#polyamorous reader insert

your neck aches to crane upwards, sharp eyes flickering across the sky as you duck under vast tree branches and slip behind the academy’s billowing banners. but no matter how fast you run, or how vigilant you are of the green and gold girl fluttering tirelessly above you, the pixie tracking you down stays on your trail—because of your literal trail; the clouds of pixie dust you leave behind with every step, because of course you’d forgotten to wear a jacket to hide the natural shimmering of your skin on the one day it would actually come in handy.

“shit!” you hiss, as, once you step out from yet another cramped hiding spot and into the open air, your wings are caught by the sun’s bright rays, and glisten like a beacon all but jumping up and down and yelling “hey, i’m over here, come find me!”

your sister’s high-pitched voice grows louder as she approaches, impatiently screeching your name from above, as she calls out, “we need to go now! you can run but you cannot hide forever!”

frantically, you spin in circles in search of an escape route, momentarily wondering if it’s worth trying your luck in the depths of the dark forest (deep green canopies hiding you from your pursuer above, yes, but also trading yourself off to the mystical lurking predators of the shadows that—as much as you despise tinkerbell, and insist that she’s secretly an evil mastermind with the sole goal of making your life miserable—are definitely scarier than your pixie sister)—when, as your head snaps back around to the sound of cheers and bustling footsteps, you grin triumphantly.

barely a brisk jog away, in the middle of the large courtyard, gathers a crowd around prince charming and aladdin. they appear to be causing a scene over who can best execute a skateboard trick; the prince boisterously objecting to his friend who claims, “i could do it with my eyes closed!”

and though you roll your eyes, and wish you had the time to upstage both egotistical boys and show them who really owns the camelot skate parks—the mass of bodies melding together as they surround the ruckus grants you the perfect place to shake tink off your scent.

the second your sister’s millionth growl for you to, “get over yourself and get over here before mum blames me for us both being late!” overlaps with aladdin’s official invitation to charming for a challenge, you take a deep breath, and sprint.

your footsteps pound against the loose paving-stones of the courtyard, as you whip from the gaping entrance, to the centre of the crowd of your classmates within seconds—your breathless grin only widening when you hear a frustrated cry in the distance, as tinkerbell flounders trying to find where you abruptly disappeared to.

you take a moment to catch your breath, relishing in the faintest sound of her wings—the softest shade of blue, regrettably identical to yours (though not now, as yours flap in the breeze calmly, and hers twitch weakly from overuse)—fluttering in circles as she helplessly tries and fails to discern you in the blurred mass of students.

you wish you could stay here forever, laughing wickedly to yourself as your sister makes a fool of herself, but you quickly grow disgusted by the bumping shoulders and loud voices of your peers surrounding you, and deftly sneak your way through to the edge of the crowd.

readying yourself with your eyes on the prize of an alcove beneath the stairs that you used to frequently skip class in, you watch tink from the corner of your vision, waiting for the exact moment she whirls around to search for you in the complete opposite direction; and, once more, run.

shoving your way past sweaty bodies and bluntly elbowing anyone who doesn’t move out of your way, you’re across the courtyard faster than you can smirk to yourself, and whisper, “fuck you, tinkerbell.”

the second step over the threshold of the alcove, feeling the sun ease off your skin and the shadows swallow you whole, you crumple over to rest your hands on your knees, gasping for shallow breaths as you can’t help but let out giddy laughs of victory.

slowly straightening up, your eyes are drawn to the discarded cigarettes crushed between bricks that you used to share with cruella (before she got caught up in her passion for fashion, and traded all her free time hanging out with you for labouring over her sewing machines and racks upon racks of, admittedly, some of the coolest outfits you’ve seen since you enrolled at the picture-perfect-and-prim merlin academy), getting yourself lost in fond memories of shit-talking classmates and teachers alike—until your gaze drifts up just an inch further, and you’re met with the sight of very familiarly scuffed boots.

“fancy seeing you here,” you greet playfully, as you stretch back up to your full height, and come face-to-face with your boyfriend, hades, who simply replies with a silent raised eyebrow at your frantic entrance.

but you answer with nothing more than an overly innocent smile, before turning to your right—already knowing that just a step further into the alcove you’re going to find the other half of this pack that always travels together (which usually includes you, when you’re not fleeing from an obnoxious sister that’s attempting to drag you back home to neverland against your will).

and, just as you suspected, tucked away where the stairs above cave in until they meet the ground, maleficent crouches with one hand steadying a sapling, of what looks like the beginning of vines bearing thorns sharper than the pointed studs on hades’ jacket, as her other palm gently cups the dirt around the stem, until it’s firmly buried between loose bricks.

your girlfriend doesn’t turn around just yet—with her dark eyes glued to what you can only guess is the first stepping stone in some elaborate plan to swallow the entirety of merlin academy in a prickly prison of her own design—but you know she’s noticed you when she greets you with, “we were wondering where you ran off to.”

your wings, shimmering with reflections of the specks of sunlight that peak through cracks in the stars, flutter ditzily as you grin, “i was searching far and wide for the two of you, of course.”

bouncing over to your left, you make yourself comfortable leaning on the wall beside hades, as he lets out an amused huff—which is the closest most anyone ever gets to a laugh from him, if they’re not as lucky (and, of course, extremely clever, boundlessly funny—and endlessly humble) as yourself to see of him what no one else but you and maleficent have ever seen.

you tug on one of the few expanses of his leather jacket that isn’t waiting to stab your finger, whilst he wonders aloud, “so your disappearance has nothing to do with the pixie trying to sniff you out like a bloodhound?” and misinterprets your attempt to steal his jacket for (lovingly) pestering him for affection, as he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

but, when you don’t reply, and instead fix him with an expectant (read: impatient) look, he finally catches on, and rolls his eyes at your antics—but nonetheless slides his arms out of his sleeves, and drapes the leather over your shoulders.

you mock him light-heartedly, “how gentlemanly,” but still let out an appreciative hum as you hide your eye-catching wings beneath the jacket, and try your very best to tuck your hair behind the collar to limit the copious amounts of pixie dust that always rains from your glittering hair like a generous makeup powder.

(all while you shamelessly admire hades’ arms now on display, and grin even wider when you catch him shamelessly eyeing the sight of you in his leather jacket.)

sighing loudly, you finally reply to hades’ astute observation of the girl bloody-murder-screaming your name outside; “she refuses to understand that i’m actually not interested in flying all the way to neverland just to sit around a table with a hundred distant relatives who all have something judgy to say about my grades, or my fashion choices, or my life choices, or—”

just as hades is about to comfort you with a very concise, “fuck them,” at the same time as maleficent starts to interrupt with a very number-one-hater-of-your-sister, “fuck her,” your gloomy sanctuary is all but rudely breached, as snow white—in all her ear-piercing-singing-at-the-crack-of-dawn and unable-to-school-her-judgemental-facial-expressions glory—slows down hesitantly as she walks past the mouth of the alcove.

brown pupils blown wide with anxiety zero in on your girlfriend and the plant she’s sowing, which the princess, with a look of horror, recognises as something poisonous or outlawed (knowing your beautifully creative girlfriend, probably both). but before she can spout the same lame spiel all the other rule-following-royals always use to try to get you and your partners to “stop cheating on that test” or “please don’t set my dorm on fire!” her face pales in fear.

for a moment, there’s silence as hades’ hardened expression almost sets her aflame in terror without even touching her. you raise an unimpressed eyebrow at her, just about willing to demand, “run along princess,” and deal with maleficent laughing at you for sounding like one of the merry men who think they sound cool when they really just talk like characters plucked straight out of a musical—when some common sense suddenly snaps into snow, and she disappears from your sight in the most satisfying three seconds of tail-between-her-legs fleeing.

a beat passes as you all wait to make sure the princess didn’t decide to turn back and spy on the three of you, until the silence stays unbroken, and hades looks to you with a slight nod to where the intrusion had just been standing.

“are you sure this is the best place to hide?”

you shrug dismissively, confident as you insist, “yeah, i don’t think tink even knows how to use her legs—she insists on flying everywhere, so i’m safe here, she can’t see us from above.”

with a nod, hades turns to maleficent a moment before she starts standing up from her kneeling position, as if he could sense that she was going to silently ask for her hand laid elegantly in his to ease her up.

as she rises, she flashes you one of her loving (but too self-conscious to so openly show it for too long) split-second smiles, before her observant eyes find themselves locked in on your chest. you don’t have time to grow flustered—nor hopeful that she might be approaching you to start something fun—when she’s upon you in the blink of an eye, claw-sharp nails plucking against your cropped band tee, as you realise she’s spotted what looks like a miniature forest blossoming out of your shirt.

“oh, yeah,” you chuckle to yourself, “i ran face-first into a branch ‘cause i was too distracted trying not to run into twinkles.”

instantly, hades bluntly says, “i’ll burn that tree down for you.”

only maleficent notices the way you melt at his words, biting down a grin at the way you grow giddy at a threat of destruction on your behalf, as you try to chew down a growing smile that threatens your warm cheeks

“yeah right,” you bite, “i know a scheme to send smoke signals to my sister when i see one!”

you girlfriend hums in disagreement, “you shouldn’t look a gift tree on fire in the mouth, the forest imps take it very personally.”

“is that so?” you mumble in faux thought; leaning away from maleficent’s hold—as she finishes retrieving the stray leaves and sticks from entanglement—and dangerously close towards hades.

“i always did think you were rather impish,” you speak lowly as your face inches so close to his you can feel his breath across your cheeks as he replies.

voice even lower than your own, gravelly as he leans off the wall to feed into your trademark mix of teasing and flirting, “you think so?”

“yeah i do,” you hum with an amorous smile, “i mean, you are very sensitive,” not even realising the innuendo—behind what was meant to be nothing more than a rib at the god with skin so thick you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even have that famed golden blood flowing beneath it—until hades can’t help but smirk at you, and bring a hand up to cup your cheek with barely the phantom of an embrace, and draw your face in even closer, until your noses brush.

“that’s me,” he chuckles, opening the doors of the conservatory in your stomach and setting the butterflies nestled inside free.

you already know he can feel the heat in your cheeks, but giving up when you’re already in this deep isn’t half as fun as staying in the game until the other fully breaks—so you muster up the most over-the-top dramatic pout you can manage when you’re trying to hold back a broad smile, and bring your hand up to caress his cheek.

you pat his face like how you used to awkwardly comfort the toddlers who kept crying after flying headfirst into tree trunks when their wings had only just started sprouting. tilting your head to look down your nose at him as if you actually see him as one of those helpless kids, you bite down on your pout to stop it from morphing into a grin when his nose crinkles up at pixie dust wafting over him from your proximity.

it’s always endlessly entertaining to watch him fuss over himself later tonight, insisting that the pixie dust looks like his face has been painted with glitter, which makes him appear—shudder—approachable. so, you lean in even closer, unable to hide the mischievous twinkle in your eyes, that is set alight with the reflection of a rainbow of flames when your pixie dust catches in hades’ hair.

you take a second to admire your big scary boyfriend with his hair lit up in shades of bright pinks and baby blues and yellows lighter than the sun, before you quickly move as if you plan to snuff out the rogue flames—as if he can’t simply flip a switch and turn them off himself, he frowns ever so slightly at your nonsensical plan… until you let out a pained shriek before your fingertips even touch the flames.

hades’ laugh that he’s unable to hold back at your obvious fake reaction is drowned out by your wails, crying that, “he planned this! he’s scheming against me, mali!”

maleficent, also having immediately seen through your scheme, simply rolls her eyes, and gives the two of you a disapproving look (that is significantly dampened by the mirthful glint in her eyes clearer than even the obvious deviousness in your own), “behave, both of you.”

“yeah, babe, you’d better keep it down,” hades turns to nod solemnly to you, “considering tinkerboots just touched down in the courtyard, and is staring right at us.”

snapping out of your revelry, your heartbeat skyrockets higher than any pixie in all of neverland has ever flown. frantically, you whip around to face the courtyard, only growing more and more sickeningly anxious when you don’t immediately spot the predator waiting to pounce—until you keep searching, and searching, and searching (maybe you’re not so unlike your sister that has just spent all afternoon trying to track you down), and… all you can find is a singular trail of pixie dust, barely visible in the distant, as the owner who left it behind is long gone.

“fuck you, ‘babe’!” you yell faster than you can whip around to face a smug hades, who has the audacity to grin at you.

“if you insist.”

you’d barely had it in you to be angry the second it happened—honestly, you were a breath away from laughing—but after that brief interruption, and hades’ the game is afoot once more.

so you step back up to your boyfriend, eyeing him with a fire in your pupils that quickly fades from anger to revelry, as you goad him, “come on, then, i don’t have all day, babe—”

“no,” maleficent’s harsh grip finds the back of hades’ leather jacket atop your shoulders just the same as she grasps the collar of his shirt, tugging the both of you apart like squabbling cats from the scruff of their necks.

“you,” she turns to you, with a hand on hades’ chest to hold him back from purposefully getting on either of your nerves as she speaks, “will not be condemned to attend your stupid friendship feast—”

“autumn jubilee,” you correct (as if there’s much of a difference when the whole thing really is just about sucking up to a gaggle of pixies you haven’t seen since you were a baby and eating table-fulls of mediocre festive meals), and in return, get a frown from your girlfriend, who probably has ‘despises being corrected with a burning passion’ on her birth certificate.

but you just grin, and she continues with the umpteenth roll of her eyes, “instead, we will partake in one of my traditions.”

your smile grows blinding, already knowing that a dark fey of the moors’ traditions include the most dramatic sacrifices, and forbidden enchantments that not even merlin himself knows about.

“this is going to be wicked,” you declare enthusiastically, “much better than falling asleep in the middle of havendish square because tinks won’t shut up about how ‘important’ her ‘job’ with peter pan is—when, really, she’s just unemployed because nobody can stand to be around her long enough to even get halfway through a job interview!”  

“how much blood will there be,” hades teases, as he sidles up to maleficent’s opposite side and snakes his arm over her shoulder.

she raises a single eyebrow at him in warning, “all of yours if you don’t behave,” to which he simply winks at you as if he has some sort of cunning plan—causing your cheeks, which had already begun growing warm from the sound of maleficent’s low voice threatening hades, to all but set aflame with the overwhelming heat.

“you can have as much of my blood as you want, mali,” you try to hide the flustered stutter in your voice, but fail when she gives you the most salacious smile you’ve ever seen from her.

her suddenly hungry eyes bore into yours as she takes a hold of your hand.

“good—” hades’ fingers brushing feather-light against your neck as he adjusts the collar of the leather jacket cause your breath to stutter, all while maleficent purrs, “—because i’m thirsty.”

as much as, you’ve realised over the course of this afternoon filled with fits of giggles and smiles so wide they pleat cheeks, you truly would love to hang out with your friends within the bright pink walls of bridget’s dorm forever—one of the things you’ve learnt since befriending people of a… gooder disposition, is that it’s actually not encouraged to hang around long past your welcome and lovingly (though, with your usual company the lines between love and hate tend to blur themselves) bother your companions to the point of a migraine.

zellie has long left behind spilt droplets from the container of face paint she’d clumsily discarded on her way out (running down the hall to mediate jasmine and aladdin, who apparently decided to treat castlecoming like their wedding day, but immediately ran into trouble when they realised it’s actually very difficult to match outfits when you can’t be in the same room together), and fay now shyly squeaks out her goodbyes as you watch the fairy disappear out the door (with a nail polish bottle of royal blue in hand, that christopher charming had dropped off earlier; a gift for ella, hoping to raise the girl’s spirits knowing she’d been barred from attending the dance tonight—to which fay had been suspiciously quick to accept it, promising she’d deliver it herself, with a twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smile).

so, you clean as many makeup brushes and scrub away as many bright stains in the carpet as you can find in an effort to leave as little work as possible for your hostess to have to worry about later—and, finally, direct yourself towards the doorway, and away from the rug in the centre of the room, where bridget has already started warming up to practice her special dance routine a couple hundred more times.

in one smooth motion, you retrieve your ornate cloak from where zellie had insisted on properly hanging it on a rack where it wouldn’t crease by the door, wrap it snugly around your shoulders—and lean over as far as you can reach to press a chaste kiss to your friend’s cheek, who returns the gesture with a warm smile.

“thank you again for the makeup,” her grin matches yours as you once more praise her handiwork of bright pinks (and your signature shades of red, whenever you barely managed convince her to go easy on the rosy frenzy) painted eagerly across every blank canvas of your face; from lips sparkling blindingly like a kissable disco ball, to the faintest dusting of her favourite—you guessed it—pink-and-glittery eyeshadow emanating all around your eyes, glowing like a physical manifestation of your joy as you’d watched her tongue stick out and (yet again, glitter-covered) eyebrows furrow in deep concentration as she’d worked.

“of course,” she insists—with an enthusiastic tone that makes your heart melt, knowing she’d do it all again for you in an instant—waving like the excitable flap of a baby bird’s wings to you as you back out of her room, “that’s what friends are for!”

you can’t help but offer her one last thank you (for your makeup, for helping you style your outfit, for inviting you to get ready with her—and, above all else, for giving you a second chance with open arms), as you skip down the hall, and give a little cheer in response, as she giddily calls out a final, “see you tonight!”

your cloak billows behind you as you prance down the halls and twirl around the corners, your head all but hitting the ceiling with how high the spring in your every step bounces you, each footfall so quick that the heels of your red boots patter like rainfall across the floorboards.

you quickly find your way through to the other side of the girls dormitory building, your smile only growing when you hear familiar voices wafting through the cracks in the ajar bedroom door.

you stifle a giddy laugh as you try to keep your bubbling nerves at bay in your shaky hands that reach for the doorknob; your joy from spending the afternoon with your friends, and the excitement to now reunite with your partners (and the anticipation to admire them completely transformed impossibly more gorgeous than you last saw them, while you, too, stand opposite them just as—in your own humble opinion—drop-dead breathtakingly stunning), swirling together in your gut like a storm of glitter and butterflies.

you can’t wait a moment longer, pouncing forward, prowling silently like a wild predator as you enter (though, your exhilarated smile does put a bit of a damper on the whole intimidation factor—but you couldn’t dim it even if you tried).  

within the blink of an eye, you’ve silently pushed the door open and slipped inside uliana and maleficent’s dorm—and are immediately bombarded by the potent smell of james’ obnoxious cologne battling to overpower maleficent’s equally strong (and arguably lethal, according to the various poisonous agreements you once saw her toss into the cauldron when brewing up a new batch) perfume.

(but the seemingly overwhelming scents simply smell like home to you, as you take a deep inhale, and release a pleasant giggle on the way out.)

you find the pirate himself to the left, stationed in his favourite place; in front of a mirror. he strikes various poses as he mutters to himself, adjusting his shirt every few seconds—rolling and unrolling the long flowy sleeves, gradually unbuttoning the front until there’s more of his bare chest on display than there are buttons done-up, and tugging the neckline down until he may as well have just worn a tube top if he was going to bastardise the original purpose of this shirt’s sleeves so thoroughly.

your boyfriend is so entranced with his own reflection that it takes you shamelessly eyeing him up and down an enjoyably self-indulgent number of times, for him to finally catch your gaze in the glass.

immediately, his arms cross as an eyebrow raises, staring you down as if he’s disgusted at your presence.

but you simply smirk, pulling the body of your cloak aside like a royal preparing to bow, to reveal your outfit (that you’d purposefully kept as a surprise for your partners) to him.

you can practically feel the heat radiating off his cheeks as you give a twirl, giggling to yourself as he quickly turns away from you, curling in on himself in a failed attempt to hide the way his wide eyes still trip over themselves to drink in every perfect little detail of your outfit—his gaze heavy as he’s unable to ever fully tear it away from the expanses of exposed skin in all the right places, and tight-fitting fabric hugging all the others.

(he can try to give you the cold shoulder all he wants; you’re downright ethereal and you know it—and you’re not afraid to use it to distract a grumpy partner or two.)

with what you deem a job well done at flustering your boyfriend, you whirl to look to your right in search of your other partners.

immediately, your eyes meet ones colder than ice, sharp irises of green side-eying you from where they face a gothic vanity you’ve spent many a morning sat in front of. maleficent’s expression is stern and unforgiving as always, attempting to shrink you in your place, now with a tint of disapproval aimed at your bright pink makeup worn brazenly like a mark of allegiance to her sworn enemy.

right behind her, hades has clearly noticed your arrival too, even though he persists his façade of nonchalance—as his hands stall for the briefest second where they skilfully wrap a black veil of lacy spiderwebs around the dark fey’s horns—and your mouth is quick to open with a sarcastic jab at them both, to not get too excited at your return, when an actually excited voice cheers your name, and a blur of green and glitter bounds towards you.

flitting in the blink of an eye from where he’d been peering over hades’ shoulder at his boyfriend’s handiwork, to stand right in front of you, morgie stops short of wrapping you in his one of his usual all-encompassing-rib-crushing hugs, as his jaw drops.

his wide eyes run along every stitch and seam of your outfit—as, frozen in place with awe, he wonders aloud, “am i even allowed to touch you?”

you think your heart might have just exploded a little at his adorably considerate question, and you can’t help but giggle as you reach out to clasp his hand in yours and draw it in to rest on your waist—if anything, you should be asking him if you’re so much as allowed in the same kingdom as himself, as he stands before you worlds apart from the boy, curled up in oversized pyjamas and a face scrunched-up half asleep that barely registered your little peck on the cheek goodbye, that you’d left behind earlier this morning; now appearing as a vision plucked right out of your childhood fantasies of a handsome prince falling irrevocably in love with you, declaring his undying affection to the peasant that had snuck into the royal ball just for a taste of a fine cake or two, but ends up leaving with their lips stained with the remnants of something far better...

his floor-length satin skirt shimmers in specks of sunlight as he steps closer at your encouragement. though his touch is still tentative—the boy endlessly cautious, as he’s terrified that one wrong move might unravel your entire carefully-put-together outfit beneath his hands (not that you’d have much of a complaint about that)—even as you don’t hesitate to run your hands over the intricate embroidery etched into his dark green vest.

“you should touch up the makeup their new friends did,” hades comments from where him and maleficent still watch the two of you (and pretend they don’t find the sight of you and morgie wrapped around each other like muses of a centuries-old painting painfully endearing) as he meets your amused raised-eyebrow gaze, “it looks like a fairy vomited all over your face.”

unbothered, you thread your arm with morgie’s, beginning to guide him across the room towards where uliana’s circular bed hangs suspended from the ceiling—and away from your bitter (but equally beautiful) hecklers.

“well, i think your makeup is lovely,” you coo over your shoulder, grinning at the sight of the blue eyeliner and charcoal eyeshadow that maleficent had spent weeks convincing him to wear for tonight, “what’s that shade, princely cerulean?”

maleficent’s head ducks as she lets out a quiet snort, and with a gasp—that’s only slightly dramatised to make his partners laugh—hades turns back to his supposed teammate stabbing him in the back with a glower.

“yeah yeah, very funny,” he shakes his head, hoping you miss the flash of a mirthful smile at your antics, as he returns to tenderly dressing his girlfriend’s horns.

halfway across the room, you reunite with james as you pass him still fussing over himself in the mirror—pulling the neckline of his shirt impossibly lower, until the edges of what was meant to be his collar bunch up below his shoulders.

“are you sure you’re showing enough skin?”

james turns to pointedly eye the low-cut fabric running down your own chest, “you might as well not wear a shirt at all,” he retorts.

you hum in faux thoughtfulness, running your hand tantalisingly across his bare shoulders as you stroll past, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“you both look like sluts,” maleficent sneers from across the room.

of the same mind, both of you turn to give her a wink in response—james grinning back that, “that’s exactly what i’m going for,” and yourself clutching your chest in a theatrical display of offence, as you reply, “i prefer the term paramour.”

james busies himself with bothering hades and maleficent for their opinions on how he should style his shirt (and scoffing offendedly in dismissal when they, with wicked smirks, simultaneously suggest he start with getting himself a shirt that isn’t wrinkled as horribly as his forehead), as you, to morgie—who had been hanging off your arm like it was a pillow he was desperately trying to find the right position to fall asleep upon—‘s relief, finally make yourself comfortable atop uliana’s softer-than-clouds mattress.

perched like a monarch eagerly waiting for their traitorous adviser to take a sip from their poisoned chalice, you lean back and make substantial room for morgie to lounge beside you—who immediately drapes himself over your legs, his arms sprawling out to haphazardly circle your waist and simultaneously attempt to hold your hands, as, even with his hair carefully styled down to every last curl, he happily nuzzles his head into your lap. gently, you try to spare the intricate design and run your hand down his cheek, but are quickly interrupted as he nudges the top of his head into your hand.

“alright, alright!” you laugh fondly, disregarding (with his permission—nay, demand) what you’re sure is hours’ worth of work from uliana and maleficent desperately trying to keep their boyfriend still for long enough to so much as pass a comb through his hair once, as you run the tips of your bright red nails along his scalp, to his immense enjoyment.

the kind of excitement—for a whole night still to come, you remind yourself, with a silent wish that the joys of today may never end—that makes your lips quiver and your bones rattle inside your body, slowly calms down, as your breaths even out to match morgie’s as they brush warmly against your palm every few seconds.

“how have you been?” you inquire softly as his eyes flutter closed, and a blissful smile takes over his lips.

“i missed you,” he whispers, and it still tugs on your heartstrings every time, even though he says this when you so much as fall out of step with him to tie a shoelace, “but… i’m good,” he lets out a happy sigh, as he takes a second to glance around the room at his other partners (and not for the first time, you wonder what someone as simply nice as him could have possibly seen in someone as needlessly cruel as you had been before you recently started cleaning up your act), “really good.”

you nod, “well, you look good.”

he whines, shuffling further into your lap to hide his bright pink face in the folds of your cloak, and mumbles out an attempt to distract your overwhelming attention before he literally melts in your arms, “how’ve you been?”

“i’m good too,” you chuckle, with one hand softly stroking what of his cheek you can reach to try to coax him out of hiding, whilst you turn your other wrist over in front of you, watching the way the native wonderlandian flower charms of the beaded bracelet bridget leant to you reflect specks of the purest sunlight and glisten like stars.

“…ella couldn’t make it,” you slowly continue, heart heavy with the recent realisation that you’d actually missed the presence of a girl you once looked down upon, “it felt like there was this… this hole in the middle of the group, the entire time. like— we still enjoyed ourselves, and it was still nice, but— there was just this one piece… missing,” you sigh, still fighting the endless battle with the thoughts looming over your mind that hiss that all your new friends’ misfortunes are somehow all you and your evil aura’s fault—no matter how much of yourself you pour into being good, it always snarls that you can never change, that you can never ever grow to be better than the self-absorbed would-be tyrant that’s looked back at you in the mirrors you’d obsess over your entire life.

but then, after a moment of agonising silence, morgie looks up at you with all the care in the world, starlight beaming up at your face like a spotlight manned by someone who can see every jagged little puzzle piece messily shoved together inside of you; and, despite it all, stays—just like every other one of your partners, and every one of your friends, who are still here, and choose to stay every day.

you let out a deep exhale.

it’s all going to be okay, because people love you, and you love them, and you’re not irredeemable, you know it for certain—and he’s whispering now, in that soft voice of his that rolls over you like the fluffy fur of a puppy.

so you card your fingers through his hair, and let the gentlest smile grace your lips when he hums between sentences at the sensation.

“it feels like that when you’re gone too,” he frowns ever-so-slightly downheartedly as he continues, “they don’t wanna admit it because they’re… ‘villains’, but, i can tell… they miss you too.”

from the moment the realisation dawned on you, you’d always known that your self-proclaimed villainous partners wouldn’t take nicely to your change of heart—you were well aware that there’d be a fight, that they’d refuse to let you do this (abandoning them, they’d called it, you were abandoning their way of life—a cruel one, full of kicking down and sucker punches, and cackling viciously as fellow classmates holed themselves in their rooms and cried themselves to sleep—and thus rejecting the people themselves), hell, you’d half-feared-more-than-death half-forced-yourself-to-resign-to the fact that they very well might have just broken up with you then and there.

but you had to. you had to turn over a new leaf, had to be able to look in the mirror each morning and not see someone who found a twisted joy in others’ suffering; had to do the right thing. so, you did.

there was a week of complete radio silence—no contact, no shared classes, not so much as a glimpse could you catch of them across school… which also meant, no bullying.

there had been a sort of tenseness in the perceived peace, as bridget had nervously explained to you early on, she was half convinced your attempts to suddenly start a friendship mixed with your partner’s absence had all been part of some elaborate scheme. but there was no finale ultimo where hades set the school aflame or maleficent cursed the entire student body, there was just nothing—save for the already budding friendship you’d been dedicating yourself to baked with extensive apologies and genuine vulnerability in the truths of your changing ways.

and then, everything snapped back to normal… almost.

morgie had come running back to you, wrapping you tightly in his arms as he’d whispered about how he’d seen you with bridget, and muttered a cryptic mess of how much him and all the others had missed you, yet how he’d watch them spend sleepless nights wondering if your new inclination to goodness was a sign their immoral ways weren’t enough for you anymore.

your heart had shattered, and right there, in the middle of your dorm building, you’d turned to morgie with sobs rolling off your tongue.

“did i make the wrong decision?” you’d cried, clutching him with the terror that he might slip away just like the rest if you were to let go to so much as wipe at your bleary eyes, “should i go back? i don’t know if i could— but i have to, to try, for them. right?”

he’d reassured you—over and over as he’d lain you down on your bed, piling you under the warmest blankest, and surrounding you with the endless collection of stuffed toys your partners had won at various carnivals and fairs, like a royal guard sworn to protect your heart—no, you did the right thing. he’d pressed a kiss to your forehead as he sat by your bed, comforting you until your weeps lulled tired snores, promising; you’ll see.

and over the next week, all your broken pieces were put back together one by one, as morgie’s promise rang true, and your partners seamlessly re-entered your life.

hades was at the door of your dorm the next morning, awaiting to walk you wherever you wanted like he always used to—which now meant to the classes you’d been neglecting, to which he’d grumbled and asked something along the lines of, “are you serious?” but he’d stuck by your side the whole way to your alchemy classroom, and he’d appeared once more to wrap you in his leather jacket the minute it ended.

then, at night, uliana had dragged you all the way from your dorm to hers in the pitch darkness, grunting about how she was having trouble sleeping again, and that “mali still cuddles like an angry dragon”. so you’d laid down for her to curl atop your chest, and couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of it all washing back over you—as if you’d never lost this at all—as maleficent perched herself on the foot of the bed, and completed the ritual of reading the two of you one of her childhood fairytales (with funny voices, like you always insisted because it made a half-asleep uliana giggle like a little kid), until yourself and uliana drifted off to slumber in perfect harmony.

then, everything finally fell back into place the following afternoon, when james approached you as you sat with bridget and ella by the fountain. it had been an obvious olive branch—and you were more than happy for it—when he’d invited you back into the black lagoon, muttering about painting nails or watching movies or whatever you wanted, but you knew it wouldn’t even matter if you sat in silence together for hour; he just wanted you back.

so you’d promised to catch up with your friends later, and for the whole five minutes it took for ella to remind bridget (in a daze of getting herself excited about your first ever baking session together the following weekend) that you were in a bit of a hurry, your boyfriend waited; silently hovering by your side, the boy who had a habit of making a scene whenever someone kept him waiting, simply offered friendly nods and awkward attempts at smiles, all the way until you finally parted ways with the girls, and he clung onto you like he was scared you’d drift back to them—and away from him—if he let go.

that weekend, you’d frozen when fay mentioned she isn’t scared to walk to class alone anymore; in your absence, your partners had been… changing, trying to be nicer, holding back punches and biting down on the lashes of sharp tongues.

now, your relationship isn’t worse than before (you love them and they all love you, it’s evident in every brush of your hands and every affectionate smile not a single one of you are strong enough to fight), and it’s not better either (maleficent still hisses at teachers, and uliana still scoffs at classmates that ‘have the nerve to try to talk to someone as fabulous as her’), it’s just different.

but above all else, it still exists, and you’re all still fighting tooth and nail to hold onto each other.

you sigh, cupping morgie’s face between your palms, gazing down at him lovingly as you try not to cry a waterfall of tears that aren’t even certain what exactly they’re crying for.

“hey,” you smile, slowly gaining stability amongst treacherous waters, as you smile at your boyfriend with a growing hint of playfulness.

“hi,” he leans into your hands as your thumbs run along his cheeks, smiling comfortingly as the two of you slowly drift away into a nice little lagoon that’s surface shimmers like a clear night’s sky.  

you take in the sight of his bright makeup with a giggle; you’d thought fay was practically drowning in body glitter—with glistening legs and her hair looking like each strand’s entire length was kissed by individual rain droplets—but she’s got nothing on the glitter spread all across morgie’s face, from the green specks generously dusted over his eyelids, to the iridescent glow of almost imperceptible little sparkles highlighting his cheeks.

you hum with a thoughtful frown, “i’ve been thinking…”

morgie giggles as you turn his face every which way in your lap, inspecting him like he’s a particularly difficult to identify specimen from one of your crystals & prisms classes.

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you nod, terribly serious as you pinch his cheek, “i think you’re in need of some more glitter.”

his immediate expression of amused confusion (he knows he’s covered in the stuff, james’ disapproving & disregarded comments of “less is more, darling” are still clear in his mind) doesn’t have but a second to fully form, as you’re immediately ducking down to press your lips to his.

(when he lets out a surprised squeak it takes immense willpower to not press harder until you’ve stolen his every last breath—you think your strength to not kiss this boy within an inch of his life every chance you get might actually be the best example of your foray into goodness, you consider yourself a downright hero to spare those rosy cheeks from being set aflame hotter than hades’ hair!)

your grin is undeniable as he instinctually chases your lips when you part, his wide eyes finally catching on the sight of the glittery lip gloss fay gifted you spread across your curled lips—and now smudged across his, too.

he’s still catching his breath, with a hand raised to ghost along his own lips as if in shock after being dipped halfway to the floor for your very first kiss, while you beam ever so innocently as if you’d simply been sitting here minding your own business when some other dastardly paramour had swooped in and stolen the prince’s breath.

your gaze dances across the room, finding james (now deeply focused on tossing his hair just so that it looks effortlessly roguish), maleficent (tugging at the sleeve of hades’ leather jacket in an attempt to get him to wear the black and gold embroidered “brother #3” toga she’s been trying to get him to wear ever since she burst into laughter upon first stumbling across it in his closet several years ago), and hades (not budging to his girlfriend’s demands, as he grumbles about how “you wouldn’t find it so funny if you had to wear that to all of your cousins weddings for the past millennia”)—but, strangely, still as unusually absent as when you’d arrived; no uliana.

“morgie, love,” he giggles when you boop his nose in greeting, “where’s uli…?”

he points to the locked doorway to your left, a glint of amusement in his eyes at something you clearly missed the brunt of, “she locked herself in the bathroom while she gets ready, ‘cause hades kept messing with her hair.”

“i almost singed her,” hades’ eyeroll is audible, “accidentally.”

“he did it to annoy me, twice!” uliana screeches from inside the bathroom, “on purpose!”

bubbles of laughter fade just as quickly as you’d chuckled at the conjuring of the mental image of your girlfriend scurrying around the room like the frantic movements of maleficent’s anxious raven as she flees taunting chuckles connected to outstretched flaming fingers—when you hear the unclicking of a lock, and your girlfriend emerges from her sanctuary; with a carefully curated glare directed at you, pinched across the most beautiful face painted with the most impressive makeup in tendrils of deep haunting blues and vibrant sea greens and yellows so rich they shimmer like gold.

the sea witch scoffs, and your eyes are drawn to the gradient perfectly fading from a blue like seaweed inwards to a seafoam green across her lips.

“i see the traitor has returned from enemy territory.”

“happy to be back,” you smile genuinely, the only thing holding you back from lurching forwards and kissing your gorgeous girlfriend silly being the boy now draped across your side, weighing you down with his head tucked into your shoulder as he offers a cheerful “hi, uli!” that never fails to make her furious at the way it seizes her heart like the clutch of a fistful of razor-sharp talons (no matter how much she fights the notion that she could possibly be soft for anyone like a lifelong nemesis, you all see the way she ‘reluctantly’ melts into hugs, or pretends to be annoyed by kisses on the cheek, before masking a duck away to hide her undeniable smile as a disgusted shake of her head).

“well, i have to take your side on this one, love,” you offer hades an apologetic pout, “that hairstyle is definitely worth protecting.”

uliana smirks smugly, posing with one hand on her hip as the other waves dismissively to the god as if he’s some sort of lowly fan squirming at her feet—but, it takes less than a moment for her to start to squirm, suddenly pinned down by everyone of her partners shamelessly admiring the rare sight of her natural tight curls kissing her shoulders—as james lets out a whistle in agreement, smirking a comment that makes even morgie’s cheeks against your shoulder warm (and does not bear repeating—your boyfriend’s mouth of a sailor rivalling what even you dare cheekily whisper), as the pirate’s eyes dip from her ruffled corset resembling a scallop shell, down to her sequined pants that are skin tight all the way until they flare at her calves how she likes her entrances; dramatic.

her eyes dip bashfully, grumbling something about how this is all somehow your fault, trying to play off her sudden bout of shyness as some sort of silent treatment (and definitely not anything like being flustered—she’s too badass for that, uliana triskelion does not get flustered!).

you’re more than ready to flirt your girlfriend into an early grave—an unravelling tome’s-length of salacious compliments already loaded into the chamber—when the creak of the bedroom door pierces through the room, and your heads all snap to the side with inquisitive frowns.

“oh, hi bridget!” morgie greets the sudden presence, and you’re bouncing up from your seat with a gasp before he even finishes saying her name.

“bridey!” you squeal, enveloping her in a quick hug as you drag her away from awkwardly lingering in the doorway, your smile blinding as she squeaks out an equally joyful exclamation of her nickname for you.

(behind you, each of your partners’—save for morgie (though he’s not exactly thrilled about the sudden coldness from the lack of you holding him close)—demeanours flip like switches, their gazes sharp and cold like icicles, as they prowl across the room, closing in on you, and the unwelcome presence that dares to steal you away from them, like a possessive pack of wolves.)

(but you couldn’t care less for their brooding, your attention unapologetically fixating on a girl you’re quickly realising might be your best friend; a concept you’ve never been an outgoing enough person to experience outside of your partners.)

“how are you? is everything alright, dear?”

bridget nods like a bobblehead, the bubbly princess grinning like enthusiasm personified, even as her bright pink curls threaten to bounce out of their hairpins with the motion, and she pants from clearly having sprinted the whole way from her dorm to here.

“everything’s peachy,” she reassures you, as her hands momentarily delve into her dress’ pockets to retrieve something, “i just forgot to give you—” she struggles with her skirt’s endless layers of ruffles eating her hands alive, until she finally wrenches them out, victoriously wielding a sheet of stick-on rhinestones, “—these!”

she takes your face into her palms with a speed that puts the surprise kisses you give your partners to shame, as she attentively presses the pink gems from your temples to the corners of your eyes, like little bursts of fireworks across your face.

your eyelids flutter with the new weight of the rhinestones, an appreciative smile growing on your face as you give your head a few tilts to properly show off bridget’s handiwork.

triumphantly, she matches your grin, “perfect!” beginning to slide the sticker sheets back into the depths of her cloud-like puffy ruffles and be on her merry way (and leave you to your partners, that she’s well aware aren’t so jazzed about her brief interruption—and can’t even blame them, when she knows just well as them that your presence is a light like no other), when a voice pipes up from behind you.

“can i have some?” morgie eyes the shimmering stones in bridget’s palm with wonder.

“oh!” the royal momentarily freezes, still not fully used to the lessening of the animosity between her kind and yours—but the light in her eyes is swift to flicker back on, and she starts to step forwards with a hand outstretched, “absolutely, let me just—”

“alright, that’s enough.”

in a flash, morgie is tugged snuggly (and just a little roughly, in haste) into james’s side, just out of bridget’s reach, as uliana takes the cue to step forward with a bitter scowl.

“this isn’t a safe place for someone as… delicate as you, princess,” she approaches the other girl until they’re toe-to-toe, staring her down with an expectant raised eyebrow.

(but uliana doesn’t take a single step further—pushing and pushing until the wonderlandian tumbles down a stair she hadn’t expected to be so close behind her, or until she’s intimidated to the point where she has no choice but to flee with her tail between her legs—like she used to. there’s almost a hint of patience in your girlfriend’s eyes, as she has the consideration to not try to strip your friend of her every last scrap of dignity with shove after shove, like she once relentlessly would have, and simply waits for her to turn around to exit of her own accord.)

you give an amused scoff—once you’ve made a cursory glance to double-check bridget knows she’s no longer in danger in your partners’ company (beyond the apparent broiling cauldrons of almost endearing jealousy)—and slink behind uliana to grab morgie’s hand, giving him no choice but to drag along behind you (to james’ immediate shocked grunt of disapproval) as you plant yourself beside bridget, and link your arms together.

“you have a point uli,” you give a faux conceding sigh (to which bridget muffles a giggle at your unrelenting penchant for theatrics), “which is why i think we—” you nod to the pink-haired girl beside you, and to the boy on your other side that is currently trying and failing to not split in half from the pulls of your hold on him wrestling with james’, “—are going to hang out in bridey’s room!”

“oh no, really, it’s alright,” bridget chuckles, nodding to the doorway as she attempts to step out of your scheme’s spotlight, “i’ve got lots to do— super busy with dance practice—!”

you shake your head fervently, “no need to be so formal, b! we’ll have so much fun spending the whole night together; just us!”

you barely finish the sentence through a bitten-down grin and held-back laughs, before there’s a harsh tug on your cloak, and you’re torn from morgie and bridget; tumbling face-first in the opposite direction of the doorway you’d been making a show of edging the three of you towards.

you grunt as your face slams into someone’s chest—but, after the dizziness subsides, you let out a little hum at the silkiness of the blue shirt against your skin.

“hello, hades,” you chuckle, his hand possessively grabbing your hip to keep you close as you twirl in his hold—and look back at where you’d been standing a moment ago, to find maleficent appearing in front of you like a shadowy apparition of skintight black velvets and (only allegedly curse) gothic silver jewellery, blocking your view of a silently amused bridget (now standing alone, as morgie has been firmly place back beside james).

“well,” she smiles at you knowingly, “i’ll be on my way now—bye!”

you return her wave—even as hades gives a tug at your flowing sleeves to try to keep your arm down—grinning as you blow her a kiss, “see you later, sweetheart!”

the second bridget is over the threshold, uliana’s diy platform boots stomp forward and slams the door shut like the sound of thunder crashing.

however, you don’t so much as flinch when she whirls to you, even as gold bangles rattle like the ground beneath her feet as she glares at you with a thunderstorm in her eyes. the air is thick, your partners tightly strung (solely from the stranger barging into their space—and certainly not because of any sort of jealousy)—but your presence slices through the tension like a knife, your obvious nonchalance as you lean backwards to lounge against hades’ chest, seemingly unbothered by the silver spikes dotted along his leather jacket jabbing into your back, immediately disarming uliana’s attempt at intimidation.

with a tilt of your head and a coquettish smile, you give uliana a wave with a wiggle of your fingers, like a figure illuminated only by the dull light of a streetlamp beckoning a downtrodden stranger to follow you across damp cobblestone into the dark alleyway—where lies either a doorway to a mystical universe full of mystery and divine purpose, or a blunt object to the head (or, your favourite; perhaps a kiss.)

unsurprisingly, uliana is unimpressed by your apparent refusal to take her incredibly reasonable chagrin seriously—but her fury is quickly being pushed aside, as she can’t fight the way your cool composure (that is just a little bit sort of only slightly completely undeniably overwhelmingly attractive) snuffs out the fire in her chest (and simultaneously sets alight a new one, that tickles against her ribcage like butterfly wings).

james takes centre stage as uliana is rendered nothing but flustered huffs and glueing her eyes to the sight of toes scuffing against the carpet to avoid your heavy gaze.

“well, that was some escape attempt,” his usual smug smirk is replaced with a dramatic pout as he invades your line of sight, his voice flooding with mocking pity, “hanging around all those goodie two shoes really softened you up, huh? couldn’t handle five minutes alone with the big bad villains—had to go running for your princess to save you?”

you step toe-to-toe with your boyfriend, languid as you reply with a matter-of-fact; “i’m not scared of you.”

“oh?” he drags out the exclamation, matching your tone as he moves even closer until your chests are an inch away from colliding, “i think you are—your poor, soft, heart can’t handle anything that isn’t glitter or little pink rhinestones.”

“how about we skip castlecoming; spend the night together, in here, alone,” you meet uliana’s saucer-wide eyes over james’s shoulder as you purr the invite, your own smirk only growing as her mouth drops agape at your insinuation, “then i can show you all how truly not scared i am…”

you girlfriend’s heart pounds against her chest, the warmth in her cheeks bubbling like a potion gone awry, her fidgeting from a moment ago ceasing as she finds herself frozen in shock.

“you— that— wh— what?!” she sputters like she’s choking on the very real urge to accept your invite, “n-no— we— we can’t!”

she sounds like she’s almost trying to convince herself, as she slams her hands on her hips and shakes her head dizzily, “we have a— a bunch of— unfashionable, uncool royals to upstage! we are not skipping the event of the year for your— your deceitful schemes!”

and with that, she’s all but sprinting across the room to escape your orbit.

“i thought you liked my deceitful schemes,” you pout at her in faux hurt—that is decidedly dampened in its convincingness when a giggle bubbles up along with it—as she storms past you (and completely ignores you, in favour of her tunnel vision set on a mirror she plans to vacantly stare at as she makes herself look busy and desperately hope no one tries to follow her—knowing that one more second under any of your gazes and she is going to actually explode from the heat building up like raw sparks of electricity dusted across her cheeks and trailing up her nose).

with an eyeroll at your parting comment, maleficent grabs your chin to turn you to face her.

“i can see why you’d want to forgo castlecoming, with makeup like that,” she eyes bridget’s handiwork with a scowl (and a twinkle in her eyes that is none of your business, and has nothing to do with the fact that she actually does find a beauty in the way that damn princess somehow managed to make you even more stunning than your usual baseline of murder-your-filthy-rich-spouse-and-get-away-with-it gorgeous), “you should have asked someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

“of course, next time i’m all yours,” you nod obediently, but the second of reprieve doesn’t last long, before she’s subjected to your cheeky smirk once more, “any excuse to be close to you, my black dahlia.”

her second eyeroll of the past minute is laced with fondness, a rare hint of a smile gracing her lips, as she gives a gentle pat to your cheek still in her hold, before releasing you, and returning to her vanity.

you grin at morgie as he passes by with a peck to your opposite cheek.

you tap your cheek expectantly as you turn to face where hades still stands behind you, who raises an amused eyebrow—and chuckles at your pout when he leans forward only to jab a finger into your cheek.

“if no one else will, i’ll admit it; you do look alright,” he nods to you with only the slightest hint of an appreciative smirk giving away anything but nonchalance.

“one might say… i look hot, like a fire?”

“yeah, yeah, fuck you,” he leaves you snorting to yourself at your own joke, wandering over to join maleficent and morgie where they labour over curating the perfect jewellery combinations.

after a twirl to survey the room, you set off with a flourish of your cape towards the full-length mirror which uliana and james barely so much as glance at, as she no doubt uses an extensive strain of nit-picky half-insults to try to shrug off her embarrassment as she complains about how horrible (and horribly attractive) her partners insist upon being.

her mouth snaps shut the second she spots your billowing red sleeves wrap around your boyfriend from behind—whilst you catch the flash of a smile from james when he realises it’s you, and guides your right hand that snakes around his chest to slip under the soft fabric of his shirt, as your left clasps where his other hand rests at his hip.

“…do you mind?” uliana squints at you, pointedly ignoring the way you pull at james’s shirt to reveal even more of his chest.

you simply shake your head in response, planting your chin atop his shoulder to admire them both in the mirror.

“have you considered showing off more of your chest, uli? it’s all the rage right now.”

james jostles the two of you as he throws his head back to laugh, and you use the momentum to rock your bodies side-to-side, until you tilt close enough to press a hand to the small of her back to pull your girlfriend closer, and sneak the flicker of a kiss against her own bare shoulder.

she can’t bring herself to fight your affection anymore; reduced to simply staring at you with doe-like eyes as your touch runs down her side softly.

“i hate you,” she whispers in a voice so tender you’ve half a mind to think perhaps you’d simply misheard her pleading for a kiss.

“oh i know,” you hum with a lazy smile, “me and my ‘deceitful schemes’.”

she whines, deep in her throat, pouting as she grumbles a pitiful, “nevermind.”

“aw, come here sweetheart,” you hold her cheek so she has a vessel to melt into—and a palm to nuzzle into—as the petname liquifies her bones where she stands, “i love you, too.”