#(i did in fact look up handkerchiefs to make sure they existed then and they super did)

[softersinned]

@balldwin said: [ HAIR ]: sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards.

He can feel her eyes on him in the dark.

He always seems aware of her in a way that would, from someone else, make her feel surveilled; from him, it simply suggests that he is merely degrees away from omniscience. A more impressionable mind might have made him a new god, but Astoria is, at the moment, taking too much vicious pleasure in the promise of her damnation to cede control of her soul to anyone else.

Something about him suggests that he may take it all the same. She is not so unhappy with the thought as she would have imagined she would be.

Tonight he stands in the gardens below where she sits and he tips his head back as his guest leaves, eyes finding hers through the black of night. For several long moments they are silent and still, and then in the space of one breath to another he's gone, and she can hear the door close from three floors away. It is out of courtesy for her that Baldwin walks slowly and allows himself to be heard—it gives her time, should she wish it, to cover herself more, or prepare for another person's arrival. Were she still a warmblood she would be cold, perhaps even modest, but he has seen her half-mad and hunched over her prey, dripping blood and gore, and she has little enough shame where he is concerned. Her bare feet press firmly against the railing beneath her, and the night's steady breeze lifts the hem of her nightgown a fraction of an inch before letting it settle against her calves again.

"So," he says by way of greeting, and he walks through the room to the balcony where she sits, "you have recovered from—earlier?"

His delicacy, though unnecessary, is appreciated all the same. Astoria waits until he is standing beside her at the railing, his hands set against the stone several inches from where she's laid her feet, before she looks at him. She leans forward, winds her arms around her legs, tightens her hand around the handkerchief she's holding.

To call it a surprise would have been an understatement. She would have imagined he was dead by now—she saw him last fifty years before, and he was only a year or two younger than her, and human. And he had never had enough sense to hold his tongue when he should have, nor enough cowardice to shy away from the urge towards self-sacrifice in the name of patriotism or, worse still, the right thing. And he had seen her, called out her name in disbelief, crossed the wide street to reach her and take her arm with surprising strength for a man of his age.

It was funny, in its own way: once, she had imagined they would spend their lives together, and today, she had spent years without thinking of him once. Far enough from her that she hadn't realized he was still there, Baldwin had paused in surprise at the intrusion, and when Iain Blackwood's wizened hand gripped her arm, his nostrils had flared with a sudden anger. "Astoria," Iain repeated, and when she looked at him she wore a pleasant but confused expression, and she gently detached his hand from her arm.

If she looked closely she could see it then, that beneath the years and the laughter lines, he was the same man who had once told her that, if they simply waited long enough, he could divorce his wife and take her instead—one of the few advantages of Henry's bouts of evangelism, he'd insisted, and fuck the Pope and God Himself, too, but he would have her for his wife. Astoria had laughed at that and told him not to speak nonsense, and that week, Celia told him she was carrying his child, and there was no more talk of marriage. Now, he stared at her in wonder, disbelief, while Astoria patted his hand warmly.

"I'm terribly sorry." She spoke with a perfect English accent, indistinguishable from the native Londoners she had met while she and Baldwin were in the city. "But I think you have mistaken me for someone else."

He shook his head. "Astoria Grim," he insisted adamantly. "I know you."

To deny any connection would have made him doubt her further. She shook her head and squeezed his hand. "My great-aunt died when my father was a boy. He always said I looked like her." And she laughed sympathetically, though her stomach was churning, and she felt rather as though she might be sick, as the son that Iain had crept away from rushed to catch up to them. "Did you know her?"

It felt wrong, to lie to him, but it seemed to work. Iain took a step back, looking dazed, as his son caught his arm again. The Astoria that he remembered would have been his age. She would have spoken with the melodic lilt of her Swedish grandfather's influence. She would never have turned him away. "I did," he answered, and he offered a vague apology before he covered his son's hand with his own and turned away from them.

She waited until they were out of sight to let herself feel it. Now, there is nothing to feel, though she runs her thumb over the fabric of the handkerchief, folded over her index finger, and she looks up at Baldwin and lets the corner of her mouth quirk upward into a crooked smile. "I have," she confirms, and Baldwin looks pointedly at the handkerchief she's holding.

"What is that?" he asks, though he already knows, and Astoria turns her hand and opens it obediently, holding the cloth in her palm. Quietly, she lets out an embarrassed little laugh, and she stretches his hand out for him to reach. When he plucks the handkerchief from her grasp, she clears her throat, eyes flickering away from him.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked."

Once they were gone, she had closed her eyes, taken in several deep breaths, but the sheer number of people in the crowded street did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves. From where he stood Baldwin could, no doubt, have seen just how she was beginning to lose control, and it doesn't surprise her that he saw what followed: that she had pulled the handkerchief from where she kept it tucked inside her sleeve and lifted it to her nose, and she breathed in the scent there instead, faint though it was.

"Did it help?" Baldwin asks in the present, and Astoria clears her throat again, cheeks coloring a gentle pink. From what she's seen, it's rare for a wearh to blush, but she always seems to manage it when his eyes are on her.

"It did." She speaks quietly, but she speaks the truth: the moment she'd breathed in his scent of woodfire and leather she had felt safe again, and steady on her own feet. The fear was gone, and when she opened her eyes they were no longer swimming—and she felt, as she so often did at his side, like herself again. She looks at her knees, afraid that if she meets his searching gaze he'll be able to uncover the secrets she has yet to even tell herself.

She knows what this is, or she knows enough: five years with him and they are rarely apart. He has been an excellent teacher and guide, and more patient with her than she would ever have imagined he could be. He does not seem to resent her presence, or that she still cannot hunt entirely on her own, and certainly not without supervision if she does not mean to kill. On the rare occasions that she sleeps, she dreams of him. His scent is her anchor to the world, and her heart, damaged and cold as it is, seems to be utterly, entirely his. How inconvenient, and, at once, how wonderful, to know that her ability to fall so absurdly in love had not died with the rest of her. That to be away from him makes her feel as though there is a knife slipped between her ribs is no doubt the result of being caged so long; who could expect her to come out of it sane? But at its core, she knows what it is, just as she knows that whatever she felt decades ago for the man she saw today, it has not prepared her for this.

Inconvenient, to say the least; she cannot talk herself out of it and so she simply ignores it as often as she can, though in moments like these she wonders if he can smell it on her. Baldwin only watches her, silent in a way that she's learned by now means he wants her to continue without having to be asked, and Astoria lets out a petulant little sigh, though she's smiling (albeit guiltily) when she looks at him again. "Had you been looking for that?" she asks, though she knows that's not the information he's waiting to hear.

"Yes. I had expected an error by our staff, though perhaps I should have anticipated a bit of theft."

"That does seem like an oversight on your part," she says, quite sincerely, though she laughs a moment later and shakes her head. "It's the only one I've taken. I doubted you'd miss it. It helps keep me—" Her voice trails off for a moment, and she reaches back for something to do with her hands. Impatiently, she gathers her braided hair and begins combing it out, fingers working through the tangles there.

Even in the dark she sees Baldwin's gaze shift, settling for a moment on a particular red curl hanging from her finger. It is perhaps the second or third time he's seen her hair loose, and he seems to understand the gravity of such a vulnerability with him—but she has no use for modesty or shame with him, and with his attention diverted she pushes forward. "It keeps me from getting overwhelmed. Usually, you're there, and that helps, but when you're not—it's a poor substitute but it's useful all the same. One scent I know well keeps me from going mad when presented with a thousand."

"I see." He drags his gaze from her hair back to her face, and she feels suddenly and terribly (wonderfully) exposed.

"It reminds me that I am not where I have been. And that as long as I'm with you, I am safe." That seems to surprise him, though she can't be sure, as she looks at his hands after only a moment of meeting his eyes. "Even after years, I'm not quite used to it. I trust you—" And here she laughs again and looks back at him. "—God help me, I trust you with my life and my freedom alike. The reminder that it's you looking after me is a welcome one."

Baldwin grins, suddenly, and she feels all the air being knocked out of her lungs at the sight of it. "Quite a change from the certainty I'd let Father Hubbard drink from you," he points out after a moment, and it prompts yet another laugh. Quickly, so quickly she thinks she imagined it, she could swear she sees him close his eyes as if to savor the sound of her laugh.

"Well, you see, I've learned the truth about you."

"Have you, now?"

"Mm." She leans forward as much as she can without losing her balance on the railing. "You like me."

He chuckles, and the rich rumble of his voice is a song. "Maybe, for the moment, you're of more use to me alive." But he's still grinning, and she can recognize his tone as—teasing. How magnificent, that he'll tease her like that, that he knows her well enough to be certain she'll take it as it's meant. How beautiful, that he seems to enjoy making her laugh.

"Oh, I certainly am, but it's still true. You like me. And you won't let anyone harm me, even myself. It's alright," she adds, and she settles back against the wall with a smug little smile. "I like you, too."

"Do you, now?"

"Very much. There is not another soul in this world who's taken care of me like you have."

The confession is unexpected. Baldwin's expression seems to soften, though perhaps it's the low light.

"When I need to remember that I am alive, and still myself, I think of you." She looks out over the gardens again, but she's drawn back to him, the beautiful line of his jaw in the dark. "Cuore mio. You are my sanity and my safety." His eyebrows raise at the Italian, and she laughs low in her throat. "That's what you are, isn't it? If you had turned us away that day, I would be dead, or mad. That I am still myself, that I still exist at all, is because of you." And if I were to be separated from you now, I'm not certain I would know how to remain myself. She swings her legs around and shifts so that her feet are on the stone floor of the balcony, and she looks up at Baldwin and smiles. "Will you take me out? I'd like to hunt."

For a long, long moment, he is silent, watching her. Slowly, as though he was reaching out to soothe a frightened animal, he reaches for her, and he tips her chin up, brushes that same errant curl he'd been watching before behind her ear, as if to grant himself an unimpeded view of her face. His fingers brush against her cheek, and his expression seems almost tender, but he says nothing. After a beat, he drags his finger along her jaw before he lowers his hand.

"Do you want to dress, first?" he asks, and she stands, shaking her head.

"If anyone sees me, they'll assume I'm some restless spirit," she says with a little laugh, and she tries not to think about how gentle his touch was against her skin, or how badly she wanted to lean into it, or that she feels oddly, impossibly cold now that he's released her. (She glides across the floor quickly enough that she has to wait for him at the door. She does not see him lift the handkerchief, still in his hand, to his nose and breathe her in.)

She wakes the next morning after an hour or two of sound sleep, soothed by having drunk her fill mere hours before. When she opens her eyes the first thing she sees is an unfamiliar scrap of fabric on the bed beside her—and when she breathes in his scent on the cloth it is almost as if he is there with her.

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 36: Extreme security measures

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): idk man... lot happens here [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

Your eyes are trained to the rough waves outside of the cottage. A steaming cup of tea in your hand. Bill and Fleur are nice enough to give you a room to stay in their home. 

You've wanted to go search for Theo immediately, but Fleur forced you to have a shower. You felt grimy and dirty and just gross and once out of the shower were you glad she did so. That's what being stuck in a basement for half a year does to you. 

Once you've finally seen yourself in the mirror for the first time in months, a gasp left you. You've lost weight and a lot of it. It has made the scars over your body more prominent. Your hair is matted and nasty, sticking out at odd angles. But the worst is the word traitor carved into your collarbone. 

So... that is what Bellatrix did to you? Dear Merlin. It makes you want to puke. The fact that you've physically been permanently damaged by her makes your airways tighten up. Fleur has helped you through one or two nightly panic attacks. Salazar bless her.

Said woman comes over to you with a bowl filled with steaming porridge. "Eat up", she says gently, "you need to strengthen."

With a smile, you take the bowl. "Thank you. Not just for the food, but also for letting me stay here."

Fleur joins you staring out of the window. You slowly eat the porridge to not upset your stomach. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you're in a position to ask for anything. "Do you maybe know... if- where Theodore is? Theodore Nott."

She looks over her shoulder towards Bill, who's washing up some dishes at the sink. They seem to silently communicate towards one another, leaving you out of their discussion.

"He's staying at Grimmault Place", says Bill after a pleasing look from Fleur. "But that was before he was sent to mainland Europe on Shacklebolt's orders."

A cold plunge envelops your body. He's... gone? Fighting a war that your generation has no reason to be involved in?

You feel a soft hand on your shoulder. Fleur gives you a sympathetic smile as she holds up a handkerchief. Only then do you realise that tears run in two streaks down your cheeks. You sniff and turn around, hiding away from them. 

"Is there... is there any news about him?", you croak out, doing your best to get your emotions under control.

But you get the message when Bill stays silent. You nod wordlessly and turn around. You walk out the door and towards the sea. You drop to a sitting position and bury your toes in the sand. 

The smell of the sea and the sand brings back memories of easier times. A time when you still had to watch out and take care of each other, it was far before the torture and heartbreak.

Someone drops down next to you silently, their hands playing with something. You glance to your side, but Hermione keeps on staring in front of her. In her hands a wand. Your wand. It got taken before you were forced into the cellar. 

"Are you alright?", you ask softly, your tired eyes raking over her body. You wonder what Bellatrix has done to her.

The girl nods before looking at you. "Are you alright?"

"I will be. I just... I need to- I don't know what I will do now. What are you guy's next move?" You pull your knees to your chin, burying your face.

Hermione hesitates for a moment. She lays the wand in front of you in the sand. But you feel no desire to touch it. 

"We think there is a Horcrux in the Lestrange family vault at Gringotts."

You stiffen. "How are you attempting to get in?" Logistically, there is no way that the three of them pass the goblins at the bank. They have to one, identify themselves with a wand that belongs to the Lestrange family. And two, they're public enemy number one.

"We've got her wand and a hair." 

"Pollyjuice potion? That's your plan? How are you going to bypass the endless counter-spell measures?"

She looks helplessly behind you. You turn around and see Ron and Harry standing at the cottage. Then it clicks. "You're asking for my help."

"I'm sorry, (Y/n). We wouldn't be asking if it wasn't necessary."

A deep sigh leaves your lips. "Fine", you let out. "But I first need to let Sirius know that I am okay." 

Grabbing your wand, you fire off a couple of spells into the sand to test if it is actually your wand. And if your magic still works after all this time.

Once that's done, you conjure a piece of paper and a pen. You pen a quick letter to Sirius about what happened and that you're okay. You also ask to let Teddy know that you're alive and kicking once he comes back. You give the letter to Bill and Fleur's owl and watch it fly away with the letter.

"So...", you ask, turning around to the Golden Trio, "what's the plan?"

"This is the most reckless plan I've ever heard", you grumble lowly as you walk between Hermione — who's Polijuiced to look like Bellatrix — and a slightly edgier Ron than normal. Your Dark Mark is in full display with the dress you're wearing and you hate it. Harry is somewhere with Griphook under the invisibility cloak.

Hermione stumbles a few times over her heels as you all approach the front desk Gringotts. You clench your teeth and sneer at the goblins that look up from their work. Pretty much what the Dark Lord's Heir should do, in your opinion.

It's very quiet in the lobby when Hermione clears her throat. But no reaction from the goblin. "I wish to enter my vault."

You cringe internally at how un-Bellatrix Lestrange she sounds. You should have taken the roll. 

"Identification?", says the goblin uninterested.

The unsure look in Hermione's eyes makes you speak up. You step in front of her and glare at the goblin. "I hardly think that'll be necessary", you sneer.

The little man looks up from his work as he recognizes your voice. "Madam Lestrange. Miss Riddle." He stands up straight before turning around.

"I don't like to be kept waiting." Hermione calls after the goblin as she folds her arms in front of her chest.

"They know", whispers Griphook. "They know she's an imposter. They've been warned."

You share a look with Ron, who looks ready to pass out when guards approach your group from multiple points.

The goblin returns with another one. "Madam Lestrange, would you mind presenting your wand?", asks the other goblin.

"And why should I do that?" She's getting better at pretending to be Bellatrix, with the way she holds herself.

The way the goblin speaks to Hermione gives the impression that he's speaking to a child. "It's the bank's policy. I'm sure you understand given the current climate."

"No", you growl, "we most certainly do not understand. I won't imagine the Dark Lord be very pleased to hear when his Heir and most trusted follower are denied access." At this point, you're giving the others time to think up a plan. And you hope it comes soon.

Softly, from next to the goblin you hear Harry whisper out, "Imperio", before the goblin's face changes. He sniffs deeply as a smile forms on his face. 

"Very well, Madam Lestrange. If you will follow me."

The five you get lead to a minecart that sets off at high speed. Griphook steers the cart while the other goblin sits in the back, high as a kite.

"What is that, Griphook?", questions Harry as you pass over a waterfall that splashes down on the tracks below. "Griphook!", he inquires as the goblin tries to break but the cart doesn't seem to work.

You brace yourself for the water to hit you. Once you've passed under it Hermione is Hermione again and the cart has come to a screeching halt. A red light pops up before an alarm shrieks. Suddenly, the bottom of the cart slides from under you and you all plunge into the darkness below.

Hermione thinks quick on her feet as she casts a spell which seems to stop you just short of the ground. The spell releases you and you let out a grunt as you still drop pretty harshly on the ground. 

You clamber up, looking around. "Oh no, you look like you again", you point out at Hermione.

"The Thief's Downfall. Washes away all enchantments. Can be deadly", explains Griphook

Ron makes a snide remark but acts quick as the other goblin wakes up from his Imperio haze. You want to make a remark that while you are the Dark Lord's daughter, you haven't used the forbidden curses voluntarily, unlike the Golden Trio. 

But now is not the place nor the time for that.

As you approach the vault, a low rumbling and growling comes from within. A pit forms in your stomach as you recognise what that means. You've heard your aunt and uncle talk about an extreme security measure before when returning from fetching you money for school. But you never believed it to be true. Until today.

White as snow and wrapped in rusty chains, a dragon lies in front of the entrance to the vault. Scars and wounds decorate the skin of the dragon. It nurses his paw with pitiful whines.

"Bloody hell, that's a Ukrainian Ironbelly." Ron looks in amazement towards the poor dragon. 

A pit from in your stomach as Griphook hands out rattles. When he starts to shake the rattles, the Ukrainian Ironbelly flinches away.

"It's been trained to expect pain when it hears the noise."

"That's barbaric!" You huff out angrily.

"It's effective", quips Griphook back as your group easily bypasses the dragon to the vault. He lays the hand of the other goblin on the door and it opens.

Everywhere you look inside is silver and gold. On every table, wall, or even every inch of the floor; leaving just enough room to walk around. Holding up your lightened wand, you realise all this is yours. Bellatrix and Rodolphus don't have children of their own. So as Bellatrix' only daughter, it's yours. Or will it go to Rodolphus' brother?

"Accio Horcrux", Hermione calls out, but nothing happens.

Ron turns towards her. "You're not trying that one again, are you?"

But you know it's here. It's in the vault because you feel it. It calls to you. 

"Is it in here, Harry? Can you feel anything?"

"Yes", both you and Harry reply, looking at each other. 

You look around, your eyes drawn to a certain point of the vault. "It's there", you point out. Up high, you hear it whisper to you to come and get it. To touch it. It makes your skin crawl. A golden cup gleams evilly at you.

Hermione gasps as she accidentally bumps against a table. A cup topples over and starts to multiply. Of course, the Lestarnges are not that stupid to not put a curse in the vault.

"Give me the sword." 

Hermione pulls out a sword from her beaded bag and throws it at Harry. Since when does that fit in there?

As cups and plates and trophies multiply around you, Harry scales the growing pile of gold. The room starts to fill with objects as everyone struggles. 

"Stop moving!", you call out and the room stops filling. Only Harry's pile is still growing until he snatches the cup. He bursts out of the pile, but the cup flies from his hands. Into that of Griphook.

"We've had a deal, Griphook."

The goblin in question holds out his hand. "The cup for the sword."

Reluctantly, Harry throws the sword at Griphook, who in turn throws the cup towards you. You catch it and it sizzles in your hand. Your head twitches harshly.

A mean gleam takes over Griphook's features. "I said I'd get you in. I didn't say anything about getting you out." He opens the door and the cursed riches pile out.

The four of you stumble out and watch how Griphook escapes and the other goblin gets burned to a crisp. 

Guards fire blasting curses at you and you hide behind the pillars. "We can't just stand here! Who's got an idea?", yells Hermione above the blastst.

"You're the brilliant one!", argues Ron back.

You shake your head. "I've got an idea. But it's mad. Reducto." You fire the spell at the railing and it flies off. You run back before launching yourself on the dragon's back. The others follow you and grip tightly to the spikes on the back of the dragon.

"Relashio." The chain that holds the dragon snaps. It fires another blast towards the guards before it looks up. You follow its gaze and see your way out. The dragon climbs its way up, destroying a train track in its wake and sending a bunch of guards into the depts.

Bursting through the floor of the lobby, the dragon breathes fire around itself. Finally, it makes its way through the roof and sits like a gigantic pigeon on the roof, catching its breath.

Hermione fires a spell at its tail and the dragon flies off. You soar through the sky, getting a wonderful look over London. 

You don't know for how long you've been staying put before the four of you drop down into a lake.

You feel it. His anger. Voldemort knows that Harry's been destroying Horcruxes. It's all-consuming. Searing. Red hot. He knows you've escaped the Manor. He knows you've betrayed him. And he is outraged.

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[viviangreeneart]

At The Foot of My Bed

                             

    I stood at the foot of my bed. I was wearing a dark blue suit I didn’t recognize. The material was clearly expensive and well-tailored, hinting to a fit, lean body underneath.  A neat, white handkerchief was folded with care in the suit jacket’s breast-pocket. Staring forward , my green eyes were not the usual unattractive mix of exhaustion and hatred, but of contentment and maybe a little joy. Dark circles, like permanent eye shadow, of which I had grown accustomed to had not claimed these eyes. No, at the foot of my bed, those eyes did not have sagging, purple-grey flesh clinging to the bottom of their sockets like loose, cooked chicken skin. This skin was pink and tight. This me could be in an advertisement for eye cream they looked so damn healthy. Oh, and my scar! Where was that? The right side of his lips were unblemished. Had I never met the enraged man at the bar? Had his class ring that glimmered in the light as it came crashing down on me, snagging my lip and tearing it apart, not existed? Or had I simply not goaded him into a fight to begin with?

  If I had fought the man with this body, I would’ve surely won. I hadn’t lifted any form of weight in decades and a vegetable had not graced my dinner plate in just as long. The body in front of me most likely thrived on a high protein diet with a substantial side of greens. Perfect me smiled warmly, revealing his pearly white, exceptionally aligned teeth. It was apparent he never missed a single dentist appointment. I self-consciously rubbed my tongue against the bottom row of my broken, grey teeth. I felt like Narcissus gazing into the pool, aside from the fact that I did not have the beauty that the me at the foot of my bed possessed.

“Honey,” a ragged, drained voice called out from just outside my bedroom, ripping me out of my visual love affair with Perfect Me.

   “Uh, yeah?” I shifted my body to the left so I could see down the hallway. I could just make out the silhouette of my wife leaning out the bathroom doorway. 

  “Did you lock all of the doors?”

  “Yes, of course,” I sighed. This was part of our routine. I would say yes even I forgot. I could always lock up during my midnight fridge raid.

  “Oh good,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

   My attention returned to Perfect Me. He had only folded his arms during the pointless discourse with my wife. Suddenly a thought occurred to me - what would Tammy think when she saw him? I was still processing this when she ambled into our bedroom, wrapped in her floral house coat. Tammy passed the well-groomed me without a glance, plopping onto the bed next to me. It creaked under her weight as she settled in, shuffling the sheets about. Perfect Me’s eyes followed her movements with palpable endearment. A light smile played upon his lips as he watched her grab a book from her bedside table and open it to where her bookmark had laid snug since the night before.

   I struggled to recall the last time I looked at her with any form of love. Tammy was comforting and sweet in personality, but she was very mundane. I didn’t dislike my wife, but I found no beauty in her, inside or out. However, this undeniably gorgeous version of me, reacted as though Ava Gardner had just sauntered into the room garbed in an extravagant dressing gown. It was perplexing to say the least.

  “You don’t mind if I read for an hour or so, do you?” Tammy asked, eyes already glued to her book.

 “No, of course not,” I replied. I wanted an excuse to keep the lights on anyway. I couldn’t lose sight of Perfect Me. I wanted to speak with him. To ask how and why he looked so good compared to the ghoulish version of me that was hunkered down in a sagging bed next to his mediocre wife. Was he handed better opportunities than me? A better family than the hostile, demanding one I had been presented with? Was he accepted at a proper University instead of the community college I begrudgingly applied to? He certainly had a successful career, as was evidenced by his suit. In this life, I had only rented suits for special occasions. Fortunately, I was rarely invited to any occasion.

  I needed to speak with him, but if I could I only see him, I would look like an idiot speaking to myself. Well, I would be talking to myself. As I struggled to form a plan to communicate with him, I felt the bed sink slightly near my feet. Perfect Me had planted a knee down onto the bed. Too stunned to move, I caught sight of Tammy in my peripheral vision. She was oblivious to Perfect Me’s sudden advancement, with her nose inches away from her book, mouthing the text as she read. Perfect Me then leaned forward, placing his left hand next to my knee. His right hand, which was free of a wedding ring, reached out. Without hesitation, I brought myself upward and gripped his outstretched hand. His flesh was so soft in comparison to the harshness of mine. He must have a job that has been very kind to them, or at very least he moisturizes on a daily basis. My heart swelled as I met his gaze. I no longer cared about the possibility of Tammy looking up to see me holding onto an invisible force. Perfect Me grinned, letting out an easy, melodious chuckle.

  “Would you like to trade?” he whispered.

  My mind went to a story I read in elementary school, the Prince and the Pauper. 

  “Absolutely,” I whispered back.

  “So be it.” His grin widened into a sneer as he yanked me directly into him. 

   Bracing for a collision that never happened, I found myself on my back on the bedroom floor. Sitting up, I rubbed my forehead in an attempt to reorient myself. As I temporarily became distracted by how heavenly my skin felt, an unnatural itch crept throughout my body. I glanced down and saw the expensive suit Perfect Me had worn. It looked so comfortable on him, but on me, it felt like tiny bugs were burrowing their way into my skin. I tugged and pried erratically at the buttons of the jacket to no avail. It was like it was now a part of my skin. Or rather, it was my skin.

  Above, muffled voices broke me briefly from my turmoil. I jerked around and realized I was in front of my bed. Moving to my knees now, I peered upwards. I saw my old self in bed with Tammy. Hideous Me, with the horrific scar and the unfit body. They were deep in conversation. She giggled at whatever nonsense he was spouting. Her book lay abandoned on her lap.

   He pointed to her book and she nodded, giving a him a sugary sweet smile. As her eyes drifted away from him to the book, Hideous Me’s eyes shifted over to meet mine. He winked then returned his attention to my wife. I cried out to her, but could only release pitiful croaks as I fought against my suddenly weakened and dry vocal cords. I banged my fists on the bed as my warnings fell on deaf ears. I doubled over as blinding pain tore through my body. I silently whimpered, as I could no longer create sound. Despite it all, I shakily rose to my feet. Maybe after sometime I could convince whatever I traded places with to switch back. He will eventually regret inhabiting my old, misshapen body with my boring bookworm of a wife. Surely he will, I thought, as I watched him kiss her.

    I stood at the foot of my bed.

[mysticalibra1994]

What Florian's/Juliana's mother wanted to say to Director Clavell...

I know it's a bit late, but I've had this thought ever since October 11th (aka Coming Out Day).

Warning: This post will contain serious issues relating to what the members of the LGBTQ+ community STILL have to deal with (which includes... "the school's bathroom incident")

Okay, so it started as a theory/headcanon about why Florian and Juliana look so similar (a bit too similar...). Then, it hit me: "What if Florian and Juliana are the same people, but their other name is their dead names?"

In the game (after you customize your character for the first time (and let's say you used their respectful canon names)), after the opening sequence, the player's mom tells you "[Player], I've got a thing or two to discuss with the director here."

While the player goes upstairs to get their hat and schoolbag, who's to say that the mom wanted to personally inform Director Clavell about their past before the enrollment at Naranja/Uva Academy?

I believe that it went something like this... [For context, I'll be using Juliana for reference.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Violet!Mom: Again, thank you so much for accepting my daughter! I know it sounds a bit silly, but it truly means a lot to her... Director Clavell: *notices the change in tone* Of course, ma'am. If it's not too much, may I ask why? Violet!Mom: Of course. You see, by now, I'm sure that you're aware of her... shyness. That's because of her "unfortunate incident" from her old school. It was a bit early, but I have noticed and accepted the signs. Due to how late the paperwork was, the principal didn't get the memo of her transition. Juliana told me at the head office that she thought that she would use the bathroom on the 2nd floor due to less traffic and nobody would notice. Director Clavell: *sips tea* But, someone did notice? Violet!Mom: *sadly sips tea* Yes... At first, it started with one student. Then, by the time the principal arrived at the scene, it was a quarter of the population. One would assume that someone was delivering a baby! *sadly laughs* Director Clavell: *nibbles on the biscuit* Violet!Mom: Instead of understanding her situation, the principal blamed her for causing a scene; saying that none of that would've happened if "he" would use the "boy's restroom". I almost lost my composure as I tried to explain to her that Juliana is a girl so it's appropriate for her to use the girl's restroom. *eyes slowly welling up* She didn't do anything wrong! She... Director Clavell: You're quite right, ma'am. She didn't do anything wrong. What is wrong is to blame someone for their existence. *sips tea* In fact, you have nothing to worry about. Our staff, as well as our students, are as diverse as they are accepting. Granted there were a few hiccups, but we make up for our mistakes. In fact, our top student from the STEM program uses She/Her and They/Them pronouns. *hands her a handkerchief* Thank you for informing me of this. I'll see to let the Chairwoman and the staff know of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To those who've heard of the "bathroom incident" before, I've heard of it from the Dr. Phil Show and I found it hard to believe that the students would waste their time to figure out "which student is using the bathroom". Just let them go in peace!

Also, shame on the principal for victim-blaming instead of the other students wasting their time harassing someone all because "they had to go". (I also blame the parents for not educating their kids to "treat others the way you'd want to be treated").

To anyone who's from the LGBTQ+ community and hasn't come out yet... You are loved, no matter what, and your existence is valid.

[hiraethwrote]

i've only ever wanted you

summary: you can blame the alcohol for your reaction, but hey... what's yours is yours, right?

[ loner!megumi x popular!reader ]

cw: college au, f!reader, sorority!reader, aged up characters, drinking, intoxication, arguing, emotions running high, jumping to conclusions, jealousy, kinda angsty, eventually comfort, no use of y/n

word count: 3.2k

“I look ridiculous.”

“Stop that! You look hot,” you shouted through the bathroom door.

His displeased expression stared back at him from the mirror, observing every detail of the costume you’d put him in.

He’d been so focused on being a good boyfriend, actually accepting your invitation to one of your parties because it was supposed to be the party of the year. And as newly elected president of your sorority, you’d stood for all the planning and decorating.

What he had completely forgotten to take into consideration when he said he’d come was the fact that it was a Halloween party, meaning costumes, something that was way out of his comfort zone.

You, however, had already planned matching Halloween costumes before you even knew if he was coming or not.

That being said, you knew he’d never go along with anything that would draw too much attention to him. So all things considered, the costume you’d put together for him was the bare minimum in terms of dressing up — didn’t make him feel any less stupid when he looked at himself in the mirror.

A few weeks back, you’d spotted the ruffled collar of a white, linen shirt in the window of a thrift store downtown. Without thinking, you had sprung through the door and handed the cashier the money.

Next thing Megumi knew, he was feeling incredibly exposed while the tiniest sliver of his chest was on display and his usually messy hair was tied down by a red handkerchief around his head. As low effort as it was, one could clearly tell it was a pirate he was supposed to be.

“God knows why I agreed to this,” he mumbled to himself, fidgeting with his sleeves, the nerves building up by the second.

“I will not hear another negative word about your costume come out of your mouth for the rest of the evening,” you sighed as you exited the bathroom.

“Can’t make any prom-“

The sentence was abruptly cut short when he spun around to give you an answer, only to end up like a deer caught in headlights.

Now, Megumi had always thought of you to be absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word. But when you came out that door all dolled up for the evening, looking a lot more like a pirate than he did, the lump was instantly created in his throat as his palms started to turn clammy.

It was different, for sure. With leather pants, a black and red corset tied tightly over a cream coloured blouse with puffy sleeves, a red fabric draped over your hips and a handkerchief tied over your head to match his, Megumi was only reminded of how incredibly out of his league he thought you were.

“You look-“ he cut himself off to clear his throat when it came out embarrassingly high pitched. “You look great.” The modest blush crept up on his cheeks, and as much as he wished you didn’t notice, he wasn’t so lucky. The scrunch of your nose and the bounce in your step as you scattered over to him told him so, as you placed a hand on each side of his face and squeezed his cheeks.

“Love it when I make you blush,” you teased. While he rolled his eyes, pulling out of your tender grip, he tried to find back to his previous stature — the one where you didn’t have him flustered by simply existing within his vicinity while looking so good it should be illegal.

“I bet you do,” he mumbled shyly.

You quickly landed a light peck on his lips that were withdrawn into a line. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“‘S no problem,” he said, his statement bordering on a lie. The stress was slowly building up inside him at the thought of spending the evening with this crowd that had rarely done their due diligence to make him feel welcome. But he’d seen how hard you’d worked and how much it meant to you, it was only right he swallowed his insecurities to support you.

His shoulders were visibly tense, having you try to rub the worst of it out while shooting him a compassionate smirk. “Come on, let’s get you a drink to loosen up,” you placed another small peck on his cheek before hurrying down to the kitchen, clutching Megumi’s hand tight in your own.

The small ball he threw hit the last cup standing on the other side of the table, causing you to squeal in unmatched excitement, launching yourself at him in a bone crushing embrace. It was hard, even for him, not to actually let out a small chuckle when you were so publicly proud of him.

“I didn’t know you were so good at beer pong,” you said once he released his arms around you.

“Neither did I,” he said only so you could hear him.

“Well, I’m going to get another drink, you want one?”

“Sure, why not?” The drunk smile instantly spread across your face before placing a wet kiss on his cheek and scurrying away.

Against all odds, Megumi was actually enjoying himself a little more than he usually did at these things. It probably had everything to do with the fact that you had stayed at his side for most of the evening, because he instantly fell into his reclusive habits the second you were out of sight.

Standing by the table, he let his eyes travel the room, looking at all the different people scattered about, drunk out of their mind — while he stood awkwardly in the same spot you left him in.

In the past, he rarely minded being on his own, he preferred it even. But after you came into his life, he had come to appreciate the company of others… well, that was probably a stretch. He appreciated the company of you, and that was about it.

“Hey,” a soft voice caught his attention as a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder to turn him around. “Great beer pong play!” The girl standing in front of him, sporting a genuine smile, had been on the opposing team when playing.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, hand clutching tighter onto his nearly empty cup.

“It’s Megumi, right?”

“Mhmm,” he nodded with a withdrawn smile.

“I’m Mio,” she leaned in to tell him so he could hear over the music. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he mumbled politely, eyes continuing to dart around the room in hopes he’d spot you turn the corner to join him again, but all he saw was a sea of unfamiliar faces.

He didn’t get to look for long until her voice captured his attention again. “You’re not really the party guy, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” He scoffed.

“Well, sort of, but I can’t remember seeing you all that much.”

“Oh,” he hesitated. “Yeah, not really my scene.”

She swiftly jumped up on the table beside them, swirling her red solo cup, newly filled with some drink that smelled awfully sugary. “I like your costume.”

He instinctively narrowed his eyebrows as he glanced down at what was essentially just a white shirt with some extra details added to it. Megumi was just a cautions person by nature, and though he rarely had any ill intent behind his cold front, he just liked to keep strangers at an arm’s length.

But maybe this Mio wasn’t a bad person, and was simply keeping him company while he was all in his lonesome.

“Thanks. Yours is cool too,” he shrugged casually, looking at her costume of what he thought was supposed to be a cat, hoping and praying you were to rejoin him again soon. She grinned wildly at the comment, balance swaying a little by the alcohol in her system.

You, at the other side of the living room, were blissfully unaware of the scene that took place not too far from you.

On your excursion to get more to drink for you and Megumi, you’d been hauled in my a few of your sorority sisters for group tequilas — to which you couldn’t say no. That’s when they came with the very convincing argument of ‘one tequila is never enough’. So one tequila quickly turned into two, slamming the glass against the counter before biting into the lime slice.

The drunken giggle on your lips was wiped away when one of your girlfriends pointed out the scene you’d been missing out on.

“She’s at it again,” she said into your ear as you both stared at them while Mio accidentally stumbled down from the table she was sitting on, just to latch one hand onto his forearm and the other rest on his chest for support.

And though Megumi’s reaction was probably one simply out of politeness, it didn’t stop you from seeing red when a small smile was formed in his lips at whatever words left Mio’s mouth.

Why had he suddenly decided to turn so sociable?

The drinks you were supposed to fetch was long forgotten, as you stormed over to the two of them, not hesitating to wedge yourself between them with glee.

“Mio, you better take a step back!” You bit as she quickly retreated her clawy hands to herself.

The way she sung your name sent a cold shiver down your spine, as if you were friends. If there was one girl in this sorority you were willing to throw to the dogs, it was her.

Ever since moving into the house, you and Mio had been at each others throats — for good reason, you thought. Both being individuals with immensely strong personalities, you were doomed to butt heads. Neither of you even tried to keep your mouth shut when the other did something that infuriated the other.

For the most part, your relationship consisted of petty spitting matches — until you managed to snatch the title of president of the sorority, which quickly escalated the ongoing feud.

If there were an opportunity for her to come for you, she would definitely take it. So when you saw her even come close to your boyfriend, after having garnered a small reputation of a home-wrecker, there was no way you were letting her off easy.

“I’m only keeping the nice pirate company.”

Her sweet tone had you grind your teeth together, Megumi noticing how your nails were digging into the palms of your hands. “Yeah, and your service isn’t needed anymore.”

“I’m sure Megumi doesn’t mind. We were having a lovely conversation-“

“I don’t really care,” you cut her off, raising your voice, disguising your anger in feigned sincerity.

What sounded like such an innocent flutter of a laugh sailed past her lips. “No reason to get hostile.”

“Could never be too sure with you.”

Your mean stare at Mio was averted to Megumi when you felt his familiar touch carefully circle your wrist. He tried calling your name in order to calm down the situation, but was taken aback when his voice had no soothing affect on your angled eyebrows.

What was worse, was how you pulled your hand out of his grip, folding your arms over your chest before turning your back to him again, fiery eyes locked on Mio.

“Poor guy looked so lost where he stood. Wouldn’t have been right to just let him stand alone while you were out and about,” she said, subtly tilting her head to the side to eye Megumi from top to toe.

You quickly took a step to the side to block her view. Whatever her intentions were, if she was actually interested in him or if she was just looking to get a rise out of you, you did not appreciate the glint in her eyes or the visible heat in her cheeks as things grew more tense.

You didn’t even try to hide the roll of your eyes at her sugary tone, fed up with her fake attitude. “Just-“ you took a deep sigh. “Just keep your hands off my boyfriend, got it?”

“Then don’t let your handsome boyfriend stand all alone for me to get my hands on,” the same fake smile plastered on her lips. You swear you were about to let your hand come travelling through the air to slap her across the face, the alcohol not helping on your restraints.

Taking a step closer, you felt a few eyes start to turn towards you. “You better watch what comes out of your mouth next-“ eyes widen when she clicked her tongue before once again tilting her head to address Megumi.

“You let her talk like this?”

The whole interaction Mio’d had with you had instantly made Megumi dislike her immensely, wearing an expression of distain at how she could even think to talk to you like that — but you didn’t notice this, too focused on channeling all your self control in not getting yourself arrested.

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Mio! This whole attitude is going to get you slapped one day, and I’ll make sure of it-“

Once again, Megumi spoke your name. “It’s not worth-“

“And you!” Spinning around to face your boyfriend, whose eyes were as big as saucers when you seemed to have shifted all your fury to him, having a stern finger lingering on his chest. “Is this funny to you?” The slightest crack in your voice could be heard, Megumi’s eyes flittering between yours in utter confusion, not understanding why he was on the receiving end of your loud remarks.

“What? No, of course not-“

“Suddenly in college and decide you wanna be all social and outgoing?” He heard how the heartbreak was subtly latching on to every word, the intoxication in your system making it harder for you to control the quiver in your chin.

“That’s not-“ he cut himself off with a sigh of thought, the little alcohol he himself had consumed having his brain move a little slower than usual. “Let’s take this somewhere else,” he said and reached for your arm again, only for you to flinch away stubbornly.

“What? You don’t wanna do this here? Embarrassed people will see?” Both of you knew he was hating every second of the scenario taking place, the nosy eyes that were now glued on you having his face slowly turn red. However, that wasn’t his biggest concern, not even close — you were.

He carefully leaned in closer so you were the only one who’d be able to hear him. “You don’t wanna do this here.” His voice was soft, the tension in your shoulders only slipping for a second at the sound of his compassion. “Come on,” he nodded towards the backyard that was a lot less crowded. “Please.”

After a second of steadying your breath, you shyly nodded in agreement. With a lot of love in his gesture, he snaked his arm around your waist to lead you out, but not before Mio got the chance to throw another comment at you.

“What a behaviour from our president,” every word laced with petty venom. Megumi’s grip grew sturdier around you to prevent you from launching at her.

“She’s not worth it. Let it go.”

You were practically shaking with adrenaline caused by Mio’s tasteless comments, mixed with the hurt you’d come to feel after spiralling about your boyfriend’s sudden changed behaviour, wrapping your arms around yourself once Megumi had led you to a secluded corner of the garden.

“You enjoying all this female attention you’re suddenly getting?” It tumbled out of you before he had the chance to ask.

“Where’s this coming from?”

You scoffed, the angry tears wetting the corner of your eyes. “First there’s Yukiko throwing herself at you, then there’s Mio, and I cannot see why you don’t to anything to shut them down!” You annunciated the last three words so clearly, pointing your hand out to get the point across.

“What?” He drifted off into a whisper, nearly speechless by perplexity.

“You’ve always been so god damn stoic, distancing yourself from any human interaction at all cost,” you exaggerated, the sobs threatening in your throat, “and now when these pretty girls show an interest you’ve decided it’s time to start being smiley and shit? What’s that all about, Megumi? Do you know how much that fucking hurts?”

His mouth hung open in shock, letting your words sink in as he witnessed how the tears were now rolling down your puffy cheeks, the alcohol causing you to wobble slightly.

“I’ve never noticed,” was the first thing he managed to say.

“Noticed what? That you’re letting these girls flirt with you?” Your shoulders were now bouncing along with your heaving.

“No, I never even noticed they were flirting.”

A moment of silence was shared, your frantic sniffling filling the void before you opened your mouth to snap a frustrated “what?”

“Look,” he breathed, shyly grabbing your chin to force you to look in his eyes. He guess he could actually thank the alcohol for his sudden directness, having strayed from his confrontational ways long ago and now leaning more into an avoidant style of resolution. But right now, the liquid courage seemed to bring out a side of him you desperately needed in the moment.

“I think I’m oblivious to it because of you.” He watched how your eyebrows narrowed, uncertain if it was out of confusion or anger. “I’m still baffled you’re into me. So it’s beyond me that anyone would be.”

He had no idea what words were to come out of him next, slowly sensing that his nerves was having him retreat to his normal, reserved self. “I’ve always been alone, and always enjoyed being alone. Until you came along.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re now… I don’t know, engaging in these interactions so happily! What am I supposed to do with that?” You pleaded.

“Well, I think that’s also because of you.” The worst of your sobs calmed down at the statement, your shoulders along with them. “I have you now… so I guess I’m just… happy.”

There had never been a person Megumi had been more comfortable around than you, finally finding someone he was able to completely let his guard down with — but that didn’t mean he was any better with big declarations, still feeling every inch of his skin grow hot with agitated stress, especially with your wet and watchful eyes never daring to look away from him.

“Really?” Your voice cracked, to which he slowly nodded in confirmation.

“I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

The simple confession, though not a secret, felt heavy, only amplified ten times over by the shots you’d downed not too long ago as your lips once again started to tremble. In sheer embarrassment, your head fell forward and collided with his chest to hide your face.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled between calm sniffles.

His chest hummed with a relieved chuckle as he loosely knitted his arms around you. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

He simply held you for some time, feeling your body shake meekly against him while you cried it out quietly, his own mind deep in thought — mostly by how he had been introduced to some insecurities he couldn’t have imagined you were feeling.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have thought these things would cause you as much discomfort as they clearly did, when everyone always saw you as so sure of yourself and confident. And with this newly obtained information, he knew to be more aware in the future if his nativity.

Come morning, he also knew you’d curse and shame yourself for the outburst, and he was prepared to calm you down again when that came.

tags (taglist is open) @sad-darksoul @nyahctrl @ssetsuka @aceakariii @chxlexauriana

@ps-forgetmenot @thejujvtsupost @acowboykisser @rixo-19

@shokosbunny @xxaestheticvibezxx @iheartlinds @rory-cakes

a/n okay so, not suuuper happy with this but it’s for those who wanted a more heated argument so here you go, hope it's a little more confrontational than the last one. but we all know megumi would never do anything. also, fun fact, reader's costume is very heavily inspired by my own halloween costume last year lol likes, comments and reblogs is much appreciated

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[charliedawn]

How would the vultori react to learning about by the slashers and what they do.

A bunch of slashers were rumored to be frightening the inhabitants of Volterra and the Volturi were surprised to find the rumors to be true as they were brought to them.

Aro was interested. He met Michael and even though he was quiet, Aro found himself fascinated. Michael did try to attack the vampire at first, but was confused when he realized his usual weapons didn't work on him as he stabbed him and the man was too fast for him to try killing him any other way.

"Fascinating.."

Aro whispered as he suddenly stopped a few inches away from Michael and grabbed his arm effortlessly to dig into his memories.

What he saw in there ? Nobody would ever know..But, Michael was freed instantly and Aro didn't speak for the rest of the day. Aro didn't believe in God, but if He existed and Hell did as well ? Michael would be running it..

It was a traumatic experience for Jane, especially since she met Freddy..

Freddy *smirks when he sees Jane and licks his lips sinfully* : "I did always love blonds..How about you and I get to know each other better, lovely ?"

Jane was perfectly emotionless when she kicked his chin and stomped on his throat, thinking it would be easy to get rid of him..

"Disgusting creature."

She spat and kicked him in the stomach hard enough to make sure he would bleed. She then stared down at him with a condescending look before saying the word mercilessly.

"Pain."

He squirmed and screamed his lungs out until he fell completely quiet. She thought he would be dead for sure, but Freddy surprised her by laughing and standing up again.

"You got spite, I'll give you that.."

In a matter of seconds, he was on her and pinned her to the wall.

"But, baby, you chose the wrong fucker. I love pain. Matter of fact ? I get off on it ! So, come on ! Give me all you got, bitch !"

It was the first time Jane felt anything other than the usual numbness...She knew it wouldn't do much, but she repeated over and over while Freddy leaned forward.

"PAIN ! PAIN ! PAIN !.."

She was afraid as he sniggered and tried to get his tongue down her throat.

"Come here, girly. I'll show you a good time.."

Jane visibly shivered as she was held against the wall and even though she was a vampire, her stomach churned as she felt his breath against her face.

"Alec ! Get that thing off me !"

She shrieked and Freddy was yanked off her by Alec. Freddy was dragged out of the castle and howled a laughter that froze Jane to her very core.

"You smell like strawberries and cream, sweetheart ! I never forget a scent ! I'll see you in your dreams !"

She was unlucky enough to meet Freddy..Let's say, she wouldn't make the mistake of meeting him twice.

Caius and Brahms didn't move at first, silently staring at each other in silent challenge and trying to level the threat. Caius finally smiled before rising from his throne to approach Brahms who met him halfway.

Caius tilted his head to the side and Brahms imitated him before Caius suddenly showed him his canines and Brahms got curious, leaning forward to look at them.

However, Caius didn't let him observe him further before jumping on him and sinking his fangs into his flesh. Normally, his victims didn't fight back and screamed or begged, but Brahms didn't and only took Caius by the hair to pull him off him, almost tearing his fangs off. Caius was caught by surprise by the sheer strength of the man and jumped back.

Brahms was panting and Caius smiled, his teeth tainted by Brahms' blood while Brahms was still staring at him, waiting.

The both of them didn't speak until Brahms uttered one word.

"F..Friend ?"

Caius' smile didn't falter and he waited a few seconds—pondering the question—before he nodded in agreement.

"Friends."

Brahms seemed happy, but was suddenly dragged out by other Volturi and Caius got a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his lips gracefully, a ghost of a smile still playing on his lips.

What a strange creature..?

Marcus met Norman and they had a mutual understanding as Marcus' power is to feel what the other people in the room are feeling. He felt the same sorrow and loss in Norman as his own and didn't attack him. He tilted his head and asked instead.

"What is your name..human ?"

Norman smiled politely and bowed slightly in respect.

"Norman. Norman Bates. Nice to meet you, your majesty."

Marcus arched a quizzical eyebrow as the man used his title.

"You know who I am ?"

Norman had trouble hiding his smile as he looked up at Marcus and nodded.

"Of course. How could I not know one of the Volturi ? Volterra's royalty ? I do apologize for my friends. We did not mean to make a scene."

Marcus waved his hand dismissively.

"Your friends are alright...However, I am curious as to how your friends succeeded in surviving a 5-minutes encounter with mine, M. Bates ? How could they have been so lucky ?"

Norman's smile suddenly turned sinister and ominous as he raised his gaze to meet Marcus' who felt a sudden shift in the man that made an uneasiness spread throughout his whole being.

"That's where you're wrong, your majesty. It's your friends that were the lucky ones..If the encounter had lasted more than 5 minutes ? Your friends would have been dead. This is why I strongly suggest you let me go, because if our own meeting lasts more than that time frame ? You can be sure that no one in this castle will remain standing at the end of the day.."

Marcus didn't know why, but he believed him and released the man. The moment Norman was out of the room, Marcus let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Who exactly was Norman Bates ?

A few minutes later :

Norman got out and here they were. The other slashers were waiting for him as he got out and he turned around one last time towards the Volturi castle with a large smile and bowed.

"So long, king Marcus."

Michael didn't say anything and only took one last look at the castle before walking away. Freddy sniggered as he remembered the girl..He didn't even know her name and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"See ya, strawberry shortcake ! Next time, I'll take that kiss !"

Brahms smiled underneath his mask,only thinking of his brand new friend and how he would talk about him to Jason when they would come back from their holiday..

[fanfic-scribbles]

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

  ~

 You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

~

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

~

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

~

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

~

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

~

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

~

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

~

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

~

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

~

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

~

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

~

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

~

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

~

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.���

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

[intercoursefluids]

Marry Me Part 1

Dick cracks the kitchen door open and takes a picture of the scene.

Marinette kneading dough with a focused look on her face, Damian sitting at the counter occasionally looking up at Marinette before continuing to sketch.

Dick turns to the side, noticing Alfred coming his way and scrambles to hide the evidence of his snooping.

Alfred looks at him, raising an eyebrow before walking in the door.

Dick waits around 6 minutes for Alfred to walk out and away before creeping back over to the door.

Soft instrumental music now fills the air, Marinette humming along as Damian watches her with a soft smile.

Marinette's soft humming fills the air accompanied by Damian's pencil strokes.

Dick pulls out his phone taking a small video and posting it to his personal twitter with the caption “It’s so Domestic!” followed with a crying emoji.

Marinette finishes kneading the dough and starts to form them into little rolls, placing them on the pan as she sways to the music.

Jason arrives just as she finishes.

Dick waves like crazy, signaling him to be quiet, and for once Jason listens.

He comes over peeking through the door with Dick before breaking out into a wide grin, pulling his phone out as Marinette places the pan in the oven, turning on the timer before washing her hands of the flour.

They watch as she hums swaying to the music as she dries her hand with a dish towel when the unexpected happens.

Now to understand their shock, you’ll need some background information.

Damian Wayne would rather gouge out his own eyes before dancing with someone.

So imagine their surprise when their little brother stands up and walks over to an oblivious Marinette, humming softly with her.

He taps her on the shoulder to get her attention before bowing at the waist and holding out his hand to her.

“May I have this dance?”

Marinette smiles blindingly bright before placing her hand in his.

He guides her around the room, spinning her periodically with the softest look any of them have ever seen on his face.

He starts to hum louder than before as he spins her before pulling her close again with a hand on her face.

Dick has to put a hand over his mouth and pass his phone to Jason because he's shaking so much. Tears stream freely down his face as he stifles his sobs.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Neither brother even jumps at Selinas sudden voice, instead mutely nodding their agreements.

Dick leans back against his step-mom, sniffling at the display of affection playing out in front of them.

“It’s okay Dick, me and Selina are crying too.”

One look at Jason and Selina confirms that they are both in fact crying as they record. Well in Jason's case his eyes are a little shiny.

The song comes to an end as a timer rings.

They break away and Dick takes back his phone, stopping the video as Marinette checks and something in a pot on the stove.

Dick is about to step away when he notices Selina still filming and Tim walking towards them.

“What are you all doing? And why is Selina recording?”

Thankfully Tim seems to notice the secretive atmosphere and whispers not giving away their position to the two inside the kitchen.

“Your little brother is being sweet and I have a feeling that he’s not done being affectionate yet.”

Tim raises an eyebrow crouching down next to the rest of them and pulls out his phone before pointing it through the gap.

“Blackmail kinda sweet or make me cry kinda sweet?”

He turns back to the rest and sees Dicks face before pulling out a handkerchief that Marinette made him.

“Nevermind.”

They turn back in time to see Marinette finish stirring whatever is in the pot and move it off the heat before turning back to Damian.

Hugging him she rests her head on his chest with a smile as a new song starts up.

“Do you want to dance?”

Marinette looks up at Damian with a confused smile on her face.

“I thought we already did, mon chou?”

Damian chuckles softly tucking some of the hair that fell from her bun behind her ear.

“That we did, Habibiti. But against my better judgment I can’t help but find that dancing with you is one of the finer things in life.”

Marinette smirks at him, her hand coming up to grasp the wrist of the hand still cupping her cheek.

“Well then maybe we shouldn’t dance, afterall too much of something you enjoy can lead to an addiction.”

Damian smiles, swooping down to kiss her softly before pulling away.

“Indulge me just this once?”

Marinette sighs heavily, before speaking.

“Oh alright, but just this once.”

Behind the door there isn’t a dry eye in sight, even Jason shed a tear or two.

They start dancing again but not quite how they were before.

Before they were doing proper ballroom dances, now they just hold each other close and sway. Marinette's arms around his neck and her head resting on his chest, meanwhile Damians arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him with his chin resting on top of her head, both of their eyes closed. The perfect picture of contentment.

Dick snaps a picture before immediately posting it to his twitter with an attempt at a caption that looks more like a keyboard smash since he can’t see very well through his tears.

They sway together for a long while before a second timer sounds.

They break apart, albeit reluctantly, and Marinette pulls the tray from the oven before carrying it over to the counter and switching the now golden brown buns to a cooling rack.

Since she is now facing the door the brothers plus Selina have a perfect view of Damians face from where he stands behind her.

Dick, now coherent enough to take pictures without them being blurry, lets the others film as he takes another picture. Posting it again to his private twitter so the rest of the family can see.

His face is full of pure adoration and love for the girl working in front of him.

“Mon Chou? Can you grab the glaze from the fridge? I need it.”

Damian immediately snaps out of his daze to do as she asks. He places the bowl by her hand before wrapping her up in a hug from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you, Marinette.”

Dick immediately takes two pictures, one with just the hug and Marinette working and another of her smiling after he says he loves her. And just like the rest, he immediately uploads them.

She smiles, stepping away to untie her apron and walking away. Effectively breaking the hug much to their 4 spectators disappointment.

“I love you too, Damian.”

She walks around the counter to hang up her apron, leaving only a few feet between her and the people who are filming them.

She doesn’t make it.

“I think I want to marry you.”

The 4 sharp inhales go unnoticed by the two teens as Marinette drops her apron, spinning around to face Damian with a bright blush.

“What?”

Marinette's voice is barely a whisper, as Damian rounds the island to come stand next to her, taking her hands and accidentally angling them in the perfect view to show both of their faces to the cameras.

“Let me reword that. Marinette, I know I want to marry you.”

Tears start to form in her eyes as Damian gets down on one knee, pressing a kiss to each of her hands before he starts to speak again.

“Marinette, you are so incredibly phenomenal. Ever since the first day I met you I knew I was doomed to fall for you, I just wasn’t prepared for how hard I would actually fall.”

Dick snaps another picture managing to type out a simple “OMFG” before posting.

“You are the only one I have ever been able to see myself spending the rest of my life with, the only one I have ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Tears stream down Marinette's face as Damian looks into her eyes.

“I know that you have been hurt by the people you trusted most, you’ve told me how the people who were supposed to stay by your side turned you back on you.”

Damian sighs, turning her hands up and kissing her palms.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I vow from this day forward that in any way I may accidentally hurt you, even when I try my damndest to prevent it, that I will allow it to be done onto myself tenfold. I will stand by your side but I will never force you to remain by mine. When you want to take the lead I will cover your blind spots and protect you from those who try to blindside you. When you can’t think of a plan right away, or are too overwhelmed to take the lead I will stand front and center to cover you till we make it to safety. My sword arm, my strength, and my knowledge are at your disposal. And my heart and love are yours to take.”

Selina reaches over dick to Jason and Tim, putting her hands on their shoulders as they both cry freely.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing or even understanding my emotions.”

Marinette opens her mouth at his self deprecating tone, but Damian rushes to catch her off guard.

“Even so, the one thing I am sure of is that there will never be enough words to tell you just how much I love you. I will happily spend everyday for the rest of my life, trying to show you just how much you mean to me. And even then it won’t be enough.”

Damian pauses giving Marinette time to let out her thoughts before he continues.

“Oh Damian, I-, but what will everyone think? We’re 16! No one even knows I am with you outside of friends and family. What will we do when people call me a gold digger? I- people in France already don’t like me. I don’t want to drag you through the mud with me by agreeing to marry you Damian.”

Marinette winces, slowly pulling her hands away from Damians. He just grips them tighter.

“Marinette.” His serious tone makes everything go quiet, silencing even his brothers and stepmom's soft sobs.

“There are only two things in existence that could stop me from marrying you and one of them is if you say ‘No’. If the people in France believe that they have any say in what you do or don’t do just because they believe the words of a liar over you, it just proves that they are even dumber than I thought. As for our age? We can be engaged for the two years it takes us to turn 18, or if you want, we can wait longer. I don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure that if someone called you a ‘gold digger’ Jason, Dick, and Tim would put a stop to it before word even got to us.”

He gently pulls her hands back again, kissing her palms as she speaks.

“What's the other thing?”

He hums in question, meeting her eyes.

“You said that there were only two things that could stop you from marrying me, one was me saying ‘No’. What’s the other?”

Damian straightens slightly making sure she knows just how serious he is.

“Death.”

It's silent for a minute, no one daring to breathe.

“Yes.”

It's barely a whisper, hardly more than a breath, and yet it holds more worth than anything else in the world.

“Yes I will marry you, Damian.”

Damian immediately jumps up wrapping Marinette in a hug and spinning around with the before dropping to the ground again.

“I can’t believe you said yes.”

Marinette laughs at Damian, happy tears flowing down her face.

“You asked me!”

“I didn’t think that I was lucky enough for you to actually say yes!”

Marinette giggles again pulling Damian into a kiss that he happily returns, at least before he groans loudly and breaks, instead resting his forehead against hers.

“What's wrong?”

Damian sighs his shoulders lumping before answering.

“I have to tell my brothers and Selina by tomorrow. At least Dick and Selina so they can help me-”

He cuts off, paling severely.

“Dicks gonna kill me. I proposed to you without a ring, and he will skin me alive for it.”

Marinette laughs again.

“I’ll ask him to spare you. Besides, he can’t have me as his sister-in-law if he kills my husband.”

Marinette blushes at him as he smiles.

“Tomorrow, I’ll get the ring tomorrow. I don’t think I could wait any longer than that to finally put a ring on your finger.”

They cuddle up together, relishing in each other's presence.

Dick is the first to stand up, followed by Jason, Tim, and then Selina.

They walk down to the cave, all staying silent as their phones save the videos they were lucky enough to take.

Once they make it the tears start up again, full volume wails coming from dick and sniffles from Jason.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Dick cries into his stepmother's hair. His brothers following suit.

All of a sudden Dicks phone starts going off like crazy.

He pulls it out annoyed ready to tell whoever is on the other end off for interrupting his cry sesh.

467 notifications and climbing from twitter.

He opens it to the picture he snapped when Damian started swinging Marinette through the air with the caption ‘She said yes! BRB gonna go cry my eyes out’.

He looks at his username with horror, paling considerably as he looks at his family.

“I fucked up.”

[etherealeeknow]

vocal lesson

• rated m for mature, slight angst

• pairing: vocal coach!seungmin x fem!reader

• wc: 2.3k (confession: writing long fics isn’t my forte)

• tw: underlying toxic relationship, masturbation (m), grinding, groping, unprotected vaginal sex, explicit language, creampie- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: i have a love hate relationship with this fic. i have a few goals i’d like to achieve from this fic and whether or not i’ll succeed is based on your feedbacks 🥺 so please don’t hesitate to drop them! also, enjoy!

• tag list: @es-kay-zee @formidxble @bobateastay @vogueinnie @sailorhyunjinz // leave a comment, dm, or an ask to be tagged! thank you ♡

—

seungmin despises the way his heart dropped when he sees your name flashing on his phone screen instead of you flashing upon his eyes. by this time, he’s fully aware that a chatty girl like you isn’t the type to text. in fact, you only do it on one occasion, which is when you’d like to cancel the class. just like what he has expected, the text says you won’t be able to make it that day and that you’re sorry; but he knows you’re not sorry. he knows you’re doing this on purpose—to torture him—and it’s working perfectly.

honestly, the suffocating pain in his chest isn’t because he has been losing sleep, tossing and turning in his king size bed for hours over the thought of you being all dolled up in the baby blue dress he has gifted you; neither is it because he missed his favorite orchestra playback this morning just so he could find the most perfect white shirt out of his collection of other white shirts just so he can appear pleasant for you, but because you’ve been cancelling the lesson for three times in a row. if your mother ever finds out about this, she would definitely fire him. to prevent that from happening, seungmin has been silencing your maids with credits, but he knows too well they’d soon go for more if you keep this up. 

fiddling with the handkerchief that you had purposely left for him a few weeks back, seungmin gloomily shoves it into his pocket before dragging himself to the grand piano to warm his throat up. the first few notes started off slow and stable according to the piano keys, but with constant fear running on his mind, his fingers slipped and pressed the wrong one. the awry sound makes him cringe and shuts his eyes in annoyance. he hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because he adores you more than anything, even when your cracked voice sometimes haunts him at night. see, seungmin’s giving his all to you,

but why are you doing this to me? where are you? i miss you.

“heh, pathetic,” he mutters to himself as he slowly lies down onto the piano bench, facing the chandelier which lights would usually illuminate you when sitting on the same bench while waiting for him to get to the music room, running your delicate fingers along the black and white wood. your side profile’s exactly like a goddess—breathtaking.

sighing over the imagery of you, he begins unbuckling his belt; eyes closing momentarily when he slips a hand into his unbuttoned pants and starts palming his clothed member. three weeks. it’s been three weeks since he last got off, since he last felt your touch, and he’s been trying his best to hold back because he believes you’ll eventually come around. he believes you won’t leave him just like that, yet you aren’t here again today, and he’s dying to release his pent-out frustration.

a heavy sigh escapes his lips when he takes out his dick, the tip leaking from precum and it makes him let out another sigh when he begins pumping it; another one follows, then another one, and it carries on as seungmin’s hand goes faster by each second. even in the peak of his pleasure, all he can think of is you. oh, how heavenly it would’ve been to have both your soft hand and pretty lips around him instead. his free hand is quick to slip into his pocket, snatching your handkerchief. despite only briefly smothering himself with it, your lingering scent alone is enough to make his head spin. with the sateen now wrapping around his throbbing cock, it feels as if you’re there, skin to skin with him.

“fuck!” he hisses, but eyes widening right away over his own volume as he quickly raises his head to check on the slightly opened door.

he’s so close and pausing in the middle just to lock the damned door would ruin everything. should he just bet on his luck today? it’s not like any of his well trained maids would rudely barge into his music room, right? but who knows?

screw it.

his back automatically arches when he feels the increasing tension in his pelvis, and it pushes him to fasten his hand move—pumping his dick rapidly to release. with eyes rolling to the back of his head, seungmin begins chanting your name desperately and that’s your last straw. the moment seungmin ejaculates is the moment you slam the door open and run towards him. the poor guy who’s barely riding out his high jumps on the bench as he sits up.

“y/n—”

“shut up,” you cut him off and crash both of your lips and body together, causing him to fall back down onto the bench, and creating a somewhat deafening screech on the floor, but it’s nothing compared to his loud moan in between the kiss.

the feeling of you straddling his lap instantly makes him hard again; the feeling of his warm hands running wild all over you and the stickiness on your inner thigh coming from your ruined handkerchief has you wetting your already damped panties—the effect of rubbing yourself when peeping on his little show. as the kiss deepens, so does your hunger for each other. of course, there’s no way you’ve gotten over what he did, and he’s surely still upset for being ghosted too, but for now, lust is winning. one squeeze on your thigh is all it needs for you to throw your baby blue dress across the room.

“you’re always so hot when you do that,” says the now naked seungmin who gets back onto the same position, looking at you with his half lidded eyes as his arms stretch out to fondle your breasts, his favorite part.

“the only time you’d compliment me is when we have sex,” you scoff before going back down on him, slowly yet easily pushing his cock inside of you, and both of you grunt in unison.

“y/n, ah— shit! i told you it’s because i know you can do better.”

snorting, you call him a liar before grinding mindlessly, movement starting off slow just like how your breathy moans starting off low. as much as seungmin enjoys being taken care of, patience doesn’t exist in his dictionary today. his hands leave your chest for your hips, guiding you to slip in and out of him at a faster pace. but that’s still not enough—he needs more. in a blink of an eye, you go from being on top of him to under him. seungmin bangs you down loudly on the grand piano, your buttcheeks and hands hitting the keys and filling the entire room with jumbled notes while you yourself are filled by him to the fullest, right at your g-spot.

“seung— fuck!” 

“louder,” he commands while thrusting into you, hips moving in a rhythm, and strong hands bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders before holding onto your ass, supporting you from slipping down—multitasking is indeed his second best talent besides singing.

“what’s the p— point?” you breathe out, trying your best to sound coherent while maintaining eye contact, “so you’ll compliment karina instead again? pat her on the head and caress her cheek again?”

“you know i only did that to motivate you.”

“bullshit.”

if seungmin has to name anything you can do best, it’ll definitely be your ability to drive him crazy—disobeying him. again, he believes he has been going all in, keeping up with your lack of talent and bullshit for the past half a year; the way you’d fight, then fuck him, and fight again only to fuck him again, and the cycle continues. whenever he tries to talk things out, be it about your vocal lesson or your tangled relationship, you wouldn’t give a damn. today, that has to change.

“and i’m the one to blame? karina always listens to me,” he replies, slowing his thrust as he can feel your walls clenching around him even more and more.

“faste—“

“i said louder, y/n. tear your mouth wide open,” he grunts, thrusting into you so strongly that you jump and land back on the piano, creating such messy harmonies.

“seungmin, faster!” you yelp, voice raspy yet a little louder this time with your hands finding their way on his shoulders, and it makes him sneer as he leans in to kiss you, biting your lower lip before he lets go, and stop dead on track.

“hoarse voice, dry lips. don’t i always tell you to stay hydrated?”

you find it unfair. seungmin’s energy doesn’t make sense. the fact that he still has the power to put up with fucking while carrying you even after his solo session is unfair. and the way he has the audacity to give you a vocal lesson in the middle of everything, then stopping just because you aren’t complying is way too cruel, but perhaps, this is what you deserve.

“i’ll never cancel our lessons again. i’ll— i’m sorry. i will really listen to you,” you beg desperately, almost sobbing as you grind on him, refusing to let the tingling sensation on your core die down.

seungmin shakes his head. he knows you too well. normally, seeing you surrender like this softens him and makes him think that perhaps, he’s being way too demanding, or maybe, he should be even more understanding.

“that’s not what i asked for, love.” is what he says before resuming, putting all the remaining pressure he has left to snap his dick deeper into you.

that’s when his name falls out of your lips ever so gracefully, followed by endless ah’s, jaw hanging open. this is the loudest and clearest you’ve ever been—no holding back, no hitching breaths, no cracking—pure perfection. 

seungmin doesn’t even need to ask for more because you’re already repeating it on your own.

“fuck yes. just like that. such a good girl,” he grunts right beside your ear, picking up his pace.

it only takes a few moments till you feel the familiar knot in your abdomen coming back along with him twitching inside of you, and this time, you make sure to hold onto him so tight, afraid he’d pull the same stunt again.

“shit— please let me cum. please cum with me, come inside me, please, please, please,” you blabber, voice turns husky once more, but seungmin couldn’t care less, there’s always another chance for another vocal lesson. right now, all he wants is to,

“cum.”

the two of you reach together. name chanting, legs shaking, fingers digging, and body fluids mixing into each other—drenching not only your lower bodies, but also the extravagant bösendorfer piano seungmin shipped all the way from austria. but that’s another thing to worry about. right now, he can barely keep his eyes open while you can barely feel your stiff spread legs across his shoulders. once he’s made sure you’re over your high, seungmin gently pulls out and lets you down. he sits himself first on the bench before pulling you by the waist to seat you on his lap, and the two of you let silence take over for a little while.

“i know you’ve been bribing my maids,” you start off, “they have a big pay, but it’s impossible for their designer bags to double up in just a week, you know,” you continue while pushing his damp hair aside, revealing the remaining half of his sweaty forehead.

“they were gonna snitch on you to your mom,” he replies, pausing in the middle to mirror your action, pushing strands of hair to the back of your ear before averting his gaze back on your eyes.

even with your smudged eye makeup and cracked lipstick, you’re still as shining, dilating his pupil.

“and?”

“and she’s gonna fire me.”

“isn’t that what i should worry about? you’re a world winning award soprano. there are hundreds of talented people waiting in line to be your students. money isn’t the problem. plus, i know you hate my voice. i also never listen to you, never call you sir, and am ninety nine percent horny throughout our lessons. in short, i’m a bratty and disrespectful pain in the ass.”

your punchline makes him snort and he can’t help but to pull you into a hug, closing the already small space in between so he can indulge in your body heat and feel your chest beating calmly alongside his.

but what happened to changing things? don’t you wanna be in charge? you can’t just let her have everything she wants. 

despite hearing the faint voices in his head, mocking him for having the weakest heart for you, seungmin doesn’t care. for all he knows, he was a train wreck earlier this day; he surely didn’t expect he would go from reminiscing the memory of you under the chandelier to it actually coming true. 

“this is real, you’re here.”

“it is. i am.”

“and you’re gonna—“ pausing, he breaks the hug to cup your cheeks, “you have to stay.”

“what for? for you? for the vocal lessons? for… what?” you question, unconsciously tilting your head as you place a hand over his, slightly squeezing it, hoping he wouldn’t let go.

silence.

“i might be a bitch, but i’m not dumb. it isn’t about money and it isn’t about sex either. so what is it, seungmin?” you ask, eyes searching for an answer before adding, “i bring no good to you.”

you’re right. his best friends have said the same thing. they can’t seem to wrap their heads around how a collected person like him can break so easily over a random, spoiled, daddy’s little princess. it doesn’t make sense, he knows—i know. he’s been trying to figure it out, only to meet the same dead end.

“i’m a mistake.”

yes—yes you are, and seungmin hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because,

“you’re the only mistake in my life that i can take, y/n.”

—

gen’s masterlist

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Song of a Mermaid Warrior pt 2

Part 2 to the mermaid story!

Decided to continue it, wanted to see where Jordan's story ends up.

You can read pt 1 here.

Enjoy!

___________________________

“Well, well, well! Never thought I’d see the mermaid herself swimming over to my fetid swamp here in the slums!”

A slim young man with bright purple hair grinned, flipping a silver coin into the air over and over without looking at it. “Thought you said you were never coming back? What, did your last book not sell as well now that you're peddling comforting little lies about your species?”

Jordan leaned against the doorframe of the dilapidated shop, wondering for the thousandth time if this was a bad idea. She knew the answer, deep down, but chose to ignore it. “Tock, cut the crap.”

“Oh sweetie, you haven’t changed. “ Tock laughed. “ I can cut the crap, but not sure what use it would be… crap is notoriously difficult to cut, tends to mush up, you know… and whose crap should be cut? Mine?” He shrugged. “ Sorry to say this body doesn’t make physical waste. What about yours?”

Jordan rubbed her forehead. “I should have known better than to do anything other than speak as literally as possible… I hate fairies.”

“You only know one fairy, darling.” Tock’s eyes blinked, the irises turning green, than orange, than staying at a robin’s egg blue. “Unfair of you to judge the whole species just because you don’t like me. Especially because I have been nothing but fair and helpful to you.”

“You tried to trick me into giving you my skin.”

“TRIED. Tried is the key word there. Plus you didn’t fall for it, so what’s the problem?”

Jordan sighed, knowing that there was never any point with arguing with Tock.

She had run into the fairy over two years ago. At that time she was frantic, trying to find Hunter’s location, and her desperation had led her to the darker corners of the city. She had spent every last coin she had, unable to eat or sleep, and at her darkest moment, she stumbled into Tock’s shop. Later Jordan had realized that it was likely that despair that had allowed her to find his place. There were magic wards to keep all but the most vulnerable out.

When they met, Tock had seen her madness, her obsession, and was ecstatic. He tried to get her to agree to many terrible deals in exchange for tracking down Hunter and after adding a small addendum she had agreed, feeling that whatever price she had to pay was worth it.

In the end, the addendum she had insisted on saved her skin, quite literally. She had added on a time limit that he had to track Hunter down and arrange a meeting. And to Tock’s shock and dismay, whatever elven magic was hiding Hunter’s identity; it was beyond the fairy’s ability to dismantle.

Tock had failed to find Hunter, and the contract expired. Jordan left, at the time feeling a strange mix of disappointment at the failure and gratitude to be still in one piece. As they parted ways, she swore never to come back to his broken place of deals with the devil.

Until today.

“So what brings you here, my lovely little fish?” Tock flipped his coin again, and it sizzled as it disappeared into thin air. “Still trying to find that stubborn elf boyfriend of yours?”

“He was just a friend, and no. I gave up on him years ago.”

Tock frowned, blinking as his eyes turned a bronze color. “Pity. Your skin has only gotten prettier since the last time I saw it… would love to find your price to part with it.”

“…” The memory of Hunter cheerfully making plans to run away with her still hung in her mind. What was it that he had said? “We might lose our clothes and money, but at least we’d have a fun story to tell”? We had no idea what real fairies were like. The ocean’s song in Jordan’s ears was rising, she kept her lips closed to hold back the seductive call of the magic. The fairy noticed her struggle, backing away slightly.

“Fine, fine, no more talk about your skin. Why are you mermaids so sensitive about losing organs?” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Mermaids regenerate, right? Or was that trolls?”

“Tock….” The name was forced out between clenched teeth.

The fairy rolled his eyes, changing them to a pure silver color. “So what deal DO you want to make today, my angry mermaid friend?”

She dug through her pocket handing over a silver badge with a handkerchief. Her touch shouldn’t affect his abilities, but Jordan still didn’t want to touch it. It represented something she had tried to move beyond in the last few years, a part of the past that caused her to wake up sobbing some nights, and to stay up drinking others.

Hunter had been her only friend, the only person in this world she thought she could trust. She had learned the hard way how foolish that trust had been. But once she had finally made peace with that fact, he had sent someone to intrude in her life once more. After forcing her to stay out of his battle, he was inviting her to join him, dangling the one thing he knew she couldn’t resist to get her to agree: the existence of other full blood mermaids.

She wasn’t going to play by his rules. If he was expecting her to run back to his side after forcing her away years ago, he would be sorely disappointed. And if she was going to use the clue he had given her, it was for her reasons and no one else’s. Because for everything he had gotten wrong, Hunter had gotten one thing very right:

She did want to find the mermaids in the city.

Not out of any sense of loyalty or need to find others like her, however. She was simply desperate. The instincts to fight and kill, to use her magic to trap and destroy, grew stronger by the day. Soon she was afraid she’d start killing innocent people. She needed to find a way to control it.

Jordan was hoping that other mermaids would know how.

Maybe other mermaids don’t have this problem. She thought at her darkest moments. Maybe I’m just a killer, a monster.

She tried not to think about that to often.

Tock gingerly picked up the badge, his eyes widening with surprise and turning a glowing violet.

“You always have the best things! Let’s see… silver… It was made several years ago… it had other forms years ago… but the owners of those items died quite violently…” He paused, glancing at her curiously. “Your handiwork, I would guess?”

“No comment.”

“Such an unfriendly fish… good thing you have such pretty skin, otherwise I wouldn’t pay you any attention.” He turned back towards the badge in his hand. “It was made with care and love… quite a pure emotion of care… along with a large amount of hope, all mixed in with the silver as it was reformed… it was part of a set?”

“Yes.” She swallowed uncomfortably, pushing back the memories of a young naïve girl, who thought herself hardened and bitter, carefully making a birthday present for her best friend.

“Can I see the other one?”

She thought of the location of the badge she had once treasured. “No.”

Tock pouted. “Fine. It contains quite a few auras, but the strongest one… is quite familiar.” His eyes turned a bright angry red. “Elf!”

“Yeah, it was Hunter’s.”

“That BASTARD! His blasted elf magic forced me to lose my contract with you!” He tossed the badge to the counter with a disgusted grimace. “You’ll never be that perfect combination of desperate and vulnerable again!” He looked back at me. “You are STILL trying to find that elf who dumped you three years ago? And I thought you had standards.”

The ocean song roared in her ears as it sensed her anger, pushing at her control, leaking from her lips. She could feel it swelling beneath her skin, threatening to force itself out. Tock rolled his eyes at the sight.

“Don’t try your battle magic here. You may be quite terrifying to meet in a dark alleyway, but I have some great wards in place.” He sneered as she kept her lips closed tightly. “Just a word of advice: Don’t face off a fairy in his own home.”

Jordan forced her magic down with great struggle, every instinct wanting to lash out. “I don’t want you to find Hunter. I want to know most frequent locations this amulet has been over the past six months.”

“And that’s not the same thing because…”

“Because it’s not him I’m wanting to find.” If he's found mermaids, then the locations he's been, the people he's spoken to... they'll be clues to track them down.

Tock raised an eyebrow. “Then what ARE you trying to find?”

“None of your business. I just need the locations this object has been most frequently.”

“Very well.” His smile became sly, his eyes shifting away from the angry red to a dark blue. “What deal shall we make for me to do this? How about your skin…”

The last word trailed off as Jordan held up a golden coin.

“…”

_________________________________

The silence in the room stretched on, as Tock’s gaze was locked on the object in her hand. His eye color was shifting rapidly, brown, grey, orange, green, before the whole eye filled with color finally turning a solid, glowing silver. His shoulders twitched, and his teeth grew longer in his mouth, the sharp points pressing into his still human appearing lips.

“Where did you get that?” His whisper had lost all of his previous joking tone. There was a small amount of magic woven into his words, a minor compelling spell to force her to speak, and speak truthfully. It buried itself in her ear, making her thoughts foggy. Jordan smiled, shaking her head as the ocean song within her rose in volume, drowning out the fairy magic easily, keeping her mind clear.

“I’ve picked up a lot of things these past few years.”

“ANSWER. THE. QUESTION.”

“No.” Jordan flipped the coin, mimicking the fairy’s earlier actions. “Don’t try your magic on me, fairy. I’ve had too many years of practice ignoring magical compulsions.”

“Fine.” He sighed loudly. “Do you know what it is you have there? Do you know if there’s any more?”

“I’ve heard stories… tales only whispered in dark alleys and in crumbling basements. Do you know in schools here they teach that the humans are the only ones affected by the Darkness? That losing the ability to have children was the be all and end all of the curse?”

“…” Tock kept silent, staring at her. Shrugging, she continued with a mocking smile.

“What a limited view, right? Turns out that everyone lost something to the Darkness. Every single one. It took whatever that species valued most. For humans, such a short-lived, social people, it was taking away the ability to make new generations. But fairies… you are born of magic and air, part of nature and outside of time. Procreation means nothing to you.” She flipped the coin up, letting it spin in the air before catching it and holding it firmly in her hand. “The Darkness took something much more important to you fairies.”

Tock was trembling at her words, unclear if it was with fear or anger. “What do you think the Darkness took from us?”

Jordan glanced at his empty back. “Your wings.”

“…” The fairy’s hands were gripping the counter in front of him. His fingers sank into the wood as easily as if it was made of clay.

“If it were just something to help you fly, I bet you would have simply made do without them. But they represent something much more important, don’t they?” She leaned closer, ignoring his threatening aura. “That’s where fairies store their magic. So now you have the live with the scraps of magic you absorb from the earth and enchanted items, unable to store it within yourself. That’s why you work here, in this pitiful little shop, unable to do more than hide behind these wards and peddle minor magic tricks for favors.”

“Be careful, mermaid…”

“Oh I’m careful enough, Tock.” She opened her hand and stared at the coin in her palm. “No wonder you wanted my skin… how much magic should be stored within it, I wonder. Enough to last you a few years I would think. Which is why this little coin is so important to you.”

“…”

“Fairy gold.” She held it up again. “Quite pretty, actually, looks like the real thing even on close inspection. But if I were to try to spend it… it would expel all the magic stored inside, turning to wood and taking away my lifetime’s luck. An inconvenience for me… but for you?” She grinned. “It stores enough magic for you to live comfortably for quite some time. You could leave this shop, set up protective wards wherever you ended up. Magic enough to stabilize your appearance so your eyes and ears don’t change; let you blend in if you wanted to leave your house for a change. “

“…”

“So what do you say, Tock.” Jordan flipped the coin one last time. “Do we have a deal?”

After a long pause, the fairy spoke up. “… I …”

“TOCK ARE YOU HERE?!!”

The shop door slammed open and a short redheaded young man burst in. As he rushed to the counter, Jordan got a closer look. He was a few inches shorter than her, his leaner frame still obviously muscular. His facial features were handsome, with bright green eyes that glowed with excitement and fiery red hair that was cropped short. He wore regular clothing, a grey t shirt and jeans, and would have seemed very average except for the massive axe strapped to his back.

Who the heck is this?

“Glit, this isn’t the time.” Tock warned, his tone still angry and tense.

“No, Tock, I’ve been thinking about it… maybe I SHOULD be willing to compromise… exactly how much skin would you need to help me find the dwarves?”

The fairy’s eyes glowed an excited gold, his teeth retracting once more as he stabilized his appearance. “Well now…”

“Add his bill to mine.” Jordan interrupted, glaring at Tock. “No skin.”

“But… that’s unfair! We already had a deal!”

“You didn’t accept it in time, so now the deal has changed. “ She shrugged “The price I’m offering is more than enough to cover us both. I would suggest you take the deal before it changes again.”

Tock glared. “FINE! FINE, I ACCEPT!”

The young man turned to her, shocked. She met his gaze, holding back the urge to sigh. Jordan wasn’t much one for random acts of kindness to strangers, but he reminded her of herself a few years ago. Lost, desperate… the only kind of people who can slip past Tock’s wards. She just wasn’t sure what his reaction would be to her interference… annoyance? Gratitude?’

He grinned at her. “You look really strong! Wanna fight?!”

… Well that certainly hadn’t been the reaction she was expecting.

“Maybe later…”

His shoulders slumped. “Dangit. I was losing hope of meeting a strong person in this awful city… no offense if you like it here.”

“None taken, I don’t.”

“I finally meet someone worthy of a good fight, and I make a terrible first impression.” He sighed. “My Ma always did say I needed to work on my introductions.”

“…And you are?”

His eyes widened. “I haven’t told you that yet?” His hand slapped his forehead. “Sorry, must have been distracted by the whole ‘trading my skin’ thing. I’m Glitenaere ni Tolk Vhelarite, firstborn of Marleiun ge Nerturin, the greatest Dwarven warrior alive… but you can call me Glit!”

She looked over the short young man. “You are the greatest warrior?”

“Nope. My Ma.”

“You’re a dwarf?”

“Since I was born.”

Jordan felt curious, having only ever read about dwarves from human textbooks, which said they were a reclusive, unfriendly race.

The reportedly unfriendly, reclusive dwarf was reaching out to shake her hand. “Thanks for the saving my skin, friend!”

She didn’t take his hand. “Shouldn’t you have a beard?”

Tock burst out into laughter, his eyes turning a humorous magenta. “Wow, way to go straight for the gut.”

“Aww, shut up fairy, she didn’t mean anything by it. Can’t blame her for not knowing in a city like this.” Glit leaned against the counter, rubbing his chin with an idle hand. “I’m a darkling, a child born infected by the Darkness.”

“Every race lost something.” Jordan whispered.

“Not everyone was infected, but those who were never grew beards.” He looked sad for a brief moment. “It’s a symbol of strength, of connection to the Earth… everything in our culture revolves around it.”

“What about the women?”

“Oh they grow them too. You should see my Ma. Her beard makes all the boys cry with jealousy.” Glit laughed. “They all thought with her being the strongest and all, her child would be too… but…”

“…Sorry.”

“Oh don’t worry, friend. I’m not weak. I may not have a connection with the earth and a powerful beard, but I’m a force to be reckoned with when I have an axe in my hand!”

Tock looked up, his eyes turning bright white. “You may have to test that out sooner rather than later. We have company.”

BANG! Something slammed into the closed door behind them.

_________________________________

Jordan took a defensive stance, while Glit drew his axe. “Who’s coming?”

“Probably one of those damn purity obsessed groups. They constantly sweep the slums, looking for low bloods and part elves. Usually the wards keep them away, but today, I got a little… distracted. “

“Great. Not really in the mood to deal with these guys, Tock.”

“They bad guys?” Glit spoke up.

“Yep.” Jordan answered softly. “They do horrible things to those who can’t defend themselves.”

“Fair enough. Today they picked on the wrong type of people, though.” Glit grinned. “Let’s kill them!”

His easy acceptance of the violence they would face ahead gave her a little pause. Before she could examine it too closely, the door crashed open, and a large group of men wearing black cloths around the lower halves of their faces rushed in. In their hands were standard pistols, the dull metal glinting off the many lamps of Tock’s shop.

“Looks like we got a haul, boys!” One of them spotted Glit and Jordan, his eyes widening with shock. “That short one definitely can’t be high purity… he’s either a low blood or a dirty elf mix blood! And the other…” He glanced and Jordan and laughed. “A No Blood? Thought they were all gone!”

Glit twirled the massive axe in his hand with ease, looking confused. “Do I look like an elf?”

Jordan thought of the tall quiet young man who had always followed behind her, always trying to avoid violence. “Not even a little.”

“Ah.” He tossed the axe lightly, catching it with the other hand. “Hey fellas, despite your insults and poor eyesight, I’m gonna be nice. Here’s your one chance to run away, before my strong friend and I start slicing you to pieces.”

Even with the majority of his face covered, the disdain on the attacker’s face was evident. “Shut up, dirty elf! Even with your axe, you really think you can face a group with guns?" He snorted, "Now we’re gonna have fun killing you.”

Glit just laughed at the threat. “I was hoping you guys would say that!”

As the group of attackers spread out around the room, he turned to face one side, leaving his back open to Jordan.

Jordan hesitated briefly at Glit’s open back, startled at the gesture of trust, before slowly turning to cover him. She glanced around to see that Tock had disappeared before closing her eyes, calling up the song within her and setting it free.

From her mouth a song of battle rang out. Several of the attackers stopped in their tracks, caught in her illusion, but the rest were only mildly affected, just barely losing their grips on their weapons.

Jordan cursed silently, still singing. Her magic was very effective against small groups of enemies, but the more people it was spread out against, the less useful it would be.

As the song of death spilled constantly from her lips, she felt her nails grow out into claws and moved forward, striking the attackers that were not incapacitated first. From the side she heard Glit run forward, spinning his axe, blood and tissue flying through the air as he cut through enemies.

Blood dripped from her fingers. She heard someone behind her, preparing to strike and turned, grabbing his neck. She felt the water within his heart, and used her magic to stop it in place. His face turned pale, and clutching his chest, he fell to the ground.

Jordan was feeling the drain of her magic. Her vision was turning a bright blue, the song growing in her mind, calling for her to give in completely.

BANG! A shot rang out past her ear, and sensing the danger, the song surged louder in her soul.

Can’t give up all control to my instincts. She thought grimly, slicing the shooter’s face. I might just lose myself completely.

It was hard, fighting against physical enemies while resisting the magical bind of her own blood, but Jordan forced herself forward, grateful for the help of the dwarf beside her. If she had faced all these enemies by herself, she might have lost to the bloodlust within her.

The air was filled with blood and screams.

And then… there was silence.

__________________________________

Jordan’s vision cleared as she forced the song of the ocean down, keeping it tightly controlled within herself. Her nails retracted and she stood in place, staring down at the blood on her hands.

Hunter always said he didn’t want me to be a killer. She closed her eyes briefly with pain. She felt dirty, worthless. Maybe if I wasn’t one he wouldn’t have left me behind.

Lost in her thoughts, she only came out of it as she felt a warm touch on her hands. Shocked, her eyes flew open, only to see Glit pushing a large wet cloth into her grasp.

“Here, friend, you can clean your hands with this.”

She paused, unused to the kindness, but took it anyways. “Thanks.”

“No problem! You’re amazing! That battle song… had magic in it right? Are you not human?”

“Mermaid.” The word came out before she could stop it, and Jordan pressed her lips together, annoyed. He’s a stranger. No need to tell him anything more. She tucked the dirty rag in her pocket, not wanting to give Tock a free sample of her blood.

“Really? I thought they had all disappeared!” Glit’s face lit up. “My Ma always said that the mermaids were the only warriors she wouldn’t want to face up against! That’s awesome!”

She glanced at the dismembered bodies on his side of the room. “You’re not such a bad fighter yourself.”

His smile brightened. “Really? Thanks! Those guys back home thought I was pretty useless, being a Darkling and all, but if a mermaid warrior says so, I’ll trust your opinion!”

“This is all very touching… but what am I supposed to do about the mess you made?” Tock’s annoyed tone caught their attention.

“We fought off your attackers while you hid in the back, fairy.” Jordan raised an eyebrow. “You can worry about the mess. You’re lucky we don’t charge you for the service.”

“Yeah, what she said!” Glit crossed his arms, standing at her shoulder, and smiled at Tock, the still bloody axe in his hand making the gesture threatening.

Tock rolled his now yellow eyes. “Fine. While you two were gleefully tearing those idiots to pieces, I finished the tasks you gave me.” He spread a map on the counter, ignoring as the far corner was stained with blood. Jordan recognized it as a map of the city. With a golden pen the fairy circled a few buildings. “Here’s where the amulet has spent the most time in the last six months, in order of most time spent.”

She glanced over at Glit beside her. “And the dwarves?”

“Tougher, since he doesn’t have a possession from the dwarves in question, but…” He picked up a silver marker, and circled one place. “There is a high concentration of earth magic here.”

Glit and Jordan stared at the spot, where silver and gold overlapped.

“Looks like me might be looking for the same place.” She whispered.

“Really? That’s great, friend!” He paused. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Jordan. But I don’t think we’re friends. I don’t trust anyone.” Not anymore.

“Jordan!” He grinned. “Don’t worry, we can still be friends. You don’t have to trust me. I’ll trust you enough for the both of us.”

Tock groaned. “You’re so naïve… why couldn’t you have shown up when the mermaid wasn’t around?! I could have extorted you for so much skin!”

Jordan grabbed the map silently, unsure of how to respond to the dwarf’s enthusiasm.

“If you’re going there, can we go together? I’m looking for a large group of dwarves that disappeared, we think they might be being held captive in the city.”

“…You really shouldn’t trust people so easily.” Her words came out as a pained whisper.

Glit’s face became solemn for the first time since they met. “It’s okay. I’ve grown up in a world that hates me. It’s not been easy, but over the years, I’ve developed a good sense of those around me, and what kind of people they are.”

“And kind of person do you think I am?” She was genuinely curious what the cheerful dwarf thought of her.

“You? Well, you’re someone who cares too much and wishes you wouldn’t. My guess is that you’ve been hurt very badly by someone you trusted… and now you would never wish that same pain on another person.” He shrugged. “So that’s why I trust you. You might kill me if you have to, but you’ll do it facing me. You won’t stab me in the back. You couldn’t bear to do that to someone after what you’ve been through.”

“Interesting opinion.” Jordan felt a strange mixture of despair and relief at his words. “Not put off by me killing men while they’re stunned by magic? That wasn’t just a fight…I’m a killer.”

“Hmm… well, I just chopped up six guys with an axe, and the only reason they didn’t shoot a bunch of holes in me is because of your magic, so I’m pretty sure I can’t judge.” Glit patted her on the back. “Are you looking for mermaids, like I’m looking for dwarves?”

She nodded silently, although silently she thought their reasons for looking were quite different.

“Then let’s go find our people together! You don’t have to trust your back to me, but don’t worry! I’ll defend it anyways.”

“Can you two leave?" Tock rubbed his face tiredly, his eyes flickering between purple and pink. "This touchy feely stuff is bad for my business. What if some desperate fool walks in and is inspired by all your motivational speaking?”

Jordan tossed him the fairy gold, taking back the silver badge she had given him, and turned and left the shop. “Never coming back, Tock.”

“Keep telling yourself that, my fishy friend!” He called back. “You’ll come back. They always do.”

“Okay then! See you later, Tock!” Glit called out as he walked behind her.

“…Actually, I would prefer it if YOU don’t come back. You give me a headache.”

Jordan and Glit left the carnage filled shop behind them

_________________________________

“So mermaids and dwarves being held in the center of the city.” Glit thought out loud. “Some sort of human conspiracy?”

Jordan thought of growing up in the orphanage, the city’s emphasis on having higher purity of mermaid blood rather than human, the complete lack of information on other races. She thought of Hunter and the underground Resistance. Of the Darkness that spread everywhere, touching every species.

Everyone lost something to the darkness, right?

So what did mermaids lose?

... What did I lose?

“There’s something broken about this world, more going on here then we realize.” Jordan answered softly. “But we’re going to figure it out.”

“Together?”

“For now.”

“Awesome!” He pumped a fist in the air. “Wait until I tell my Ma I went on a quest with a mermaid warrior. She’s gonna be so impressed!” He paused. “You two would get along, I think. Strong warrior types and all.”

Jordan sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Why does everyone keep sighing around me?”

“… Let’s go. “

_________________________________

They moved quietly towards the place marked on the map. Glit, surprisingly, activated a hidden mechanism on his axe, folding it into thirds and hiding it in a backpack, and pinned on a “34” badge. He saw her glance at the silver ornament and shrugged. “Snatched this off some guy who tried to mug me when I arrived in town. Most people think I’m just a low purity level student when I’m dressed like this .”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“…” Older than me? Jordan adjusted her mental view of him silently.

“Don’t worry if you thought I was younger.” He raised his hands helplessly. “No beard and the dwarven height tends to confuse people.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries, as long as you don’t think I’m weak and helpless just because I’m shorter than you.”

She thought of him cutting through enemies with his axe. “No chance of that.”

They made they way to the abandoned factory that Tock had marked for them. As they neared the area, Glit pulled out a machine from his bag waving it through the air.

“What’s that?”

“Dwarven machine, it detects the presence of magic.” He frowned. “We need to be careful. This whole place is covered with spells.”

“If this was a human holding place…”

“It shouldn’t have magic.” He finished her thought. “Maybe go up to the roof and enter from there instead?”

They scaled the wall silently, cutting a small hole in the roof with yet another tool from Glit’s bag. As she peered into the building, she felt the ocean’s song start welling up within her.

“There’s danger here. We should go back and regroup.”

“Jordan, look out!” Glit pushed her to the side, wincing as the blow from behind her struck his head instead.

Jordan opened her mouth to release her magic, but before a sound could escape, a hand grasped her arm and magic flooded her body.

“Sleep.” The voice was familiar, but her mind was already falling into darkness.

Jordan woke up on a couch in a dark room. Groaning, she rubbed her head, feeling angry. She knew this feeling, this hung over dizzy sensation. Remembered it too clearly even though she wished she could forget.

“Elven magic.”

Glit groaned from his sprawled position in the corner of the room, his arms and legs tied tightly. The ropes dug into his skin, but he ignored it as he flipped his body into a sitting position on the floor, looking up at her with a sad expression. “Sorry I missed them behind us.”

“It’s fine, thanks for taking that hit for me.” She glanced at the wound on his head, crusted with dried blood, and winced. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a friendly tap. I’ve got a hard head.” He grinned, then looked around. “Real question is, who has us, and why?”

“I have an idea... but I really hope I’m not right.”

“You always did have good instincts, Jordan.”

The familiar voice spoke up from the doorway, Jordan forced herself to sit up on the couch, staring at their captor with a pained expression.

She knew him.

Of course she knew him.

He had set his trap, sent her his badge, knowing she would use it… and she had fallen for it.

The man who haunted her nightmares smiled sadly at her. “Not happy to see me?”

She blinked, shaking her head slowly. “Hello again, Hunter.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 45: Stabbed

Draco loved the chase.

It was one of his favorite things about being an auror, dashing after criminals, Harry racing along beside him. He loved the chase and the duels, heart pumping, and adrenaline racing through his veins.

Chasing down Calvin this afternoon was no exception.

He was just a few paces ahead of Harry as he rounded the corner after Calvin. He drew up short, surprised to find that Calvin hadn't kept running, but was instead standing just around the corner with his silver blade, that he probably used to make positions, poised to be plunged into someone's body.

To say he was shocked to be stabbed (when they had wands and magic available to them) would be an understatement.

But Calvin did in fact stab him and there was a flash of vindictive glee before Harry was around the corner and casting a quick incarcerous.

"You stabbed me," Draco said, uncomprehendingly as he staggered backwards and started to fall.

Harry caught him and lowered him to the ground. "Oh Godric," Harry gasped and Draco looked up at him to see that his face was completely drawn with panic, he could see his pulse thundering in the vein in his neck.

He started to reach for the knife, intent on pulling it out and casting a quick episkey to heal it but Harry batted his hand away.

"No! Don't touch it."

(Read more below the cut)

"But-" Draco started.

Harry shook his head frantically, "No buts. The knife is stopping the blood flow," he said as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and transfigured it before pressing it against Draco's wound.

"Ow, Potter," he hissed. "Fuck. Just let me-"

"No!" he said, shaking his head again. "No. I'm not letting you die." He shot off a patronus to ask for help and hit Calvin with a stunner, which brought Draco a bit of glee.

"Let me take the knife out-" he tried again.

"No," Harry replied, holding him tighter and it was nice, Draco thought, worth being stabbed to be held in Harry's arms. If it wasn't for the pain he might have been able to pretend that Harry cared for him the way Draco cared for Harry. "Stay with me, alright?"

"Yes, but-"

"You can't die, Draco," Harry whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "I need you," he added. "And I'm in love with you and I won't have you dying until I've had a chance to tell you."

"You're in love with me?" he squeaked.

Harry nodded, "Yes. Now save your strength, it's going to be okay."

"Harry," he said, "Pull the knife out and-"

"No!"

"Listen to me," he said, reaching up to cup Harry's cheek in his palm and direct Harry's eyes to his. "Listen to me," he repeated. "Pull the knife out and cast an episkey. This isn't a life threatening wound if you don't let me bleed out."

Harry blinked, like for a moment he'd forgotten that healing spells existed. "Episkey," he said, "Right. Of course." He reached down and pulled the knife out, Draco hissed. "Sorry," the other man murmured with a wince before casting a quick episkey.

He let out a little relieved sigh as the pain subsided. "Thank you," he said.

Harry just nodded, refusing to meet his eye.

"Hey," he murmured. "Look at me."

"I just panicked," Harry said.

Draco couldn't help his smile, "It's adorable that when you panic, you tell me that you love me and can't live without me."

"Forget it," Harry said, starting to pull away.

Turning a bit in Harry's arms so that he had better leverage and said, "I don't want to forget it," before pressing a soft kiss to Harry's lips.

"Really?" Harry breathed.

"Yeah," Draco replied before catching his lips again, fingers sliding into Harry's curls as he angled their heads.

A groan interrupted their rather perfect kiss and Draco looked up to see Ron standing there. "Seriously? Harry sent an SOS."

"He forgot that we're wizards and can heal minor stab wounds."

"I panicked!" Harry said, his arms still wrapped around Draco. "I panicked and my brain restored factory settings."

Draco blinked at him, "I've no idea what that means." But he couldn't be arsed to care as his eyes from wandered to Harry's lips once more.

"Well, before you two go back to whatever it was you were doing," Ron said, "I'm just going to take Calvin back to the DMLE and you two should go to St. Mungo's and make sure that you're alright." They watched as Ron cast a quick leviosa, to lift Calvin off the ground. "And you should probably just take the day after that," he added. "Just to be safe. I'll let Robards know."

"You're a good friend, Ron Weasley," Harry called after him.

"I know," Ron replied before apparating away.

Draco stood and pulled Harry up off the ground with him. "So, St. Mungos," he said, "And then what should we do?"

The corner of Harry's mouth tilted up, "Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something."

Day 44: You're Waddling Like a Cute Duck | Day 46: Paris in the Rain

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Kou Dark [09]

ー The scene starts in the forest

Yui: ( Kou-kun called me a nuisance...right to my face. )

( I’ll just go back to the human world...I shouldn’t be here. )

( But...I’m neither human, nor a creature of this world. )

Then...where exactly do I belong...?

( I thought I belonged by Kou-kun’s side but... )

( That was nothing but a wishful illusion... )

*Rustle*

Yui: ...!

( I heard a sound just now...Is someone there? Could it be a wolf...!? )

*Rustle*

Yui: ( Oh no, where can I run...? )

ー A mysterious figure appears

Yui: W-Who are you!?

???: ...Aah, no need to be so startled. 

I promise I will not harm you in any way. Please, rest assured, Yui-san. 

Yui: You...know my name?

???: Why of course. You are a rather special existence amongst us Vampires after all. 

Yui: ‘Us’...Then, you’re also...? 

Mertz: My name is Mertz. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. 

Yui: ( This man...He’s a Vampire. )

( He speaks very calmly but...If he truly is a Vampire, I shouldn’t let my guard down, should I? )

Mertz: Oh dear? You still seem wary of me? 

What a shame...I wonder what would put you at ease? 

ーー Aah, right. Shall I tell you about the Sakamaki brothers then? 

Yui: ...You know them? 

Mertz: Yes. I have known them from a very young age onwards. What do you say? 

Yui: ( I won’t know whether he’s speaking the truth even if he tells me... )

( However, I can tell that he’s trying to look out for me. He might not be that bad of a person. )

U-Um...It’s okay. I’m sorry for doubting you. 

Mertz: Oh no, it only makes sense. You must have felt anxious all by yourself. 

Yui: ...Yes. I kind of got lost while walking as well. 

Mertz: Why are you alone, exactly? 

Yui: ...Well, I’m looking for the exit to the human world. 

Mertz: Will you be returning there? 

Yui: ...

Mertz: I see. ...In that case, allow me to escort you. 

Yui: Eh? ...Are you sure? 

Mertz: Yes. If you wish so.

Yui: U-Um...If it’s not too much trouble, then please. 

Mertz: Please follow me then. 

ー The scene shifts to the underground waterway

Mertz: Please watch your step. 

Yui: Yes...Thank you very much. 

( I passed through here...Not too long ago, when Kou-kun and I made our way to the Demon World. )

( When we were attacked, Kou-kun stepped in front of me...and protected me. )

( ...Oh no. The memory is making me tear up... )

Mertz: We’re almost there. 

Yui: O...Okay. 

Mertz: Please use this if you’d like. 

Yui: ( A handkerchief... )

Mertz: Please tell me if you are tired. This is not the ideal place for taking a break though. 

Yui: ...I’m okay. Um, thank you very much. 

Mertz: No need to thank me. You should look after yourself with the utmost of care as well. 

Your body is very valuable after all. 

ー The scene shifts to the entrance hall of the Sakamaki manor

Yui: ( We finally made it back to the Sakamaki manor... )

Excuse me, Mertz-san? Thank you so much. 

Mertz: You’re welcome. If you happen to find yourself in a pinch again, do not hesitate to ask me for help. 

Yui: This...It’s the handkerchief you handed me earlier. I’ll give it back. 

While I did not use it, I was happy with the sentiment. 

Mertz: You are very attentive. ーー Well then, if you’d excuse me now. 

ー The scene shifts to Yui’s bedroom

Yui: ( Mertz-san was such a nice guy. But...He’s a Vampire as well. )

( I’m sure he was only kind to me because I’m considered a delicious snack by Vampires...I can’t trust him. )

( Kou-kun is a Vampire as well. His behavior towards me must have also been... )

Selection

→ For my blood

Yui: ( I’m sure Kou-kun only kept me around for my blood as well...That’s all. )

( I just misinterpreted his actions...That’s how I should see it. )

*Thud*

Yui: I’m such a fool... 

( If only I had used my brain a little, this outcome should have been obvious but...It still hurts. )

→ But his kindness was genuine (♡)

Yui: ( ...But his kindness was genuine. The fact he protected me, his smile...and his kisses as well. )

( That’s what I want to believe. ...Or else. )

*Thud*

Yui: This is...just too painful, Kou-kun. 

Yui: ( I’ll never see him again...Meeting him would be painful, so I don’t want to see him. )

So, why...? 

( Even just recalling his face hurts. That’s why I escaped the Demon World and came back here... )

( So why do I miss him so badly...? )

I miss him...

( I love you...Kou-kun. )

ー The scene shifts to the living room of the Tsukinami manor

*Knock*

Carla: ...Who is there? 

???: It’s me, Carla-sama.

Carla: You. Where have you been this whole time? 

Shin: You sure have some guts to vanish after you promised you’d take care of us.

???: My sincere apologies. 

Shin: So, what’s your excuse? It better be a good one or you’re dead. 

???: The girl in question has returned to the human world, so I came to report that. 

Carla: ...Are you positive? 

???: Yes, of course. 

Shin: Nice! That was an excellent report! Props to you!

She basically sealed her own fate (1). ...Hehe. 

Monologue

ーー I want to see him.

ーー I don’t want to see him.

My feelings sway from one extreme to the other. 

Both are the truth (真実). 

Both are a lie (嘘). 

ーー I miss him.

ーー I don’t miss him. (2)

However...I love him. 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 

Translation notes

(1) Shin uses a Japanese idiom which means ‘like a summer insect/bug flying into the flames’, which refers to someone bringing danger/trouble upon themselves.

(2) In the Japanese dialogue, the same text is repeated twice. While 会いたい literally means ‘to want to meet’, it is often translated as ‘I miss you’ in English since the Japanese language lacks a verb for ‘to miss’ (someone)’. For the sake of variety, I used both in my translation. 

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<- [ Dark 08 ] [ Dark 10 ] ->

[amysteriousmessenger]

‘Love Bites’ Vampire!Saeran Choi Drabbles

Hello! This is one of my slightly belated pieces for @mysme-rbb, which I worked on with the very, very talented and sweet @amagicalduckling <3 Their art is so beautiful and I’m honoured to have been paired with them for some Saeran pieces! Please check out @amagicalduckling for more of their beautiful artwork, they are criminally underrated!!  Tw: mentions of blood, biting, vampirism, rough kissing Will be under the cut after Ray!

Vampire! Ray Drabble

Ray was melancholic by nature, you knew that, but you’d never had been able to guess why it if hadn’t been for that fateful night in the garden. He always did such a good job of hiding his fangs from you and brushing his hair over his ears so you couldn’t see their slightly pointed tips. He always kept his distance as best as he could, never coming too close into your personal space. You’d assumed it was out of respect and the nervousness of overstepping the boundaries, this idea was always aided by the fact that he usually looked a little bit strained whenever he was in your company.

The way you came to find out about Ray was because you had foolishly pricked your finger on a rose that he had been trying to show you outside. With the beautiful arrangements only being illuminated by moonlight, it had been difficult to see what you were doing, and you’d placed your finger directly onto the little spike and yelped in pain. As soon as you had pulled your hand back, to indicate what had caused you to cry out, Ray had immediately brought his own hand up to his mouth and feverishly covered it. You were confused and thought that perhaps Ray was sensitive to the sight of blood, but it was when he turned to run from you that you saw the white, iridescent fangs peering from behind his lips. You saw them, and he knew that you had. Ray ran at top speed away from you, leaving you with the drop of the blood slowly dripping down the side of your finger.

You felt a little lightheaded from the sight and had to stumble your way over to the bench, a… vampire? Surely, such things like that didn’t exist. They weren’t real. They were myths. Folklore. Children’s horror stories to tell before bed. And yet, as you considered Ray, really thought about him, you realised how quickly it all added up. He was so pale, sickly looking even at the best of times. You’d thought that the prominent blue veins on his neck and wrists was a result of his pasty complexion, but that was clearly not the truth of the matter. It also occurred to you that you never really saw him during the day, but he had always excused this fact as he must work arduously long hours and the only time he could find to get away and visit you was into the early hours of the night. While you supposed that there was at least some truth in that statement, it didn’t help the fact that it aligned with what you thought could be coming into fruition. Was he really a vampire? Had he been trying to hide it from you for all this time?  

And those fangs. Those could not be denied. They were the teeth of a predator, a hidden threat that he had tried so hard to keep a secret from you. So many questions raced through your head, and yet all you could worry about was where Ray was. He had left so quickly, clearly a bit distressed. You felt somewhat guilty for your own carelessness, but how were you to know? There was no way you would have guessed what was really happening here at Mint Eye. You had only been here to test a game, for crying out loud.

Suddenly, you felt anxious to be alone in the gardens at night, especially without Ray. Even if he was hiding something this serious from you, he was still the only person that you had gotten to make yourself friendly with. Well, in his case, more than a little bit friendly, but that was besides the point in that moment. You stood, trying to find your way through the maze of flowers and get back to your room but with little success. As you turned the corner, you spotted a figure at the other end of the path and it caused you to cry out in surprise, maybe slightly even in fear. It was Ray.

You’d never thought that the sight of Ray would ever frighten you, but as he stood there, pale and gaunt surrounded by the red flushes of rose petals, you had to wonder how you hadn’t realised it sooner. He looked guilty, and scared. So, so scared. You put your hands up to him slowly, asking if he was okay, but instead of receiving any sort of reply about his own wellbeing, Ray flurried out several apologies at you. He averted his gaze downwards, as though he felt as though he was no longer allowed to look at you directly for what he was. You stared at him as he spoke, focused on the slight protrusion of his sharp teeth over his lips. It was obvious that he had practiced speaking without making them visible, so you could only really see them if you were already looking for them.

‘Ray… It’s okay.’ You whispered, coming a little bit closer to him. He took a step back, moving his back up against the roses further so that he was surrounded by them. If it had been at any other moment, you would have taken the time to think about the fact he looked like a delicate portrait right then, the passion of the red surrounding his pale frame. But alas, you did not have that luxury.

‘It’s not! I scared you, oh how could I ever forgive myself! How could you ever forgive me for this! I should have been able to show more restraint… My savior was right, she’s always right…’ He replied almost frantically, to the point where you weren’t quite sure if he was talking to you or telling you his own inner monologue.

‘M-My Savior said that I’m not strong enough yet, which is why I find… you difficult to be around. I want to be around you always but- she says you’re too tempting for someone like me.’

‘Too tempting…?’ You asked, a slightly unsure as to what he meant. That was, until he gestured to your bleeding fingertip, and it suddenly made more sense to you. ‘I don’t mind if you… want to be around me. I want to be around you too.’ You added, attempting to phrase it in the same way that he did, since he was clearly skirting around using certain vocabulary. It made you realised that there was a good chance that Ray was unhappy about the fact he wanted you in such a way. If he allowed himself to get too close, he would inevitably bring you pain.

As you stepped closer to him, you watched as he reached his own leathered hand towards his mouth, anxiously biting onto the tips of the fabric. He wasn’t just chewing it, he was really biting it, to the point you were worried he might hurt himself.

You were suddenly moving quickly down the path towards him, ‘Ray! Please, stop that. It’s okay! I’m not scared of you.’

‘I’m scared that I might hurt you!’ He almost wailed. You knew that there was an obsessive nature to Ray, which walked hand in hand with his melancholy, but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you like this. For the most part, he was tender-hearted and sensitive. Of course, he had room in that heart for hate, but yet, so much more room for sensitivity.

‘You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.’

‘Please, be more careful with who you award your trust to. I don’t deserve it.’ He replied, but pulled his own glove away stiffly, since he didn’t want to worry you any further. At such a distance, he had nothing to distract himself from the pull he felt towards your blood.

‘If you want it, take it. I don’t want to see you be so strained over this. I don’t know what’s happening here at Magenta, but I know that you’re good. And kind.’ You were at his side, offering your hand to him. Initially, he tried to move his body away from your hand and cover his teeth again with his hand, but it was evident that he was growing more and more needy by the passing second. You tried to assure him that it was okay and reached out a slightly shaky hand to his cold cheek. ‘And I want to help you.’

After a few moments of tentative consideration, he took your offer. Ray watched your eyes as he held your finger in both of his hands, as though it was something fragile, delicate even. He hesitated before bringing it to his own lips, the thin line of dark red suddenly giving a burst of colour to his otherwise exceedingly white pallor. He gently took the blood that was already at the surface of your skin, closing his eyes as he did so, but you couldn’t decide whether it was out of shame or whether it was to savour the moment between the two of you. You gasped as you felt the sharpness of his teeth graze against your skin before he let the tip of them bite into your soft flesh, producing more of the red he was so desperately craving. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it would be, but your heart was still racing, nonetheless. When he was done, he pressed a single, sorry kiss into the palm of your hand and apologised for hurting you, adding that he was undeserving of your pain as he wiped the rest of the blood away with a handkerchief out of his pocket.

‘I’d rather be hurt a thousand times over than for you to have to suffer even once…’ He whispered into the darkness of the garden. Not that he would feel bold enough to tell you, but Ray undeniably saw the poetry in tasting your blood. He’s ashamed of what he is, but he relished in the fact that you were willing to share such a vital piece of yourself with him like this. He entirely made a mental plan to carry the handkerchief with him at all times, as a token and reminder of this newfound connection with you.

Vampire! Suit Saeran Drabble 

Meeting Saeran was an experience unto itself, let alone processing the surprise you received in how differently he treated you and himself. Saeran doesn’t hide what he is in the same way that Ray did, he acts proud of it. A shining example of what Mint Eye could offer to people with the Elixir, but only if they were strong enough to deserve it. He’s the strongest Believer and the strongest Vampire produced from the Elixir, The Savior said it herself. She called him her ‘One True Offspring’. When you had asked what that meant, since Ray had never mentioned anything like that to you, Saeran had angrily snapped that firstly, he shouldn’t have to answer your questions and secondly, it meant that he had been turned using The Savior’s own blood in the Elixir given to him. That meant that he was special, and better than anyone else there. He repeated that a lot, but you were never quite who if he was saying that to you or to himself but he clearly made an attempt to believe it, at least for his own sake.

Saeran carried himself around Magenta so differently to Ray, you heard his footsteps from down the corridor when he wanted you to know to anticipate him and yet you never heard him when he suddenly appeared behind you. He was most definitely choosing when to make his presence known and when he wanted to startle you from standing silently around a corner. Saeran certainly disproved to you the lore that Vampires needed to be invited into rooms in order to gain entrance, as he came in whenever he pleased. He never hid his fangs either or tried to cover his ears either with his unkempt hair, if anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention that could be brought to them by smirking at you or asking if ‘you like what you see, Princess?’ You could feel the anger in his voice, he was practically dripping with a rage that he did not know how to release properly. It weighed on his shoulders, and somehow seemed to push him in on himself to the point where he was constantly forcing himself to stand taller, to be louder so that he would not be entirely consumed by it. The atmosphere he carried was tense, to say the least. It seemed to make him paler. Saeran’s dark undereyes were no longer something a simple goodnight sleep could fix; they were almost bruises of their own. Purple, sunken.

While he was not lacking for blood in the same way that Ray had suffered without, it appeared that Saeran was overworking himself to the point that the added sustenance did little to actually aid him, so he kept on coming back for more and more each time. He appeared at any hour of the day or night, which suggested that he was no longer really sleeping, or if he was he was only sleeping for very short amounts of time, and it was really showing him his face. You were sure his appearance must have sat somewhere between Dorian Gray and his portrait, beautiful yet rotting. The way he felt on the inside was slowly, yet surely, manifesting itself. He was so capable of kindness, and yet he never allowed himself to admit to it. If Saeran didn’t have his cruelty, he didn’t have anything. He needed to hold onto it to hold himself together as the Persecutor.

His kisses were rougher too, leaving your lips feeling puffy, tender, and always breathless. He seemed to thrive on the fact he could make you feel so weak, as though it was precisely your weakness that gave him the strength he needed to carry on this strained life he led. He’d sneak up behind you frequently, with the confidence that Ray never quite found, and bury his face into the side of your neck, running rough kisses along it until you sigh against him from the touch, not even bothering to move your hair out of the way as he did so. Even as he kissed you like this, he’d taunt you for enjoying his touch so much in comparison to Ray, who barely ‘had the guts’ to touch you freely. Saeran would lift up your finger to show him the tiny bite impressions that Ray had originally left, only to have Saeran go over them more harshly with his own bite, before moving back up to your throat.

He dragged his fangs along the thin skin of your neck, so you knew it was coming, before promptly biting you. He doesn’t try to be delicate like Ray, and he’s more likely to take too much blood and leave you feeling woozy. He’ll take as much blood as he wants, really. Once you inevitably faint in his arms, he’d usually carry you back and placed you on the bed, but only so he can reprimand you for being such a burden to him. He’d never admit to anything else, especially not to feeling bad about pushing you to your limit.

‘Heh… Don’t look so happy with yourself, your blood tastes like shit anyway. I should go and find someone better, someone sweeter.’ He smirked before laughing, his eyes alive with a frantic excitement. He still had a small steak of blood running down his lips and onto his chin, which he promptly wiped away onto his black suit sleeve without releasing you from his unwavering gaze.

There were times when he’d suddenly stop laughing and looked at his blood-covered hand in disgust, before dragging that same gaze over towards you. He’d look at the redness on his hands and try to wipe it away, even after it dried and would not budge without soap and water. Saeran would still furiously rub his skin against the fabric of his clothes in a vain attempt to wipe his slate clean. You were never able to decipher what Saeran felt in the moment that he decided that ‘play time’ was over, but he never seemed happy about the outcome of the collision the two of you had found yourselves in, even when he was the one that instigated it. He’d half-assedly throw a bag of food from the kitchen at you, telling you that you ought to be grateful for having such a kind master for feeding you, before promptly turning on his heels to leave and slamming the door shut.

He was complicated, that was for sure.

 Vampire! GE Saeran Drabble 

Saeran had been through so much, and yet he was coming out stronger and stronger from it each day. He had a lot to process, about himself, the things that had happened to him and the things that he has done to other people, especially to you. Saeran had a difficult time accepting the he hurt you. He understands that he did it and he has accepted the fact that he did it, but somehow his heart never wanted to believe it. No matter how many times you told him he needed to forgive himself for it, Saeran knew that he never could.

He tried to make it up to you in every way that he could think of. He was so loving, so caring. He always served your food first, gave you extra helpings and always made dessert for afterwards. His food was always so well made, filled with all the vitamins and minerals that your body could have possibly needed and always tasted like he had been cooking his whole life. He’d even try to feed you the last few bites if you’d let him, just to make sure that you’d gotten enough food. It’s sweet, and he does it out of care, but there’s a part of Saeran that does it because he feels as though he needs to make amends to your body for the way he treated it.

He’s not keen on drinking your blood, he feels as though he’s taking advantage of you and doesn’t enjoy the fact that he has to hurt you to be able to do it. He’d looked into alternatives that he could try, such as blood banks or from animals, just any means of supply that didn’t involve hurting you. It didn’t work out very well and in the end it started to do him more harm than good, so he usually just tried to wait for as long as he can in between biting you. And even then, he waits for you to offer because he doesn’t want to pressure you into giving up so sacred for him, Saeran would much rather have himself suffer than to make you feel any sort of uneasy around him.

He was a lot more considerate and knowledgeable about the outside world nowadays, and would look into various ways of making it less painful for you: the most effective one to date being numbing creams. He’s not a fan of the chemical taste of the cream in his mouth, but he would happily deal with it if it was for your sake. While he did still have a preference for your neck, because it felt a little bit more romantic to him, Saeran would always give you the choice on where you wanted him to bite. He knows it’s not his body to dictate, and if anything, he actually wants you to put some more of your own rules in place about it. He’d be more than happy if you wanted him to do it somewhere less visible so that you could hide it from people. As long as you weren’t hiding your actual relationship with him, he wouldn’t mind. He’s very understanding of the fact that sometimes it is a little awkward to have marks like that in public and that you didn’t want to answer questions from strangers all of the time.

He was very gentle with it, making sure to apply the numbing cream beforehand and to avoid any particularly sensitive spots while never biting too deep. Saeran never took more than what was absolutely necessary either, even if you told him that it was okay to do it. You figured that he always remembered the time that Saeran would make you faint after taking too much blood, and that it must weigh on his consciousness heavily. Telling him to take more than the bottom-line wasn’t something you frequently told him to do though, since you already knew he was restraining himself and trying to put some boundaries in place for your own protection, so you didn’t want to push him. He cleaned the area after drinking from it and pressed a little patterned band-aid onto it and sealed it with a kiss, just for good measure. It really didn’t sit right with him that he had to hurt you like this so he tried to make amends for it wherever he could.

He always wiped his mouth before he kissed you, since he thought it would be rather cruel to make you taste the blood that you had just willingly offered up to him. You’d find the taste unpleasant anyway, even if Saeran enjoyed it. Saeran was rather poetic at the best of times, but it was especially true when he was feeling a little bit drunk off of your love (and blood). If you ever asked him what your blood tasted like, he’d write you a verbal essay on how sweet it is. It’s intoxicating to him and it always had been, even when he was both Ray and Saeran. The two of them were so confused by their sudden feelings and this undeniable pull towards you that neither could escape from. If you let him, he’ll probably even get a little bit cliché with how he feels like he’s reached some form of enlightenment by your blood being the thing that can kept him alive, along with how he can feel your love beating through his veins and giving him strength. Sometimes you can’t help but cringe at some of the things that Saeran says, but he means it in such a sweet way that you find it even more affectionate.

In times like this, Saeran was so adorable and kind-hearted. He generally felt a bit bad about himself, since he knows that he can’t ever become a human again as a result of his time in Mint Eye, so you have to make the extra effort to love him in this moment. You cupped his face with both of your hands and told him how precious he was to you and that he is, and always will be, the most important thing in your life.

Vampire! Unknown Drabble

There were no words that allowed you to accurately describe Unknown. He was exactly that. You never quite knew what he was thinking and for the most part he definitely relished in that fact. His actions were unpredictable, and he barely seemed to keep a routine for too long, lest someone figured it out and learned to predict his moves. Everyone walked on eggshells around him out of fear and uncertainty, and he seemed to enjoy it. He found it humorous, even. He enjoyed taking you by surprise in particular, it was his main form of entertainment. You were a toy for him to play with when he got bored.

He was sort of what you expected a modern-day vampire to be, look-wise and attitude-wise. His attire was certainly a change. It felt as though he was trying to actively reflect the anguish he felt within, but at the same time, it was an external threat. A threat that if you got too close to him, you’d be in danger of getting hurt yourself. The spikes were enough to ensure that, even if Unknown wasn’t. He reminded you of Saeran, but you could tell that there was a stark difference between the two of them. Unknown rarely displayed anger in the same way that Saeran did, it was certainly there, but it wasn’t as explosive. Sometimes it was cold, warped, and vindictive underneath layers of you weren’t sure what. Like Saeran, he made little attempt to hide his fangs or ears, but he didn’t necessarily show them off unless he was actively trying to taunt someone. It was more as though he didn’t care about them until they were of use to him. At which point, he’d smirk and release the sharpened canines: a spark of excitement in his eyes inviting you closer, to dare test him.

When he wanted to feed from you, he’d summon you to wherever he is rather than coming to see you himself. After all, you were a failed experiment who couldn’t even do your job of talking to the RFA correctly; being an assistant was the best job you’d be able to manage, so he told you that you ought to be grateful for it especially since Magenta wasn’t in the habit of keeping ‘useless’ things around for very long.

He was usually desperate when he called for you because of the long hours he forced his body to endure, even throughout the daytime when he’d naturally be sleeping. He entirely believed that because he’s strong, he wasn’t allowed to feel anything except for that strength, so he had to keep himself at the same standard of work every single day in order to maintain it. He’d burn the candle at both ends and then continue trying to light the wick. When you thought of him, there was always one particular instance that came to mind when he had no choice but to display an element of weakness to you, and it enraged him. He had been out on a recon mission for The Savior and had over-exerted himself in the process, sustaining an injury. He had crashed into your room afterwards, panting and holding onto his bleeding wound, drinking enough blood in one go that he’d made you  back onto your bed with light-headedness. He hadn’t done that since, and rarely pushed you past that point, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to dance with the limit of it. He’d say it was because he preferred to tease you with it, to savour what belonged to him, even though you knew it wasn’t his only reason for taking it slow.

How he bit you depended on what mood he was in, but his typical go-to is to have you sitting on his lap while he’s at his desk and facing him so that he can pull you towards him by your hips, making sure that your collarbones are already level with his mouth. He shouldn’t have to do any of the work, he wanted you already in position for him.

Unknown’s hands were roughly on your shoulders, both pulling you towards him and holding you steady. He bites first, kissed later. There’s little warning to feeling his teeth, except for the second or so beforehand where you feel his hot breath fan over you, just before you feel the sharp break of that skin underneath. Sometimes he’d hover for a few seconds longer than usual because he sought the thrill of you not knowing when the pain was coming. He has a preference for the neck and collarbones, not that he’d never explain why to you but, simply, he doesn’t think he should have to anyway. You’d have laughed at the cliché nature of it, but you’d rather he kept it to the same area instead of spreading it all over your body. That being said, he had bitten your thighs a couple of times when your neck had been a little too sore for him to drink from there, when the skin needed time to heal.

Unknown swapped between biting and kissing at your neck, making his way up towards your mouth to continue the blood-tinted kiss there. Each time you tasted the metallic tinge on your tongue, it left your breathless, but not as much as the bite he’d leave on your lower lip did. You wouldn’t admit it to Unknown, but those kisses were some of your favourites that you had shared with him.

Not only did he leave your skin with actual bites, but he made point of littering your throat with lovebites each time too. As though the real bites weren’t enough for him, Unknown always had to go one step further with his act of possession over you. It was a cocky game, in his own mind, he needed to show that you were his and that no other Believer was permitted to look at you in the same that that he did.

When he was done and needed the wipe the blood away from his face, he’d wipe it straight onto the back of his hand. He’d make no effort to properly clean it until he went to wash his hands, it didn’t seem to bother him.

 Vampire! Savior Saeran Drabble 

It’s ironic, to Saeran, that crosses and biblical imagery did nothing to inhibit a Vampire, especially considering how linked the two aesthetics were. They truly went hand in damned hand. Mint Eye had always been steeped in Catholicism, as it was the core religion of the previous Savior, but as Saeran was forced to take the throne, he had not made any changes to those principles. He had been taught to instil and swallow those same beliefs in himself as they had been handed to him, even if they were not truly his own. He had been prepared in such a way that he would be able to take over Mint Eye when he had truly reached the peak of his strength and was intended to forge a new way for the organisation.

You had been bathed, dressed, and summoned to the throne room, where many Believers and the Savior in question were already gathered. You’d heard whispers that you were going to be cleansed, but the atmosphere you found yourself in did not seem to fit the one you associated with a cleansing. However, The Savior had yet to conduct a ceremony of his own since taking the throne and you started to fear that, perhaps, you were to be the leading spectacle. You walked between the Believers, as you were told to kneel before Saeran.

He was so lifeless in comparison to the Saerans you had once encountered before him. He was so sad, empty. At the very least, Ray’s melancholy had an element of hope to it, but as The New Savior stood before you, there was little more than a shell of the man that you had come to know. Your interaction with him was limited, but it was so plainly obvious to you that he was just being used as a pawn, a pawn in disguise of the King. It seemed distinctly sacrilegious to have a vampire dressed in religious garments, but you supposed that Saeran had probably not received a choice in either of those matters.

Another Believer came up from behind you and asked for your wrist, which he then wiped over with disinfectant fluid before presenting it to The Savior. Saeran reached out his hand to grab your arm, pulling it towards him. He was silent as his teeth suddenly found their way into your wrist, but he barely took more than a small mouthful of blood. Even with your arm in his grasp, Saeran said nothing and continued to just plainly stare ahead into the masses, occasionally throwing glances in your direction.

‘Are you ready for the next initiation step?’ He asked. You could still see your blood in his mouth, the thin line of red providing a stark colour contrast to the rest of his chilly pallor.

‘Yes.’ You replied.

Once done, he turned and pushed the red Elixir bottle towards you, tilting it into your open mouth. It was lukewarm and overwhelmed all of your senses with the metallic taste of blood and chemicals. It burned. Tasting blood like this felt so wrong. You felt it fill your mouth and you forced it down your throat swallow, gasping for air as soon as it passed. Was that… his blood? In the same way that he had been given his Savior’s blood?

You were asked to stand as Saeran took another step towards you. You tried to watch his eyes, looking for any hint of the life that Ray and Saeran had once brought to them, but The Savior in front of you had clearly managed to subdue that hope. Or rather, he had been forced and conditioned to abandon it.

Almost sombrely, he pressed a small kiss against your lips; causing you to once again receive a fresh taste of blood. Except this time, it was the remnants of your own that had been left on his own tongue. There was little free affection in his kiss, and it appeared to be more about the process of the initiation rather than anything to do with kindness or tenderness. It only lasted for a second or so and was nothing intimate, ending almost as soon as it had begun. He pulled away first, placing the bottle that he had been previously holding back onto the throne room altar.

You were hugely aware of the fact that you were still being watched by an entire room of people and felt so exposed, so seen. It was uncomfortable to have to wait there for it to be over when you would have much rather have had this be a private affair: not that you had been warned in advance anyway.

He pressed his bloody lips against your forehead, leaving a red stain against your skin. Saeran then reached a cold hand towards your face, dragging his thumb across the bloody kissmark and smearing it into the shape of an eye. A baptism.

Vampire! SE Saeran Drabble

He was trying. Saeran was really trying. Being around people was difficult, well, everything was a little difficult for him. It was taking all of his energy to adjust and process things, so you rarely saw him during the day. He was always pretty low energy and spent the majority of his time asleep or alone, with you only ever really catching glimpses of him at night. You guessed that it was at least a good thing that he was catching up on the sleep that he had deprived himself of for so many years, even if it meant you rarely got to see him.

Saeran didn’t really talk to anyone anyway, only you and his brother. That is, whenever he can be bothered to talk to Saeyoung as he often complained that he’s too tired for conversation. He usually didn’t have the energy to talk to his brother that much because of how hyperactive the other was. Saeyoung understands that Saeran needs time, even if it hurt him to not be able to pull his brother close after all of those years apart. Irreparable damage had been done where they would need years to repair it. There were even a few tense moments where Saeran had thought that Saeyoung was taunting him, or not trusting him, by wearing his crucifix necklace. Of course, his brother tried to explain that that was not the case and that Saeran wasn’t affected by religious symbols anyway, but it still seemed to annoy him. Eventually, Saeyoung stopped wearing his necklace and kept it in a drawer next to his bed, feeling as though the faith he believed in was probably redundant now that he knew how it had been tainted by the people he trusted.

Saeyoung had offered to let Saeran drink his blood before, as a way of making reparations to his twin, but Saeran flat out denied it: saying it would be disgusting to drink from him. He also threw in the comment that Saeyoung’s blood would taste ‘like shit’ because of his diet anyway, which was entirely understandable. Neither of you could fault Saeran for that.

Saeran felt rather conflicted and tentative about drinking your blood, often feeling pangs of guilt for how he previously treated you as Unknown. He often waited right up until he was pretty desperate before letting on that he was in need, and you’d have to realise on your own that his tiredness was not just coming from social exhaustion. He probably wouldn’t ask, so you’d have to offer.

When it happened, it usually happened in the same way with Saeran turning you around so that your back was facing him and you couldn’t look at him. He already felt some sort of way about biting you in the first place so the last thing he wanted was to have to look into your eyes as he did it. He felt more comfortable like this, and he felt as though he could take his time rationalising it a bit more when he wasn’t being watched. ‘Don’t turn around.’ He said tiredly. He sighed, clearly feeling a little awkward but not wanting to rush into it. It would be in this moment where he thought about how roughly he used to do it to you and wonder where he had gotten that confidence from. Truly, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Saeran placed his hands onto your shoulders, pausing right above where he was going to bite for a few seconds, letting his hot breath fan over you until he finally broke the skin. He wasn’t as rough as he used to be, and it was quite obvious how much he had been restraining himself by how quickly he drank. ‘Sorry.’ He whispered under the wight of the guilt. He always sounded like he was crying when he did this, even if you didn’t see any tears fall. You placed your hand on top of his own just to let him know that it was okay. Saeran wasn’t one for words, so he appreciated the support even if he didn’t tell you that directly.

He sat behind you for a few moments while he calmed down, his thumbs ever so slightly rubbing circles into your shoulders; a rare sign of intimacy from him. He doesn’t kiss you in that moment for a number of reasons. He felt parasitic, and he didn’t want to tie that emotion to affection. And yet, undeniably because he doesn’t want you to see him for what he is. Saeran carries a lot of shame, especially when he’s feeling so vulnerable as he does when he’s in that state. He wiped the blood from his lips onto the back of his sleeve, but would change his jumper shortly afterwards because it made him feel dirty to even look at. Saeran didn’t want to sit with your blood on him, that was cruel to the both of you.

You’d often find that he’d leave you a little gift the next day but would claim to not have any knowledge of it. It was always a little thing that only he would think to bring you, such a small flower from the garden or one of his snacks out of the kitchen.

[lexsssu]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 (𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢)

TAGS: Zhongli/F!Reader, parenthood, fluff, original child character

“...Yuyu? Might I ask why you’re rubbing your face so furiously? You’ll end up hurting yourself, sweetling.”

Zhongyu ceased his motions, hands dropping to his sides as he gazed up at his father with moist golden eyes and a weak, “Baba…”

“Dry your tears with this instead. Now, tell your father what’s gotten you so upset. Though I may not be as ‘ hip ’ or ‘ cool ’ as most fathers these days (considering that I’m more than old enough to be everyone’s father and well, ancestor if we’re being technical—) according to your mother, perhaps telling me of your plight can ease your burdens even a little”

With practiced ease, the funeral consultant lifted the little boy into his arms and produced a silk handkerchief from within his suit before dabbing the cloth gently upon the wetness that stained his golden-scaled cheeks. Zhongyu inherited his draconic traits from both his parents, but his coloring was more like his father’s: earthy and golden.

And therein lies the exact problem.

“Why didn’t I get mama’s pretty silver scales instead?”

His son’s question honestly caught Zhongli off guard, having not expected that to be the root cause of his apparent distress.

“Dima has his mama’s pretty white hair AND silver scales. So why couldn’t I have at least got my mama’s scales…?” Zhongyu looked dejected as he pouted aggrievedly, tightening his embrace on his father’s neck and burying his face into the crook to hide his puffy face.

Ahh, so he was jealous of his imaginary friend? Zhongli chuckled as he rubbed his son’s back tenderly, recalling Zhongyu’s outlandish story about meeting and talking with another child eerily similar to himself. While his son took his dark hair and scales, this ‘Dima’ sported white hair and scales similar to his wife: You. The ex-archon supposed that Yuyu was perhaps starting to get lonely and wanted a sibling, which is why he conjured up the image of another child, ‘Dima’ who seemed to be what Yuyu imagined his future brother would look like.

“You could have been born with your mother’s coloring, but you inherited mine instead and there’s nothing anyone could have done about it. Neither your mother and I could choose what you would look like, but we love you all the same for it. Regardless of the color of your skin, your scales, your hair, or even your eyes you will always be perfect to us. I hope you see the beauty we see in you as well, my son.”

“...Mama doesn’t mind that I look like Baba more?”

“Of course not. In fact, from the first moment she saw you your mother already loved you with all her heart,” and for the first time in his eons of existence did Zhongli feel a slight sense of jealousy when you spent all your time with your child, but that was quickly squashed by the knowledge that Zhongyu was also HIS offspring. Morax & Rex Lapis within was comforted by the knowledge that you treasured the fruit of your union so much.

“Now then, we best be getting home lest your mother start to worry over our whereabouts”

“...Can I at least say goodbye to Dima?” Zhongyu points to the shallow pond he’d been squatting over while crying earlier.

“I don’t see why not. Make sure not to fall in the water or your mother will have my hide.”

“I’ll be careful, Baba.”

The dark-haired man gingerly placed the child back on the ground and watched as he scampered off to the pond and began speaking to his reflection in the water. Had he been an ordinary human he wouldn’t have noticed that the reflection on the water sported a different eye color than Yuyu’s own amber eyes.

Rather, the reflection had a pair of familiar blue eyes...

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 10

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@pocketramblr :)

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One day - and not even a whole day, because of travel time and Inko wanted Izuku home for dinner- simply wasn't enough time to master a quirk. Although he could turn Float on and off, now. So, they made plans to come back next week, and the next, up until the sports festival. Which. Wow. Really was only two weeks away.

Izuku had never realized how close to the beginning of the school year it was.

He was going to die.

"You're not going to die," said Mr. Yagi. "I'm not going to say the sports festival isn't important, because it is, it's one of the best ways to make professional connections for students, but not doing well isn't the end of the world, especially not in your first year. No one expects you to be perfectly polished."

"But," said Izuku, "I'm supposed to be the next you! I've got to stand out, right?"

Mr. Yagi looked very guilty. "I... may have given you that impression when we were first training, yes. But, since then, with all my research into the past holders... few of them were popular, flashy heroes. If you want to walk the same path as me, that's great. But you don't have to. Even I didn't really start that chapter of my life until after college."

Izuku looked down at his hands, letting silence fill the space between them as he contemplated Mr. Yagi's words. "This isn't about me manifesting One for All differently, is it?"

"What? No, no of course not, my boy. I mean, it certainly helped me come to this conclusion, I wouldn't have done so much research without it! But I certainly hope I would have come to the same conclusion eventually, even so."

"Okay..." said Izuku, still dubious.

"I mean it," protested Mr. Yagi. "Most of my work is essentially underground, you know. There's a reason the battle trial was what it was."

"H-huh? You? Underground? But you're so recognizable!"

"Am I? I firmly believe in bringing all my resources to bear in the fight against evil! Ha ha!"

His laugh devolved into a cough, and he fumbled for a handkerchief. But he recovered quickly enough.

"I guess that makes sense," said Izuku, cautiously, once he thought Mr. Yagi wasn't going to start coughing again.

"You didn't think I stayed number one by popularity alone, did you?"

"I- the formulas the Hero Commission uses to determine rankings are secret, and it only includes spotlight heroes, so when I extrapolated the hero billboard rankings, yes, I assigned a high weight to popularity. There were always some discrepancies between my predictions and the end results, but I figured I missed some events, or the commission assigned them different values…"

"That's quite impressive, my boy. But, though popularity is a factor, the HPSC does take unpublicized fights and rescues into account. Assuming you report them…"

That was the second time Mr. Yagi had mentioned not telling the commission something.

"Do you, um, do you do that a lot? Not tell the commission things, I mean."

"Eh? No, no, I try to stay up on my paperwork. I get a lot of help from Naomasa, though. Some heroes, especially independent ones, without an agency, do have trouble keeping up, sometimes."

"It's just… the other day you said something about not telling the commission about All for One."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You're quite right. How should I put this… The HPSC knows All for One exists, and I have made them generally aware of his modern exploits. I haven't told them about his ability to give quirks, though they may know through other avenues, there are certain battles I've had with him that I haven't told them about, and they do not know about One for All."

“Why not?”

“Villains aren’t the only ones who seek power,” said Mr. Yagi. “The HPSC provides a vital service, and I think what one does matters more than why one does it, but… it is my observation that many of the people there are more concerned with personal power than doing the right thing. And positions of power and authority tend to draw in those who would abuse those things."

"Even heroics?"

"Especially heroics. The HPSC Ethics Review Board is supposed to stop that, but no system is perfect." He shook himself. "But look at me! I was trying to give you a pep talk, not saddle you with doubts about the government!"

Izuku laughed, nervously. "I mean, you've definitely distracted me from the sports festival…"

“Yes. The sports festival. Don’t worry about making a big spotlight combat debut. If you want to focus on rescue, or investigation, or the underground, I’ll support you all the way.” He paused. “You do need combat, though, because, because of-”

“All for One?”

“Yes, exactly. All for One.”

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“Way to kill the mood, guys,” said Banjo.

“I think the mood was thoroughly dead already,” said Yoichi.

“Unlike your brother,” said En. “Ninth’s father.”

“Come on, it was just a little omission of information. It wasn’t even a lie!”

“It was definitely a lie. You’re so lucky that my relief about you not being a pedophile eclipsed my righteous fury regarding your mendacity.”

“You know, the fact that you’re delivering that completely deadpan gives me doubts about the fury part.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“You love me.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be mad at you.”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” said Nana, making a ‘T’ shape with her hands. “Time out. Ninth’s father is All for One.”

“Yes,” said Yoichi, hanging his head, “I thought that had been established.”

“So, are we… What Toshinori is saying is completely valid, by the way… but, are we expecting this kid to fight his father? Is that a thing we’re doing?”

“Uh,” said Yoichi, “in our defense, we did think he was dead.”

“Maybe Eighth will get ‘im before Ninth has to deal with it,” suggested Banjo. “He’s got to have a better chance of that, now what with Fa Jin and all.” He paused. “But, you know what would give Ninth an even better chance, if he does have to fight his deadbeat dad-”

“He’s not a deadbeat,” interrupted Hikage.

“What?”

“Calling him a deadbeat would imply that he is neither supporting the Midoriyas financially nor regularly in contact with them. He is on both counts.”

“What?” squealed Bango.

“Did you miss his phone call with his father immediately following his return home after the USJ attack?”

“Oh,” said Yoichi, “no, I was very aware of my brother’s evil, evil voice. It’s just that these guys were too focused on scolding me to listen to anything I had to say. I still can’t believe he sent someone like that to attack his own son’s class.”

“Didn’t he, like, kill you?” asked En.

“No, my death was largely unrelated. You’ve got to remember, I was a chronically ill fugitive from the law with no money. Who told you that he killed me?”

Everyone looked at their immediate predecessor. Yoichi tracked the path back to Third, who had gone very stiff.

“What the heck, Third? You were there when I died. Why would you tell Hikage that?”

Third did not answer.

“Actually, what did he tell you, Hikage?

“Oh, it was very moving and heroic. It happened while you were saving a busload of metahuman orphans. You sacrificed yourself to let them get away from All for One. I even cried a little.”

“Is it weird that I’m now disappointed in myself for not dying like that?”

“Very,” said Nana.

“What were we talking about before this?” asked En.

“I have no idea,” said Banjo.

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Izuku delayed going to class, nervous about everyone's reactions to his quirk. It wasn't that he thought they'd reject him, but more that he had no answers for the inevitable questions.

But he also didn't want to be late.

"Todoroki was so cool!" Hagakure exclaimed as he opened the classroom door. "He was all like, blam, bam, swish! And- and he checked whether or not I was there first, before attacking, which was super cool of him."

Todoroki's expression was halfway between 'statue' and 'help, I've been hit by a truck.' "Cool?"

"Very cool."

"You've grown since the first day, kero."

"Ah! Midoriya!"

All heads turned towards him. In the next second, he was hugged by several people, which was more friendly skin contact than he'd had since… ever, probably.

"Eep," he said.

"We were so worried about you," said Uraraka. "We made a group chat, after, but since you were unconscious…"

"Hm," said Monoma, "your quirk still is definitely a stockpile…"

"Monoma!" shouted Iida. "Did you join this hug just to copy quirks?"

"And what of it?"

"But speaking of quirks," said Jiro, "you can fly now? We kind of went along with it at the time, but that's kind of different from a sensory quirk."

"I know," said Izuku, "and I have no explanation."

"Maybe your quirk stockpiles danger," said Monoma, contemplatively. He rubbed his chin with one finger. "That could be why you can sense danger- you're stockpiling it. Then, when the danger gets over a certain threshold, you can release it as flight… why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing," drawled Kaminari. "Just that you're more thoughtful than you look, pretty boy."

"I don't want to hear that from you."

"Th-thank you, Monoma! I'll have to mention it when I go to quirk counseling next."

Which may or may not be this afternoon, depending on how Mr. Aizawa felt and- His head snapped to the door. "Mr. Aizawa's coming!"

They all rushed to their seats. The door creaked open.

"Oh my gosh, he's a mummy."

.

"Iida?"

"What is it, Midoriya?"

They were having a bit of a break during English while Present Mic cycled them through for short sessions with Hound Dog.

"I didn't have a chance to ask you earlier, but how's your brother?"

“He’s alright! It’s the first really major injury of his career, so he’s going to take it easy for the rest of the month, to make sure his engines heal properly. He’d prefer not to of course, but, ah, there is a silver lining.”

“That’s good,” said Izuku, encouragingly.

“I really shouldn’t be happy about it,” said Iida, rubbing the back of his neck, “but he’ll be able to come see me during the sports festival, and he probably would have been too busy if he were active.”

“I think it’s okay to be happy about good things, even if they happen because of bad things,” said Izuku. “It isn’t like we can go back and make the bad things not happen, after all…”

“That’s very true, Midoriya! What a mature way of thinking about things.”

Izuku didn’t know about that, but he was willing to take the compliment.

.

“Midoriya,” said Shouta, who was absolutely and unquestionably recovered enough to teach. Even if he had zoned out in the corner of the room in his sleeping bag all morning rather than trekking back to the teacher’s lounge… or teaching any of his other classes… shut up. “What are you doing at the window?”

“O-oh. Mr. Aizawa. I didn’t know you were awake?”

It was, maybe, a little unfair to single Midoriya out like that, since the entire class was standing by the window, and the way Uraraka, Sero, and Midoriya were closest to it, with Monoma a close fourth, was concerning, but Midoriya was the first one Shouta saw, and the one most likely to to cave and tell him what was going on.

“Midoriya.”

“R-right. Well, going out the door seems a little unpleasant today, so we thought we’d switch it up?”

What did that even mean?

“We were going to bring you with us, of course,” continued Midoriya.

What did that even mean?

“Out the window.”

“Um. Yes.”

“What kind of unpleasant are we talking about?”

“Battle trial unpleasant?”

Shouta groaned and hauled himself up, walking over to the door. He looked out the window and made note of all the students from other classes standing out there, circling like sharks. Great. Maybe they needed to have an assembly about respecting boundaries or whatever, especially if the people whose boundaries were being crossed were potentially traumatized.

Something to bring up at the next staff meeting he attended. Which… would probably not be soon.

Anyway.

He opened the door.

(“A mummy,” whispered someone.)

(First his kids, then these kids… he wasn’t that wrapped up.)

(Was he?)

“What are you all doing here?” he asked, voice rasping rather more than he wanted it to.

The students didn’t seem inclined to answer. Someone did mutter something about the sports festival, but it was far from the complete answer that Aizawa wanted.

“Right. Whatever. Scoping out the competition is one thing, but you are aware that class 1-A is recovering from a traumatic experience. And you’re blocking traffic. Clear off.”

The crowd slowly dispersed. Shouta sighed. He knew this would only be the first of many such incidents. He made a note to talk to Nemuri about whether or not she’d be willing to donate some of her class time to talk about public relations.

.

“You know,” said Nemuri, “if you actually rested, Recovery Girl would be able to heal you.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Shouta, glaring at his desk in the staff room. “I’m forgetting something.”

All Might walked in. “Er, young Aizawa,” he said. He paused for a painfully long, awkward moment. “Are you still meeting with young Midoriya today?”

“Crap.”

.

Did Izuku expect Mr. Aizawa to come to their meeting? No. The man had casts on all of his limbs. But, he hadn’t cancelled it either. So, better safe than sorry, right?

But it had been a while, now. Izuku could probably safely assume he wasn't coming after a half hour. He got up, packed his bags, and reached out for the door handle-

Only to freeze as Mr. Aizawa yanked it open and pulled Mr. Yagi into the classroom after him.

Izuku scurried back to his seat.

"Nothing physical today," croaked Mr. Aizawa. "We're going to figure out your quirk."

“O-okay,” said Izuku.

Aizawa collapsed into the seat behind the teacher's desk. “To be short, this quirk, One for All or whatever, is complete nonsense.”

“Uh,” said Mr. Yagi. “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” whispered Izuku.

“You should be. Not you, Midoriya. You’re fine.”

“Okay?”

“Right. So. You’ve got two quirks right now. Danger Sense and Float. Unless something else showed up over the weekend?”

“No, it’s, um, it is just those two right now.”

“And you’ll most likely get Smokescreen, Blackwhip, and that strength enhancement eventually. Plus two mystery quirks.”

“That is what I’ve been able to find out,” said Mr. Yagi.

“So, we have to figure out some way to get all those under a coherent umbrella that can account for the mystery quirks, and before the sports festival, so the evil immortal supervillain doesn’t notice that you have quirks just like a bunch of people he had personal beef with.”

Mr. Yagi cursed in English. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Yeah, I wonder what else you haven’t thought about. Maybe this year I can get Nezu to take my suggestion about doing hero names before the sports festival seriously. You know we’ve had people stalk students before because for some godforsaken reason we use their real names? I need a drink.”

“Ah, water?”

“No.”

“Young Aizawa, you’re a teacher…”

“A career choice I question daily. Midoriya, do you have any thoughts about how to make your quirk make sense in a way that won’t get you killed or abducted by the HPSC?”

“I- Does that happen?” despite his conversation with Mr. Yagi over the weekend, he still had generally positive thoughts about the hero commission.

“I have no idea. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Well, um, I was talking to Monoma earlier, and he said something about stockpiling danger, and how it might let out the stockpile as the energy necessary to levitate- which, really, would be a fascinating quirk if it did work that way- but I thought it might also work for Smokescreen and the strength enhancement? I mean, general responses to danger are fight, flight, or hide, so the strength enhancement is fight, Float is flight, and Smokescreen would be hide…”

“That might work. What about Blackwhip.”

“Yeah, that one has kind of stumped me.”

“Blackwhip sure is a problem,” agreed Mr. Aizawa.

.

The ghosts started laughing. “You’re a problem, Banjo,” chortled Nana.

“Come on, guys, that isn’t funny!”

"It is! It's hilarious!"

"They were just talking about All for One tracking the kid down and killing him!"

The mood sobered quickly.

"Considering that he is Ninth's father," said Hikage, "I suspect it's far too late for that."

"Yeah," said Yoichi. "But, just to be safe, and in case there are other weirdos out there, new rule: no giving him new quirks in public. Not that we can do anything about when he eventually manifests the stockpile…"

"What if he's going to die?" asked Hikage, raising his hand.

"He already got your quirk, why do you care?"

"We'd like to hear it," said Banjo, somewhat forcefully.

"Well, if he looks like he's going to die, do whatever you can to stop that from happening, I guess. But chucking a quirk he doesn't know how to use isn't always going to be the beat answer."

"Wait," said Nana. "Hold up a second. A few days ago we were talking about the potential for multiple quirk brain damage, weren't we?"

"Oh, good catch," said Yoichi. "I guess I forgot to mention it, which means Nana is the only one I'd trust babysitting my nephew in the event a quirk rewound him to elementary school age-"

"That is a suspiciously specific scenario," said En.

"-and all the rest of you are fired. You didn't even question giving him more quirks? Really?"

Hikage raised his hand. "I assumed you had discovered that Ninth had a constitution capable of handling multiple quirks, similar to yourself and your brother."

"That is true. Okay, Hikage would be another exception, but he's disqualified from babysitting for other reasons."

"That's fair."

.

"So we need something that can do all that, and has tentacles," said Izuku, squeezing his bottom lip in thought.

"Yeah," said Mr. Aizawa. "Honestly, even really dumb ideas would be welcome right now."

"Why are you looking at me?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"You know why."

There was only one creature Izuku could think of that could do all the things Izuku one day might be able to while maintaining room for the two mystery quirks. "Cthulhu."

Mr. Yagi looked mildly scandalized at the suggestion.

"Nah, it'd have to be something like eldritch. Cthulhu's trademarked in Japan, and that can give you aboveground types trouble."

"What is it a trademark for?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"Ask Midnight. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi.

"The problem with that is that you currently have no justification to call it that. Now if you already had Smokescreen…"

The adults looked at him.

"... I don't think it's going to just show up like that," said Izuku.

.

"Why not?" asked Banjo, staring at En. "They practically asked you for it."

"Well, first off, I live for drama, so jot that down."

"Huh? What about me?" asked Yoichi.

"Nothing, it was just an idiom. Second…"

.

"...Right," said Aizawa. “For now, then, we’ll have to give it a temporary name, because it’s starting to get to the point in time where it’ll actually be illegal for you to not register it.” He shuffled his casts. “Yagi, start filling out those forms with what he can do currently. Midoriya, make sure you check him when he’s done. For now, we’ve got to come up with a name.”

“Um,” said Izuku. “Float’s the only one that’s really visible, so I could just call it Float?”

“Vetoed. You aren’t picking a name that the immortal supervillain knows.”

“He did seem to only refer to people by quirks unless he really hated them,” said Mr. Yagi. “Except his brother, who he always called ‘my foolish brother.’”

“Focus on the paperwork.”

“And he called himself by his quirk name as well,” mused Izuku. “Do you think it was a side effect? Quirks have document impact on people’s personalities-”

“Focus.”

“R-right. Um. Feather Fall? No, that’s part of a game. Flight Reflex?”

“Good enough for now,” said Aizawa. “Flight Reflex it is.”

[ethereaiin]

Reprieve | genshin impact

synopsis; you liked her. you really, really liked her. yet despite how you felt, no one else could say the same.

features; you, eula, and some mentions of amber.

[au]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was something about Eula Lawrence that attracted attention no matter where she went. Maybe it was due to her outstanding work within the Knights of Favonius, or her undeniable beauty. You weren’t sure, all you knew was you were as taken with her as just about everyone else.

Except, they. . . didn’t exactly share the same thoughts about her as you did.

People were wary of her. You could tell from the way they whispered behind her back as she passed and how they refused to meet her gaze as if looking her in the eyes would curse their very being. They sneered in her direction, spewing words you would never dare to repeat and you’ve even seen vendors refuse her service. To the people of Mondstadt, she was never seen as a good person.

It was quite obvious what the reason for their behavior was. Being a native to Mondstadt yourself, you were privy to that knowledge, yet you didn’t really understand why those around you continued to be blinded by the past. Most were afraid the aristocracy would once again rise in power, yet you never saw that as justification for the terrible way they treated her. The Lawrence name had done well enough to paint her in the worst light from the day she was born. But to you, Eula resembled nothing of the old Lawrence clan or even her brazen uncle. She was different, you were sure of it.

You only wished everyone else could see her the way you did.

Amber was the one who first introduced her to you. While she was reserved and distant in the beginning, your persistence in sticking by her side through the years slowly opened her up to you. After sharing countless conversations with Eula, you could see how her words could be mistaken for mild threats and paired along with her cold tone; you could understand how she became a person to be feared. Still, you never thought of her any differently. There was hidden meaning in everything she said and while most people would have taken her words of having ‘vengeance’ at face value, you instead found it amusing. Your constant giggling caused you to become one of the many people who crossed her, yet she never asked you to stop nor did she seem as if she were seriously irritated. Instead, she brought you gifts and took you on outings as an odd way to prepare you for her coming revenge. Though you were never sure what said vengeance would entail. What you did know, however, was that she was unbelievably kind. Even if she would never admit it herself, you knew it for a fact.

Eula was a strong girl. Both physically and mentally, she was well fortified. You knew the things the people of Mondstadt said to her never once affected her nor did it crumble her resolve to prove them wrong. Their scorn and attempts to tear her down were met with a promise of revenge and an icy look that completely differed from the insincere threats she’d given you. She would do anything within her power to become the very thing her family hated and it was proven by how fast she was rising through the ranks within the knights. Seeing how dedicated she was made you want to support her and along with Amber, you did your best to improve her image within the city.

You wanted the world to know just how good Eula Lawrence was. Her every achievement was proudly spoken by you to anyone willing to listen and you did your best to convince others to give her a chance. Though you were not as well known as Amber, your family name carried a bit of weight among the people to at least make them reconsider their prejudices against Eula. You wanted nothing more than for the city she grew up in to finally feel like a place she could call home. It was your one wish and, among many things, something you felt you greatly owed her. The numerous gifts and friendly affection she'd shower you with were all too much to leave unpaid.

Your feelings towards her were far too vast to put into words. Nothing you could say or do would ever hope to convey all of them precisely. Even you didn’t know the exact emotion of what you felt towards her. You only knew of your desire to see her, to talk to her and be with her. It was all that mattered to you and for the longest, you were happy with just staying by her side.

Yet there was something that was always bothering you. Over the years you were witness to the great accomplishments both Eula and Amber made. In both body and mind, they became people who were strong. Strong enough to fight for what they thought was right, but most of all, strong enough to fight for themselves. But you. . . you were unchanged. You were still the same demure, polite and weak girl you always were. Too afraid to speak up for yourself and too afraid of change. It made you feel utterly helpless and in comparison to them, you felt ashamed.

“Stop seeing that girl.”

Your father’s words felt more weighted than they should have been. Under that single demand, you felt crushed and it was enough to halt the beat of your heart for a second. You stopped what you were doing, the half embroidered handkerchief hung from one hand while the other held a string of white thread and needle. You were halfway finished with your newest present to Eula until he barged in your room looking as if he were about ready to snap something in half. You didn’t think he cared about you. He never seemed to have before. Yet all of the sudden he’s making demands of you as if he hadn’t ignored your very existence up until this moment. If it weren’t for your knowledge of how short-tempered your father was, you would have already retaliated with a snap of your own. Though that would have only ended with you earning yet another bruise to cover up. When you finally regained your composure, you glanced up at him after placing Eula’s unfinished gift atop the table before you.

“Who?” You blinked, your expression feigning ignorance. “Amber?”

You knew your acting could only get you so far, but you hoped it would be enough to fool him. Yet, despite your best efforts, you could see he was not at all convinced. The middle of his brow twitched, creasing deeply as his nerves were already beginning to give way. You could see his anger. It was apparent on his aged face which turned redder with each passing second. For some reason, unknown to you, he never did have an ounce of patience to spare you. Every remark that even sounded like a disagreement to what he asked of you was either met with a rough slap to the cheek or, if you were lucky, a day locked in your room without dinner. He was especially sensitive when it came to his work and this, you figured, must have had something to do with it. Your blatantly open support of Eula must have reached him by now and you could only guess that it was beginning to hinder the family business. The Lawrence's, after all, was a cursed family. The fallen remnants of what remained of the aristocracy that no one in Mondstadt wanted anything to do with.

As soon as the wrong girl’s name left your lips, you weren’t even given time to prepare yourself before you were sent hurdling out of your seat with a newly bruised cheek. From your place on the ground, you warily stared up at him with a hand cradling your hot and painfully throbbing face. You were somewhat used to this, yet no matter how many times you experienced his rage, you could never get used to the pain. Tears glossed over your eyes and gathered at the corners. You could feel them streaking down the apples of your cheeks and, on the side he hit, meeting with the tips of your fingers. He looked down at you with irritation as if the mere sight of your crying form was enough to set him off once more. You were well aware you were nothing but a nuisance to him. He voiced it often enough to you.

“Don’t act innocent,” He spits, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. “I raised you better than that.” A bold lie that would have had you laughing if not for your immense pain. “The Lawrence’s are no good. If you go see that girl again, don’t bother coming home.”

He left just as quickly as he came. He spared you no further glance as he slammed the door of your room close before clicking it locked. You seemed to have hit the jackpot with getting both of his favorite punishments in one go. Not only had left you injured, but he’d also ensure you wouldn’t go running off behind his back. Your hand fell from your cheek as the painful throbbing died into a buzzing numbness. The silent tears that rolled down your cheeks had done little to truly encompass the pain you felt.  At one point in your life, you wanted nothing more than that man’s affection. But that was long in the past and as the years rolled by, he'd done nothing for you other than present bruises for you to hide and humiliation you were meant to take without protest. He was a terrible man who saw you as nothing more than the reason for the death of his beloved person. Somewhere down the line, maybe even he had forgotten, that your mother was just as precious to you as she was to him.

Leaving this place wouldn’t be so hard for you as he may have thought. Even if he had merely said it as a threat and meant nothing by it, you took it to heart. This house was rarely ever a true home to you and you often felt more welcome outside among your friends than you ever did here. The choice he presented to you wasn’t difficult, nor did you find yourself doubting your decision. There was no way you would ever choose a man who’d never shown you kindness over Eula who undoubtedly cared for you, albeit in the most peculiar way unique only to her.

This was finally your chance to leave and you’d gladly take it without hesitation. Although you knew you could never truly escape your father within the walls of Mondstadt. You needed to get farther away from him. Liyue was the only other place you could go that could grant you that wish whilst allowing you to stay somewhat in contact with your friends. The trip would be long and arduous and most of all it required money. While you had a little from the various jobs you took on, you were almost positive you could gain the rest from selling the small amount of jewelry you possessed. They were precious things to you. The various jeweled necklaces, bracelets, and the single portrait being personal belongings of your mother that your father would have never let you near.

It was only by chance that you were able to snag them while he was away on business and since then you had them tucked away in a small velvet bag hidden under your mattress. You’d rarely ever taken them out, only glancing at them when you missed her the most. The portrait of her was old, the color almost fading completely, yet it was enough for you. Your father never kept pictures of her. All of them were stashed away somewhere deep within the house where you weren’t allowed to go. If it weren’t for you finding the small bag of jewelry and what could have been her last picture, you would have forgotten what she looked like. You were young when she died, barely the age of six, yet you could still loosely remember some things about her. Mainly it was her smile you could recall. You remembered it to be tender and filled with warmth. It was the by-product of her love for you and since her untimely passing, you've yearned to see it again.  

Your mother, the kind person you hazily remembered her as wouldn’t have wanted you to continue living like this.

Packing was easy enough. You barely had any belongings to your name and most of everything was able to snugly fit into one bag. The last thing you needed was the jewelry, which you securely placed inside your coat, and you were ready to set off towards what you could only hope to be a better life. As you neared the window of your room, the tips of your fingers pressed against the pane, you glanced behind you at your room once more. While you possessed no good memories of this place, its image would never leave you. It was the room you grew up in and a place you could not so easily forget. You were really going to abandon everything, leaving behind everyone who ever cared for you without so much as a goodbye. The thought of doing so made you feel heavy with shame, but you knew you just didn’t have the time. At any moment your father could walk through your bedroom door and catch you mid-escape. If he did, you knew you’d never get a chance like this again.

Your gaze dropped, landing on the table in your room. The unfinished handkerchief you were making for Eula still lay on its surface and it served to remind you of just what you were giving up by running away. Your friends would undoubtedly be hurt from your sudden disappearance and maybe even Eula would come to hate you, thinking you were no different from those that openly mocked her. You never wished for her to think of you as such, but for now, it was alright. You could deal with that if it meant that she would forget about you faster. You never wanted to become a burden to her, nor did you want to hinder the great progress she made towards her goal. You just only wished there was something you could remember her by.

You stepped away from the window for a second, hastily grabbing the handkerchief and the spool of thread and needle that was attached to it before stuffing it into the pocket of your coat. Finishing it would be enough for you. Even if that meant you were never going to be able to give it to her like you wanted to.

Once you finally left your house, it was already past sunset. It was around this time that you knew Eula would be getting out of training for the day and you’d made sure to avoid the usual path she took towards her home. There were days you used to meet her at the central fountain for dinner or even at the doors of the knight’s headquarters. Today you were meant to do the latter. Never once had you not shown up for your promised outings with her and today would be your first and last offense. You just hoped she wouldn’t hold it too much against you.

The central marketplace wasn’t bustling with as many people as it had during midday. The crowds were thinning and some vendors were already packing up their stalls for the day. You were greeted by some of the people you knew, many of them blatantly staring at the large bandage on your cheek yet never asking what the cause of it was. They mainly bid you a good day and even sent you off with some gifts. As you bit into one of the apples given to you, you had a feeling they might have already known what kind of person your father was. Maybe you were not as good at hiding your injuries as you thought. Or was he just not good at hiding his hate for you?

Nighttime was close to falling upon you. The sky shifted from its orange hue into deep indigo and the stars were beginning to poke through to shine in all their glory. The main gate to Mondstadt stood in front of you, towering over you in height and your sudden smallness in comparison almost intimidated you. You really were leaving. That might have been your original goal, yet it hadn’t truly sunk in until the moment you were standing before the city's massive gates. You’ve been outside of Mondstadt on numerous occasions, but never with the intent of leaving forever. Your chest felt heavy with a mixture of various emotions and your eyes burned with unshed tears.

There was a part of you that wished to turn back and just bear with your father’s presence like you had for all these years. This part of you was scared. Fearful of what lies beyond the safety of the walls surrounding Mondstadt and afraid of taking the first step to true freedom. Here, you would never become anything more than a prisoner to the unjust guilt of your mother’s death. You would never gain the happiness you truly desired, nor would you ever become the person strong enough to stand by Eula’s side. You wanted nothing more than to be different and staying here would not allow you that freedom to grow.

You steeled yourself, hands clutching tightly at the strap of your bag as you continued on towards the main gates. You had no plans of stopping any longer, nor did you allow yourself even a second of hesitation. Now was the time to go. Now was your very last cha-

“[Name]?”

With widened eyes, your head whipped in the direction of the familiar voice. Standing just a few feet away from you was Eula. She looked at you with momentary confusion, her expression mellowing out as she eyed both the packed bag resting at your hip and the bandage on your face.

“E-Eula. . .” You muttered as she stepped closer towards you. One of your hands, unconsciously delving towards the flap of your bag as if to prevent her from seeing what was inside. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that what you’re going to say to me?” She asks with crossed arms and a stern expression. From the look of her face, you already knew what she was going to say. “You have a lot of nerve standing me up when you were the one who wanted to meet today. . .”

You weren’t really expecting her to show up at this moment, not when you initially thought she’d go home rather than look for you. Yet, here she stood. In front of you with a creased brow and a rather childish pout on her lips that would have normally made you laugh if not for the current circumstances.

“Sorry,” You apologized, your hands relaxing at your side now that the initial surprise dispersed. “I kinda got into it with my father. . .” You laughed a bit to ease your own nerves as one of your hands anxiously rubbed at the cloth bandage on your cheek. You knew your injury could never escape her. It was far too big for you to hide this time. “But don’t worry, I’m fine!”

You did your best to place the most assuring smile on your face as you looked back up to her. But she didn’t look all too convinced. Instead, her eyes conveyed something far different than what you were used to seeing from her. Her expression was soft. Far too soft for someone who was never forward with feelings that pertained to herself. She was worried for you.

“Where are you going?” Her tone too was so soft and gentle. As if she were afraid you were going to run away the moment she raised her voice. The crease in her brow returned and you realized she finally understood what your intentions were. You knew it would only be a matter of time until it all clicked into place for her, but you hoped you would have been out the city gates and halfway to Liyue by then.

She reached for your hand that hovered over your injured cheek, tenderly cradling it in her gloved one as she held onto you. This was her way of keeping you from going anywhere, you knew her touch might have meant nothing to her, but it made your heart feel as if it were going to burst. You felt trapped by her gaze and you attempted to formulate something to say or an excuse to give. Eula was not good for you right now. She made you hesitate. She made you want to stay.

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

“Out.” You finally answered, stepping away from her and pulling your hand from her gentle hold. Your feigned smile returned to your lips. “But only for a bit, I’ll be back.”

It hurt to lie to someone who was always so honest with you. Even more so when that person was Eula herself. You never wanted to say your goodbye like this and if it were up to you, you wished to have just silently disappeared from her life like you were planning. You quickly turned away from her, the flash of hurt across her face from your obvious lie was crumbling your resolve. You no longer held hesitance in your steps as you strode out of the main gates and behind you, you could hear Eula rushing to follow. At this rate, the tears that were building up were about ready to burst. She wasn’t making this parting any easier than it could have been. You suppose you only had yourself to blame. If you hadn’t liked her as much as you did, maybe she wouldn’t be so adamant in trying to stop you now.

“Wait, [name]!” She grasped your arm, halting you to a complete stop. Her expression appeared more panicked than it was once before. It was only until you were in her hold that she regained some composure. Though her face was still wrought with worry. “Let me escort you to wherever you’re going. It’s dangerous out here, especially at night. You’ll let me do that at least, won’t you?”

Your lips parted, a refusal already at the tip of your tongue but before you could decline her offer, you were interrupted by the distant shouted calls of your name. Your father knows. Eula seemed to have noticed too as she looked briefly over her shoulder before looking back at you. If her suspicions weren’t already confirmed, then your fearful expression would have sealed the deal. You were running away. Now even she knew that.

“Eula, let go.” You attempted to pull yourself away from her but her grip was tight. “Please, I need to go.”

For several moments she looked conflicted and the feeling of dread only continued to increase with the nearing proximity of the shouted calls. If your father found you now, he’d never let you go. You pulled your arm again, this time with more desperation and this seemed to have brought her out of whatever thoughts she may have been engrossed in.

“Springvale.” She utters to you and you look at her with confusion. “I’ll meet you at Springvale. Wait for me.”

Her words border a demand and plead. While she was never one to beg, her tone was desperate enough to insinuate her words were a helpless request. Although she still looks troubled and hesitant, she lets you go. You waste no time in putting a bit of distance between yourself and the gates and it was only until you were nearing the bridge that you looked back at her. She stared after you and the difference from earlier was that she appeared to be more resolved than she was previously. You didn’t know what was going through her mind, but you hoped she had no plans of dragging you back to Mondstadt.

“Midnight. I’ll only wait for you until then!” You shout towards her and turn away before she’s given the chance to respond. You don’t know if she heard you but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. You weren’t planning on waiting past the time allotted. No matter what, you were leaving.

You had never ventured this far from Mondstadt. As a person who had no training in combat or in possession of a vision, you weren’t even allowed past the bridge without either Amber or Eula accompanying you. From a young age, it was drilled into your head that there were dangerous monsters roaming the plains outside of Mondstadt’s walls and so you were fully expecting your path from the city to Springvale to be anything but peaceful. You were surprised to find it was the complete opposite. It was quite relaxing. The scenery, despite it being nighttime, was still a sight to behold. Instead of monsters and other frightening things, you were instead accompanied with only the ambiance of the evening that included the dissonant melodies of crickets and the hoots of distant owls.

Springvale was easy to navigate even without the handy map you thankfully thought to have nabbed from your father’s study months ago. While you never planned to run away at that time, it was merely your curiosity of the outside world that drove you to take it for yourself. Your coincidental foresight thankfully saved you from getting lost and ungraciously becoming a monster’s next meal. It may have been proven useless for this small detour, it was sure to help you out in the nearing future. Especially if you were bound to make the trek all the way to Liyue by yourself.

The small village of Springvale was definitely more quaint than you imagined. You heard much about it from Sara as she once told you it was mainly occupied by hunters who provided quality meat to many of Mondstadt’s restaurants, including the one she worked at. It was peaceful here. The lull of the gentle breeze swaying the surrounding trees and the sound of nearby rushing waters. It was certainly peaceful and though you wished to explore further into the village, you didn’t wish to alarm anyone of your sudden presence. Especially so late at night. Instead, you opted to seat yourself on the ground at the village’s entrance with your back against the Springvale sign. You didn’t have a chance to discuss a meeting place with Eula, so you determined this would be the easiest place to spot her.

That was if she came.

Midnight was fast approaching and from your spot on the ground, you could see the stars glittering above you brighter than they had hours ago. Among the many thoughts in your head, you couldn’t help but wonder why Eula insisted you wait for her. The expressions she showed you during that split moment you were set to leave, was different from anything you’ve ever seen before. She was always a blunt person, straightforward in all of her words, and never was one who held a single doubt in any of her decisions. You liked that part about her. You thought her honesty was refreshing. To see her look so troubled, conflicted by something you did made you curious. You could remember her pursed lips, furrowed brows, and the disheartened look in her eyes as if the realization of you leaving deeply saddened her. Were you truly that precious of a person for her to make such an expression? Was her concern for you merely out of friendship or had it meant something more? In the end, did it even matter? You were leaving and there was little to no chance you’d ever see her again. In the future, she may forget you, which might have been something you were hoping for but the thought of it still saddened you. You never wanted to be forgotten by someone you cherished.

Your gaze dropped from the sky, glancing down at your lap where your now finished handkerchief lied. You eyed the small blue and white flower embroidered near the corner of the square cloth. It was a Glaze Lilly, a flower you’ve seen in a book and one that deeply reminded you of Eula herself. Your lips curved into a smile, the tip of your finger tracing over the light blue-colored thread. You thought it was a fitting gift and even if you weren’t so sure if you were going to give it to her now, it would be enough to serve as a reminder of your time together with her. It would be a keepsake that you’d never let go of.  

Your ears perk at the sound of approaching footsteps and through the darkness of the night, you were able to see Eula perfectly. Slung across her chest was a bag filled with something you couldn’t quite see and poking over her shoulder was the handle of her weapon. She held a pensive expression on her face as she continued on the path towards Springvale and it was only when she spotted your seated form that she seemingly snapped out from whatever thoughts occupied her. You rose up to your feet to greet her, dusting off your pants before adjusting your bag to rest more comfortably against you. The handkerchief you finished embroidering was now tucked away in your pocket and you nervously glided your thumb against the soft cloth. You finally broke the silence the moment she stopped just in front of you.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” You admitted, your gaze holding her own for a few seconds before dropping towards the bag hanging at her side. You furrowed your brow, glancing back up at her with the question already at the tip of your tongue. “What’s that for?”

“Why wouldn’t I show up? A promise is a promise. . . even if I don’t quite understand what you’re doing.” She answers as she lies a hand on the bag on her hip. “And this? it's stuff I brought that would be useful for our trip.”

You blink at her words, silently processing them as she takes a look at your considerably lighter luggage. “It was a good thing I did because, from the looks of it, you didn’t bring much.”

“Wait- wait, what do you mean ‘our trip’? You’re coming with me?” Your tone was risen slightly, but not enough to attract attention. While you were taken off guard by her words, you were still mindful of the fact that it was quite late into the night.

Eula laughed through her nose, smiling down at you faintly as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you think I kept you waiting? If it were up to me, I would have escorted you all the way over here, but you looked like you were in a rush.” When you appeared unsatisfied with her vague answer, she breathed a sigh. “I needed permission. Of course, I can’t stay with you forever, but at least I can safely take you where you want to go.”

For a moment there, you really thought that she was going to leave everything behind just to come with you. But that was a ridiculous thought. Eula was diligent in everything she did and that included her duties as a knight. She would never abandon them for selfish reasons and you could never ask her to. You smiled, your heart fluttering with the knowledge that she had already done so much for you without you even asking. She didn’t press you for answers and she didn’t ridicule you for your decision to leave. She merely wanted to help and right now, you needed that more than ever. The journey would be dangerous but with her as an escort, you were guaranteed a safe passage.

“Thank you,” You said as you turned towards the main path towards Liyue. You waited until she stepped to your side to continue. “I was in a rush so I didn’t have time to prepare much. I appreciate it a lot.”

Eula didn’t say anything for a few minutes, simply walking by your side until she finally spoke again. Her voice took on that gentle tone once more, the one you remembered briefly hearing back near Mondstadt’s gates. It always took you by surprise with how softspoken she could be.

“Can I ask why?” You knew exactly what she was referring to with that question. “Why do you want to leave Mondstadt?” You expected it and you felt you owed her at least an explanation.

“For a lot of reasons.” You smiled again, meeting her gaze for a moment before looking back at the dirt path before you. “But if I tell you them, you can’t tell Amber. They’d make her sad and Amber’s not the type of person to be sulking around.”

“I won’t.”

You glanced at her, your head tilted slightly, and your smile widened. “Promise?”

She audibly sighed, throwing you a mildly irritated look that you laughed off. “Fine, I promise.”

You looked up at the sky, clutching onto the strap of your bag for comfort. The silence of the night combined with the twinkling stars above made you feel at ease. Eula’s presence had also added to the comfort and for once your own feelings didn’t suffocate you. She, alone, brought that sense of security. “I felt like there was nothing really for me there.”

“Everyone was changing in their own ways, growing to become incredible people.” You glanced over at her, the tender smile never leaving your face. “Especially you and Amber. The two of you were getting closer toward your own goals and I. . .”

You looked away, finding the ground to be far more welcoming. Your honesty scared you, yet you didn’t dare stop telling her the truth. Eula wanted the real reason for you leaving, you couldn’t ignore it nor could you make up some excuse to give her. She deserved far better than that.

“I wasn’t changing at all.” You admitted, your smile turning bitter before fading completely. “I think I was growing too complacent with everything and after a while, I really started to hate myself.”

Eula suddenly grabbed your upper arm, halting you to a stop as she forcefully turned you towards her. While her grip on you wasn’t strong enough to be painful, you could tell it would be difficult to break away from her if you chose to do so. But you didn’t want to. She leaned into you, almost as if she were afraid losing sight of you now meant to lose you forever. You stared into her eyes, taking in the various expression of hurt, anger, and concern. Once again you found her worrying for you when she didn’t need to. Though, you could admit you did find this hidden side of her to be quite adorable.

“Why are you talking like that? If I had know-”

You stopped her by placing both of your hands on either side of her face and squishing her cheeks slightly as you grinned. You could have never imagined a time when you could touch her so freely, yet she didn’t look as if she minded nor did she avoid your touch. She merely looked at you, curious about what you were going to say. “Don’t worry so much, Eula, and let me finish. I wasn’t done explaining.”

You stepped away, hands leaving her visage, yet her grip on you never faltered. Her gloved hand slid down from your arm to join with your hand. It kept you from creating that distance you thought she might have wanted from you and the assuring squeeze you felt against your fingers told you that she too wanted you close.

You honestly felt so helpless when it came to this woman.

“I want to become someone strong.” You finally say, voicing your silent wish. It was a dream you thought impossible to attain at one point, but now that you were free from Mondstadt’s walls, you felt like anything was possible. “I want to be someone worthy to stand by both your’s and Amber’s side. But to do that, I needed to leave. It was only a coincidence that I decided to do it after fighting with my father.”

Her eyes fell to your bandaged cheek and then your joined hands before you felt her squeeze your fingers once more. “I’m sorry for letting it go on for so long. I should have done something. Anything.”

You couldn’t blame her for that. Really, you couldn’t blame anyone. Your father had his own problems to deal with, and while he remained ignorant to the hurt he caused you, there was no use in forcing him to realize his mistakes. He'd never learn. Not until he came to terms with it himself. Maybe one day you might hear an apology from him but for now, all you wanted was to forget and build yourself a new life.

“There’s no need for you to apologize. I just want to be free from the past and already, you’re helping me do that. So don’t ever, for a second, think I blame you.” You said. Then, with a cheeky smile, you added. “Besides, what kind of Lawrence seeks forgiveness from a commoner like me?”

She looked up at you, her eyes wide with surprise before a smile of her own broke out across her face. She looked as if something had dawned upon her; a realization she had yet to see until that very moment. You could never fathom what was going on in the mind of a woman as unique as her. What could have possibly caused her to make a smile a sweet as that?

You felt her fingers intertwine with your own and she pulled you closer to her, the both of your chests touching with the lack of distance. You could feel her breath against the bridge of your nose, brushing slightly against your lips. Your heart pounded heavily against your chest, so hard you thought she might have been able to feel it. You never realized just how captivating her gaze was. In her eyes, you felt as if you could get lost. From afar, you thought they were pretty but up close, they were beautiful.

“You’re right, how dare you make me bow my head.” She whispers as her face nears your own and you could feel her every word against your lips. She was slow enough in her movements to give you time to move away if you chose to, yet you didn't. You wanted to know how she felt towards you and with each passing second, you felt as if you were getting closer to that truth. Her eyes never break away from yours and you don’t move a muscle. This situation was totally new to you, yet you don’t find yourself hating it. Instead, your heart pounds even louder to the point you could hear it ringing in your ears. “For that, you must pay the ultimate price.” Along with the closing distance, your eyes fluttered shut.

Goodbyes never felt freer. Neither had they ever tasted so sweet.