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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version

ie. In which no actor alive is apparently able to comprehend the expression ‘too much.’ Or, Neige sends you far too many flowers and Vil reacts about just as well as you would expect.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

Everything was going great.

Sure, Rook had nearly assassinated you through the power of embarrassment alone and Vil was still commandeering nearly every spare moment of your free time, but overall it was good. The House Warden had slipped back into his usual not entirely self-destructive haughtiness, and you had tucked his subordinate’s betrayal into the deepest recesses of your mind in hopes you might one day just black it out entirely.

And then one morning you woke up and there were flowers on your doorstep.

At first, you genuinely thought it was a prank. Because they were white lilies, and lilies were toxic to cats. And obviously Grim had yowled at you immediately about how he was “NOT A CAT, HENCHMAN!” But you tossed the bouquet in the garbage anyways, just to be safe. Part of you figured that it might be Jade. He certainly seemed the type to dabble in poisoning house pets, and he went on enough nature walks that procuring some of those nifty little blossoms would be an easy feat. So you casually penned ‘Threaten Azul With Octopot Blackmail Until He Can Learn to Control His Demon Spawn’ into your planner and carried on with your day.

And then there were more flowers the next morning, and something cavernous and foreboding in your gut told you that this wasn’t Jade Leech. This time it was a pleasantly wrapped bouquet of mixed white and red carnations—all tuft-like and fluffy. There was a small square of cardstock tucked into the stems. Maybe there had been one in the lilies too, but you hadn’t even bothered to check before dunking them into the trashcan. The paper was embossed with something that looked a bit like an insignia—a teeny, round, sparrow made up of curling silver swirls and little, scratchy, tufts that you assumed were meant to be feathers. The real damning part of all of it though was the elaborate, cursive, N.L. tucked beneath the bird’s spread wings.

Ruh-roh.

“Huh? What are those?” Grimm yawned as he padded down the stairs on his teeny, black, paws.

You tossed the bouquet into the coat closet and slammed the door. “Nothing. Jade’s just trying to poison you again.”

Grim puffed up like a little lion. “You should poison him back! Or stab ‘em!”

“Right,” you nodded, walking bravely into the winter morning with no coat, because the evidence was with your coat, and you immediately wanted to shrivel up and die. “I’ll just do that then.”

The next morning, there was a knock at your door—bright and early. You cracked it open cautiously and peeked through the slit like a ghoul creeping out of its dark lair. It was a person you didn’t recognize, and you opened the door more fully.

“Can I help you…?”

“Yes!” the guy chirped. You realized then that he was wearing a delivery uniform. “I’m just here to drop these off for you,” he smiled, and pressed a bundle of daisies into your arms. “I guess it was noted in the delivery request that it wasn’t a certainty if the last orders had ended up with you or not.”

“Is that so,” you droned, trying not to sound like your soul was actively attempting to vacate your body. “Well. Thank you. Goodbye—”

“Oh!” he called, before you could retreat back into your hovel like a wounded animal. “There are a few more actually!” he said, pointing to another delivery man headed in your direction—weighed down under an entire armful’s worth of blooms. You couldn’t even make out the poor guy’s head beneath the forest of pale pinks and yellows consuming him.

“Right,” you nodded, horrified. “Of course. Anyways, is there a way I can go about returning these, or…?”

The poor dude being eaten alive by all those flowers just laughed good-naturedly and dumped the wagon’s worth of tulips, and camellias, and even more carnations at your feet. You could feel something in your jaw tick.

And then another pair of delivery men came sauntering over the hill and you wanted to scream.

That day at lunch, you felt like a convict in a lineup.

You were seated at Vil’s left, as was the norm, and you were having to actively fight the raw survival instinct tugging at every muscle in your body as it demanded that you flee from the room post haste. A part of you felt like the intuitive beauty would just know somehow. Like he could smell the goddamn flowers on you. You were practically vibrating out of your seat. Every time he brushed up against you, you’d jolt like you’d been electrocuted. All of the moments where he’d shift and his knee would bump against yours, or when he would reach for something just a little off center and his arm would tuck up against your side, or how he’d rest his hand on the table just close enough to yours that even the teeniest fidget would push your pinkies together. It was like the universe had decided that today you were going to be a lightning rod, and that it was oh so fun to just zap-zap-zap you endlessly.

“Are you feeling alright, Mon Coeur?” Rook called from his spot across the narrow table. “You look a bit grey.”

You grit your teeth, because Vil sitting less than a foot away or otherwise, no way would you be telling anything to this snitch. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“No. He’s right,” Vil asserted, stern, and turned to face you more fully. “You’ve been miserable from the moment you sat down. What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine,” you tried again, and Vil’s eyes narrowed irritably at your bold-faced lie. He leaned closer, as if chastising you from three inches away instead of six would make any sort of difference. But then something odd flickered across his expression and you experienced the very distinctive and horrifying sensation of being marched to the gallows.

Vil reached out and the featherlight touch of his fingers brushed along the curve of your jaw and down your throat before settling heavily at your collar. He plucked a small, pink, petal from a fold in the fabric.

“What’s this?” he asked, with the inflection of someone who already knew perfectly well what ‘this’ was.

“I fell into a bush,” you replied, deadpan.

Silence.

“A bush, hmm?” he mused blandly, and rolled the petal around between his fingers.

Epel and Rook exchanged pointed glances.

“It was an ugly bush,” you added. Because, sure, it was a lie. And Vil clearly knew it was a lie. But maybe hurling around insults at Neige the bush would help.

Vil snorted, and thankfully it sounded more amused than enraged. The petal disappeared in a puff of dark, purple, smoke and he returned to poking at his salad and your posture in equal measure. Safe. For now.

That evening, you approached the only other person on campus that you could think of who would benefit more from helping you keep your horrible, little, secret than in just selling you out at the first opportunity.

“Epel, you lived on a farm,” you tried, conversational in perhaps the way a hostage may try to sound casual to avoid panicking the SWAT team listening in from just outside the door. “You know how plants work.”

He arched a lavender eyebrow at you.

“Yeah?”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” you chirped, steepling your fingers. “So, anyways. Can I get your help then. With a plant problem I’m having?”

“Uhm, sure?” he agreed, face scrunched up in bewilderment.

When you walked him into Ramshackle’s foyer, Epel made a noise like he was choking. You couldn’t blame him—shock aside, the petals floating around were becoming a real hazard.

“Where did these even come from?” he gawked.

“Neige,” you winced, scuffing your toes against the carpet. Or at least in the general vicinity of where you assumed the carpet was. The entire floor was blanketed in loose leaves and bits of ivy.

He whistled low under his breath, and something in his gaze went a little hazy—a little spooked. “When Vil finds out about this…”

“He won’t,” you declared, with as much determination as you could manage.

“He will,” Epel grumbled. He looked like he was having war flashbacks.

“If he does,” you sighed, defeated, “you might as well just shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

“The shotgun is back at grandma’s,” he mumbled, his pale blue eyes still clouded and very, very, faraway.

You blinked. “What.”

“What?”

“…Nothing. I just. Please,” you begged. “You have to help me.”

Epel seemed to take your pleas seriously at the very least (or maybe it was just his own sense of self-preservation kicking in), and he gently raised a finger to tap at his chin as he pondered. After a moment, he made a little ‘ah-ha’ noise and turned back to you with a firm nod.

“You ever lit a bonfire in a dumpster before?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. A third time.

“I,” you began, slow, “have never. Set a dumpster on fire.”

Epel reached out to thump you squarely on the shoulder. “Well, you’re gonna today.”

“What were you thinking?!” Crewel snarled at you, cracking his pointer across his palm.

You coughed, sending a cloud of garbage-and-petal-scented soot into the air of his otherwise very pristine office.

“I wasn’t?” you tried.

The alchemist looked like he was ready to put his head through the wall or maybe yours, but instead he just reached up to dig his fingers into his temples.

“Detention,” he snapped.

“Understandable,” you nodded—another wave of dusty, black, ash falling to the carpet beneath your feet.

And then all your arson was for naught, because the very next morning there was a fresh mountain of pink roses crowding your entryway.

You kicked them into the back of the coat closet and hurried off to class, making sure to double and triple check your clothes for any damning evidence before you did.

You made it all the way through the rest of the day without any other flower related nonsense, and maybe all that success had made you cocky, stupid. So when you realized you’d forgotten your little notebook full of reference numbers and stage cues for the Drama Club’s newest production, making a pitstop at Ramshackle only seemed sensible. And when Vil offered to walk you there and back, you agreed without any consideration for rationality.

You could just see the pointed rooftop of your dorm coming into view over the hill when your companion final spoke up.

“This path is ridiculously undermaintained,” he hummed. His purple gaze slid pointedly in your direction. “I suppose I can see how you were you so easily felled by a bush.”

“An ugly bush,” you repeated, just to see his lips quirk into a smug little smirk.

But then that satisfied expression froze on his face, and his mouth curled downwards into that venomous sneer of his that made each and every hair at the back of your neck stand on end.

Because standing in your doorway, a delicate bouquet of sunflowers and sweet peas tucked under his arm, was Neige LeBlanche. With that goddamn purple scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Oh! Hello!” he chirped, his doe eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled. “I was hoping I’d be able to catch you!” A fetching shade of pink bloomed across his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose, and he fidgeted nervously with the soft wrappings in his hands. “I was starting to think I had the wrong address…”

There was a steadily increasing pressure around the meat of your upper arm, and it took you a beat too long to realize that it was Vil and his ever-tightening vice grip and not just your clothes trying to strangle you. You could feel the blunt crescents of his fingernails digging into the fabric of your coat—sharp little pinpricks that didn’t exactly hurt or anything, but reminded you just a little too much of a big cat flexing its claws before it pounced.

Neige seemed to notice his one-sided nemesis for the first time, and his expression lit with genuine mirth.

“Oh! Vil! Hello to you too!” he beamed, a merry laugh working its way past his lips. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other! Though if you both go to Night Raven I suppose that makes sense…” He mused.

“Of course,” Vil ground out past his gnashing canines, with about as much civility as you were expecting. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

At this inquiry, Neige went pink all over again—from the tip of his gently pointed chin to the edges of his neatly styled fringe. He shifted nervously back and forth on the balls of his feet and his fingers clenched into the velvet bow of the bouquet. When he spoke up again, he was addressing you and you alone.

“I, uhm…” he spluttered. “Well, I… I was worried you weren’t getting any of my flowers, because I never heard anything back from you. Not that I was expecting you to thank me or anything!” he hurriedly rushed out. “I just—Ah. Well… I-I’ve never really done this sort of thing before, and I wanted to make sure I was doing it right, and Dominic said that if you weren’t responding then maybe I should be doing this in person, so… I…” he trailed off, his face practically glowing with the crimson heat radiating off his cheeks.

“You never actually gave me any way to respond,” you tried (which was entirely true), aiming for as middle-of-the-road as possible. Clearly it wasn’t neutral enough, because Vil’s glower swiveled to you and became a tangible force against your skin.

“Oh!” Neige gasped. “Oh my goodness! You’re right!”

Maybe that would be the end of it. Maybe he’d be like you, and wind up so encumbered by his own embarrassment that he’d have no other choice but to run away.

But instead, he soldiered on.

“Well…” the brunette murmured, clearly fighting an intense urge to fidget. “I was wondering then, if I—if you—if we—could. If you want to—”

This poor, lost, boy was so sweet and endearing. And as much as you could not comprehend how saving him One Time in a crowded mall had turned into weeks of pining and near hero worship, you felt for the dude. And you felt even worse knowing that you were going to have to absolutely cut him down if you wanted any hope of coming out of this alive with an even marginally stable Vil at your side. Neige was kind, but Vil was totally not the object of your miserable, unrequited, affections your friend. And if you had to sacrifice Squirrel-Sweater-Boy and his crush to keep the House Warden from falling into another spiral of self-flagellation and despair, then so be it.

“A-Actually!” you cut in as fast as you could. “I was just…”

Your eyes flickered to Vil, panicked, and you hoped he wouldn’t eviscerate you for this.

You placed a hand atop the one he’d wrapped around your arm and gave it a gentle, blatant, squeeze as you leaned heavily into his side. “The two of us were just planning on going somewhere! Together!” You shot him a pointed look that you prayed he’d be able to interpret past the veil of red fury muddling his gaze. “Weren’t we?”

“Oh! Like a friendship outing!” Neige chirped, and clapping his hands together enthusiastically. You wilted. “Do you mind if I come along too then? I’d really love to spend more time with you if I can, but obviously I don’t want to step over any of your preexisting plans! I’d love to be able to hang out with Vil again too! It could be like a field trip!”

Your stomach dropped, and you were genuinely worried for a moment that you were going to have to just honest-to-God turn around and book it before you could be indicted as an accessory to murder.

But then the twisting resentment melted from Vil’s face and the hand at your shoulder snuck around your back to settle firmly at your hip. He hauled you flush against his side and you barely managed to swallow your squeak.

“No, actually,” Vil crooned, a wickedly smug grin splitting his crimson lips. “Together, as in together. Partners,” he continued, perfectly chipper. “Involved. Entangled. Romantically linked. Whatever you’d like to call it.”

Neige’s expression immediately fell into something terribly dejected, before bouncing almost just as fast into mortification.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “I had no idea! If I had known, I—I mean, I would never have tried to—to—Oh, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable!” he rambled, so red and embarrassed that you were back to feeling bad for him all over again. “Please forgive me for overstepping!”

“I suppose,” Vil sighed, dramatic. And you were officially done feeling bad for him and all his crippling self-worth issues. He turned to you with this demure little pout that you just knew he’d probably had to practice in front of a mirror at some point. “And how about you, darling? Are you feeling magnanimous this afternoon?”

“You’re forgiven,” you grit out, and there was bit of a terrible moment where Neige clearly assumed your spiraling vitriol was aimed at him and not the smug bastard pinning you to his side.

“Th-Thank you!” he squeaked, before darting forward to press the bouquet into Vil’s hands. “Here! Have these! As a—As an apology bouquet instead of a, well…” He buried his face into the plush fabric of his scarf and took a very long, very loud, breath. As if he was trying to center himself. “Anyways! I should be—I’ll get going then! Enjoy your date!”

And then Neige was scurrying off as fast as his legs could carry him, and Vil smirked proudly throughout the entire retreat and beyond. The sunflowers sat in his hands like a trophy.

You took a moment to remind yourself that you were not always a terrible person, and that surely something like this was outweighed in the grand scheme of things by all the Overblots you’d stopped, and how many murders you’d prevented. You sighed, bone deep and weary, and were just about to start making the last leg of the trek into your dorm when Vil pulled you in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” you asked, confused. “We still need to get my notebook for the club meeting, and—”

“I thought you just said something about me taking you out for the evening,” he interrupted, arching a finely shaped brow. “Or did you already forget.”

“But that was…” you trailed off, hesitant. Something warm and eager swirled in your belly, and you tamped it down as fast you could. There was no way he meant what your fluttering pulse was assuming he’d meant. I mean, you were ‘the potato.’ That’s it. “You don’t have to feel like you need to take me somewhere. I know that was just…”

Vil scoffed. “Oh, please. I assumed you knew me better than that. Do I seem like the sort of person who would be willing to fake a relationship to avoid any kind of fallout—within the media or otherwise?”

“…No?” you said after a moment.

His hand flexed at your waist. “Correct. Now. Let’s get going. We’ll stop at my dorm first—you’re not going out dressed like that.”

The world was tilting on its axis. Hell had frozen over. Deuce had aced an exam.

“Are you—did you just ask me out?” you gaped.

Vil sighed. “Technically, you asked me. Or, well, demanded.”

“Oh,” you rasped, dazed. “I guess I did.”

And so began the journey back to Pomefiore. Or, well, Vil’s journey. You were just being carted along like a useless sack of vegetables. Your head was spinning, the rest of you barely able to catch up to its frantic swirling. Amidst all your emotional vertigo, you did catch Vil glaring frostily down at the bouquet in his hands. You wondered idly why he didn’t just throw it to the side, and then remembered that ah yes. A trophy.

“Sunflowers,” Vil scoffed under his breath, and the contempt there helped ground you back in reality.

“What’s wrong with sunflowers?” you asked in a huff, no longer feeling the need to cater to his bruised pride now that he was so obviously riding high on a wave of self-satisfied vindication.

He snorted. “You clearly have no grasp on floriography.”

“And you do?”

“What exactly do you think poisons are made of? Or most natural cosmetics?”

You sighed. “Fine. Then if sunflowers are so awful, what kind of flowers would you give me?”

“Roses, naturally. Scarlet Sage.” His lips quirked. “Coriander.”

“Coriander isn’t a flower. It’s what you cook with,” you sniffed, indignant. “Sage too!”

Vil laughed under his breath and reached out to take your hand, threading your fingers through his. You felt warmth spread from your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears, and you hoped more than anything that your palm wasn’t too sweaty.

“Is that so?” he hummed, amused.

“Well what do they mean then?” you conceded, that furious heat still working its way along your skin.

He glanced down at you out of the corner of his charcoal-lined eyes—the purple there brilliantly sharp and fond. He gave your hand another firm squeeze.

“I suppose you’ll just have to do your best to figure that out.”

🌸FLOWERS🌸

White Lilies = Virginity, Purity, Heavenly Red Carnations = ‘Alas for my poor heart, my heart aches,’ deep romantic love White Carnations = Innocence, pure love, sweet love Daisies = Innocence, Loyal love Ivy = Affection, Friendship, Fidelity Pink Camelias = Longing For You Pink Rose = Happiness; innocent romantic love Yellow Tulip = Sunshine in your smile; hopeless love Sweet Pea = kindheartedness, Blissful pleasures Sunflower = Adoration; Pure Thoughts

Red Rose = Love, ‘I love you’ Scarlet Sage = Forever Mine Coriandor = Lust

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@destinationdesignation @the-dumber-scaramouche @starchilll, @juulranch, @kalims, @theneurodivergentdummy, @honey-deerling, @thenyxsky, @vasiliki-koshka, @cassidycampfire, @youaskedfurret, @asimpleazur, @iwannabeacrow, @fuckingfaraway, @ambievert, @cerisescherries, @mys-harmony, @queenaveryrules, @smokebell, @alextheknight707, @hermiona18, @paintingeels, @rebloging-everything,

@nexxy-is-lonely, @akuri-shinsou, @nebulabunni3, @hermiona18, @alextheknight707, @crockercorpbakers, @sillyhummingbird, @loxi546-blog, @blackrose8425, @paranoiac-666, @alexpeaches, @cinnamontimecrunch, @cupid3m, @iamnotwiddle, @coloursplash666, @smokebell, @dreamingjirachi, @existingcurrently, @littlemusicfox25, @spaceyrunes, @un-petit-peu-confused, @medleycharm, @chocolateduckdinosaur, @barryatsumu, @ttwinrytwo, @imaginedfantasies, @cleos-stuff, @whathappenedtobees, @5sos-wdw, @trixeraptops, @obaniori, @thededly2, @kttyfngs, @reconcy, @patimiet, @itsmarlsworld, @fae06, @nowwhat-runlikehell, @kinglion03u, @catgirler, @anonymouscandy, @hatsunemiku2025, @clappincobracheeks, @horcrux-alchemist, @crypticbibliophile, @nyotnyota, @ally-glow, @yourimaginaryfriiendd, @hamdehlesmis, @scarapeep, @https-casanova, @niki-chan15, @insomnia-space, @rabioa, @ailynyan, @posionapplecider @pen-observing @afternoon-read, @marvelous-maxi, @inkeddreamz, @ai-dev, @anasianplate, @scarlettqueen190

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil x Reader #vil shoenheit #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Pomefiore x Reader #neige leblanche #neige x reader #My Writing #Heroes vs Villains #Heroes vs Villains Pomefiore Part 3

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scudslut · 1 month

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em's masterlist/guidelines

fluff - 𐙚 || smut - ♱ || angst - ✾

➳ Daryl Dixon

one-shots: sins and honey flavored sweetness 𐙚 ♱ ✾ heartsease 𐙚 ♱ a summer wasting 𐙚 midnight refreshments 𐙚 a new years surprise 𐙚 ♱ lazy mornings 𐙚 stay with me 𐙚 ✾ too sweet ♱

drabbles: taste me ♱ head w/ daryl 𐙚♱ daryl’s uncut ♱ s4 daryl 𐙚 ♱ ✾

➳ Scud Frohmeyer

one-shots: take me however you want too ♱

drabbles: cockwarming w/ scud ♱ scuds a slut (canonically) ♱

➳ My Edits

normy's bday dhl burn, burn, burn

please send requests!

About Me!

em | 20 | gemini

hi everyone! this is so long awaited (i’m legit so lazy) but finally i have a masterlist/about me!

╰─▸ my names emma, i’m obviously in love w daryl dixon/norman reedus. i love to write and make edits — u guys should totally follow my tiktok account @mrsemmadixon or otherwise known as scudslut;)

i met norman jdkskajajs at the nyc comic con 2023, he signed the back of my phone case, i’ll actually die on a fucking hill. yes, he’s just as godly in person.

in my day to day life i work with animals 10 hours a day, they are my main passion aside from writing and whatnot, so if i post a photo of a really cute dog i met, that’s why lmao.

i have 2 cats right now, my baby lily i got last year and sophie who i’ve had since i was a kid. typically we rescue all our animals!

i deal with extreme anxiety and depression from a major accident that happened in my life a few years ago (so if i don’t respond or have trouble posting sometimes… that’s why and i really hope everyone understands.)

I love, love, love music. I play the piano and guitar, probably not very good but who cares. some of my all time favorite artists are.. and here we go on a rampage... deftones, cigsaftersex, wheezer, nirvana, mac, frank, lana, djo, catpower, the vines, dinosaur jr, 21 sav, labi siffre, the kills, tom odell, basement, strokes, velvet underground, kendrick, norah jones, red hot chilies, the smiths, billy idol, the cure, no vacation, mazzy star, fleetwood, empire of the sun, pinegrove, otis redding, neil young, etta james, summer walker, motley crue, guns'n'roses, foo fighters, biggie, shady, drake, nelly, jay-z, $uici$ide boys, gucci, trippie... and so much more, my music taste is actually bipolar.

on that note, i actually have a playlist for daryl + norman (music he reposts/i think he’d like) lmk if u want me so share them.

i’m canadian, born and raised.

my parents are both extreme alcoholics, so i suffer from a multitude of childhood traumas as well as current ones. we love it here!:) but id like to think i relate to daryl in some sense, if its the only comfort i get from it.

i love pasta and wine so fucking much, if u don’t we are gonna have issues…

i spend my time either at my job, reading, writing, editing or spending time with some close friends.

and that’s pretty much me!:)

please feel free to ask me questions or request fics, i will absolutely love to do them! (as long as they follow guidelines) if your unsure, just message me to clarify! i won’t ever leave u on read, i promise!

My Guidelines:

absolutely no rape/SA/even slight connotations of it.

no incest.

hitting, slapping, or any extreme violence during play, is a no. (daryl loves to smack your ass when he hits it from the back… that’s okay… but he would. not. hit you.)

age play - i will dabble in this but nothing major where reader is barely an adult. the most i’ll do is early/mid 20’s and daryl is his canon age.

oh yes, and i will write for all norman reedus characters! if you want someone else, messsage/ask me!

gifs/dividers from @cafekitsune

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omgkatsudonplease · 2 months

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a small selection of memes for my WIP

#pureblood culture #deconstruction #drarry #lily's dabbles #hfpw #heirs of avalon

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fishermanshook · 3 months

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LOVELANGUAGE.com (Suvivors! x gn!reader)

# day 6 w/ @philomena-propellente ‘s valentines event! , cut 4 length , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

You just started dating them, and now it’s your job to figure out just how they show their undying love for you.

꒰wc꒱ 1.4k

The Prospector

Norton doesn’t have the money to buy or get you anything fancy. It hurts his heart a little because he would love to splurge a bit on you, but also being stuck in a dangerous manor game doesn’t help either of your situations. (Especially when you are low on clues to get food…)

Norton’s love language is Physical Touch. This man is (already) all over you from the beginning to the end of your relationship. He just loves the way you feel in his arms and it makes him feel a tone better.

You should also make sure to reciprocate these actions. Norton will probably feel even more loved by you knowing that you want to touch him as well.

Please hold this man gently in your hands as he rests his head on your lap.

The Journalist

Alice most likely has her time slots filled with random things she has to get done, so as her partner, she would like you to understand and accept the fact that she can’t spend a lot of time around or with you. What she can do, are Acts of Service.

What she lacks in time management she makes up for in getting things done for you. Too tired to grab your laundry? She’s on it. Need a snack but you're too lazy to go and get it? She’ll be right back babe. And as a last resort, she would take your place in a match for you. ONLY if something bad has come up and the two of you have discussed every possible route you can take. (and only if you promise to heal her up + kiss her bandages.)

Alice adores every part of you and she seems like one to not fall very easily. So be thankful and glad to have someone like her in your life, and don’t take her for granted.

Please be gentle with her cuts and bruises as you heal her back up again.

The Mercenary

Naib loves his alone time as much as he loves you, and he loves you a lot. Like Alice, you have to understand that he sometimes needs to be on his own for the time being. You search for him if you’d like, but he’d rather only wish you do if it’s an emergency. He will seek you out when he wishes for you to see you. (and that’s often.)

Naib seems like he would also dabble in Acts of Service. He’d do a lot for you, free of charge. Well, as long as you’ll cuddle him later. (Maybe make him something sweet?) The Mercenary would go as far as to kill for you, but would only wish to resort to this if necessary.

Naib is a man of few words and has his walls up at all times. (Like someone else I know… *cough cough* GANJI *cough cough*) You’ve managed to worm into his heart and he doesn’t plan on letting go any time soon.

Please hold this man in your arms when he inevitably wakes up from his recurring nightmares.

Cheerleader

Lily can be easily described as a bundle of energy just waiting to be released. She’s a great company and fills any void of loneliness in your bones. She is bright, funny, and overall an amazing person.

Lily has been cheering on others her entire life. Encouraging her brother as she watched him climb the ranks is a fond memory of hers and is cherished deeply. For these and many other reasons, Lily’s love language is Words of Affirmation.

To think that Lily’s enthusiasm would lack or stop when it came to you is just silly. If anything, it grows even stronger. You become her motivation to take on the day and the challenges that come with it. To run for her life if it meant she gets to see you at the exit game waiting for her arrival.

Please cheer her on as well, she needs you just as much as you need her.

The Seer

Eli should have predicted this, should’ve known he would fall head over heels for someone in the manor. But at last, you can’t change the past, or the future. Eli’s learned that the hard way. So while you're here with him now, let him bask in the light you radiate.

Eli Clark is one for Words of Affirmation alongside Physical Touch. Your skin is warm against his and envelops him completely. The Seer has always kept you close to him. Whether it be his hand entangled in yours, an arm around your waist, or anything else, he enjoys keeping you close to him.

Eli knows how words can affect people, so he always tries to compliment you when he can. Your outfit, your match performance, anything, and everything gets a smile and a nice compliment from him.

Please let this man wrap his arms around your waist as he hums an unrecognizable song in your ears.

The Priestess

Fiona is a self-proclaimed devotee to her god, but nowadays, she finds her devotion slipping. Her faith, disintegrating into ashes the longer she’s stuck in here. It’s given her a lot of time to think, but it’s also given her more time to spend with you. To forget about the unknown wonders of the world and just embrace your presence in its entirety.

Fiona Gilman’s love language is undoubtedly Quality Time. She enjoys nothing more than to spend time with you outside the games. She doesn’t mind what or who it’s with, just that you're there. She also seems like she’s a sucker for picnics. Just the two of you is best, but if you insist on having others then that’s fine as well.

The Priestess has spent most of her days devoting herself to her religion and belief, which you don’t shame her for. She knows that her beliefs may not align with others, but she appreciates that you don’t give her crap about it. If she ever does find her faith in her god restoring, she would love to show you some of her practices.

Please accompany her on walks long after your curfew with only the stars as your witnesses.

ADDED BONUS’!

Bloody Queen

Mary was born with wealth and nobility to her name, she knows the power money has over people and the influence it can make. So she more than understands the currency of this strange manor. Not that she’s complaining though, she has more than enough clues and fragments to last a lifetime.

Mary Kriegburg's love language is Gifting. She has the clues too, so why not splurge on a new outfit for her daring? It’s the best way for her to show you that no amount of money can compare to the love that floods her unbeating heart.

If you do end up gifting something back to her, handmade or bought, she will cherish it. It may seem that Mary doesn’t like the handmade doll you made of her, but she sleeps with it during the nights you can’t accompany her. Her bed does feel cooler without you.

Please cherish everything she gives you, as she will do the same for you.

The Photographer

Joseph doesn't get to see you often, as the two of you have your respective matches you're forced to perform in. And for whom? You'll never know. When your games are done for the day, he'll choose to seek you out. While he does prefer his own alone time, he wishes to be with you.

Joseph Desaulniers's love language has to do with Quality Time. He spends his time wisely so that he can save more for when both of you are available. The Photographer enjoys afternoon tea parties with you. Talk about anything or keep your mouth shut, he won't mind either. Your presence warms his dead body and it's such a welcoming feeling for the man that he yearns for it.

Joseph has already lost his brother in an already tragic manner, the Photographer keeps you close to ensure you don't meet an unexpected demise while he's not there. No, he doesn't want you to go back to your dorm room yet. Just stay by him for a moment longer and let him know you're not going anywhere one last time.

Please soak up the sun with him as he takes another picture of you.

note: RAHHHHHH I LOVE THIS (don’t come at me if you thought different love languages for them okay 😭)

(2024)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

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morsmordream · 8 months

Text

my random HP family headcanons that i firmly stand by

(not canon compliant)

creature blood was remarkably common in the older family lines that existed before modern-day laws. it is rather rare that these families produce true creatures themselves, even half-blooded creatures, but the blood can often manifest into family gifts. for example, creature blood is how the slytherin line have their ability to speak parseltongue.

the black family are world-renowned in various fields. they’ve produced countless scholars, and some of the finest duellists of each generation. but the family specialty, that everyone learns, is curse-breaking and it’s inverse. there’s a terrible item in the family vault that could kill you if you touch it? contact the blacks. you need an object enchanted to persuade someone into supporting a wizengamot bill? contact the blacks. expensive as their services may be, it’s always worth the money. customer satisfaction guaranteed.

the black family have held their reputation for dabbling in the darkest of arts, even black magic, since their very beginning. their family name comes from their reputation of practicing black magic. this is separate from dark magic, and is a dead art today. whilst books exist in the darkest corners of very few family’s vaults and libraries, the sacrifices required have deterred anyone who picked them up for centuries. a branch of black magic involves the summoning of beings from beyond our world, ‘demons’ as they are often referred to. the summoning of a shape-shifting demon, and subsequent procreation with, is a potential reason why only the black family have metamorphmagi in britain today- though this claim is unproven, and no longer proudly claimed by the family itself.

the malfoys have veela blood, especially these days. it was a rather scandalous affair when abraxas malfoy married a french witch, amelie bonnacord, who had been adopted into a notable pureblood family and happened to be a veela. the malfoys already had distant veela ancestry, making abraxas resistant to the veela allure. their children, lucius and lydia malfoy, were therefore half veela, and her grandchildren, including draco malfoy, a quarter veela. the veela allure seemed to work differently with men, and little was known about it as men born to those with veela blood was rare. the malfoys spend most holiday seasons in france, visiting family, and all speak fluent french.

the potter family never have been, and never should be seen as, a sparkling beacon for light magic. as necromancers by blood, no matter how much time passes since their amalgamation with the peverells, they naturally lean towards darker magic to facilitate practicing the art. not every potter has dabbled in their family gift, it’s not a requirement, but the ancient books in the family vault cannot be destroyed and will always return to the vault after a necromancer passes.

a few centuries into the past, the potter family migrated to india before a couple of branches returned to britain in the early 20th century. fleamont potter and his cousin, charlus potter, were the first potters to be born on british soil for centuries. fleamont potter married euphemia patil, a half-indian british witch, and had james potter. james potter, upon marrying lily evans, had harry potter- who was half indian.

the lupin family have a long history of naturally born werewolves, hence their family name. as time went on, and laws changed, werewolves born into the family would assimilate into packs instead of living as wizards with a dark secret. with time, fewer and fewer werewolves were born into the family, and the werewolf blood appeared dormant. remus lupin became a werewolf through an attack from fenrir greyback- the first werewolf in the family in several generations. his condition did not pass onto his son, but it is possible that remus being a werewolf may awaken the possibility of future werewolves in the lupin line in generations to come.

the weasleys hail from an old irish clan, one which they no longer practice the traditions and magic of- deeming them outdated in an age where they are deemed ‘blood traitors’ for their love and acceptance of muggleborns. the family magic is largely based around the elements, and is only really practiced by bill and charlie- though fred and george dabble in it from time to time. due to turning their backs on tradition, the weasley manor wards refused to grant entry to those in the family who did not practice their family magics- which is why they live in the burrow instead.

the weasleys fall from grace is infamous in pureblood circles. before the first war, they were actually a rather wealthy family. arthur weasley’s auror wage was enough to live off with two less children, and their vault was plentiful. molly added to their income by authoring books on household charms and tutoring pureblood daughters in etiquette. unfortunately, molly encouraged arthur to funnel money into the order of the phoenix to help with the war- they were not active participants, rather financial backers. by the war’s end, the family vault had been halved, they had two more children, and molly had quit authoring books to raise the children. she soon quit tutoring too, turning her back on other pureblood families due to her paranoia that anyone who hadn’t aided the order in the war were all dark and thus contributed somehow to her brothers deaths. soon after, arthur left the aurors and moved to head the misuse of muggle artifices office at molly’s insistence, due to her persistent paranoia- this time that something horrible would befall him as an auror. this caused another significant drop in the family’s finances, gaining them their reputation of being a poor family with more children than they can clothe.

the nott family are descended from viking clansmen in norway, and the majority of the family are still based there today. they’re very proud of this heritage, and every child born into the family is trained extensively in hand to hand combat from a young age. the nott family additional pre-schooling education also includes the language of old norse, nordic history, ancient runes, and runic magic. the england-based branch of the family add norwegian on to this as well.

the gaunt line, and subsequently the slytherin line, are only extinct in britain (the cursed child is not canon to me idc about delphini). a branch of the family, descended from one ominis gaunt, live on in france and have long abandoned their practices of inbreeding. the branch or branches of the family that remained on british soil rapidly squandered all that remained in their vaults by the turn of the 20th century, leading the family to financial and societal ruin with only their heritage and a few heirlooms remaining intact.

the lovegood family are rather notable as one of the few remaining seer lines in britain. pandora lovegood, upon marrying xenophilius ollivander, found her own seer ability passed down to her daughter luna. many overlook their seer lineage and focus more on the family’s eccentricity, forgetting that true seers rarely speak in plain language- they cannot always just speak the truth of what their visions show them, they must relay what they have seen in a way that makes others search for the answer. it’s not that hard to understand when you actually try it.

#harry potter #hp fandom #hp headcanon #dark harry potter #hp drabble #harry potter headcanon #harry potter drabble #harry potter fandom #the ancient and most noble house of black #draco malfoy #luna lovegood #house of gaunt #weasley family #remus lupin #theodore nott

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idyllcy · 1 year

Text

eros & psyche

Word count: 5k

Summary: the five times Komaeda tells you he likes you and the one time you tell him the same

cherry pink confessions

chocolate flavored kisses

and a bouquet of red roses

You stare at the red roses in the guy's hands, and you pause. "You want to date me to meet your soulmate, don't you?"

The guy sputters, and you sigh. "It's that girl over there." You point absentmindedly, changing your shoes and heading to your classroom. The guy yells thank you in the distance, rushing over to the girl with the roses instead. You dodge the students as they run around to their valentines, and you blink slowly at your desk.

You glance at the bouquets, reading through the letters and tossing flowers at classmates as they swarm around your desk for the chocolates. Ex-lovers... exes... exes... teacher... student... friend... friend... random admirer... ex— wait. random admirer?

You stop sorting through the letters, reading through the letter from the admirer, and you pause when you see the writing. It's familiar. The scent of fresh laundry dabbled on the paper reminds you of someone. It's strange. You didn't think you were able to recognize scents. Well, Nanami smells like strawberries, and Sonia smells like lilies. Teruteru is in a resting scent of cooking oil, and Mitarai smells like takeout. Komaeda... ah. He smells like fresh laundry, huh?

"Komaeda, do you have a crush on me?"

Komaeda jumps out of his skin as he stops at the door, blinking slowly at your question.

The cherry blossoms flutter outside, and your eyes lock with his. Komaeda stumbles over his words, confused beyond belief, trying to make sense of your question. Him? You? How— How'd you even find out? The letter wasn't even written by him? He had someone else write it for him? How would you even recognize that it was him? He had purposely stayed behind and almost ran late just so you wouldn't think it was him. Where did he screw up—

"Yes or no," You stare at him, and Komaeda averts his eyes to the ground.

"H-how did you tell?"

"Only you're capable of such poetic writing," You tuck the letter into your skirt, looking through the rest of your letters and gifts. It's creepy if you tell him you recognized the letter by scent. You hand the majority of the chocolate to Teruteru to mess with, and the roses go to Miss Yukizome to help decorate the class. Ryota gets photos of the letters for his animations, and you help Chiaki beat a romance simulator.

Komaeda thinks you've forgotten about him by the end of the day. You're still painting Sonia's nails, whispering and giggling about what she was going to do when she got home. Komaeda packs his bag as the bell rings, getting ready to leave.

"Hold it!" You yell for him as you rush to stuff as many of the letters into your bag as you can, and Komaeda stares at you as you run over to him. "Let's go."

"Why are you..."

"Go out with me," You stare up at him.

"H-huh? Komaeda stumbles over his words. He thought you were going to leave him. You were known to just point soulmates out on Valentine's instead of accepting anyone. If anything, you were the one receiving all of the confessions. Just what did he do for you to ask him out?

"I'll make you the happiest man alive during the time that we date, then I'll hand you to your soulmate when we finish. Please?"

"W-what if I want to stay with you?"

"Don't be silly," You blink twice. "No one dates me without knowing I match them to their soulmate."

"A-ah," Komaeda fiddles with his fingers. But he likes you. "Sure. We can date."

"Great!" You reach for a contract out of your bag. A couple of letters spill out with the contract, and Komaeda stares at the pink pen that falls out. Komaeda crouches down to reach for it, handing it to you as you hand him a contract."Please have this signed by tomorrow! Love you!"

"Ah... I... like you too."

He thinks you look gorgeous above him.

[Step one: Confess] [Complete]

"Where do you want to go for our first date?" You blink at Komaeda expectantly.

He shakes his head. The school is empty at this hour. The sun is burning out in the sky, and most of the students have headed to the cafeteria to eat. Hope's Peak had the best food, especially with Teruteru around. Ibuki might be performing downstairs again. He doesn't quite know how he ended up cornered by you at this hour. "I don't know."

"Really?" You tilt your head at him, hiding something behind you.

"Well," Komaeda pauses. It looks like a basket. "Picnic?"

"I thought you'd say that." You grin, pulling the basket from behind you. "shall we find somewhere?"

"I know a place," Komaeda mumbles, dragging you with him as you wind through the flower garden. "The ultimate botanist doesn't like us in his garden, but there's a wildflower field just beyond his garden. I hope it's empty."

"It should be," You follow behind him. "Komaeda-kun, what's your favorite food?"

"I prefer salty things to sweet things," Komaeda pauses. "Maybe... shrimp chips?"

"Mmm," You stop as he does, and you barely glance at the field. You pull a notebook from the basket next, scribbling down his answer. "What's your favorite color?

"Green."

You stare at the string on his pinky, noting down the hex code. "Sounds about right."

"How do you match people?" Komaeda helps you set up the picnic blanket, blinking slowly as you set up the picnic with ease. You pat the seat next to you, staring up at the tree. You don't answer him immediately, reaching for a sandwich instead.

"I match them based on soulmate strings," You swallow, glancing at him. "They exist. They have strings on their fingers." You pause. "If you believe that, it is."

"So... a predestined soulmate?" Komaeda hums. "Sounds fun. Doesn't that make soulmates real?"

"Yeah," You shrug. "My parents called me shrimp eyes."

"Because you see strings?"

"Yeah," You pause. It's strange that he's so accepting of something outrageous. "You believe me?"

"Well, it would explain your ultimate talent," Komaeda smiles, chewing on the shrimp chips.

"I made that, by the way," You kick your legs as you grab another slice.

"How do you even..."

"Trade secret," You pull out the strawberries, and Komaeda blinks slowly at the sight of the heart shape.

"You're... very romantic, aren't you?" Komaeda laughs as you pull out a heart-shaped cake.

"It comes with my talent," you hum. "Do you want a sandwich?"

"It's fine," Komaeda smiles. "Spending time with you is more than enough."

"Weirdly," You mumble as you write, "smooth with words."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Everything's a good thing if you get matched with people that suit you," You click the pen. "Likes and dislikes?"

"Like pretty people," He pauses. "And dislike ugly people."

"Mm," You scribble, following his words. "Pretty is subjective, what kind of pretty?"

"Pretty." Komaeda deadpans.

"Vague," You sigh, falling onto the mat. "Anything else?"

"What about you? Any fun facts?"

"I hate white day." You grin.

"Why?"

"Secret" You shrug. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Do you need my background?"

"I already have your background." You hum. "Rich people have more easily accessed histories. How much money do you have right now?"

"I don't think you want to know."

"But I do."

"Does money play into soulmates?"

You glance at the string tied to his ring finger. "Not really. It's more out of curiosity."

"I'll tell you," Komaeda stares at you, the wind blowing his hair. "But you have to keep it a secret."

"Will do!"

Komaeda says the number, but it goes in one ear and out the other. He's pretty. Pretty white hair with pink tips and pretty pale skin like snow. Snow white? You don't know. He's pretty. The flowers behind him seem dull compared to his face. His hair is sickly, and his skin wraps around his bones. His illness, huh? Chemo sounds terrible for someone only in high school. No one should have to go through something like that.

"Is... something wrong?"

You blink at him slowly, sighing. "Nope."

"Did I do something?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you staring?"

Komaeda's lips are parted as he asks you, and you jut out your bottom lip. He's pretty. You pout when you remember that you're setting him up with someone through. You're sure that you'd keep him if his string had not been cut. Maybe you'll keep him if you try hard enough. The universe already destined someone to be his. Who are you to go against what the universe has already planned out for him?

"You're pretty," You hum.

"You flatter me," Komaeda looks to the side. "trash like me-"

"Has a soulmate," You sit up, turning to stare at him. "Everyone has a soulmate."

"What about you?"

You stare at your fingers. They're empty. "I'm just Cupid. Cupid doesn't have a soulmate."

"But Cupid married Psyche, did he not?" Komaeda reaches for your hand, tracing out letters in your hand.

I like you

You blink at Komaeda.

Right.

"Then I guess that makes me Saint Valentine."

[Step two: Date] [Complete]

You kick your leg over Komaeda's, leaning on his shoulder as the two of you sit on his couch, staring at the movie on screen. The two of you watch in silence, your hand in the popcorn bucket as he rests his arm on the rest. The wind blows outside, and you jump in your skin as the screen flashes. Komaeda blinks lifelessly, and you sigh in exhaustion as the movie credits roll.

"How are you not scared?" You reach to turn the lights on.

"Worst things have happened to me." Komaeda hums, leaning back as you reach over him. "Remember?"

"I'm surprised you didn't throw everything and decide to commit atrocious crimes after it," You sit back down, scrolling through the rest of the movie selections. "Do you miss your parents?"

"It's been a long time, so... not really."

"I see," You hand him the tablet as you note down his answer. "Komaeda-kun, I think your soulmate is a therapist. It's the most ideal relationship-"

"That's a joke."

"Yeah. I don't know who your soulmate is. I have to go find them." You stare at the hex code. "You know, everyone in hope's peak meets their soulmate at some point during their time at the school."

"Really?"

"Our seniors," You pause. "Class 75. Their soulmates were all in their class. There was a case where one of our seniors had two soulmates in the class."

"Does it have to be within the class?"

"No," You pause. "One of them had a reserve course soulmate. Well, not reserve course. An ordinary soulmate. Not an ultimate."

"Do you think I have a reserve course soulmate?" Komaeda grimaces. "I'll stay with you if I do."

"That's not for me to decide," You shrug. "Besides, I'm not able to stay with anyone."

"Why?"

"Saint Valentine never married."

"But Eros did." Komaeda tits his head. "Eros ended up with Psyche and fell in love with her, no?"

"Eros shot himself accidentally when shooting the second arrow. I'm not foolish enough to do that. Besides, didn't we already establish that I'm the Saint instead of Cupid?" You raise a brow at him in amusement. "Let's talk deep stuff. Any family trauma?"

"You know everything already." Komaeda pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his shins. "You ran a background check."

"I don't know how you felt throughout the entire situation."

"I've grown used to loss." Komaeda mumbles quietly, mostly to himself. "I grew up losing everything everywhere I went. I lost my dog in elementary, then my parents, and then I got kidnapped, found a lottery ticket, was diagnosed with cancer and frontotemporal lobe dementia, accepted into hope's peak, and then now I'm here."

"You don't feel sad that you didn't get to experience anything?"

"Not really." Komaeda stares at you.

"Is there anything you really want to do?"

Komaeda pauses. "Love."

You sigh. "Is that it?"

"Yeah." There's a significant silence before he speaks up again. "What about you?"

"You're my client." You smile back at him, knees tucked to your chest and smile on your face. "My job is to find your soulmate. The less you know about me, the less likely you are to be attached to me."

"But that's not fair." Komaeda pouts. "I obviously asked you out because I like you."

"I can't."

"Isn't that lonely?"

"All saints are lonely." You close your eyes. "Especially Saint Valentine."

[Step three: trauma dump] [Complete]

There are three steps to finding a soulmate through you. You call it operation lovebug. You don't remember the last time it didn't work. Your exes always sent better break-up anniversary gifts than gifts they actually gave you during the relationship. You don't even know how many rose quartz pieces you've received. You wonder if they charge at all. You don't know. Do you even care? You stare at the notes made for Komaeda's drawing, and you exhale.

Gotta find him his soulmate.

You doodle red flowers absentmindedly, wracking your mind and checking your laptop to look for his match. The numbers and hex codes run through your mind as you look for a match for Komaeda. You know everyone on campus. The reserve course paid handsomely to you as long as your soulmate match was good. It's strange. You don't remember when you could see the whole stringed color thing.

Komaeda steps into the room, handing you a mug of tea as you continue scrolling.

"Have you ever had Kohakutou crystal candy?" You switch tabs to stare at the crystals.

"No," Komaeda hums. "Why?"

"I saw it on pinterest just now," You sip the tea, scrolling through

"What are you up to?"

"Finding your soulmate," You yawn, thanking him for the tea as you take a sip.

Komaeda sits next to you, staring at his profile you made. "You draw?"

"It's all in the romance," You hum, starring two people. "Man or woman?"

"No preference," Komaeda rests his chin on your shoulder as you continue scrolling. "Does it have to be someone? Why can't it be you?"

"It's cause," You reach for his hand, staring at the ribbon. "I'm the Saint. I have no soulmate."

Komaeda tilts his head at you, and you shrug.

The strings are all over the place in front of your eyes. Komaeda's string is a bright green, and yours doesn't have one. His string is on his ring finger. You had to find him his soulmate. It wouldn't be right if you didn't. Yet, you think you had seen that green once on campus. The color on your screen is found, and you reach for the string. Soulmates exist. They exist in front of your eyes, and none of them have ever been wrong. Though, it hurts a little to let him go.

You hand him a bag of seaweed chips, and he sits next to you. You put everything on a spreadsheet; the colors only you able to tell the difference between. They all look relatively similar to him.

Komaeda doesn't understand, but he supposes you have your own way.

"Male." You click open the student's profile, checking his string again. "Hajime Hinata, born January first, a hundred seventy nine centimeters tall, has a chest size of 91 centimeters, also-"

"Are you sure?" Komaeda glances at the male. "He's a reserve course student."

"Ex-reserve course student. He got expelled." You pause. "Huh."

Komaeda tilts his head, and you stare at the hanging string on his finger.

You pause. "He cut his own soulmate string."

Komaeda doesn't get it.

You blink slowly. "Then that means he can see the string."

"How many people is that?"

"Just... me." You pause.

How tragic; even his own soulmate didn't want him anymore.

He tilts his head at you as you stare up at him for a reaction. He doesn't feel anything. He's used to losing people. You feel bad for him. To think that he would lose everyone that ever mattered to him. Maybe he's just as lonely as he thinks you are. Maybe there was some sort of truth to your relationship with him. Something something... lonely.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You mumble. You close your laptop, finishing the cup of tea Komaeda brought you. Your lips are pulled downward, and Komaeda reaches to pull your cheeks up into a half smile. You stare at him, tears welling in your eyes. You think it hurts more for you than him.

"Well," Komaeda exhales, letting go of your cheek. "I like you, so it doesn't matter to me."

"That's not how it works, Komaeda-kun."

"It could, though."

[Step four: locate soulmate] [Failed]

You find yourself chewing on your bottom lip more these days. Komaeda's been staying over at your dorm, sitting as you turn down whatever gift he offers you, wondering how you're going to make up the contract to him. You've never seen a soulmate ribbon cut before. It had to be someone else who had your talent. There was no way someone could see the strings like you did.

"How do you want me to make it up to you?" You mumble quietly, staring at him.

Komaeda frowns at the way his heart wavers when you look so dejected.

The room is dark. There are no lights, and not even the moon peeks past the blinks. Komaeda can't see your face, but your voice sounds sad. The rain drums against the glass, and the rhythmic sound of water acts as a relaxant to Komaeda.

"Was everything a job to you?"

"Dating is a job to me." You mumble. "My job is to find someone's soulmate. Strings don't get cut unless something significant happens."

"Why couldn't it have been me?"

"You can't see the string," You rest your cheek on the table, and Komaeda pauses at the sound. You sound much sadder than he is. Was it that? You were worse off than him? Was he nothing more than a client to you when you had rushed to him with flushed cheeks and exhaustion on your lips? Were you just that desperate to have him as a client?

"Can we date instead?"

"No dating my clients."

"What if I burn the contract?"

"Still no dating ex-clients."

"Not at all?"

"No."

Komaeda rests his cheek on the table as well, mimicking you. "Then what shall I do? I want to date you."

"Maybe if you try hard enough—"

"I am."

"Well, it's not working."

"You know, you fall for people really easily, lovebug."

"Lovebug?"

"Lovebug."

You mumble the nickname to yourself, your voice growing shakier each time you repeat it.

Komaeda exhales. "I'd like to be able to see you."

"Too bad." You mumble.

"Really?" Komaeda pouts.

"Yeah."

"Is it because you're scared of me seeing you cry?"

You go quiet, the sound of your finger running along the wood replacing it. Quiet breathing fills Komaeda's ears as you sniffle quietly to yourself, the darkness making it so that he can't see you. His hand reaches for your cheek, wiping the tears between the corner of your eye and your nose. He can't see you, but it seems he's grown used to the way your face is shaped. He even remembers where to avoid when tracing shapes on your skin. How... how... how. How surprising.

"Are you sure you like me?"

"Of course." Komaeda mumbles. "I fell for you before I ever got to meet my soulmate."

"That's hard to believe."

Yet your voice holds no doubt. Komaeda thinks he succeeded in calming you down.

But it wasn't a lie. Komaeda doesn't remember a time when his heart wasn't fighting his ribcage around you. Even when you had pressed your chest to his back, helping with homework, or even as you scream from next to him while playing Mario kart against Chiaki and your perfume sent his mind into overdrive, he had never had a moment when he wasn't in love with you. He wonders if he'll scare you off with such intense emotions.

You go quiet, and Komaeda scoots closer to you, tracing your bottom lip, freeing it from your teeth. He leans in slowly, the rain pelleting against the window, his breath mixing with yours. He's close enough to see you now. Your eyes stare at him lifelessly, not a sliver of hope behind them. He pauses, searching your eyes for something. Anything. Something that would let him lean in; and he finds it. You lean in slowly, maybe unconsciously, but he takes it as an invitation, leaning in anyways.

Thunder roars outside, and Komaeda jumps in his skin, hitting his head on the boxes as he jumps.

"Are... you alright?"

Komaeda coughs lightly. "Yeah... yeah. It's the luck."

You laugh, and Komaeda hears you sit up, reaching for the back of his head. He flushes as you pull him to your chest, running your hand through his hair, checking for any wounds. He's probably red enough for you to see him in the dark. Yet, you don't mention anything, even as he's radiating heat onto your chest and listening to your heart race. Maybe he has a chance.

"I like you."

"I know you do."

[Step five: ???] [???]

Komaeda wanders in Hope's Peak's library, stopping at the section about classical history. The books seem to have been left untouched for ages, and he pauses at the sight of Eros and Psyche. He collects that book first before he looks for a book on the saints of the roman empire. The book is heavy, but he holds it anyways, sitting on the couch and flipping through the legends and myths left behind by the past.

You said you were lonely as Cupid.

But Eros had Psyche, and Saint Valentine had all the people he had blessed during the time he was alive. So in the end, neither of them was really lonely. Eros may have made a mistake, but it was a beautiful one. That was how love was, Komaeda supposes. Love was as simple as falling in love with someone. Love doesn't make sense, the more he thinks about it. You were incredible to be able to make sense of it all. How incredible of you.

It's simple things. Psyche went through hell and back for Eros, and Eros fought against his own mother as a symbol of his own love. His mother told him to force her to fall for the vilest creature, yet his own heart wavered at the sight of a mere mortal. Love was foolish, maybe. Love was falling for people that you couldn't have and chasing after that person until somehow they would have them. Love was chasing after your love until you had them in your hand. Were you in love with him? Maybe you were. Love was hiding yourself and praying the other didn't get to know you.

To hide yourself in the name of love, and to hide yourself in order that your love may never know the dark sides of you, and to think that you could only be loved if they never knew what you looked like. No. Not quite. There was no love without trust. Maybe that was the foundation. All love came from getting to know the other first, and then it came from just knowing that the other person would love you no matter what you were. That was how simple love was.

Eros fled when Psyche saw his face, and the little mortal had been heartbroken. The god of love himself had told her that there was no love without trust. Yet, it wasn't as if she didn't love him. She had done everything that Aphrodite herself had asked of her to see him again. She had even died just so that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to meet her again. Their ending is happy, unlike the many other greek myths that float through society. He wonders if he was your Psyche.

Though, maybe love did exist without trust.

Komaeda stares at the book in his hand, flipping to the right Saint.

Saint Valentine wasn't lonely either.

He restored the sight of a young one, and he had even written her a final letter before his martyr. His life was a mixture of stories, but he had ultimately been there for everyone. From the persecution to marriage in secrecy, he had been the one there for love, never for himself. In a way, he lived to see every single Christian marriage at the time. To wed people even in a time of persecution, was that what love was? You aren't as much of a Saint Valentine as you think you are.

Saint Valentine had an abundance of couples he had married in the name of religion, those who were willing to risk their lives in the name of love. Though more religious, Komaeda thinks the Saint wasn't lonely either. One legend stated that even the king took a liking to him. But faith mattered more to the saint, and he was stoned at the cross. He thinks you made a mistake. You're much more like Eros than Valentine. You would be Eros, and he would be your Psyche.

He thinks he understands why you hate the fourteenth a little more as he closes the book.

It's a lonely day for you.

Komaeda stops by Shikiba's place, asking for a bouquet of flowers, and Teruteru hands him a box of Kohakutou crystal candies as he stops by the kitchen. You'll like them, right? You said you wanted to try them. Maybe you will. Teruteru has him try one first since he looked skeptical, and he calms once there's nothing in the food.

You had asked him out the first time, so he would do the same for you this time.

The sun is shining today, unlike the other times the two of you spent together. It's strange. Komaeda had received your confession on a sunny day, and now you were receiving his on a sunny day. He stops at your dorm, rocking on his feet, knocking twice. When you don't answer, he tries the door. It's unlocked. He steps in, sliding his shoes off, looking for you in your dorm.

Your dorm was filled with letters on the walls. You taped each one to the wall so that you could reread them. In the center rested a coffee table, chess, uno, monopoly, and cards stacked on top of each other neatly there. You loved harder than anyone else. The letters of romantic declarations on the wall were more than enough proof of such.

You're not in sight.

Instead, he finds you in bed, clicking at the laptop in your hand, answering emails and inquiries about who their soulmate might be. Komaeda leaves his jacket on the rack, stepping behind you, flowers and candy in hand. You noticed him when he entered. Maybe you were even kind enough to leave the door open for him. How lucky of him.

"You know, Ko-kun," You snap your laptop shut, turning to face him. "I hate White day."

"Isn't it because you're the busiest?" Komaeda smiles, handing you the roses.

You take them, placing them on the bed next to you. You toss your laptop onto your pillows as well.

"No"

He hands you the candy next. "Then why?"

You open the box, eyes brightening at the sight of the candy. You reach for a piece, holding up it to his lips, and he takes a bite as you answer him.

"I'm always single by white day." You bite on the leftover half.

Komaeda blinks at you as you chew on your bottom lip along with the candy, anxiety written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, locking his fingers between yours, his other hand tapping your ring finger before reaching for your bottom lip between your teeth.

"I'll tie my string around your ring finger, isn't that enough?" He smiles, tracing your bottom lip. "You have me this year."

"Not quite," You let go of your bottom lip, staring at him. "That's not how it works."

"But I don't have a soulmate anymore, so wouldn't that make us a match?"

"It still feels like I stole you from your soulmate."

"Not if I was the one to ask you," Komaeda looks down to stare at you, a smile on his face. "Maybe I was your soulmate the whole time."

"Don't be ridiculous," You chew on the candy, a harmless pout on your lips.

Komaeda grins when a smile makes it onto your face.

You like it.

"Shall I take that as a yes?"

You stare up at him, holding another candy to his lips.

Komaeda bites down.

"So?"

"I like you too." You hum, eating the half leftover.

Komaeda blinks at you slowly, cupping your cheeks and pulling you in for a kiss instead. You melt into this one, the sound of rain far away and the sound of thunder in the back of your mind from the smell of his body from that same night weeks ago. You lean into this one, losing your breath and your mind fuzzing, simply because it's Komaeda. You don't know if you'll ever be able to love someone as passionately ever again, but the taste of the candy on his tongue makes your eyes go half-lidded, hungry for more.

When you pull away, the taste of the candy dances on your tongue, and you pause in thought. He's sweet. He's... sweet. Huh. He ended up with you instead of his own soulmate, huh? You furrow your brows as you remember.

Komaeda keeps your face in his hands, bottom lip jut out when you frown while in thought.

"stop kiss feeling kiss bad." Komaeda presses his lips across your face instead. "I chose you. Not the other way around."

"But it's—"

"My soulmate left me first," Komaeda sits on your lap, pushing your head to his heart, wrapping his arms around your neck. "The universe gave me a second chance with you."

"You sure?"

"Of course I am."

There's a silence that passes before a kiss is pressed to your temple.

"I always have been."

#komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #☾.fics

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