn’t trapped somewhere with them, they were trapped somewhere with him.

Perhaps another time.

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The Palace’s library was one of the most gorgeous places he had ever set a foot in. From its doors to its high shelves, with the high windows with stained glass and the plants, Anatole wished he had the entire day to get lost in it, explore every section, even the ones he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to ask why was the library locked up under so many keys, but he didn’t know if he’d get an answer, or if Portia knew, or if the Countess would be up to more of his really incisive questions about things she would deem out of Anatole’s range of incumbency.

If you asked him, Libraries should be public.

Despite how they left things last night, the Countess seemed to be in a great mood, complimenting his looks and treating him amiably. Anatole detected no deception nor flattery in her words; it threw him off for reasons he didn’t have the time to decode right now. Perhaps he had become too used to people shading half a light on things for reasons bigger than Anatole himself, perhaps the reason was another. It’d have to wait to be pried into.

“You told me you read.”

“Constantly, as long as my brain lets me.”

Silence fell between them. Well, this was starting to get awkward.

“Thank you,” the Countess said.

“What for?”

“You are very genuine,” she said. Anatole didn’t know what to do with that. Taking his silence as encouragement, the Countess continued. “Reading is a wonderful gift, shared by all citizens where I come from, but it’s woefully uncommon here.”

He hummed, squinting back at the Countess. He took a sharp breath as he made himself count to ten. He had felt the same need to speak without knowing what he would say as before, but this time he could anticipate it would be something angry. He didn’t need to know where these things were coming from to know he was about to ask the Countess whose fault was that, and then he’d be really, really done for.

He kept his mouth shut this time — Antu biting him softly (but strongly enough to make him hiss) helped. Time and place. He was better than this, he was taught better than this.

Wait, what? Taught what? By whom?

“Concentrate, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Did you say something?”

“That this is truly a wonderful collection.”

“Anatole… you are my guest, if you wish to return here, you need only ask. But for the moment I would have your undivided attention here.”

There was something deeply intimate about prying into someone organisational systems. How they cluttered, why they cluttered, the organisation methods employed, the thought process behind it and what you could infer of it by looking. The way documents were studied and how and where notes were taken. In that sense, Dr. Devorak’s desk teemed with information.

It might have felt like prying a little too deep into him, but Anatole thought it was a fair exchange after he broke into his house. An eye for an eye wasn’t the best justice system, but hey, a little pettiness couldn’t hurt, besides, investigating the murder was his job now.

His musings were tampered by the mention of Asra working for the palace during the Red Plague. He didn’t remember living through it, though he had always assumed he must’ve been present for it, given their earliest memory was of a post-plague Vesuvia. It had ravaged everything. Plagues were like wars, they seldom discriminated. Not that Anatole knew of war beyond books. If that wasn’t the case this was, once again, nor the time or place to second-guess himself.

Do you know what an explosion sounds like, Asra?

After promising the Countess he would meet her for dinner, he set himself to work. Anatole loved few things more than a good puzzle without a solution, and once he grew determined he did nothing half-ways.

Lacing his fingers together, he stretched them, a waft of satisfaction dawning over him as his joints cracked.

“Let’s figure you out, Julian ‘Magic Cards’, hm?”

He didn’t expect his search to lead him back into the city, but with Antu in tow he’s determined to follow the trace his magic had cast into its streets. Vesuvia was a wild thing, a glimmering thing in the lowlights of dusk making Anatole wonder why hadn’t he insisted in seeing more of it, wondering how much memories of it could he be missing. What used to be his favourite spots? His favourite streets? His favourite garden?

He wasn’t one to dwell in the past, living in the past was no way of living, but that didn’t mean the past didn’t matter. He just wanted to be able to reclaim it, to say ‘this is mine, this took me where I am today, this made me myself, just like who I am today will make me the myself of tomorrow’. He looked at the past not with wistfulness but searching for an explanation.

The area he found himself in was crowded, urbanistically speaking, shabby, probably in need of repair, and while he didn’t stop chasing that trace something in his heart (and his temple) pulsed. Something unknown and caged, something which begged to be let out, something he couldn’t make out what it was. He hated not knowing, he was getting tired of getting all these feelings, these knowledge, these looks and these visions without any sort of explanation. This time he didn’t file it away for later, and yet whatever he felt, eluded him.

The word he was looking for and failed to find was Love. A word which would continue to escape him for a little longer, as Julian Devorak himself manifested out of an open door. Finally, he thought, throwing hypothesis and chasing them was starting to give him results.

Falling into a barrel and stepping on Antu’s tail were unforeseen outcomes. So was falling face first into Julian’s chest after he helped him out of the barrel, both of them looking at each other like deers startled by light.

After Julian let him go, he held Antu, petting him as a way to apologise for stepping on him by accident.

“I have a name, you know? Shopkeep isn’t it,” he said as he looked at the Rowdy Raven’s sign.

“Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods, Not-Named-Shopkeep?”

Anatole caught himself smiling, but as he tried and failed to find a way to explain what had happened the smile faded from his face. Words eluded him and he had to admit he was very grateful for Julian taking it in stride. Because how could he explain any of this without giving away his new-found position? Or at all? He couldn’t find it in him to articulate such a thing — not to mention the glint in Julian’s eye as he turned to him was much more exciting.

It tied neatly to the trace of Anatole’s magic, like a master key he had been desperately looking for.

“Rumour has it you’re working for the Palace,” Julian sneered. “What happened to not being a snitch? I’m sure— well, by now— you’ve heard some interesting stories about me.”

“As interesting as you’re prone to not explaining yourself, though both of those might be gross understatements. And I take great offence in you thinking I’m a snitch. Don’t you think that had I told anyone you’d already be found?”

“I’m very slippery and you don’t know where to find me.”

“I found you now.”

“By accident I’m sure, not to say you aren’t talented and magnificent and all those things the rumours say… but you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Stop assuming the first thing about me and how I do things, will you, sweetheart?”

Julian’s cheeks went as red as his hair. Anatole let out a pained whine. Wherever that had come from, Anatole didn’t want to know and he expected it to not come forward again. He apologised; Julian, having composed himself, thought teasing him was a good idea but Anatole levelled a look at him that convinced him otherwise.

He sighed. Julian was right: he’d only heard things from the Palace and muddled rumours. A wanted poster was a statement of capture, not an absolute truth and it was obvious to him there was some sort of power imbalance playing against the doctor. So when Julian said he could get him a drink, to get the story and to pay him what he owes him from the reading, Anatole found it difficult to say no.

“I don’t usually accept trading payments unless previously discussed, or the party is in need, but you know what? I think I’m willing to do an exception for you.”

“Oh, please, you work for the Palace now, I think you’re set on the money.”

“You know, I haven’t discussed fees and wages with the Countess, do you think we’d be cell mates if I did?”

Julian laughed. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

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The flurry that erupted after the caw of the Raven would be etched into Anatole’s mind forever, becoming part of his daydreams unsanctioned. It was the kind of chaos which brought the familiar thump of an inconclusive memory. The Doctor might not have told him his part of the story, Anatole was well aware, but he did give him some insight into his circles and his person. Not anyone who was wanted by the Palace would shield the Palace’s investigator in the shadows so they didn’t get in trouble for hanging out with said wanted person.

As he vanished after an awkward and unfinished thank-you-for-not-being-a-snitch, Anatole turned to make his way back to the Palace, only to be met with Ludovico, who introduced himself and tried not to stare at him while he hailed a carriage for Anatole.

Anatole paid no mind to the staring. Whether it’s leftover staring from the day before, or staring driven by having found him in such an odd quarter of the City, he chose to ignore it. His apology for summoning a carriage for him despite him being the one who said it was a bad idea to leave the Countess waiting, was another thing altogether.

It was true Anatole didn’t particularly enjoy carriage rides, but why would a Palace guard would know such a thing? Did it have to do with how he felt yesterday when crossing the gates? As he stepped into the carriage he tried not to think about it, afraid he’d overthink his way into a migraine.

Relieved as he realised he was in time for dinner, Anatole took in the exquisite smells of what is definitely too much food. He was too hungry to think about the quantity for now, perhaps he could inquire about it after he ate something.

His appetite seemed to hold itself back at the mention of the Courtiers, almost evaporating altogether. He still forced himself to eat, he needed it after such a day in the City, while he listened with rapt attention to the Countess' words. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin before taking a drink from his cup, doing the same afterwards. That he didn’t have any issue distinguishing the cutlery from one another somehow didn’t call to his attention like his next words did.

“I know, and I promise you I’ll be careful.”

“You already know my Courtiers?”

“Oh no, no such thing it’s just—”

“One can never second-guess one’s intuition, is it not right Anatole?”

For the first time in two days, when he smiled at the Countess it was genuine. “Exactly.”

Just like he knew the painting, the gardens, that other version of himself walking through them and his opinions on subjects which required more education than the one he thought he had, he somehow knew the Court — being equal times prepared to brace himself for meeting it, and unprepared for whatever he may find.

He knew deep inside he could trust the Countess to have his back on that, however. It’s the way the word ‘Courtiers’ felt from her mouth: she didn’t trust them.

The mention of Julian’s hanging brought him back from wherever place of commodity his mind had gone into. The faraway look in the Countess’ eyes almost eluded him. Almost.

“Countess…”

“I am thinking about what you said last night, Anatole, but I expect you to understand I must seek to tend to my people’s needs.”

“And you think they need executions?”

“I think they need to see justice done.”

While restricted and mild, Anatole couldn’t help to look at her with some semblance of disappointment, his unspoken question dancing between them.: And is this justice? Is justice confession and punishment?

She truly must’ve given it a thought to not react with the same impetu as last night. Instead she changed the topic with a weary sigh, claiming such were tomorrow’s matters and stating having questions for him — not of his day, like Anatole had feared, but of himself. Being surprised at the change of disposition the Countess had shown today didn’t cover it. Bewilderment might.

At the mention of friendship, bewilderment fell short too. Sensing his apprehension, she smiled at him invitingly, jovially, exposing her hands to him in a gesture of trust.

“I am afraid I do not have many friends, nor know enough people who fear not my position in order for them to tell me what their true opinions are.”

Anatole sighed. “Countess, I do not wish to antagonise you when I say those things, I find it hard to help it, that is all. I’d like to think if I was in such a position the responsibility was so heavy I needed council, I would wish it was sincere. It’s not up to us how history remembers us but that doesn’t mean we have no choice in the matter. I believe our choices make us who we are, whichever those choices might be.”

“You are awfully impertinent,” the Countess said with a playful tone, “which must surely give you an advantage at life.”

Anatole laughed with his mouth open, his head thrown back. “No, but it does give me a strong personality. Tell me Countess, what do you wish to know about me?”

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Out of all the things he found about the Countess, perhaps finding out she too understood the feeling of homesickness for a place you could no longer return to — because one couldn’t or one didn’t wish to — was the least expected out of them all. Anatole knew he had been born in Bgraz, Balkovia, but that’s all he remembered of his hometown. He didn’t even remember how he had ended up in Vesuvia, though the more he thought about it, the more he suspected he had some kind of relation to the City beyond his deceased Aunt having a shop there.

He didn’t tell the Countess as much, not even sure of how to word it aloud but it was refreshing to find someone with whom he could talk about these things.

The night was welcoming and cool. The stars were visible in the inky night sky, making Anatole wonder how they would look in Balkovia, that unknown homeland he couldn’t remember. The Countess’ words about Anatole not being quite like she had imagined him, or the intrigue she felt towards him pulled him away from his thoughts.

Anatole wondered if she, like Julian, was also a victim of the rumour mill. Word in town was she was a tyrant, yet she didn’t seem malicious — malice was something Anatole’s language filter picked up with incredible ease and it left a feeling in him hard to ignore. It didn’t just make him immediately stand on edge, it also felt like tarr on one’s skin. Hot, icky and venomous. The Countess felt lost, not malicious. Someone with good intentions and not enough turn out, as he had previously felt.

“Tell me, Anatole… Why did you come to the Palace? Why did you agree to help me?”

“I believe I said it was a matter of justice, last night.”

“You did, but when I asked you to come, you didn’t know what for.”

She got him there. The offer of trust from the Countess would not last if he wasn’t honest with her — perhaps if he was, he would be able to convince her to reconsider the way in which the Devorak affair was being conducted.

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Because it felt right. I knew that whichever answers I’ve been seeking, I would find them here.” Anatole existed in the liminal space between his heart and his head. They were extensions of one another. Living a full life required both.

When the Countess asked him if he had any questions for her, reassuring him he could speak freely, Anatole already knew what to ask and in his defence, the Countess shouldn’t have taken it as a vague question, because it wasn’t. The claim was just an excuse to elude the topic; the stage they were in, of whatever it was she, him and whatever else bigger than them had sent in motion was looking at them in the eye and avoidance would help exactly no one.

“You know I mean the murder investigation. The Count has been dead for years, so why now?”

“Ah, that is a right question to ask. Vesuvia is in dire need of help. Order needs to be restored… and I am in the unique position to restore it. However, I intend to lead by example, not fear. I must show the city I am capable. I have so many plans for Vesuvia. I was to see this city flourish… Perhaps you’ll be able to help me with those plans, Anatole. I could use more competent people on my side...”

Her loneliness was heavy, almost too heavy, the feeling pouring into her speech and threatening to cover Anatole under a heavy blanket, merge with his own unattended loneliness and trap him in place forever. Seen and unseen, craving connection and something more he couldn’t name nor grab, no matter how hard he tried to.

“It’s funny,” Anatole said, a knot in his throat. “I did not expect you to be as lonely as I am. I never allow myself to admit it out loud, let alone in front of someone else. Yet here I am.”

“You already know I won’t do things whatever way. I want to find justice, and I do not believe justice lies in a hanging. You are right, your position is unique, but it’s also risky,” Anatole paused to take the Countess hands in his. His next words came from the same unknown place as they did all those times he felt compelled to speak, though they were much kinder this time: “When we know something is not right, we do not settle. People like us, whatever that means, were not thrusted into the world to settle. Power wielded without reason, without justice, without kindness, without knowing the subject you must serve will always lack. I will not tell you what to do, you are capable enough, Countess, to figure that out on your own, but I will tell you this, as a friend: truth is the only thing worthy to be built on, and when we find that truth we plant ourselves in front of whomever dares us to move and we say they move. The truth can’t lead you astray, as unpalatable or hard to accept as it might sometimes be.”

Out of all the things he expects the Countess to tell him that he’s sweet is not one of them. He’ll take it.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Just between you and me… I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies, too. Alone in his bedroom, having returned from exploring and chatting around with her, Portia’s words swirled around him, letters formed by a light orange haze, forming and evaporating in front of his eyes. Portia’s words came from rumours but they were enough to cast reasonable doubt about what might have transpired that night. It was kind of her to look after Anatole, so the least he could do was to take her words to heart.

Originated in rumours or not, Portia was right.

Going out with her was as strange as it was enlightening. He was sure the Chef, Hestion, had said something to Portia along the lines of how he expected Anatole to remember his way around the kitchen, only he had called him ‘Secretary Radošević’. Perhaps it had something to do with the investigation, but it made Anatole feel odd.

The servants in the Veranda had been very welcoming, but almost too welcoming and he was sure he had caught a couple of them speaking about him —not as if this was his first time in the Palace, but as if this was him returning to it. Speaking of returning, someone had congratulated him for becoming the main investigator for the case and how it was nice to have him back. Ignoring the way his vision splotched as best as he could, Anatole had only thanked them and turned back to Portia feeling lost and ill.

Normally, Anatole paid no mind to out of place comments. If someone demanded something of him he couldn’t remember, he tried to remove himself from the situation as fast as possible, but these felt different, the words staying with him even though his and Portia’s nightly adventures had finished.

What weighed him down the most, though, was the Countess wanting him to join them for the announcement tomorrow. It made sense, but he had a terrible feeling about it.

Antupillán was nowhere to be found. Anatole hoped that he had a good reason to be missing at a time like this.

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bimboamyrose · 3 years

Text

Unfamiliar (Ch. 12)

Unfamiliar - A Metamy Fanfic

First two chapters

Previous (Ch.11)

Ch. 12 - Everything Has Changed

There was a long tradition of wearing white during the vernal equinox. While Amy had always celebrated on her own, not having known anyone in the occult community personally, it didn’t stop her from wearing a floaty white gown to welcome the sunrise most years. And just her luck- it was meant to be warm the next day during the festival! She had just the dress.

She pulled a gauze sundress from her wardrobe, hanging it on the back of her door in preparation. She smoothed out its long, sheer sleeves and flowing skirt, admiring its pristine appearance. It had been purchased over a year earlier for a picnic that never happened- date plans that fell through or were possibly never really finalized. It was typically how it went with Sonic.

With a sigh, Amy set out the rest of her outfit and changed into loungewear for the evening. It wasn’t late, but she also wasn’t doing anything until morning- very early morning. She had already decided to welcome the sunrise on her own, but it was going to be a long day at the festival nonetheless.

The living room was empty when she stepped out. Metal was reading on the back porch when she slid through the doorway, and he acknowledged her with a quick glance and nod. Amy had handed him the 300-page novel about an hour earlier, but the page was already turned halfway through the book. She probably shouldn’t have been as impressed as she was, Amy thought, but it was still a sight. I thought I was a quick reader.

After a few minutes of breathing in the night air and listening to the quick page-turning behind her, Amy turned to Metal’s cross-legged figure on the floor of the deck. “Are you enjoying it?”

Metal nodded without returning her gaze. Another page turned.

Amy leaned on the deck railing, listening as distant waves crashed ashore. It was a pleasantly cool night- she wasn’t shivering without her blanket as she had been for months. She also welcomed the faint scent of rosemary that sprouted from her small garden, having smelled nothing but salt and snow since last autumn. Another crisp page turn.

“You don’t have to finish it in one sitting, you know.” No response. She faced him. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

Metal held up a pointy index finger, signaling to give him a minute. Amy couldn’t help but snort at this gesture, knowing he’d seen someone do it on TV not long ago and was quick to pick up communication cues. There was another brief silence before Metal closed the book, having reached the end of the chapter.

“Do you like it so far?”

Metal gave her a pronounced nod. He was intrigued, reading about the long chain of events leading a triumphant hero home after a conquest overseas. The many adventures and accomplishments described in the writing were compelling, and Metal found himself engrossed in the power fantasy.

Amy nodded. “Thought so. It’s one of my favorites.”

The first time she’d said this, Metal was surprised- but after seeing another side of her at the arcade, he understood. The book’s protagonist was powerful, clever, determined... perhaps she related. Or maybe she was just a fantasy adventure buff; He appreciated the recommendation either way.

“So, about that movie-” Amy was interrupted by a loud ringtone coming from inside. She hurried back into her room to pick up the call.

Admittedly, a movie sounded pretty mundane after everything Metal had read that evening. Most of what he’d done in the last weeks had been mundane. It was strange, being directionless, just waiting for the opportunity to recover his memory. And then what? He was getting used to experiencing unfamiliar affairs; the novelty was wearing off. He could continue waiting for something big to happen- to remember his past life, or have an encounter with his creator- but he knew it ultimately wasn’t what was keeping him there. The real reason peeked through the back door and beckoned him in.

“Tails wants to talk to you,” Amy said as she handed him her device.

“Oh- hi Metal.” Tails still found a certain degree of awkwardness in speaking to the robot directly. He had hoped for Amy to interpret. Metal raised a hand in greeting from the other end. “Hey, would you wanna come over tomorrow so I can take a look at a few things?”

“Tails...” Amy scolded gently from off-screen.

“O-oh right. Uh… how are you?” After seeing Metal look off past the screen with a confused beep, Tails continued. “There’s this chat function if you need it- here.”

A speech bubble came on screen. Tails: Hi!

Metal was less worried about how to communicate than what he would actually say. How do people usually answer that question? He tapped gingerly at the screen.

Amy: Operating normally.

“Ah, that’s good.” There was a pause. Amy had insisted Tails talk to Metal personally, emphasizing that she thought it important to let him speak for himself. Manners and pleasantries were also mentioned, but Tails had a feeling Metal didn’t have a lot of those skills going for him either. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better myself…”

Metal didn’t have a lot of experience with conversations, but it did seem logical to repeat the question. He made a note to do this for next time. As for answering Tails, Metal held his hand in a thumbs-up on screen. The signal seemed to him quite versatile.

“Okay. Anyway, I was wondering if you could come over tomorrow for a checkup? And, maybe we can replace your, you know.”

It had been on Metal’s mind ever since he began to remember seemingly random moments from his past. And he would be in need of recharging and refueling soon, anyway. There was, however, a conflict- he looked up at Amy.

“Are you okay with going to Tails’ by yourself after you drop me off?” she asked.

Though he’d promised her a ride, Amy would be away for the afternoon either way. It didn’t seem to interfere with her plans, so he nodded at Tails and typed a short message.

Amy: 1:25 PM

“Oh,” Tails responded, “that’s… precise. Works for me, I guess.” Another uncomfortable pause. Usually one would continue the conversation in some way, at least acknowledging the agreement, but neither Tails nor Metal really understood what the other was looking for. “Okay, well, see you then. Bye.” Tails chuckled awkwardly before hanging up.

Amy clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “Looks like you have plans for tomorrow! Great.”

Metal wasn’t sure if he considered sitting idle in a lab “plans,” since Tails deactivated him last time and it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling. It was just simple maintenance in his eyes. He shrugged casually, placing the communicator aside.

Hands innocently clasped behind her back, Amy leaned in with her usual charming grin. “Still up for a movie?”

--------

Amy’s taste in films ws, evidently, not like that of her favorite novels. She shoved popcorn into her mouth absent-mindedly as they both sat watching from her couch, Metal’s perpetually confused state causing him to shift focus from the television to Amy and back. “It’s a romantic comedy,” she’d told him. “The main characters are work rivals who really like each other but neither will admit it. It’s pretty funny!” It was no wonder neither of the characters admitted their affection for the other- they were constantly at odds, combative even. Amy swooned every time the two leads competed or argued over something petty and one became flustered.

Perhaps it was his limited understanding of relationships or romance but Metal had been under the impression that couples generally enjoyed one another’s company. But when the film’s protagonist decided to move far away and faced little opposition from the romantic interest, the duo seemed to compete over who could appear more cool and unphased. Just as Metal thought he could predict the ending, Amy chimed in. “Oh, here comes the grand gesture!” Sure enough, one of the characters stopped the other from leaving at the very last moment and feelings of affection were finally shared. “Aww,” he heard Amy sigh dreamily. Watching 86 minutes of tension between those two only to become a couple in the end was beyond vexing.

Amy stretched her arms as the credits rolled. “What did you think of the movie? Cute, right?”

Cute wasn’t the word he would have chosen. Did it really only take a single gesture for people to fall in love? No, they were hiding their affection- but why? He scratched at his forehead instead.

“Confused? Is it ‘cause they were rivals?” she chuckled. Metal bobbed his head around, thinking that was pretty obvious. “Love is complicated,” she stated as matter of fact. “Trust me…” Amy trailed off with a huff before hopping off the couch. “I’m not very sleepy, can we watch another?”

There wasn’t much point in disagreeing, so Amy quickly put on the next film and made herself a hot cup of camomile as the intro began. “This movie’s also a romance, but it’s more of a drama. It’s kind of a tear-jerker,” she giggled.

Did that mean she was going to cry? Why would she be so cheery about that? Whenever Metal thought he began to understand, some little, bewildering nuance made itself known. He would have been annoyed had Amy not plopped herself back down next to him with a flushed smile and excitement in her virescent eyes.

The leads in this film did look to be more interested in each other than the last. They’d spent some time together one spring before becoming separated, and the romantic interest then spent the rest of the movie trying to recapture the protagonists’ affections. It was incredibly long- much slower paced than the last. Amy began yawning about an hour in, and by the time the second act was wrapping up, she’d laid her head on the couch. “I’ll head to bed after this…” she started, but ended up fast asleep on a throw pillow just minutes later.

Metal couldn’t keep himself from glancing at Amy’s sleeping form every few minutes. It became increasingly difficult to concentrate on the television the more he checked on Amy- noting her breathing pattern, heart rate, temperature. A bit cold. He pulled the blanket she kept draped on the back of the couch over her body, resting his head in his hand as he observed her. U nable to focus, he wondered why he was even still watching the film at that point and was about to switch it off when the current scene caught his eye. The couple must have reconciled, as they were now sitting together on a picnic blanket, one’s head laying in the other’s lap. The love interest’s fingers were buried tenderly in the protagonist’s hair as they enjoyed the scenery together.

He gazed back at Amy. She lay with her head inches from his lap, curled up comfortably in her warm blanket. Breathing steadily. Hair splayed out over her makeshift pillow. Metal had to stop himself as he lifted a hand in her direction, shaking his head and fixing his eyes back on the TV. The last scene had apparently been a flashback, as the leads were now much older. One sat at the other’s bedside in a hospital, recounting the memory. The protagonist died moments later. That was… certainly a dark turn. It must be what Amy meant when she mentioned the sorrowful theme.

Metal laid eyes on his friend once more as he contemplated the ending. At least, he attempted to. The scene of the lovers on a picnic blanket was the only thing capable of occupying his mind at that moment. It seemed so peaceful, so quiet. Metal found himself enjoying those tranquil moments during his own day; doubly so if Amy happened to be near. It was what one could call relaxing. And she did seem incredibly comfortable around him - as he did with her. As credits rolled on the screen, he leaned in a little closer to Amy, inching his hand toward her tousled hair. It looked soft and silk-like; inviting even. Would this wake her?

As gently as possible, Metal touched the end of Amy’s quills with his fingertips. They were smoothly brushed down, tapered bluntly to be minimally prickly. He’d often noticed her combing her hair so it laid sleekly out of the way, even seeing her trim the ends once. Though her quills couldn’t scratch or prick him, the mildly wooly texture felt pleasant in his hand. Metal’s fingers crawled up the length of her short bob and towards her scalp, where he combed down any stray pieces that had slipped out of the neatly styled locks in her sleep. Amy stirred slightly and Metal swore his engine stopped functioning for the split second he thought to have awoken her. To his relief, she just nuzzled her face into the cushion a bit before laying still once more.

Her bangs covered her sleeping eyes now. Metal brushed the short wisps away from her face and gazed at her reposeful expression. This is what regular people look like when they rest- tranquil, relaxed, with small, gentle movements. Still but alive. Metal supposed his own idle body was more of a lifeless prop and tried to imagine what actual sleep felt like as he separated thin strands of her hair, letting them glide between his fingers until the ends slid out of his grip and floated back down.

After some time, he checked his clock- it was just past 2:00 AM. Metal was unsure what it meant, but he’d understood Amy wanted to “welcome” the vernal sunrise. He doubted she’d hear the alarm from inside her room. Sunrise would occur at 7:34 AM. She took about 30 minutes to get ready, on average. A few more minutes to travel to the appropriate location. Setting his internal alarm for 6:15, Metal resolved to ensure Amy awoke in time for her strange ritual. He smoothed down any quills he’d misplaced on her head and switched off the TV. It was probably time for him to “rest” as well; but something about Amy sleeping at his side kept him lucid and he sat awake with his thoughts for hours, peeking over at her when she entered his mind. He did this every few minutes.

There was still so much for him to consider. He hadn’t remembered anything new since Amy recounted their last story back on Angel Island. She’d even told him about other times they encountered each other over the years, though they didn’t interact with one another directly for some time. It was fruitless. To Metal, it sounded as if he’d been dragged along on his creator’s various schemes only to lose every time- but none of it was familiar in his mind. If he could think freely, if he could crave autonomy, then why had he stayed with Eggman for so long? How did the man manage to keep Metal on his side for nearly ten years? There must have been something in his memory that could provide an answer. He needed to understand his past perspective.

Metal’s alarm was due to go off in another minute. It was the longest he’d sat on his own, just thinking- no, not on his own; with a friend by his side. Even separated by consciousness, Amy’s presence felt comforting and provided him some fortitude. Metal heard Amy’s alarm go off faintly from her room. He was pleased with himself for predicting just the time she planned to wake up. It didn’t seem to reach her ears, as she continued to snooze, so he tapped her on the shoulder softly until her eyes half-opened.

She grumbled groggily for a moment before shooting up unexpectedly. “Did I- is it the next day?” She looked around frantically. Metal chimed to get her attention and she whipped her head around as her face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh my gosh- did I fall asleep here? I’m so sorry!”

Metal watched her scramble out from under the blanket and grope under the couch for her missing slippers. He was waving his hands in front of him dismissively, but Amy was too panicked to notice. “I probably missed my alarm,” she thought aloud. He finally took hold of her shoulder to get her attention. Then he cocked his head in the direction of the digital clock beneath the TV. 6:17 AM. It was early.

“Oh, I still have time,” she exhaled. Wearing an apologetic smile, she turned back to her friend. “Thanks for waking me. Sorry I kinda took over your bed…” It wasn’t the most eloquent way to put it. Amy could feel her cheeks warming up again. “I should go get ready!”

Amy’s exit from the living room was never complete without tossing the blanket over the back of the couch, which she did more haphazardly than usual before slinking away into her bedroom. Metal sank back into the cushions, now staring out the back door into the predawn darkness. Well equipped to see through the night, he watched absent-mindedly as some palm trees swayed in the distance. The sunrise “woke” him daily, but he supposed this would be his first time observing it. He was sure he’d get a front row seat of the dusk horizon first…

In her room, Amy groomed her hair hastily, still red-faced and slightly shaken. Falling asleep on the couch when you live by yourself is one thing, but it was definitely rude with a roommate present. Wait, roommate? Was Metal living with her really becoming that official? She did her best to perish the thought as she combed her lashes with mascara.

Amy dug up an old wood-beaded necklace and tan belt from her wardrobe, accessorizing her otherwise monochromatic outfit. She slipped on her lightweight dress, tugging on the underskirt as she noticed it bunching in the mirror. She spent far too long adjusting the billowy sleeves and repositioning her belt, still a bit embarrassed to face her house guest. It was a quarter to seven now. Time to get outside and start the ritual before it became too late.

Pulling a small saddle bag over her head, Amy stepped out of the room quietly. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said as she scuttled toward the back door. To her surprise, Metal was waiting for her just by the exit, leaning against the wall.

Amy floated into the room, looking ethereal in the airy ensemble. Certainly a change from her usual colorful garments and the bulky outerwear she sported to keep her warm. Metal tried to hide the strange delight he felt at the sight of her and casually pointed a thumb out toward the dark outdoors, offering her a ride. She lit up.

“Oh! Did you want to come?” Amy hadn’t expected him to join her, much less after worrying about the awkward situation she found herself in that morning. Finding that Metal didn’t seem to mind was a weight off. ”Well, it’s nothing fancy since I’d have to hike pretty far to get to where you can see eastward clearly. I usually just do it from the beach,” she shrugged, not wanting to get his hopes up. “It’s still nice to watch the sky, though.”

A small miscalculation. Metal assumed Amy would ask for a ride and already knew where they were going- it was obvious to him, anyway. The taller hills on the other side of the valley gave an unobstructed view of the eastern coastline, and there was still time to fly there. He shook his head, offering Amy his outstretched palm. She understood immediately.

“You wanna fly somewhere? Is it close?” He nodded. “Well…” Amy placed a hand over his, feeling herself blush for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, this time backed by a much more pleasant warmth.

-----

Dawn’s first light illuminated the horizon in soft gray tones as the sun got ready to emerge. Amy’s pale figure practically glowed against the dim morning. She’d adorned herself with a light shawl against the cool air and every inch of her attire trailed behind in the gentle breeze. Metal watched as she wrote in a journal and took clockwise steps around an imaginary circle before sitting on her heels to meditate. It was an unusual ritual, the point of which was lost on him; but learning about the tradition was interesting to Metal, if only because it was so to Amy. After a few minutes, she invited him to sit with her and wait for sunrise.

Metal crossed his legs as he sat by her. He looked ahead into the horizon, but was still observing her rhythmic breathing and occasional soft sigh. “Thanks for bringing me here- it’s definitely a step up from sitting a few feet from the house,” she chuckled. “I usually do this alone. It’s kinda nice having someone to share it with, though.” He nodded at this with a soft, mechanical tone. She turned to him and continued. “The point of doing this isn’t just to watch the sunrise, you know. It’s supposed to help you reflect and get in touch with your surroundings. You’re pretty attentive already- maybe you can try seeing how many sounds you can hear.”

On the surface, it sounded silly; There was hardly a moment when Metal wasn’t contemplating something or listening to his surroundings. Yet he recalled the first time Amy advised him to reflect all those years ago, when the world was new to him. He was just as directionless again now. Back then, he’d ignored all the signs, all the guidance- and from what little he could remember, it didn’t appear to land him anywhere worthwhile. Metal glanced at Amy momentarily before concentrating fully on listening to what occurred around him. Despite the overall quiet, leaves rustled and birds chirped in the distance. The ocean swayed calmly below as little animals scuttled about high in the trees behind him. And then there was Amy- her steady respiration and the light billowing of her dress in the breeze. It was grounding, somehow- Metal’s mind was clear for what felt like the first time in his life.

“It’s rising.” After spending quite some time mostly listening, there was now something to see as well. The sun inched over the horizon, warming the sky with its red and orange light.

Amy pulled out her small journal and scribbled some notes before raising her face toward the rising sun. The sunrise was beautiful, but Metal found himself watching the scene through the reflection in Amy’s shimmering eyes rather than putting much attention to the sky.

“I’ve been thinking,” she finally faced him, “it feels like everything has changed lately. Having you here has been really… different. In a good way.” She paged back and forth through the book with her index finger absently. “But, change can be scary, sometimes. I remember one time...” Amy shook her head anxiously, staring straight out into the ocean. “Well, I guess you could say... you rebelled? Against Eggman.”

Metal listened to her with intrigue. He had hoped that the next thing she’d recount would lead to answers, but so far it was only causing further confusion. If he had rebelled against his master at some point, something in her nervous eyes told him it wasn’t for the better.

The colors up ahead shifted steadily from magenta and lilac to greyish blue as the sun made its way past the horizon. A bright golden column shone in the sea and as Amy squinted in the yellow light, she lowered her eyes to its watery reflection below. Just as she parted her lips to continue, a distinct ZIP came from behind the pair. Amy jerked her body around to look over the other side of the cliff. Metal’s engine was already whirring in annoyance as he predicted what came next.

The breeze turned to a whirlwind momentarily as Sonic skidded to a halt in front of Metal and Amy. The sudden gust sent her dress billowing wildly and the shawl she wore across her shoulders floated up and away, past the eastern edge of the cliff. “Woah!” Sonic jumped for the scarf but it was out of his reach before he could catch it. “Uh, oops,” he chuckled remorsefully.

Amy was about to bemoan the loss of her silky stole when another sudden gust blew back her hair and skirt once more. Metal propelled himself off the cliffside to go after it. Amy and Sonic watched as it drifted just out of Metal’s grasp a few times. Sonic received a dirty look from her when he appeared far too amused at the sight. Metal finally managed to catch it, returning it to its owner.

“Thanks, Metal,” Amy reached out and took hold of her scarf, which, to her dismay, made a harsh ripping sound as she pulled it back toward her. She gasped slightly when she realized it had become unfortuitously caught in Metal’s claws when she attempted to take it back. A lamentful ring came from him in realization. “It’s okay! I can fix it when we get home, don’t worry.” Amy gave her friend a reassuring smile, dawning the scarf over her shoulders once more and folding the tear out of sight. “Thank you, really.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” Sonic apologized from the sideline.

“It’s fine,” Amy exhaled. She didn’t want to sour the tranquility of the morning altogether by having a tantrum. All in all, it was still a nice surprise to see him. “You’re up early.”

Sonic rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s 7:30 in the morning. You really haven’t slept all night?”

“Nope,” he snickered. “Hey, am I interrupting? I need to talk to you.”

“Well,” Amy sighed, turning back to Metal. “Let’s talk later, okay?” If Sonic was looking for her, it must have been important.

Metal looked from Sonic back to Amy with crossed arms. He would have made some sassy response if she didn’t return his gaze so pleadingly, preemptively beaming with gratitude. With a nod, he offered her a hand getting up that she graciously accepted.

Sonic cleared his throat. “Sorry, mind if we get a little privacy? I’ll walk you home so we can chat.”

Even though she knew his intent wasn’t malicious, Amy still frowned at Sonic’s request in the wake of how rude it must have sounded to her friend. “Could you meet me back home, Metal?” He simply returned with a reluctant nod which she thanked him for. Amy waved him off as her and Sonic started down the hillside.

“You’re good with walking, right?” Sonic nodded toward Amy’s open footwear, which didn’t seem the most comfortable for a hike.

“I’ll be fine! Is everything okay?”

“Well…”

Their voices drifted away before Metal could catch anything significant; not that he was looking to eavesdrop. It would be at least a 30-minute hike down, then another few minutes before they arrived at the beach. Metal stared into the horizon for the better part of that time, trying desperately to remember something- anything- about what Amy had begun recounting. He’d rebelled. It was as Metal suspected: he hadn’t remained completely loyal all those years. Wasn’t it the same as what he was doing now? Why hadn’t Amy said anything earlier? Metal raised his palm to eye-level, examining his sharp fingers and wondering uneasily what suffering came at those cold hands.

.........................................................

hi babes- thanks for reading as always. reminder i’m adding songs to the playlist each chapter and if you have a suggestion, shoot it my way

oh and someone asked if this is on a03 and it is! in case you’d like to bookmark it. i post here first though!

#metamy #metal sonic #amy rose #metal sonic x amy rose #unfamiliar #ch. 12

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blushoseoks · 4 years

Text

GREY AREA (M) 14

“And just like that, your fate was sealed - because Min Yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. But hell, if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.

And sadly, at the time, you didn’t think that your thoughts would become so literal.”

pairing: min yoongi x reader

warnings: mature, heavy angst

genre: soulmate!au, slowburn

words: 1,752

chapter index

Cherry blossoms bloom from their sprouts and envelope the trees above where you lay, illuminating the already orange-red leaves with even more color.

What a shame, echoes in your head, they’ll be dying soon.

“Hey, Y/n,” a voice fills the surrounding air shared between the three of you. Looking away from where your eyes had been focused on the branches above, you turn your head towards Seokjin, cocking an eyebrow indicating for him to continue on.

“Have you heard from Jungkook lately?” The air in your lungs lets out as he voices his question. “He’s been a bit hard to keep in contact with.”

You part your lips to let your sigh escape silently, lifting a hand you rush it through your hair, head moving to glance back upwards at the blossoms, shaking your head in the process of your statement. “No.” You say. “I haven’t.”

And it wasn’t a lie, you had not heard from Jungkook in over a week, not since the night of the party. Texts you sent went unreplied to, but certainly were read if the little R indicated anything at all. You had attempted to talk to him once after class, only for him to all but run out of the room before you had the opportunity to even approach him.

During the day you had seen him in Sociology, the younger looked worse for wear. Dark circles littered the space underneath his eyes, his brown hair went unkempt, and a blank face he had been sporting.

It had been odd, you noted, seeing Jungkook with anything but a smile.

Whatever had happened to Jungkook, was enough for him to completely isolate himself.

“Hm.” Seokjin says, lips moving to curl to the side as if in deep thought. “Yoongi says he hasn’t really been at their apartment all that lately either.”

The mention of the aforementioned causes another deep sigh to slide past your mouth.

You hadn’t spoken to or even seen Yoongi since the day after the party, he had not shown up in Literature - which hadn’t really surprised you all that much. And the text he had sent you that night was the first and last you had received.

“I’m sure he’s just busy.” Namjoon voices a moment later, eyes moving from the words in his book to stare at his boyfriend, and then to where you lay in the grass. “You and Jungkook seem to have gotten closer lately, has he said anything to you? Is anything bugging him?”

And that’s just the thing- you weren’t sure. Memories of the party were still coming back, bits and pieces were making themselves known little by little - but many parts were still missing. You couldn’t be sure that Jungkook hadn’t warned you that he may be busy as of late, you couldn't be sure that Jungkook didn’t mention if something was bothering him.

Luckily for you, Seokjin cuts in before you have to think of a response.

“--But that’s the thing, even when Jungkook is busy he’s never been one to just cut off all contact.. That’s more of a Yoongi thing.”

There’s a moment of silence as you and Namjoon try to search for answers. Neither of you were that close with the younger, therefore neither could offer a logical reason for his sudden radio silence towards not just you - it seemed, but the entire friend group.

Seokjin lets out a distressed sigh, in which Namjoon’s hand immediately moves to run through the older’s pink locks. “I’m sure he’ll come around.. When he’s ready.”

Yeah, you say silently. Hopefully.

Sunday [10:39 PM]

You:

Hey, I’m sorry for not messaging you sooner.. I’ve been asleep all day. What happened last night? R

Tuesday [1:12 PM]

You:

Hey, I had a question about the assignment due. Do you have time to meet for lunch? R

Thursday [2:15 PM]

You:

Did I do something wrong? R

“-- Alright, what is it?”

You glance up from where you had been absentmindedly thumbing through the same messages you had been staring at for a week straight.

“What?” You mumble out, eyes finding Yoona who sits at the opposite end of the couch.

“Dont ‘what,’ me.Tonight was supposed to be a girls night, but I’ve spent the entirety of it looking at you wallow at your phone.. So fess up, what is it that’s got your undies in a twist?”

It takes a moment for you to soak in her sentence, lips parting around no words as you contemplate whether you should indulge her or keep it all to yourself.

Part of you felt guilty. You had promised Yoona an explanation for your disappearance the night and day after the party, and instead you were repaying her friendship with a half-assed night. With not an ounce of your attention.. The situation with Jungkook was driving you crazy, having someone upset with you for no known reason was something you were unfamiliar with.

You were sure you had plucked a strand of grey from your hair.

A grey hair!

Never in your life had you felt the stress you had, ever since Jungkook had started to avoid you.

Nevertheless, you let out a soft breath.. “I told you, Yoona.. I still don’t remember everything that happened that night.”

Her eyes narrow at you skeptically, silently letting you know that she didn’t fully believe you, not that you could blame her - even if you did remember the events of that night, the chances of you telling her were slim to none.

“Okay fine.” She says, eyes looking like they’re about to roll out of her head. “But tell me about what happened when you woke up.”

You pull your legs up onto the couch, arms hugging around your shins as you rest your chin on your kneecaps.

“To put it bluntly, I woke up in Yoongi’s bed.”

It could be described as comical - the way Yoona’s eyes almost bug out of her head.

“Wait..” She screeches, “Yoongi’s?” She asks, a face akin to horror shown obviously around the curve of her lips.

You decide to ignore her confusion, having no energy to explain.

“I had no recollection of how I got there. None..” You shake your head, “Then as I was leaving their apartment, he shows up.”

“Wait.” She says, still appalled. “Yoongi’s bed? Like - the one that isn’t very friendly -- has sort of a resting bitch face? Hardly talks? That Yoongi? His bed?”

“Yoona,” you say, “focus.”

Her lips form around a silent o, as she tries to take in the information handed to her. “Okay..” she urges you to continue. She gathers her legs, bending them behind her so she can sit on the back of her knees.

“Anyway,” you start, “he offered to buy me food since I hadn’t eaten in hours, and I accepted, thinking he could give me some information. We went out to this little diner.”

You watch as her lips purse, her eyes pulling together.

“So, did you ask him how you came about ending up in his bed?”

“I did.”

“And?”

You let out another sigh. “He said he found me asleep in some bedroom at the party.”

She’s silent for a moment, you watch as the confusion continues to spread across her face.

“Any idea whose?”

You lift your shoulders upwards in a shrug. “Some friend of Jungkook’s.. Yoongi says he found me asleep with Jungkook.”

She lets out a breath, one that seems a little like relief.

“Alright, that, I’m not surprised by.”You want to scold her for making light of the subject, “-but I am confused as to why Yoongi took you to their apartment and not your own. And why he didn’t leave you alone with Jungkook?”

You shrug, letting out another sigh. “I asked him, he said he wanted to make sure that I was safe.” Your eyes fall down to where you’ve interlocked your fingers together, lips parting as you recount the story Yoongi had told you.

The realization that he had wanted you safe, brings the smallest of smiles onto your lips.

In a small voice, you speak, “he said I didn’t have my key on me and he didn’t know if Hoseok and Taehyung would be home to let me in.”

You watch her teeth bite her bottom lip as she’s silent for a few moments - moments that for some reason, put you on edge. Your anxiety raises a little bit. She studies you - expressionless. And then after what seems like minutes, she finally speaks, thumbnail brushing across her bottom lip.

“Alright.. Hear me out, okay?” Her eyebrows uplift, you swallow the building lump in your throat, but nevertheless nod.

“Remember how I told you I thought Jungkook had a crush on you, and Seokjin basically confirmed that?”

You nod. recalling the conversation that had revealed that truth.Seokjin had basically confirmed it, and you were still trying to figure out how that made you feel, nevertheless whether at all it was possible or not.

“Well, you started the night out in bed with Jungkook-” you grimace- “do not give me that look, I’m not judging just stating facts - but, you ended up in Yoongi’s bed. So let’s say that Jungkook wakes up to find you gone, he panics and tries to call you, no answer. Then, he gets to his apartment and for some reason goes into Yoongi’s room - and sees you in Yoongi’s bed..”

She trails off suddenly, hand moving to steady her chin as her elbow digs into her thigh.

“Maybe he thinks something happened between you and Yoongi, he’s either jealous or angry, and that’s why he’s behaving towards you the way that he is.”

You take a moment to soak in her words.Contemplate whether it made sense or not. The thought of Jungkook completely ignoring you due to his own assumptions didn’t make a lot of sense to you, it didn’t seem characteristically accurate for him to do something so petty. And, if you remembered correctly he hadn’t attempted to call you that night nor the next morning.

“I’d like to think that Jungkook knows me better than to--”

You’re interrupted by a well manicured finger swaying in the air. “Baby, when it comes to feelings all logic is tossed out the window.”

You unravel your arms from around your legs as you allow yourself to relax into the back of the couch, head moving back and chin tilting so you’re staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t like that.”

“Most of us don’t.” Yoona says around a melancholy snicker.

You let your eyes fall on your female friend. “What do I do now? He won’t answer my texts and he all but runs whenever he sees me.”

You watch as she visibly contemplates this for a moment, pink tinted lips rubbing together.

“Maybe this is something he’ll come to you with.. Eventually.”

“So I give him time?”

The thought of not talking to Jungkook for even longer makes something swell up inside of your chest. Something twisted and revolting. Something you cant quite pinpoint.

She nods, moving a hand to rest over your own, as if she can somehow view the inner turmoil this causes within you. “Sometimes time is the only thing a person truly needs.” Her voice is soft, comforting.

And though she is speaking about Jungkook, her words resonate with you.

If Jungkook needed time - you’d give it to him, just like you had done the same with Yoongi, even if it made you feel sick inside.

You hadn’t known Jungkook for long, but the boy had seemed to wrap himself around a place in your heart.

If only time could explain why the knot you had felt in your chest for a week hadn’t disappeared but only intensified as the days went on..

[a/n] it’s been a long, long, long, long time. :( i am sorry this is little and short compared to past chapters, i just thought you guys deserved something. i love you, still. <3 as always, feedback is truly appreciated... if anyone is still reading or still there.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #btsfanfic #fanfiction #bangtanfanfiction #bangtan fic #angst #yoongi fic #min yoongi fic

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1000scrubs · 3 years

Text

Round 2: Titus Mede II

Writer Titus Mede II ‘s entry for August 2021

ANTONIO ALBUS AURELIUS XVII sat in a chair bearing his name. He was waiting in a dark, seemingly infinite room, remembering neither why he was there nor how he got there. He concentrated hard, trying to think back to remember anything that could help him figure out what the Hell was going on. He could vaguely remember… robes? A stick? No, think harder… a beard? Nothing useful came to Antonio’s poor, empty head. Indeed, it was as empty as this void he was sitting in. But then—

“Bad morning to you,” said the dark-clad man, who had just entered the room from a doorway that had not existed a second earlier. The man was rather large, and after closing the door and turning around, Antonio got a proper look at him. He had a large mustache and an extremely fancy three-piece suit, though the fabric seemed impossibly dark. He had a large hat atop his head, and underneath the brim were his unsettling silver eyes. The look of him gave Antonio a feeling of visceral fear, though he could not tell why.

“Oi, you this pompous Aurelius sounding fella?” asked the man, who spoke in a thick Cockney accent.

“Yes, I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Where am I?” asked Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.

“Well, ‘Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII’ — mind if I call you Tony? Nah, of course you don’t — you have been lucky enough to arrive here, in Hell, where you shall spend the rest of eternity being tortured in my district of New Los Angeles! Oh, but I suppose you won’t understand that reference.”

“What in G— in G— what? What in Go—“

“Oh, you can’t say that name here. Don’t even try. It’s a bit petty, if you ask me, but it’s not up to me! Anyway, my name is Tommy. I’m here to answer any questions you have before you are sent into New Los Angeles.”

Though Tommy’s blasé nature made him feel somewhat less uncomfortable, Antonio was rather confused. He had no idea what this “New Los Angeles” is, or how he had ended up in Hell. “Well,” he started, “for starters, I can’t remember a thing about my life on Earth. What exactly did I end up doing to get down here?”

Tommy chuckled. “Oh, where do I start? First of all, practicing the Arcane Arts is an instant no-no to the Big Man Upstairs. Massacring an entire village probably didn’t help either. But what threw you over the edge was definitely the time you—“

“No, no, this has to be some sort of mistake. I didn’t do any of this stuff, I’m a good man! There has to be some sort of trial, or appeal, or something! This isn’t fair!”

“Fair? Tony, you’re in Hell, there is no more ‘fair’. Except Jimmy’s ‘Fun Fair of Fantastical Flying Feet’, were you are mercilessly pelted by— you know, I should stop getting so sidetracked, I’ve got 12,000 other people to orient after you before my shift is over. No, Tony, there’s no appeal, there’s no trial, and I think I’ve answered all of your questions. So peace out, and make sure you follow my TikTok when you get to the Social Media Torture Tower!”

Antonio started to object. “Wait, you haven’t answered my—“ but before he could finish, Tommy was gone, instantly returning through the doorway that had been there a second ago. He was now immensely confused, perhaps even more so than before. However, before Antonio had any time to think about what just happened, or why the demon was so well dressed, he was suddenly sucked through space to another location in the most painful way imaginable.

“Ianuae Magicae!” he shouted instinctively. The pain and the sensation of movement stopped; he had broken through whatever ethereal force had been moving him, and was in what appeared to be an infinitely large library. Antonio scoffed. “Another damned infinitely large room? And full of books? What, is this some kind of nerd kingdom? I’ve just gotta find a way out of here.”

“The exit’s over there,” someone said behind him. Antonio turned around quickly, and was greeted by the sight of a normal librarian, albeit looking extremely tired.

Antonio narrowed his eyes, not knowing what to expect. “Excuse me?”

“You want to leave the library, right? So instead of wandering around and making a racket, there’s the exit. Now get out and let me get back to re-reading the end of the Eragon trilogy, it’s the least terrible thing in this library.”

Antonio didn’t want to be in the vicinity of anyone who would even think of reading something like that recreationally, so he took her advice and left through the doorway she pointed out. He then found himself in an infinite-looking corridor, which looked like something right out of a 1980s office building. Antonio started walking aimlessly, but what seemed like hours later, he was still going down the same corridor with no end in sight. Fed up with his predicament, he opened the nearest door and went in. It turned out to be an elevator, so he clicked on the top level and waited.

When Antonio’s eyes finally opened, he could not quite understand what he was looking at. It seemed he had fallen asleep during the impossibly long elevator trip, but having arrived at the top, he was now seeing a gigantic, gothic-styled room that was entirely colored in black with red accents. The wall to his right was one giant, uninterrupted window, with a red hue shining from the outside. In front of the middle of the window was an ominous looking throne and a desk, with a villainous chandelier hanging above. Running out of adjectives to describe this room, Antonio noted the oppressive and boiling hot atmosphere inside the room before stepping inside. He sat down at the throne and started going through the desk, finding many files that seemed to detail the various operations of Hell. Antonio finally realized… he was sitting in the Devil’s chair.

“That’s kinda neat-o,” he thought to himself. As anyone would, he immediately went to look for his file. “Hmm, ‘Antony A. Augustine’, ‘Anthony A. Andreas’… ah, here we go, ‘Antonio A. Aurelius'! Oh, of course there are 17 of them… there it is: ‘Antonio A. Aurelius XVII’”

Antonio opened his file and was shocked to see the photograph inside. He saw a picture of a rather horrific looking man, with a gaunt and sickly looking face, terrible hair, and unsettling eyes. Shrugging this disturbing revelation aside, he looked back into the file and started reading it. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII, born in 13th century Tuscany? Exemplary record… lived a nearly flawless early life? If only he hadn’t chosen to become a necromancer!?”

This deeply shook Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Though it turned out Tommy had been exaggerating, as Antonio had apparently lived a good life outside of necromancy. Nobody had liked him of course, being a heretic necromancer who looked like some kind of cheap horror movie character, but Antonio had still provided valuable services when people had needed them. “I shouldn’t be here,” he thought. “I should be up in Heaven. I can only imagine how many other mistakes like this have been made…”

Antonio looked around some more and found a computer in Satan’s desk. He wouldn’t have thought that they used computers in Hell, but it made more and more sense the more he thought about it. Naturally, Satan’s password was “password”, and Antonio decided he would take advantage of the situation to implement some cosmic justice. He would bring balance to the universe, being a righteous man given the power of God.

After typing in a few commands, Antonio hit the return key like it had owed him money. Satisfied, he got up and turned around to look out of the massive panoramic window. He could see a vast ocean of lava, with a coast that was blackened and rocky, looking inhabitable and yet lit up with the bright lights of many settlements, which were all doubtless places where the residents of Hell were tortured. As he watched, he saw hundreds of bright beams of light flash from the muddy red sky straight down to the ground. He smiled to himself, just as he heard a colossal crash behind him.

“What in the Hell,” bellowed the Devil, “has conspired here?” The Devil walked into the room, the ruined remains of the main door behind him. His voice sounded of pure power, with an impossibly booming level of bass that Antonio could feel in his bones. He was the size of 3 men, with a large forked tail and two large horns protruding out of his forehead, which was maroon, matching the rest of his body. “I’m taking my first vacation in millennia, enjoying my time in San Diego, when I’m informed that some unauthorized low-life scum is in my personal office? And not just any unauthorized low-life scum, a resident?”

The Devil looked Antonio up and down, his glowing red eyes seeming to see straight into every cell in Antonio’s body. His sharp teeth became visible through his grin, then he started laughing. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII? You’ve just made your stay here in Hell… so much worse.”

With a motion of Satan’s hands, Antonio was restrained by some glowing red binds. Before Satan could continue, an extremely fit man dressed in white robes blasted straight through the panoramic window with contempt. He had short black hair with piercing, almost luminescent blue eyes. His clean-shaven jaw looked sharp enough to use as a weapon, and everything about him made Antonio feel inferior in every way. Even looking at the man for too long started to make his eyes hurt. Effortlessly hovering in the air, now with no discernible expression of emotion, he went over to Satan and looked him straight in the eyes. Satan, on the other hand, was seemingly unable to hold his gaze, and looked away.

“The Lord would like to express His dissatisfaction with you, Lucifer,” he said matter-of-factly in an extremely posh-sounding British accent, his voice sounding impossibly clear and extremely commanding. “There is a holy pact that has gone back to the founding of the universe. I know your kind doesn’t take kindly to any amount of reason or honor, but even I didn’t expect you to do something like this.”

Before the intimidating-looking man from Heaven could continue, Satan interjected. “I have done nothing of the sort, knave! This is the work of this dark magician, Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.”

The man from Heaven turned around and sighed heavily. “Please, you expect me to believe that? You lot really are pathetic.”

Satan growled with irritation. He turned to Antonio. “What did you do?” he asked in a low, hushed voice.

Antonio smiled to himself and puffed up his chest, entirely overconfident and forgetting his place. “I have done what you are either too evil or too unintelligent to do,” he said, looking at both Satan and the well-dressed man from Heaven, the latter of whom immediately raised his eyebrow. “I have sent the best half of all people in Hell to Heaven. These people did not deserve to be here. They made mistakes in life, yes, but were ultimately good people.

The immaculately dressed man from Heaven scoffed. He turned to Lucifer and said, “Do you take the Lord and all of us in Heaven for fools, expecting us to believe this utter shamble? Could you have not picked a more convincing low-life to take the fall for you?”

“I know nothing of the situation!” Satan shouted angrily. He started storming over to the computer. Antonio stood by, unflinching, in total confidence that he had done the right thing.

“I mean, seriously,” continued the really very fancy looking man from Heaven. “If you’re going to come up with some pathetic excuse, don’t pick one we will so obviously know isn’t true. There has been no such influx of your heathenry to Heaven. Spending so much time down here really does reduce God’s creations to absolute worthlessness.”

Antonio was confused upon hearing this. How did none of the people he freed show up in Heaven? And why is the man from Heaven so rude? All of a sudden, he heard a bellowing roar from Satan, who promptly punched him with cosmic force. Antonio flew across the room, before hitting a television mounted on the wall. The force of the impact completely destroyed the TV, and Antonio was now lying on the ground reeling in pain.

“Do you realize what you have done!?” Satan was furious. “You will burn in the deepest circle of Hell for all eternity—I will torture you myself!”

The impeccably dressed man from Heaven scoffed again. “Are you seriously pretending to not know what happened? A man of God such as myself will not be so easily fooled by your pathetic tricks, Lucifer.”

“Don’t call me that! And you—” he turned to Antonio, who was now entirely aware that he was little more than an ant compared to everyone else in the room, then continued. “All you have done is send the WORST half of all people in Hell back to EARTH!”

The man with a perfect sense of fashion from Heaven interjected before the Devil could continue. “Finally, you admit to your wrongdoings, you traitorous wretch! I trust you realize that this surely means war, I was sent here to find out why this has happened and I have found no compelling reason whatsoever!”

The Devil sat still for a moment. “I suppose there is nothing else to be done in this situation.” He picked up a mobile phone and started typing an angry Tweet announcing his intentions. After he finished, he moved over to his desk, where he drafted and signed a document that was naturally written using someone’s blood. Probably someone who hated pens, documents, or both. He then got up and handed it to the hovering man from Heaven.

“A declaration of war? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, coming from such animals as you. I shall take this up to the Lord Himself, who shall surely destroy you once and for all. See you never,” he said, before flying straight out of the window and disappearing into the sky, sending a sonic boom echoing throughout Hell. Satan then turned to face Antonio, who was nowhere in sight.

Antonio, still in disbelief that he had manage to slip away undetected, was running as fast as he could to try and get as much distance between himself and the Devil as possible. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t looking where he was going, and ran straight into a guardrail with enough speed to flip straight over it, helplessly falling straight into some sort of magic portal that was stationed several miles below.

Antonio awoke again, though this time instead of being presented with the depressing sight of Satan’s office, he could feel a pleasant breeze on his face and grass beneath him. Sitting up, he looked around to see grassy rolling hills with a city in the distance. The view was short-lived, though, as soon a large aircraft dropped a gigantic bomb, destroying the entire city in one blast. Not ten seconds later, a missile shot up from the top of a faraway hill, striking the plane and destroying its wing. The plane faltered, then fell out of the sky, crashing down into a field with all of its explosives onboard, causing an even more massive explosion that wiped out a nearby town. Antonio heard gunfire behind him, and turned around to see two armies fighting each other. The two armies ran at each other and Antonio could only imagine the ridiculous amount of bloodshed going on.

Suddenly, amidst the fighting of the two armies, a giant red portal opened up out of the Earth. Soldiers started falling in, only to come flying back out impaled on the horns of giant red demons that had erupted out of the portal. The demons landed on the ground and promptly started tearing both armies to pieces. Before Antonio could even comprehend what was happening, another giant white portal appeared in the sky. Hundreds of people who looked similar to the man from Heaven he saw earlier flew out like Supermen, some riding on giant chanting chariots, all of them without any weapons at all. The demons, seeing this, roared with ferocity and left into the sky to fight them, with the humans, now fighting side by side on the ground, shooting at their backs. The angels and demons met some thousand feet off the ground, combining cosmic blows that destroyed everything on the ground for miles. It seemed as though each angel could easily destroy a hundred demons at a time, but more and more demons kept appearing. More and more fighting was happening, clearing away anything and everything else in the sky, and knocking Antonio hundreds of feet along the ground even though he was far, far away from the fight.

Stunned, Antonio sat up again, ears ringing and completely covered in dust and debris from the blasts in the distance. Through his blurred vision he looked around him. The countryside was destroyed, and the cosmic forces were nowhere to be seen, surely having moved the fight elsewhere. Antonio tried to stand, but his body was too sore from being thrown about. He blacked out.

Antonio awoke once more, and now was greeted with the sight of a hospital. The inside of a hospital, that is. In fact, now that he’s waking up properly, Antonio noticed that this hospital was completely overcrowded. The nurse came over and looked him up and down. “I’m not sure why you’re still here, but get up and get out. Go down the hall and to the left.”

He wasn’t particularly surprised by her rudeness, given the circumstances, so he got up and went down the hall she mentioned. Even in the hall, there were bandaged people strewn all about the ground. “This is truly apocalyptic,” Antonio thought to himself, trying not to think about how he had caused it all. Upon reaching the end of the hall, he decided that he was a maverick, and went right instead of left. After a short walk, he found himself in what appeared to be a recruitment center.

“Another recruit— oh, God, you’re an ugly one aren’t you?” noted a man with an extremely well-featured face was sitting at a desk. “Never mind that, all able-bodied discharges go through there,” he said, pointing to a door just past his desk. Antonio, deciding that being a maverick hadn’t been very beneficial for him, elected to do as the man said. In a blur, he was given armor and a strange weapon, and loaded into a large metal carriage that seemed to drive itself with a bunch of other men, many of whom were covered in bandages. Antonio judged he was somewhere in the American Midwest, though the world had devolved into complete chaos as millions of the worst people who ever lived had been brought back to life.

From talking with the other soldiers, Antonio had learned that several major nations had been taken over by some of these people, who had immediately started violent wars in as many parts of the world as they could manage. Most large cities had already been destroyed by bombs they called “nuclear”, and now that the demons and angels were fighting each other, even more of the world had been completely destroyed. One soldier even said that Mount Everest had been completely leveled. Antonio was completely wracked with guilt, knowing he had caused all of this.

Suddenly the transport stopped, and the commander shouted to Antonio and his fellow soldiers to get out. Antonio got out and ran, before looking back and seeing a demon flying straight into his transport. An angel flew up and emitted a pure white beam of light from his bare hand, which shot straight into the demon and obliterated him.

“Children of God,” he started, turning to the soldiers. “Fear not, for the Lord shall protect you. Retreat to safety, and let us handle this threat.” He then rose into the air, and flew impossibly fast into the distance, causing a massive sonic boom that startled all the soldiers.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Antonio asked his commander.

The commander sat and thought for some time. “Listen,” he began. “We are completely outgunned in this fight. I think the flying man is right, we have no hope of defeating the enemy with what we have. There’s an old nuclear bunker 20 klicks that way.” He pointed to his left side, then continued, “Carry your weapons with you, let’s march.”

About 10 miles in, the march was disrupted. Right in front of the group, a demon came crashing down after being thrown what looked like hundreds of miles. Still disoriented, he opened his eyes and tried to look around.

“Fire! Fire! Give it everything you’ve got!” bellowed the commander. Every soldier opened fire, pumping hundreds of rounds into the demon. After what felt like 5 minutes of straight shooting, they let up. The demon looked as though he had merely been shot with a super soaker, and just looked at them. Seeing the terror on their faces, he smiled, and stood up, but then stopped after hearing a loud boom behind him. He turned around and couldn’t see anything, but suddenly an angel flew down out of the sky and kicked his head clean off. The angel turned to face the soldiers, and despite all of the brutal fighting, there wasn’t a single speck of dirt anywhere on her. Her long, flowing golden hair didn’t even look the slightest bit disturbed.

“You should all get to safety,” she said in what sounded like a Greek accent. “We are pushing the enemy back, but it’s still not safe to be out here. We will let you know when the demons have all been taken care of, and remember that you are all under the Lord’s eternal protection.” She then flew far up into the sky, until Antonio couldn’t see her anymore.

“Let’s keep marching,” said the commander. “The sooner we get to that bunker, the better.” They resumed the march, and only saw fighting happening in the distance for the rest of the trip. Upon arriving at the bunker, they turned on the radios and waited for their all-clear signal. And they waited. And waited some more. Until Antonio couldn’t bear waiting, and faded into darkness.

Antonio opened his eyes, as he had done many times after being stuck in that bunker. They waited 2 years for the all-clear signal, emerging from the bunker to see practically nothing left on the surface. The angels remained on Earth for some time to regenerate the natural resources that had been destroyed, then most left. The few who stayed provided support for some time, but then they left as well. Antonio traveled around for several years afterwards, trying to find somewhere proper to stay, but the world had largely been thrown back into the pre-industrial era. Nevertheless he persisted, traveling across the North American continent to help whom he could. Instead of necromancy, he learned healing magic to try and aid the people he came across along the way.

One day, Antonio found an old map of the United States. He instantly recognized most of the regions he had visited, but one area stuck out to him as strange. “Wyoming?” He’d never heard of this place, nor had he ever been there. He decided that this is where he would visit next, and after a few months of being on the road, he finally arrived and was shocked to see that it seemed entirely untouched.

After traveling into the city outskirts, Antonio looked around. Many people walked about freely with not a care in the world, all of them looking pristine in luxurious looking clothing. They reminded Antonio of the angels he had seen, though that must’ve just been how people looked right before the apocalypse. There were so many cars on the road that they actually had to stop and line up in turns to wait for each other, and all were driven by regular people rather than military personnel. Antonio looked back at the sidewalk and saw a man walking towards him. He held a small black slab in his hand that shone on his face, and was wearing very high quality clothing. Antonio walked up to him and grabbed his shoulder .

“What happened here?” Antonio asked, stunned at what he had just seen.

“Hey, what the hell? Watch yourself buddy, or I’ll call the police! Now I don’t know if you want any money or anything, but why don’t you go beg somewhere else instead of bothering me, ok?” He turned around and started walking away. Antonio grabbed his shoulder again, this time not letting go.

“What happened here? This place looks like it wasn’t destroyed in the war, that’s impossible!”

“War? What are you talking about? Are you pretending to be a time traveler or something? Or are you one of those people who like to play dress-up? And God, you reek, get away from me!”

Antonio grabbed him with both hands. “The war, the angels and the demons, it was years ago! Back in 2021!”

“Look, dude, I’m calling the cops. There was no ‘war’ in 2021, all that happened was the electrical grid crash and all the movies got canceled.” He started fiddling with his device, but then got frustrated and gave up. “And the damn cell service went to shit. But I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed if there was a war.”

Antonio was in disbelief. “The rest of your country is destroyed! The entire world is destroyed! This state of ‘Wyoming’ is the only place left, and you don’t even know what happened?”  The man from Wyoming shrugged. “To be honest… we don’t really pay attention to the rest of the world. And they don’t pay any attention to us. What you’re saying… it would sort of make sense why all those movies never came out… do you have any photos of it on your phone?”  Antonio collapsed to the ground. “So what you’re telling me is,” he started, out of breath. “This place was left untouched… because everyone forgot about it?”

“Yeah, probably. I dunno, dude. I think I should probably call someone to come get you.” He started looking around, before pulling his glowing slab back out again.

“No, no… I don’t understand… just give me a moment.” Antonio lay down on the ground and covered his face. He could hear the murmurs of other pedestrians watching in confusion. Soon he sat back up and looked around, only to see a seemingly endless sea of faces in front of him. “Wait, no… please…” He turned to look at the man he had been speaking with, but he was no longer there.

The crowd parted, and two mustached men dressed in blue uniforms donning gleaming silver badges came through. Antonio couldn’t comprehend what was happening. They restrained him and put him in the back of a car. Antonio watched the surreal sight of the city pass him by; everything looked exactly as it must have been before the apocalypse. Antonio had not been in a car for many years, and the sensation of moving so fast was starting to make him sick.

Thankfully, the car stopped outside of a large, intimidating building. The uniformed men dragged him in and up to a woman standing by a desk.

“What is your name?” the woman asked him.

“I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. I am from Tuscany of the 13th Century. I died and went to Hell, but accidentally caused the apocalypse when I tried to send half of the people in Hell to Heaven.”

“Oh, really? Here, walk with me, and you can tell me all about it.” Antonio started following the woman down the hallway.

“Yes. I’m a necromancer, you see. Or, I was. But that’s why I was in Hell. I somehow managed to get into the Devil’s offices, and on his computer I tried to send the best half of people to Heaven. It was a sort of cosmic justice, you know?”

“Oh, for sure,” the woman responded. Antonio could sense that she wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation, but he continued nonetheless.

“Yeah, so it turns out I got it backwards, I suppose. I sent the worst half of people to Earth, instead of the best half to Heaven. So this angel came down and Satan ended up declaring war, I suppose.”

“Angels and demons, eh? I’m all ears,” the woman said, completely uninterested.

“I managed to escape, and then I somehow ended up back on Earth. This was way back in 2021, of course, before the apocalypse. Which happened immediately after I returned. There were already nuclear wars and whatnot, but the war of the angels and demons really devastated the world, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Of course, we all saw it, right?”

“Yeah, finally, someone who knows what happened! So I ended up in a bunker during the war, for several years while the angels finished off the demons. Then I traveled around the country, I learned proper healing magic so that I could help people. Then I heard of this place, ‘Wyoming’, and came over here to check it out. You guys seem to be the only part of the world that was left untouched. It seems as though everybody forgot you existed.”

“Yes, we are used to that; that was a fascinating story, but we’ve arrived at your room. You can stay here as long as you like, you’ll be perfectly safe and taken care of.”

Antonio was startled, but very excited at this news. “Oh, thank you so much!” He eagerly rushed into the room, which was largely empty. “Hey, wait, this room doesn’t even have a—” He was cut off by the door closing and locking. The room was padded, and there was nothing but a light in the roof and a bed in the corner. Antonio knocked on the doors for hours, trying to get someone to talk to him, but nobody answered. Eventually, some food slipped through a hatch in the wall, and some time after that he was restrained and escorted to a restroom. He tried to talk to the guards, but they didn’t respond, and he was locked back in the room.

Eventually, Antonio lost track of the days, the months, then the years. One day, he fell asleep on his bed as he had done thousands of times before, but when he woke, he sat in a familiar black void. An invisible door opened, and he saw a familiar face come through.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.” He laughed fiendishly. “We’ve been waiting for you down here. Let’s see…” He pulled out Antonio’s file, then continued, “Necromancy. Nasty business, that. But let’s just skip this part and get to the real juicy bit.” He licked his finger, then flipped the page. “Insurrection against the natural order. Impersonating the Devil. Unauthorized actions compromising the realm of Hell. Actions causing the release of people from Hell. Returning to Earth without permission. Actions directly causing the death of millions on Earth. And perhaps the worst of all: directly causing the Intergalactic Wyoming Empire to become the dominant human civilization—for the foreseeable future, at least. Seriously?” He leaned in closely, then continued, “they would never have known if you never went there!”

He slammed the file shut with a satisfied grin on his face. “There’s a special place down here for you. I don’t think any human has ever been there, so congratulations on becoming the first! You should take it as a compliment, really,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. He began fiddling with his mustache. “And I suppose I can use it as bragging rights. ‘Tommy, the torturer who was once assigned to the infamous Tony Aurelius!’ I like the sound of that!” He laughed again. “Oi, mind if I take a quick video of the two of us for my socials? I could use this cred’. And you’ll probably look disfigured forevermore once the Boss starts his work on you, so I should get in early y’know?”

Antonio, having not listened to Tommy for some time, did not respond, but only hung his head in shame. He didn’t know what was in store for him, but he did feel that he deserved it. He had officially become the worst person to have ever lived.

——-

Who: A necromancer with a heart of gold What: Causes the apocalypse When: The year 2021 Where: In Hell Why: To bring balance to the universe

#5w story #short story #writeblr #writing #titus mede ii #august 2021 #fiction #short fiction #apocalypse #death

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irene-sadler · 3 years

Text

Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

(aka 'The Tournament')

special notes:

the vibe i chose for this imaginary fair/holiday is a mashup of pieces from medieval christmas and new year's eve celebrations. ofc as I mentioned before most of those were Christianity-based, but some of them had a distintly pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon pagan flavor. now my source material here is from 1827, but the author makes sure to let us know which traditions (he thinks) are older than Christianity. the book (books actually, there's 3 of them total) itself is also kind of a fun read, it's sort of a combo of an almanac/calendar/reference guide/gossip column.

a n y w a y, so, specifically i want to mention (b/c i stole them for this story and i don't want to do that without letting ppl know these are or were real traditions that real people observed) serving a boars' head on christmas day (Essex, England, observed "from time immemorial"), the wassail bowl/toast (a new year custom very definitely from before Christianity and apparently present in various parts of Europe altho I don't have the specific expertise to explain why), and an interesting/weird/gruesome Christmas parade (Kent) which the book describes: "A party of young people procure the head of a dead horse, which is affixed to a pole about four feet in length, a string is tied to the lower jaw, a horse cloth is then attached to the whole, under which one of the party gets, and by frequently pulling the string keeps up a loud snapping noise." This is called a Hodening and whether or not ppl still do it I don't know but, uh, i hope so b/c awesome.

also theres only 1 chapter left if u stuck with it this whole time or, idk, it's 2024 and u read the whole thing at once thanks for bothering love u

----

“Yes, hello,” Gascon said, pretending not to notice Meve’s displeasure. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he added, as the Baroness and Giselle turned to look curiously down at where he stood in the shadows. The Baroness frowned and pursed her lips judiciously; Giselle considered him and glanced uncertainly at the older women.

“Anyway,” he continued, an edge of urgency buried in his easy tone, “Do you have a minute to spare?”

“No,” the Queen said stiffly, turning back toward the empty lists. “I’m busy; whatever it is will have to wait until later.”

“Oh,” he replied, growing very faintly annoyed, “Because it’s about that thing you wanted last night; just thought you’d be interested t’ know I’ve done it.”

She hesitated, ignoring the Baroness’s raised eyebrow and Giselle’s uncomfortable confusion, struggled momentarily between curiosity and base pettiness, and finally said, “Yes, fine; I have a few minutes, I suppose.”

“Fifteen minutes,” the Baroness said, pointedly.

“No time to waste, then,” said Gascon; he winked at Giselle, who took her cue from the Baroness and frowned disapprovingly back at him, and they hurried off.

“So, what is it, then?” Meve asked bluntly, as they turned into the town’s streets at a rapid stroll. “I assume you’ve caught the saboteur, else you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“Well, I caught Gaheris; he may be the saboteur, or may not,” Gascon said, disregarding her tone. “Gaspar thinks he is, though, and he’s th’ only one who saw th’ intruder close up last night, so odds are good he’s your man.”

“Really?” She abandoned her moodiness in favor of mild surprise, and then asked, “When did this happen?”

“Oh, only about an hour ago. Less, even. Seemed like there was no real need for a public scene, so I just had him snatched off the street and, you know - stashed somewhere convenient,” Gascon explained, leading the way down an alley and into a butcher. The owner nodded and smiled to him as he passed through the door and headed toward the back, spotted the Queen, and instantly looked away at nothing in particular. Pug and Gaspar waited in the yard behind the shop, standing guard over a man with a bag on his head and a bandage around his left ankle. Gascon nodded at Pug and she yanked the bag away; Gaheris squinted in the light and surveyed his surroundings - two large, brightly interested pigs in a pen, his sinister pair of captors, and, finally, Meve and Gascon. He sighed.

“Got ‘im in one piece, as you wanted,” Pug announced in her gruff voice; a dubious claim, as Gaheris had a black eye and a split lip, but Gascon nodded approvingly and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the shop.

“Wait inside for a bit,” he said; Pug and Gaspar departed, leaving their captive to his deserved fate.

“Now, sir,” Meve said briskly to Gaheris; if she had any doubts about his culpability, she kept them firmly to herself. “Let’s not waste time with falsehoods or denials.”

“No,” he said, resignedly, “Doesn’t seem to be much point in trying.”

“Quite. So, explain what it is you’ve been up to, then.”

“Start with last night,” Gascon added, as the squire took a few too many seconds to think it over. “Hurry up.”

“Ah, well. I was trying to get hold of a piece of equipment I knew was among Sir Odo’s things in the barn,” he said. “The girth from a saddle.”

“Continue,” the Queen said, as he paused, clearly thinking the question answered.

“Well, obviously I didn’t get it, since that - that thug sliced my ankle t’ the bone when I tried. Seems the girth held up, though, regardless, through today; probably because Sir Odo don’t take many hits, luckily for him.”

“No, it’s because I found it last night and changed it out for a new one,” Gascon said, angrily. “You’re the one who cut it, are you?”

Gaheris nodded.

“I knew it,” the Duke muttered; Meve waved his self-congratulatory comment away, scowling.

“When did you do it?”

“Oh, a month ago, or more,” he said. “Just before the duel against Sir Holt.”

“Why?”

He blinked at the question and said, as if it was obvious, “Because Sir Holt told me to, in hopes he’d win.”

“You did a bad job, then,” Gascon snapped; Gaheris looked mildly offended.

“No,” he said. “No, I didn’t. The girth held, did it not? Sir Odo won - or, well he could have, if he’d wanted to.”

He looked at his interrogators’ baffled stares, and then explained, patiently, “Look - I cut through the leather, left just enough to hold a strain for a good while, glued it so it’d look like nothing, and told Holt I’d done what he wanted. Simple. I just didn’t have the chance to get it back, after the fight; too many people hanging around who might’ve seen me. If I had done, nobody would have been the wiser.”

Meve stared at him, torn between confusion and anger, opened her mouth, and closed it again as an echo of distant horns bounced off the buildings.

“Damn,” she said. “I have to go. Gascon, find Sir Holt.”

“What should I do with him?” he asked, as she turned to leave; she hesitated, considered her options, and came to a hasty decision.

“Just keep tabs on him, don’t let him leave town, and - and we’ll sort this mess out, later.”

“You’ll find him in the tavern, no doubt,” Gaheris said wearily to Gascon, as she quickly departed.

She nearly ran back through the streets, but she was still late; she returned to the lists to find the Baroness had started the final round without her. However, she she was in time to see Nolda avoid an immediate defeat by the same method she had used on Sir Eres, but Reynard survived her trick, when his fellow knight hadn’t. She nodded in satisfaction at the display.

“Your man is a quick study, as he’s always been,” said the Baroness, as if Meve had never been away. The next pass involved no deceptions from either side, nor any displays of brilliance; Nolda blocked an ordinary sort of attack on her shield, and never touched Sir Odo.

“He’s testing the waters,” Meve said, slightly bored with her favorite’s typically cautious tactics. “How long have they been at it?”

“You only missed one pass; the foreigner’s better at this than I expected.”

“She’s tricky,” Giselle noted, appreciatively. “What’s the Count doing, there?”

There was a short pause; Meve glanced downfield and answered, “Oh, he wants a different lance, I imagine.”

The delay took a full half minute, due to some confusion on Ethan’s part; the Baroness mumbled a displeased remark about the squire’s ineptitude, and then the combat began again.

“He wants to make up for Nolda’s left-handedness,” the Baroness explained, louder, “That’s what the long spear is for. Most people don’t learn to fight the way she does -”

She broke off; Reynard’s change of weapon had answered, and he had dealt a strike that had nearly unseated his opponent; she managed to stay in the saddle by luck or skill and they lined up again.

“He has her figured out; this’ll be th’ end of it,” said Meve. The Baroness nodded agreement. Giselle looked unconvinced, but, in the end, Reynard landed a direct attack to his opponent’s helm and Nolda crashed to earth at long last.

“A devilishly difficult play,” the Baroness said, in the silence that followed. “Dangerous, too.”

Reynard had turned to look behind himself, before his horse had even reached the end of the barricade; Nolda lay still on the ground for a few moments, and then, as her husband vaulted the fence and came running toward her, stirred and sat up. She waved an irritated hand at Bohault and Reynard, who had trotted back and dropped from his horse as soon as he was rid of his lance, but neither paid attention to her gestures or her repeated insistence that she was perfectly fine. The crowd’s general din returned, drowning out their conversation; Meve breathed a relieved sigh and reluctantly turned her thoughts back to Gaheris and Sir Holt, and then - she frowned slightly - Gascon’s mysterious absence during the day.

“Pity you can’t make her a knight,” Giselle said, of Nolda, interrupting her consideration; Meve’s frown grew thoughtful.

“A knight,” she repeated to herself, under her breath, watching the muddle on the field break up - Reynard back to his horse, Bohault and Nolda to hers - a vague connection, or suspicion, growing in the back of her mind. She turned abruptly to the Baroness, interrupted an ongoing reminisce on the handful of times she’d seen another knight employ a tactic similar to Reynard’s winning strike, and said, “Listen, Hilde - the black knight; do you know who he is?”

The Baroness hesitated, slightly confused, and replied, choosing her words carefully, “I believe so, but - wasn’t that what you and the Duke spoke about?”

“No,” the Queen said, disgruntled. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Ah,” she said, looking away toward the approaching victors, “Well, perhaps you should. Count Odo, congratulations on another victory; well fought, Nolda. My lord, you’ve won quite a fine horse, I believe, and you, madam, a sword. They’ll be bringing them along shortly.”

Any personal urgency she felt to finally sort out her ongoing affairs was wasted; the prizes took very little time to hand out, but a number of unrelated problems were brought to her individual attention as soon as the victors rode away. She sent Giselle back to her tavern with genuine gratitude for her service, dealt out various solutions, and then at last she and the Baroness set off toward the castle. The streets of the city were packed, twilight was setting in, and there was no way to hurry their progress no matter how their guard tried. A wagon that had lost a wheel blocked the way, first, and then a succession of other disruptions: a traveling comedic play about a sorcerer and some maidens, some cows wandering loose in the street, a troupe of drunken minstrels playing festive tunes, a strange procession led by a solemn youth holding a freshly cut horse’s head mounted on a pole as a banner, a group of offended clerics in its wake, handcarts selling buns and ale, and, finally, on the bridge over the castle moat, an armored knight still on his charger, who would not be shifted by man or beast until Meve stepped out of the torchlit crowd and threatened to remove him herself.

Then there was yet another feast, this time held in the hall and attended by more of the usual crowd - but, of course, with the horde of knights and sundry that had participated in the jousts, somewhat more of them than normal. There were the typical, expected customs - a boar’s head served, bowls of spiced ale passed around, a number of favors and pardons bestowed, gifts received (and given; Count Odo, for one, courteously gave the warhorse he’d won earlier in the day to Nolda, who accepted it in a fiercely embarrassed but otherwise gracious fashion) - and various other ancient rituals observed.

“I would’ve asked if you thought giving her the horse was a good idea,” Reynard said privately to the Queen, during the Mayor’s inevitable remarks, “But I didn’t catch you in time. If I’m honest it’s less a gift and more a bribe, of a sort; Ethan’s left-handed, same as her, and I thought it might make it easier to convince her to teach him.”

“There were some delays getting back,” she replied, also in an undertone, her eyes resolutely fixed on the speaker as he recited a hopeful list of future developments for the upcoming year. “This whole afternoon’s been nothing but delays, in fact.”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” she added, quickly, as the speech ended, aimed a quick but pointed glance at the distant Gascon, who immediately slipped out a side door, and then dismissed the court in the exact words she’d recited for ten years, and, before her, her late husband, and his father, and their distant grandfathers, for all of remembered history.

Finally getting rid of her guests took much longer than the traditional close to the winter solstice did. As a result, it was past midnight before she made the solitary climb up the stairs to her office, looking forward to finally having a quiet minute to think. However, Reynard and Gascon - and Gaheris - were within, despite the late hour; the squire stopped in the middle of a sentence and all three men automatically turned her way when she stepped through the door. She waved an impatient hand at him to continue and leaned against her own desk, hiding her weariness behind a cold stare. Gaheris returned to repeating his confession; Reynard listened in silence, his expression drifting subtly between offense and genuine confusion. At the end, he frowned and asked, “You - pretended to sabotage my equipment? Why? Why not do it properly, I mean?”

The squire shrugged.

“It’s - listen; before I go on, you should know Holt’s an ass, and a stubborn one at that. Yes, I see you’ve all noticed. Well, I couldn’t dissuade him when th’ idea came into his fool head, but I’d no wish t’ see him win a fight by such a trick, against such an obviously superior opponent. It’s not right, and, also, would be easily seen through. What I did seemed the simplest solution.”

“You could have refused,” Reynard pointed out; Gaheris smiled pityingly at him and shook his head. His response drew an exasperated comment from Meve.

“You could have done nothing at all, and told him otherwise.”

He frowned, again mildly offended.

“I’m no liar,” he said. “If I can find any other solution, I mean. They say a half-truth’s better than a lie, don’t they?”

Reynard blinked, considered, and then shook his head. Gascon shrugged his shoulders, grudgingly.

“You’re clearly a capable man,” Meve said. “Why do you serve someone you know isn’t?”

Gaheris shook his head again, helplessly.

“Holt’s always been like this,” he explained, “Ever since he was a boy. He’s a decent fighter, but he’s too competitive for his own good, and he’s still not learned t’ pick his battles. However, he is my little brother - well, half-brother; my mother married Sir Ulrich after my father died. He was a stonemason,” he explained, seeing the Queen raise a questioning eyebrow, a gleam of challenge in his dark eyes. “His name was Gors.”

When she failed to react to his admission, he continued:

“Anyway, she wanted me t’ look after Holt, best I can. He isn’t a bad person, really, he just -”

He shrugged.

“He can’t help how he is, when he’s in a mood, and when he isn’t he’s not the worst of men, or the worst of nobles, for that matter. He’s never struck a knight who’s yielded, for one, and he’s not one to steal or run villainous among th’ yeomen. And, he’s all the family I got left,” he finally finished. Meve nodded and said nothing for a long moment; she noticed that he couldn’t have been any older than herself, but he briefly appeared gray and worn down. She was, to her mild irritation, somewhat sympathetic to his troubles. Gascon glanced from her icy frown to Gaheris’s tired stare, curiously. Reynard watched her carefully.

“Keep him under guard,” she said to Gascon. “I’m not sure what to do with him or his brother, just yet. Wait - leave him on the landing; the guards there will look after him for the moment. I’ve another matter to discuss, before you go.”

“He’s the black knight,” she said to Reynard, as Gascon stepped back in without his captive. “Did you know?”

“No, of course not,” the Count said, frowning slightly. “Although, in truth, th’ idea has crossed my mind, but I found it - unlikely.”

Gascon hesitated, then shrugged, grinned broadly, and said, “You caught me at last, m’lady; how’d you figure it?”

“The Baroness it was that discovered you, not me,” Meve said, crossing her arms stubbornly; she attempted to appear angry, but in the end managed only mild, slightly amused, annoyance. “Also, she appears to have found me out, as well, incidentally. In fact, there seems to be very little she doesn’t know.”

“She’s uncommonly sharp, no doubt about it,” Gascon agreed, readily.

“So,” she continued, “Is there anything at all to be gained by asking you what you were doing, today?”

“Won’t tell you unless you first promise not t’ bite my head off,” he said promptly.

“Yes, very well, as it’s the solstice, but don’t expect any more favors from me before the summer, at earliest. I mean it, Gascon.”

Reynard sat down, shaking his head at them; Gascon nodded and said, “Fair’s fair. Well, then, it’s a short tale: I won that fight against Sir Holt, then I saw Gaheris come limping ‘round to scrape him up off the turf, and it all came together clear as mud, so I decided it was time t’ stop playing at knights for the day and do some real work.”

“You could have appeared in the joust as yourself,” Reynard remarked, almost idly, “And not as -”

“As me,” Meve interrupted, a hint of her previous ire returning.

“Yes, well - the black knight’s more interesting than I am,” he explained, with a broad shrug. “People have heard of his prowess, or what have you; the dangerous reputation’s an advantage, of sorts.”

“Yes, we’ve heard, in fact,” Meve said, coldly. “Slew a werewolf, did you?”

“Sure did,” Gascon replied. “Or, I helped, anyhow. There was a witcher involved. Like Gaheris said: half a truth’s better than a lie, so I let the former take precedence.”

“That’s not the saying, as you know perfectly well. It’s worse,” Reynard said, rolling his eyes. “Half a truth is worse than a lie.”

Gascon shrugged at him, grinning slightly. Meve interrupted their tangent, impatiently.

“And you killed a dragon, they say?”

“Not I,” the Duke said, quickly, eyeing the Queen’s scowl. “Th’ only dragonslayer here is yourself - although, I did kill a pretty big snake in a roadside inn. The landlady was most impressed. So was some minstrel who happened t’ be around, it appears; he has, uh, embellished th’ incident, somewhat.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Reynard noted, “But how’d he know it was the black knight who did the deed and not merely one Gascon Brossard?”

At last, Gascon turned uncomfortably self-conscious and clammed up; Meve watched him squirm for a long moment and decided, after a glance at the amused gleam in Reynard’s eye, to not to press the issue further.

“And you gave poor Sir Orlac a dunking,” she remarked, finally; Gascon looked relieved and seized on the change in subject.

“Yes, that story’s true,” he admitted. “He’s not a bad fighter, at all, thought he don’t seem to enjoy it much. It took some convincing t’ even get him to go against me, actually, but it was worth the time, in th’ end, to get th’ extra practice.”

“You have improved, somewhat,” Reynard observed, casually. He shot a quick look at Meve; she spotted it and broke off her intended response, frowning. Gascon either missed or ignored their exchange and said, brightly, “Why thank you, sir.”

“Although,” the knight continued, “It remains to be seen if you can beat me just yet; Meve, of course, has already unhorsed you once, so no there’s burning question to be answered on that account.”

“By a trick,” Gascon said, and then, as Reynard shrugged unconcernedly, added, “Look, I only really wanted t’ fight Sir Holt and beat him, again, to prove I could, like. I had no notion of much else.”

“Yes, very likely,” Meve muttered, rolling her eyes; Reynard continued, despite her:

“Not afraid to lose, are you?”

“Of course not; it happens all the time,” Gascon said, mildly indignant.

“Well, then, tomorrow, if you’ve no other plans, let’s see how good you’ve really become, shall we? Without your intimidating disguise, I mean.”

“Well, all right,” the Duke said, doubtfully, clearly wary about what exactly he was agreeing to. “I suppose I’m not busy, but - “

“Good. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, then,” Reynard said, a suggestion of finality in his voice; Gascon still looked uncertain, but nodded and then made a tactical retreat to “see to those other matters.”

“What the devil are you at, Reynard?” Meve asked, the instant he was gone. He stood up, strode across the room with a self-satisfied smile, and wrapped his arms around her.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said, “Let me worry about it.”

“Ugh. Fine, then; do what you want,” she said, ingraciously, leaned her forehead against his chest, and continued with a muffled sigh, “What do you think I should do with Holt? I can’t very well banish him for trying to cheat in a duel, much as I’d like to - he is the sole legal heir to Sir Ulrich, who has been a relatively loyal supporter of the crown - nor can I demote him, since he isn’t one of my own knights.”

“Just ban him from your tournaments, and the rest of the realm will follow,” he said, as if it was obvious, “It’s the worst thing that could happen to a young knight.”

“You’d know better than I,” she remarked, unfolded her arms, slid them around his waist, and added, “What about Gaheris?”

“I don’t know,” Reynard said, “He’s not so easy to deal with.”

“The trouble is,” Meve said, darkly, “- the trouble is that, in his circumstances, he’s done nothing worse than you or I have in the past, which makes me feel something of a hypocrite if I consider having him arrested for treason - as I certainly could, given your indispensable position and high rank.”

“Yes, a - a similar thought crossed my own mind, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s true,” she said, raising her head and frowning up at him. “Isn’t it? Reginald -”

“He wasn’t quite so bad as Holt.”

“Because he was older, and the King, and no other reason. Well, and he had you around to clean up after his worst decisions. And, his sons - my sons - are the same, or worse, than Sir Holt. Or were, I mean. Anseis certainly is, in any case.”

“Perhaps,” Reynard said, thoughtfully, “There’s no need to do anything to Gaheris, at all.”

“As you’re th’ one he wronged, in th’ end I think what happens to him should really be your decision,” Meve said, shrugging.

“Well, then, speaking from experience, the man’s trials in keeping control of his brother are worse than anything you might think up.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve no wish to see him hang or rot in prison, but banishment would be no curse to him, and we’d have to contend with Holt still, regardless, but without a convenient manager. What a waste; were he noble-born, I’d have some use for a man of his talents, and I could more easily secure his future loyalty. A shame, to have Holt be th’ one who inherits old Ulrich’s lands and titles, and Gaheris remain a squire still.”

“I agree,” Reynard said. “However, that problem only you can solve.”

She looked into his eyes, thoughtfully, and nodded.

#witcher #thronebreaker #fanfic #action #sports #romance

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