#“is mortality like a persistent ringing in your ear for you too that you can mostly kind of ignore only for it to then keep you up at night

[invinciblerodent]

you know, having tried this before makes me think now that... from his perspective in the game, there were just two random, strange times when his lover stood in front of him with a grave, melancholy sort of expression, said "can we talk", looked at him for a few seconds like that, and then just... asked for a kiss, as usual. And then everything was normal (or as close to normal as possible) again.

I kind of like (and by "like" I mean "it makes me sad") to think that though she may not have strictly been thinking about breaking up (there's a lot for the PC to just be... sort of generally bummed about in this game, a lot to maybe just want some comforting affection over, Iona maybe even slightly more than many), there is something very in-character in the thought of his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusions.

There are definitely ways to say the "can we talk about the two of us" line that could lead even the most secure person down the "oh god they're about to dump me" scary mind-rabbithole, but this guy? Especially at that first one, when he straight-up admits that he's waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment? Is not exactly that person.

And now I'm sad.

"I'll make a save here and try breaking up with Astarion, just to see the dialogue- I could see him get kinda nasty about it, but I honestly don't know what to expect so---"

...............

.......

....

[puppeteered-poetry]

Unauthorized appearance.

Hey so what if Darkiplier in space, lol. Adaptation of an rp between @blood-falling and @stagenameouroborus

------------------------------------------

Another loop. Another loop in a long line of loops, another round and fall from the mortal coil. Trying in vain to make it right, to change anything.

   Another loop, another universe, another death, another sacrifice, another set of blood covering your hands, another futile attempt at making everything right again. Your options laid out before you like every single time before, and there is a tiredness in the very centre of your being. 

    Fix it from the outside. You think. You could at least get a moment’s solace among the stars. 

    You hurry forward, barely acknowledging your surroundings or the announcement the Engineer is revived. Off to the airlock again. Running away from the problem, justified by some vague sense it will move things forward.

    But it never does.

    You turn towards the bridge door, halted only by the meek, hopeless voice of the only companion who knows.

     “... Captain…?” He called behind you. The joy, the enthusiasm, everything that made your Head Engineer him has been gone a long time. Replaced by clinging dread, and deep eye bags that are the only thing to persist, anymore. You half wonder if you’re the same story.

    He was looking at his beret, scratching at the applique’s stitching. “... The airlock’s compromised. Your say is final, of course, but… Could you… Could you maybe go with me?” 

     He doesn’t like being alone. Never did, but especially not now. He depends on you.

     You halt in place, exhaustion barely manifesting into concern. He’s trapped in this loop, too. Along for the ride. You can’t just leave him alone.

      You place your hand on his shoulder, before wrapping your arm around both. Of course you will. 

      Besides, it’s something different. A part of you feels guilt for the excitement being much more than the worry for Mark.

      Mark sighed in relief, like you lifted a large weight off his shoulders. “Great, right- Okay! Let’s do this!” He tries to mimic his normal excitement. “Captain and Mark, the best duo to ever live forever and ever in a hell of our own making!”

     You walk down the hall together, the atmosphere… Changing. The lights are dimmer, and there's fog, like Cryo. That wasn’t normal.

     Mark laughed, trying to force himself to make a sound. “Hey, that’s weird, who turned up the… A… C…” 

     He trailed off from his attempt at a joke, looking down. You followed his gaze to find a clump of snow on the floor.

    You hesitate, reaching out to grab Mark by the back of his jumpsuit and gently pull him a little closer. This was new. This was different. This was better wake up Captain, before you forget how to. You look around, trying to see if there was anything to do with Cryo around, maybe a burst coolant pipe or even Celci wandering around. The snow... felt familiar in a way you couldn't quite fathom. Somewhere some part of you knows, but it’s not the you in this room, at this moment.

    Slowly, you edge towards it, poking at it with your boot.

    Wrong choice, Captain.

    As soon as you touch the snow, Mark nearly doubles over, recoiling and covering his ears. The lights flickered, dimming and humming, sparking in some places. You try to ask what’s wrong, when you hear it too.

    Your ears are ringing.

    "U-uh... Captain? I don't... I don't mean to worry you, but something about this seems... Weird... W-we should hurry up and fix the airlock, I think." Mark tried to push forward, to continue despite the pain. But he was shivering, from fear and from the cold.

    The ringing must be dampened by your helmet, because it’s not as seemingly painful to you. You can still walk, it’s just like a bad case of tinnitus. You’re much more worried about the hairline fractures in the visor of your helmet.

   You can’t abandon him to worry about it though, so you follow Mark closer to the airlock. Was the Airlock’s corridor always this long?

    Mark pressed his hand to the scanner, jumping in. He didn’t notice what you notice, an odd, looming shadow in the corner. The long, needle-like claws grasping his shoulder. You try to get his attention as he pops open the maintenance panel, but he notices the long, deliberate rip in his uniform from the claws first.

    He looks to you in dead silence.

    “Run. Shut the airlock and run.”

    The hand pulls at him, but you’re pulling too. You’re not abandoning him anymore. Not again. He shakes his head, smiling.

    “I’ll come back, I promise. Just run. I’ll buy you time.” He gripped the doorway, both of the shadow’s hands pulling now. He doesn’t even look scared. That gives you a special kind of hurt.

     “I love you, Captain.”

     He… Mark shut the door on himself, your hands retract instinctively. You couldn’t even say it back. You couldn’t speak at all.

     The lights in the airlock broke, and all you could hear were his screams.

     You do as you were told, and you run. You run, but why? Why not die and loop again, Captain? Why are you crying, when death has no meaning, now?

      You’re so… Passive. So… Hopeless. Though… You really had no choice back there. The story is continuing, and you are audience to it. You take a backseat in your own story.

     And you just found a new way to kill your best friend.

       Or… You thought you did, when Mark called after you.

       “Captain! Captain!!” He hurried after you, looking fresh out of the cryo pod. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. “You made it… Good.”

       Your stomach sinks as you return the hug, relief only temporary as dread and questions return. Your loops were normally synchronized. Both had to die to get a new start, but… He was back. You squished, pinched and prodded his face to make sure it was him.

      “O-ow! Captain, Captain it’s me!” He pouted, swatting at your hands, before laughing. “Oh… I’m just glad to see you again so soon.”

     You hug him tighter now. Your tinnitus faintly hums still. You try to think about what this could mean for you both, when he beats you to it.

     “Do you know what this means? Freedom from the loop! As long as one of us lives, we can keep going!” He grinned… Maybe it’s just the lights, but his uniform looks more desaturated than usual. 

     Why does that make you afraid?

     “Now if we can just fix the ship and get to the warp core without us both dying, we can fix this! We should head to the bridge, run some diagnostics.” You start to see choices, when he shakes them away. “No, no time to think for thirty seconds just standing there, bridge now!” 

      He pulls you forward, and you want to feel relieved, but you just can’t. Something feels wrong.

      “Computer, run diagnostics.” He puts his hands on his hips proudly, and for once the computer actually listens.

      “Asteroid Defense System is Online. Cryogenics System is Online. Reactor Core is Online. Airlock is.. Ü̸͔̤͕͖̹̬̒̄̿̓̽̊̇̏̈n̸̢͍͔̣̻̖̯̪̳̘̙̣͈͔̤͆̇̆̾̓͗̇͐͛͒͂̍͜d̷̡̞̲̻̣̼̱̞̖̥̝͙̣̣̱̳̪͋̿̅͒̆͘̚ẽ̷̦̗̹̯͈̘̯̰̔̿͆͛̈͌̾͌̎̆̕͘ẗ̸́̽̃̊̀̇̋̃͆̽̉̂́̽͘͜͠ḝ̴̛̳̙̟̪̝̦̬̓̓̎̓̾́͑̾͜ç̸̳̤͍̼͕͖̟̻̙̪͎̒t̶̢͍̲̯͓͈̟̹̣͂̋̄̏e̷̢̮̼͎̺̙̰͓̮͖̙̯̞̮͖͗̐̓̒̓̉̅̽̋̐̎̌̑͜d̷̫͛̑͗́̈͌̌͐̽̉͘͝.̵̡̧̢͓̹͇͉̫̹͍͖̘̪́ Online. Ship status is optimal.”

      “Oh! Well… That was easy.”Mark turned towards you with a smile. 

      Without thinking, without knowing how, without having it before, you present two bowls of ice cream. Chocolate… And… Vanilla. You look at Mark with confusion.

      “Oh! Ice cream? Don’t mind if I do!” His silly finger wiggling and laugh feels forced. He seems happy, but his eyes are so dark.

      …. Dark…

      S̶͚̺͕̏ẗ̷̘̦͝a̷͛̀͜r̸͖̃t̸͕̹̥͌̆ĩ̵̱̮̪̋͝n̴̽̑̉͜ǵ̴̙̼ ̶̡͓̥̊t̶̝̺̪̉̀o̶͕̼͐̚ ̷͎͚̰̌͂r̸̻̰͛̈͗ͅe̸̻͆̀̍m̸͇̩͍̃͝e̴͇͆ṃ̵͉̼̀̇͌b̸̟͇̀̀ḛ̷̻̤͂̇r̵̡̐̚͜ ̸̙̯͗ṡ̸͍͖o̷̮͛̈͠m̸̨̻̿͐ḙ̶̣͍̋́̚t̷̰̪̥͆h̴͍̳̿̐̒ͅi̴̙͝ͅṉ̵̾ǵ̶͖̹̗̽͠,̸̯͊͋ ̴̢͔̇̒̚C̶̟̭͆̒ͅạ̵̹͂́͊p̷̤̅̑̉t̷͍̐͐̚a̵̮͓̿̂͝î̴̤́͠n̵̞̓͐͊?̶̣̮̃̔

      He takes the bowl of vanilla, leaving you with chocolate. You stare down at the bowl, confused. Your ears start to hurt from the ringing. You look up, and drop your bowl.

      Dark. Dark sits on the ship console, eating the vanilla ice cream. They wear the same uniform, only entirely gray, with the chest tag reading backwards, and a few new pins. A red and cyan skull, and a pink mustache.

      “Did you miss me, Captain?” They smile, one that doesn’t reach their eyes. The Bridge is dark, bathed in red and blue light from solitary, opposite corners.

      “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t notice, but here you are, our little monster, back to the games.” They sneer. “And did you have fun? Were you able to forget?”

      They flickered, appearing next on their feet.

      “I thought Dorene would be enough, but maybe you just clung too hard. You don’t want to wake up from the pretty dreams he weaves you, anymore.” They cracked their neck.

      “I’m glad you don’t really talk, these days. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” They stood still, but flashes of them enraged kept appearing around them.

      You turn to try and open the bridge door, but the hand scanner is broken.

      “You’re bold, I will admit. Thinking I wouldn’t block you off from means of escape is a new low. Really. I’m honestly insulted.” You’re pulled away from the door, and smashed back into it, one, two, three times. You slump to the ground, they’re still at the console. They haven’t laid a finger on you.

       “As I was saying. You wouldn’t wake up, so I took away the only piece of the puzzle you pay attention to, anymore.”

       Dark unfurls their hand, a marionette of the engineer dangling on strings revealed.

       “Don’t worry. He’s safe… For now. He’s in his dressing room, rehearsing his lines and sipping his coffee. He’ll return soon, and I will depart.” They looked at their watch. “But first… You have something of mine.”

     They walk towards you, kneeling down. You weakly reach out to them, and they snatch your hand, their claws wrenching the warp crystal from your palm. You bleed black, your vision blurring.

     The void and the ringing of your ears are all that remain, before you enter the next loop.

[ekleipsi]

stab him, i promise i’ll bail you out. (lei to jaeger kdsjfhjh)

--- The man that had been hitting on Leilani was...rather persistent, and while Jaeger was typically a gentleman in instances like that, he didn't really feel gentlemanly when he'd made it apparent that the other was taken. Only for that to be completely disregarded. Treating the youth like the vampire's slutty escort was even more demeaning, like a toy and a paid hire, as opposed to partner.

--- A snarl filtered past the vampire's lips, fangs bared aggressively as he stood between the man and his human. ' I said you can excuse yourself or I can do it for you. ' he muttered lowly, voice dropping an octave from its usual playful cadence; dark and threatening. Why should I? Aren't you paying such a pretty thing? Come on, give me a ride too? I'll even offer double for the opportunity. We can both have a go.

--- The words had Jaeger's chest heaving with unnecessary breaths, Leilani's bitter words from behind him ringing in ears until the vampires orbs glossed over, amber coloration darkening before hand snapped out to curl around throat. Jaeger was a lover, not a fighter, and didn't like showing vampiric strengths in public for a reason...but in this moment, he was dragging the mortal from the lounge by the throat, careless to other human onlookers. Lifted promptly from the ground and seamlessly crushed against the brick wall of the alley just outside, threatening aura increased tenfold.

--- ' The pretty thing you tried to buy is my partner, and they said no...so fucking apologize...before I tear....your throat out...and drink you dry... ' a growl, sounding more beast than human. Fangs elongated, sharp, before he all but threw the other to the ground at Leilani's feet, knowing well the other had followed him out, making sure he stayed on the ground, and didn't get up until his demands had been fulfilled. ' No need to stab him, babe...he'll do whatever you want... '

[everything-withered]

Tony in this and Bucky just bluescreens

I would like to solemnly remind you that this is your fault.

---

Basic lab and workshop safety dictates everything from protective googles and clothing, but when Tony can bend the rules, he does.

It's partly because, after the bunker, Extremis was pumped into his veins and he's now, against his will, indestructible, and isn't a hundred percent cool with it. But really, the main cause for his flippant approach to basic safety standards is for the look on Bucky's face when he's expected to be in for a maintenance session.

It's not really necessary. Shuri isn't the type to make anything that would require regular sessions, but well, Tony's not really complaining.

At least now he wasn't.

When Bucky had first arrived, Tony ranted and raved about the weekly checks Bucky's arm needed, loudly and often, but Shuri, who has sat through endlessly boring meetings with dignitaries since she was in diapers, had the stamina for it and the kind of unimpressed expression only royalty could master. Tony never stood a chance.

And Bucky, as a result, wouldn't either.

Because see, Tony isn't upset that he's being forced to make nice with his mother's killer. That's. For therapy. And BARF. And about a dozen other healthier coping mechanisms to deal with. No. Tony's annoyed because Bucky's been flustered and embarrassed and is always really really sorry for being an inconvenience, and Tony doesn't know how to deal with it.

So, he doesn't.

He acts like a little shit because that's his default setting, and turns up his personality to feign as much nonchalance over the whole situation as possible.

At first it's with the fancy suits and the tech and the busy schedule.

Bucky's eyes widen and he flushes again, and he's definitely a little impressed. Just a little.

It's glamorous and flattering until it isn't. Until it rubs wrong and rings of arrogance and breeds resentment because that's what always happens, that's what everyone thinks eventually.

Bucky is not everyone.

In fact, his apologies for the inconvenience he's causing Tony get more earnest, and it makes Tony's skin fit wrong when Bucky starts asking very seriously if Tony's taking care of himself properly what with all of Tony's other commitments.

"Especially with all the work you already do," he'd said, a concern furrow in his brow. "I don't want to put you out, the arm can wait, really. I don't want to be a bother. Have you eaten yet? I can get you something. When was the last time you rested because there's really no rush on the arm, we can reschedule, I don't mind."

And not enough people care to care about Tony when he's got that particular mask on that Tony can't maintain it. Not in the face of Bucky's sincerity and genuine concern.

Tony still thinks it's some kind of ploy though so he turns to Plan B: He gets comfortable.

The suits are exchanged for well-worn jeans and band t-shirts. The only product in his hair is engine grease, and he doesn't bother to hide the gleam in his eye when he gets really caught up in his work.

Tony looks the part of the manic genius, and waits for Bucky's concern to morph into hesitation and then annoyance because Tony doesn't have the time or consideration for the trivial matters of mortals.

Tony doesn't miss the softening in Bucky's expression though Tony can't say why there's an answering ache in his chest for it, so he takes to teasing and making off colour jokes and saying things he'd usually only ever say to the bots and Rhodey.

Bucky, to Tony's surprise, is entertained and amused, and to Tony's horror, very similar in his humour if more charming and polite about it. That Bucky remains persistently thoughtful about Tony's general well-being is particularly awe-inspiring considering how many people in his life have come to just brush his disregard to his health as an eccentricity.

Not that Tony has much time for that thought when he's still caught up on how it shouldn't be so attractive to him that Bucky gets his sarcasm and wit, and how the considering look in Bucky's eyes never seem to falter, only change and evolve with every new side to himself Tony reveals to him.

But all of it, Bucky's interest, Bucky's care, is tugging at something Tony hasn't given himself time or emotions to consider since Pepper, and Tony really does have the worst luck.

When he complains to Shuri -- because she brought Bucky to his doorstep so clearly she is to blame -- the princess gets a look in her eye, and says smugly, "I knew you two would get along."

"What makes you say that?" Tony scoffs to hide the little bubble of hope that's risen in his chest like a hiccup.

"Well," she says, casual as ever, "he hadn't stopped talking about you ever since I introduced him to the internet about a week after the defrost." Then, like an embarrassed younger sister, scoffs, "Fanboys."

And that.

That is an interesting revelation.

A revelation worthy of scientific inquiry.

Something Tony is more than happy to probe at if Bucky is amenable to a collaboration in their shared. Interest.

They don't get a chance, unfortunately.

The Rogues come back, and Rogers is determined to draw battle lines, with Bucky firmly behind his regardless of Bucky's opinion on the matter.

Bucky, for his part, seems resigned to Rogers' attentions and mostly ignores him, though he tenses when Rogers invites himself to Bucky's check-ups.

For the next few weeks, just as when Bucky and he were first starting their appoingments, Tony finds himself donning armour again: suits perfectly tailored and sharp enough to cut on sight.

It has the desired effect of putting off Rogers with the added benefit of distracting Bucky.

Tony doesn't miss the way Bucky watches him after all, like he's a piece of art to be admired, coveted. Bucky, Tony realizes, has always looked at him that way since he came to the Compound.

"I don't know why you're putting up a show in those get ups of yours. This isn't a fashion show," Rogers says one day, finally putting together how Bucky zeroes in on Tony the way he does. Then, purposely bland but challenging all the same, Rogers says, "Isn't there a proper dress code for a lab?" Like Rogers of all people would know; would care enough about Tony's safety to bring it up at all.

Bucky's teeth grind, the hypocrisy evident even to him.

And Tony would be angry too, but Rogers has stopped being worth his anger a long time ago. His pettiness, however, well. That's a different story.

With a smile of too many teeth, Tony says, "You're absolutely right, I don't know what I was thinking."

On the next visit, Tony hears Bucky's intake of breath before he actually sees him.

"Tony," Rogers is protesting, sounding scandalised which is when Tony turns around for the money shot, and oh, it's glorious.

Rogers is red in the face, practically turning puce when he reads want Tony's vest says. He thinks Rogers' brain is going to melt out of his ears from the anger of it all.

Bucky, on the other hand, is experiencing some kind of system reboot because his face goes blank and his eyes go dark, and --

"Problem, darling?" Tony drawls with a faux Brooklyn twang.

"Not a bit," is Bucky's garbled reply before he's urging a little softly, "Could you...uh, turn around again, I wanna.."

"Bucky," Rogers hisses which succeeds far enough in getting Bucky's gaze to clear and his cheeks to pink, and oh, that's adorable, Tony internally cooes.

Aloud, Tony purrs, "Anything for you, Sarge."

Which makes Rogers' head swivel between he and Bucky like he's on the verge of short circuiting, something that may actually happen when Bucky steps forward, sweeps Tony up in his arms and walks off.

"Bucky, why are you --," Rogers is protesting behind them, stopping short of chasing after when Tony flings off his vest. He figures the message on it is explanation enough: because fuck you, that's why.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

37. NanaHiko, please

37. “Because I love you goddammit!”

Consider this my sourdough starter for a Nanahiko Die Hard AU. If it ever comes into a fully-realized oneshot spectacular, well. Maybe for Christmas. Anyways, this is, believe or not, a break-up scene.

//

Fighting with Sorahiko is never pretty.

To clarify, Nana doesn’t mean physical fighting. They’ve honed that particular aspect of their partnership to near-perfection (always room for improvement), and when Nana has extricated herself from a fight, sometimes she has enough time to watch Sorahiko work his brutally efficient magic on loose ends.

That kind of fighting is pretty from a professional point of view.

Anyway, what Nana means is—having an argument with Sorahiko. It’s not the first time they’ve engaged in a war of cold shoulders and barbed words, digging up old insults and humiliating stories, resolved to leave reconciliation to the other party.

Nana has always thought it boded well that it never took a mortal injury to get either her or Sorahiko to apologize. 

She is, however, very close to inflicting a mortal injury.

Sorahiko also looks close to committing partner-cide. They are spending a break from patrol by cooling their heels on a rooftop no employee bothers to spend a cigarette break at, and for the past ten minutes, have been politely exchanging words like, “Please do this,” and, “Fuck doing that.”

A full month has passed since Nana digested the whole conspiracy theory about a supervillain controlling Japan’s underground. En’s transferral of One for All had been traumatic for all parties involved, even if Sorahiko didn’t have to witness the horror that was the shoulder socket gushing blood and the half-buried body. Why? Because the first time Nana tested out her new Quirk, she had broken her notoriously hardy partner’s arm.

… It’s been a scary month all around.

“I’m not,” her partner grits out, “going to just quit being a pro-hero.”

“I didn’t say you should ditch the license,” Nana says reasonably.

“You might as well have!”

She rolls her eyes. “Splitting up for a solo career would probably mean better pay for you,” she reiterates. “Better pay, more taiyaki. You’d be a treat by yourself, Gran Torino. Any high-profile agency would want you on the payroll.”

“The salary isn’t the point,” Sorahiko snaps. 

“And you shouldn’t conflate your position as a pro-hero with your position at the Eyrie! Don’t let the agency limit your ambitions!”

“What ambitions?”

“You know,” says Nana, gesturing aimlessly. She’s trapped herself with that useless encouragement. Sorahiko is so thoroughly unambitious, he would let a pet rock win an election to Prime Minister. “Whatever made you get into heroics.”

He stares at her.

“Get out there,” she adds. “Chase your dreams.”

“You’re being stupid,” he says.

“Don’t start.”

Sorahiko starts. His mouth twists into a snarl, eyebrows drawing together under the mask, frustration creeping into his posture. He is madder than she’s ever seen him, and Nana once witnessed Sorahiko yell bloody murder at his landlord. The landlord had been reduced to tears, and furthermore, had reduced the rent for the entire complex.

Nana does not intend to yield.

“First you inherit a transferable strength Quirk that knocks you out of commission for a week,” he says, “then you get all weird about tanking hits you know I can take, and now you’re advising I leave the Eyrie by myself? For my own good?”

“Yes,” she says, already feeling miserable.

“Are you on some kind of power trip?”

“No!”

His gloved hands curl into fists, mirroring Nana’s, or maybe she is mirroring him. Another side-effect of being friends for so long; she can’t imagine what kind of pro-hero she is without Gran Torino next to her. 

A pro-hero that won’t drag their best friend into the worst conspiracy theory to come true. 

“I won’t quit until you do,” Sorahiko swears. “Are we partners or not?”

“Partnerships dissolve.”

He flinches back for once. “You don’t mean that.”

“People sometimes grow in different ways. It doesn’t mean they’re abandoning their partner, it’s just… You don’t have any obligation to hold my hand for my entire career. If there’s a roadblock ahead, and you see it, you should be able to jump out of the car, right?” 

“Shimura. Shut up.”

“I really mean it,” Nana continues doggedly. “One for All attracts way more attention than we agreed we should aim for, so if we split paths now, you don’t have to suffer all the cameras tracking and recording your moveset. Did I say cameras? I meant henchmen of some evil bastard. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t sign up for,” he hisses.

“Well, I have to guess,” she says, “considering I never saw your origin story, haha!”

His face goes a blotchy pink, starting with his ears. Sorahiko’s jaw visibly clenches. Nana, however, is one-hundred percent serious. Despite being friends with Sorahiko from primary school up till now (excusing the few years of junior high), Nana still has no idea what drives Sorahiko to be Gran Torino.

Reuniting in Class 1-A of U.A. High had felt a bit like fate. 

“You have to guess?” he grits out, sounding slightly incredulous.

“You’re a very private person. Ah, don’t tell me I’ve somehow forgot it.” Nana puts her hands at her hips, trying to drag this fight back into friendly banter. “Not for the applause. Not for the legacy, assuming the Commission ever gets their memorial site set up. Are you sure it wasn’t for the money?”

“Shimura.”

“C’mon,” she says coaxingly. “What’s the dream-goal, Gran Torino? Why heroics?”

“Shimura.”

“Don’t worry about harming my feelings! Oh! It’s for your namesake, huh? Ah, Sorahiko, you really gotta let that one go, I don’t think you’d have any fun driving around these streets. You’ll just scare all the pedestrians into throwing tomatoes at your precious baby—”

“Because I love you goddammit!” Sorahiko shouts, barking it loud enough to frighten some voyeuristic pigeons. 

“What,” Nana says. She has to process his words even though they ring in her ears. His confession is a curse. Typical Sorahiko, Nana thinks hysterically, except this is not typical at all. Torino Sorahiko, admitting to love? 

Torino Sorahiko, not being done yet, rails on. “Because you’re my best friend, and I like myself when I’m with you, so stop trying to cut me out of your life! If you—if you hate me, then just say it! Say I’m annoying! Clingy! Useless! Don’t just tell me to step out the front door and leave you behind!”

Oh, he’s properly mad now.

Thing is, Nana’s mad too.

“Don’t you use that against me,” she says, fury seeping in, because how dare he? Like confessing to loving her settles this argument, some deus ex-machina device that will defuse Nana’s very sincere attempt to prevent Sorahiko from being murdered. She can’t believe the nerve of her partner, trying to manipulate the part of her that’s a hopeless romantic. “Don’t lie.”

“Lie?” Sorahiko echoes, enraged. “You think—?”

“I think you would do a lot of things to win a fight,” Nana seethes.

“You’re impossible.”

She wants to punch his stupid face so badly, but Sorahiko’s hands are already scrabbling at his domino mask, ripping it off. After blinking several times to reorient his senses, he refocuses his glare at her.

“What part of that confession sounded fake?” he demands, crumpling the black silk-composite in one fist.

“The timing. The whole concept. Everything!”

“You don’t think I’m capable of it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Nana objects, but her immediate gut reaction had been to say, I’m not worthy of it. She has a name for Gran Torino’s behavior now—his loyalty, devotion, affection—he tied himself to her so long ago, and Nana never even knew she was holding a leash. How unfair to him, how stupid and shortsighted of her.

Sorahiko takes a step into Nana’s personal bubble. He persists. “Say you hate me.”

She can see where Sorahiko wants to take this.

“Do you hate me, Shimura?”

Nana bites her tongue from its reflexive denial; when she tries to lie, it sticks in her throat.

“Do you really want me to go?” Sorahiko asks, and without his mask, he looks vulnerable. Pale brown eyes catching the sunset, gleaming gold. How much of Sorahiko’s life has been deferring his dreams to follow hers? What has he given up that Nana’s never asked about? Does he have any commitments outside of heroics? 

“I think,” Nana finally forces out, “we need some time apart.”

One beat of silence. Two.

“You’re not joking.”

“No.”

Sorahiko breathes, a steady and barely audible sound, and Nana finds herself mirroring it. She crosses her arms and looks to the horizon. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sorahiko slowly uncrumpling his mask, smoothing out wrinkles with his forefinger and thumb. Methodical for a nervous tic.

“It’s not that you’ve done something wrong.”

“Spare me the bullshit,” he says. The bitter tone sends a chill through Nana’s heart, but she steels herself. “How long?”

“Long as we need,” she deflects.

“What’s the goal here?”

Nana glances at Gran Torino, notes the grim set of his expression, and restrains herself from poking at the down-turned twist to his frown. Instead, she says, “You said you like who you are when you’re with me. I don’t think you’ve ever really been without me, so… Figure yourself out, Gran Torino.”

“And Sky High?”

“We’ll shelve the idea for a later time,” says Nana weakly, as though running an agency together hasn’t been their—her?—dream since high school.

He grunts in acknowledgment.

Together, they survey the cityscape. They will finish the day’s patrol. Gran Torino will, for the first time, clock out early and storm home.

And Nana will quietly file her two-week notice.

There’s an international pro-hero exchange program being organized with the United States, and Nana intends to join. The probation period is a year; if Nana can make it through that, then she can apply to be a mentor to aspiring pro-heroes, all the while cultivating One for All on the side.

(She doesn’t mean to forget the confession. But then again, who knows if that’s really what Sorahiko felt for her?)

[darkisrising]

You are someone else, I am still right here, by DarkIsRising

Thanks to @treescape for the prompt: Vaderwan: “Kill my feelings, kill my soul. Kill everything I am.”

Mature themes, dark, a little violent... Oh, boy, it’s baby’s first Vaderwan y’all! Read here or on ao3 

You are someone else, I am still right here

If ever there was a time for a well-executed escape, it would be right about now.

Now, when Obi-Wan is sitting on the cold, durasteel slab that serves as a cot, the kick of the regurgitated air supply coming through a vent too small to pass through and too high to attempt with his injuries (and maybe in his younger days he would have attempted it anyway, but he’s feeling too worn down by sands and suns to so much as make it an idle thought).

Now, when he can hear the echoing tread of regulation boots made heavier by body armor as troopers pass by his cell (and if he closes his eyes it’s almost like he’s back on the Negotiator, his men walking through the halls, and he tries not to think of how many could very well be his men because his heart can only ache with so much regret).

Now when he can feel the turbid miasma of darkness that chokes the Force with a fetid, acrid stink that is so near to the scent of sulphur that Obi-Wan can almost feel the heat of lava and the singe of a lightsaber as it bears down on him (and the screams sound in his ears, of a future denied them and a past that becomes blighted with every clash of their blades, as they do every night when sleep eludes him and every morning when meditation does, too).

But escaping is a dangerous game at present. And even were he to make it off this cruiser, where else is there to go but back to the same desert planet, the same skin-blistering heat, the same stretch of rolling, yellow dunes?

There’s sand on the floor. Even here it follows him and Obi-Wan stares at the grains of it, of where his boots and the boots of the stormtroopers that captured him have tracked this trace of Tatooine into his prison.

His eyes are still downcast as the door of his cell opens, as someone steps inside, and he can hear the grit of it as black boots—impeccably clean in a way he never could convince his restless apprentice to keep his as he grew—grind the sand underfoot.

“Hello, my dear,” Obi-Wan says. It’s been a while since he’s used this particular tone—insouciant in the face of certain death—yet it comes easily now. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand…” he gestures to his leg, the break of it plain in the strange angle of his knee.

“Oh, please, Master—” and that one word spoken in the mouth of this near-stranger does more to eviscerate him than any broken bone could hope to “—allow me.”

There’s no point in keeping his screams from ringing through the small room, no point in pretending that the agony he feels as his bones shift, and realign, and are made to grow together at an unnatural speed is anything less than absolute.

When it’s over Obi-Wan sags against the wall. A furious sweat dampens his forehead and his skin shivers with shock. Still, he digs deep into the teeth-clenched inner reserves of strength he’s had to cultivate over his life and in a thin, jaunty tone says: “Many thanks.”

Anakin snorts in dark amusement and then raises his hand. Obi-Wan is jerked forward, plucked into the air by an invisible grip until he is standing on his newly re-formed leg.

Tilting his head up, Obi-Wan forces himself to meet Anakin’s gaze: yellow where once a crystalline blue had been.

So much of him is still the same and that is it’s own cruelty.

“Two years, Obi-Wan,” he says, mouth flattened, and Obi-Wan could almost believe that it’s from disappointment. “That’s all it took me to find you.”

“You always were exceptionally efficient at anything you set your mind to, Anakin.”

“And you were always exceptionally arrogant, my master.” The door behind him closes and now Obi-Wan is alone in this cell with Anakin. He’s alone in this cell with Anakin and Anakin’s pressing darkness that winds through the empty spaces between them, doing more to burn away the breathable air than a fire ever could. “You know very well that is no longer my name.”

“You must forgive me. Where I’ve been living hasn’t afforded me the ability to stay current on galactic events,” he bluffs. “Tatooine is rather in the middle of nowhere, as I’m sure you remember. Is there something else you’d prefer I call you?”

“My name is Darth Vader.”

Obi-Wan lets the silence sit and then gives a careful, neutral: “Ah.” A muscle in Anakin’s jaw bulges as he his teeth grind together. “It’s lovely.”

The air turns more dense—more claustrophobic—as the weight of Anakin’s ire bears down on him. “You,” Anakin says, stepping closer and Obi-Wan holds his ground. “Are so—” Whatever he had been on the verge of saying is bitten away and then banished by a swift shake of his head. “What’s on Tatooine, old man?”

“Sand.” Obi-Wan says without thinking and he gets an invisible vise around his throat for it.

Anakin persists, stepping nearer, staring into his face and he’s close enough that Obi-Wan can see the industrial shuttle light cast a sheen on his eyelashes. “Why of all the planets in all the star systems did you choose that one?”

“The…” he pants through his swiftly closing airway. “Weather.”

“Try again.”

“Always...admired…” Flickers, like a gathering of gnats, are at the corner of his vision now and his lungs are burning for breath. “...Jawa culture…”

“Obi-Wan,” he chides, tightening his grip and this time Obi-Wan can only muster a sound—nothing like words and everything like the desperate last gasp of a dying body—as blackness eats away all that he sees.

He’s on the precipice of unconsciousness—a cliff’s edge that he is inching toward with every passing, choking second—when abruptly he’s released. He collapses in a heap, sputtering for air, and when his vision darkens again this time it’s because Anakin’s form is looming over him. Yellow eyes glint and gold flecked hair spills over his shoulder as he crouches over where Obi-Wan lays.

“Let’s try this again.”

“Must we?” Obi-Wan wheezes.

“Why were you on Tatooine?”

Any number of thoughts roll through his sluggish mind—obfuscations, goadings, taunts—but none of them will throw Anakin off his question for long. And, to his credit, it is an excellent question. It is the question that Obi-Wan most dreads he discovers the answer to. The reason he didn’t leave Mustafar to throw himself into the fray of battle once more. The reason for the hut in the dune sea and the quiet vigil he’s held on the Lars homestead and the yawning loneliness of desert nights beneath an impossible spill of stars. It's the reason, the one thing, that has kept him tethered to this mortal plane when so often the winds of Tatooine have beckoned for him to follow their howling call during a sandstorm and let them swallow him down.

But this.

This is what he was tasked with: the protection of a boy at any cost. At any cost, and his obfuscations and goadings and taunts might very well be the thing that strikes fire to the tinder of his former apprentice’s rage enough to kill him once and for all, but who will protect the boy, then?

He needs a distraction. One that will last.

He needs to enter the maw of the creature that Anakin has become and dwell there a while.

Anakin is kneeling now, coming ever closer, and there is one last gambit he can try. One last ploy that might very well break his spirit, his heart, his mind, even if it keeps him alive for years to come.

“Why were you on Tatooine, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan licks his chapped, split lips. He tastes the metal tang of blood and says, in a voice that is ruined by violence, “So that you could find me.”

Anakin recoils at that, jerking backwards as if he’s been slapped. “No,” he says. “No you were there for a reason. I know it. They must have sent you...”

The laugh that Obi-Wan huffs is real. “Who? Who is there left to send me anywhere?”

“The Council—”

“Is gone,” Obi-Wan says. “The Order is gone. I'm all that is left.” Obi-Wan grits his teeth against the bruises and bleeding, fights until he is on his knees. Anakin’s eyes widen as Obi-Wan pulls himself upright and now they are of a height. “Do with me what you will.”

Anakin’s mouth is soft when it finds him; warm when it falls open and he lets in a hungry, questing tongue as it seeks out the taste of Obi-Wan—shattered and battered and brought low—and Anakin savors them all with a moan. Obi-Wan wishes he were strong enough to keep his eyes open, but it’s easier to forget where he is—who he is—when there’s not so much light.

Arms wrap around Obi-Wan’s waist, holding fast and tight and he breaks away from their kiss to give a yell of agony at the pain Anakin’s questing hands mete. Anakin doesn’t notice, whispering instead into the vulnerable curve of Obi-Wan’s throat: “You know how much I’ve wanted this. For years and years I’ve wanted this.”

“I know.” Subtlety had never been a trait that Anakin had cared to nurture. There have been all the ‘fresher doors accidently left open as his padawan showered and all the cots claimed as Obi-Wan’s own inexplicably filled with the sleeping sprawl of a knight fresh from the field, and all the war zones where the only way to save Obi-Wan’s life was to shield him beneath the protective weight of General Skywalker’s body.

“You said it was forbidden.”

“It was.” And even though his cracked ribs sing and the places where blaster fire singed his flesh crack open to bleed again, Obi-Wan reaches up. He brings his arms around Anakin’s broad shoulders, and their bodies press together until there is only cloth and heat and dwindling time between them. “But who is left to stop us now?”

He lets himself be taken then, murmuring praises all the while because this is something Obi-Wan can do. He can become Anakin’s pet—his plaything—and maybe someday when the years have stripped Obi-Wan of his pride and his body has been broached by another so fiercely it is no longer his own to claim... maybe then he’ll look across a field of some new battle, some new planet, some new space station to see the blue eyes of another Skywalker, a new Skywalker, a Skywalker that has lived and grown and come into his own, and he’ll know it all will have been worth it.

[kahidlaws]

Human

What is a human to a god? Arjuna knows this is a simple question with a simple answer. Yet, with meeting you in that fated circle, he finds that simplicity doesn't fit your case.

In which Arjuna regain bits of his humanity with you, in more ways than one.

*:･ﾟ✧ first (original) post to the new blog!

this is catalyst for godjuna. im gonna be fucked when arjuna alter banner comes live im so fucking scared--

gn!reader

tw: sexual content!! minors dni!! (size difference, sex in the hot spring ((dont do this in real life like no joke u will pass out from the heat)), oral sex), lostbelt campaign spoilers

"Gods use humans as their proxy, without men becoming gods. I was born to carry out that role, but for the time being it appears that I wish to travel with you more. Ah, this world is truly full of the unknown, not just evil alone, but the good too. Hah, what a fascinating thing."

Ever since Arjuna had been summoned, he had one goal in mind: to eradicate evil, to protect what's good and preserve the peace of this world. To some, this seems like a lofty goal, almost naive to even think. But Arjuna is not one of them. He is not one of the many mortals who scatter the earth. He is above them all, abandoning his preferences, his emotions, his desires, to stand amongst those who govern the rule of this land and to keep the peace. Should he so desire, he could rip this world in half but he wouldn't. His promise to the Human Order supercedes that.

He is a god amongst the Servants meandering Chaldea and he intends to keep it that way.

Yet why do you persist?

You, the Master, who was able to summon a being such as himself. You, who so vehemently tries to drag Arjuna into almost everything; movie nights with your Servants, battling those golden trees for embers, cooking with him, running simulations in the training grounds. He doesn't know why you persist being with a god. He merely complies as those were his orders.

Yet your words will forever ring in his ears.

"I would never order my Servants around. They do what they do because they want to. Not because of me."

Not because of you? What did that mean? Were they not following under your orders? They were Servants and you were the Master after all. What was Arjuna missing?

"Ah, I guess you wouldn't know immediately." And he distinctly remembers the smile on your face as you said that. "It's okay if you don't understand, a lot of my Servants are like that. Just know that you have your own path to choose, so I won't force you."

His own path to choose? Arjuna only followed a cycle of life and rebirth. There was no 'path'. There was only fate.

And yet, he couldn't stop the darkening of his hair as he continued to watch you.

It took a trip to the hot springs that you pointed out that Arjuna's hair was getting darker.

It came as no surprise that a lot of your Servants agreed to going to an open-house sauna and hot spring for the next vacation. The building was big enough to house even Heracles as he comically held a can of Calpis in his fingers and a wooden pail in the other. It was the perfect day to unwind and relax from all of the horrors you've witnessed during your time in the Lostbelts.

"Arjuna?" You questioned the Berserker. He still wore his usual clothes (thankfully his other ascensions had him put a shirt on) but something was off. "Your hair... It turned darker!"

The Servant only hummed, fingers lifting to caress the short strands of hair. The color was no longer the pale white that blankets him like snow-it was now a dark brown, nearing black. The horns that used to tower over his head now shrunk down to look like cat ears.

"... It appears I've..." Arjuna falters before breathing in softly. "I've... Regained some of my humanity, thanks to you."

You merely smiled, forcing your brain to not remember the time that the Indian Lostbelt, that Arjuna nearly killed you. "You're welcome, Arjuna. I'm glad to see you're doing well."

He hummed, moving his head when a stray Orion was shot next to the wall. Above Artemis's threats, he looks around the bathhouse. Different Servants we're doing their own thing, with the children Servants drinking juice and the other adult Servants talking about the hot springs. This sense of normalcy was supposed to be fitted for humans and yet here he was-here they were. Gods, heroes, and demons alike conversing with each other and enjoying each others presence like they were long-time friends.

Though he supposes, he thinks, looking back at your overjoyed form. That this fate ordained to him... Wasn't so bad.

"We should go to our designated hot springs, Master." Arjuna said to you. "Before the night goes on for any longer."

You nodded to him. "Alright! Well, enjoy your dip-"

Before you could even utter another word, two sets of hands grabbed each of your arm. You looked from side to side to see Marie Antoinette on your left and Nero on your right. Weren't they just in the kitchen? How were they here?

"That simply won't do, dear Master!" Marie Antoinette giggled. "Your schedule is in the co-ed hot spring!"

"C-Co-ed?" You questioned her.

"Of course!" Nero answered you, beginning to drag you to where the hot spring was. "Besides, the Arjuna next to you will be there as well, so you won't feel lonely!"

Somehow the burning of your cheeks wasn't because of the steam. You stared at both the Servants incredulously. There was no way they were setting you up with one of your Servants, are they?

"Master?" The god asks you, floating next to you as both Nero and Marie drag you to the room. "Do you agree to this?"

If it wasn't for the absolute death grip on each of your arm, you would've reconsidered. All you could muster was a strained 'yeah' before Arjuna complied with his new task. If only you could ignore the teasing giggles the women side by side were giving you.

"The stars... You've chosen a good place, Master."

You merely hummed, not wanting to meet his eyes as you sat in your corner of the pool. The hot spring was large, enough to house several people with the stones jutting around the edge smoothly. The night sky was painted with stars and you welcomed the sight of the celestial bodies like they were water in a desert.

"I... I feel... lighter when I am here. With you. I feel as though this is who I was before I became a god and it... It's good."

You hummed once more.

"Although..." He trailed off staring blankly at you. "Master, why are you so far away?"

Because of the spacious hot spring, Arjuna had to raise his voice slightly for you to hear. You could only look at the stars, not wanting to see the body that the Berserker possesses. You knew that almost all Berserkers have physical prowess far beyond other classes, but did they also have to involve their own body parts?

You shivered when you caught a glimpse of his true form.

"W-Wanting to respect your privacy, that's all!" You replied back. "I know you're ah... Not one for touch!"

After hearing no response, you slightly relaxed and continued to stare up into the sky. The water was nice, the warmth encompassing you like no other warmth as the smell of the natural air made you breathe easy. Compared to the stuffy air of the Shadow Border or the Atlantic base, this was something you desperately needed.

"You are lost in thought, Master."

You nearly screeched and fell down in the water had it not been for Arjuna's secure grip on your waist. His hands on your skin made you shiver but you could barely focus on that when the Servant of your affections was standing in front of you, ignoring personal boundaries.

"A-Arjuna!?" You yelped, backing away immediately only to feel rock. "I uh... Yes?"

He let out a breath through his nose as he stared you. His face was dangerously close to your own as his dark eyes searched for something on your face. His skin glistened with the water and sweat accumulated from staying in the hot spring and you respectfully turned your eyes upwards so you wouldn't go any further.

"Master..." He said again, this time much closer to you to feel the rumble in his chest. "You are... nervous."

You cleared your throat. "Well y-yeah. You're standing... really close."

He let out a breath again and you were sure that he was laughing at your nervousness. "Is the distance between us troubling you?"

"No... I mean-" You immediately corrected, face burning with embarrassment. "I'm not-opposed to this in any way...!"

He took a moment to watch your reaction before sighing softly. "Am I... Is this how you normally do this?"

You stared up at him, his eyebrows were furrowed as if he was trying to discern good from evil. "Arjuna...?"

"The two Servants who dragged you..." He started. "They mentioned something like this when it comes to the person of your affections. Am I doing it correctly, Master?"

You gaped up at him. He was acting weirdly because of something Nero and Marie said? How much more were they feeding him junk?

You had to thank them soon.

"Arjuna, I-" You stammered before clearing your throat. "I won't deny that I like this, but you shouldn't be doing something you're not comfortable with. If it troubles you this much then please ignore my opinion on it."

He stared at you, facial expression relaxing. "You truly are something else, Master. To think I would desire something again when I casted off my human shell."

He leans closer, hands tightening around your waist as you leaned in closer as well. Any closer and your lips would connect. "Are you feeling any human now?"

Arjuna stared at your lips before letting out a soft chuckle. "Of course."

And the kiss you two shared was nothing short of passionate. Bodies pressed together, tongues sliding against one another-Arjuna continues to push against you as he hoisted you up on the stones. The smooth surface wasn't at all uncomfortable as Arjuna revered at you with a fond look that made you cover your face.

"Master?" He asks you. "What is wrong?"

"D-Don't look at me like that..." You muttered.

"But Master, this is how I normally look at you."

"That doesn't make things any better!"

He let out a chuckle and you had to pause that not even the original Arjuna laughed. His hands took away your own and your breath was stolen when you see the absolute serene and affectionate look on his face.

"Apologies but I want to see everything." He said before slowly descending down on your body. "May I?"

You gulped but you spread your legs further. If there is any Servant whom you trust the most, it was the one standing between your legs. "Pleasure me."

And with the task at hand, Arjuna did thus so. His tongue teasing your sensitive area as you moaned deliriously at his mouth. Your hand went back, steadying yourself against the wet rocks as your other hand carded through his hair. His tongue continued to lavish you, his hands keeping your legs apart as he made a mess out of you. At some point your hand brushed his horns and he shivered.

You kept a mental note of that for future reference.

Your hips bucked slightly, wanting to get closer to him, to his mouth, until he parted away. You whined, hand rubbing against his horn as he shivered once more. This time, he latched his hand on your wrist as he stood up fully. Even from above the water, you can see the prominent hardness of his cock and you nearly balked at the sight. Seriously, are all Berserkers well-endowed?!

"I seem to can't hold any longer because of you," Arjuna said your name, "you seem to make me feel more human than I realized."

You could only giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him. From that kiss, you felt all the uncertainty, all the fear, all the love that you have and you were sure Arjuna had it too.

"Should I apologize?" You teased.

He huffed. "No."

And with a push, he was inside of you. You gasped at the feeling of being stretched, your body tightening around Arjuna as he hissed. Willing to relax your muscles, you eased Arjuna slowly, giving him praise as he continued to thrust himself inside of you bit by bit. Inch by inch, his cock disappeared into your hole and you could only gasp at the sight of the protrusion on your belly when you press against it.

"You feel..." Arjuna gasped before moving and thrusting back in. "You feel so divine..."

With a little more leeway, Arjuna thrusted his hips faster as you moaned from each thrust. Your legs locked against his back, your heel hitting his bum each thrust as his tail wrapped around your waist, almost as if you were going away.

With how his cock kept hitting that special spot, why would you?

You threw your head back, letting Arjuna press kisses across your neck as he let out his own moans at the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock. The sound of your shared moans, skin slapping against skin, water rippling, were the only sounds in that hot spring and yet you could hear something absolutely symphonious as you felt your core tighten.

"Arjuna...!" You mewled, bringing your head back to kiss his neck. "I'm close!"

He moaned at the sensation on his neck, his hands grabbing your hips and plunging his cock deeper into you. "Let go. Let go now... I am here."

With several more thrusts, you let out a breathless scream, clinging to Arjuna even closer as he was brought to his release. You felt warmth not unlike the hot spring coat your walls. You gasped at each spurt of it, letting your body collapse against Arjuna as you sighed from the warmth.

He said your name and you hummed sleepily. "Please do not sleep in the hot springs. It is unwise for your health."

You giggled, wrapping around him tighter. "Carry me to my room, please?"

With his arms and tails securely wrapped around you, he smiled. "As you desire."

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Could you please do a Geralt/Reader one where Geralt saves her life, and she feels in awe and intimidated, but really wants to make it known how grateful she is, because she knows he doesnt get to hear it enough with his line of work?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Geralt x ReaderWord Count: 1,102Rating: T for violenceTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock a/n: I really hope you like it! I don’t have much Geralt experience but here is an attempt!

You ran.

Feet pounding against the cobblestones in time with the frantic beating of your heart as you fled.  The only sounds that rent the night air were your labored breathing and the persistent torrent of hoofbeats ever-nearing behind you. The roaring of blood rushing through your ears and the panic spiking through your body deafened you but you still heard it, the telltale scrape of metal grinding against metal as the sword was loosed from its sheath.

“Y/F/N,” the voice came from above you and you could feel the horse’s breath against your neck, pushing your muscles onward though you knew it was too late.

“You are charged with treason. You have been judged guilty and you have been sentenced to death. May the gods have mercy on your soul,” the voice intoned. You heard the sword cut through the air and screwed your eyes up tight, sending a silent prayer of apology to your mother as you waited for the impact.

None came.

You didn’t dare turn around to check what had happened. You heard a crashing sound but the hoofbeats persisted so you ran though your heart felt like it would burst.

“Wait,” a voice called. You didn’t know the voice and you sure as hell weren’t going to pause to find out what they wanted with you. You could see the forest in the distance, you just had to get to it and then you knew you’d be able to find cover and lose them. Nobody knew the woods like you.

And then you tripped.

Your foot scuffed against a pebble and you launched forward, landing roughly in a pile against the cold, unyielding stone street. You bit your tongue so hard you tasted iron and you lay on your back, gasping for breath, blood trickling down your parted lips.

Your heart pounded fiercely but you stay prone as you heard the horse come to a stop and someone dismount. It was too late. You knew you’d done your best, tried as hard as you could to escape. You only hoped someone would tell your family so they didn’t spend the rest of their lives looking for you, praying you’d come home.

A mass of black knelt over you and you stared into a pair of golden eyes.

“Stay down,” he said, resting a hand against your shoulder. You saw the hilts of two great swords behind his back but he didn’t reach for them as you expected. Instead he reached for a vial.

“What-” you tried to speak but choked on the blood that still pooled in your throat.

“Don’t talk,” he ordered. His tone was brusque but his actions were kind, his hands gentle as they grasped your arms and tilted you on your side so the blood could drain from your mouth. He held you steady as you coughed and offered you his waterskin once the wracking coughs ended. You poured some in your mouth and spat it out, trying to clear away the taste.

“Stick out your tongue,” he ordered. You did as asked, still mystified by the stranger that aided you, eyes darting around in the dark behind you, looking for your would-be executioner.

“He’s dead,” the man said, answering your wary glances as he poured a liquid that burned on your tongue.

“That will stop the bleeding,” he explained, putting the vial away and gesturing for you to drink more water. This time when you drank you tasted only water, eagerly emptying the waterskin.

“Why?” you croaked when you handed it back to him.

“Y/F/N, correct?” he asked. You nodded. “You aided Princess Ciri.”

You nodded, remembering the girl you’d helped hide in those tumultuous first days of the First Nilfgaard War. You’d wondered what happened to her.

“I owed you a debt of gratitude for this,” he said simply. As your breathing returned to normal and you realized you weren’t in mortal peril, your thoughts cleared and you took in the silver hair and golden eyes and Geralt watched as recognition dawned on your face.

“Geralt of Rivia,” you said, “The Witcher.”

He nodded. Your heart leapt to your throat as you processed the fact that you were not only talking with the legendery witcher, but your life had been saved by him.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you said breathlessly.

“Hmm. As I said, this was a debt owed,” he said dismissively as he stood. You rose to your feet as well.

“That was repaid when you stopped him from killing me. But you also stayed with me and you’ve helped heal my wounds,” you insisted. He shrugged.

“I wish I had something to give you, some token but I left everyone when I ran. Wait! Not everything,” you said, reaching for the chain around your neck. Attached to the chain was a ring, a simple gold band with a word carved on the inside of it.

“In my family every newborn child is given a poesy ring,” you explained, “On it is engraved a wish for that child. I want you to have this. It’s fitting, really.”

You held out the chain, the ring dangling from it and the witcher shook his head.

“You don’t need to offer me payment,” he said.

“That’s not what this is. I can never pay you what my life being spared means to me or my loved ones, but I want you to have a token to remember that no matter what they call you, there is someone out there who thanks their stars every day for knowing you,” you said. You took his hand and gently lowered the ring into his palm, coiling the chain next to it and then wrapping his fist closed around it for good measure. He didn’t say anything and you felt your courage wan.

“I’m going to go now, but thank you again. And be safe, Geralt of Rivia. We have need of you now more than ever,” you said and then, before he could try and give it back or protest your words, you ran towards the woods, your steps lightened by your eagerness to see your family and the blessed reprieve from the fear that weighed you down before.

Geralt watched you disappear into the distance, kept watching to ensure that you made it safely. When you reached the forest’s edge you turned around and waved at him. He waved back and then you were gone.

He looked down at his still closed fist and opened it, picking up the ring to read the message that had been engraved on the inside.

Mercy.

[joelmillerthirstqz]

Loving your stories! How about a sort of combination of kink prompts 41/70? Joel/Reader are out on patrol, she gets almost bitten (he confirms it doesn’t break the skin somehow but scares the hell out of both of them). Back in Jackson she insists on quarantining for a few days to make sure she’s not infected (he thinks it’s unnecessary). As soon as Joel gets her home from her self-imposed quarantine, he needs to have her in an I-almost-lost-you-Don’t-ever-do-that-again desperate kind of way.

Welp!

72-Hour-Quarantine

The wind goes out of you as a runner collides with your side, his wayward arms circling into a surprisingly effective tackle. The thing looks especially ragged and your arms are pinned under yourself as you try to reload with it gnashing on top of you. You hear Joel yell your name and fire, but he hits just left of the runner’s spine and only adds a jerk to its unsettling movement.

You shoot it point-blank in the chest by the time you chamber a round, earning an upset gurgling wail—this thing might be just a day or two away from clicking already, no way to tell how long it had been out here.

You feel the hard semicircle of its mouth close over your shirt-covered shoulder. The pressure makes your head spin but you don’t feel the telltale puncture of teeth. It lasts for two seconds before Joel fires again, the sound deafening you at this range and spraying blood all over your face. The sighted clicker falls slack, a toothless mouth lolling open as you register what happened and freeze on the floor where you are.

Ears ringing, your back is against Joel’s chest as his hands scrabble to see the damage.

“Hope you’re still listening,” you say to him without hearing yourself, trying not to look at your shoulder. “Can’t hear a fucking thing.”

He ignores you and gets the strap of your undershirt off and runs his palm over a purpling pressure wound, raw from the force of the bite but skin unbroken. You’ve gone quiet in stark resignation.

You feel him stroke the side of your face as if to turn it towards the mark and you look, ringing not dissipating but his voice coming through stronger. No teeth, no blood drawn, but the way blood pools at the surface and darkens made you anxious. Your skin is near-shiny with the discoloration.

“Not broken,” he pronounces and you exhale.

You push away from him and stand, righting your clothes.

“Hey, you’re good, right? You’re good,” Joel’s hands close over both of your biceps, watching your face.

“I need to quarantine. When we get back.”

“No you don’t, the skin is going to be fine—just need some ice,” he scrubs a hand over his face, watching you closely.

“Joel, I need you to cover for me, okay? I’m not showing this to Maria,” you’re adamant but glance down.

“Nothing to cover because, you’re okay,” he says doggedly, tapping at the split-open jaw of the clicker with the toe of his boot.

Joel takes a cautious step closer, repeating his gentle reassurances. His hand goes to your jaw and you realize he’s about to do something stupid, so you push away and turn down the hall to make your way back to the horses.

“I could be infected, Joel,” you say apologetically, too awash in ‘what-if’ to register that after four months of awkward, sweet, near-heated interactions, he’d tried to kiss you at the dumbest possible opportunity.

“That it?” He asks, one hand tucked in his belt, same as he always did when he wasn’t sure where to put them. He doesn’t look defensive as much as severely let down.

You stop and look back at him.

“No, of course not. But now I need to go lock myself inside for three days so I don’t eat you about it, alright?” You watch each other with searching eyes for a second before he follows you out to the horses.

—

Jackson, Wednesday Evening

It’s evening by the time you get in and stable the horses, Joel half-watching you but evidently convinced that you hadn’t been infected as you hand off your horse in the stables. You trudge silently towards home, not speaking until you reach your porch.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” you say quietly, shuffling up your steps, aching for a hot shower that you were a little hopeful would run cold.

Joel chuckles and looks up at you under his dark brows.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he dismisses.

You give him a soft smile.

“Bring your shotgun,” you joke, knowing it is weak deflection.

He rolls his eyes at you and retreats to the street, hands thrust in his coat.

—

Jackson, Wednesday, Midnight

You’re showered and settled on your couch with a nice fire heating the living room you still can’t believe is yours, your legs slung off of one edge as you balance your book on your chest.

You’ve read this particular paragraph four times: spent the first thinking about your mortality and whether or not Joel could actually kill you right in this spot if you turn, the second totally assured that quarantining is the right choice, the third, whether or not a kiss could transfer the virus, and the fourth about the way he would taste, how his hand would feel guiding your jaw like that again.

A knock startles you on your fifth pass, and you squint over the back of the couch before rising.

You peer through the door and sigh, walking around your entryway to slide open the dining room window and poke your head out. Joel’s hands are in his pockets again, rocking back and forth on one foot. He raises an eyebrow at you, curtains parted around your shoulders and hair knotted on top of your head.

“Can I come in?” He speaks to you quietly, low drawl never requiring a lot of volume between you.

“Joel, you know why not,” you sigh. He’s already dragging a chair from your porch parallel to your location in the window seat.

“Fine, even though you’re fine,” he replies, taking a seat and tugging two beers from his jacket. You accept the one he passes through.

“No gurgling yet, zero moaning,” you report, toasting him through the window.

“I see that,” Joel says, crossing one ankle over his opposite knee.

—

Jackson, Thursday, Morning

“Joel, I’m fine, I’m me, still good,” you call, traipsing down the stairs and acquiring articles of clothing as you go, rubbing your eyes at the bright downstairs light. His broad frame is haunting your entire front door, but you duck to the side the poke open the dining room window, even with this cold. As you get settled on the window seat, a covered plate of food enters your line of vision. It looks like an omelette stuffed with something, steaming the edges of the container.

“Did you make me breakfast?” You ask sleepily.

“Hopefully lasts a little more than that, I’m out on route four today,” he explains. “And I only mentioned to Ellie. She’ll keep quiet, everyone thinks you have the flu otherwise.”

It smells fantastic, and you note he might actually have managed to preserve some of the herb garden persisting away in his backyard, decades after the outbreak.

You don’t know what to say to him or the casual, presumptuous intimacy so you just bite your lower lip to avoid saying something stupid. Watching the edge of hopefulness on his features makes it hard to look at him directly. You decided yesterday that you’re going to climb into his lap the second you can be close again, counting out stupid, anxious missed time. You probably could have kissed him months ago, based on the way he’s acting now, and instead you’d both just shuffled back to your respective houses to sit in consumed solitude night after night.

“Thank you,” you finally give weakly. He smiles and starts to make his way off of the porch, hand on a column as he rounds it. The way he moves through the world is so visceral and practical, and you look at him a little longer than you mean to.

“Joel,” you start. He looks back with those eyes and their intense focus, warm at the edges for regarding you.

“Be safe, please,” you ask.

“If I’m not, I’ll just come in there with you,” he’s more bold than he’d ever been, smile tugging up the corner of his mouth before he turns. You sigh and watch him stride away, shamelessly taking in his form with your chin on your hand.

—

Jackson, Thursday, Late

The knocking doesn’t startle you this time, his rhythm familiar now. You want to tick the lock open and just let him inside, for both your sakes, but you don’t, for everyone’s sake.

“How was patrol?” You ask, sliding the door open.

“Are you good?” he plows.

“Me first. Are you?” You counter. You’d be a moaning heap of erratic pain if you were going to turn at this point.

Joel relents and nods.

“Brought back some things from town,” he says sheepishly, pushing you a paper-wrapped section of meat and a small basket of vegetables. They’re stacked with suspicious neatness, lashed together with a neatly tied bow of twine. They don’t come that way at the market stalls.

—

Jackson, Friday, Early Afternoon

Joel doesn’t get a reply after the first two knocks, and he rushes to the back door. He can hear a record warbling and the uniform sounds of something being chopped, letting his shoulders sink a couple of inches from their tense alert.

You’d been trying to prepare what he’d brought you last night in silence and couldn’t get free of repeating your conversations, brief little snippets of tipsy exchanges. It’s not like you’d spoken much since he’d been hovering over your one-house quarantine zone, but you suppose there’s not a lot left to say. You’ve got exactly one thing to express to him and it doesn’t require a hell of a lot of talking at this point.

He hears a deep male voice thrumming along, inflected with guitar and accompaniments that crackle through the vinyl player in the kitchen. He raises his hand to the back door to knock before your voice joins in, catching on just one verse.

         You know I dreamed about you

         For twenty-nine years before I saw you

You’re trying your damndest to do a nice job of cutting neat circles of the squash he’d picked out, slow thumps of the knife hitting the board running along with the music. You sing distractedly, only to yourself.

         You know I dreamed about you

         I missed you for, for twenty-nine years

Joel pulls his hand back, running it over his beard and seeing how quietly he can sneak back to your front door.

When he knocks, the first side of the record is run out and you sigh in relief, still murmuring a soft fuck me because who knows how long he’d been there.

You pop open the dining room window.

“Want to come to the back porch? Trying to do what you brought me some justice, and you should take some home for you and Ellie,” you get out calmly, gesturing to the path he’d just snuck along below the view of the windows.

Joel retraces his steps with a small smile.

You fling open the window over the sink and he leans in, forearms crossed over each other.

“That smells delicious,” he comments, watching you carefully layer the vegetables, alternating their colors one over the other. You’d never been any type of a cook before the outbreak, but in Jackson, time was almost predictable enough to spend meditative little moments on details. You took to it well, especially when the source of the food was a bit more precious than whatever generic options supermarkets peddled before. This was grown in Jackson, hunted in Jackson—carried to you by a man whose whole height can barely handle the window he’s leaning into. Maybe you’re pouring extra focus into hoping he hadn’t heard your choice pining through the windows a moment before while he watches you attentively.

Sliding it into the oven with a satisfied nod, you set the manual timer to two hours and look up nervously.

“Well. It’ll be a bit,” you shrug.

“Fix me a drink then, honey?” Joel teases, and you wish the sound of him calling you that didn’t shoot to your toes. His smile is radiant and you try to memorize this rare expression without tripping over something in your own house.

“Fuckin’ pushing it,” you emphasize, pointing to him as you retreat to the bar to scrounge up something pass the time while the dinner cooks.

—

Jackson, Saturday Morning

Joel wakes up early on Saturday, hustling through scant chores and a long shower, arriving at squarely at seven in the morning with an empty cup of coffee before him on his kitchen island, shirt neatly tucked into his jeans, boots looking suspiciously more respectable and free of dirt than usual. He tries to force himself to sit after he pours another mug, eyes grazing the clock constantly. You’d been chewed on around nine AM three mornings ago, quarantine is a 72-hour-thing, and he bounces one knee nervously as the sunlight starts to slant across his kitchen floor to indicate something closer to a reasonable hour.

There’s a buzzy tension to him, realizing no buffer of over-caution needed to be enforced anymore. It meant not ignoring that his first reflex on realizing he hadn’t lost you was to finally kiss you. Ideally it meant he would get to finish the conversation he had tried to start.

At ten minutes before nine, he barely finishes knocking when you whip open the door, short hair wet and a mug of tea in one hand.

“Still human,” you note, spinning as if to prove it, lopsided grin trying to keep it light. You show him the bruise beginning to redden and wilt yellowish near the edges, purple receding like you’d been clenched in a smooth-edged bear trap instead of an infected maw.

“May I come in?” He asks so formally that you step back and gesture inside with a little bow, closing off the cold behind him. Joel fills the space of your little entryway and you’re compelled to set your tea down where you keep your keys on the table, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Listen, what I did after—” he starts, halting at the way you’re watching him without flinching. Your eyes flick to his mouth and he steps towards you, expecting you to back into the wall so he can stop and ask to kiss you this time.

You grasp the hair at the nape of his neck and kiss him hard, mouth opening for him as he instantly reciprocates, hands flying to your sides. You kiss adroitly, anticipating each other like its an old habit until Joel pushes you against the wall, coaxing your legs around his waist and holding you there to bring you level with him.

His tongue feels so exquisite, feels perfect to finally have him pressed against you like this—you don’t think of pace or timing as you speed to unbutton his shirt. Joel flicks yours open, smoothing his hand over your still-sore, riddled shoulder. He drops open-mouthed kisses there and you arc against him without meaning to. He piques an eyebrow with interest at that, clearly filing it away.

You slide your hands over his shoulders to urge his shirt off and he hastily twists out of it, grasping your thighs to move you into the living room. He gets to the dining room table instead, layout inverted from his own home, and laughs against your mouth before righting you both and trying to hasten back to the couch.

You pull his hair and wreck his balance, and he slams you both into the china cabinet that you’d never quite gotten the energy to move out of whoever’s house this was before. You slide your hand between your bodies and try to slip into the waistband of his jeans. Joel catches your wrist and slams it into the cabinet, shaking something off the top in the process, his other hand palming your breasts. You both laugh  against each other at the loud crash, Joel toeing the shards mostly out of your way.

You use your considerable lower body strength to spin Joel against the cabinet and emphasize what you want with your palm against his chest, wrenching the buttons of his fly open and falling to your knees in front of him. You swallow him near whole, finding him fully hard and hearing a tinny tchink tchink as dishes jostle in the cabinet beside your combined weight. Thinking you’d be fully satisfied to kneel here and explore him just like this, you hollow your cheeks and revel in assessing his size, peeking up to watch him react.

“Fuck, fuck, that has to wait,” he grimaces, gulping a huge breath and tugging on your hair. He uses that particular curse so rarely, even on life-or-death patrols, that you assent and draw off of him, watching him close his eyes as you slip off of his head.

Joel tugs you up roughly and half-stoops to get one arm under your knees, an act that would be effortless if pleasure wasn’t diffusing across every inch of his skin. He pointedly gets back to the couch in a few strides, long legs carrying you quickly.

He tosses you down lightly and covers your body with his, mouth roaming over your throat and collarbones. Joel sits back on his heels to unbutton your jeans and strip them away as you paw to drag his the rest of the way down.

He gives a nervous grunt as you both realize he still has his boots on, and you muscle your way into his lap to keep kissing him while he fumbles them off behind you, smiling into your kiss. When he’s free, you grind down against him and take him in your fist, earning a gasp as he turns his face against your chest.

Joel flips you both again, simply getting you under him and guiding himself to your core. You thrust up to receive him before he can ask to have you, and take scant time to adjust before he’s slamming into you. The blunt edge of his fingernails dig into your hips as he holds you fast, rearing back on his knees to get the best angle. His physicality hadn’t been lost on you for a moment, but you let him stretch you open while you take him in anyway. He’s in excellent shape, definition emphasized by the tight clench of his abdomen as he takes you. Figuring it’s acceptable to gawk with him this deep inside of you, you span a palm over his chest and the dark hair there, unmistakable line of it directly between his hipbones so gratifying now that you weren’t just seeing it in accidental flashes.

As good as the impact of his motions shaking the entire couch and your body feel, you roll up towards him so you’re seated squarely in his lap so you keep kissing him while you move together. The change in angle doesn’t tone down the way every one of your bones is rattling as he responds urgently to you riding him.

Joel’s broad hands are everywhere, unable to pause on one spot, bunching in your hair to keep you where he likes as you fuck each other with building intensity. It’s like you’re both trying to lead a dance and each had only ever learned to follow, too messy with need to get out of each other’s way. It’s not skillful and that fact is utterly missed on both your accelerating orgasms.

“I’m okay, I’m all here,” you murmur against his mouth as his hands stroke over you like he’s reassuring himself. You thread your own hands into his black hair, thumbing his jaw through his beard.

“Stay that way,” he pleads back, one hand on your jaw, one guiding your hips over his and working his tongue into your mouth for want of more ways to be connected to you.

You want to respond but the way you’re rocking together only facilitates a moan escaping as you start to spasm around him.

Joel pulls back deliberately with his hand on your chin so he can watch—you pull his thumb into your mouth and bite softly as you come, shuddering and bucking in his lap. His brows draw up tense as he follows you, keeping his eyes on yours until he cries out with his forehead against your collarbone on the side with the enormous pressure bruise.

Your rapid panting twines even as it starts to slow, and Joel pulls back to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, eyes still on you, still inside you.

“C’mere,” you slide off of him carefully, awareness of how sore you were going to be settling in to muscles overworked by impatient need. Pulling both your chests together to feel your heartbeats at once, his eyes drift like he’s finally calmed by the sensation, strumming along your spine with an open hand.

You half-assemble yourselves in the brightening morning light, squinting at clothes strewn out of reach across the bottom floor of your house. You both become a little more sheepish in the aftermath, shy smiles coming comfortably but tension not dissolved. Joel feels at ease moving beneath you in a way you’d never seen him.

“I’ll go grab our shirts,” you start, trying to rise.

“Can I just take you upstairs for the rest of the day?” he counters, low, warm voice filling you.

“No plans today?” You raise your eyebrows at him curiously.

“Just the one,” he breathes.

You finish standing and cock your head at him, extending your hand. There’s no shyness in the way he looks at you now, just the directness wrought by plans to continue rearranging your life in broad daylight.

He rises and picks you up before you can react.

“Joel, it’s just upstairs,” you whine, not really upset by whatever this was from him.

“It was three days. And you wouldn’t let me in,” he objects.

“Longer wait than three days, cowboy,” you mutter.

He raises his eyebrows in good humor at the endearment, placing you on your still-mussed bed. You drag him close and pull him down to the bed, finding yourself caged in his arms.

“Come here,” you demand, pulling him towards you. No amount of daylight was going to be enough for you today, and you faintly think someone will have to go out to find food eventually.

“Nope, whole new bunch of questions need answerin’,” Joel kisses you confidently and it feels nice on him; feels soaringly good to you.

Whatever of his taciturn nature had fed the edges of your caution before had been absolutely obliterated by receiving a whole vocabulary he could access in this context. You’d thought him a little gun-shy at first, but his mouth on yours is joined by thoughtful fingers teasing at your entrance. There’s nothing rushed about it, and he exudes competent experience and reactive curiosity as he spreads you.

Joel mouths down your chest seriously, brows knitting like it requires all of his focus.

“Wasted so much goddamn time just looking at you,” he whispers, leaning against the inside of your thigh. Joel usually couldn’t fix your gaze too long before this, ducking his head or pulling his guard up before meeting your eyes. You see the hazel you’d always carefully noted as he rests against your skin and smirk a little triumphantly at the sight, his pupils blown out dark and mouth reddened from friction. Joel Miller was so damn appealing it was a little preposterous, and your hands flex to touch him again.

He gives you a look that’s too vulnerable for the way he tucks your thigh over his shoulder, placing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard with absolutely no ceremony. Joel eats you ravenously over long minutes, adjusting to each sound you make and spreading his tongue over you until you’re shaking. The room begins to warm, not just with the sun cresting the mountains that ring Jackson as the day creeps higher.

Joel pistons his tongue into you, swirling around your clit on each upstroke. You come, fisting the sheets hard enough that you both look up and laugh as a long rip signals that you’d wrecked your sheets, at least on one side.

“…hold onto me instead, you know,” Joel teases into your ear once he’s climbed up your body as you gasp under him. He could slip into you without hesitation now, so you grab his ass and do your best to get him on his back. He relents and rolls, handily outmatching your strength but completely bent to your will.

“You didn’t let me finish,” you hiss at him, slipping down his body to take him deep in your mouth.

Joel grunts and you glance up to see him biting his own forearm above his wristwatch, his other hand working into your hair.

It’s clear that he absolutely loves this, yelping when you get a wet hand around the length of him that your mouth can’t take, twisting and pumping in time with your lips and tongue. You think you could stay here entirely contented for longer than you’d ever imagined, helpless noises escaping him and spurring you.

“Stop or I won’t last,” he grits, hips rolling beyond his command, chest expanding rapidly.

You pull off with faux annoyance, licking a stripe up the crest of his hipbone and smiling when he jumps a little.

“Sort of the point,” you note before taking him back in your mouth, taking him as far into your throat as you can manage, tearing up along the way.

“Christ,” he sighs quietly, deft fingers grasping your hair, almost riding your face though he’s under you.

You span a hand over his ribs, fingertips settling in the grooves of old scars and stroking.

Joel grunts as he comes, flexing obscenely in your mouth and making a noise you could have only fantasized about before. Swallowing him down takes work and he writhes throughout it, callused fingertips abrading your scalp through your fine hair as oversensitivity crashes onto him.

You crawl back up his body, his hands urging you and feeling everything he can reach as you settle into his arms, a leg tucked over his lap.

Joel kisses you without hesitating and you taste each other in a far deeper rhythm than two fucked-out people should be building to. Any other context and you two could have woken up like this, staying in bed late to please each other, comforter heaped on the floor.

He pulls back with something leaping in his eyes.

“Give me,” he looks over your body, thumbing a nipple possessively, “…twenty minutes at most, and I have intentions for you,” he says, tapping your foreheads together.

“Twenty?” you raise your eyebrows. You hadn’t risked a lot of men since the outbreak, but that would be genuinely impressive. You readjust your cheek against his bicep, his arm tucked tight around your waist.

Joel rolls his eyes good-naturedly and grabs your jaw, kissing you again. He lets you study him when you pull back, seeming to do the same with the pad of his thumb arcing over your cheekbone.

He strokes your bruise, wincing a little at the obvious pain it confers.

“This is never happening again,” Joel softly thumbs the wound, “but I’m not staying locked outside if it did.”

“This didn’t happen because you nailed it before it could do more, gums or not,” you chuckle.

He nods.

“You heard me, though?” Joel asks, feeling a little bare.

“You really think I’m letting you outside again?” you ask, tapping his lower lip with your teeth before kissing him slowly, moving assuredly as he enfolds you in both his arms.

[raisedbyfandomwolves]

Hello, I have a fanfic prompt... I think. I was told.on twitter to send it to you this way. Apologies if I've done this all wrong. Shottmacher and Karamel get drunk, go to Vagas and get married. I love your stories! Thank you for all you write.

This is... very long... and I’m sorry it took so long but I hope you like it.

A marching band was having a full dress rehearsal in her skull.

At least, that was the best that Kara's sluggish brain could offer as an explanation for the throbbing pain. Not even the blissful comfort of the very fluffy pillow underneath her head could help with that... or muffle every sound in the world which was really annoyingly loud right now.

Groaning, she forced her eyes to open only to almost immediately squeeze them shut again when blinding light was her reward for her efforts. The stabbing pain made her headache worse and elicited a pitiful whine out of her. Why had she woken up again? And why couldn't she just go back to sleep and escape all this suffering?

She tried, pulling her pillow out from under her head and using it to shut out all the light and sound, but it was no use; both the pounding and racket persisted until she finally gave up and attempted to brave the morning even as she did her best to remember how the hell she had ended up like this. Eve had suggested going to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate Winn's recent promotion and both Mike and Kara had naturally agreed since they wanted to mark the occasion with their close friend.

Unfortunately, everything after they had checked in to their hotel was a blur. There were drinks – which would explain the almost lethal hangover she was having right now – and some gambling... Mike had won a tidy sum in a lucky streak at the roulette table... More drinking... Then nothing.

God, why did she feel like she was forgetting something really important?

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she raised her left hand to press it to her still throbbing forehead-

-only to get momentarily blinded by an unexpected glint on said hand.

She squinted uncomprehendingly at the glint and blinked a few times in the hope that it would help.

Then she realised what she was looking at with a sense of dawning horror and her hangover magically vanished.

Dread descended upon her as she began noticing other things like how she was naked under the sheets... and, as she turned her head slowly to her side, that there was someone else in bed with her.

Usually, she took every opportunity to ogle her boyfriend's very nice bare chest which sometimes doubled as her pillow... but Kara found herself struggling to do that this one time.

Mostly because her attention was focused on a shiny item on the ring finger of his left hand – a certain item that was identical to the source of the glint on her own left hand.

All of a sudden, Kara had a very strong sinking feeling she knew at least one of the events that had happened during that giant hole in her memory.

“Mike.” She shook him with as much energy as she could muster. “Mike, wake up. WAKE. UP. RIGHT. NOW.”

A pained groan was the first sign of life that he gave, and just as she had several minutes ago, he blearily opened his eyes for a split second only to snap them shut again. “Kara? Oh god, why is it so bright in here?”

There was a small sympathetic part of her that wanted to give him time to get his bearings and all that but it was vetoed by her panic. “Mike, look at your left hand.”

“My left hand?” he echoed confusedly even as he sluggishly lifted said hand to his face. “What about-” He immediately fell silent when he realised what was around his ring finger and with wide eyes slowly turned to face her again.

She wordlessly held up her left hand.

Those blue-grey eyes she loved so much got that little bit bigger.

“Oh,” was all he managed.

“Yeah. 'Oh',” she repeated dryly.

Before their monosyllabic conversation could go any further, they were startled by the sound of a stampede approaching the connecting door linking their hotel room to its neighbour. Kara only had a second to realise what was going to happen and dived back under the sheets with a panicked squeak before there was a telltale beep and the connecting door was thrown wide open.

Standing in the doorway with a thunderous expression was none other than Eve who managed to look threatening even when she was clearly wearing nothing but a sheet. Behind her, a pale-faced Winn was squeaking her name while his hands maintained a desperate grip on the towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist which was similarly quite possibly the only thing he was wearing.

“TELL ME,” she all but roared at Kara and Mike who flinched at the assault on their already suffering eardrums. “TELL ME YOU TWO DIDN'T GET MARRIED WHILE YOU WERE DRUNK LAST NIGHT.”

Rendered mute by fear of their impending deaths, Kara and Mike slowly held up their left hands even as they attempted to disappear into the bed.

Dead silence followed.

Then Eve let out an unholy shriek that caused the other three present to clap their hands over their ears. (In Winn's case, he ended up dropping his towel but luckily no one was looking and he managed to cover himself back up again before anyone noticed.)

“ANNUL THAT.” The way she was pointing at the couple in bed along with her expression brought to mind some mythical god who was about to bring down divine retribution on their puny mortal heads. “GET THAT ANNULLED IMMEDIATELY. I REFUSE TO LET THE TWO OF YOU GET DRUNK-MARRIED IN VEGAS WHERE I MISS THE CHANCE TO BE A PROPER MAID OF HONOUR AND CAN'T RECORD EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF THE OCCASION. GET DRESSED.” She whirled around to pin her own boyfriend with her deadly gaze, causing him to let out a terrified squeak and shrink into himself. “WINN. COME WITH ME. WE'RE GOING TO FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN UN-MARRY THEM NOW.”

With that, she slammed the connecting door shut, leaving Kara and Mike blessedly alone once again... technically speaking, at least.

“E-Eve! W-Wait!” Winn's piteous voice could still be heard on the other side. “We got married too! What are we going to do about that?!”

Kara wanted to feel sorry for him, she really did, but her own situation felt dire enough and with the way Eve was behaving about the whole thing, every moment of respite was welcome.

Her thoughts on what she was supposed to do next were interrupted by a wretched groan coming from her side and she turned to find Mike staring at his ring with an utterly miserable look on his face.

“Man,” he muttered dejectedly to himself as if he'd forgotten she was right there, “I can't believe we got married of all things...”

His words were like a bucket of ice cold water that had just gotten dumped right on her head. They'd been dating for over two years already and had even moved in together – mostly in the name of convenience but still – so there had been moments where she had tentatively thought about and even occasionally daydreamed of where she saw their relationship heading.

Apparently he didn't share her sentiments.

Suddenly she wished she was anywhere else and even cursed Eve for having suggested they come to Vegas in the first place.

“Right.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears and she turned away from him so that he couldn't see that she was on the verge of crying. “Since it's clear you hate this so much, let's just hurry up and get it over with.”

“What? Hey wait.” He sounded confused as his hand – his left hand of all things – wrapped around her arm, stopping her from leaving the bed and gently trying to coax her into looking at him again. “Kara, what's wrong? What did you mean by that?”

Blinking away her tears, she reluctantly turned back towards him and tried to maintain a facade of relative indifference. “You've made it clear you don't want to... to be married to me so it just makes sense to get... It'll probably be easy to undo so we should-”

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Hold on.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged his free hand down his face. “Kara, why are you saying stuff like that? Where are you getting all this?”

His obtuseness made her snap despite her desire to escape her current situation without creating a scene. “You just implied a minute ago that getting married to me was like... like... the worst thing that could have ever happened to you!”

“What? When did I imply that?!”

“It's the way you said, and I quote, 'I can't believe we got married of all things'!”

“That's because I wanted to do it properly, okay?!”

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of them just stared at each other in complete silence.

“...W-What?” Kara barely managed to get out, unsure she'd heard him correctly, and watched as he pulled his hand back and dropped his head in regret.

Mike said nothing for a long time and she was just about to ask him to clarify himself when he finally spoke again. “I've been trying to find the right moment to propose to you for the past month.”

Her heart did a weird flip-floppy thing. “Y-You have?” she stuttered.

He nodded, the very picture of misery. “But something would come up every single time I'd worked up the courage so I kept thinking that I should just wait for the next moment to come except that would get ruined too somehow and then I started wondering if you'd even say yes-”

“Yes,” she blurted out in a rush.

That stopped his rambling in its tracks, and when he lifted his head to finally meet her gaze his expression was one of confusion. “...What?”

“I would've said yes.” The lead weight in her stomach had turned into a swarm of agitated butterflies by then. “It wouldn't have mattered if you'd asked in a fancy restaurant or our living room; I would've said yes.”

Ever so slowly, the disbelief on his face turned into awed wonder. “You would?”

If she smiled any wider, she was sure she was going to pull a facial muscle she couldn't even pronounce. “Well, I obviously said yes while I was drunk as a skunk last night, didn't I?” she pointed out as she waved her left hand in the air.

The grey in his eyes gave way to blue as he started grinning teasingly at her. “In all fairness, you say a lot of crazy things when you're drunk.”

“Wh- I do not!”

“Oh really? What about that time you started claiming you were secretly an alien with superpowers?”

“T-That's a lie and you don't have any proof to back that up!”

“Sure about that? Because I think Winn recorded it so all we need to do is ask him...”

“Mike!” Blushing with a mixture of embarrassment and put-on anger, she smacked him but to no avail because that just made him laugh out loud. When she stepped up her efforts, he simply grabbed her wrists so that he could pin her to the bed and kiss her until she forgot why she had been mad at him.

She didn't, however, forget their overall situation.

“Let's get this marriage annulled,” she murmured when they had caught their breaths.

His eyes snapped wide open and he pulled away, stunned. “What? But I thought-”

“I meant it,” she insisted, wriggling one hand free of his now loose grip so that she could cup his face. “But I want it all done properly too. I want to actually have and remember every moment of getting married to you instead of it just being the result of some black-out drunk decision-making in Vegas.”

He smiled again, the happiness in his eyes brighter than the sun. “I want that too.”

It had seemed impossible and yet somehow she found herself even happier than she had been less than a minute ago. “Good.” She pulled him in for another kiss before playfully shoving him off. “Now get dressed. The sooner we get this marriage annulled, the sooner we can get married for real.”

(He proposed within the week and the wedding was a beautiful ceremony worth remembering from start to end.)

(Eve was naturally the maid of honour.)

[7-wonders]

The Weight of Us

Summary: Dinah’s potion goes to work as Michael ponders his decisions and his relationships with those he cares for.

Word Count: 4333

A/N: An extra long chapter to make up for the length between the previous chapter and this one! Hi friends, happy new year and welcome to another chapter of Mad Love. The prior chapters will be linked below, so if you haven’t had the time to catch up, now’s your chance! Thank you so much for sticking with me on this ride; feedback, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated if you enjoyed.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

If Michael’s in agony from merely watching the effects of Dinah’s potion on you, he can’t imagine the agony that you’re experiencing. Although the voodoo queen had mixed a powerful sleeping draught in with the hopes of making the process easier, Satan’s power can easily overwhelm even the strongest of magic users. It’s engulfed Cordelia Goode, Supreme of the witches, as well as Dinah. Michael, too, has found himself bowing to his father’s whims like a flimsy tree branch in a summer storm. For you, a mortal with no remarkable powers, removing Satan’s magic from your mind and body is especially difficult.

There are periods where it looks as if you’re peacefully sleeping, but those are few and far between for the twelve hours that you lie unconscious. Michael refuses to leave your side, even when it seems his heart is being physically torn from his chest from your agonizing screams that pierce the air and the way you thrash on the bed as if tormented from a nightmare that you can’t wake up from. He wants nothing more than to take your pain away, and it tears him apart to know that he can’t. It especially hurts to know that he’s the cause of this pain: not only because you’re his wife, but because he’s the one who got fed up and went to Satan in the first place. Michael doesn’t even know what’s truly going on in your mind, Satan’s wards still clouding any of the thoughts that were once so easy for him to pick up on. 

Somewhere, deep within the recesses of your mind that Satan was not able to lay claim to, you note that you’ll have to thank Dinah for the potency of her potion. You also decide that, if you survive this, you’re going to march yourself down to Hell and give Satan the beating of a lifetime. Although there are times where you are genuinely asleep, they are rare. All you feel is pain. A blinding pain that makes it feel as if every nerve in your body has ignited into flames that are persistent, yet slow-burning. 

Being burned alive from the inside out, however, doesn’t compare to what you’re sure is your brain tearing itself apart. The potion and Satan’s influence are waging a nuclear war in your mind, attempting to restore your psyche and mold it to the will of an foreign entity, respectively. It’s almost like you’re a ragdoll that’s being tugged between two petulant children, nearly losing an arm while having no say in what’s going on.

There are times where you almost believe that you can hear Michael crying, pleading with you to come back to him. While it’s a nice thought, the Antichrist begging, you believe it to be simply a pain-induced delusion. After all, the demons that dance in your head and burn you at the stake, the seven-headed monsters rising out of the sea and devouring you whole, the inky blackness that envelops you and leaves you blind to find the source of the deep, otherworldly laughter that rings in your ears for hours and hours; those are delusions, mere imagination working your pain into farcical scenarios. What’s more farcical than Michael Langdon crying and begging?

Just as suddenly as you were pulled into the waves by the sharp pain in your chest, you’re thrust back onto the shore with one last jolt of pain. Your eyes open slowly, cautious of any of the creatures that your mind had conjured up journeying with you back to the land of the living. The first thing that you notice upon your vision clearing is Michael.

He’s sitting in a chair next to you, head down on the mattress and hands clasping tightly onto your left hand. It looks as if he’s asleep, but he immediately sits up upon feeling your fingers flex within his grip. His eyes are wide and glassy, dark circles under his eyes completing the look. His beautiful blond locks are disheveled, and you would make a joke about interrupting his beauty sleep were it not for the confusion you’re experiencing right now.

“(Y/N),” Michael breathes, not believing his own eyes. “How--how are you feeling?”

“I’m...I’m feeling,” you’re about to say ‘okay,’ but the unexpected lurching of your stomach erases that thought, “like I’m going to throw up,” you gasp, sheer will keeping you from puking all over the blankets on the bed.

Thankfully, Michael does not think twice before producing a bucket out of thin air and placing it in your lap. You clutch at it like one would clutch a life preserver while bobbing in the middle of an ocean, your knuckles going white from the strain as you lean over the bucket and proceed to lose the contents of your stomach.

As Michael keeps your hair pulled away from your face with one hand while using the other to rub circles on your back, you’re struck with the similarity between this and the occasion where you threw up just outside of the Murder House’s property. You’re still invariably confused, but the comfort of Michael’s presence helps to ease the confusion as you continue to throw up until you have nothing left.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter between gasps of air, looking at Michael with a flushed face and watery eyes.

“This is a good thing. It means that your body is fully rejecting any sort of hold that Satan has over you.” 

Once it seems that your vomiting has stopped, with nothing left in you for your body to expel, a simple wave of Michael’s hand is all that it takes to send the now-ruined bucket back to wherever it came from. He helps ease you back against the pillows, pressing a damp cloth to your forehead to help cool your burning skin. 

“Michael,” you ask, “what happened?”

He chooses to ignore your question, instead handing you a water bottle. “You need to drink some water.”

You comply, considering you’re actually very thirsty and your throat burns from the bile that crawled its way up. Drinking half the bottle in a few quick seconds, you look expectantly at Michael. “Happy?”

“I am now.”

“Tell me what happened.” It’s difficult to try and force Michael to do something that he does not want to do, and you almost think he’s going to change the subject once again before he places his hand on top of yours.

“What’s the last thing you really remember?”

“Going to your Cooperative event. After that, everything just feels like some weird, vague dream.” Dread slowly seizes at your heart. “You’re scaring me. What happened at the event?”

“It...seems as though Satan managed to influence your mind. You had left to go and get some air, although I don’t know if you remember that.”

“Vaguely.”

“While you were out there, a waitress, who was possessed by my father, gave you a drink that he had, for lack of a better word, poisoned. It’s my fault; I should have been more vigilant, especially after what had happened with Satan making his displeasure obvious to you.”

“What did he do to me?” Your voice comes out as a mere whisper, and you’re a little worried that you might throw up again.

“He,” Michael’s voice breaks, and he takes a moment to compose himself, “actually, you know what? Say something mean about me.”

You can’t help but look at him like he’s crazy. “What?”

“Say something mean about me! You already do it unprompted, so this shouldn’t be an issue now.”

“Okay, first of all, I would hardly say that they’re ‘mean.’ I prefer to call them well-timed, mini-masterpieces of the English language. Second,” a slow grin spreads across your face, “your sleep deprivation must be affecting more than just your looks, because I’m pretty sure you’ve officially lost all of your marbles if you’re asking me to come up with verbal barbs.”

With a choked laugh that sounds like it’s mixed with a sob, Michael lunges onto the bed and wraps you in his arms. Somehow, you’re even more confused than you were when you first woke up, but you welcome the change in his demeanor.

“Aw, you finally learned how to hug.” Michael squeezes you tighter, and now you’re laughing too, although you’re not sure why either of you are laughing.

“I’ve never been so pleased to hear you make jokes at my expense.” He pulls away from you while still keeping hold of your arms. “(Y/N), Satan took hold of your mind. Basically, for lack of a better term, he slipped you a glorified love potion.”

“A...love potion?” He nods. “How did you find out?”

“You were very affectionate, and originally I had assumed that you had consumed too much alcohol.”

“That does sound like something I would do when drunk.”

“It was only when you, um, attempted to seduce me and subsequently confessed your love to me that I figured out that something was wrong.”

“Oh no, did we--”

“No! No, we did not.” Suddenly, the odd scenes from what you originally thought to be an unexpected dream, flashes of hands tugging down the strap of your dress and soft lips pressed against your skin, make sense.

“But we made it to second base.”

“We...didn’t play baseball?”

“Oh my god, you are actually going to kill me.” Rolling your eyes, you sigh heavily. “Second base is--” Michael’s wide, innocent eyes make you feel like you would be the dirtiest person alive for saying that second base is groping, so you choose to mime groping invisible breasts with your hands.

Predictably, Michael turns red. “Oh. Then yes, second base, but no further. Before we could...make it to third--”

“Stop with the baseball innuendos,” you groan.

“After I had removed your bra is when you very passionately told me that you were in love with me. That’s when I stopped.”

There’s so many questions running through your head, but you can’t fully decide on where to start, so you just nod. Michael can tell that you’re attempting to get a grip, and blessedly gives you time. He silently pushes you to drink more water, which you absentmindedly do as you pick at a stray thread on your blanket before finally figuring out a good starting point. “How did you snap me out of it?”

“I called in a favor from a friend of mine.”

“Wait, Dinah Stevens wasn’t just a figment of my imagination?” That was one of the more fanatical parts of what had convinced you was a wild dream. After all, a daytime television queen showing up in the middle of the night has to be something made up.

“No, she was not. Dinah also happens to be the voodoo queen of New Orleans. She made a potion to help counteract and remove the poison that Satan had given you. As of right now, it looks like it worked.”

“Hopefully. I feel like me.” Michael, always able to tell what’s on your mind, remains silent. “Michael?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you call Dinah in the first place?”

“I’m not nearly as powerful as my father, and Dinah has extra power and preternatural beings at her disposal. Think of it as a loophole past Satan’s powers.”

“Okay, that’s cool, but also not what I meant. You...you’ve wanted me to be as in love with you as you are with me since the day we met. According to you, we’re fucking soulmates. You got what you wanted! I mean, according to you, I loved you unconditionally. Why did you give that up?”

“You’re right. I finally had everything I wanted. And I will admit to you that, before I realized what my father had done and you were telling me that you loved me, there was a moment where I was just so thrilled. It felt like all of my dreams were finally coming true. But when you looked at me with your eyes, clouded with the haze of what I’ve come to know as my father’s hold on unwilling subjects, I just--” Michael cuts himself off, standing up from your bed and running a hand over his jaw as he walks towards the opposite wall.

“Michael.” Your voice comes out softly, and you shakily stand up from the bed to check on him. “Hey, it’s okay. You can talk to me.” He flinches when you put your hand on his shoulder, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“You weren’t you anymore.” He whirls around, and you can finally see just how broken this experience has made him. Michael’s eyes are rimmed red, like he’s been crying on and off for a while now. His hair is frizzy, as if his hands have ran through it one too many times. You notice that his hands shake when he holds onto your arms; all signs of an extremely haggard Michael. “All of the things that I love about you--your spirit, your devotion to the people and things you care about, your wit that somehow manages to simultaneously piss me off and endear me to you even more, and how, no matter what, you don’t give up--those were taken away when Satan meddled with your mind.”

“It’s not your fault, Michael.”

He doesn’t hear you. “You’re the only thing in my life that doesn’t have to do with my father. You’re pure, in that aspect. He couldn’t touch you, and I think that’s what made it so easy to fall in love with, not just the idea of you, but the real you. The version of you that my father believes is perfect for me--some Satan-loving bride who lives only to please me--terrified me. It wasn’t you. I’ll take you barging into my office and calling me ‘Mikey’ over what I saw last night every time.”

Not a single word comes to mind as Michael explains his reasoning to you. You can’t decide if you should hit him for getting you into this mess in the first place or if you should thank him for getting you out of said mess. Overwhelmingly, however, you’re struck with the realization that Michael, who has been controlled by Satan his whole life, deliberately went against his father’s wishes. If this would have happened at the beginning of your marriage--if the bonding ritual the night of your wedding would have worked--there’s no doubt in your mind that he would have been ecstatic. Most likely, you would still be under whatever thrall was meant to be put on you then. Now, the dynamic between you two has changed immensely, and you’re not quite sure if that’s good or bad.

“You…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. “Thank you.”

Michael awkwardly clears his throat, not used to sharing vulnerability with anyone. “You should lay back down. You went through a lot, and you need to rest.”

“But I--” A buzzing sound cuts you off, and you glance around the room in confusion.

“Oh!” Crossing over to your nightstand, Michael holds up your charged phone. “Your phone’s been going off pretty often. Obviously, I wasn’t going to check your notifications or respond to any messages, but I did see that your friend Mallory had texted a couple of times.”

With no choice but to crawl back into bed (an appealing option, if you’re being honest), you take your phone from Michael and begin to scroll. You don’t really care about the social media notifications, but you have a shocking amount of texts. There’s a couple from your mother, complimenting your dress from last night and asking if you had fun. You’ve been as vague as possible about Michael, but couldn’t resist showing off how beautiful the dress was. 

The majority of the messages, however, come from Mallory and Kate. You let them know that you were going to an event as Michael’s strictly-platonic date and, naturally, they had freaked out. Up until you had been poisoned by Satan, you had been diligently providing them with the requested updates. Naturally, going completely silent had driven your two friends crazy. There’s at least ten messages from each, and that’s not to mention the group chat. 

“Are you hungry?” Michael asks, once again doing that weird thing where he senses your needs before you even know what they are.

“Yes, actually.”

“I’ll go see what the staff has made.” It feels a little strange to be alone for the first time in almost a day, so you busy yourself with responding to the group chat instead.

“Sorry for not responding, I ended up eating something bad and getting food poisoning :( Thanks for checking in on me, though.”

It’s barely a minute later before Mallory responds to you, “so...no kissing?”

While you definitely did a little more than kissing last night, you’re not going to tell them that. Before you can text back, Kate replies, “lmao why does that remind me of the guy who says ‘so no head?’”

“No, no kissing,” you text.

“Well shit.”

“Are you feeling better, though?” Mallory asks.

“I’m getting there.” You feel bad for having to be so ambiguous with two of your closest friends, but it’s dangerous for them to know any more.

“Do you want us to come by? Friends are the best cure for food poisoning.”

You let the text go unanswered, setting your phone down next to you as you think about Mallory’s offer. While you would love to have your friends come over, you can’t help but to wonder if inviting them over would invoke more questions than answers. You haven’t exactly told them that you’re living with Michael, and they would inevitably end up freaking out about both that and the size of the home in which you are now living.

Michael pushes the door back open, holding a tray with two steaming bowls on it. “There was soup downstairs, I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” He hands you a bowl before sitting down next to you with his own.

“You didn’t miss any important messages from your friends, then?”

“No. It was easy enough to tell anyone that asked that I had food poisoning.” You take a sip of the soup, cursing the kitchen staff for their amazing cooking skills that they most likely acquired after selling their souls to Satan. “But…”

“Yes?”

“Kate and Mallory want to come over to see me.”

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Michael says, a clueless look on his face.

“For starters, they don’t know that I live with you. They already think I’m hiding a relationship with you, and the fact that we live together would only solidify that in their minds.”

“You can just tell them that the rent on your apartment was going up, you were in a tough spot, and I offered my home to you,” Michael smirks. “And don’t worry about the size of the home. After all, I am in line to take over my father’s successful business, remember?”

“It won’t bother you that some people know where the Antichrist lives?”

He hesitates. “While that could potentially cause an issue, I don’t see why they would figure out my true lineage just by visiting.”

“So you’re fine with them stopping by?”

Michael sighs, “yes.”

“It’s a good thing the pentagrams and Satanic imagery are all restricted to the rooms that you frequent.”

“Yes, because however would we hide those pentagrams without any sort of supernatural help?” Michael dodges the pillow you throw at him with ease, smiling as he stands from the bed. “If you believe they’re trustworthy, then by all means, invite them over.”

You send the two a text with your address, along with a message warning them that “you guys are going to freak out, but please reserve it for after you get here and I explain some things.” They each respond almost immediately, confirming that they’ll be over in a few minutes. There’s nothing to do but finish the supper that Michael is pointedly staring at in a silent attempt to get you to eat, so you do as requested while engaging in your other favorite activity with Michael: playing iMessage games. 

An hour later, the doorbell rings. Since Michael had sent the majority of the staff home when Dinah arrived last night with strict instructions to not come back until Monday, he offers to go and let your friends in. Michael returns with your friends, Mallory with wide eyes and Kate with a grin on her face.

“Do you need anything before I retreat to my room, (Y/N)?” Michael asks.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he smirks, glancing at your awestruck friends. “Text me if that changes.” Michael closes the door as he leaves, and Kate and Mallory immediately jump onto your bed with you.

“You have a lot of explaining to do!” Mallory exclaims before pausing. “Only if you’re feeling better, though.”

You roll your eyes teasingly. “Of course I’m feeling better, or else I wouldn’t have invited you and Kate over.”

“Good.” You’re sandwiched between the two, backs against the headboard as Kate and Mallory settle in beside you. “First things first: you’re living with Michael now?”

“Yeah, what the hell happened to your apartment? And your cat?” Kate asks.

“Okay, my cat is perfectly fine; she just likes Michael more than me now and is currently following him around,” you explain with a laugh. “The reason I had to move is because my landlord was converting the apartments into condos, which meant my rent was going to go through the roof if I stayed there.”

“So where does Michael come into the equation?”

“I wasn’t able to find an apartment in my budget, and he lives alone in this huge house that his father basically gave him. He offered to let me rent from him for less than what I was paying for my apartment, so I took it.”

Mallory cocks an eyebrow. “I know you’ve mentioned it before, but we were also a little drunk that night. How the hell does Michael’s dad have all that money? I saw the black Ferrari in the driveway when we pulled up.”

“I...don’t know.” Not exactly a lie. “His dad’s in business that I couldn’t begin to figure out--”

“Mafia?” Kate interjects.

“No. It’s like, finance or investing, something similar to that. He does lots of buying and selling, from what Michael told me.”

“And he just gives Michael anything he could wish for?”

“I know it seems like he’s just some spoiled rich boy, but he works really hard. His father’s really tough on him, he’s training Michael to take over the business once he steps down.” Again, you’re not lying, but you’re not telling the full truth. You’re not proud of it, but it’s what needs to be done.

“But there’s nothing going on between you two,” Mallory says with a sly smile. 

Leaning back, your groan turns to a laugh as Mallory and Kate both sling an arm over your shoulders. “I know what it seems like, but I promise we’re just friends! I was in a tough spot, and Michael offered to help me out. That’s all it is.”

“Does the mystery man who your earlier problems pertained to,” Kate references the advice they had given you after your movie night meltdown, “ and who, although he sounds a lot like Michael, isn’t actually Michael, know that you’re living with another guy.”

“Yes, and he’s fine with it.”

“You two are totally going to kiss.”

“If they haven’t already,” Mallory chimes in.

You visibly cringe. “You guys are making me wish I was still in the throes of food poisoning.”

“You wouldn’t puke on us! You love us too much.”

“Doesn’t change that I would absolutely puke on you if you talk about me and Michael like that again,” you retort. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be making me feel better?”

“We are!” Kate says in a sing-song tone, sticking her tongue out at you before grabbing the remote off of your nightstand and handing it to you. “I bet a heaping dose of Gossip Girl would help cure you.”

“I think you’re right.” Queueing the show up on Netflix, you pick one of your favorite episodes before settling in for quality bonding time with two of your closest friends.

It makes Michael smile to hear the giggling and talking emanating from your room for the rest of the evening. You deserve to be carefree and enjoying time with your friends, especially after what he’s put you through. He knows that he’s going to be in deep trouble with his father, and is honestly shocked his consciousness hasn’t been snatched to Hell yet for a conversation with daddy dearest. He also wonders about how he’s going to tell you that it was he who first sought out Satan’s advice on the matter, and nearly carried out the original plan. Those are worries for tomorrow, though. For now, you’re alive, and living with free will. That’s all that Michael could ever want for you.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. Everything seemed alright after you had finally woken up, but he can’t shake the dread that sits heavy in his chest. Maybe it’s because he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, or because there’s complete strangers that haven’t been vetted by the Cooperative in his house. 

Whatever the reason, Michael’s anxiety seems to stem from one of your friends-Mallory, he remembers you introducing her as. Something about her seems off, as if there’s a safe surrounding her head that he can’t seem to break through. The energy around her reminds him of energy he’s only felt when faced with Cordelia and her gang of witches, but your friend doesn’t seem to possess any sort of magic that he can feel. It’s troubling, and while Michael trusts you completely, he’s still determined to figure out what Mallory is hiding.

//

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[sp00kworm]

Maybe The Outsiders first time on land since sinking into the ocean or his complete lack of social skills, something like that. You're the writer here not me.

Pairing: (Slight) Corvo Attano x The Outsider

A/N: This is a short snippet of something I intend to properly finish one day. I do love Dishonored and the world just drags me back in time and time again. 

----

Whale Song

The blood had run out. The Outsider remembered the vague sensation of losing the feeling in his extremities before the world had flickered slowly into darkness. He remembered trying to curl his fingers despite not being able to breathe as the dark spots blinked closer and closer to his sight. The last air left him as he wondered why he felt so cold. The Outsider hadn’t felt the cold of the water in many years. Thousands if he had kept track of time correctly. But he realised quickly that his years of experience had very little relevance in real, day to day life. Billie Lurk had gone to kill him. To avenge her mentor, perhaps? He found himself uncaring when he felt the void blade slice into his gut before she whispered his real name back to him. Fear pulsed through him similarly as to when he was laid bleeding out into the water as a young man, fingers grasping at nothing as he felt something snap within him. Thousands of years of power and the residual hum of power in his veins was gone. He gasped the first new breath of life clutching Billie Lurk with weak fingers, feeling the place around him grow cold and harsh as he was removed from his home.

 “Being human means, you’ll feel a lot worse than this, guppy.” Billie sighed as she wrapped him in the third blanket from the storage room, the fabric coarse and rough underneath his fingertips. The Outsider shivered underneath the layers, looking out of the thin glass windows at the choppy seas surrounding them in the middle of nowhere, floating on the ocean, heading back towards Dunwall and where they knew two people would be curious as to what was happening with the Void.

“I know well what it means to be human. I did used to be one, in case you had forgotten.” He snapped as she stoked the little furnace with a laugh and moved forwards on her stool, face looking younger for a smile. Billie Lurk had seen a lot in her time, but nothing was more amusing than a God pretending to remember what it was like to be starkly mortal.

“Although I know you were once a human, I don’t think you even remotely remember what it was like to be one.” She teased as he huddled in on himself, nose dripping with snot in the bitter cold of the seas.

“I can…vaguely remember what it was like. It was not a kind existence. I wasn’t granted a great start in life, and it ended all too early.” He uttered, young green eyes staring out at the sea as it rocked them back and forth. It was almost calming. Perhaps the Void was looking for him. He saw the great fins of a whale disappear underneath a great crashing wave and sighed bitterly. The ends of his fingers didn’t ripple with power, and he stared at them, willing the Void to himself only for it to end in failure like the rest of his attempts.

“None of us have it easy. Life’s a bitch like that.” Billie cursed with a harsh chuckle as she reached for a pipe and tapped the contents out into a small ash tray on her table. She pushed a knife inside to grind at the wood and ash inside before pushing tobacco inside and lighting it with a match. The Outsider curled his nose at the stench of smoke as he reached his hands out of the blanket and towards the flames to try and warm his palms. The sensation of burning heat made his fingers recoil before he took a breath and held his hands as close as he dared to the fire.

“Life is wonderful in all forms…I just wonder where my own will lead now.” He confessed as he rubbed at his knuckles and looked at his own pale skin, flushed with pumping blood underneath it.

Billie shrugged her shoulders, “Firsts things first, it leads you back to your precious Attano and Kaldwin. They can decide what to do with you after I get you there.”

 Disposed of. Billie wanted no ties to him. It made sense. She held a hatred towards him even with her sparing of him. A twisted sense of justice was for him to live his life out as a human. To suffer a mortal existence, and then to end, like he had watched so many of his chosen do, the latest having been Daud. He’d felt his hatred and his movement within the Void. Now Daud was cursed to wander it alone. Alone with the whale song singing in his ears as he peered into the endless shadows and reflections of blood and water.

“So, you are giving me away?” He droned as the heat seared at his fingertips, cold burning with heat in the tips of them as he pulled them back into the blankets. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the sleep from his eyes as the boat rocked harshly with a vicious wave.

Billie scoffed from her stool, her feet put up on the table as she looked at the maps before her, “I never wanted you to babysit in the first place, but I thought you deserved better than a watery grave of nothing.” She confessed as she puffed on her pipe, “I would much rather you be safe with Corvo Attano than shivering aboard my ship, Outsider.” She teased, blowing smoke rings before she reached for a pan to put on top of the furnace to heat up some tinned food.

 “I do not think they want to see me.” He whispered, rubbing his hands together under the coarse fabric as Billie poured a tin of beans into the pan and watched the heat begin to bubble the juice they were stored in. She unwrapped a loaf of bread and revealed cheese and jellied eels. He wasn’t a fan of eels, nor was he a fan of anything meat related, but he knew Billie would only roll her eyes if he protested. He would eat the beans, cheese and bread, but he would rather leave the jellified eels away in their tin. Billie could have his portion of those.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Billie looked at him with raised eyebrows, “They’re probably the only people that like you…” She added as she leaned over and stirred the pan of beans.

The Outsider scoffed, rubbing at the dark circles underneath his eyes, “Corvo saw me as a method to save his daughter, and his daughter saw me as a method to save her father.” He confessed, “I was only a persistent entity between the two of them. A common occurrence.” He watched Billy cut two slices of bread and place them on her least dirty plates from the cabinet before she cut thick wads of cheese and laid them on top of it before taking the beans from the wood stove and sharing it between them. The jellied eels were left on the table for herself as she handed the Outsider a spoon and his plate of food.

 Billie hummed around a mouthful of bread and cheese, “I think you’re being dramatic.” She snorted with laughter and a harsh smile before pointing her knife at him, the end piercing out of skewered cheese, “They don’t hate you and I think you believe that little Empress actually despises you. Let me tell you, I’ve spoken to the two of them, and neither of them hold any ill will towards you. Corvo once drank too much Orbon Rum and told me about the Whale God he saw in his sleep after Jessamine’s death. He’s a hard man to read, but he sometimes talks.” She shrugged her shoulders, “He doesn’t talk a lot, mind you, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t know just who he was talking about.” Billie chewed her cheese before grumbling, “That and the vicious nightmares Emily used to scream in. Or those she used to sleepwalk in. She’d climb the stacks of barrels sometimes and just sit, muttering to herself about nothing. I couldn’t understand her half the time.” Billie looked him in the eyes and saw a young man, scared and closed off from the world for too long. He was like a child.

“She dreamed of me for a long time. I used to pull her into the Void to take her away from her mother’s death. She…She liked the whales but…She screamed when she saw the wounds on their backs and…” He rung his hands, “She feared my eyes. Now she is just as headstrong as her father.” He chuckled as he picked at the bread and cheese.

 The woman across from him flicked her knife before pointing it at him, “No more lamenting about nothing. I’m sick of hearing you whine.” Billie grinned before pointing at the food on his plate, “Now eat up. We’re only a few days off the coast, and I doubt Corvo will be too happy with me rocking up in the gardens with you in tow.”

“You mean you haven’t sent anything ahead?” The Outsider smiled at Billie, ducking his head as he scooped some beans onto his spoon and took a small bite of bread and cheese.

“Like the Void I have.” She took a bite of bread and swallowed before kicking her boots off in front of the fire, “I want to see the look on Corvo Attano’s face when I give him the Outsider to babysit.” She grinned as the man before her laughed and moved back to scooping beans into his mouth. Billie moved to find her record player as the two of them finished up and chatted late into the rocky night on the boat.

 Dunwall was high walls and infinite stone. He’d seen it through many other eyes, and watched it fall in many different futures. He’d even watched the stones bleed red with Corvo’s revenge. All of them were possibilities that had never occurred. He walked slowly next to Billie, wondering if his clothing was out of place for the era’s current fashion. They got no extra glances as Billie bought two apricot tartlets and offered him one of the sticky treats to eat as she glanced around the plaza, eyes watching invisible enemies.

“The guards are still looking for you?” He asked as he peeled a corner of the pastry away and chewed it on his back teeth.

Billie shrugged, “Nope, not after Emily’s interventions, but I like to make sure I’m not going to get run down by an angry mob before I go anywhere in this place.” She chewed her own sweet down quickly before looking back at his. The Outsider was coated in pastry crumbs and sticky jam, looking at his hands with disdain at the sticky jam coating the ends of his fingers.

“Here, dumbass.” She laughed and handed him a napkin before pushing off the wall, “Now let’s go and find your little pets and get this over with.” The Outsider nodded and followed, wiping syrup from his fingers and onto the napkin as they headed towards Dunwall tower.

 The gardens were gorgeous. The Outsider watched the ocean from the wall, green eyes curious as he watched the fishing boat bob back and forth in the calm waters. A few street urchins ran around the bottom of the walls pilfering oysters and mussels that had washed up on the beach. Billie smoked her pipe from against the little outbuilding, her eye watching the rose arches as giggling ladies moved past, too and from the gazebo, eyeing up the strangers hidden in the shadows of the garden with curious eyes.

“Billie, you better have a good reason for being here.” Corvo’s gravelly voice drifted past The Outsider’s ears as he fiddled with his hands, nervousness eating away at his insides as the Lord Protector loomed over the both of them.

“Oh, I think you’ll love this reason, Attano.” She purred before pointing the end of her pipe at the man perched on the wall.

“A boy?” He asked with attitude, “What is he? A spy?” Corvo hissed before taking a step closer.

The Outsider turned on his bottom, swinging his legs over the wall with a sigh, “Not a spy. Just an old friend, my dear Corvo.”

 Silence. Corvo looked at him with confusion, brows furrowed low, the silver in his hair glinting in the light as the information set in.

“Fuck me.” He cursed before peering around and crowding the two of them into the outhouse, “What in the Void have you done now, Billie?!” He looked the Outsider in the eyes again, looking at the soft green of his miserable eyes as he scowled.

“Scowling makes you look so old, Corvo.” The Outsider droned as he watched the man before him.

“You need to be quiet while I understand just what in the Void is going on!” Corvo snapped as Billie sighed behind him.

“He’s human. Don’t ask me how or why. But he’s human, just like you or me. Surely you figured out something had gone wrong when your marks faded? Your powers are gone because he isn’t there to siphon them to you.” She blew smoke upwards before pushing the Lord Protector’s shoulder and moving out of the door, “Look after him, Lord Protector. He needs your help, just like you once needed his.” She smiled before closing the door, leaving Corvo with a man who used to be a God.

[mydarlingklaus]

Meeting the Mikaelsons:

So, this is my first time ever writing a main pairing that wasn’t Klaroline. I’m loving sizzie and hope I did them justice. There will be a part 2 soon. I’m obviously a KC shipper and have made it clear that, to me, they are Lizzie’s family. If that’s not your flavor then you do not have to read. Leave reviews here on my ff.net account please! Enjoy (:

Summary: After insisting that Sebastian accompany her for Christmas break, Lizzie and Sebastian hit the road to New Orleans to spend the holiday with her family and meeting them for the first time...including Klaus.

"Explain to me again how the Klaus Mikaelson is your father when I was under the impression the worthless mortal with the horrid beard held that title?" Sebastian wondered from the passenger seat of the camaro Lizzie was struggling to drive.

He cringed at her aggressively pulling at the stick shift like a mad woman.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" He asked.

"Why would I do that?"

Sebastian sighed. "I adore your dominance as much as the next but you command this vessel like a drunken pirate."

Still looking forward, her thick eyebrows raised defensively.

Lizzie scoffed. "Please like I'm going to let a guy who's never driven in his life lecture me on driving tactics, or crash my only source of transportation. No thank you."

The corners of his lips twitched up in a half smile. "Touché but, I think you know I'm a rather fast learner."

His hand raising to brush his knuckles against her soft and pink cheek.

Lizzie could already feel herself wanting to succumb to his talents of distraction.

Pulling away from his tempting touch with a flip of her hair. "Pass."

He shook his head with a soft laugh.

"First of all, that 'worthless mortal' you speak of is my father and I would appreciate it if you didn't insult him right in front of me. Even if you're right about the shaggy dog on his face..."

Lizzie mumbled, bringing a smirk to his lips.

"And second of all, Klaus isn't my dad...well technically. He's dating my mom who's he's loved for like, ever, and he's been in me and Josie's lives since we were kids. He's like a step dad, I guess. It's complicated. As you can tell by now my life isn't exactly conventional." Lizzie explained.

He nodded, staring aimlessly outside of the car window.

"Mmm I see, but I assume you two are quite close?" He assumed. "Given how persistent you were for me to accompany you on this little field trip, all the way to New Orleans, just to get his blessing. I must be special."

The blonde witch pulled her eyes from the road to flash the smirking vampire a harsh death glare at his teasing tone.

-Damn him.

After discovering the truth about Sebastian's past and initial reason for seeking her out in the beginning of the semester, Lizzie was unsure where she stood with him. Of course her attraction didn't falter, but her trust did. With him not—yet—being a student at the boarding school, avoiding him was rather easy until one day when he ambushed her during lunch time. Not wanting to draw any attention to her humiliation, Lizzie insisted they drive off campus to hear any bullshit excuse he could charmingly muster.

There were yells, bickering, name-calling and aneurysm spells that soon resulted in the screaming match transforming to bodies rubbing against each others in a battle of tongues and hateful lust. After consummating the relationship on the hood of her car, both were calm enough to have an actual conversation with one another about the situation.

Lizzie explained where majority of her anger stemmed from—how her mental stability has been her priority lately, and his mind games were cruel to the process. He made her feel she was crazy. Sincerely, Sebastian was apologetic about the entire ordeal.

Yes, his initial lure to the young witch was under selfish pretenses but he quickly—genuinely—began falling for her; as she fell for him.

They were a "bloody mess", as Sebastian said. Agreeing to earn back her trust and acceptance before anymore could happen between them.

One month later...

Not only was Sebastian now a new student at the Salvatore Boarding School—heeding to Alaric's request to keep an eye on him—but his relationship with Lizzie progressed as well.

In light of their new status as a couple, it didn't take long for Klaus to catch wind of the news all the way in New Orleans.

Caroline swore she wasn't the one who told him.

The hybrid knew Lizzie was interested in a new boy in town during one of his previous Mystic Falls visits in the beginning of the semester.

But the two never met.

Klaus was like a father to Lizzie. They were extremely close, they talked almost everyday about everything, but her love life was the only aspect of her life she didn't want to share with him. He wasn't particularly keen on any of the girls dating sheets—nearly scared Landon to death. But finding out one of them was with a vampire of all creatures, especially one as old as him threw his defenses in overdrive.

Despite them not dating too long, Lizzie really liked Sebastian and wanted Klaus and Caroline to like him too. Which triggered the idea of proposing that he spend Christmas break with her and her family in New Orleans.

Caroline flew out with Hope and Josie the night before via Klaus's private jet, while Lizzie insisted on driving; to delay the inevitable tension upon their arrival.

Lizzie forced her attention back on the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly at his arrogant, yet accurate, assumption.

Despite them being in a loving and committed relationship, their dynamic was consumed with teasing and playful bickering to no end. Constantly trying to get a rise out of each other, which usually resulted in coaxing out their pent up desires.

Her eyes rolled dramatically. "Deflate your ego by a ton, teen Dracula." She scoffed. "I invited you solely because I know you have nowhere else to go for the holidays and wouldn't want to freeze your ass off in a Mystic Falls winter."

Sebastian intently stared as she continued.

"Now, me being the charitable person I am, decided to contribute to the season of giving by helping you out. I'll be happy to leave you on the side of the road so the villagers can have their way with you instead." She said with a beaming grin.

Sebastian threw his head back in laughter. He was convinced Lizzie underestimates just how much she amused him.

"And there it is...that natural fire that I love so dearly." Turning his head on the back of the seat to gaze at the exceptional beauty beside him.

She failed to hide her smile and blush, grateful to be driving to avoid his endearing stare that always turned her into mush.

Shaking her head while briefly trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. "Shut up."

His leftover chuckles dissipated over the course of the ride. It had been 30 minutes since their last conversation in the car, sparking Sebastian's suspicions. Lizzie was many things but a mute wasn't one of them, and she barely said anything to him besides a few words here and there.

Twirling the daylight ring she made him between his fingers as he observed her tense posture, trembling hands hands on the wheel and shallow breaths leaving her pink lips. His heightened vampire senses made him feel hers just as intensely.

It was driving him crazy.

"Are you alright?" Sebastian finally asked.

Lizzie blinked rapidly like she'd been dragged from a daze. "Yup. Never better."

Pressing his lips together, he spoke.

"Pull over."

She whipped her head to side and eyebrows furrowed. "What, why?"

"Pull over." He repeated with no further explanation.

"Absolutely not. We're already behind schedule and I'm not making us even more late just so you can dive your fangs into Bambi." She spat.

He growled under his breath. "For Christ's sake Elizabeth, can you for once not be stubborn and pull this bloody contraption over."

Not having much energy to fight, she eventually sighed and did as he asked.

Engine off with nothing but the slow breeze from the empty road to keep them company.

Sebastian unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat to face the flustered blonde.

"What's wrong?"

She swallowed, fidgeting with her fingers to avoid his stare. "Nothing. Why would you think something is wrong?"

He shrugged. "Well, your knuckles nearly whitening from the death grip you possessed over that wheel. Your breaths are labored, body tense, face hard like stone..."

"Maybe I'm just sexually frustrated." She expressed.

The comment making him grin, briefly, before his face neutralized again in sincere concern.

"And you haven't said a word to me in half an hour, not even to tell me to stop messing with the radio buttons."

That actually did grind her nerves when he was examining the radio like a rocket ship—little did she know it was his attempt at getting her attention.

His finger gently pulled her chin forward until she was finally looking at him. Her usual fiery blue now a calm nonexistent flame. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear to reveal more of her face as his palm softly cuffed one cheek. Her tension quickly diminished, relaxing into the seat and his light touch.

The sweet affection made her stomach tie into a million knots.

"Talk to me." He softly pleaded.

It was still weird for Lizzie to be so vulnerable with someone who wasn't her family.

Lizzie hated being vulnerable. She hated asking for help or showing her weaknesses. It wasn't until lately she began managing her emotions, and Sebastian was an expert at drawing them out of her. Even with Sebastian's reassurance and acceptance, exposing her emotions was a long and tiring battle that she was always losing.

She didn't want to lose with him.

The blonde witch nervously licked her lips, conceding with a sigh. "Okay, I'm just...nervous, about all of this. More than I thought I'd be."

Sebastian's expression demonstrating he already suspected that was the reason.

"This is kinda a big deal for me. I've never really had boyfriends per say, so the whole introducing a guy to my family thing has never happened before. And I definitely never let anyone meet Klaus unless they had a death wish or something and—"

His finger suddenly resting on her lip paused her rant.

"I don't think I've ever mentioned how charming your rambling episodes are." His smile deepened.

Lizzie rolled her eyes grinning. "It's not charming it's annoying. But I can't help it when I'm nervous, I have a serious case of word vomit. Another pesky trait I inherited from my dear mom, along with the tendency to fall for old as dirt vampires."

Sebastian chuckled, removing his hand from her face so she could continue.

She licked her lips again. "I like you, and that wasn't easy for me to admit so don't even think about using it against me." Pointing her finger at him sternly.

His eyes narrowed. "Why would I do that?"

"Wouldn't be the first time you use my vulnerability for your own gain, and you wouldn't be the only one..." She muttered.

His jaw clenched.

He could feel his blood boiling, erupting at the thought of someone taking advantage of her. Desiring to slaughter every last one of them. Made him feel sick that he was one of those grotesque people as well.

No time would be enough for him to make that up to her.

He decided not to defend himself, knowing he once did hurt her and had to live with that, and instead let her finish her thoughts.

"But that's all in the past now, and after much groveling I've forgiven you. We have a good thing going right now. It's real this time, and scary and amazing but sometimes I feel like I'm rushing into things, because I'm afraid it won't last. A lot of things in my life have been temporary, especially in the romance department."

Sebastian was as furious as he was relieved that no other boy has experienced Lizzie the way he has. But furious at how they made her doubt herself and deemed her as not good enough for them.

"I'm not saying I want to marry you or anything but, I'm in no rush for this to to be over either. And I'm scared that we'll take this huge leap only for it not to last, or I scare you off when you discover all of my many shattered pieces." She concluded.

Sebastian's eyes softened into a light blue as he allowed her fears to sink in and realizing he shared similar ones. He has known nothing but death and darkness for centuries. The last girl he loved died in front of his eyes before he met his own fate.

What he and Lizzie had was just as new and scary for him as well.

He hummed. "I think we've established that we're both rather broken, in our own ways. You're definitely something I wasn't expecting either, Elizabeth and quite ominous with how quickly you captured my heart."

She cocked her head to the side in disbelief. "I'm the complete opposite of ominous. Are you really using middle ages pick up lines on me when I'm trying to be serious?"

He smirked moving closer towards her face. "I assure you there's nothing, how do you say it, 'cheesy', about what I'm saying. You have to know I mean every word."

She did.

Her breath hitched and heart rate sped to full capacity.

"It's terrifying how much you make me feel. So demanding and passionately. How much you intrigued me even when we first met, on that fateful day in the Old Mill, or how quickly you made me want more when I knew I shouldn't."

Sebastian could feel his throat tightening from all the bottled up emotions forming.

He cleared his throat. "After what happened with Casandra, I closed my heart and sights to finding love and everything in between. I didn't think I would ever find that deep of a connection with anyone again. Hell, I didn't know if I was ever going to have another opportunity to even try but, then I found you Elizabeth Saltzman. The radiant ray of a chaotic sunshine." His smile stretched his face brightly.

Lizzie's was sure he could hear her pounding heart ready to explode out her chest.

"And believe me I never thought in my lifetime I would ever fancy, let alone form any sort of relationship, with the daughter of the most dangerous and ruthless creature to ever exist." He added with a slight laugh. "But I did, and have no regrets about it."

Both their hands hesitantly joined at the console between them. Lizzie eyes were on Sebastian while his were examining their now interlocked fingers. Studying the display of affection like it was a foreign concept.

He wasn't the easiest person to read but she could sense how overwhelmed he was experiencing such intimacy; she felt it too.

Rubbing his lips together, still looking down he finally spoke.

"I—I like us, as well." He said in almost a whisper when finally looking back up to her stunned face. Tears plucking at the corners of her eyes but never falling.

"This relationship is scary for me too, not even because I haven't exactly dated anyone in the last few centuries. It's different, strange even, but good—stable." He mumbled the last word.

"I want this to last until it can't anymore. I want to adapt to your world the best I can. And as truly terrifying as meeting your entire family is I will gladly walk through those flames, as long as you're there walking beside me." He declared with a widened smile.

Somehow he always knew what to say.

Lizzie subtly sniffled, shaking her head her head as her eyes danced between his and his inviting lips. "You're so damn cheesy."

Not giving him an opportunity to reply for her lips were already molding against his. Initially caught off guard, Sebastian didn't reciprocate but then quickly responded to the kiss just as eagerly—swiftly cradling her face between his two soft palms. Her hand on his chest. Wanting to keep her as close as possible, as if she'd even think about leaving. Their tongues sweeping against one another's passionately. They groaned when their bodies collided with the console between their seats that kept them from touching.

Softly giggling into another kiss, not breaking the oral embrace as Sebastian assisted her in gracefully climbing over to the passenger side so she was straddling his lap. She adjusted her body atop his—painfully torturing his already hardened desire while throwing her jacket in the backseat. His thumb caressed her hot cheek as he swept her hair out her face, never wanting the view to change. Wanting the angelic glow of her face to be the first and last thing branded in his memory. His stare radiating unexpected warmth down her body. He had to have known what he was stirring inside of her...

The way he looked at her, so lovingly and adoringly it felt unreal. No guy ever looked at her like she was their whole world. Sebastian knew of her past, her struggles and weaknesses and only tried his hardest to adore her scars all the same. He made her feel like more than herself.

She wasn't 'crazy Lizzie' or 'witch Lizzie' or 'the broken one' when with Sebastian. She was just her: a curious girl falling hard for an extraordinary guy.

Bending her head down Lizzie captured his lips again, instantly licking her tongue inside his mouth to deepen the already passionate kiss. Her arms securely wrapped around his neck while his were around her waist. Squeezing her denim covered hips delightfully while subtly grinding their hips into each other's. Both moaning and smiling against each other's lips shamelessly, as if they didn't have somewhere to be.

-Oh, right...

With a final but lasting peck, the young blonde reluctantly pulled away leaning her elbows on his shoulders. Rubbing her nose against his cutely before sighing in defeat.

"As tempting as indulging in more very public fornication is, we really need to get back on the road. We're already an hour behind the schedule I gave my parents and knowing Klaus, he's going to send out a hybrid search party if we're not there soon." She half joked.

Sebastian lazily grinned, kissing her lips one last time. "I suppose you're right. That would make a terrible first impression." He agreed, caressing her arms in hesitation.

There was another worry eating at him. While they were already being honest about everything, he felt no need to rep it to himself.

"What if he doesn't like me, or your mother and mortal father don't? What happens if your family doesn't approve of us being together, given that I am a few centuries older than you?" He somberly asked.

Lizzie's eyebrows furrowed.

She actually never gave much thought to the possibility of Sebastian not being approved by her parents. Caroline was usually the most open minded but Alaric and Klaus were a different story.

Alaric asked questions then dismissed while Klaus simply dismissed. The one thing the bickering men agreed on was the safety of the girls, including if they were old enough to start dating.

The worried expression broke as much as warmed Lizzie's heart. Sebastian was like an open book but mystery all at once; a complete contradiction. He never feared showing how he felt about her. Seeing him show how much he valued their relationship and afraid to lose all the progress they made.

She kissed him again, softly yet effectively. He could feel her reassurance in this one simple kiss, diminishing all his doubts and worries.

Pulling away with an infectious smile. "No matter what they think about you, it doesn't change anything. You can't get rid of me that easily." She claimed with teasing smile that matched his.

Her palm brushing over his sharp jaw calming his erratic nerves. There was a possibility this weekend could be a disaster, but what she knew for sure was how she felt about him and vice versa. Her family—not even Klaus—could take this happiness away from her.

Pecking her lips, cheek, and nose a few more times, causing the warmest blush and smile to appear, he nodded. "Alright. Then we should get back on the road to not waste anymore of our newfound courage."

Sebastian was puzzled when the blonde halted his attempt of helping her back into her seat. Brushing her pelvis against his suggestively and faces inches from each other's. He could practically taste her breath against his lips. His hands still secure on her hips, feeling like if he moved then any further they wouldn't be leaving this side of the road anytime soon.

"Elizabeth..."

"Hmm?" She hummed, brushing her fingers through his dark brown hair.

He smirked. "Didn't you say we should get going soon?"

The mischievous glint in her eye amused him immensely.

Lizzie innocently shrugged. "Mhm, soon as in not right this second. Soon as in, after indulging in a few more minutes of an impromptu make-out session with my hot boyfriend before I'm forced to pretend you've never seen me naked."

Sebastian's laugh was loud, genuine and contagious.

Their laughter only muffled by their lips meeting again in a passionate frenzy—neither one any rush to leave anytime soon.

[ffxivimagines]

dona nobis pacem | minific

Warnings for: character death, SHB spoilers, angst, references to unhealthy coping mechanisms, the result of a multi-century fixation ending in the worst way possible, character injury, blood, canon-typical violence, mild body horror

100% inspired by @surfacage ’s Bad End piece. Thank you for making me cry. (I hope this is to your taste ;;w;;) 

Ao3 Link

Here’s your cue to scroll past and avoid spoilers or otherwise triggering content! Beware!

They do not have a paper, nor a crier or any other newsfolk, but everyone still knows without a doubt:

The Crystal Exarch has gone mad.

They do not have a paper in the Crystarium, nor a crier or any other newsfolk with which to deliver assorted information to all. However, despite this and all other underdeveloped facets of the bastion city, everyone knows without a doubt:

The Crystal Exarch has gone mad.

They do not need headlines in sharp-smelling ink to believe it, having been haunted by fanciful offers of adventure the moment they rest their heads for nigh on a fortnight. There is a whisper of promise carried on the wind that they can taste. It is heady and familiar as if wrought from worn scripture. Whenever someone says they know it, recognize it, there is a note of terror to their confession.

The Warrior of Darkness has fallen. They who speak in tongues and borrow his voice are but a ghost built from desperation and aether. The Exarch knows it is madness to reside hand in hand with a facsimile of godhood, but he does it gladly, hood ever up and obscuring his face. They need not ask him why—not when they can see the edges of shimmering, blue tear tracks beginning to blend into the steadily spreading crystal of his curse—and seek to avoid doing so for fear of finding themselves face to face with a broken man.

There are no sightings outside the Tower, the Exarch and his little toy god happily locked up together in the recesses of Allagan royal suites, but the people know. They grieve for the man they knew and the love that killed him.

There is no adoration for their half-savior, not when his demise has brought their only hope for survival down to his knees in prayer. With every word that rings hollow in the air, their hatred grows.

“The Exarch is recuperating,” they have been told by the guard. “His strength was sorely tested.”

“By who,” they ask, “and how? What could prove so taxing to a man who leapt through time?”

And though there has been no spoken answer, they know. From the moment the Tower flickered, aether sputtering and flickering in protest to an invisible strain, they knew. The sky simply agreed with a blinding rush of neverending Light.

The day the Warrior of Darkness fell, so too did their Exarch’s heart shatter. His Tower, the symbol of his life and blessing of protection, had nearly faded from their sight. They felt the echoes of battle in the groaning and creaking, worried for his health when fissures rained flakes of crystallized aether down upon them, but he had returned. He was not hale, but they had assumed he was whole. What an oversight, that. 

They learned quickly that the Exarch is mad over love. What an end for such a visionary, to be tempered so (though, for some, they say it is not separate from his adoration. That devotion is one and the same). The creature he calls by name and laughs with is volatile in how it smiles and jokes back, an old friend come home, with far fewer scars and none of the trauma from the time after the Crystal Tower’s doors had shut back on the Source. He has built his own coffin and proceeded to tuck himself in as if comfortable living within a blue-gold bubble of fable and falsehood.

For those who have known him, it is nauseating. 

For those who knew the one he lost, it is infuriating. 

“Stop this,” Alisaie pleads, voice muffled through the doors of the Ocular. “You know better than most that this is not what he would want.”

She has been there every day for a month. Alphinaud has visited, but it is Alisaie’s persistence that has run her ragged where all others have stopped. Teleporting between the Inn’s aethertye and that of the Crystarium has eaten away at her Gil same as her energy, but still, she persists. Behind the locked doors, the fake that wears her friend’s face leans his head against the Exarch’s own with a dull thok. 

They do not answer.

(A little part of her is jealous that the Exarch can turn off his cares for the rest of the world so thoroughly as he does for the sake of his fabricated hero. What she would not give to be so singlemindedly greedy.)

The Scions wish to grieve. They have his body, the casket, knowledge of the badly penned will left in his inn room to the left of his aetheryte earring, but they lack the person they know the Warrior would most love to send him off. Alisaie is not the only one waiting. However, no matter what they ply the Exarch with, he does not allow them the concession of allowing their friend to rest, or releasing the (for all intents and purposes) Primal who has been made to wear his face. 

They were there when he fell and in the moments after. Ryne could not stop the Light, Alphinaud’s magic too feeble to seal the wounds torn into being across the Warrior’s body, and the Exarch... what could he do so far from the Tower? And so they had watched, helpless, as Emet-Selch brought his grand fury to bear against their faltering aegis. Watched him shatter and collapse to his knees time and time again until it becomes a mercy when he does not yet rise. 

But it is not his last stand. 

With axe in hand, he leverages to his feet once more. There are no defined steps, no head held high, no righteous fury. Where stories had said he was indomitable, terrifying, untouchable─this person is not him. This bleeding, dying warrior is mortal and just as flawed as all the rest and yet the world is stacked upon his shoulders as if his bones will not be ground to dust in the shadow of its magnitude. 

He takes one step and then another, feet slipping and scuffing along the ground, and then stops. He hefts the axe, palms sticky-slick with blood, but can do no more. 

Hades laughs at his struggle and the sound reverberates in the cage of his ribs. What bitter mockery it is to see his friend-turned-enemy struggling to stand. Hydaelyn’s Champion is nothing but a husk at his feet, soul sundered and aether long since spent. He reaches out and very carefully snuffs out the overflowing Light with a practiced hand. This will be his final victory against Her Champion. 

This is his final elegy for a friend. 

And then, in a show of pity, he allows the body to stay whole. He rescinds his darkness, the many, many masks and names and memories he carries, and steps down to pay his respects. The Exarch does not allow him that liberty, for the moment his feet all but brush the ground, the aether of his domain shivers. 

He had not designed the Allagans to have such comparable power to that of his creation, but (then again) he had not accounted for the mistakes of late royalty nearly turning his plans to cinders. The Crystal Exarch fumbles his way toward his fallen friend and pulls his body into his arms, hands trembling but face blank. He calls to him, desperate. His voice cracks. 

Emet-Selch smiles. At least, for once in all his ages and eons, something just as wretched as he is mourning their loss. He waits and he watches. Detached. 

(A part of him resents the hand that suffocated that Light, but that is the same part of him that has been around since Amaurot rose around his ears. He is not so willingly naive, anymore.)

The aether trembles and shakes in fits and starts and the crystal creeping its way up the Exarch’s cheek slides a little further outward. He holds the Warrior close to his heart, a hand resting on his head as if to protect. What could he do for a body that is devoid of life, truly? No matter how tightly he holds him, no matter the silent prayers he devotes tot he Twelve, it will all be for naught. 

Sitting there with the bloodied crest of the Warrior’s head tucked under his chin, the Crystal Exarch cries. The entire First follows suit. 

The crystal lances up and onto his yet untouched cheek and spiders outward like cracks on fine china. It does not consume him in full, but there is a dullness to his grief mirrored in the wide-eyed wildness of his disbelief. The Warrior cannot be dead. There is no way. 

But the body in his arms gives no sputtering breaths, no soft whispers of stubborn aether. It is empty. 

And every effort he has made turned to waste. 

There is no clear shift where his mourning turns to rage, but by Hydaelyn’s will it is felt. The quaking becomes pressure and a crushing embrace that screams in intrinsic tongues, “You will never have atoned enough for this sin.” 

When the might of the Crystal Tower is brought to bear, there are few who could oppose it. The cost is great, though, and there is a hardening of more than feet and back and hips, but even that of heart. 

If the Warrior of Darkness has died, so too has the man called G’raha Tia. 

And so, the Crystarium mourns. The Scions mourn. The false god ever lives. 

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xiv. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || masterpost || AO3 || Next>>

Parallel scene: Shirayuki’s Wish from the main arc of The Beast with the Beautiful Face.

Obi was not an easy man to find.

Shirayuki left her quarters mid-afternoon, but the day deepens to twilight as she wanders the castle grounds in search of him.

At last she ventured into the thick woods, where she and Zen had reconciled once, recalling that Obi had an affinity for trees.

...

She quickly lost her way among the many branching paths. One fork divided into another, and the sun had gone, so she no longer knew which way turned west.

Hesitating at a division in the road, Shirayuki mutters to herself, “To the right... or is it to the left...”

She is about to turn left when she hears a voice in her ear: 

“The castle is that way, miss.”

...

He has been watching her for the past hour, with increasing vexation, as her random turnings carried her further and further from safety.

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t disturb her by putting himself in her way again, but his good intentions were as they had always been: useless.

...

“Obi!” she gasps. “Thank goodness it's you.”

She is the perfect picture of temptation: pink-cheeked and shiny-eyed at the sight of him. It makes his insides clench.

“It's late to be out walking alone, miss,” he says, looking past her.

...

She doesn’t take the hint.

 “Obi!” Her voice carries the ring of a prepared speech. He screws up his face, steeling himself for something unexpected.

“I am not ashamed,” Shirayuki declares, “of...being together.”

She bows.

“Please forgive me.”

...

Obi stares at her in dismay. This is worse than anything he could have imagined.

His pulse, trained to maintain a steady rhythm in mortal combat in disregard of death-defying feats, begins to accelerate.

With her head down, she adds, “I want you by my side... if that is possible.”

...

At last, the moment has arrived: He’s going to tell her no.

He has watched her misery from close-hand since his latest slip-up, and he won’t do that to her again--not even if she asks him to.

Obi folds his arms. He wills his expression to granite, his heart to stone.

“I don't think so, miss.” 

She looks up, her face pale with alarm. 

He tells himself that it doesn’t sway him, because this time he knows what she really wants, what she really needs from him.

...

Clinging to the sarcastic reserve that served him so well in his previous lives, he half-smiles. 

“Even when the master was with us,” he begins ruthlessly, “I…” 

The words hang between them. 

She is as white as her dress.

He swallows. Then, doggedly, he persists: “...and now, how can I hold back?”

...

Shirayuki takes a deep breath.

Whatever the price of being near to him, it’s not enough to stop her. She has decided; she won’t turn back now.

“I don't mind,” she whispers.

...

His eyes blaze. 

He closes the distance between them and seizes her hands, staring into her face. “Do you know what you are asking?” 

His skin heats hers. “Is this what you want?” he demands, his voice low and edged with a hardness that unsettles her.

...

She remembers now; she allows herself to remember the shape of Obi’s lips on her skin. 

Shirayuki’s eyes shimmer, but her voice is steady. “Obi...please. I can't lose you, too.” Whatever that meant, whatever would be, she was ready to face it.

She lowers her head.

His expression softens. He has smiled at threats and laughed in the face of torture, but at this gesture of simple submission, he melts.

In the space of a breath, his hands relax on hers, and he folds her in his arms.

...

The breeze stirs their hair as they stand together beneath the trees.

He would gladly spend many lifetimes like this.

After so many years of searching for somewhere to belong, how could he have guessed that he would fit in a space no bigger than the circle of her arms?

...

“Obi,” she says softly, her fingers curled against his shirt, “please stay close to me. That would...make me happy.”

The words ring with finality: a seal on a promise.

He wonders if she knows the many ways that a woman might mean that, the many more ways a man might take it.

Of course not. 

She is Shirayuki: a lady in name as well as spirit, born defender of the innocent, the mistress of his heart.

If she won’t accept no for an answer, then there can only be one way forward for them.

...

“Very well, miss,” he tries to speak with a breezy certainty, to cloak the terror that seizes him at the prospect of the words about to leave his lips. 

Like a ventriloquist with a puppet, he forces the declaration out of his own mouth: “Then I will marry you!”

It is not lost on Obi that he is wading into waters that have so far defied the best efforts of two princes, one a powerful man and the other a great one.

He no longer feels that he is taking his life in his hands, or signing it away with his heart’s blood--no, he has already jumped from the cliff, and he is in free fall.

With a sound like roaring wind in his ears, he sees a new look creep over Shirayuki’s face.

Her eyes round; her forehead furrows.

She is confused.

“Wh-what?”

...

Obi laughs at her expression. He can’t help it--who else would react that way to a marriage proposal? 

Only this one, only this inimitable treasure that has placed herself in his hands and commanded him to claim her.

Despite his fears, he remembers all over again how desperately he loves her.

The past feels very far away just then; it is only the two of them together, surrounded by shadows and the soft sounds of the forest.

She hasn’t yet said no; she hasn’t hurled him from her in disgust.

The terror heightens to giddy nerves. 

He can’t resist teasing her. “You know what marriage is, don’t you, miss?”

...

“Ah - oh, yes! Of course I…” She looks away, blushing hard. 

He lays a hand on her shoulder. 

When she does not flinch, he gently takes her chin in his other hand and lifts her face to his. A warmth she has never seen before lights his eyes from within. 

“Then... marry me. I will be by your side as long as you'll have me.” 

Unable to look away, she nods. 

“You're sure?” Obi asks, quirking his eyebrows - a final salute to the absurdity, the impossibility of the situation he finds himself in.

If there’s a joke, it’s lost on Shirayuki. Her expression solemn, she nods again.

...

Obi breaks into a grin. He has felt more than once what it’s like to dance with death--never has it been so painful, or so exhilarating.

“All right!” The words burst from him. “It's decided then!”

He catches Shirayuki in his arms and spins her around, laughing like a child.

...

Branches and stars whirl overhead, blending into a hazy silver-green glow.

Everything is top to bottom, her heart pulled inside-out, yet she feels better grounded than ever since the day she first lost her way.

The promise--given in haste, without thought for the consequences, compelled by the pain of the alternative--this promise binds her now to the man laughing up at her, his eyes crinkled and cheeks wet.

It is a chain with an anchor, an unbroken link to which she can cling when the tide threatens to wash her away.

Happiness, a defiant bird with broken wings, flutters in her breast.

She starts to laugh with him.

[marshmallowprotection]

Honeysuckle

(READ ON AO3)

Description: Fate seemed to have other plans in store for Saeran and Saeyoung Choi then what they ever expected. One path that is bathed in the light and the other is drowned in the darkness. They are taking different roads and what will happen when those roads diverge? One time will tell their fates and if they're destined to be happy or wrought with sorrow.

Vampire AU.

Pairing(s): Choi Saeran/Original Female Character(s), Choi Saeran/Original Female Character(s), Choi Luciel/Main Character/Original Male Character(s)

Past Chapters: Chapter Two | [TBA]

Act III

Saeran hated what he had become with every fiber of his being that no words could be used to describe the indisputable pain that he was experiencing.

He was changed into something against his will and even though he had escaped that wretched woman and run away from Rika, he still wasn't free from the wounds they inflicted on him. Even in freedom, shackles still dug into the flesh on his ankles and held him down. 

He was doomed to living like a monster for the rest of his unnatural life and he hated himself. He who sucked the life from others like a leech to survive. He truly was a bug, and they had been right. Perhaps that thinking was why he found himself sitting on the ledge of a bridge in the middle of the night. 

His feet kicked over the edge and eyes staring down at the water below. It was raging and rushing along jagged rocks that would likely kill or mane a human at the very least if they took a stumble or hopped over the edge. 

Would it be enough to destroy him? He wondered. 

Nothing had worked thus far and he doubted this would do it. All he could think about was freeing himself from the chains thrust upon him. He thought he would be free in death, but as a Vampire, he was no more free then he had been as a breathing human. 

He dug his nails into the palm of his hand as firmly as he could. It would bring no blood and even if he hurt himself out would heal in a matter of seconds. He would never again feel the pain that many mortals did and while that may have felt like a dream after years of feeling the worst pain one could ever feel; It was turning into a miserable reality. 

He knew no pain but he knew what it felt like to be denied the very things he always wanted. This was the curse of eternal life. 

What he longed for and loved was taken from him.

The ability to choose what he wanted to do with his life and have nobody stopping him from what he wanted to do. That’s what he had longed for and now he had to live this damned life without a choice. Never again would he see the sun or feel its rays against his skin… at least, not in the way that he wanted.

The Savior… no, Rika, had forced him to feel the sunshine in this damned body and it hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. Even the memory of the pain he had suffered for a year at her hand brought shivers down his spine as well as the memory of the pain on his flesh.  He would be damned if he allowed himself to think about it. 

Whips… chains… locks… ropes… they were nothing compared to the burn of the sun. 

Saeran felt ill just trying to ward those thoughts away. 

He had spent the last few months trying to fight his urges and get rid of himself when the weight of his actions took over his body; And, he felt the guilt of taking lives and drinking the blood from innocent people who didn't deserve a leech such as him draining from their life. 

Nothing that he ever did to himself worked, unfortunately, and no matter how much he clawed at himself or prayed this undead suffering would go and come to an end, it never did. His body always healed itself when wounds appeared. 

It was just like the universe was playing a cruel and sick joke on him. That was all Saeran Choi was. A big fat joke for the cosmos to laugh at and play with. 

Nothing more and nothing less. 

He felt like a monster and he was a real monster, just as people had always told him that he would turn out to be. As Saeran stared down at the water below his feet, he really prayed that this suffering would come to an end. 

He stood up and took a breath that his lungs did not need. 

Then, he started to count down from ten in the back of his head and just as he reached the number seven, a voice rang out in his ears- 

“I guess somebody beat me here.”

“...?” 

He turned his head and the breeze picked up, giving him a view of a girl in a white dress and a barely thick enough jean jacket over her shoulders. The wind blew her hair from her face and revealed somber brown eyes that he suddenly felt the weight off as soon as he saw them. The faint rings of red around her eyes were from crying.

He knew that all too well. 

His hand rested against the rail, “You too, then?” Saeran inquired, quietly. 

She didn't move but her eyes never lost that sad sheen to them. This was strange and new to him. She saw him but she wasn't running away from him like every other person that had seen him thus far had done. Had she not seen the reds of his eyes? The thirst he was fighting? 

“I suppose so,” she admitted. 

Her blood was likely very sweet. He could sense that much. The energy that surrounded her felt like it might have been as warm as the sun but he didn’t know for certain.  This tiny girl in front of him couldn't have been any taller than just tall enough to meet his shoulder at the tip of her head, and yet, he was more fearful of her then she was of him at that moment. 

It wasn't her he feared, it was his bloodlust. 

He had taken to surviving on animals when he could do so, and while that blood did help him feel like he could go on, it was never anything compared to the energy that he gained from humans. He could control himself from the short supply but the thirst in the back of his throat left him begging for more no matter how hard he protested. 

He wouldn’t go into a frenzy now. 

It grew quiet. 

The sounds of her footsteps rang in his eyes when he looked back down at the water below them. 

She sat down on the other side of the poll next to him and looked to where he was looking. It was just the two of them, seemingly contemplating the same act. He knew why he felt everything was hopeless but now he was struck with the question of why somebody like this girl would think this way. 

She kept her gaze trained on the ground and water, “I've been coming here a lot lately at night. I haven't seen you before.”

“...I'm not from here,” Saeran replied. 

“Well, you picked a beautiful spot for what it's worth, stranger,” she continued. “You can't see it right now but the riverbed is covered in Tiger Lily. They're in bloom right now, and they've never been more lovely. As often as I come here I felt like there should have been something worth looking at while I think about everything.”

Saeran looked more closely at the grass. His vision was made for the night and nothing could escape that. This was the day time for beings such as himself and likewise, he had the power to see more than she could ever see. 

He could see the flowers she spoke of below them and she was right. They were beautiful. 

They were living next to this raging body of water with sharp rocks and rough seas. It was strange how flowers could bloom in spots where they didn't seem likely. They weren’t very common to this very particular spot but their orange tint breathed life into the area of green grass and grey rocks. 

“I planted them,” the girl said as if answering his thoughts for him. “They’re said to bring positivity when used in the right circumstances, you know. I figured if I felt horrible enough to come here, I may stop myself from doing something if I saw life instead of death. I don’t always feel like I can keep going but if the flowers can thrive in areas like that… I don’t know. Maybe all this suffering can exist alongside something beautiful. There’s no reason for pain to exist but it does… but there are so many good things that are alive at the same time. If a flower can persist through the onslot of what appears to be a bad area then why couldn’t those who feel the same way not go on?” 

This woman was clearly miserable. 

Yet, she was trying to find some good reason to push off her intent to see if there was any happiness to be had. Saeran found himself looking at her now instead of the forty-foot drop. She felt his gaze on her form so she turned her head to "over at him with a weak smile. 

“I realize that sounds kind of silly,” she mumbled. “It’s like when you tell people that your only friends are the flowers in your garden.”

He shook his head, “I don’t think it’s silly… to be honest with you, I used to do something similar when I was a child.” 

There was suddenly a spark of life in those brown eyes as she gazed upon him. That false smile changed ever so slightly into a little genuine one. “Would it be odd of me to ask if you would rather talk tonight instead of jumping?”

Saeran found himself telling her that, “Not at all.” 

They would continue to meet nightly for several days after that night. Saeran would find himself listen to everything that she had to say about her life and about her struggles. 

She was the youngest child of two and everybody expected her to live up to the height that her older sibling had met. She fought to be better than anyone else in the world but she always failed in the eyes of her parents. 

She never felt like she was good enough. 

Yet, he couldn’t see the failure that she continued to say she saw when she looked into the mirror. This girl went beyond what was expected for her by others. Meaning she did everything and more then what her family did.  

She worked most of the shifts at her family’s shop and she would always make a point of slipping stickers and a flower or two to a child when they came into the room. She even went as far as to always do the needed chores and never let anyone else take care of them. 

Her days were busy and her nights were busy. She seemingly never had any rest but she was always trying to outdo the day before the last. 

Saeran saw himself in her struggles. The long days that never had an end in sight and the time that went into trying to be a better person for somebody would never be fully satisfied with anything you did. That was the life that he had been leading for such a long time. He knew what it felt like to be suffocating. 

Perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to speak with her about his own fears. 

Of course, he would never admit the full story, and he omitted a lot of information to protect himself from the truth. But, it was the first time in years that he had been able to speak to anyone about what was bothering him. How much trepidation he felt about his caretakers, how he missed his brother and also felt like he hated him, and how he felt like he was a waste of space. 

How he had no choice but to listen to the woman that was supposed to protect him from danger and neglect… how she warped his memory until he felt like he was going to go numb… how he ran away the first chance he got and the instance he realized that he needed to get out if he wanted to feel like he was in control of his actions and choices.  

It went a little something like that. 

She never spoke over him and she always heard him out until the very last word came out.

It felt like he was letting go of a weight that he didn’t even realize he had been holding in as he spoke about his pain and turmoil. He had thought that he had no choice but to end himself to make the pain stop, but it turned out that the pain could also be released just by talking about it. 

Don’t get him wrong, it still hurt him. It just felt like he wasn’t balling it up to deal with on his own anymore. It was just that when he was with Lila… he felt like he was human again. He felt like what had been taken from him didn’t matter. She breathed life back into him and he desperately wanted her to believe that her life had meaning. 

If he could do anything, he would want to stay close to her until her life played out. If the universe was giving him a chance to do something good, he would take it. If his undead life meant anything at all he would use it to ensure that her smile would exist as long as it possibly could ever grace the Earth with its presence. 

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Weeks would pass by without either of them noticing it. Day in and day out… Saeran would spend every evening that he could with Lila. She gave him something to do, and he provided her with the company that she had always wished to have at her side in the lonely garden of her life. 

Much of the time he simply offered to help complete her work, and she graciously accepted. He may not have been able to lighten her stress but he could do something to make her feel like she wasn’t alone. 

At first, that meant that helped her piece together flowers for bouquets. Other times, she’d be nice enough to relent and let him help her take care of thorns and bramble. He didn’t want her to get cut, partially because he wasn’t sure if he could handle her blood, but partly because she had very delicate hands. 

He often let his mind wander to the chance if he would have met her before what happened to him had taken away his power to exist as a mortal.

Would he have been able to enjoy days in the sun with her? Would she have smiled at him from afar underneath a shady tree as his hands rested in a bit of dirt, tending to flowers? Would she have been content if he made her tea to enjoy? Would she have wanted to hold his hand and disappear into the ever expansion flora and fauna? 

Most of all, would she want to be around him? 

Sometimes he feared that he was using the allure and charm that vampires had to make her like him so much but he wasn’t consciously trying to do that. He always avoided her eyes and tried to keep his distance even though he desperately wanted to hold her hand. So, it couldn’t have been that that was making her want to be around him.

Lila genuinely seemed to like him.  

He really couldn’t wrap his head around that one. What was that feeling and how did he ever begin to understand what that felt like? Everyone else on this planet seemed to know what they were doing and how to handle these feelings and Saeran didn't have a clue. Nobody had ever liked him. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to handle that feeling. It was buzzing and made his head feel faint. His knees felt wobbly and he felt tonguetied. Saeran didn’t have a word for the feeling that he had but he was greedy for it, and he wished to feel more of it. 

Of her eyes on him… of her smile towards him… that kindness that she shared with him. He wanted to feel all of it and more. Perhaps that was after being around her for such a long time, he felt like he really needed to be honest with her about what he was feeling. He had never been a selfish man but God, her smile made him feel so at peace. Was this what they meant when they said that there was somebody in the world that existed just for you? He wanted to know if she felt the same way. 

Now, Saeran didn't really think that she would care for him in the same way that he had come to care for her in the last couple of weeks but that didn't mean that he couldn't tell her how he felt and how much she mattered to him. 

“Lila,” he found himself saying very late one night as the moon began to set. “I want to meet you in at the garden’s center tomorrow evening.”

She looked up from the book that she was reading at the time, the two of them had just been enjoying each other’s company. Neither of them had really said anything. Saeran had been laid back against the grass and she was catching up on something she hadn’t been able to finish for weeks. They were both holding onto the other’s hand. 

She gave him a squeeze. 

“Do you know the way on your own?” she teased, playfully. “I don’t think I’ve taken you there before, Saeran. What if I’m waiting all evening and you don’t show up because you got lost in the patch of the forest of icy patches?” 

“I promise I won’t fall into a pit of ivy,” his tone was deadpan. “I’m not as clumsy as you are. I had to pull you out of a briar brush the other day, you know? That’s much more dangerous than a bit of poison ivy.”

“Well, as long as you promise not to make trouble or bring up that story again to anyone if they ask you for a story about my great escapades. I guess it’s a date,” Lila smiled. “I hope to see you by the fountain before dawn.”

Saeran didn’t look in her direction because he didn’t think he could handle seeing what her face looked like underneath the moon’s glow.

“A date, huh?”

Little did Saeran know that this may be the last time that he sees Lila. 

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

It was late into the evening when Lila found herself lost deep in the winding path of the expansion gardens. 

It wasn’t that she was lost, per se, it was that she waded so deep into the brush and bramble and didn’t look over her shoulder with the intention of going back early. She knew this area by heart and no map was required to carry her to the heart of the area. 

Her heart was in a flurry. 

Beating in a hurried tap, tap, tap as she thought of him. 

She might have even said that she was excited at the prospect of the night ahead. 

Even since she had started spending all of her evenings out speaking to Saeran, it felt like she was simply rejuvenated and ready to keep on living. Where the world had once felt dull and lifeless, it now felt as though there were a reason and a purpose for it. 

The pain and struggle had an end in sight. At least, that’s what she would say if somebody inquired of her opinion. 

Every moment that she spent with Saeran, she felt the weight of the world fall from her body. In a lifetime that had been nothing but frustration and a fight to feel deserving of the love that should have been given from the start, she felt as though she had finally found a source of compassion. 

That wasn’t required to be given to her the kind that was rarely given by family. Someone who cared for her of their own free will and didn’t make her feel guilty for it. No, when she saw his smile, it felt like fireworks set off in her quaking heart. 

When her hand brushed against his…

Nothing mattered except the two of them. 

Lila almost couldn’t stop the gentle laugh from escaping her lips as she thought of how he spoke when he said that he wanted to see her tonight. How important it was that they speak about something. He had never been so prudent or so focused. He was always quiet and thoughtful when they were together that the spark in his eyes made her feel strange. 

When he looked into her eyes… he spoke with intention. There was something that he wanted to say but he wanted to do it in the right place and at the right time. His voice still left tingles down her spine; If it hadn’t been the hour coming close to sunrise, he might have said what he wanted to say without warning. 

He just always seemed to be busy during the day time doing all kinds of things.

Lila couldn’t help but wonder what he did during the day. She would sleep for a bit and then catch up on all of her work that needed to be done. But what did he do? Why was he always working so hard and then seemingly not tired for a moment when she was with him during the night? 

Saeran only said that it was something where he could be holed up inside all day. That just sounded a lot like offices, she assumed often. That could be a place where you felt like there was nothing but the stark white walls around you. A sea of nothing but endless work and no fun to be had in the long run when work was crucial. 

That’s why she was more than happy to spend the night with him underneath the moonlight where there were no walls, no ceilings, just space overhead alongside the moon, stars, and the ever expansive universe. 

Whatever he was dealing with seemed to go away when he was outside. There had to be countless worries on his mind yet a flower could bring a smile to his face.  His eyes would light up when she showed him flowers that he had not seen in person. 

For somebody who had been unable to go outside a lot as a kid… he filled his imagination with as much information as he could gather about the world. She thought that she knew a lot about the world but he had answers before she could even rake her brain to remember if she knew the answer to a question, and she would always wind up pouting. 

Saeran was a brillant person. 

It was such a shame and horrible to think that nobody saw the worth in him when he had so much to offer to others. Lila saw in his eyes the spark of compassion. He may have looked a little rough around the edges but one should never judge a book by their cover. After all, what kind of person would she be if she thought differently of somebody for favoring leather over ribbons? 

He may have looked dark and gloomy but he was every much as bright as she appeared to be to others on a good day. He may have instinctively assumed the opposite when he saw her in the light. With her petticoats and childish bows, nobody might have ever thought that somebody like her was as depressed as she was. 

Perhaps that’s why they blended so well together. 

They weren’t what people thought of them and the empathy that existed over mistranslations was stronger in numbers. 

“...” 

Lila found herself at the center of the garden after fifteen minutes of the endless path. She took a long way around instead of the shortcut. She wanted to give Saeran time to show up if he wanted to be the first to arrive, but if he wasn’t there before she was, she would still be happy nonetheless. 

She stepped out from the maze and felt her feet brush against the cobblestone and took a look around to see if anyone was around. 

Darn. 

There was no one that she could see, which meant that she had beaten Saeran to here tonight. That wasn’t such a bad thing. It gave her time to think over what he may want to speak about and if it may have been what she thought it was. 

She walked forward until she was out of the cover the brush and out in the open. This area had been paved over just a smidge to cover enough area for a fountain to be dead center as the rest of the garden was far more natural with man-made pathways that didn’t intrude too much into the natural order of things. 

This was the last place that she had yet to show him so it was possible that may have lost his way even with the directions that she had told him with a smile. Well, he would figure it out sooner or later if she waited long enough. After all, she had no place to be tonight but here. She could wait until the sun rose if it meant that she could see him again. 

Lila smiled. Her day just didn’t feel right she couldn’t at least speak to him once. These past few weeks had been the happiest in her life. She decided that she would settle into waiting for him. She took a seat on the edge of the fountain and looked up at the stars and waited for the time to pass. 

She didn’t know how long she had been waiting after some time had passed but what she did know was that it was far later then it had ever been for him to arrive. He would always show up before this hour, she thought with a worried grimace. 

What was the hold-up? 

Where could he be? 

Was he making her wait this long on purpose? No, that didn’t seem like something that Saeran would do. He wasn’t that kind of a jokester, at least, she was pretty sure that he wasn’t. She pursed her lips and glanced around once more to see if he was coming.

This time, her gaze rested on a shadowed figure that stood in the darkness. The moon was covered by the clouds and it was too dark to make out any features that showed their identity. 

Lila stood up and narrowed her eyes to see if she could make out the form but nope, she couldn’t tell who it was from her vantage point. It didn’t seem like it was Saeran. He would always say that it was him when he arrived and whoever this was just standing and watching her from far.

Something in the air didn’t feel right, and her body was screaming at her to run. “Saeran?” she asked, hesitantly. 

The lone figure did not budge, “Is there anything more like a fairytale than a maiden waiting for her prince to arrive for a chance encounter late at night? I would say there’s nothing more lovely than that to a girl with nothing but daydreams in her heart. The longing gaze in your eyes tells me you know the pleasure of what it feels like to be sought out by another person with love in their hearts. Isn’t that just lovely?” 

That voice was feminine. She didn’t know that voice, either. People weren’t supposed to be on the grounds this late at night. That meant that this person had intentions that could have been anything from bad to good. Lila took a step back without even thinking about it, “Excuse me, miss? You aren’t supposed to be here.” 

“Oh? But, you aren’t supposed to be here, either, dear,” the figure stepped out of the darkness at just the right moment for the moon to come out from the clouds. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you should never be alone this late at night without someone to accompany you? Don’t you know what kind of monsters are waiting for pretty girls like you?” 

What was this woman getting at? Monsters? That was something that you would tell a child to scare them for fun. 

Well, she wasn’t a child and she had spent more time out in the woods than anyone else to be scared of a few wild animals. This was her family’s land and she had every right to be on it whereas this stranger didn’t have the blessing to be there. 

Nobody was going to tell her that she couldn’t be where she had the right to do as she pleased. This woman, on the other hand, did not belong here. Lila’s gut was telling her that this woman was no good.

“I’m not alone,” Lila said, quickly. “My… my friend isn’t far away. He was coming to meet me tonight, not that it’s any of your business.”

Her hair was a golden yellow. She looked like she had been kissed by the sun with those perfect locks that curled around her face. She was wearing a simple black dress and heels that gave her the aura of power. 

Her lips were curled into what you could call a smile, “Hahaha… oh, you must be mistaken about that one. Any business that involves my dear Saeran will always involve me, little one. I know you’re the one that has been filling his head with nonsense lately.” 

This woman knew Saeran?

Saeran had said that he didn’t know anyone in this area and the people that he walked away from were miles and miles away from this place. How could somebody know him? He didn’t want to be known by a lot of people. 

Unless… unless they had been following him to see where he went. That was the only explanation that made sense. 

Her stomach twisted in knots at that realization as soon as it struck her head. He had said that he had run away to get far from his caretaker as she had done a lot of ill things to him in the past few years. It hadn’t been something he went into detail of, but it was bad enough that he couldn’t say more than just that. 

Footsteps rang in her ears as the woman began to approach Lila. Her pace was slow but that look in her eyes spoke of danger that dare never be spoken into life lest it actually occurs.  Lila began to step back until she could no longer put any more space between the two of them. Her back brushed against the tall hedge and her heart rate began to take flight. 

“I thought he was just throwing a tantrum. You know, as children will tend to do after some time, they throw fits and get angry with their parents because they don’t understand what’s good for them. I let him get away for a little while to cool off and sort of those silly little thoughts in his head, and it would have been alright if he hadn’t taken spending all of his time with a human,” her tone was so bubbly and yet so icy at the same time. 

“That wouldn’t have been so bad if he had decided to play with you. I thought if he got close to one of you, he would realize just how breakable and stupid you are all. He would realize humans are nothing but obsolete beings with false love in their hearts. You could have brought out the devil in him for me, and for that, I may have rewarded you if he didn’t break his plaything to pieces.” 

She was so close to Lila now that she could see it. 

Lila saw the truth in this woman’s eyes and the truth was painted red. It was as red as a rose or as red as her blood pouring through her veins. It was unnatural, unfeeling, and wrought with pure animosity. This woman… she was a monster, and this monster wanted nothing more than kill her and leave her to rot. 

A hand reached out and brushed against Lila’s cheek. It was as cold as Saeran’s had been but strangely… colder. Lila shivered and trembled. Her body wanted her to run but her brain seemingly understood that if she ran, things would be much worse. She might not even get away if she tried to make a break for it. 

This person wasn’t human. 

No, she was a devil in human form. 

“If he won’t break you… if he refuses to stop acting like a petulant child… if he refuses to see the truth, then I’ll have to fix everything for him. Even if he acts up, or says he hates me, I know the truth and I know what’s best for him. I’ll protect my sweet Saeran from the pain that I have suffered, and I’ll start by killing you. Then he’ll know that the only love that matters in this world is the devotion he has for me.”

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

The staunch smell of blood was thick. 

It was so strong that Saeran was nearly taken back by it. He first thought that perhaps an animal had been hit by a car or something in that regard. It happened time from time and it would make an area smell like it was caked in blood. Yet, there was something about the scent in the air that seemed far too sweet to belong to a mere animal. 

It made him uneasy and concerned. Saeran decided that he needed to get a move on, and he had been already set back by his own thirst. He had to take care of that before he knew he would be safe enough to be in Lila’s company. Even being able to sense life all around you didn’t make it any easier to get the blood you needed. 

Saeran made his way through the familiar paths that Lila had pointed him down before, his body tight with dread. It had been such a long time since he had felt this. The last moment that he felt fear such as this had been after he came out of his animalistic instincts and realized what he had done to so many innocent people. 

He dug his nails into his palms. It wouldn’t cause pain but it was enough to bring him out of those concerns. 

He couldn’t focus on that feeling if he couldn’t seek out the source. It could very well be an animal but it could very well be something else. He didn’t know what it is but all he knew was that he needed to find Lila. 

As far as he knew, she should have been waiting for him on her own in the middle of those flowers just minding her own business. Knowing her, she might have been waiting since the sunset. She would be toying with her phone or counting the stars in the sky. 

Yet, the closer that he found himself getting to where she was supposed to be, the strongest the smell of blood grew to be. He didn’t want to believe it but the scent was sweet. That made him fearful. Had she gotten hurt again? Had she been clumsy and fallen down? Even if it was something silly, there should not have been this much blood in the air. 

Whatever was going on… 

It was not good. 

That was all it took for Saeran to run the rest of the way to where she told him she would be waiting for him.

Saeran found himself stopping dead in his tracks when he finally found the doorway that opened out the hidden center of the garden of Lila’s life. He found himself unable to move once his eyes settled on the ground in front of him. It was electricity that went through his entire body and he had to press a hand to his mouth to stomach the stench of fresh blood.

There, in the center of the world, in the center of her world, the center of what had become his world too, was Lila laying on the ground, motionless and a gaping wound in her neck that looked like her throat had been ripped apart by a monster. 

Her blood dripped from her body and covered the stone below it. 

Just like that, the fears that he had for the past few months had come flaring back to life. He had been so afraid of hurting Lila that he never even thought that she could get hurt because of him. This was surely his fault. She was laying here, likely dead, because of how close he had allowed himself to become to her. Was this his punishment for letting himself believe that he could be happy for even a moment? Was this the universe reminding him that no matter what he did he would always have to go back to the people that hurt him? Was he not allowed to be happy? Even in this endless state of damnation? 

He appeared at her side in an instant, the first thing he did was check to see if she was breathing. There was a very weak and shallow puff of air that escaped from her lips. She was barely breathing and if he didn't do something then she was going to die. She was going to die and leave him behind while he had to continue living in this world with nobody with him. He would go on knowing what it felt like to be cared for but he would never know what it felt like to have love at his side at all times. 

Saeran pulled away and looked down at her once again. 

This time, he was greeted by the sight of brown eyes that were ever-dulling by the passing second. There was a hint of clarity in them but it wasn't enough to say that she was totally aware of what was happening at that moment. He wanted to know what had happened, who had hurt her, who he needed to hurt... to kill... who he needed to get rid of to make up for this. But, he couldn't bring himself to ask her those grim questions. Rather, he found himself wanting to say all those things that he wanted to say to her this evening. How he wanted her to know that he cared about her so much and how he cherished what they had. 

"Sae... ran...?" her voice croaked. 

"I'm sorry," was the most that he could muster up as tears came to his eyes. "This is all my fault. I should have never let you be alone... I shouldn't have let you near me in the first place. I know this is my fault. I know it. I just know it. If I hadn't met you... if I would have been here sooner... If I just... if I wasn't such a coward... if I had just... I shouldn't have let you go yesterday. I never meant for this to happen to you. I wanted to protect you from pain and I'm the reason you're... you're..."

Saeran couldn't even say those words. 

A trembling hand reached up from the corner of his eye. It shook and it twitched. Lila's hand pressed against his own after she struggled to find the use in her hand. Her skin was so white and pale that he feared she didn't have any blood left to stimulate the flow across her body. The vampire that had used her like a drink to empty and throw away carelessly had barely left anything behind to prove that she was a thriving human being. 

Lila didn't look away from his eyes, and even though he wasn't sure if she could see him or not anymore, she smiled at him. She smiled at him with that very same smile that had stolen his heart from him the first time they had met. 

"...ove... you..." her voice had grown even quieter and he couldn't barely pick up the sound. "...ran..." 

Saeran jolted and looked down at her with the anguish in his body burning ever brighter. She was struggling with herself, and he could see it. Lila was fighting the sleep that would come over her body forever as hard as she could. As they both stared at one another underneath the pale moonlight, her lips mouthed the words that she so desperately wanted for him to hear one final time, "What? What is it, Lila?" 

Her eyes couldn't even fight to stay open anymore. Her lungs drew in and she managed to muster every ounce of strength that she had left in her body at that moment, and Saeran's unbeating heart felt every single word of it as that delicate voice hummed to him like an angel. Her hand went limp in his own, and he could hear it ringing in his ears over and over again as if like the beat of a drum that had no end, "I love you." 

She stopped moving. 

Saeran tried to shake her shoulders and he tried to get her to wake back up but no matter how hard he cried or how much he screamed, she wouldn't wake back up. Her body was no longer as warm as the sun. It was as cold as his own flesh. Be it out of his own fear at the prospect of losing Lila, or the fact that she never got to hear him say those very back to her, Saeran would ever know, but at that moment where his love lay unmoving, he acted out of nothing but the desire to save her life from ending. He knew nothing of what he was doing except for feeling that what he was doing was the right thing for him to do. 

The venom that had once dug into his skin when he was transformed now existed in his own veins, and it instilled into him the power to do the same very thing.

Against all other thoughts and judgments, his fangs sunk into her flesh at every spot he had within his reach. He didn't know how many times he would have to do it. She didn't have a lot of blood in her body and he could barely feel her pulse. From her arms to anywhere he could dig his teeth into, it may have been overkill, but he wasn't going to let her die on him without having done everything that he could do to ensure that she could keep on living in this world. 

Even if she would have to live in the darkness of the night... 

the world would be a better place having her in it than without. 

He wouldn't know it worked for sure until days had passed by and her wounds would slowly begin to heal themselves. It wasn't all at once. It happened day by day. He watched her minute by minute and hour by hour as if transfixed by her being. Saeran had taken her back with him to the house where he was staying to keep her away from the sunlight and to protect her from human interaction. He had cleaned up most of the blood but the smell of it was still locked into his memory no matter how hard he scrubbed at his hands and arms. He didn't know what it looked like on the outside when this happened, as he had only been changed himself a few years ago. 

He was never allowed to see when it happened to others. 

She looked like a sleeping beauty in her death-like state but he knew, he knew that she had to be suffering the same miserable heat of this damnation. He just prayed that the moment that she woke up that she wouldn't hate him for what he had done to save her life. Her cheeks weren't as rosy as they once were but he cared not for that, all he cared for was the hope that she would be alright when she awoke to him. 

And she eventually did, a week and a half later, with eyes as red as an apple and a thirst to go with them that would be sated. Yet, in those red eyes of his at that moment, he could see the same very woman that he had come to love after all this time. Saeran was on his knees at her side, with his hands pressed against her knees as he begged and pleaded for her forgiveness for what he had done to her in that dead of night. 

Lila's hand pressed to the top of his hand and offered an all too familiar gesture.

She wasn't angry with him. 

"I love you too," he whispered. 

"I know," she said.