jollyjotter

[jollyjotter]

if you see me bleeding out with a vampire on top of me MIND YOUR BUSINESS!!!!! i’m exactly where i want to be

[jollyjotter]

Vanitas No Carte

incorrect quotes

1) Vanitas: Dante has no survival skills, his need to win has replaced them.

Johann: That cant be true!

Vanitas: Watch this.

Vanitas: Hey Dante, race you to the bottom of the stairs!

Dante: *Throws himself out a window*

•

2) Johann: I have issues.

Dante: Finally, you admit it! The fırst step to redemption is accept

Johann: With you.

•

3) Johann: Are you guys bringing anything to the party?

Jeanne: Yeah, an empty stomach!

Vanitas: My sparkling personality.

Dante: A flagrant disregard for common decency?

Noé: ...

Noé: Chips.

•

4) Vanitas: Yeah, I'm a false prophet, but you believed me, so whose fault is it really that we're in this mess?

•

5) Noé: You use emojis like a straight person.

Johann: That's literally the worst thing anyone has ever said about me.

•

6) Dominique: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Vanitas and Jeanne's convo?

Johann: Me. I'm in the laundry basket.

Dante: I'm in the washing machine.

Noé: Im in the closet.

Johann: We accept you Noé. <3

Noé: No I'm literally in the closet.

Johann: Love is love. <3

Noé: ....

•

7) Vanitas: I never understood why people cared so much about their dumb friends until | got a dumb friend myself.

Vanitas: *Turns to look at Noé*

Vanitas: I've only befriended Noé for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him | would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

•

8) Dominique: Is this gaslighting? Am | being gaslit?

Veronica: Domi, if | were gaslighting you, you'd never know it.

Dominique: Is THAT gaslighting?

Veronica: Shut up.

•

9) Vanitas: You're giving me a sticker?

Luna: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying "me-wow!"

Vanitas: I'm not a stupid kid.

Luna: Fine, I’ll take it back..

Vanitas: No, I earned this, back off!

•

10) Noé: So, I've organized your messages into three categories..

Noé: "From Vanitas".

Noé: "Death Threats".

Noé: and "Death Threats From Vanitas".

•

11) Vanitas: What are you in the mood for?

Jeanne: World domination.

Vanitas: That's a bit ambitious.

Jeanne: You are my world.

Vanitas: Oh.

Jeanne:

Vanitas:

Jeanne:

Vanitas: OH.

•

12) Dominique: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized.

Noé: *steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to his knees and sob while apologizing profusely*

Dominique: That one. | want that one.

•

13) Vanitas: Here are two pictures. One of them is your bedroom, and the other is a garbage dumpster. Can you tell which is which?

Noé:

Noé: This one is the dumpster.

Vanitas: They’re both your bedroom.

•

14) Vanitas: Jeanne is playing hard to get.

Vanitas: Little does she know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

•

15) Noé: Hey.

Vanitas: Hey?

Noé: I cant sleep. :/

Vanitas: I can. Goodnight.

•

16) Dominique: Crushes are the worst... Whenever I'm near mine, | start acting stupid.

Noé: But you always act stupid.

Noé:

Noé: Wait a minute...

•

17) Vanitas: You got a date yet Jeanne?

Jeanne: No...

Vanitas: Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

•

18) Johann: Ugh, there's always that one weak bitch in the group who isn't down with murder.

Johann: *side-eyes Noé*

Noé: Well, sorry I have morals!

•

19) Noé: You use humor to deflect your trauma.

Dominique: Awww, thanks!

Noé: That's not a good thing...

Dominique: All I'm hearing is that you think I'm funny.

•

20) Jeanne: I still have no idea how I'm attracted to you...

Vanitas: Yeah, well, you're stuck with me, and no take backs, darling.

•

21) Vanitas: There is no future. There is no past. Dont you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that humans insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every fact.

Noé: ...All I asked was if you wanted to cut your birthday cake fırst.

Vanitas: ....

•

22) Vanitas: I want to kiss you.

Jeanne, not paying attention: What?

Vanitas: I said if you die, I wont miss you.

•

23) Vanitas: You disgust me.

Dante: *eats a kitkat sideways*

Vanitas:

Dante:

Vanitas:

Dante: I realize this and don't care.

•

24) Luna: You know, there's something weird going on with your face?

Vanitas: What?

Luna, super happy: You're smiling! I didn't know you could do that?

•

•

•

[jollyjotter]

“I’ve seen a lot of people saying they dislike Vanijeanne because it’s abusive and say Vanoe is fine and healthy, but fail to mention that Vanitas and Noe say they dislike each other and Vani tried to stab Noe… I feel like if Vanijeanne is toxic, so is Vanoe“

[jollyjotter]

𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑷𝒀 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝒀𝑬𝑨𝑹

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿

𝖱𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉: 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉

•

•

•

Paris had never looked so alive. The flickering glow of gas lamps spilled onto the cobblestone streets, mingling with the gold and white fairy lights strung between buildings.

The towering silhouette of the Eiffel Tower loomed in the background, its upper platform decorated in preparation for the New Year’s fireworks.

A few street performers filled the crisp evening air with violin and accordion melodies, and laughter rippled as couples danced or clapped in time with the beat.

Among the festivities, a man in a jester costume moved through the crowds, handing out flowers to unsuspecting passersby.

He didn’t speak but gestured extravagantly, eliciting smiles from children and adults alike.

At the edge of the gathering, Noé stood in animated conversation with Dominique, his expressive gestures occasionally catching your attention.

Dominique had been roped into this outing after Noé’s insistence, though she kept her distance from the main bustle.

You, however, lingered on the pavement in front of a quaint boulangerie that had stayed open late to cater to the crowd. The warm glow of its windows offered a cozy backdrop as you watched two children spinning each other in a clumsy but joyful dance.

Their laughter was contagious, and though you didn’t join in yourself, a soft smile curled your lips.

Your reverie was interrupted by something unexpected—a bright red, glazed apple on a wooden skewer, thrust into your line of sight.

“Here.”

You blinked and turned, finding none other than Vanitas standing beside you, his usual coat and scarf shielding him from the chill.

His eyes weren’t on you but scanned the crowd instead, as though he were handing you the apple on some unseen obligation rather than out of genuine interest.

When you didn’t immediately take it, he gave an impatient huff, shaking the skewer slightly in front of your face. “Don’t make me hold this all night.”

Bemused, you reached out and accepted the apple. “Thank you?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, his tone flat.

You tilted your head, watching him with curiosity as he crossed his arms. “I didn’t ask for one.”

“I know,” he retorted, still not meeting your gaze. “I just thought you’d want one.”

“Did you buy one for yourself?”

“You know I hate that sweet stuff.”

His flat response made you stifle a laugh. Typical Vanitas. He’d disappeared earlier to greet Dante, and left you standing here by yourself.

Yet here he was, casually thrusting it into your hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

In the distance, the musicians began another tune, a lively waltz. The crowds grew more animated as midnight approached, pocket watches being checked with eager anticipation. The Eiffel Tower stood as a silent sentinel, ready to erupt into light and sound.

“So,” you asked, breaking the silence between you, “are you excited for the fireworks?”

Vanitas scoffed. “Fireworks are nothing special.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you come?”

He glanced at you then, finally meeting your gaze. His blue eyes glinted under the soft light, their usual sharpness tempered with something unreadable. “Because you asked me if I wanted to come.”

Your heart skipped. “Wait.. so you came because I asked?”

The question hung in the air like the fragile tension of a violin string. Vanitas froze, and though his expression remained composed, you swore you saw the slightest twitch of his eye.

“I mean—” he began, only to cut himself off with an annoyed sigh. He turned away abruptly, his scarf catching the breeze. “Nevermind.”

Suppressing a grin, you decided to let him off the hook. “I’m glad you did,” you said softly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen fireworks. I think it’ll be worth it.”

He shrugged, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. “You’re expecting too much, really. Noé’s the exact same. Always looking at things like they’re some grand spectacle.”

You laughed, a light sound that made him glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

The warmth in your gaze caught him off guard, and he looked away again, pretending not to notice.

The silence that followed was companionable, marked only by the distant chatter of the crowd. Midnight approached.

“I mean it,” you said after a moment. “I’m glad you came along.”

Vanitas turned his head slightly, studying you with a look that bordered on suspicion. “You say that like it matters.”

“Why, it does,” you replied. “To me, anyway.”

He blinked, visibly thrown by your sincerity. After a beat, he recovered, clearing his throat and gesturing to the apple in your hand. “Just eat that already. You’re making it awkward.”

You grinned, twirling the skewer between your fingers instead of taking a bite. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to shut me up?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t talk so much.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, something in his expression stopped you.

His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. His gaze was locked on yours now, and for once, he wasn’t trying to hide whatever was stirring behind those sharp blue eyes.

A million thoughts raced through your mind as you stared at him, the bustling crowd and lively music fading into the background.

Was he annoyed with you? Or was he.. surprised?

Before you could settle on an answer, Vanitas leaned in, his movements deliberate but not hesitant.

You froze as his lips brushed yours, the faint taste of peppermint lingering from his breath.

The world seemed to explode in tandem with the fireworks that burst into the sky, casting colorful light over the Parisian streets.

Cheers erupted from the crowd, but you barely heard them.

When Vanitas pulled back, his expression a flustered frown, though a faint flush colored his cheeks. “Happy New Year,” he muttered, his tone almost begrudging.

You blinked, your fingers tightening around the skewer of the untouched apple. “Happy New Year,” you echoed, a dazed smile spreading across your face.

Vanitas stepped back, his usual cocky smirk returning as he gestured to the sky. “You’d better enjoy this. I’m not doing anything this ridiculous again.”

You laughed, the warmth in your chest blooming into something undeniable. “We’ll see about that.”

As the fireworks continued to light up the night, you knew one thing for certain—this was going to be an interesting year.

[jollyjotter]

𝑻𝒖 𝑽𝒊𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝑴𝒐𝒏 𝑪𝒐𝒆𝒖𝒓 ❤️‍🩹

𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗕𝗲𝘁𝗮-𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱 ☹︎

𝗧𝗪: 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗈𝖼 𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 (𝗂𝖽𝖿𝗄???), 𝗌𝖺𝖽 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌, reader briefly threatens to kill Misha, NO ONE DIES

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝘁𝘂𝘀: 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 Relationship (romantic)

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲: 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍/𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍

✯☆✩✵✯☆✩✵✯☆✩✵✯☆✩✵✯☆✩

The snow fell softly over Paris, blanketing the streets in a hushed tranquility that seemed at odds with the chaos that stirred within Vanitas. The snow outside the window was mesmerizing, sure, yet your focus remained entirely on the man in your arms.

Vanitas sat crumpled against your chest, his legs drawn close to his body as if trying to make himself smaller. His dark coat lay abandoned on the floor, and a heavy duvet was messily draped over his shoulders.

His hair was unkempt, his hands trembling as they clutched the soft fabric of your shirt. Your arms encircled him, one hand tangled in his dark locks while the other rubbed soothing circles along his back.

He had climbed in through your window hours ago, disheveled and hollow-eyed, barely saying a word before collapsing into your embrace. You hadn't asked why.

It wasn’t until now, as the fire in the hearth crackled softly and the city outside settled into its nocturnal rhythm, that Vanitas began to speak.

At first, it was disjointed—small fragments of thoughts and scattered mentions of Mikhail. You had hummed occasionally, your fingers threading through his hair to encourage him.

Then, as if a dam had broken, the words poured out of him.

Vanitas had spoken of his past, the things he never intended to share with anyone. His voice wavered as he described the experiments, the betrayals, and the twisted love of a father who had died to protect him.

He had laughed bitterly at times, the sound hollow, mocking himself for daring to be vulnerable in front of you.

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t ask probing questions or try to offer platitudes. You simply listened, your cheek resting against the crown of his head, your hands never ceasing their comforting movements.

“I didn’t want this,” Vanitas murmured, his voice cracking. “I didn’t ask for any of it—the Book, Mikhail, or.. anything.” His hands clenched tighter at your garment. “I don’t deserve to have someone care about me. Not after everything I’ve done. Not when—”

“None of that,” you whispered, your tone gentle yet firm.

Vanitas quieted, though his breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling erratically.

You shifted slightly, pulling him closer until his head rested fully against your chest. You kissed his temple softly, your lips lingering as you let your own thoughts form into words. “If he tries to harm you, I will kill him,” you said with quiet conviction.

Your tone was devoid of dramatic flair, yet it held a weight that made Vanitas’s heart seize. He knew you meant it. You had a ferocious loyalty that burned brighter than any flame, and the idea of you staining your hands with blood—the blood of the people who tries go stand in his way—shook him to his core.

“No,” he croaked, his voice suddenly panicked. He pushed away from you, just enough to look up, his wide blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No, don’t say that. Don’t—”

You frowned slightly, but before you could respond, Vanitas’s voice rose into a near-shout.

“No, I don't even want to hear it- No! Don’t you dare throw your life away for me! Don’t you dare kill for me!” His hands gripped your shoulders tightly, trembling with the force of his emotions. “You don’t understand! You can’t—” His voice cracked, and he broke off into a sob. “You can’t—"

Your brows furrowed, your expression unreadable as you watched him unravel.

“I’ve already lost someone,” he whispered, his tone anguished. “My father—he died protecting me. And what for? For this?” He gestured to himself, his voice filled with self-loathing. “For me to become this? To live a life like this?”

Vanitas’s body shook violently as he lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t— I can’t lose you too. I don't want to—”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside you.

You moved quickly, pulling him back into your arms, cradling him as he fell apart. Your chin rested against his head as his tears soaked into the fabric of your shirt. “Vanitas,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shook his head against you, unable to believe your words, unable to accept the idea that someone would choose to stay with him despite everything.

You pressed your lips to his temple again, lingering for a longer moment. “You’re not alone anymore,” you whispered. “I will be here. Do you understand me?”

Vanitas didn’t respond, but his hands gripped your garment even tighter, as if afraid you would vanish if he let go.

The snow outside continued to fall, soft and silent, covering the streets of Paris in a pristine white. The fire in the hearth crackled on, casting flickering shadows across the room.

For a long time, the two of you stayed like that—you holding Vanitas as he clung to you, his sobs gradually quieting until his breathing evened out.

“You deserve to be loved, you know. Whether you believe me or not, that’s the truth. And I’ll remind you of it every day, if I have to.”

Vanitas didn't even dare looking at you, his throat tightening as fresh tears welled in his eyes. But, for once, he didn’t argue.

Instead, he leaned into your touch, allowing himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe—just maybe—you were right.

You tilted your head slightly, your fingers still stroking Vanitas’s hair as you spoke softly. “Would you like to go for a walk? Some fresh air might help,” you suggested, your voice carrying a gentle encouragement. “After that.. you could stay here tonight if you wanted.”

Vanitas froze at the offer, his blue eyes darting to yours with a flicker of uncertainty. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

You waited patiently, your hand continuing its soothing motion against his back. “There’s no pressure. If you don't want to, that's fine. No hard feelings, really. Just.. something to think about.”

After a long pause, he gave a small, reluctant nod. “Alright. A walk sounds fine,” he muttered, his voice low but steady.

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you rose from the bed, gently helping him up. “Take your time,” you said, moving toward your wardrobe to fetch your coat.

Turning back to Vanitas, you found him still lingering near the bed, looking down at his coat on the floor as if unsure what to do next. Without a word, you crossed the room, picked up the garment, and held it out to him.

“Come on,” you said softly.

Vanitas hesitated for a moment before slipping his arms into the sleeves. You carefully adjusted the lapels and smoothed out the fabric before reaching for his scarf. You wrapped the scarf around his neck with practiced care, ensuring it was snug but not stifling.

“There,” you murmured, stepping back slightly to admire your handiwork. “Ready?”

Vanitas nodded silently, and you led the way to the balcony doors. You pulled them open, the crisp winter air sweeping into the room. They stepped outside into the snow-dusted night, the soft glow of gas lamps illuminating the quiet street below.

It was almost serene at this late hour, with only the occasional sound of a carriage rattling in the distance.

You took Vanitas’s gloved hand in your own, your touch gentle but grounding. As the two of you walked, you occasionally rubbed your thumb across the back of his hand, a small gesture of reassurance.

Vanitas didn’t say much, his gaze fixed on the snow-covered pavement ahead. He seemed lost in thought, but he didn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” you said after a while, your voice quiet but warm.

Vanitas glanced at you, his blue eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your rosy cheeks and the faint glow of lamplight in your eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured.

You both walked in companionable silence for a while longer, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots.

The cold air was bracing, but you didn’t mind. You glanced at Vanitas occasionally, noting the way his shoulders seemed less tense than before, the way his grip on your hand grew steadier with each step.

Eventually, Vanitas spoke, his voice quiet but sincere. “Thanks,” he said, his gaze fixed on the ground.

You squeezed his hand gently.

Vanitas looked at you then, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, he looked as if he might argue and retract his gratitude, but instead, he nodded and looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line.

After a while, you cleared your throat gently. “Vanitas?”

He looked at you, his blue eyes soft but cautious.

“I was thinking.. Would you like to go to the Eiffel Tower?” you asked, your tone light yet earnest. “You mentioned once that you liked its design.”

Vanitas blinked, momentarily surprised. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s not every day you talk about something with genuine admiration.”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I appreciate the thought,” he murmured, his voice low, “but.. not tonight.”

You nodded without pressing further. “Alright.”

The two of you walked in silence for a while longer, your thumb brushing against the back of his gloved hand absentmindedly.

Every so often, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “If you ever want me to let go of your hand, just say the word,” you said gently. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Vanitas gave a faint shake of his head. “It’s fine,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart ached as you watched him. The memory of his earlier vulnerability—the way he’d crumpled into your arms, so lost and broken—played over and over in her mind.

You could still feel the weight of his pain, the way he had clung to you as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

Suddenly, your steps faltered, and you stopped abruptly, still holding his hand.

Vanitas turned to you, confusion flickering across his face. “Something wrong?”

You stared down at the snow-covered pavement, your lips pressed into a thin line as you hesitated.

The words you wanted to say swirled in your mind, too heavy and raw to speak easily. Finally, you stepped closer to him, your free hand rising to rest lightly on his chest as you leaned in.

Before Vanitas could react, you wrapped your arms around him.

The hug wasn’t tight, just firm enough to be grounding, to let him know you were there. Your head bowed slightly, resting against his shoulder as your fingers curled around the fabric of his coat. “I’m glad I have you,” you said softly, your voice tinged with emotion.

Vanitas froze, his breath catching in his throat. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to process the warmth and sincerity in your words. He looked down at you, your hair brushing against his jawline, the faint scent of your perfume enveloping him.

Your arms tightened slightly around his waist, your fingers gripping his coat as if afraid he might pull away. But he didn’t.

The two of you stood there in the quiet street, the snow falling softly around them, cocooned in the moment.

Vanitas’s chest ached with a strange, unfamiliar sensation—something he couldn’t name, something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Neither of you spoke.

Vanitas let his gaze linger on you for a moment longer, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides before finally settling on your back. He held you gingerly, as if afraid he might shatter the fragile peace between you two.

For the first time in a long while, the weight of his burdens didn’t feel quite so heavy.

You remained still for a moment, your face pressed lightly against Vanitas’s chest. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of him beneath the layers of his coat.

Your fingers curled more tightly into the fabric, grounding yourself in the closeness you shared with eachother.

Then, slowly, you leaned back just enough to tilt your head up and meet his eyes. Your hands slid from his coat to rest lightly on his sides, but your grip remained firm as if afraid to let go entirely.

“Vanitas,” you said softly, your voice steady but tinged with tenderness. “I meant what I said.”

His brows furrowed slightly, confusion and something akin to disbelief flickering in his blue eyes.

You gave him a small, faintly amused smile before continuing. “You’re amazing,” you said earnestly. “Not flawless—not perfect. You’d hate it if I lied about that, wouldn’t you?”

Vanitas’s lips twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing.

Your expression softened further as you held his gaze, your eyes shining with quiet conviction. “But none of that matters to me. I care about you, not in spite of your flaws, but because of who you are.” Your voice dropped slightly, as though sharing a secret meant only for him. “I love you.”

Your words hung in the air between the two of you, gentle yet weighted.

Vanitas’s breath hitched, his hands hovering uncertainly near your arms as though unsure of what to do. “Why?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Your smile widened just a fraction, your hands sliding up to rest lightly on his shoulders. “Because you’re you, simple as that,” you said simply. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it, nor do I want to.”

Your head tilted slightly, your gaze never wavering from his. Vanitas stared at you, his throat tightening as a flood of emotions surged through him.

Your unwavering belief in him, your quiet persistence—it was overwhelming, terrifying, and deeply comforting all at once.

He wanted to protest, to argue that you were entirely wrong, that he didn’t deserve your kindness, much less your love. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he lowered his gaze, his hands finally settling hesitantly on your waist. Vanitas allowed himself to lean into your touch once more.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel the need to carry the weight of his burdens alone.

•

•

•

[jollyjotter]

𝑻𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒆 🎀

𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖵𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾!𝖮𝖢

𝖻𝖾𝗍𝖺-𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 ���︎

𝗧𝗪: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖮𝖢 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖫𝗎𝖼𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗏𝗇𝖼 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈n 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾. 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁: 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗒, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 (𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗇)

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, a bit of hurt/comfort

𝗧𝘆𝗽𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽: 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉

༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

The soft crackle of the hearth filled Lucille’s private quarters at Le Hôtel de Verre, and the flickering flames cast a warm, golden glow over the room.

Snowflakes danced just beyond the window, veiling the Rue La Fayette in quiet serenity. It was a week before Christmas, and while the suite was tastefully decorated with wreaths, garlands, and a modest tree in the corner, it was the fire’s light that stole the focus.

Lucille sat curled on her chaise, legs tucked beneath her. She wore a sage green dress, snug and simple, its smooth fabric pooling around her. Golden hair, pale as morning sunlight, cascaded over her shoulders.

She gazed into the flames, one hand delicately resting on the wrist of the man sitting beside her.

Vanitas was not his usual self tonight.

His presence was quieter tonight, the sharpness of his wit dulled by exhaustion. He had returned an hour ago, climbing through her window unannounced, brushing off the snow from his coat before curling up by her side like a stray cat seeking warmth.

Now, he was swathed in a heavy blanket, its edges tucked around him by Lucille’s careful hands.

His wrist was injured. The same wrist that bore the mark of the Vampire of the Blue Moon.

Lucille’s fingers moved gently over the fabric of his black glove, massaging the injured area without trying to remove it.

Vanitas rarely let anyone close enough to see his vulnerabilities, much less touch them. But she also knew that silence worked wonders with him.

For a long while, neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Far from it.

Vanitas stared into the hearth, his face partially obscured by the blanket he had nuzzled into. His dark hair was tousled from the wind, strands falling over his sharp blue eyes that gleamed like shards of glass.

His jaw tightened when her fingers pressed a bit too firmly on his wrist, but he said nothing, his gaze unwavering from the flames.

“You’ll hurt yourself more if you don’t let me bandage it,” Lucille said softly, her voice low and steady.

Vanitas didn’t answer.

The firelight reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, Lucille wondered what ghosts were swirling in his thoughts. He had always been like this—so loud, so confident in the company of others, but quiet, if not even uncertain, in these more private moments.

Lucille waited a beat before speaking again, her tone patient but insistent. “Let me take off your glove. Just for a moment.”

This time, Vanitas stirred. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, the blanket slipping slightly to reveal the pale skin of his neck.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice low but carrying a weight that matched the tension in his shoulders.

Lucille didn’t flinch or pull back. Her hand remained steady on his wrist, thumb tracing small circles over the fabric.

“I only want to help you,” she said gently. “Because I care about you, Vanitas.”

He flinched, his lips pulling into a faint grimace. “I don't need help.”

The words slipped out before he could catch them, and for a fleeting moment, his carefully built walls wavered. His gaze darted back to the fire, refusing to meet her eyes.

Lucille felt her heart ache at his tone. He wasn’t rejecting her care—he was afraid. Afraid of what she might see, of how she might react.

Slowly, she shifted closer to him on the chaise, the blanket falling between them as she leaned in. “Vanitas,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I already know you’re marked. I know what it means to you, and I know what it doesn’t. You don’t have to hide. Not from me.”

Still, he didn’t look at her.

Her fingers stilled on his wrist, and she let out a soft sigh. “Please, let me help you.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the fire crackling in the hearth.

Then, slowly, reluctantly, Vanitas extended his arm toward her.

“You're a real pest,” he muttered, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and something softer—something closer to gratitude.

Lucille smiled, her fingers moving to undo the his glove with care. “I'll make it quick.”

Vanitas suddenly tightened the blanket around his shoulders, his blue eyes still fixed on the hearth. “I said no,” he replied, his voice steady but low, almost defeated.

Lucille studied him quietly, noting the tension in his posture—the way his shoulders were drawn tight, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He wasn’t rejecting her care to be obstinate; he was disconcerted, protective of the mark that wound like ink over his wrist.

She didn’t press him further.

Instead, Lucille reached out, her slender fingers wrapping around his gloved hand. She held it gently for a moment before lifting it to her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she nuzzled into his touch, her movements slow and deliberate, as if to assure him there was nothing to fear.

Vanitas stiffened slightly at first, caught off guard by the tenderness of the gesture. But as the seconds passed, he relaxed, his breath evening out.

“Lucille,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost soft.

She smiled faintly but said nothing. She simply held his hand to her cheek, her warmth radiating against the cold leather of his glove.

The silence stretched between them, still not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken emotion. Eventually, Vanitas let out a long sigh, the sound more resigned than irritated.

“Fine then,” he said at last, his tone begrudging but lacking the sharpness from earlier. “But don’t take too long. I’m already regretting this.”

Lucille’s smile widened, though she kept her expression neutral to avoid teasing him. “I’ll be right back,” she promised, rising from the chaise with quiet grace.

Vanitas watched her disappear into the adjoining room, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. He turned back to the fire, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

By the time Lucille returned with a small tin of salve, clean cloth, and bandages, he was sitting more upright, though the blanket was still draped over him. She knelt down in front of him without a word, her movements fluid and calm.

Vanitas’ eyes flicked to her, his expression unreadable as she set the supplies on the floor beside her.

The glove was quickly slipped off, revealing the jagged, dark mark etched into his skin. It spread from the back of his hand like blue ink spilled on parchment, intricate and otherworldly.

Lucille’s breath caught for a moment—not out of fear or disgust, but because of the sheer weight it seemed to carry. This mark was a part of him, a reminder of the burden he bore, and yet it didn’t diminish him in her eyes.

Vanitas watched her quietly, his defenses crumbling with each passing second. Yet, his expression remained wary. “You’re not going to say anything?”

Lucille glanced up, her eyes meeting his. “What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know. That it’s hideous? Frightening? Cursed?” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Take your pick, I've heard it all before.”

“No, none of that.”

She lifted his hand, pressing a light kiss to his knuckles before placing it gently back on his lap to grab the salve.

For once, Vanitas didn’t have a clever retort.

Lucille paused, taking his hand delicately in hers. Vanitas flinched again, his breath hitching.

She looked up at him, her expression calm but warm. “A mark doesn’t change who you are. I hope you know that.”

Her words were gentle, spoken with such certainty that he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. His gaze softened, the tension in his body easing just enough for her to proceed.

Carefully, Lucille smoothed salve over the injury, her touch as light as snowfall. She wrapped the bandages around his wrist with precision, her movements slow and deliberate, wanting to insure his comfort.

As she worked, Vanitas let his gaze rest on her. Her golden hair shimmered in the firelight, and her pale skin glowed softly, like the porcelain figurines displayed in the foyer.

But it wasn’t her beauty that held his attention—it was her tenderness, the way she handled him as though he were something precious.

When she finished tying the bandage, Lucille leaned back slightly, her hands resting lightly on her lap. “There,” she said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Vanitas rolled his eyes. “Guess not” the words felt foreign, awkward on his tongue, but he meant them.

When Lucille knelt before him, her pale blonde hair fell in soft waves around her face, her head bowed. She rested her forehead lightly against his knee, hands encasing his own.

Her touch was gentle but firm, a grounding presence that he hadn’t realized he needed until this moment.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth behind her, casting warm light over the quiet scene. Snow still drifted outside, the faint glow of the streetlamps filtering through the frosted windows.

Inside the suite, the only sound was the faint hum of the flames and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

Vanitas swallowed hard, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came. His free hand tightened around the edge of the blanket as he glanced down at her.

“Thank you,” he repeated, the words escaping his lips timidly, barely audible. His voice was rough, hesitant, as though the very act of gratitude was foreign to him.

Lucille didn’t respond immediately. She remained as she was, her forehead against his knee, her eyes closed. The soft curve of her lips didn’t shift, but her fingers pressed slightly tighter against his hand, as if offering reassurance.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper, the kind of tone that could only exist in the intimacy of the moment.

“I’m thankful for your trust, Vanitas,” she said softly. Her words were calm and measured, but there was a depth to them, a quiet sincerity that struck him deeply.

Vanitas stiffened slightly, unsure how to respond. Trust wasn’t something he gave freely—or at all, if he could help it.

And yet, here he was, letting her bandage a part of himself that he’d kept hidden from everyone else. He hadn’t even meant to allow it, and yet, he did it anyway.

“I don’t-” he started, then stopped, frustrated with himself. His head dipped forward slightly, his bangs falling into his eyes. “Why would you thank me?”

Lucille finally opened her eyes and tilted her head to look up at him. Her gaze was calm, unwavering, her eyes, the shade of rose-quartz, catching the firelight. “Because I want to,” she replied gently, her tone free of judgment. “And fortunately, you don't get to decide what I want.”

Vanitas let out a quiet, humorless laugh, his hand twitching slightly under hers.

“That's also one of the reasons we work so well together, isn’t it?” Lucille snickered at her own comment.

He stared at her for a moment, his sharp blue eyes searching hers for something—what exactly, he wasn’t sure. And then, without thinking, he lifted his uninjured hand and rested it lightly against the top of her head, ruffling her hair.

“You’re one of the few things that make this world feel less.. unbearable,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words were raw, stripped of the usual bravado that accompanied his speech.

Lucille’s smile softened, and she tilted her head just enough to press a featherlight kiss against his bandaged wrist. The gesture was brief but tender, a silent acknowledgment of his words and his trust.

Vanitas felt his breath hitch slightly, his cheeks warming despite the chill that clung to the edges of his frame. He didn’t pull away, though. For once, he allowed himself to remain in the moment, to let the vulnerability settle between them without trying to chase it away.

“Stay,” she murmured softly, her voice a quiet plea. “If only for a few more hours.”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he replied, a rare, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

For tonight, they had each other, and that was enough.

•

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𝗂 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍...

[jollyjotter]

𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒙 𝒓𝒆̂𝒗𝒆𝒔

𝖵𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗑 𝖦𝖭!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

vanitas x gn!reader, brief/mild mention of insomnia, shy reader, soft vanitas, established relationship, sleep comfort, written on a 20 min time limit

✯☆✩✯☆✩✯☆✩✯☆✩✯☆✩✯☆✩✯

You've layn silently for what felt like an eternity, the faint crackle of the fireplace the only sound in the room. You turn onto your side, your hair brushing the pillow as your gaze settles on Vanitas.

He's sprawled across the bed like a starfish, one arm flung carelessly to the side and his legs taking up far more space than necessary.

His face looks peaceful, his long lashes resting against his cheekbones, lips slightly parted as if in a dream. He looks so utterly different from his usual smirking, taunting self that you can’t help but stare.

Half of your face remains buried beneath the quilt, your pale eyes just peeking over the edge as you scrutinize him, your thoughts a muddled mixture of wariness and curiosity.

Is he really asleep? you wonder.

Vanitas gives no indication of wakefulness, his breathing slow and even.

Biting your lip, you hesitate for a moment before inching closer, your movements cautious, testing. You pause, waiting for any sign of him stirring.

When none comes, you scooch a little closer, your hand gripping the quilt tighter as your nerves begin to mount.

You stop when there are only a few inches between the two of you, your eyes flickering to his face.

His dark hair spills across the pillow like ink, the strands catching the faint glow of the firelight. He seems impossibly serene, almost unreal in his stillness.

Your brow furrows. How can someone sleep so peacefully?

Your hesitation grows, and for a moment, you ponder about retreating back to your side of the bed.

With one last glance at him, you begin to shift, your movements slow and deliberate. You turn slightly, your legs preparing to slip off the edge of the mattress—

But before you can escape, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back firmly.

“Ah—!” you let out a startled squeak, your breath catching as Vanitas drags you into his chest with shocking ease.

His grip is unyielding, his body warm against yours as he tucks you firmly under his chin. Your heart races, your mind scrambling to make sense of the sudden shift. He doesn’t say a word, his breathing still steady, as if he is still asleep.

“Vanitas—” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he doesn’t respond.

Instead, he shifts slightly, hooking one leg over your thighs to pin you in place. His other arm slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your soft hair.

You freeze, your body stiff and unyielding, but he doesn’t seem to care.

His other hand, still clad in a black glove with its embedded claws, suddenly slips beneath your nightgown.

You tense up, your breath hitching, but all he does is lightly dragging the clawed tips against your back in a slow, deliberate motion.

The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as the soft scratching melts some of the tension in your muscles.

He knows you like it—he discovered it once, accidentally, and had used it to his advantage ever since.

Your body betrayed you, relaxing ever so slightly against him as the claws continue their gentle path along your back.

Vanitas’s lips twitch, a faint, satisfied smirk ghosting across his face, though his eyes remain closed. He still pretends to sleep, his hold on you firm but not stifling.

You bury your face in the quilt, your cheeks burning as you whisper under your breath, “I knew you weren’t asleep, you liar.”

Again, he doesn’t respond, his breathing steady and his hands continuing their soft ministrations.

The warmth of Vanitas’s body against yours feels oddly comforting.

His hold on you is possessive, but there is also a tenderness to it that makes your heart flutter.

Vanitas' arm around your waist rests firm, the weight of his body both secure and soothing.

His fingers continue to trace gentle lines against your back, the cool touch of his gloves sliding ever so slightly against your skin, sending an involuntary shiver through you.

You close your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the proximity to him, the overwhelming sensation of him being so close, makes it difficult.

The steady rhythm of his breathing is almost hypnotic, and you find yourself gradually relaxing into him, your body unwittingly surrendering to the comfort he provides.

There comes a moment where your mind wanders, thinking about all the little things Vanitas does when no one is watching—things that he never admits to, but are very much clear to you.

The way he would softly touch your hair in the middle of the night, the way he made sure you were always warm enough, even if it sometimes meant giving up his own comfort.

His sharp eyes and arrogant attitude during the day, and this gentle, almost protective side that he showed only when the two of you were alone.

You shift slightly, your chest rising and falling in a soft, almost rhythmic pattern, the weight of sleep starting to pull at you.

But before you can fully succumb to it, you feel him move, his leg shifting slightly to better pin yours beneath him.

His body feels so warm against you, and the motion feels.. almost possessive. It's hard to explain, but you know it's nothing malicious.

It's simply his way of making sure you stay close.

Then, you feel the softest press of his lips against your forehead, the fleeting sensation making your heart skip a beat.

His arms remain around you, his fingers continuing their gentle caress along your back, and you can't help but relax into him.

The tension that has been building inside you for days slowly dissipates, replaced by a calm warmth you didn’t know you needed.

You don’t know when it happened, but the sound of your breathing shifts, becoming steadier, slower. You feel yourself drifting off, the heavy weight of sleep finally claiming you.

Vanitas’s voice, barely a whisper, breaks through the soft haze of your thoughts.

“Bonne nuit,” his words are barely more than a breath, but they held a warmth, a softness that you know was meant just for you. “Mon chérie.”

The last thing you feel before sleep fully overtakes you is the feeling of his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, and the way his body seems to mold perfectly against yours.

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𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋𝗌 <3

[jollyjotter]

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬 x 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

TW: mentions of blood, somewhat suggestive content (?), possibly ooc vanitas, an author that hasn't got the hang of tumblr yet <3

☞︎︎︎ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘂𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗹

☞︎︎︎ 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿𝘀

☞︎︎︎ 𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲

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Before the Relationship/Friendship

➪ Vanitas initially considered you a curiosity, someone who intrigued him precisely because you didn’t seek his attention (or validation)

➪ He was drawn to your independence and strength

➪ He often masked his fascination with teasing and sarcasm

➪ Your dynamic was built on banter and mutual challenges

➪ Despite his flippant attitude, he valued your intellect and your ability to stand up to him

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His Love Language(s)

➪ Acts of Service: While he’d never admit it aloud, Vanitas shows his love through small gestures—fixing your coat, bringing/preparing your favorite pastries, etc.

➪ Words of Affirmation: Over time, he becomes more comfortable offering you genuine compliments (though they’re often wrapped in playful mockery)

➪ Physical Touch: Initially hesitant, he grows increasingly affectionate - particularly in private

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Your First Kiss

➪ Your first kiss was impulsive on his part—he couldn’t resist anymore and closed the distance during an emotional moment

➪ You were surprised, but you didn’t pull away

➪ It led to a rare moment of mutual vulnerability

➪ Afterwards, he made a joke to mask his nervousness

➪ His flushed cheeks gave him away

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The First Few Weeks of the Relationship

➪ Vanitas struggled to find a balance between his usual flippant antics and showing genuine care

➪ He doubted himself often

➪ Despite his confidence, he finds himself grappling with insecurities

➪ Why do you care for him? Do you truly like him or are you simply tolerating him?

➪ He rarely lets this show but becomes unusually contemplative when alone

➪ He occasionally overstepped boundaries, but you reproached him and stopped that immediately

➪ Despite his chaotic nature, he began begrudgingly to prioritize your comfort and happiness over his whims

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First Declaration of Love

➪ Vanitas’ confession wasn’t planned

➪ It likely slipped out during a tense situation when he thought he might lose you

➪ “You can not die—you’re the only thing that makes my miserable existence bearable.”

➪ Once he was certain you were stable again, he denied everything

➪ What did you mean, "he confessed", anyway?

➪ He tried to convince you that you imagined it all

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Is He Shy or Not?

➪ Vanitas is not necessarily shy; he’s bold and confident in his flirtations and affections

➪ However, when it comes to genuinely expressing his deeper emotions, he struggles and often masks his vulnerability with humor or deflection

➪ He finds it easy to initiate any kind of affection, whether it is genuine or not, as long as he is the one in control

➪ One little kiss on the cheek, and that man is a mess

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Public Demonstrations of Affection (PDA)

➪ He enjoys teasing you in public with subtle touches or whispered comments, purely designed to fluster you

➪ While he isn’t overly overt, he doesn’t hide your relationship, often using it to show off and rile up those who envy him

➪ While he might hold your hand or offer his arm in a gentlemanly manner, he avoids too grand displays

➪ His more tender moments are reserved solely for privacy

➪ Vanitas gets flustered if you make affectionate gestures toward him in public

➪ Whenever you touch his cheek or saying something sweet, he’ll act like it doesn’t affect him

➪ His flushed face and stiff posture tell a different story

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Presenting Your Relationship to the Public

➪ Vanitas is unapologetic about your relationship, often introducing you as “the only person worth my time” with his usual flair

➪ He enjoys the attention your pairing garners, particularly from those who underestimate him

➪ If you come from a noble family even more so

➪ However, he’s also quick to defend your honor if anyone dares to speak ill of you

➪ After all, he could easily make someone disappear without a trace resolve the problem (with Dante's help, of course)

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Would He Let You Drink His Blood?

➪ Initially, he refused, citing distrust

➪ What sort of lunatic would allow that?

➪ Well.. Vanitas

➪ Over time, he allowed it in moments of necessity, finding the experience both intimate and strangely comforting

➪ Maybe even a bit arousing exciting

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Has He Prior Experience with Relationships or Intimacy?

➪ Vanitas has had no meaningful prior romantic relationships

➪ His past interactions were either manipulative or purely physical, devoid of genuine connection

➪ While he’s confident in his charm, true intimacy—emotional and physical—is new territory for him

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First Time Being Intimate

➪ Your first intimate moment would be both passionate and hesitant

➪ Vanitas would struggle to balance his usual confidence with the fear of vulnerability

➪ He’s surprisingly far more tender than expected

➪ His touch is deliberate, his focus entirely on you

➪ It’s one of the rare times he lets his guard down completely, trusting you not to hurt him

➪ He would constantly seek your verbal and nonverbal consent, a far cry from his former blatant disregard for boundaries

➪ It would be a deeply emotional experience for both of you

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Would He Distance Himself Sometimes?

➪ Yes, Vanitas has a tendency to push you away when he feels overwhelmed by his emotions or fears for your safety

➪ He believes distancing himself protects you from the dangers of his chaotic life

➪ However, you refuse to let him retreat entirely, forcing him to confront his fears and communicate more openly

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Would He Seek Advice From:

➪ Noé:

• Reluctantly

• Vanitas doesn’t trust anyone’s perspective but his own, but in moments of desperation, he might awkwardly ask Noé for advice, though he’ll immediately deny he needs help

➪ Roland:

• Surprisingly, yes

• Roland’s earnest and non-judgmental nature might make Vanitas more willing to listen, though he’d feign indifference the entire time

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Would the Relationship Be Toxic?

➪ Initially, there were toxic elements—Vanitas’ disregard for boundaries and tendency to manipulate situations

➪ However, your firm stance on mutual respect and boundaries helps build a healthier dynamic

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An Absolute Dealbreaker for Him

➪ Betrayal of trust is Vanitas’ ultimate dealbreaker

➪ Given his traumatic past, any hint of deceit or manipulation would deeply wound him (possibly beyond repair)

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𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

♡︎

Jealousy:

- Vanitas is prone to jealousy though he’d never admit it outright

- Instead, he becomes more sarcastic and overly attentive when someone else vies for your attention

Nicknames:

- He loves giving you nicknames

- Vanitas' arsenal ranges from affectionate “Ma chérie” to downright annoying “Bloodsucker Extraordinaire”

Nighttime musings:

- When you're asleep, he sometimes lets his guard down entirely

- He whispers confessions or brushes a hand through your hair as he contemplates how much you mean to him

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i 𝖺𝗆 by far n𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 m𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖺 𝗒𝖾��, and most of my knowledge (?) about vnc only comes from fan writings or blogs, so 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇 in the future, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 <3

[jollyjotter]

𝐈𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝑉𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑥 𝑮𝑵!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝖱𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾: 𝗜𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲

𝖲𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾: 𝗙𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳

༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄

The frozen lake stretched out like a glittering canvas, dusted with snowflakes that sparkled in the faint winter sunlight. Around it, the small village bustled with cheerful chatter, the kind that only came with leisure activities and rosy-cheeked laughter.

Wooden stalls offering roasted chestnuts and mulled wine dotted the periphery, their warm aromas wafting through the icy air. It was idyllic.

On the frozen lake, the cacophony of blades scraping against ice and occasional bursts of applause seemed distant as Vanitas adjusted his scarf, sulking at the edge of the crowd. His breath fogged up as he spoke, addressing Noé, who was beside him, looking utterly enthralled by the spectacle before them.

"You're staring like some kind of country bumpkin," Vanitas muttered. "It’s just ice skating. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it before."

Noé, eyes wide as saucers, didn’t bother to respond. He was captivated by the grace of the skaters, particularly the one at the far end, gliding effortlessly across the ice.

Your laughter rang out as your friend and reluctant ice skating student, Charlotte, flailed wildly on the ice beside you. "No, no! Bend your knees more!" you called out, gliding backward effortlessly. "If you keep locking your legs like that, you'll fall over again."

"I’m trying!" Charlotte yelled, her voice tinged with panic as she tried to mimic your movements. It was a disastrous attempt. Her arms pinwheeled, and in a spectacularly clumsy motion, she toppled onto the ice. The resounding thud turned more than a few heads, prompting chuckles from the bystanders.

Despite the obvious discomfort of lying sprawled on the freezing surface, Charlotte laughed good-naturedly. "I think I’ll stick to solid ground from now on," she groaned.

You skated over and extended a hand to help her up. Your expression softened. "You’ll get the hang of it eventually. Maybe. But perhaps we should take a break before you break something."

Charlotte grinned at you, her expression amused. "Break sounds good."

As she shuffled off the ice with exaggerated care, you lingered, scanning the small crowd. That’s when you saw Noé standing by the edge of the lake, his soft tufts of white catching the light like freshly fallen snow. He waved exuberantly when their eyes met, his enthusiasm unmistakable.

You skated toward him and called out, "Noé? What are you doing here?"

Before Noé could answer, Vanitas appeared behind him, his expression one of mild irritation, as though merely existing in this quaint setting was a burden. "We were working nearby," he said flatly. "And someone," he jerked his head toward Noé, "decided he wanted to gawk at strangers slipping on frozen water."

"Skating," Noé corrected earnestly. "They’re skating, Vanitas."

Your lips quirked into a knowing smile. "And here you are, gawking at strangers as well. How terrible."

Vanitas’s eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Noé stepped onto the ice. "This looks fun!" he declared, testing his balance. "Will you teach me, too? Please?"

You blinked, startled by the abrupt request. "I suppose I could—"

"No, you couldn’t," Vanitas interjected sharply, grabbing Noé by the collar before he could venture further onto the ice. "We have no time for this nonsense. We’re heading back to Paris."

"But Vanitas," Noé whined, "one hour won’t hurt!"

Vanitas pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about the stupidity of vampires before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Fine."

Minutes later, Noé was on the ice, mimicking Charlotte's earlier performance with uncanny precision. He stumbled and slid, arms flailing wildly, much to your amusement. You tried to guide him with gentle instruction, but Noé’s enthusiasm far outpaced his coordination. Vanitas watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed and his expression inscrutable.

"Still sulking?" you teased as you glided over to him, leaving Noé to fend for himself. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold, your breath visible as you spoke.

"I don’t sulk," Vanitas replied in a warning tone, though his mannerisms suggested otherwise.

"Of course not," you said lightly, coming to a stop in front of him. "But you do brood. Quite attractively, I might add."

For a moment, Vanitas looked caught off guard. The smug mask he wore so often slipped, replaced by something quieter, softer. "If I’m brooding," he said, "it’s because watching you make a fool of yourself with these idiots is painful."

You arched a brow. "Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Vanitas."

He scoffed, though a faint blush crept up his neck. "As if I have any reason to be jealous."

You stepped closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Come skate with me."

He stared at you, incredulous. "Absolutely not."

"What? Are you afraid you’ll embarrass yourself?" you teased, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

Vanitas leaned closer, his voice low and laced with irritation. "I am many things, but afraid is not one of them."

"Then you have nothing to lose, yes?" You held out your hand, challenging him.

For a moment, he hesitated, his pride and his pragmatism warring within him. With a muttered curse, he grabbed your hand and stepped onto the ice.

Predictably, Vanitas’s skating skills were abysmal. He clung to your arm like a lifeline, glaring daggers at her whenever you so much as smirked. Noé, meanwhile, laughed uproariously at his partner’s misfortune, earning a sharp reprimand from Vanitas.

Despite his obvious discomfort, you noticed something rare in Vanitas’s expression—a flicker of trust, vulnerability hidden beneath his scowl. You tightened her grip on his hand and whispered, "You’re doing just fine. Try to let loose a little."

Vanitas scoffed, his pride still bruised. "Let loose? I’m already letting loose by indulging in this ridiculous charade."

But despite his grumbling, he didn’t let go of your hand. His gloved fingers, cold from the winter air, tightened slightly around yours, as if grounding himself against the unfamiliarity of the ice. You could feel the tension in his posture as he wobbled, his boots struggling to find purchase on the slippery surface.

"Relax," you said softly, guiding him a little further from the edge. "If you keep stiffening up like that, it’ll only make it harder."

"Harder?" he bit back, his tone acidic. "I think not."

You laughed, your breath curling in the icy air. "If you’d spend less time complaining and more time focusing, you’d get the hang of it." You gently placed your other hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "Come on, one foot in front of the other. Like walking, but.. slipperier."

Vanitas grumbled something unintelligible, but he did as you instructed, albeit reluctantly. His movements were awkward, and his balance was precarious at best, but he managed a few shaky steps. His scowl deepened every time Noé cheered loudly from a distance, his encouragement bordering on mockery.

"Look at you, Vanitas!" Noé called out, his grin practically splitting his face. "You’re almost gliding!"

"Do you want me to kill you where you stand, Noé?" Vanitas snapped, narrowly avoiding a tumble. His free hand flailed briefly before you caught it.

"Ignore him," you said, your voice laced with amusement. "You’re doing great."

Vanitas glanced at you, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as if searching for sarcasm. But when he found none, his expression softened, just a fraction.

You smiled, pulling him a little further onto the ice. The two of you moved slowly, the crowd and their laughter fading into the background. There was something oddly intimate about the moment, the way he trusted you to keep him steady despite his protests.

"See?" you said after a while, your voice gentle. "You’re not half bad when you try."

"I’m not trying," he lied, his tone defensive. "I’m merely.. humoring you."

"Of course," you replied with a playful lilt. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

A rare chuckle escaped him, low and quiet, but genuine. It caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but smile in response. The sound was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, but it lingered in the air between you, warming the cold day.

"Don’t get used to this," Vanitas warned, his usual snark returning. "The second I slip, I’m dragging you down with me."

You raised a brow, your smirk mischievous. "I'll take my chances."

He rolled his eyes, but his grip on your hands didn’t falter. For once, he allowed himself to follow your lead, his movements growing a little more fluid as the minutes passed. Though his scowl remained firmly in place, you could tell he was relaxing—if only slightly.

The two of you circled the lake slowly, your steps in rhythm as the world seemed to narrow down to just you and Vanitas. He muttered occasional complaints about the cold, the ice, and your supposed lack of teaching skills, but you caught the faintest hints of a smile tugging at his lips when he thought you weren’t looking.

The sunlight glinted off the frost in his hair, casting him in a rare, almost ethereal light. He was always striking, but like this—lips slightly parted, cheeks kissed with cold, and his usual guardedness thawing for just a moment—he was breathtaking.

"You’re staring," Vanitas said flatly, though there was no real bite to his tone.

You tilted your head, unrepentant. "..you’re kind of worth staring at."

Vanitas blinked, as if just realizing how tightly his fingers were entwined with yours. He started to pull away, but you held on, your grip firm but gentle.

"Don’t let go," you said quietly, the playful edge in your voice replaced by something more earnest. "Not yet."

For once, Vanitas didn’t have a sharp retort. He looked at you, his blue eyes searching yours, and something unspoken passed between you—a sort of understanding.

The world around you seemed to still as you guided him in one last, unsteady circle. His movements were far from graceful, but he was trying now, letting you lead him without the constant stream of snark and complaints. It was imperfect and awkward and entirely, quintessentially Vanitas.

When you finally came to a stop, the two of you standing in the middle of the frozen lake, he sighed dramatically, his breath curling in the air. "Well," he said, his tone dry but not unkind, "I suppose you’ve proven your point. I can skate. Barely."

You grinned. "I think you’re just full of surprises."

And as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting golden hues across the ice, Vanitas allowed himself a rare indulgence: the simple pleasure of being here, with you, in a fleeting moment of peace.