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chezzywezzy · 3 months ago

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Yandere Michael Myers (1/3)

Word Count; 3.7k

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I rolled onto my side, hand slamming down on the alarm. A groggy yawn escaped my lips. Daylight cascaded past the curtains. Normally, I’d loiter a little longer, but it was my first day at a new job, and I was carpooling with Irene, a sweet neighbor and mother of four with whom I became acquainted.

So, I stepped out of bed and went to the bathroom, going through my morning routine with extra care. I was tired, but despite that, motivated. After all, it was my first job straight out of college after having received my nursing degree. Sure, the job would probably be more intense than most… but my parents wanted me to return home.

I finished up a thin layer of makeup and got dressed. I supposed that I wouldn’t need to be all flashy since I’d be wearing a nursing outfit upon arrival, but I still wanted to leave a good impression on my new boss, Samuel Loomis.

I took my time eating breakfast. I was quite nervous, but I knew things would go smoothly. Sure, working at a sanitarium could be unsafe, but even the most dangerous members of society deserve to be treated with humanity.

It was approaching half-past-eight, so I zoomed out the door. Irene was parked out front and I walked up to the car. I opened the door, greeting,” Hey, Irene!”

“Good morning, Y/n,” the black-haired Asian woman greeted.

We headed through Haddonfield. The radio was turned to a minimum. We made some small talk on the drive, eventually exiting the main town and venturing through some forestry. We eventually approached the Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. I fiddled with my bag.

The guards let us through the front gate after confirming our identities. Irene parked near the front of the dismal grey building. All of the barred windows were off-putting. It must’ve gotten cold during the winter.

“I hope you can last,” Irene sighed. “This job can be… stressful. It depends on who your assigned patients are, though. Mine are fairly nice, but some of our coworkers have experienced violence. And infrequently, death.”

Shivers rolled down my spine. I mustered no reply. We went to the front desk. “Hi, sir. I’m a new employee. Where am I supposed to go?” I asked the attendant, leaning against the counter.

He sent me a small smile. “I’ll call Doctor Loomis. He always insists on showing new employees around himself.”

He reached for the phone and pressed a button, calling for Doctor Loomis. Meanwhile, I sent Irene off since she had more pressing matters.

A middle-aged man emerged from one of the doors a few minutes later. I recognized him immediately, as his book was incredibly popular, even today.

“Hello, sir!”

The man sent me a warm grin. “You must be Ms. L/n. There’s no time to waste. Let me show you around.”

“Great! Thank you for this opportunity, sir.”

A tour began. I was shaking in my boots, but hardly from the circumstances. I felt more at home in the sanitarium than in any other place, but I was determined to make a good impression on her new boss. The tour seemed almost redundant; it was as though I hadn’t been thoroughly introduced to the map in my pocket already.

“I have a patient that I’d like you to take special care of. Of course, there will be others, but this one… needs someone with such a sunny disposition such as yourself,” Dr. Loomis explained. “I’m sure you’ve heard and perhaps grown up with the stories of this particular patient: Michael Myers. He is a renowned serial killer.”

“Yes,” I replied chipperly. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Good, because you are going to right now.”

The abruptness took me aback. Anxiety attempted to curl against my insides, but I didn’t allow it. We halted in front of a door that was far sturdier than the others; the door looked fresh and new, which told a story all of its own. Dr. Loomis withdrew keys from his pocket and inserted one. I couldn’t help but gulp.

The door squeals open. I anticipate the deadpan stare as the man and I make immediate eye contact. I had only heard of his strange mask, but never had I seen what he actually looked like: brown, tussled, and overgrown hair. A sharp jawline. Bright blue eyes. Broad and tall. Everything that, under normal circumstances, would make a girl’s heart flutter. But mine was still. He sat in a perfect posture on the bed, and thick metal cuffs gave him little to no freedom with a chain stuck in the wall.

“Michael. This is Y/n, your new nurse. I hired her to attend to — almost exclusively — your needs. I hope you two can get along. Ms. L/n?” Dr. Loomis introduced, ushering me in.

I grinned, trying to shake off the nerves. “Hello, Michael. I look forward to helping you out. Take it easy on me while I get used to the job, alright?”

“Very good. Now, Ms. L/n will get your lunch medication.”

I was startled but eagerly nodded, having already been shown and trained the how of it all. “Yes. It was wonderful to meet you, Michael.”

As Dr. Loomis and I exited, I felt his gaze glued to me. It was rather unnerving.

Ten minutes later, alone and armed only with my alarm, cell key, and medications, I returned. I took a deep breath. Little did Loomis know, but I had a vague history with Michael Myers. Although we never spoke, he had been in my kindergarten class all the way to when he went on a murder spree. I couldn’t help but wonder if he knew me, too.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t want to work at this specific sanitarium, even though it was my dream job. However, due to parental pressure, I was urged not to leave the area. Coincidentally, this was the only place hiring. Michael Myers was old enough that my parents didn’t bat an eye when I mentioned where I would be working, so it all fit together perfectly.

I entered the room with the small metal tray. Michael hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes bore into me — or perhaps beyond me — and his fists were still clenched in his lap. “Now, although I’m new,” I began,” I’m sure you know the drill. A few pills and a shot.”

I approached warily. Michael did nothing but blink. I sat the tray down on the bedside table, my moves calculated. I grabbed the styrofoam cup of water and handed it to him. He downed his pills with ease and took the shot like a champ. It put me on edge how still the man was. I carefully sat on the bed next to him.

“Although I was advised against breaching the five feet of the chain’s length, I hope you won’t mind. I just… wanted you to get to know me a little since I’ll be working closely with you.” His gaze flitted toward me, cold. “I just recently graduated from nursing school with a specialization in psychiatrics. I was born and raised in Haddonfield, the same as you. And this kind of job is my dream job since I believe that even criminals deserve care and to be treated as humans. So, Michael, I hope you understand that I will do my best to ensure you are well cared for, even in these conditions.”

As I expected, there was hardly any indication he had heard me at all. I stood and nodded. “Anyways, I believe it’s time for lunch. I’ve heard you aren’t allowed to eat with the others, but… I’m hoping I can change that.”

~~~

And change that I did. Dr. Loomis was surprised by Michael’s supposed ‘obedience,’ which had been there from the start. By the time he allowed me to take him to the cafeteria, I had been working there for two months. And although I watched closely, I had hardly noticed any changes in his behavior. My coworker, Irene, convinced me otherwise. With the dangerous stunts I’d been pulling proximity-wise, it was shocking that I had yet to end up like the others.

I wasn’t one to play dumb. I knew that Michael had the highest kill count with the nurses. With giant hands and a large body, he could easily overpower me, but the encouragement I’d gotten from my superiors kept me going. And today was major progress.

Guards clutched at his elbows as we walked down the sanitarium halls. I frowned slightly, knowing that if Michael wanted to do anything, he certainly could, cuffs or otherwise. I walked slightly ahead, having been entrusted with the keys to the cuffs. Although Michael would be somewhat separated, Dr. Loomis believed this to be major news for Michael’s rehabilitation — and now, the doctor was supporting me in risky endeavors.

I grabbed lunch for him as the guards settled him in the corner of the cafeteria. Eyes from the other patients were stuck to me, as I’d only been vaguely introduced. I. Mainly worked with Michael, although I covered a shift for the nurse who works with Marcus — and I understood why she called off so often.

Marcus was an interesting subject. He was a serial rapist, and it showed. Despite his history, Dr. Loomis often had female nurses working with him. And when I did, he did nothing but spit cruel, perverse cat calls at me. I heard a familiar whistle and knew it had come from his general area. I wasn’t surprised that the serial killer made me more comfortable than the rapist.

I returned to Michael with his food. His eyes bore into me, and I smiled. “Now, Michael, I had to pull many strings for this. I hope you appreciate this, but I’m allowed to remove your cuffs for a more comfortable eating experience.”

Michael's eyes flickered to his hands and back to me. I noticed his lips twitched, too. Progress, I chanted in my head. This was progress.

The guards took the handcuffs and held them tightly. They were trained to assess everyone and everything as a threat. Michael was slow and calculated, rolling his wrists. He then took his fork and ate. A sense of intrigue fell over the other patients, and some of the other nurses had their eyes glued to Michael’s form. They were waiting for a freakout that wouldn’t happen, either because Michael was making progress or because he wasn’t dumb enough to plan a breakout in this environment.

Mealtime passed without a hitch. I spent the entire time saddled up beside him. My job felt meaningful as I sat with him. When it was time for him to be escorted back to his room, I told Michael I would see about more comfortable handcuffs for him. Exiting the cafeteria was without hitches, minus a loud holler from Marcus, to which I couldn’t help but notice how Michael’s hands clenched.

When he was safely back in his cell, I decided to try another risky maneuver; I set him free from his restraints and sat beside him on the bed. Michael was still; he always was. I cleared my throat, beginning my typical speech of positivity.

“I know it probably seems silly to you, Michael, but I’m quite proud of you. I’m glad you’re challenging expectations here. You’re really making progress, whether you admit to it or not, and I thank you for that.”

~~~

Or so I thought. That night, my landline awoke me from a deep slumber. I thought nothing of it, deciding I wouldn’t be a pushover and pick up another night shift at work. However, the ringing persisted. And when it stopped momentarily, it came again.

I rolled out of bed. My hair was disheveled, and my purple silk pajamas — a gracious housewarming gift from my mother — were crumpled and twisted slightly. I shuffled downstairs, the ringing getting louder the closer I grew. I finally made it to the phone.

“Hello —“

“L/n, you need to get down here right now! It’s an emergency —“

“Dr. Loomis, what —“

“He’s gone on a rampage. Twelve nurses are dead, and so are five patients —“

“I’ll be right there!”

The line went dead instantly. My mouth no longer felt dry. I was fully alert, although some sleep persisted in the creases of my eyes. I dashed upstairs and pulled on my earlier clothes, which lay scattered on the ground. With that, I made it to my bright blue buggy and drove to my endangered work site.

I’m not entirely sure what motivated me. I thought the police would better handle the situation, and it felt as though all of my efforts had been reduced to nothing. Something had set him off. But I wasn’t a therapist. I shouldn’t have crossed that boundary of trying to give him opportunities.

I pulled into the parking lot.

The moment I exited the car, I heard screaming. Several police cars were parked in front of the sanitarium's entrance. A group of police officers was huddled, but even they seemed worried. I pushed past despite warnings to remain outside. I dashed through the entrance. I followed the sound of the screams.

And upon entering the prisoner hallways, I found her. My dear friend and coworker, Irene. She lay in the middle of the hallway as a twitching, bloody mess. A weapon had clearly been used: the handcuffs. Her head was bashed in, but there was also bruising around her throat. She’s been bashed and choked to death.

The halls were eerily silent. All of the cells had been unlocked. Some of the patients’ corpses were scattered. All of this destruction… was done by one man.

What had I done? What part of Michael had I unlocked?

I skulked down the hallways. Where were the guards? Where were the police? Where was anybody?

I passed by deceased coworkers as I skulked carefully down the hallways. Occasionally, some of the corpses released dying breaths, but I was certain I was following the blood. And then, as I glanced at the floor, I noticed the smears stopped and bloody footsteps began. The feet were large, and the shoe prints belonged to prisoner shoewear. I gulped, recognizing that the footsteps went straight toward the cafeteria entrance. Worst of all, if Michael discovered the back exit for the cafeteria staff, he would be free.

The doors were wide open, and one was even off the hinges. I stood in the entrance. It was pitch black inside, although the lights sometimes flickered on and off. The footsteps seemed to fade out very quickly into the cafeteria.

I gulped and took a step back. What was I thinking? That I could confront him? The man was a mammoth and a maniac. I was just the nurse who supported his development. He probably hated my guts, despite what Dr. Loomis thought.

None of the bodies belonged to Dr. Loomis. So where was he? And where was Michael?

I wasn’t left wondering for very long. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some postils gleaming from the hallway to my right. The police were here, and I was nothing more than bait. No wonder they let me through so easily. Shivers rolled down my spine, and I took two steps into the blackness of the cafeteria.

As the lights flickered on, I saw him. He was holding the corpse of Marcus, that damned patient. I didn’t feel too bad about him, but I was shaking in my boots as the body fell to the ground, and Michael’s gaze turned directly toward me.

His expression had not changed from that of any other day. Cold. Calm. Empty.

And as though he was gliding, he made a beeline toward me. So many questions about his escape flashed through my cranium, and all I could do was freeze in place. A scream remained silent in my throat as I put my trust in the police to be right behind me. My fists clenched, and I opened my mouth just as Michael was a few feet away from me.

“Michael, stop!”

He did.

That made my heart drop to my stomach. However, I realized I did hold some power. I was waiting desperately for the police to enter and intervene, but they were waiting. I decidedly didn’t want them to and took a step back. Michael tilted his head, unblinking. He stayed frozen in place. A plastic knife with the handle broken off was in his bloodied hands, and I noticed some gelatin goo was sticking to the tips. His jumpsuit was drenched and sprayed, as was his face. His hair had never looked more tussled. And even without smiling, he had never seemed more gleeful.

“Michael, what… what is happening? Why did you… do this?”

Before Michael could even think, shuffling footsteps came from behind me. My jaw dropped as an arm suddenly looped around my waist and pulled me away. But Michael just stood standing still as gunshots drilled into his chest. And then, finally, he dropped.

~~~

“Ms. L/n, I understand —“

“No, Dr. Loomis, you don’t,” I pleaded, my aggravation present. “Michael is alive and detained. Something I did set him off, or he was planning it. Nothing I can do will help. I refuse to return to work. I am quitting, effective immediately.”

Dr. Loomis, from behind his work desk, suddenly banged his fists into the desk. “L/n! I know it’s been hard on everyone, but we need you here. We’ve lost twelve nurses. The nurse-to-patient ratio isn’t adding up. The sanitarium is overrun and, if even for the short term, we need you here. I know what we went through was hard, and what happened here can’t happen again.”

“But it will. Does anyone even know how he escaped?” I quipped snappily. “He never even managed to escape his handcuffs. He didn’t need to. So who’s to say it won’t happen again?”

“Because he is being sent away to a sanitarium called Smith’s Grove Sanitarium. It has a high level of security, far better than ours —“

“Good. But that doesn’t mean I am capable of returning to work. I am leaving now, Dr. Loomis.”

With an exasperated expression, Dr. Loomis grasped at the air where I once sat. I didn’t glance back as I exited the office. And I didn’t spare any moments to analyze my surroundings until I was in my car on the road heading far, far away from the sanitarium.

My parents, having finally connected the dots about my job, had been scared shitless. Luckily, it was summer, and the Haddonfield High School was hiring for a new biology position. I was planning to apply to keep things rolling. Deep down, though, I just wanted to ditch this town and escape the parental pressures I was forced into. It was a little late for that, though. The damage had been done.

~~~

For class that day, I had been gracious. I put on the Charlie Brown Halloween movie and sat at my desk. I couldn’t help but notice that as most kids were either passing notes, doodling, or watching, I had one student whose eyes were glued to the window. Laurie had her pen stuck in her mouth as she adamantly stared out.

Suddenly, Laurie looked rather alarmed and made direct eye contact with me. “Ma’am?”

“Yes, Laurie?”

“Can - can I go to the bathroom?”

I paused, glancing out the window for myself. A car was driving away. “Yes, Laurie, go ahead.”

Some of the kids snickered, to which I sent a stern glare. I went back to grading papers, instead getting lost in thought. Teaching was hardly my calling. I was a natural stutterer in the wrong element and did not enjoy disciplining undisciplined children. I also felt that it was dull to go back to the basics, which I would probably end up doing year after year with no change. I knew I had a lot of liberty and the job paid well, but it wasn’t like my time at the sanitarium, with doubled paychecks and a routine that wasn’t up to me. However, I promised my parents to stick around until a better job opportunity popped up.

The movie credits were suddenly rolling, and a student alerted me from my position. Laurie had rejoined the group at some point. I flicked off the television.

“Well, since I’m everybody’s favorite teacher, and it’s Halloween, why don’t you all just head out early? Class dismissed. Don’t cause any ruckus. I’m looking at you, Tommy.”

I sent a friendly grin, and the students whooped and hollered. Laurie only glanced away from the window and began packing her things. Laurie was a good student: studious, communicative, and attentive. Perhaps movie days just weren’t her style. Several students came up to talk to me in a line after class, wishing me a happy holiday or asking about grades. Laurie slunk out of the classroom quietly.

After the classroom had been evacuated, I sighed, and out of morbid curiosity, I wandered over to Laurie’s seat. I was taken aback as I recognized that the car from earlier had returned, but even more disturbing, a tall figure with a white mask and brown hair loomed over the vehicle. He made direct eye contact with me.

My brain began processing so many horrors all at once. I hadn’t thought about Michael specifically in months, but it all came flooding back. His history… but it was also Halloween. And no news had come to me about Michael’s escape. Not from Dr. Loomis or the papers.

Regardless, I stumbled back, blinking at the masked figure. We maintained a long, steady eye contact. Even when a man walking his dog strolled on the opposite side of the street, I knew the masked figure’s gaze remained glued to me.

It couldn’t be Michael. It was a creepy Halloween prank…

I steeled myself and wandered back to my desk. I hurriedly packed up, abandoning the biology tests on the desk in a flurry. Prank or otherwise, I was thoroughly disturbed and wanted to escape that man’s gaze.

When I glanced out the window one last time, the car and man were long gone.

#yandere #x y/n #x reader #self insert #yandere x reader #yandere slashers #michael myers #halloween #halloween 1978 #slashers #michael myers x reader #yandere michael myers

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trivia-yandere · 1 year ago

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Study Partner

An alternate world in which the elites rule the world and have everything at their fingertips. At a top elite college, “Study Partners” - the most desirable sexual partners around the world - are assigned to the top 10% of students with the highest grades.

word count: 2.820

warning: smut, reader is naked majority of the time, porn with little plot, facial, oral sex, saliva, voyeurism, public indecency, masturbation, creampie, anal, double penetration, drooling, cum swallowing, handjobs, overstimulation

@seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @babycandy111

@srslythis-ismylife @darkuni63 @momnomnom @sweetempathprunetree

Alternate Universe

"Congratulations students." says the dean, hands clapping together. He was a short and fat man with round glasses on his face. "On being in the top 10% of students with the highest grades."

Jungkook held his head in his hands and released a sigh. His eyes boredly watched his death on the flat screen television in the classroom he sat. On a Saturday of all days.

"You'd think we'd get a medal or something." Jimin scoffs. "Instead of being forced inside of a classroom on the weekend."

The top 10% of students were only 1,000 out of the 10,000 attending the private university. It was a University their parents attended and even their grandparents, fully funded by the elite last names that attended throughout decades. While the school remained vacant with the rest of the students attending, only the 1,000 students were permitted on University grounds. Guards lined up outside the gates and ID'd each student as they entered and were instructed to show where they would be for the day.

"Why'd they separate us?" asks Taehyung, seated with his leg on another desk. "Having 5 in a room seems like such a hassle."

Hoseok hums in agreement.

"You all must be confused as to why you're here on a free day, but you'll be confused no longer. We have separated you to the correct rooms where each of you will be awarded for your grades." the dean smiles, a sinister wide smile.

Hoseok's eyes the windows to the right of the room, showing the hallway of the University. It soon litters with women and men all around the same ages - and all naked.

The television turns black and the door that held the five men - Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook - swings open. A guard strolls in and behind him, a woman - you. You're naked like the rest, nipples perky and erect as you bounced inside cheerfully.

"Studying starts now. Lunch will be in the next two hours." the guard says, and like clockwork, the television displays a countdown.

The guard closes the door and you smile at the faces of the five men inside, all confused and bewildered.

"Hello." you wave to them, but neither of them respond. "I'm sure you're all wondering what's going on."

"Yes, we are." Jungkook murmurs, but his eyes glue themselves to your exposed clit. It feels dirty to stare at you, especially in front of his hyungs.

"I'm Y/N. I'm a study partner." you began to speak, making your way closer to them. "You as the top 10% of students are being rewarded for keeping your grades high."

"With...?" Jimin questions. But he's sure he knows the answer.

"Sex." you answer coolly. "You can do anything you want with me, of course." you smile cutely and Jimin reddens. "All at once or one at a time."

Taehyung shakes his head and snickers. "This is crazy." but he feels his cock twitch with excitement.

"It is." you agree. "But it's a reward for working so hard. So today, you'll use me for whatever desires you have."

You're already naked, so it doesn't take long for you to stroll to the closest person - Park Jimin. You lift your leg to place your knee upon his desk, pussy - glistening and wet - flashing him.

Jimin gulps visibly, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes don't glance away from you to know that they're eight eyes upon him and you.

You grasp Jimin's hand and place it upon your naked breast. These men weren't going to take the first move, and you didn't blame them. It was a tradition spawning decades that study partners will be gifted to elite students with the highest grades. The tradition itself is left a secret until the time comes, former alumni vowing to not reveal it. You would never forget the look on the faces of those prior to the five men - bewildered but willing.

"Let me take care of you, Jimin-ssi." you murmur.

Jungkook feels his pants grow tighter at the sight of you and Jimin, eyes wide and body frozen in shock. You place your lips upon Jimin, hand encouraging him to fondle your breast - and when Jimin does your throat allows you to moan in satisfaction.

Taehyung doesn't recall how long you and Jimin kiss, it's all a blur to him. What he does know is that he blinks and you're upon your knees, ass high into the air and your lips are around Jimin's cock. You waste no time gagging upon it, reaching it deep into your throat like a pro.

Jimin's moaning, eyes snapping shut. Your mouth was amazing and your throat proved to be even better.

"You're so hard, Jimin-ssi." you swipe your tongue against the tip of his cock teasingly. "Is what I'm doing making you this hard?"

Jimin nods hastily. He was breathing heavily and sweating. He feels you take him in your mouth once more, this time slobbering messily upon his cock, even taking it out and slapping yourself with it a few times the way you knew he liked it - never revealing to any of them how you know their kinks.

Hoseok doesn't stop himself from reaching into his sweats. He was but a man, and watching you pleasure Jimin to the point the man is twitching in his seat is hot. He wraps a hand around his cock and pumps, eyes on your pussy clenching on nothing - oh how he wished it was his cock you were clenching around.

"If you keep sucking like that I'm gonna cum." Jimin hisses, groaning at the way your mouth suctions around his cock.

Jimin is coming undone and you do nothing but suck harder. You wrap a hand around the base of his cock and pump him while you suck and soon Jimin is twitching harder in his seat.

Jimin peaks his eyes open as he's cumming to witness your smiling face, cum dripping out of his cock and right onto your lips. You were enjoying this - you had to be. Initially, he assumed you were doing this for the money - and with working for a private elite school, the money was amazing. But you truly enjoyed pleasuring him - and for that he found it more worthwhile. The cum drips down your chin and onto your chest.

Jimin falls limp into his seat while you lick the remaining cum from your lips.

Namjoon is the first to react. He - like Hoseok - was but a man and already had his cock out and ready. He quickly grasps you from your position and hoists you up. You yelp, but turn to face the tall man.

"You're so cute when you're horny." you murmur to Namjoon, and before he can react to your words you push him besides Jimin in an empty seat. You sit upon him, both legs on either side of him. Your clit is dripping with excitement when you rub it against his cock, and Namjoon swallows as you do so. "You know, I have been assigned to you all since you started."

Namjoon's ears perk, as do the other four men.

"They allowed me to study each of you. They showed me pictures and I just knew I couldn't wait to have you." you continue to grind against Namjoon while his hands dig into the skin of your hips. "I prepared myself for this moment and I won't stop until I've satisfied each of you."

You pushed yourself onto Namjoon's tip, entering it inside of you.

Namjoon grunts, eyes glued to your bouncing breast as you adjusted to his size. Your pussy was hot and wet and his cock felt as if it was going to melt - and could he truly be angered if it did?

You embrace Namjoon, both arms tugging him closer to you. Your breast suffocates him as you bounce atop of him, but he doesn't care. He cannot bring himself to. All he does care about is the way your pussy is making him feel - as if he could cum any moment now and wouldn't be ashamed by how quick it was.

Hoseok was the next to follow. His cock felt ready to explode at the sight of you and Namjoon and waiting for his turn was not an option. He tugs you off of Namjoon, but the only one upset about it is the man and not you. You instead giggle at his action.

Hoseok pushes you upon a glaring Namjoon and enters you, wasting no time to crack his hips inside of you at a brutal pace. Your hands clench Namjoon's shoulders for support. Your moans filled the room along with Hoseok's brutal thrusts. Your pussy is dripping slick down your thighs, but you do nothing but beg for more and more - needing to be filled by the man.

Your breasts clap against one another loudly when Hoseok yanks you by your neck closer to him. Namjoon takes this opportunity to take a nipple into his mouth and suck, left hand cupping your wet clit. He rubs circles on your clit and you're coming undone right before their eyes - and the eyes of Taehyung and Jungkook.

"I'm gonna cum!" You wail, legs shaking in great pleasure. Hoseok's cock was so big and he knew just how to fuck you - deep and hard just how you loved it. Namjoon's fingers playing with your clit as he sucked and bite at your breast was the icing on top, and just as Hoseok shoots his cum into you, you're squirting against Namjoon's hand, a long cry of satisfaction leaving your lips.

"It's my turn!" Jungkook hisses, cock out and ready to pounce, but Namjoon shakes his head.

"Hobi took my turn." Namjoon retorts.

"You let him." Jungkook rolls his eyes and he's already grabbing you by your arm when Namjoon tugs you closer to him.

"I can take the both of you." you moan. Your pussy throbs for more, even after Hoseok's powerful rampage.

"H-Huh?" Jungkook flushes at your statement. He swallows thickly, eyes already dark with lust. His mind is blurred enough at the fact that this wasn’t a wet dream. No, you were actually here taking everyone so well.

Namjoon is already seated, so it isn't hard to turn towards Jungkook and bring him closer to you. You turn back around and sit upon Namjoon, directing his cock closer to your pussy. He gulps when you center it at your hole and begin to thrust inside.

"Now you both can have a turn." you murmur, the pressure of having Namjoon inside of you causes you to take a deep breath, but it doesn't last long. Jungkook is already behind you and centering his own cock at your hole.

Jungkook has never done this before and it feels amazing to enter you. He coughs a couple groans when he does so - so tight and warm, inviting. Your back arches to take more of him, and it was the invitation needed for Jungkook to thrust.

As you feel Jungkook fuck your ass, Namjoon begins to thrust inside of your pussy. You never felt so satisfied and full at once - and the sensation was amazing. Your breasts are directly against Namjoon’s chest, fingers clenching his shoulders.

The situation right now feels surreal for Jungkook - and so filthy. The sane part of him wants himself to slow down - that you were still a woman and is deemed fragile. But you’re the one moaning so loud for them - telling him and Namjoon how much you truly wanted it.

And who was Jungkook but a man to give you what you were begging for?

“She’s so tight.” Jungkook grunts, hands firmly placed upon your hips, his own hips snapping directly inside of you.

“Please fuck me as hard as you’d like.” you slurr, your insides churning with such pleasure. You don’t notice Taehyung come before you until your hair is being yanked, and even then you cannot bring yourself to care.

The position had to be uncomfortable to you, but Taehyung doesn’t care. After all, you stated that you wanted all of them, and that’s what he was going to give you until it was his turn to fuck you.

Taehyung places his cock against your willing tongue, groaning at the wet sensation. He slaps your cheek and you do as you were silently told. You begin to suck upon Taehyung’s cock, throat vibrating with Namjoon’s and Jungkook’s thrusts.

“She’s so filthy.” Taehyung chuckles, a hand firmly in your hair. “The perfect whore with all of her holes stuffed.”

You groan a response.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook snaps his hips even harder, his eyes clenching shut. He couldn’t look at you anymore, not while you appeared so filthy. He focuses on cumming, your tight walls clenching around him each time.

Jungkook removes himself from inside of you, hand wrapped around his cock. He grabs you from Taehyung - much to the mans annoyance - and cum directly onto your mouth. You open your mouth even wider to swallow every last droplet.

“Oh, shit.” Namjoon was next, but he didn't remove himself. He cums deep inside of you, thrusts sloppy and his eyes on the sight of you swallowing Jungkook’s cum.

“My turn.” Taehyung sing-songs, all too excited. He grabs you from Namjoon and roughly presses you against a nearby desk, chest slamming against it. He spreads your legs apart and doesn’t waste any time in entering you. “You’re still tight as if you weren’t fucked by so many cocks already.”

Taehyung’s speed is degrading, he cares solely about his own please - but you aren’t upset. You’ve came so many times now that if you didn’t this time, you wouldn’t be angry.

You slam against the cold desk with each thrust from Taehyung. Your pussy clenches, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Please cum inside of me!” you wail, overstimulation getting to you. You feel fresh tears swell in your eyes.

Taehyung slams a hand over your mouth, thrusts never stopping. He’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach, something that shouldn’t be possible.

“I’ll give you what you want.” Taehyung laughs, eyes zoning in on the way your ass bounces against his cock. He was never meant to last long - not with how wet, willing and tight you were. A few more sloppy thrusts and he’s cumming inside of you, so much that it begins to drip out before he could remove himself.

Jimin stands once more. “We don’t have much time left. I want to cum in her next.”

The time has went by rapidly, and the timer shown that there was only 30 minutes left until lunch,

“I’m sure we can all cum just one more time.” Hoseok’s already hard again, dark eyes filled with lust.

Jimin flips you onto your back. Your legs open automatically for him, but you’re far too exhausted to do anything.

“I can take two in my mouth.” you slur, already opening your mouth to invite any two inside.

Jimin growls. He grasps his cock and enters you just as you allow Namjoon and Hoseok inside your mouth. In each hand, Jungkook and Taehyung are being pumped.

Jimin focuses on your bouncing breast, then to the way your mouth was being fucked by his hyungs. You were truly a sight to behold - a woman willing to do anything to please them. He places a thumb upon your clit and rubs roughly while he fucks inside of you.

“She likes that, hyung.” Jungkook groans, his cock being pumped so tightly in your soft hands.

Jimin knows, he can feel you clench him even tighter. How your pussy isn’t stretched out by the amount of cocks you had inside of you, he’d never know.

There’s saliva seeping out of your mouth, but you cannot bring yourself to care. You’ve come twice already with Jimin inside of you. You were far from exhausted, allowing Taehyung and Jungkook to jack themselves with your hands and for Namjoon and Hoseok to use your mouth as they wanted.

Your eyes remained open, but you couldn’t focus on anything - your vision was blurry due to the tears and even not, you were currently seeing stars due to the overstimulation.

Jimin cums deep inside of you with a final thrust, slapping your clit harshly. Namjoon was next, the first to remove himself from your lips to coat your cheeks with his warm seed. Jungkook and Taehyung follow suit, both coating each of your breasts and finally Hoseok, deep inside of your throat.

You cough when you finally feel oxygen run through your lungs - the alarm blaring in the room. It was now lunchtime, you note, and you heard shuffling just outside the classroom walls.

Anticipation runs through you knowing that there was still the whole day ahead of you with the five men after lunch was over.

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northshrine · 5 months ago

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adding a little bit into this but what absolutely kills me, keeps me up at night, what i think makes gaikaka/kakagai (or however you like to call it, really) so good is because for once kakashi is not in a position where he’s at the other end of pure envy or outright idolization; that gai consistently sees kakashi as someone to chase after only because he wanted to be as good and as strong—that maybe the idea of Being Strong was born after gai saw his father being the punching bag of the village even when he was so good and so kind and hardly disturb anyone, that maybe he wanted to prove these people wrong, that he wanted so much to protect this youth his father had always believed in—as this little kid, a little bit smaller than he was, stood up for him who failed standing up for his father, and the rest is history.

i think if there is someone who knows all too well how lonely a road can be as someone who is good, the best really, is kakashi. and i think it’s not an exaggeration to say that amidst his losses, having someone who strive to be beside him, to stand alongside him on a road that he somewhere along the way finally realize is not a single logged bridge, without envy and with his best interest at heart, who can chastise and remind him should he ever stray or lost his way, is one of kakashi’s greatest blessings.

(+)

(a.k.a a chunk out of a gaikakagai thesis i haven’t written yet and yapped on the bird app instead but i know full well the bird will just swallow up the thread bc tagging system Sucks so i put it here too, part 9963802629)

(++)

#boat rant #gaikaka #kakagai #and the price he has to pay for the companion is gai’s supposed death because there should only be one (1) conclusion #at the end of Eight Gates. but look at them now #bros who LOATHE each other techniques and all the hypocrisy surrounding them WILL stay together <3

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stevie-petey · 7 months ago

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now you're a stranger (and i'm still july)

﹂ season three of "come home"

a lot can change in a year, and when summer comes to hawkins, you think you're finally okay with this idea. you've settled things with jonathan, nancy is now your friend, and steve harrington calls you angel. then dustin intercepts a secret russian code and your grand plans of you and robin teasing steve all summer, and maybe even falling in love, all come crashing down. (meanwhile all steve wants to do is ask you out). (but the russians complicate things). (as usual).

episode one: suzie, do you copy? - you help nancy sneak through jonathans window, the party uses you for your "in" with steve, and you sorta become the reason dustin almost blinds lucas. meanwhile, steve tries, and fails, to make you his girlfriend (this will happen all summer), but have no fear ! dustin intercepts a russian code and makes everything even harder for everyone. what a sweet brother <3

episode two: the mall rats - dreams are weird, billy is a hitchhiker, and hopper flirts with joyce in front of you (youre not sure which is scarier), somehow robin knows russian and has genius ears, you get caught in an awkward breakup showdown, and you shamefully are shocked when you discover that hawkins is anything but normal. you would think youd be a pro at this already, but at least steve is hot and really good at sneaking through windows.

episode three: the case of the missing lifeguard - dustin blackmails you for $5 and then dubs steve as boyfriend material for you, robin cracks yet another russian code, you all almost waterboard yourselves after sneaking onto the mall's roof, you have a sexy nervous breakdown, and jonathan takes you for a drive in his sick car.

episode four: the sauna test - dustin has some brotherly concern for you (dont tell anyone though), steve is offended you dont think he can fight, nancy gets upset during therapy hour, robin encourages child endangerment, erica becomes your hero, and you lose your lunch on hawkins makeshift tower of terror (aka sketchy russian elevators).

episode five: the flayed - you have the worst birthday of your life, you almost strangle steve with your bare hands and then later get snot all over him, erica is your savior, dustin is doing his best, robin starts to suspect things, and the russians have opened a gate to the upside down. its all pretty miserable tbh. but hey ! at least steve won a fight !

episode six: e pluribus unum - things get hot and heavy in the face of death, mean russians kidnap your hot almost-boyfriend, you have a philosophical discussion about nerdiness with the kids, acid becomes your new favorite weapon, and steve and robin try drugs together. yippee !

episode seven: the bite - steve and robin are your nightmare blunt rotation, you manage to escape a russian lair: mario cart style, you learn that therapy sessions are fun in public bathrooms, steve places your brother on the russian fbi most wanted list, el probably just killed a bunch of people (deserved), and reunions with jonathan are always special when one of you is gravely injured.

episode eight: the battle of starcourt - jonathan becomes a certified surgeon, hopper returns and is oddly sentimental (wonder what that could mean !), you and dustin show off your musical theater talents, the mind flayer becomes a track star, fireworks become weapons, and really a lot just happens so suddenly it gives you whiplash. dont worry though, the rest of your summer involves painful goodbyes and the scary realization that youre growing up. absolutely disgusting. but at least steve gets to kiss you whenever now, so hooray for that ! side note: you keep making promises to people, surely there wont be narrative foreshadowing as a result !

⌑ set between seasons 3 and 4

episode nine: the good - the party battles the horrors of high school and leave you stranded, tw: applying for college is harder than fighting literal demons (you would know, youve done it), jonathan joins your nightmare blunt rotation, max worries you, and steve solidifies his position of Best Boyfriend in the World as you slowly fall apart (though is anyone really surprised ??).

⌑ status: FINISHED

⌑ season three title based on this song x

⌑ blurbs set within "come home" can be found here x

⌑ “come home” season masterlist

*note: this is a part of my stranger things rewrite, “come home”, and other seasons can be found linked above :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #nyas masterlist #ch season three #m's writing #season 3 baby !!!!!#shes so so so much #my god #get ready for chaos gamers !!

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pmpmyread · 13 days ago

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Title: Crimson Vows Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader Genre: Vampire AU Summary: An ocean, a tragic death, and a plethora of unanswered questions. For over a decade, these are the things that keep you separated from Nanami Kento. When presented with the opportunity to support the efforts in Tokyo to investigate and stymie the latest surge of Special Grade vampires, you're compelled to leave your life overseas and rejoin the Tokyo Hunter Academy's ranks as a vampire Hunter, only to find yourself paired on a mission with Nanami, a reunion that sets you both onto life-altering paths. Content warnings: 18+/MDNI, blood/blood drinking, biting, violence, language, mature themes, graphic sexual content. Content tags: Vampire AU, romance, vampire hunting, investigation missions, action sequences, angsty/hurt/comfort plot with smut, mentions of death, processing of grief, power dynamics, brief allusions to mind control, POC!reader. A/N: This fic is part of the Spookinky event. Thanks to @tsukimefuku for hosting! Thank you @espace--positif for helping me with reviewing and for the banner! [Also on AO3]

“Can you show me the one with incendiary rounds again?” you asked the staff armorer.

“Of course. Let me bring it for you,” he politely replied as he disappeared into the backroom for the third time.

Less than forty-eight hours ago, you were turning in the keys to your apartment and placing your few remaining life belongings into a storage facility. Now here you were, halfway across the world, in a repurposed classroom that served as the Tokyo Hunter Academy armory, evaluating what would be the best weapon of choice for killing a vampire in your upcoming mission.

It was quite the displacement, and yet you did not particularly feel out of place.

The existence of vampires had been a well-kept secret until the early 2000s, when the Internet and the era of social media democratized news, and the spread of information rendered global governments and their covert agencies incapable of containing such an enormous secret.

Along with the revelation of the existence of vampires came the one of the existence of vampire Hunters, those humans with innate skills allowing them to detect, neutralize, and kill vampires with ease. As the daughter of two vampire Hunters, you were not unfamiliar with the inner workings of this world.

The armorer returned with what you reluctantly settled on, being the closest thing to the beloved piece you were forced to leave back home, unable to board the plane until you were formally re-certified as a Hunter.

This would have to do.

“I’ll take this one.”

As soon as the armorer registered the weapon to your name and gave you the corresponding ammo, you set out for your rendezvous point at the school’s gate.

A configuration of mixed sentiments swirled through you as you walked through the halls of the school you’d spent a year attending over a decade ago.

Some things felt the same, others were vastly different.

You walked past an old classroom repurposed into what was now a press room, where the Hunter association higher-ups would sit and give regular briefings, pretending that all things were under control and taking the credit away from the tireless Hunters that were perishing on the front lines. Every once in a while, they would begrudgingly trot out a prolific Hunter like Gojo Satoru, who was popular with the media for his blunt honesty and with the people for his affability. But not even he could lift the somber atmosphere that loomed over the city these days.

Tokyo was living through its worst surge of vampire-related crimes yet. Several deaths and disappearances were reported daily now, some people were assumed to have been turned into vampires, and some were confirmed to have been.

The lack of support to combat these attackers did not help. As soon as it had become public, vampire hunting as a field of work, much like any other highly specialized training, had fallen victim to human capital flight, with the top Western countries benefiting from the best training and talent by sitting at the top of the global capitalism food chain, resulting in other countries and regions being grossly understaffed.

It was partly what had compelled you to leave your equally important position as a World Health Organization researcher specialized in studying the effects of vampirism and to come support your old alma mater on the front lines.

But it wasn’t the full reason. There was something else, a restlessness that stirred within you for years now, a certain dissatisfaction with life, a sense that you were meant to do something else, and deep down, buried under these sentiments, a desire to live a life that could have been.

In hindsight, perhaps it was that rumination alone that pushed you to drop the life you were reluctantly settling into and rejoin the ranks of vampire hunting, straight to the perilous field.

The same force that fuelled the blooming feeling of nostalgia that hit you right now as you spotted the vending machine that sat by the exit you were just approaching, along with the cherry soda flavor you hadn’t had in years, compelling you to stop to purchase a can.

The same feeling that enveloped you as the first tinges of sugary carbonation hit your tongue, bringing a welcomed, familiar stinging sensation to your nose.

Perhaps it was that silent wish that you could never fully verbalize, as you closed your eyes and let yourself be transported by memories of simpler times.

In hindsight, you wondered, if perhaps it was this deep-held sentiment that somehow made the universe conspire for this moment to happen, in the exact way it happened, when you opened your eyes and turned around in time to see a foreign yet familiar figure turn the corner, heading towards the exit, heading towards you.

He was different, much different from what you remembered, taller, older, more built. He wore a suit now, you’d never quite imagined he would. He looked different, but it was unmistakably him. You recognized him first, but only by a mere few seconds. He stopped in his steps when he did.

Knowing what you knew now, you wondered perhaps if it was not something you’d somehow willed on your own.

Your mouth went dry as his eyes anchored yours. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d ever remember how to inhale again.

You stood in awe as you witnessed a decades-old forgotten wish, uttered in your deepest sorrows, granted in the most unexpected way, as a juxtaposition that no amount of fantasizing could have prepared you for; standing before Nanami Kento, with the sweet taste of synthetic cherry blossom soda on your lips as your name escaped his in a low rumble.

And suddenly, it was 2006 again.

September 2006, Tokyo

Changing leaves signaled a new beginning; a new season, a new semester.

For you, it also meant a move to a new school, a new country, and a new language, courtesy of the latest Tokyo-based assignment taken on by your vampire Hunter parents.

This wasn’t your first rodeo, having gone through half a dozen similar moves since your early school years. You’d grown somewhat accustomed to the instability concomitant with this lifestyle of traveling Hunters, had developed small coping mechanisms, and tried not to grow too attached to your classmates and your teachers, always keeping in mind that this would likely be temporary. It got easier, as you got older, and over time.

But it didn’t make it any less painful.

While you were raised in an era where Hunters were newly revered for their innate powers, this admiration didn’t translate well on the school playground.

Following you was a perceived air of superiority and prestige that you’d never wished to carry. Even in the most diverse of environments, it was easy for you to stick out. Being alone was one thing. Feeling lonely while surrounded by people was the worst.

This year would be different, you told yourself. You would attend one institution dedicated to training the next generation of Hunters. Even if it was in a new country, you’d at least have that in common with them, right?

Wrong.

For starters, you started in September, which was the second semester of the Japanese school year. What you found instead were friend groups already formed, and after the novelty of having a new student wore off, you were quickly relegated to your own corner.

There were still some things that made you different, like your darker complexion, your textured hair, and the slight language barrier. So for the next couple of weeks, you began mentally bringing yourself down from the high hopes you’d created for yourself and attempted a soft landing at the reality that this year would be more of the same.

One day, you were eating lunch on the school’s rooftop. You heard their conversation before you saw them, and could immediately identify their voices. Your two inseparable classmates, Haibara Yu, and Nanami Kento.

Haibara’s voice grew more animated as he seemed to be recounting the exciting twist from a movie he’d seen. Haibara paused when your eyes met and you heard him say something indistinguishable to Nanami, then he waved at you and they both made their way towards you.

Haibara was the one who spoke first. “Have you seen it? Human Earthworm? I think it has the potential to become a series.”

You sat quietly, for a moment, watching Haibara open his bento box. You looked at him and then you locked eyes with Nanami briefly, before he returned his attention to unwrapping his lunch, what looked like a sandwich he’d just purchased at the convenience store.

“Haibara, you shouldn’t assume that everyone has the same weird taste in movies as you,” he said with a sigh.

You were so caught off-guard by the casual way by which they’d included you in their conversation, without preamble, without the awkward introduction, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I have seen it, actually,” you finally replied. “I think it was good, but they left things too open at the end. Perhaps they’re saving it for a sequel?”

“Exactly! That’s what I keep saying. People say it’s a cult classic, but they underestimate this franchise. I think it has the potential to go mainstream. See, Nanami, I’m not crazy after all!” he said, elbowing his friend.

The conversation continued until you’d all finished your lunch and walked back to class together. It all happened suddenly and organically. You shared every single one of your lunches together for the rest of your time there. Soon enough, you did everything together, from studying to training to group projects.

The dynamic between the three of you remained the same.

With Haibara, it was an instant connection. He was so easy to talk to, especially since you had similar tastes in movies and games. It was like connecting with a long-lost brother.

With Nanami, it was a slower, more subtle connection, manifested in moments of understanding exchanged in quiet pauses between classes when it was just you two together. Or the one you had one day, after school, while you were studying for one of your theoretical tests.

“Okay Haibara, rapid-fire questions this time. Focus!”

“Hit me!”

“What are the two types of vampires?”

“Bloodborn and Turned vampires!”

“Good. How do the two types of vampires come to be?”

“Bloodborn are vampires by lineage, Turned vampires are turned by Bloodborns.”

“Correct. And how do you neutralize them? ”

“A Hunter of equal level can kill turned vampires or above. Special Grade vampires are significantly stronger than graded vampires and must be killed by a Special Grade Hunter. Bloodborn vampires are even stronger and are rarely killed by anyone other than fellow Bloodborns.”

Nanami, who had disappeared to fetch you all some drinks from the vending machine, reappeared in your peripheral vision with two cans. He lightly tapped Haibara’s face with one of them.

“You forgot one thing,” he said, handing you the other can, a cherry blossom soda.

“Bloodborns can temporarily cure Special Grade vampires,” he added, in his usual impassive tone.

“That is statistically so rare that it’s practically technicality. I don’t think that will be a question on the exam,” you said as you reached to take the can.

“Why not?” he asked, pulling back on the can.

“Tell me, Nanami, what kind of Bloodborn would willingly cure a lowly Special Grade vampire?” You tugged on the can, finally snatching it out of his hands.

“I don’t know. Perhaps they have a pact or something. But there’s a non-zero possibility it could happen.” He took his seat on the bench on the other side of Haibara.

“That is way too specific. Haibara, I wouldn’t worry about it, Nanami’s just being pedantic. Again.”

“So you don’t think it could be a trick question?”

You rolled your eyes. Haibara, who sat between you and had watched the scene unfold quietly up to that point, let out a giggle. You could almost feel the inevitable teasing comment he was going to make melt onto his tongue as you watched his eyes focus on something ahead of him, glowing in recognition.

“Ah, Ieri-san. I have a question for you!” He jumped up, briskly walking towards Shoko, who was heading towards the vending machines.

“God, they never stock these machines, I swear,” Shoko lamented.

Her comment brought your attention to the vending machine, and it was only then that you spotted the glaring gap right where the cherry blossom soda was usually stocked.

Your attention turned to Nanami, who had since returned his attention to his textbook. Notably missing from his hand was his own drink, the one he’d expressed craving just a few minutes earlier. His favorite flavor. You knew this because he was the one who had introduced it to you.

The one he’d let you have the last can of.

Nanami Kento was too altruistic for his own good sometimes. It was something that both frustrated you and endeared you to him. You opened what you now knew to be the last cherry soda, making a show of it.

“Nanami, I don’t know if I can drink all of this. Split it with me?”

You got up and walked up to him to minimize his chances of refusing. You shoved the can into his field of view, forcing him to interrupt his reading. When he met your gaze, it was initially with an annoyed scowl he schooled back to neutrality as his eyes narrowed in realization.

“You don’t have to share with me,” he said as he averted his gaze and attempted to return to his textbook.

You acted oblivious. “I’m still full from lunch. I can’t drink all this.” When you noticed he wouldn’t bite, you added, “Come on, you know Haibara doesn’t like this flavor. If you don’t take it, I will literally spill the rest and it will go to waste. How tragic would that be?”

“Alright, fine,” he finally relented and accepted your offering, downing half of it in one shot. Just as he was about to grab his sleeve to wipe down the rim, you nabbed the can back and directly took a slow, deliberate sip from the can where his lips were a mere few seconds ago. You watched as his cheeks took a crimsoned tinge, your eyes anchoring his in playful challenge.

“I see you, Nanami.” It was all you said before Haibara returned and you retook your seat, savoring the saccharine taste of cherry blossom soda, and one of many silent, unspoken sparks that traveled between you and Nanami.

The end of the school year arrived in what seemed to be the blink of an eye, as did the end of your parents’ assignment. What you’d spent weeks convincing yourself to be a practiced indifference to the tension invoked by the separation from who you considered to be your two closest friends ever quickly proved itself to be a complete mirage on the last day of classes. Try as you might, you could not mask your melancholy.

On one of those last days, you were traveling back to campus from a rough Hunter mission.

“Geez, these missions are getting more and more intense, don’t you think?”

“They’re not only intense, but some of these are also borderline mis-leveled,” said Nanami. He seemed even more irritated than usual.

“Yes, but we’re the dream team! Together, we can handle anything!” Then looking at you, “Ahh, we’re going to miss this so much. These missions won’t be the same without you around!”

“Nanami won’t miss me.” The words spilled out before you could stop yourself. And you felt a thrill when his eyes finally shot up at you, the first reaction you’d gotten out of him today.

“What makes you say that?”

“He doesn’t sound like he will. He didn’t even acknowledge our final mission together. In fact, I think I was a pain for him more than anything else.” You replied.

“You sure enjoy making these snap judgments about me. Have you ever considered I’m still recovering from this brutal mission we were just on?” Nanami said.

“You couldn’t be more wrong. Nanamin will miss you the most! He’s just not good with goodbyes.” Haibara cut in.

“Yeah? Is that true Nanamin?” you asked, parroting Haibara’s nickname for him, feigning indifference to a question that suddenly meant so much to you. As you sat there at the mercy of his response, you felt everything inside you balancing on the edge of some invisible cliff. You wondered when exactly it was that this boy grew this much in importance to you.

“More importantly, we should get Haibara to the infirmary as soon as possible,” Nanami said, referring to the minor scratches sustained by your friend in an attempt to change the topic.

But you knew, in the way Nanami’s eyes averted yours, in the fact that he did not address let alone reproach you from calling him by the affectionate nickname that bothered him, in the way he deliberately evaded confirming the incriminating portion of Haibara’s declaration. You knew, later that month, when you stood at the school’s gate for the last time, and you embraced him in a hug, in the way he squeezed you for longer than necessary, in the way he tilted his head an angle so that this moment could stay between you two, you just knew that he meant every word when he finally whispered in your ear. “I do hate goodbyes.”

Haibara’s rambling cut into the moment: “… and besides, we’ve got online chat now! So there’s no excuse not to stay in touch, okay?”

It technically wasn’t your final conversation together, but it might as well have been because it ended up being the one you replayed in your mind the most in the years that followed.

You did stay in touch, even after you moved back overseas. Despite the time zone differences, despite the varying busy schedules, not a single forty-eight-hour cycle passed without your hearing from one or both of them.

Until one day.

Three days passed without action in reply to your last message, which was composed of you venting about the harsh winter you were dealing with in your current city.

Three days turned into a week, and a week into two.

Part of you assumed that your two friends were unusually busy, while the other couldn’t help but wonder if this was the point at which all your long-distance friendships seemed to inevitably taper off.

Only when your last message timestamp showed “17 days ago�� did you finally get a message. It was from Nanami, asking if he could voice call you. You were thankful that it was a Friday and that you were uncharacteristically staying up and happened to be online at your computer at the time. You quickly typed your reply:

Yes, of course, is everything okay?

You kept your eye on the typing indicator as it appeared and disappeared repeatedly as you fumbled into your drawers, fishing for your old headset. When you connected to the call, your blooming giddiness lasted only for the short time it took you to detect the pain in Nanami’s voice as he confirmed he could, in fact, hear you.

Almost a year and an ocean separated you from the last time you’d heard it and yet it was something like no other. You didn’t get to ask what was wrong before he engaged in a retelling of the worst news you could have ever received.

Your friend Haibara. Gone.

A mission gone viciously wrong, mis-leveled, a Bloodborn of all things.

What the fuck.

The shock immobilized you in your seat, and until this day, you didn’t understand how you’d managed to commit every single word Nanami said to your memory, a conversation you would mentally revisit over and over again years later. Perhaps it was in the substance of what he was saying, the incisiveness of his words, or the unusually heavy emotion with which he uttered them that made the entire call painfully memorable.

You didn’t realize how uncontrollably you were crying until you reflexively sniffled and heard it unceremoniously echo on Nanami’s side. A reminder that you were here on earth, that this was not a nightmare, that you were on this call, on the other side of the world, with Nanami.

Nanami, who had barely escaped with his life, who had witnessed the entire ordeal.

Who had watched your friend die.

You desperately tried to calm yourself down, taking deep breaths, preparing to break the silence you were only now noticing had settled between you, punctuated only by your sniffles.

“Nanami, what about yo-”

“I have to go now.”

“Wait! Let’s chat tomorrow? Or I guess later tonight, your time. If you can?”

“If I can.”

“Nanami, you’ll talk to me? This is all so fucked, but I’m here if you want to talk.” You tried to keep your composure, because how could you offer to help you didn’t seem to have “I know I’m not there but I’m here for you.”

A pause and what sounded like a sharp exhale from his end.

“I have to go.”

“Okay. Talk later.” Your intonation was more akin to a question rather than a statement.

The call disconnected, and its summary added itself to the bottom of your group chat, a string of text, showing that the call had lasted just under ten minutes and that only two out of three group members had attended. This screen, these words would be the only thing that held your company the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that, as you spent nearly all of your free time not spent in classes or getting what little sleep your mind would allow you to, staring at the screen in the hopes to catch a message or call that would never come.

You waited, and you worried, and you wondered.

You pinged him. Every day, for weeks. Every week, for months.

Your worry grew into sadness, then frustration, then numbness.

It took you a few months to come to the reality that you should stop waiting, that you shouldn’t expect anything, that the circumstances would not change.

That you had had your final conversation with Nanami Kento, and that you were alone again, mourning simultaneously the death of a friend and the loss of a friendship.

Current day, Tokyo

It was under a caliginous sky that you embarked on what would be your first mission back with Nanami. You learned Ijichi was the name of the driver who was escorting you to your mission location. You had barely caught it, in his unceremonious introduction, a welcomed interruption of whatever was going to happen after Nanami uttered your name.

By the time you turned your attention from Ijichi back to Nanami, he was already headed towards the exit. It took a moment for your mind to make the mental migration back to reality and connect the dots on what was occurring.

You were going on your Hunter recertification mission. Nanami. He was your mission supervisor.

Your mind still couldn’t reconcile what you were seeing with your eyes. You hardly felt ready to tackle a real hunting mission. But you would have to. Your recertification now hinged on it.

Years of imagining out how this moment, which you never believed would happen, could play out, and never did you imagine sharing the backseat of a Tokyo Hunter Academy issued car with Nanami on the way to a hunting mission. It was the closest you’d been to him in years, and yet somehow, the most distant you’ve ever felt.

The tension in the car was palpable. It had been a quiet ride so far. A glance at the GPS indicated you were still 20 minutes out from the mission’s location. You were growing restless. Nanami had not stopped tapping on his phone since the beginning of the trip.

“Have you been briefed?”

“What?”

“For this mission, has anyone briefed you yet?”

“No, not yet. At orientation, they told me I’d be briefed by my re-cert supervisor.”

“This process is so inconsistent,” you barely heard him mumble.

“What?” You said for the second time, feeling a little silly as you did.

He put away his phone and turned to face you. The moonlight filtered through the car window, perfectly hitting at an angle that highlighted his chiseled jaw.

Even in the car’s darkness, there was no mistake; he was too handsome. His eyes levelled with yours and for a moment, you felt time stop. You averted your gaze for a bit to collect yourself, your eyes catching Ijichi’s in the rearview mirror in surprise, and he, in turn, also averted his. The reminder of another observer in the car was enough to school you back to reality.

“I apologize for the disorganization. The recent crises have completely destabilized the onboarding process. I’ll be your recertification supervisor. My task is to evaluate whether you’re fit for field missions, and to recommend a level for you. Seeing as you already have extensive field experience, this will mainly be a levelling evaluation.” He paused, as though to leave room for any interjection.

“Okay,” was all you could say.

“We’re heading to the lake shore forest at the edge of the city. The latest surge of Special Grade vampires points to a deliberate effort from a Bloodborn to create them. The intel collected over the last few weeks points towards this area s being a prime location for disappearances.”

“I’ve read about this. It seems to have seriously picked up in the last month or so.

“Yes. The entrance we’re surveying is opposite the one that was red taped. The goal is to retrace where specifically these Turned vampires seem to come from.”

He moved the tablet to the center seat to allow you a better view. You both inadvertently leaned in at the same time, meeting in the middle. You tried to pay attention to the indicators he was drawing on the digital map he was showing you, but your focus was elsewhere. His clean smell, a mix of leather and cedar sent you on a tailspin that somehow had you imagining what he looked like when he applied whatever cologne he had on. You desperately pulled yourself together, an attempt to prove to yourself that you were not so far gone that simple smells could make you lose control.

Until he spoke.

His voice was low, rumbling, baritone.

“Ours is a recon assignment. Two, maybe three dozen Turned vampires are the most I’d expect, based on the reports from the previous teams who were recently there.”

And then he added, “Your first few missions back might feel daunting at first, but I’m certain that you’ll get quickly accustomed.”

You felt him lift his eyes to look at you.

Were those words of encouragement?

He was being so overly formal and professional to you. It would have driven you insane if he wasn’t also so kind and caring. It was reminiscent of the high school days where he took on the role of unofficial tutor in your friend’s group.

You recalled how your classmates gravitated towards Nanami around exam season, valuing his ability to break down concepts into their simplest forms, and to capstone his explanation with a few encouraging words. He was well suited for this kind of role, that much was undeniable. For a second, it was like no time had elapsed between the days he would pep talk you and Haibara before a big test.

It almost made you forget about the elephant in the room.

Almost.

You wondered what this conversation would sound like, were you not on this mission, were Ijichi not in the car, were your Hunter license recertification not hinging on Nanami Kento’s sign-off.

It was not lost on you that he had, so far, successfully used professionalism as a shield against the major topic at hand. For now, you would respect this unspoken armistice, you told yourself.

But only for now.

You clipped your flashlight to your holster as the two of you advanced into the forest. You had already taken out two hordes of Turned vampires, already more than the three dozen Nanami had expected. You’d successfully taken them out.

“Something’s off tonight,” he mumbled.

Just as you were going to ask him to expand on his statement, you felt it before you saw it. It first came as a rapid movement from the corner of your eye, and you knew Nanami did too, based on his sudden alertness.

“Special Grade,” he said. “Two… No, three of them.”

“I don’t think so.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow at you.

“Care to elaborate?”

“The signature is too strong.”

“Which is why I count three…”

“No, I think it’s more than that. I think it might be-”

You felt its presence and signature for a moment before you spotted it in the darkness ahead of you. A colossal figure interrupted you, emerging just a few meters in front of you.

The atmosphere crackled with an electric charge. The energy shifted dangerously. A sudden wind picked up. A blend of foreign and familiar energy surrounded you, akin to a suffocating embrace.

Years of hunting, studying, and researching, along with an unmistakable gut feeling, helped you identify it to be a Bloodborn vampire.

“Shit. Bloodborn,” you muttered in Nanami’s general direction.

With a practiced motion, you popped your weapon’s magazine free and counted five remaining bullet rounds. You might have been informed, but you certainly were not prepared.

“Retreat plan?” you spoke again, your mind running through the protocols drilled into you by hours of training as your eyes searched the tree behind which Nanami had ducked a short moment ago.

You found him standing a few meters ahead instead, out in the open. His usual composed countenance, the caution you’d known him to exhibit since the start of this mission, since forever, appeared to have long diminished.

What little light emanating from the moon above was enough for you to perceive brows furrowed in calculation, jaw tightened in concentration, determination manifest. It took you a few seconds to realize what he was plotting.

“Wait, are you-”

Nanami suddenly charged at the figure.

What the hell?

As you watched him run and pick up an incredible speed, you fumbled with your weapon, looking to aim at something, anything, as you prepared to lay unexpected cover fire for your seemingly possessed partner.

It was difficult to see anything in the dark, but thankfully you were able to get a surprisingly solid read on the vampire’s signature and could track its whereabouts with utmost precision. You’d have to track Nanami mostly through sound, you thought to yourself.

As if on cue, you heard the sound of metal against flesh, signaling a direct hit by Nanami on his target.

“Left arm,” you heard Nanami’s steady voice call out from somewhere in the close distance. You moved closer, aiming down sights, and you saw what appeared to be its right arm for a brief second. It was the first and only shot you’d seen so far, so you took it.

Another direct hit.

You watched as the figure staggered its steps, both limbs now affected, your closer proximity allowing you to distinguish the monstrous features it exhibited. Pointy ears, long limbs, and an extremely tall stature.

You heard hit after hit, Nanami using the opening you’d created to his advantage, landing as many hits as possible. You lined up your shot as you moved closer, deducing you’d have at least one more good go at it before the beast recovered.

“Left a-”

A powerful surge of energy preceded a sound so rambunctious that you could feel it in your own body. Your eyes had gotten accustomed to the dark by now, at least enough to see Nanami’s limp body shoot off into the distance and land several meters away with a bouncing thud.

Between being paralyzed at the prospect of the worst-case scenario, and the shock of having a Bloodborn vampire, in its most feral form, now fully set its attention on you, your attempt at calling out for Nanami wound up getting caught in your throat.

You quickly started backing up, mentally mapping out the quickest way to back your way toward where you’d watch Nanami land and then back out through the nearest exit. You weaved off the beaten path to put both distance and some foliage density between yourself and your threat.

What you had in heightened senses, the vampire seemed to counter with speed. You watched as the figure weaved between the trees, rapidly closing the distance between you two.

You took a shot. It landed on a neighboring tree trunk.

Four bullets left.

You emerged from the wooded area and stumbled onto a fork in the road.

You could sense but not see the beast closing in on you. You turned around and shot in its general direction. It completely whiffed.

Three.

You chose the direction you judged would lead you closest to Nanami. The closer the vampire got to you, the more you felt an uncanny draw to it. It was as though it was trying to communicate with you.

It was gaining ground. You had to change strategies. You aimed and shot two bullets in a double-tap succession. One of them grazed the Bloodborn, and the other one missed.

One.

You turned around and broke into a sprint, hoping that the speed gained by running facing forward would make up for the fact that you wouldn’t be shooting at your target anymore.

Your mind quickly flitted to a bird’s-eye view of your current predicament, about how quickly this had all gone wrong, about the domino chain that started at your dissatisfaction with life and would potentially end with an abrupt, violent ending of it, about Nanami Kento, the old friend you’d just reunited with and who likely needed your help now more than ever.

Something snapped in you with that last thought, and for a brief second, you empathized with the way Nanami had thrown himself at his adversary a few minutes ago. Weaponizing your desperation, you stopped in your tracks and turned around. You pointed your gun at the approaching figure. You aimed down sight and you took your last shot.

The sound of your final incendiary round crossing into the air echoed through your ears and your mind as both your vision and sound faded out. In your suddenly weakened state, you felt the distinct stifling presence of a vampire closing in on you. Shortly after, you felt limbs around you, decidedly not human, grabbing you and slinging you over its shoulder.

And the world faded to black.

1870s, Atlantic coast, Northern West Africa

The setting sun casts a warm hue of crimson red into the sky, carrying an uncanny air of peacefulness and tranquility; the energy that occupies the beach below is anything but.

Two figures scurry towards the coastline. The Bloodborn vampire reaches it first, and she waddles her way into the water until its level hits her midsection. She frantically unsheathes her dagger from her waist belt; it glows amber, both heat and light emanating from it.

She turns around just in time to watch the Hunter who accompanies her catch up to her, halting just at the coastline. Her eyes meet his just in time to watch him school his worried countenance back to fervent determination.

Without further preamble, she chants an incantation that predates humanity itself, a mother’s plea, to both the forces of Light and of Darkness. The surrounding air shimmers as she slices her palm open with her knife, only slightly wincing at the sensation of the action that will seal her fate.

She watches as the drops of blood drip from her hand, coagulating on impact with the sea water below her and forming into a carmine coloured bead, which she picks up into her hand and brings to her lips. The next words she utters are whispered, a caveat, a Bloodborn’s insurance. The bright glow of her knife disappears, replaced by a wraith-like texture.

She feels her life force weakening as she waddles her way back to the coast. She knows she’s on the clock. The Hunter takes notice of her struggle, furrowing his eyebrows as he makes the trek as if to meet her halfway. She lifts her hand up to signal him to stop. He reluctantly does.

When the vampire finally reaches the Hunter, he opens his arm, revealing the small baby girl he is protectively holding, wide eyes blinking up at her parents. The woman bends down and kisses her forehead. Throughout this entire ordeal, this is the only time the mother truly feels emotive, the only time her tears form at the corners of her eyes.

She brings the crimson bead up to the child and slips it under the thin garment she is wearing, placing it just over her heart, and presses down. She watches as the blood turns back into its sanguine form and gets completely absorbed into the child, illuminating her small body for a brief second before she returns to normal, an action that seals the fate of the child and of their lineage.

Only then does the woman bring up her attention to the man, who has been watching her intently the entire time, with love and reverence but also worry.

“Don’t look so glum, Mr. Hunter. By the beach, together, for the rest of our lives. You lived up to your promise.”

On the beach, in the distance behind them, the distinct sound of Dongola horse hooves hitting the sand can be heard.

“For eternity,” he corrects.

“What’s that?” She asks, playfully feigning ignorance for one final time.

“By the beach, together, for eternity. That was the promise.”

“That will come too. But not before you complete your task.”

“The curse ends here.”

A promise to a Bloodborn from her consort, sealed with a final kiss on her forehead.

The woman walks towards a rocky structure by the coastline, leaning her back against it before she impales herself with the knife.

The Hunter turns his attention to the approaching delegation of his peers.

He raises one arm in surrender. He tells them he won’t resist. His only ask:

“Spare the child! She’s human.”

The Hunters don’t trust their betrayer and take the child from his arms. He holds back for a second and this is the only time he shows the slightest bit of resistance.

One of the Hunters brings a talisman to the child’s face. To the Hunter’s relief, it glows the right color. Now reassured that his child will be spared, he lets himself be taken prisoner by his former allies.

Now he could accept his fate.

Current day, Tokyo

Your eyelids fluttered open to fluorescent lights and the low hum of a heartbeat monitor. It took you a moment to remember that you were in fact, not visiting your grandmother in her village, nor were you waking up in your apartment at home, but you were in a school infirmary, on the other side of the world, in Tokyo.

Memories of the night’s events rushed back to you, like a wave washing back to the shore. The sensation of being carried by arms you knew could only belong to a vampire was indelible. The pain you’d felt before you lost consciousness. In fact, you felt surprisingly energized now, all things considered. Only once she spoke did you notice Shoko in your peripheral vision.

“Welcome back,” she said in the flat tone you fondly remembered her by.

“How long was I out?”

Shoko glanced at the clock after glancing at the clock hanging on the wall.

“Almost an hour now. Nanami was quick to bring you here. I do wonder how many traffic laws he violated to get you here so quickly. Poor Ijichi got relegated to the backseat and got carsick.”

You raised yourself on the bed and sat down, noticing the IV still hooked to you.

“Is he okay?”

“It’s carsickness. I think he’ll be okay.”

“I meant Nanami.”

“Oh, Nanami seemed completely fine.”

“Seemed? As in, you didn’t examine him?”

“I didn’t have to. He said you were the only one injured out there. Okay, now I have to ask, are you feeling okay?”

Shoko’s question had you wondering for a second. Last you remembered, Nanami had launched across quite a distance. Surely, he must have sustained more than a few scratches.

“Where is he?” you asked, evading her question.

“He was here a moment ago. I think he went-”

Shoko never finished her sentence. Appearing in the doorframe at that exact moment was Nanami, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a soda in the other.

Cherry blossom.

He’d taken off his glasses, and you could see the marks where they usually sat on his nose. His eyes lingered on yours for a second. It was the first time you’d made actual eye contact since your reunion. This time his thick glasses were not there to hide his micro-expressions. He looked neatly disheveled, his hair was slightly out of place, and his tie was loosened. Was it a hint of relief that you caught in his hazel eyes?

“You’re up.” A statement rather than a question. Whatever it was, you watched it disappear just as quickly as it had appeared before he made his way inside the room, moving around Shoko who had stopped what she was doing and was quietly observing the interaction. You had almost forgotten that she was in the room.

“I am,” you replied cautiously.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You turned and looked at him for a moment before turning to Shoko.

“I’m fine, right? Please tell me you’ll discharge me right now.”

Shoko stared at you for a second, as though she was evaluating her response.

“Only if you promise to show up to a follow-up tomorrow.”

“I will, promise.”

“I need you to sign a few things, protocol, since it’s your first time here. I’ll be right back.” Shoko’s eyes moved between you and Nanami, as though she was hesitating to leave you two alone.

When she was finally out of the room, you quietly watched as Nanami approached you, and placed the soda can on your table side, his silent offering, before sitting on the visitor’s seat across the room.

“How are you feeling?” He repeated his question, and it somewhat irritated you.

“I don’t know, Nanami. Physically I’m feeling okay,” you said, as you attempted to cross your arms but got restricted by the IV drip still hooked to you. Without thinking, you swiftly ripped it off in frustration.

Nanami watched you impassively.

“And otherwise? Do you remember what happened?” He pushed.

“Do you?” you asked, your tone coming out more accusatory than you’d intended.

“I do, but also, I wasn’t the one who passed out.”

“Really? I guess you’ll have to teach me your ways, then. I watched you fly a good distance and heard the way you landed behind those bushes. I’m surprised to see you without a scratch.”

“You sound disappointed.”

You stared at each other for a few seconds. You always found Nanami to be relatively harder to read. But now he was decidedly a shut book.

“We should get our stories straight.”

“Excuse me?”

He gestured to the stack of papers he was holding and handed you a copy. Mission report was the heading.

“We were split off. We should align our reports so they match. What was the last thing you remember?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, and you thought he must have felt it judging by the uncharacteristic manner by which he was evading your glare, choosing to fix the report he was holding instead, as though it carried the answer to his question.

“Why would we need to line up our stories? We should just report the truth.”

“If our stories differ too much, or if there are gaps in the sequence of events, it will raise questions and it could affect your recertification status.”

If the circumstances of this entire mission didn’t feel sketchy enough so far, this bit definitely sounded off. He was speaking so casually about such a critical mission. His apparent indifference was driving you insane. You felt like a pot about to boil over.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think that you’re holding my recertification over my head and that you’re asking me to forge my report.”

His head snapped at you, irritation now visible in his knitted brows. Finally, a chink in his armor.

“Your next sentence better be that you do know me better,” he said, sounding annoyed. Finally, some emotion.

“Why should it be? The truth is, I really don’t know you, Nanami. A decade ago, I thought I did. But now?”

You felt yourself slowly losing control over your voice. The heart rate monitor started beeping, signaling your increasing heart rate.

His eyes narrowed at the monitor and you could have sworn that they softened when they returned to yours. When your name left his lips in a low whisper, you felt the first tears stinging your eyes.

“You should try to remain calm.”

And you lost it. A decade’s worth of frustration spilled before you could process the words.

“I was calm for over ten years, Nanami. A decade without a single sign of life from you. Do you know I got extremely sick and couldn’t eat for over a month after that last call? Do you know the number of sleepless nights I spent wondering what exactly happened? Worrying about you and your well-being? How long does it take to send a brief chat message? ”

“I got logged out and could not log back in.”

“You got logged… You’re telling me that the reason I never heard from you again was because you conveniently got logged out of a messaging app a mere few hours after you called me to deliver the most devastating news? I call bullshit.”

“I did get logged out, eventually. But you’re right. I was dealing with the most brutal and gruesome loss imaginable, so you’ll have to excuse me if I didn’t drop everything to get back to you right away.” His voice was growing in a frustration that increasingly mirrored yours.

Each sentence was a new arrow in your quiver. Your tears were freely flowing now, the sentiment of scorn rising to your head as you lined up the next words.

“You gave up, Nanami. You didn’t get back to me at all. He was my friend too, and you robbed me of a proper mourning. I couldn’t even get his address to send proper condolences. What you did was completely fucked up, and you know it.”

In the past, in the rare moments you’d been able to suspend disbelief and delude yourself into imagining ever crossing paths with Nanami again, you’d played out the different directions this conversation could take. In your hazy enactments, you’d imagined this scenario to be a lot less confrontational and always believed you’d be able to approach discussing this tragedy with sympathy and a certain level-headedness.

You told yourself that normally, you would. And while there was nothing normal about the last twenty-four hours you’d lived through, it didn’t make you feel any less guilty for the reproachful tone you’d slipped into and wielded against him.

Nanami got up and handed you a box of tissues from the counter. You expected him to return to his seat, but he stayed where he stood just by you.

“The Bloodborn we ran into today. I’ve been tailing it for the last ten years. Today’s confrontation was the first time I’d gotten this close since…”

Nanami did not need to complete that sentence for you to put two and two together. If you thought your guilt couldn’t get worse, you were proved wrong at that moment.

“Lately it’s grown an army of Turned and Special Grade vampires at his beck and call. He’s the source of the latest surge. It seems to be going for numbers over strength at the moment. They’ve formed a perimeter around what I suspect to be his base of operations. I left my life behind once, but I haven’t halted my hunt. And I certainly haven’t given up on anything, or anyone.

“I came back to the school because they happen to have the resources and intel that will be useful to stopping this menace, particularly now that there is public pressure and internal interest in actually stopping this threat. This is the closest I’ve come to bringing justice for Haibara…” he paused, his breath hitching ever so slightly, and only then did you realize that this was the first time either of you had uttered your dear friend’s name.

He returned to your side. “But none of this happens without weakening the Bloodborn. And with public scrutiny and the recent emphasis on protocol…”

“Okay, I understand,” you said, cutting him. “I’ll line up my report with yours, to avoid scrutiny, but only on one condition. And it’s non-negotiable.”

“And what is that?”

“I get to go on all missions related to this matter too.

“I don’t-”

“Non-negotiable, Nanami, I insist on this.”

You saw him glance at the heart rate monitor before he finally relented with a nod.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” That this was his third time asking you was not lost on you. He seemed hellbent on closing out the conversation with you with more gentleness than he’d opened it.

It made you question if you were imagining it.

“Sign this, then you’re discharged,” Shoko said as she returned to the room with visibly more urgency than she’d left it.

“A sudden eagerness to get rid of me, Dr. Ieri?” You chirped in your best attempt to engage in a tone that you hoped would draw her attention away from what you could only imagine was still very much a teary countenance.

“As much as I’d love to keep you with me, I’ll need the room.” Her voice was grave as she absentmindedly handed you your discharge documents before adding, “There’s just been another major attack.”

An air of gloom hovered over the school for the following days. You learned, both through hearing firsthand accounts of your surviving colleagues, and through their reports, of the gruesome details of the latest attack. All indications pointed towards the same Bloodborn’s elusive hideout as being ground zero for the crisis at hand.

You’d sat in the briefing room the day following your first mission, listening as one of the squad leaders detailed the way by which the turned vampires had prioritized Hunters as their targets, and had successfully done so, based on the death count. He’d vocalized the odd configuration of the two conclusions drawn from this latest failure. That the number of human casualties might be lessened with this shift in strategy and newfound sophistication from the vampires, but that Hunters would be the ones to pay the ultimate price.

“Hey, what are your thoughts on all this?” You caught Nanami at the end of the briefing just as he was about to slip away.

“On what, specifically?”

“This latest attack, it almost feels retaliatory.”

“All vampire attacks against Hunters are retaliatory by definition.”

You rolled your eyes at his pedantry. Some things never changed.

“I know that, but you’ve read the reports, yeah? There were cases where they literally walked past human targets and spared them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. Have you?”

“So by retaliatory, you mean…”

“I mean against us, you know, considering how our last mission went.”

“We shouldn’t talk about this here,” he said, in a lowered voice.

“But we will talk about it right, Nanami? It’s already been a couple of days. I know what we put in the report doesn’t tell the full story.”

“Nanami-san!”

A younger fellow Hunter had just turned the corner and called out to him. You only recalled Ino’s name by the way he stood out from the other hunters with his energetic demeanor. Without knowing him beyond that, you found that he bore an uncanny resemblance to…

“Have you been assigned the stakeout mission yet?” Nanami turned back to you, cutting into your thoughts.

“I have. In two days… with you.”

“Good. So we’ll talk then.”

With that, he broke away from you and began walking towards Ino. Judging by the handful of interactions you’d observed between the two, the younger Hunter seemed to have taken a great respect towards Nanami. This didn’t surprise you one bit, but it made you wonder who was the other version of Nanami Kento, the elusive man beneath the thick mask he’d put on over the last decade?

You knew he had the answers. But you would not wait on him to discover them.

It was Nanami himself who’d sparked the idea within you, by his revelation both about the Bloodborn’s connection to Haibara’s death and his intention of leveraging the school’s resources. Thus you found yourself, later that afternoon, in the school library, digging through the Tokyo Hunter Academy archives.

With the budgeting issues the school had gone through, the digitization of hard-copy reports was at the bottom of the list of what was being prioritized. You figured that perhaps there was something that was missed, anything that could help shed some light on the motivations of this old new adversary.

Your hopes were dashed after a couple of hours of tallying the hard copies of what was available in the school portal, as you realized that all the digital versions of the reports surrounding this particular Bloodborn vampire were accounted for.

You raised yourself, perhaps a bit too abruptly, from the crouched position you’d held for the better part of the last half hour, sifting through the bottom shelf that covered the year 2006, feeling a bit lightheaded and disoriented, and dropping the file you were holding as a result.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself as you picked it up and mindlessly opened it.

Having read these countless times, you instantly identified the words that comprised the report from one of the first responding hunters, the one that had found the two young student Hunters who had encountered a new, underestimated foe; Nanami in critical condition, and Haibara deceased.

You recalled that one day, a couple of years following the incident, you had been so desperate to find out everything you could about it that you’d managed to connect to the Global Vampire Hunting database, and with the help of stolen credentials from your mother, successfully pulling the files related to this mission gone wrong and sneakily printed them out. You’d since committed every line to your memory.

Which is why the discrepancy stood out immediately to you, like a sore thumb.

Your heart rate sped up as you fumbled with your phone, not wanting to waste time making the trek out to the computer room to sign in to the network. A few authentication clicks and you were in.

You pulled out the digital version of the same report and quickly scrolled down to the section you needed, the line that began with “number of vampire signatures detected at the time of arrival”. You couldn’t help the gasp that came out of your mouth as you read your phone, then the paper report, then your phone again.

The number on your phone was the one you’d always believed it to be: one. It made sense, as it was the signature that matched the Bloodborn.

And yet, in the hard copy version, the number shown was two. One signature belonging to the Bloodborn. The second one was unidentified. The paper report also mentioned that the signature was only detected momentarily before fading away.

Even more shocking than this revelation was the very presence of this discrepancy.

What was the truth, and who was trying to hide it?

Your second mission with Nanami kicked off on an overcast mid-January day. Having had the privilege of sampling the delicacies that were North-East American winters, this climate, by comparison, was rather mild to you. That said, there was not much to like about cold and dry weather, icy roads, and shorter days that translated into shorter periods of daylight and more time for vampires to be out and about.

The mission comprised a stakeout and mapping out the comings and goings of one particular area of the forest whose specific configuration eluded the school’s records. It marked one of the few unmapped areas of the forest, making it a prime suspected location for the Bloodborn vampire’s hideout.

The school had lent you two sets of keys, one for a car, and one to a literal cabin in the woods, to serve as your base of operation for the upcoming days. This was supposed to be a solo mission, and you imagined that his request to have you accompany him had raised a few eyebrows and God knows how he managed to make it happen, but none of that was not your concern.

No, your concern was to solve the enigma that was the connection between Nanami Kento and this Bloodborn vampire, and this mission would serve as the perfect stage for your investigation.

You decided that your best bet would be to ease Nanami into becoming comfortable around you. Anything less and he would revert back to shutting you out.

This endeavor proved to be a difficult feat, at first.

The cabin was one of those chalet-style units, its layout symmetrical, barring one difference. It contained one primary bedroom at one end and a guest bedroom on the opposite. From the moment you arrived, Nanami dropped his duffel bag into the guest bedroom, marking the end of whatever debate you were going to have about the decision before it even started. From there, a mental border was drawn, separating both sides of the house, one that was only crossed on rare occasions, when you were using the central kitchen.

You knew he couldn’t avoid you forever, especially not in this predicament. So on the first night, you bode your time.

You both decided to begin your patrols as close to sunset as possible, to maximize the chance of catching prime-time vampire activity.

On the first night, the patrol began quietly, the sound of your trudging steps in the fresh snow your only companion. After a while, he finally broke the silence and started sharing his findings about the Bloodborn. It was the most you’d heard him talk since your reunion so you actively listened as he recounted in chronological order, all of his encounters with the wretched beast.

It was not lost on you, that he’d begun at his first encounter with the Bloodborn following the initial incident, which would have been years later. But you took what he gave you, and you interjected with clarifying questions that helped paint a better picture of the years you’d spent apart. By the end of that patrol, you’d managed to pinpoint a perimeter around which the hideout was most likely located.

The second night began with him asking you questions that you would have gladly welcomed just a few days prior. Now that you were on the clock, you were not fond of the idea of spending your limited one-on-one time discussing yourself rather than him. But you took the bite and tried to steer the conversation with your answers.

You talked about your experience studying public health, about your research around vampirism, and your work at the World Health Organization to find a cure for people who were recently turned.

When Nanami admitted to having followed and read your research and gave praise to the specific advancements you’d contributed to the cause, you felt conflicted. Part of you felt flattered, no, your heart soared at the fact that he’d meticulously read and understood your work, at the idea that he’d even been thinking of you in any way, even all those years later.

The other part of you wondered why he hadn’t reached out and resented the fact that he had found a way to stay connected to you while severing any type of access to him.

This dilemma dampened your mood as you almost found it hard to match Nanami’s tempered optimism after you’d stumbled upon a cavernous opening from which you’d observed several Turned vampires stumble out, indicators of an entrance point to the Bloodborn’s hideout.

You’d all but written off the evening as a failure until the end, when you returned home and you were ready to split off for the rest of the night, but saw Nanami waiting for you at the door as you took off your boots.

“I want to apologize for not reaching you out for all those years. I went through it after… Haibara’s death. But it was no excuse to inflict more suffering on you. Nothing can change those years, and that time, but if you ever want to talk about it, about him, about the past, about the memories, know that my door will always be open for you.”

You were speechless. This truly came out of left field, and though you’d always wondered what this apology from Nanami could sound like, you found yourself more than unprepared for it when it finally came. So you simply stared at him.

“Good job out there today. Have a good rest of the night,” he said after a moment, as he turned away and closed his bedroom door behind him.

That encounter left you so agitated that you’d barely caught a wink of sleep, a factor which more than likely played a role in the events of the next day.

The day had already started differently from the previous ones. Nanami had woken up earlier than usual and had gone for a walk, something you learned when you woke up much later through the text message he’d left you.

When he came back, the sun had already set, and you were already running behind your planned schedule, which comprised placing inconspicuous trackers into the ground surrounding the suspected hideout location. When you questioned him about it, he’d been uncharacteristically short and vague about his absence, something that only added to your fatigue-induced irritability.

The previous day had brought along with it some milder-than-usual temperatures, which had caused large puddles of melted snow which was now turning into ice under the freezing night temperature. It made the trek down to the hideout even more treacherous. You’d both slipped a few times, further slowing your advance.

But the night quickly and drastically shifted tones when you found yourself confronted with a fully transformed Special Grade vampire. It looked just as monstrous as the Bloodborn you were chasing, except it was smaller in stature and still retained some of its humanoid features.

This one was a strong one, and had somehow slipped your senses until the last possible second, when it came up behind you and slashed at you, its sharp claws cutting through your thick coat clean through the skin of your left arm.

“Behind you!” you called out to warn Nanami, who was just a few steps ahead of you, seemingly as oblivious as you were.

He turned around, engaged in a flail more than a slash, only in the general direction of the vampire, missing his target and quickly turning back away from you.

You had never seen him miss. Ever.

Only then did you realize just how bad of a shape he was in. You had half a mind to equip your gun, before realizing that you may have to take the close quarter fight yourself. You watched as Nanami bent over his knees, seemingly on the brink of collapsing.

You could almost hear the mental calculation the vampire had made in its head, as it charged for who it now understood to be the weaker target. Your aim was unsteady, the vampire’s movements too erratic. As much as you trusted yourself with a gun, you refused to risk the sliver of a chance at harming Nanami.

You charged behind the vampire, who was now closing in on Nanami. You failed to see the vast patch of ice ahead of you. Your slip sent you on a trajectory that would have found first into the ground.

But in yet another intense moment of desperation, you refused to yield to gravity. You twisted your body upwards, tapping into a kinetic force that surprised even yourself, and launched yourself upwards into the air.

When you saw the ground rapidly approaching you this time, you redirected your movement to target the vampire who had yanked up Nanami by the collar and landed squarely on him. Without thinking, you nabbed your partner’s cleaver from his loose grip and dove the blade into the vampire beneath you, putting a definitive end to the attack.

When Nanami dropped to his knees beside you, still catching his breath, you climbed off the vampire and kneeled next to him, bringing your face down to his level. He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, and you just knew he was hiding something.

“Nanami,” you said, as calmly as your adrenaline would allow you. You unzipped your coat and took out your right arm, pushing up the sleeve of the right arm of your sweatshirt.

“Nanami,” you called out again, a warning this time, as you prepared to vocalize what you’d known deep down for days now and had refused to acknowledge on the surface.

“I see you, Nanami. I know what you are. You need to drink. Here’s my arm. Please. Enough with the games.”

When the figure before you finally anchored your eyes with his now bright red pupils, you told yourself that it was the beast within that was in control when it forcefully yanked your other arm out of your coat instead, the left one, the injured one; when it swiftly pulled back the sleeve of that arm, revealing flawless golden brown skin and that had, in fact, fully and very much unnaturally healed. You told yourself it was the beast that spoke when it finally uttered these words in a voice you barely recognized, before biting down on your arm.

“Shouldn’t I be saying the same to you, Miss Bloodborn?”

A jolt coursed through your veins as his fangs pierced your flesh. Your face was heated, and you felt yourself transform.

The realization that hit you at the moment felt like a reversion to a mean, like a final puzzle piece finding its place, like order being restored.

You were falling backwards, losing your balance. Everything felt both slow and quick at the same time. You desperately clung to consciousness as you grabbed onto the presence before you. It was calling out to you, repeatedly so. Was it saying your name? Familiar safety wrapped in a foreign host, ruby orbs reverting to a recognizable hazel color, hints of the man that once was fighting to regain surface.

Nanami…

His name melted on the tip of your tongue, a silent prayer as darkness enveloped you.

You awoke with a start and immediately felt the difference. You were back at the cabin, lying in your bed, but it felt different. The surrounding colors were more vibrant, the sounds louder, the scents stronger. You felt like a new firmware was downloaded into your brain, and you were armed with newfound knowledge, an instinctual drive.

You were awakened.

You felt him before you saw him, by the heat that radiated from him, the steady but fervent tempo of his heartbeat, the pureness of his soul.

He carried with him an aura, an unmistakable signature so familiar to you, one that you now realized you’d felt from the moment you met him all those years ago, faint and unidentifiable as it had been to you at the time.

A Special Grade vampire.

But a good one?

And when you finally turned your head to face him, sitting in the chaise that bordered the opposite wall, he must have felt your movement because he raised his to face you at the exact moment.

Trying to get a read on Nanami had never been easy. And despite your newfound ability to read his vitals so clearly, you still were left playing the usual deciphering game.

“How long have you known? And how did you know before me?” you finally asked.

“I had my suspicions… The first mission we went on. You were right in your recollection that the Bloodborn launched me back. What you failed to remember is that we both were, you even more so after he’d chased you. The state I found you in… I thought I had lost you…” he paused, and you watched the pain cross his features as recalled the moment.

“I intended to carry you back to the car, but then you healed on your own. It was both strange and familiar. By the time we got you to Shoko, you were exhausted but fully healed.”

You sat up on the bed, suddenly feeling restless. He stood to stand at the feet of your bed to stay in your view. You patted the spot in front of you, inviting him to sit.

Only then did you realize that he’d long since crossed your unspoken border for the first time and that he was in your space now, in your room.

The first of many breaches to occur that night.

In your shared silence, bridges were being built. In your curious glance, an unspoken question hung.

Nanami took a deep breath and began telling the story of the day his life changed.

He recounted how the mission had started, how Haibara had been optimistic as he always was, how everything had escalated so quickly, so badly. He spoke of the Bloodborn looming over him and how he was ready to accept his death. He recalled when he awakened, first from unconsciousness as he realized in horror that he had survived and that Haibara hadn’t. He spoke of the second agonizing awakening as the beast he was trained all his life to destroy.

You listened as he spoke of the moments when the despair was too overwhelming, when he contemplated ending it all, only to read about another attack, another victim somewhere in the world, and the sheer determination of ending this curse took precedence over the sweet release of succumbing to it. You noticed how he instinctively reached for his neck as he recounted this part.

You asked about his transformation and his symptoms, and he described patterns that you could now retrace in your own life. You asked about how he sustained himself, and he described depending mostly on blood banks nearing the end of their shelf life, occasionally animals when times were dire. The infirmaries had been running low on blood lately, due to the increased number of injuries caused by the surge in incidents, he told you. He’d been rationing what he had left but had run out during the stakeout mission. He’d tried to go hunt but was stalled by the hazardous patches of ice.

After a moment, you came to a realization.

“You’re still in Bloodthirst,” you said.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine, and I know it. How long had you gone without?”

You shoved his hair out of his eyes, fingers brushing against his forehead. Suddenly you felt yourself gain access to him, to his mind. You dug deeper, deeper still, and like your other abilities, it was desperation that powered your attempt to convince him to let you ease his suffering if only for a little, driving you deeper and deeper.

Until you hit a wall.

Nanami grabbed your hand by the wrist and abruptly pulled it away from his forehead, his eyes flashing red momentarily. The beast was surfacing.

“Don’t...”

“Nanami, you’re too deficient. I can feel it.”

“Don’t try to get into my head.”

“I’m not trying to. Not deliberately. And, I don’t need to be in your head to feel your suffering. How long have you been holding back?” You pushed.

The conflict of his instincts warred within him, clear in his eyes, which flicked between bright red and their usual sweet honey.

“You won’t hurt me, so please, Nanami, let me help you.”

You bit your lip out of nervousness, and your sharp fang clumsily pierced through the corner of your lower lip. You were still unused to it. You winced at the sharp pain. You felt its scent before you felt the drop of blood slowly slide down and you knew that Nanami felt it, too. You could feel it in the quickening pace of his heartbeat, in the hitching of his breath, in the way he met your gaze, in an electrifying moment.

And yet he didn’t move. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when breaking down Nanami’s barriers became synonymous with breaking his resolve. All you knew is that your body was now moving of its own accord, your mission becoming singular.

You engaged your newfound strength to push him down, and you were, surprisingly, met with little resistance. His back hit the mattress harder than you intended. You straddled him at his hips and placed your hands on the bed on either side of his face. Your disposition made it look like you were the one in control. But the truth was that you were at the mercy of his expression, unreadable as always, desperate to bring relief to the man who’d suffered alone for over a decade.

Your arms wobbled as you lowered your face to his. His expression remained impassive, but his vitals betrayed it. Pulse quickened, pupils dilated, rapidly switching on and off red and amber. Your eyes fixed his. You had half a mind to offer your arm again, bravery had brought you this far, but you wondered whether it would take you all the way. Your eyes moved back to Nanami’s, an attempt to decipher what calculation he appeared to be making.

The decision was made for you both, when the drop of blood, which had been sliding back from your lips, trickled down to your chin unbeknownst to you, falling to the whims of gravity, and landing directly on his own lower lip.

And then his tongue darted out to lick it.

And something snapped.

You couldn’t tell whether you moved first, or he did. The exact sequence of events would remain unclear, discarded to the back of your mind as you felt the acerbic taste of your own blood on Nanami’s lips.

You felt the restraint melt away with the growl that emanated from Nanami’s chest. You squeezed your eyes shut as though it would help mute the moan that remained captive in your mouth, escaping only when he forced yours to open by ensconcing his tongue between your lips, as he lapped up the remaining blood and proceeded to suck on the spot on your lip where the incision was made.

Your eyes opened to a squint only to meet piercing red eyes. They told a story, one whose ending you’d successfully deducted earlier, one that Nanami still now appeared to be unable to accept.

This wouldn’t be enough for him.

You felt the world tilt suddenly, and it took you a few seconds to realize that he had flipped your positions, his eyes never leaving yours. When you felt his arms carefully cushion your fall, you knew that he was still more man than beast.

You could not say the same for yourself.

Years of studying vampires, of hunting them down as a Hunter, could only help you label what was happening, not control it.

You used your right hand to pull the box braids that had bunched around your neck aside, tilting your head to the side to give him access to your neck.

Under your observation, he hesitated, ever the paragon of self-control.

You reached your hand up and placed it on his, and slid it up his arm, then to the back of his head, right at his undercut. When you pulled him down, it was again without resistance. His eye color flickered faster as he got closer.

“Forgive me,” you heard him whisper, a warm breath that went into your ear and straight to your core.

Your mind was hazy and you couldn’t tell what he was apologizing for. Either way, your answer would be the same.

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered so softly that you didn’t know if he’d heard it.

The act didn’t shock you as much as the first time; it came in a brief sting and a sensation of soft lips that contrasted the sharp fangs that already established punctures. You gasped, and he stilled; you felt him reverse, but you stopped him before he could, pushing his head back down onto your neck. After a brief pause, he picked up where he left off and you heard the rest more than you felt it. His quick rhythmic breaths and inaudible gasps evened out as he sated himself.

“Why would a Bloodborn feed a lowly Special Grade vampire?”

It was a genuine question you’d asked, what felt like several lifetimes ago. Back then, it was unfathomable. Right now, it was blatantly obvious.

“Shouldn’t I be saying the same to you, Miss Bloodborn?”

You tried not to think too hard about the contempt that dripped in Nanami's tone when he’d referred to your identity, at the reality that your feelings would likely never be reciprocated.

You could have sworn that Nanami detected your disquiet, because as if on cue, he brought up his right hand, tracing soothing small circles around your exposed shoulder.

In your confused haze, you tried to tell yourself not to read too much into this sudden attuned gentleness. You didn’t realize that you too had started scratching circles with your nails into his undercut until you felt the perceptible shudder that ran through his body right as you did.

He shifted his position slightly as you felt drops trickle down your neck, and you held your breath as he chased them with his tongue, moving lower down, over your collarbone, getting dangerously close to your chest. When he closed in on the drop of blood, he sucked a little harder at the fleshy skin just above your chest, eliciting a small moan from you. The heat that was slowly forming in your core ignited like a solar flare. He stopped his movements and when his eyes shot up to yours through his disheveled hair; they had reverted to their natural hazel hue again.

A pang of arousal shot through you violently. Centuries of dormancy came roaring back to life. The lines between human and vampiric urges were now thoroughly blurred.

Nanami straightened up, and you watched a second conflict cloud his eyes, primal but very much human.

The sight of your red blood over his skin should not have been doing this much to you. But it did.

“You’re going through Bloodthirst.”

A statement more than a question. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve before he started rolling it back, exposing a veiny arm.

“The first waves after transforming will be brutal. I imagine yours will be intense since you’re-”

“Bloodborn.” You completed his sentence for him. “You must really hate me right now.” Even as you identified the self-destructive mental pattern you were sliding into, it’s not like you could stop it. Anything to get him to change his mind. Anything to have him push you away.

“I don’t hate you,” he simply said.

“You hate Bloodborns.”

“Still quick to make snap judgments, I see.”

You sensed a reversing shift in your dynamic; his invitation, your resistance.

You said nothing in response, and he simply extended his arm. You kept your eyes locked on his as you sank your fangs into his arm.

Nothing could have prepared you for the taste of Nanami Kento’s blood.

You were a lot less gracious than he was, a lot less controlled. It was like being catapulted through a range of vivid emotions, colors associated with feelings, sounds associated with sentiment.

You were lost in the sensations. You ached with him and you raged with him; you felt his sorrow and his devotion. Overwhelmed by the sentiments he was telegraphing, you opened your eyes to Nanami quietly observing you, his usually unreadable face twisted into a perceptible sadness. Only once you were finally sated, once the intense pang of thirst subsided to a low baseline hum did you finally pull back, your eyes still trained on his.

“I could never hate you,” he added, as though to emphasize what he’d just undeniably showed through his blood, the corners of his lips tugging into the tiniest, sad smile that brought tears to your eyes.

Nanami brought two fingers up to your chin, pushing the rest of the dripping blood into your mouth. You closed your lips over his fingers, maintaining eye contact as you brought your face closer to his, emboldened by the combination of your awakening, of his words, and of the little glint in his eye. He didn’t move until you released him, like he was awaiting for permission.

“I don’t hate you either,” you managed to whisper against his lips, before closing the distance.

When you did kiss this time, it was in earnest. It was fervent and urgent, all tongues and teeth. There was a moment you were both clinging to, both determined to not let escape. You’d never felt so attuned to someone, it was as though tasting his blood had opened a new dimension within your mind.

His tongue snagged onto your sharpened fang, and he hissed at the contact, sending a shiver down your spine. You tasted his blood and this time it wobbled with treacherous exhilaration. The first signal that he, too, was unraveling.

When Nanami’s mouth moved downward, it was in a mix of kisses and nips and bites. He was gentle but left marks. In his onslaught, he paused just above your breast and gave the area a sly lick before he continued. He finally tugged on the corners of your shirt and gently pulled it over your head, finally able to grant attention to your left side, starting at your neck, peppering every inch of your body with his kisses from your collarbone to your breast to your abdomen. He pulled your pants down, your underwear followed. His movements were optimized, precise.

When he stopped and called out to you, you almost did not hear over the now overwhelmingly loud sound of your blood coursing through your veins and your pants as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. You raised your head in time to see him hovering over your core, stormy eyes telegraphing a question.

“Please, Nanami,” you breathed out.

It was all he needed to hear. With the two fingers that were between your lips just a moment ago, he slid between your legs and began to work you.

The gasp that escaped your lips was one of both shock and pleasure. You moaned as he played you, like a musician would his instrument, first with his fingers, then with his tongue, then with both. Your heightened senses made you feel every brush, every knead, every minute variation in movement as he found alternating rhythms.

“Hah…fuck!” you cried out.

“My good girl. Don’t hold back on me,” he said, echoing a markedly less tame version of the coaxing you’d whispered into his ear earlier, and only then did you realize how utterly flipped this script had become. Your mind spun at the swiftness by which the tables had turned, at the polarity, at the juxtaposition of his controlled passion and your erratic unraveling.

The vibration of his voiced praise rumbled into your core and tingled up into your brain, and that was enough to push you over the edge. You couldn’t coherently voice your pleasure if you tried. Only words of gibberish ran through your mind as you slowly came undone on his fingers, exhaling expletives punctuated by open-mouthed gasps of his name.

He continued lapping at you, cleaning off every inch of your surface area, until you grabbed the back of his head, right at his undercut again, your new favorite place. You brought him up to find the remnants of your blood on his chin, now newly covered with a sheer layer.

He looked so alluring.

“Nanami…” you murmured.

In a manifestation of your newfound ability for quick recovery, you raised yourself up and straddled him for the second time that night. You grabbed his face into your hands and kissed him, intoxicated by the taste of all versions of yourself in his mouth. This time it was slower, more careful, tongues caressing each other in a reluctant fight for domination, a battle you both dragged out, not wanting it to end. You found a back-and-forth rhythm that you emulated with your hips, grinding against his, chasing any form of friction, realizing only now how bothersome of a barrier his clothes were between you two.

You pulled back, working your way down to undo the buttons of his shirt, and he watched you. You couldn’t help but trace your fingers against his muscles as you did, working your way up from his stomach, up his chest, to his shoulder. He let out a soft and low groan as your cold finger traced his heated skin.

You had already grabbed his belt, eager to pull more of those sweet sounds out of him by returning the favor he’d so graciously done for you, when you spotted it, at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, a prominent scar denoting two incisions, unmistakably from a vampire bite.

“Is this from…?” You trailed off, still struggling to label the horrific event that nearly destroyed his life.

“It is.”

You glanced at him as he averted his eyes, but not quick enough for you not to catch the expression on his face. It did not belong to the vampire, not even to the man, but to the young boy who bore the misplaced burden of not being able to protect his dear friend, and who came out of that incident less human than he went in.

You’d never known Nanami to be emotionally expressive. Even throughout this passionate encounter, his countenance carried a control that paradoxically garnered both your admiration and your frustration. But right now, as you traced a finger over the reminder of that painful memory, you watched his face twist beyond its usual air of melancholy, his features betraying the sorrow that still festered beneath his surface.

The thought of another Bloodborn being the source of the torment of the sweet man before you triggered something violent within you. You were ruled by extreme emotion, by an unharnessed urge to make things right, driven by a desperate powerlessness at what should have been the height of your powers.

How you longed to go back in time and undo the calamity inflicted by this beast.

How you wished you could absorb all of his pain, if only for a moment.

How you desperately wanted to overwrite the damage caused by this destructive bite.

Logic said that you couldn’t do any of these things. But you were a far ways from being anything within the realm of logical right now.

You were not thinking clearly when you sunk your teeth right where the faded scars were, in an untenable attempt to draw out pain more than blood. Your mind was a haze when your hot tears mixed with the blood you were drawing. You were disoriented when you finally relented, burying your face into the side of his neck and squeezing him into a tight hug. But you were very much in your right mind when you uttered your next words.

“I’m here for you, Nanami,” you said in his ear.

“I know,” he whispered back, after a moment.

This wouldn’t be enough.

He shifted his weight over you, bringing you back down. Your hands flew to his pants as soon as he freed you from his embrace and for a moment, you wondered what you looked like: tear struck face, bloody mouth, disheveled hair, fumbling with his belt like your life depended on it. You wondered how it was, that after he placed his hands over yours to help you remove the last barrier of clothing that separated you and you finally looked up at him, that you found him gazing down at you in quiet reverence.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please, yes,” you said in a low whimper as you buzzed with anticipation.

His lips found your forehead just as you felt him notch into you, and you squirmed and gasped into his chest at the sudden but welcome invasion.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Did I-”

“No, hah, don’t stop!” you sighed, grabbing his arms to brace yourself.

He kept going until he filled you completely.

And then again.

And again.

Your bodies moved in tandem, a decade of longing that took classmates to fire-forged partners to blood-bound lovers, manifested in the most tender dance you’d engage in that night, pure affection finally triumphing over ferality, even as you exchanged the most breathless words and the most salacious sounds, even as you vigorously met each other at each thrust, each trying to prove an unspoken point, even as your bodies violently thrummed with the need for release. And when your flashing eyes met as you both barrelled towards your climax, a wordless plea floated between you two.

Don’t hold back.

And neither of you did.

It was early afternoon now. You were lying on your side, facing Nanami, who was lying on his back. You were in a mesmerized trance, tracing over his taut muscles, accustoming yourself to your newfound heightened senses of his vitals. You basked in this warm cocoon of comfort, stretching out what you both knew to be a mirage of a moment of peace.

“What am I thinking now?” he asked. You traced over where you saw his chest rumble from his voice.

“I told you, it doesn’t work that way. So far, it’s only been sensations at given times. And it seems to be in moments of intense emotion. I still have a lot to learn about… all of this.”

“It will be an adjustment. Your case is rare but not unheard of. And you won’t have to face it alone,” he said, after a moment.

“I’m not even sure I could reliably trace far enough to find my Bloodborn ancestor. Both sides of my family are from old Hunter clans, as far as I know. A Hunter breaking ranks to get with a vampire must have been considered to be the ultimate act of treason, especially in that time.”

“I might be biased, but I could see how treason can be relative,” he said playfully as he took your hand in his. You pondered on the weight of his words, on the uncanny parallels to your current disposition, on history rhyming.

“We should have Shoko check you out. We can trust her.”

“No. We’re closing in on the hideout and that beast. This is our chance. I’m not leaving until we finish this. There’s a reason you haven’t told anyone either. We have to do this our way.”

Nanami’s reservations were palpable, but you both knew that he couldn’t counter that argument. You attempted to change the topic.

“So… you heal quickly, and have heightened senses, though not as good as mine. You’re also a weakling to sunlight and you sometimes eat for two.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it.”

“This is like that video game. You remember the one with the convoluted stats, that one RPG Haibara kept trying to get us to play?”

Nanami hummed. Silence. Then a scoff.

“What is it?” you asked.

“He was hellbent on you and I getting together. Even after you moved away. He said that it was inevitable and that if we couldn’t make it work, then he would. I was just thinking that in a twisted way, he did.”

It was your turn to scoff.

He raised a curious eyebrow at you.

“You just implied that we ended up getting together. I don’t remember that happening.”

“Oh, you don’t think so? We’ll have to rectify that. After the mission.” He grabbed your hand in his.

“After the mission,” you echoed. A silence. You fidgeted with his hand.

After a moment, you pulled away from him, and turned on your back, mirroring his position as you faced the ceiling.

“We’ll avenge him, Nanami.” Your words fluted upwards, a crimson vow, binding a Bloodborn and her consort.

“We will.”

You felt the cocoon of warmth dismantle as you both made the mental migration back to the task at hand.

Two nights later, you set out to execute an assault.

You’d composed a message to the school, detailing your plan of attack and strategically scheduled it to send for the last possible moment, right before your planned incursion. It was the best compromise you and Nanami had settled on, as you looked to minimize any detection that could be triggered by the other Hunters in order to maximize your chances of success.

You’d found the entrance, combatted the weak forces that grew stronger as you approached their leader and had found yourself facing your ultimate target.

The plan had gone as anticipated, until this moment, which found you contending with the one thing you’d both failed to plan for: a mental hold the vampire revealed itself to have on Nanami, drawing from the tethering connection a Bloodborn could exploit with their victim.

At first Nanami’s movements were simply slowed, then stalled, then stopped. For the moment, it seemed to have incapacitated him.

You’d continued to dodge the vampire’s attacks as you evaluated Nanami’s condition, and for the moment that was all you could do. Your current plan of attack relied on both your dexterous movements and Nanami’s close-range combat to land incisive blows on the beast.

You’d prepared to take a defensive stance until you noticed that the Bloodborn was no longer attacking Nanami. And was instead fixing you.

Your eyes moved to Nanami’s just in time for you to watch them flicker to those crimson irises, markers of the vampire within.

The Bloodborn growled out an order in a language you did not need to understand in order to decipher its message, the validity of your interpretation confirmed as Nanami turned to you in what appeared to be a sudden, combative stance. You backed up as he trudged towards you, his cleaver wielded, his vampiric eyes fixing you in calculation. A cackle emanated from the Bloodborn, visibly pleased at the scene unfolding in front of it.

Nanami was now a few meters away from you, and you had half a mind to catapult yourself off the back wall to dodge what was obviously an imminent attack. If you could just dodge the attacks coming from both and hold off until the reinforcements arrived…

Instead, you stayed in place, opting to call out his name, an attempt to appeal to the human you hoped could still hear you, to the man you cherished.

You watched his eyes flicker ever so slightly, so subtly that you wondered if you’d imagined it.

Finally, he reached you, and you heard the distinctive shot of one of your incendiary rounds traveling through the air before you registered that, in a swift movement, exploiting a moment of arrogance on the part of the Bloodborn, Nanami had grabbed your weapon from your holster and fired a direct shot clean through its heart.

When the Hunter’s eyes flickered back to normal, showing a definitive break from his mental captivity, you knew you were back on track. He leaned against the wall for support, likely having used up all of his energy into executing his gambit.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the Bloodborn struggle in attempting to get back to its feet. Without a word, you took Nanami’s cleaver and used the back wall to launch yourself towards your weakened target.

You flew through the air and landed an incisive blow, cutting the vampire in half, ending his torment over the region and its inhabitants, once and for all.

You detected a large amount of familiar signatures approaching. A group of Hunters.

You rushed back to Nanami’s side, who was still leaning on the wall but on his back, having watched the final scene unfold. You gently grabbed his hand from his side and raised it up, and placed the handle of his cleaver into it. You brought your other hand to cup his cheek and his eyes finally met yours.

In the moment, it was not joy, nor sadness, nor relief that ruled his expression, but a wordless acknowledgment of a vow kept.

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safination · 8 months ago

Text

Partners in Death…And Life

Part 4: The Radio Stars’ Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes

|Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted| Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Parings: Alastor x wife! Reader. Tags: fem!reader established relationships, hopefully not but just in case ooc!Alastor (I'm trying my best, guys) Reader is in hell for a reason, Warnings: Very brief dissection of the human body. Kidneys Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me. I am sorry :D. These past *checks notes* three weeks (yikes) have been really busy for me. But I’m finally posting?

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The light from the bus stop illuminates Alastor’s block handwriting. Smiles are drawn on the edges of note with different colored ballpoint pens. Dear God, it was like looking at kindergarten art, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Alastor’s instructions tell you that his house is a ten-minute walk from the bus stop.

You flip the note, studying the map Alastor drew.

A bird caws from the patches of trees across the road. There’s no living soul out here besides your own for miles.

You tighten your grip on the straps of your bag, and walk until you find yourself standing before a wooden gate. The hatch unlocks easily, and you hike up the path until you’re stepping on to the porch.

Alastor’s house isn’t much—well, it’s much more than the tiny apartment in the city that you call home, but besides that, he has a very normal looking house. You don’t know why you expect anything different. The flowers on his windowsill brighten the place, and the rocking chairs by the edge makes it homier.

You smoothen your hair, fiddling with the note. A deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another—

Fuck it. You knock on the door.

A beat passes, and then another beat passes, and then another. Oh God, did he not hear your knock? Should you knock again? Your father always said that it was rude to knock twice, but you’re sure the knock should have been heard. Alastor was probably at the back of the house. You’re just going to knock again.

Alastor swings the door open, smiling at you. “You are right on time!”

Soft music plays behind him. The lights inside make his living-room look warm. “You said to be here by eight . . . so . . . Here I am!” you say with a light laugh. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “I’m very fond of being punctual.” Okay . . . hmmm . . . why did you say that?

You smoothen your hair, and fiddle with the straps of your bag.

“I admire punctuality.” Alastor smiles at you.

You smile back.

He opens the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’

‘Of course I would!’

All proper responses to his question. It’s a shame you don’t say them. You reach into your bag instead, and shove a paper bag into his arms. “It’s raw.”

Alastor lifts the paper bag, studying it with careful eyes until they flicker to the wet patches at the bottom. “ . . . I’m almost afraid to ask who it came from.”

You step through the door, and take off your coat. “My father, actually.”

Alastor tilts his head. “This is your father—am I supposed to cook him or something?”

“It’s venison!” you say, and run your hand through your hair. “Dad went hunting last week, and he gave me a bunch of meat and well . . . well, I thought you'd appreciate it more than I do. There’s too much for me to eat alone. And it’s always polite to give a gift when you’re visiting a home.”

Alastor secures your gift around his arms, and takes your coat. He’s smiling. You think he’s being genuine—you can’t really tell. “Thank you.”

He hangs your coat on the rack, and ushers you deeper inside his home. Alastor disappears into what you think is his kitchen, but you stay planted in his living-room floor. His house is nice for someone who lives alone. Things all have a place, they’re not necessarily organized, but it’s neat. It makes you smile.

It’s easy to see Alastor between the walls.

This is a home that’s been lived in. You count at least three portable radios in the living-room alone. There are books on the coffee table by the window, and the spines are creased as if it’s been read over and over and over again.

There’s a chair next to the window as well. It has stains, and the cushions sink as if they’ve been loved for decades. You can practically see Alastor in that chair, a warm drink in his hand. He’ll reach across, and twist the knob of the radio that already has his favorite station tuned.

Alastor strides out of the kitchen, your gift probably inside his freezer. “Follow me,” he says with a wave of his arm. “I have something to show you.”

“Oh . . . okay.”

There are photo frames lining the wall of his stairs.

You observe it as you follow deeper into this house. Some are photographs of what you’re going to assume is Alastor, and some are certificates. You don’t have time to poke around and read each and every one of them.

Alastor opens his arms, shaking them as he presents you with a door.

A single door . . . One door at the back of the house. A door you don’t know where it will lead.

You stare at him, and take one single step back. “You’re not going to kill me in your basement, right?”

Alastor laughs at you, wiping a tear for the sake of showing you. “Good heavens no! Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I’m inside a man’s house, and he’s currently leading me to the basement. A man, might I add, dumps bodies in the forest,” you tell him with a wonky smile. “I hope you don’t go around asking every lady to your murder basement.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“My goodness, you really know how to make a lady feel extra special.” You fiddle with the straps of your bag, tightening your grip to stifle the urge to smoothen your hair. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Alastor tilts his head. (It’s kind of cute.) “Do what?”

“You know . . . uh . . . . You’ll tell me to run,” you say, then motion to the china vase behind. “Then I’ll grab this really nice and expensive looking vase and smash it over your head.”

“Please don’t.”

“And then I’ll make a run for the door.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t interested in running last time.”

“And I’m still not,” you say. “So there’s no point in killing me.”

He chuckles a bit and his glasses slide down his nose. He pushes it up. “Think of this as a gift! Or more like an offer of partnership.”

“A gift of death?”

“I've already told you I wasn’t planning on killing you anymore,” he says, sighing. “Just . . . just follow me, and you’ll see!”

You huff and cross your arms. “I detest being lied to.”

Alastor opens the basement door. The hinges creak. It appears as if darkness itself lives inside, swirling and eating up whatever light that passes through. “Yes, that’s good to know.”

You take another step back. “That’s a really creepy basement.”

“You haven’t even been inside yet,” Alastor says. He places a light hand on your back, practically pushing you down. “Now, now, don’t be so stubborn.”

You grab the door frames, and push against him to resist. “I’m not going without knowing what’s down there.”

Alastor presses on your back. “If you go down there and see what I’ve prepared, you will feel very silly for causing such a ruckus.”

You push back harder, using the door frames as support. “As first dates go, this is giving really mixed signals,” you say, trying to smile. “I hope you don’t treat all ladies like this.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Just the stubborn ones.”

You and Alastor are at a stalemate. He pushes. You push back. The classic dilemma of an unmovable force versus an immovable object. “If you kill me, I will haunt you,” you say, digging your feet into the wooden floors. “I will haunt you, and hide all your tacky bow ties.”

Alastor stops pushing, and you fumble backwards from the lack of his opposing force. He points his nose to the air, straightening his bow ties. “It is not.”

You frown at him. “Oh . . . I’m really sorry.”

“You should be.”

Taking this opportunity, you press against the wall like a hissing cat. “I’m sorry you actually believe that!”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes one deep breath. He strides to you, and the world goes upside-down when he flips you over his shoulder. Alastor carries you like a common sack of worthless potatoes.

“I really don’t like this!” you shriek, angling your head to glare at him. Alastor has a surprisingly really nice back. Like . . . a really, really nice back.

Alastor meets your eyes and smirks. “You’ll like it in a second.”

He tightens his grip around your hips, and his boney shoulders dig into your stomach. You keep your eyes ahead. “You have a really flat butt.”

He pauses for a second. “Stop looking at it.”

“I will do as I please,” you say with a huff, and go limp in his hold as you accept your fate. “It’s just all pointy. Maybe some squats will be helpful?”

“If it’s such a horror to you, stop ogling my buttocks like a pervert.”

“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth,” you say with a weird giggle. “These pants suit you well.”

He shakes you like a wet noodle. “I will drop you.”

“Please don’t.”

Alastor flips you, and your feet land safely on the ground. His basement is totally not creepy, totally not creepy at all. The fluorescent light bulb swaying around totally does not add to general horror. The blacked-out windows, and the spiderwebs on the wood make you not want to sprint to the top.

The cadaver bag on the table makes you stay.

It’s filled. You walk to the table, and observe the lump. Grasping the zipper, you pull it until the face of a dead man greets you. He’s fresh. Killed less than a day ago.

Alastor opens his arms, wide, as if to present to you. “Your studying can all be done right here!”

You stare at him, accepting the smile that creeps on your face. “Really?” you say, and trace this man’s nose with your fingers—his skin is cold. He is cold and dead, and full of organs you can poke around and observe. “You’re going to just allow me to dissect this body?”

Alastor smiles at you. “See?” he says. “You were making all the fuss, and now your smile could light up this very room.”

The laughter starts as a soft giggle that builds into excited glee. “I could kiss you right now.”

Alastor takes a step back. “Please don’t”

You roll your eyes then observe the person lying on this table. He wasn’t as big as the one before. This man still has the colors on his face, a bit pale, but he looks like he could just be in a sickly sleep. “Did you like this person?”

“Not at all,” he says. “He’d be alive if he was.”

“Then do you like me?” you say with a grin, placing a hand on your hips. “All this to get my attention, I see. I prefer being dined first, but not the worst first date I’ve ever been on.”

Alastor glares at you as he makes a face. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“So quick to answer that it’s almost insulting,” you say. “Well, it was your decision to keep me alive.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that pierces your very core. The lightbulb makes a shadow pass over his eyes, and you swear his eyes glow. Every single cell in your body screams as Alastor looks down at you from his glasses with a smile and darkened brown eyes that match his well-kept brown hair. “And I’m currently debating my choice,” he says. “I do not like being mocked. I can still change my mind if I find you a weak link.”

“Oh . . . I . . . oh . . . .,” you say dumbly, coughing a little bit. The words aren’t doing their job.

“Do you understand me?”

Basements are supposed to be cold—you definitely don’t feel cold right now. “I’m sure you can—I don’t doubt that at all.” To break your gaze on him, you turn to the dead man between you and Alastor. “This man didn’t suffer.”

Alastor’s eyebrows raise. “And?”

“I’m not a total idiot when it comes to . . . uh . . . hunting,” you say, tilting the dead guy’s chin to see his neck. It was a bit stiff. “There’s a single deep slice on his neck. He was probably still high on adrenaline when you killed him, but with the other body, you took your time. That guy suffered—this one didn’t”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t see your point.”

“Nevermind . . . just . . . ,” you start and smile a bit. “Thank you for preserving this body so well, but unfortunately, I think I’ll have to refuse.”

Alastor’s eye twitches as he takes a step closer to you. His shadow towers over you. “You’re refusing?”

You zip the man back into his bag. “You don’t need a partner,” you say. “If anything, bringing him back into your house is risky. If it’s my silence you want, you already have it. There’s no need for all this.”

“I never asked for your silence.”

“Yet it’s yours nonetheless,” you say. “Thank you for the gift or offer for partnership, but I’m not interested in going into business with you.”

“Is this not beneficial for you?”

“It is . . . it really is, and every fiber wants to give in but it’s not wise for me to get mixed up with you,” you tell him. “I think you’re mistaking my sin for gluttony. I know trouble when I see it, and I’m not afraid to flee from it.”

Alastor’s face twists as his smile turns into a snarl. “All you could ever want right here.”

“You obviously want something from me,” you say. “I know you’re not above using tricks to get what you want. Although, I don’t understand why you take such time out of your day to do such consuming things.”

He glares at you. “There’s always the chance that you’d say no,” he says. “And I can’t have that happen.”

“I decide if something is worth my time or not,” you say. “I will only ask once: what do you want from me?”

Alastor exhales, and pushes his glasses. “I’d like to watch you work. There’s something I want to confirm.”

You study him for a second. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Then hand me a pack of gloves please,” you say. “I can show you all the things I’ve learned.”

Alastor tosses gloves to your face. It whacks you and lands on the table. You curse at him, and roll your eyes.

There’s a large container of formaldehyde under the table. You don’t know where he got it or how, but still, you take a stray brush forgotten on one of the tables, and brush the skin with chemicals. The sharp smell stings your eyes, but you’ve learned to tolerate it. Alastor scrunches his nose, taking a step back.

Opening the window would probably be wise, but you could do that later. Your father always did hope that you’d grow out of your bad habit. But with such an exhilarating opportunity, caution is at the back of your mind.

The scapple fits into your palm as if it was made for you. Throughout this Earth, no . . . not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

Alastor laughs, not the breathy and light kind, but in a loud and triumphant way. His eyes bulge out, looking like they could pop out any second “It seems I was not wrong,” he says. “You have the most precious smile I have ever seen.”

“Okay?”

Alastor leans closer to you, jerking your chin to face him. “All this time I’ve seen you; I have never seen your smile as true and honest as now.”

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The bristles of the brush tangle on your feathers. It’s a struggle to smoothen the feathers at the back of your head now that you live alone.

The clock strikes an hour past noon, and work will call for you soon. It would be nice to be one time if this motherfucking brush would do its fucking job! You tug on the handle, cursing when it jerks your scalp. The smack of your forehead on the vanity table echoes around the room. The feathers bundled on the floor make you screech. That’s it. It’s over. You are not taking another second of this.

Discarding the brush, you head to the kitchen.

You grab two mugs, and take two spoonful of coffee ground and feed it to the coffee machine. With only a press of a button, you make the most perfectly perfected perfect cup of coffee. You take both mugs and take a seat on that little side table inside the kitchen.

The second mug steams with coffee.

You plop your chin on the table, unable to draw your eyes aways as you stare at it. Making a second cup is a waste of your money. Deep down to your very core, you’re aware that it’s a waste. It strikes you with the gentleness of a plane crash every single morning you make it, and every single night you have to throw it away.

Silence is your companion in this empty house. Where are the days when soft music plays on the radio? Where are the days where light footsteps walk around the carpeted floors? Where are the days of stories over dinner? These days watching television is the only way to fill that silence.

A knock breaks your pathetic moping.

The knocking starts out soft and hesitant, until it’s replaced with loud banging.

Swiping your mug from the table, you stride to the front door and swing it open. Charlie and Alastor stand in front of you, big smiles on their faces.

Your husband pushes a small ugly statue right up your face, presenting it to you with a self-satisfied smile. “I was told it was polite to bring a gift to a person’s home,” Alastor says. “Do you like it?”

“Oh no . . . ,” Charlie says, frowning a bit. “I didn’t bring anything.”

Alastor places a hand on her shoulder. “No worries then! This gift shall be from the both of us.”

The mug slips from your hold. Charlie catches it, not a single drop spilling, and plops it back on your hand. You blink at Alastor and frown. “Why are you knocking?”

“We’re here on super serious business talk,” he says, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to bring her closer. “Charlotte here has something to ask you.”

Charlie smiles. “Just Charlie, actually.”

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mug. “No.”

Alastor tilts his head. “No?”

“No, this is your home,” you say, opening the door wider. “There’s no need to knock.”

Alastor and Charlie step inside, and you take a sip of your coffee—a long, drawn out sip. Alastor walks to the shelf nearest the door, placing your ugly little statue on the shelf that’s meant for all other ugly knickknacks. It blends in with all the other gifts Alastor’s given you.

Charlie’s eyes bounce around the walls, eyes wide as she looks around. “Wooooaaaaah,” she says. “This is a really nice house you guys have!”

Alastor glares at the television. “Why, thank you!” he says. “I put in a lot of care into how it looks. It seems you’ve redecorated—I don’t like it.”

“Oh, you never do,” you say. “Let’s move to the kitchen, shall we?”

Alastor’s ears straighten. “The kitchen?” he echoes. “Oh yes. Let’s go the kitchen.”

Alastor hooks his arms around yours, pulling you to the kitchen. There’s determination set in each step. You and Charlie take your seats by the kitchen table. Charlie continues to look around. You see it in her eyes as they flicker around to count each radio.

It seems you’ve made a mistake.

Alastor goes straight to the refrigerator, and swings it open.

With horror, you watch as his gaze observes each level meticulously, humming as he does. There’s not much to look at, considering the only thing inside are a couple of eggs, empty plastic containers that you’ve been too lazy to wash, last week’s takeout, and a couple of sauces and condiments.

When he finally closes it, your shoulders sink as you exhale . . . until, of course , Alastor wraps his fingers around the freezer’s handle.

“Would you like anything, Charlie?” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. “I think we have juice or lemonade—”

“We don’t have any of those,” Alastor says, and his gaze bears down on you. “It makes me wonder what will be inside our freezer, my love.”

Charlie smiles brightly. “I don’t need anything,” she says. “I had tea with Rosie this morning, and Alastor and I had lunch on the way here.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” you say, chuckling nervously. “You know what? It’s such a hellish day today, and it would be a waste to spend it here. Why don’t we move to the garden?”

“No.” Alastor crosses his arm. “We are staying right here.”

You sulk in your seat, drooping a little. “ . . . okay.”

Finally, Alastor opens the freezer door. His twitching eyes and pursed lips tell you everything you need to know about how the next fifteen minutes will go. Carefully, with the tips of his fingers, Alastor pulls out one of those microwave meals you buy at the grocery. He glares at the frozen chicken nuggets and pork cutlets, and all the processed frozen food you store there for easy meals.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say, giving him your most innocent smile. “And I barely eat those anyway. Those microwaved meals are just there for the occasional meal, I swear!”

Without uttering a single word, Alastor opens the cabinet under the sink where the trash can stays, and pulls it out. Empty microwave meals fill the brim. He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh dear . . . ” Charlie winces. “That’s a lot, even for me.

You sulk deeper into your chair.

Alastor inspects the cabinets above the sink. The only things that greet him are a bunch of pots and pans. Relief pours into you . . . until of course, Alastor grabs the largest pot at the back of the cabinet and opens it, smashing any sense of relief with a metal bat.

Alastor pulls out a large pack of instant noodles. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks. “I remember telling you that I don’t like you eating these.”

“But they’re delicious,” you say, pouting a bit.

“These aren’t healthy,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re full of chemicals!”

“Everything is full of chemicals!” you counter. “And I only had a few. The dosage makes the poison.”

Alastor opens the trash can and tosses what was supposed to be your dinner. “The plastic said it was a pack of twelve?”

You cross your arms. “And? I don’t see your point.”

“There’s only two left.”

You fiddle with the handle of your mug. “I . . . I was busy . . . ?”

“We’re all busy,” he says and you could pick out the faintest sound of static. “Not a single fresh fruit or vegetable, or any proper meats. Have I taught you nothing?”

Your pout deepens. “Do we have to do this in front of Charlie, my deerest?”

Charlie raises her arms in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “Aren’t you a doctor?”

“Yes, one would think . . . .,” Alastor trails off. His eyes land on the second mug of coffee on the table, and his neck tilts to angle until it snaps. Static scratches that air until it warps. His eyes darken to reveal radio dials. “Expecting a guest today?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, and take a long and drawn-out sip of your coffee to try and compose yourself. It doesn’t work. “I don’t make coffee for guests.”

Charlie panics a bit. “There, there Alastor,” she says. “No need to get all crazy!”

Alastor’s antlers grow. “I’m aware you don’t. So, who is it for?”

“Oh . . . .” Dumbly blinking at him continues, and the words don’t seem to be doing their job.

Alastor leans closer, his voice morphing a bit. “I’d appreciate an answer, my love.”

“It's yours,” you find yourself saying. “ . . . If you want it, that is.”

He blinks at you. You blink at him. Charlie blinks at the both of you.

Gone are the growing antlers, and the static that buzzes your skin. Alastor stands before you with that never ending smile, perfectly normal—well, as normal as he can be. “You weren’t aware I’d be visiting.”

You frown at him. “It’s not a visit if it’s your own home.”

“I didn’t tell you I’d be coming home,” he says. “Why make one for me?”

The heat on your face makes you turn away. “Just take it, deerest.”

“Taste lovely as always!” he says, taking a swig. Your frown turns into a soft smile as your watch him drink. “But don’t think you’re getting away from this conversation.”

“It really isn’t my fault.”

“Oh, really now?” Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I’m positive I taught you how to cook nutritious dishes.”

You flick the mug, and a soft clink echoes a bit. “I still cook proper food for myself,” you tell him, showing him your saddest smile. “But . . . I find myself hating the dishes.”

Alastor twirls his microphone, and it strikes the ground with a soft thunk. “And you think saying this will get you off the hook?”

You stick your tongue out. “Is it working?”

Alastor sighs at you, and turns to the ticking clock. “We’re wasting time—go talk to Charlotte.”

Charlie smiles awkwardly. “Just Charlie, actually.”

With a triumphant smile, you turn to Charlie. “So,” you begin, “what business are we going to talk about today?”

It’s Charlies turn to sulk into the kitchen chair. “Extermination is a month away,” she says. “And Adam is heading straight to the hotel first! It’s just one bad event after another because Heaven refuses to listen, and I’m running out of options.”

Alastor steps behind you. Suddenly, a brush combs through the back of your feathers, smoothing those parts of your head that you’ve never been able to reach by yourself. Sometimes, you think Hell gave you feathers so someone could brush it for you. A part of you warms at the fact that you didn’t even need to ask your husband to smoothen your feathers. It’s a job he’s been doing since you first spawned in hell, and it seems it’s work he’s keen on continuing.

“Extermination,” you echo. “I love the extermination. There are so many desperate and poor souls who want to keep their limbs. I get rather busy—prime deal making opportunities right there.”

Charlie winces a bit. “Oh dear . . . um . . . okay. That sounds fun? And a little violent.”

Alastor speaks up from behind you, still running a brush through your feathers. “We can from Cannibal Town! Charlie was able to convince Rosie’s people to take arms.”

“Then, what brings you to me?” you ask, stiffening your back as you try not to lean into the brush that combs through your feathers. Alastor always was better at preening you. “I’m not much of a fighter.”

“Alastor suggested that I ask for your help,” Charlie says. “He said you’re one of the few people who knows how to fix wounds that come from Angelic Weapons.”

You bat your eyes at Alastor. “Spilling all my secrets, I see.”

Alastor glides the brush over your hair, leaning close to your ear. “Oh, not everything.”

You laugh and glance at Charlie. “In front of a guest, my deer?”

Charlie cringes with the most hilarious frown.

“It’s just a matter of counteracting the holiness of their weapons,” you say, clearing your throat. “After that, it’s purely medical.”

“How is that even possible?”

Alastor trails through your feathers, and it tingles and flutters. You keep your expression emotionless. “I’m surprised you don’t know this,” you say. “Did Belphegor never tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well, eons ago, Belphegor found out that angelic weapons are considered holy, and that’s very bad for a Sinner,” you explain. “So, she and a bunch of her team found out that if you cut off the holy site or embed a large amount of Sinner energy, one will be able to treat it.”

Alastor leans closer, butting into the conversation. “I prefer it when you cut it off.”

“Of course you do,” you say with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Embedding the wounds with your magic takes too much energy from you, and because of that you always come home to me with sunken eyes. That is, if you don’t pass out before you reach the front door,” Alastor tells you. “I don’t understand why you go out of your way when they’re not worthy.”

“Worthy?”

“Yes, worthy,” he says. “Had they been competent, they wouldn’t need to go to you in the first place. It only proves that they’re weak.”

You smile at his words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.

Charlie rolls her eyes at the both of you. “So, you could help us?”

You twist, turning to Alastor. “I think you’ve gotten all my feathers straightened out,” you say. “My love, can you do me a favor?”

Lightly, Alastor taps your head with the tip of his cane. “Of course, how can I help?”

“I think the plants need some watering.”

The brush on Alastor’s hand dissolves with a poof. He leans closer once again, trailing your cheek with his finger until they hook on your chin. He captures you with his stare, and you allow him to trap you. He presses his lips on your cheek, and disappears into his shadow.

You take an even longer sip of your coffee.

Charlie massages her forehead, eyes twitching. “Dear Satan, it’s like watching my parents all over again! I can leave, you know,” she says, snorting. “Give you two a little privacy?”

“Oh, don’t bother,” you tell her. “There wouldn’t be enough time.”

Her brows furrow. “Time?”

“After all, extermination is in a month,” you say, brightening your smile. “We’re going to need at least two.”

“ What the fuuuuck,. ” Charlie whispers underneath her breath, her voice a pitch higher.

“Every couple of years, there will be certain seasons where it takes six!” you say. “Sinner bodies are just so exhilarating.”

Charlie chokes on her spit, and her eyes bulge. “Are you serious?”

“Hmmm, I could be—who knows?” You raise your mug to toast, and take a drink.

“You’re joking,” Charlie says. “ . . . Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“My dear, is that a question you would want an answer to?” you ask. “Would you be prepared if the answer happens to be no ?”

Charlie sinks deeper into her chair. “Okay, then! Moving on, now.”

Leaning on your palm, you laugh. “My deerly beloved husband wouldn’t give all this information for free,” you say. “What did he ask for?”

“We made a deal.”

Your hands drop to the table. “Oh Charlotte,” you say. “That was a foolish mistake. You don’t know what Alastor does to the so—“

“I still have my soul!” Charlie exclaims, balling her fist. “From Vaggie! From you—his own wife! I did what I needed to do to keep my people safe . . . Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be so reliant on Alastor,” you tell her with a small smile. “You can’t trust him.”

“He’s given me no reason no to trust him, and . . . ,” Charlie trails off. “And Alastor is my friend.”

Your smile brightens a bit. “Friend?”

“Yes?” Charlie says. “Everyone at the hotel is my friend, and he’s been a tremendous help.”

You place your hands over Charlies and give it a squeeze. “Convince me to help you.”

“W-what?”

“Alastor isn’t asking me to go play medic in the middle of a warzone.” Your brush your feathers out of your face. “If he was asking, I would say yes without a second thought because that’s who we are, but he isn’t asking me, Charlie, you are.”

Charlie hums, placing a finger on her lips as she thinks. “I heard from Angel that you and Alastor got married whe—“

CRASH!

She grips the table, eyes wide as she looks around. “What was that?”

You take a long and drawn-out sip of coffee, contemplating your choice for marriage. “Nothing to be worried about,” you say. “That was just my television.”

“Your Tv?” Charlie frowns a bit. “Did . . . did Alastor just throw away your Tv?”

You laugh, swatting your hand in the air. “Not at all!” you say. “It probably tripped out my window—those picture boxes are always so clumsy.”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “You’re saying that your Tv . . . just tripped out the window.”

You smile at her. “You were saying something?”

She sighs, massaging her forehead. “You got married when you were alive, but continue to stay together. It’s very rare for Sinners to do such a thing,” she says. “And with all of that . . . uh . . . Alastorness.”

“It’s alright, you can just say bat-shit crazy.”

“I’d prefer not to,” she says with an awkward laugh. “So, how were you able to stay together for so long

“Are you . . . ,” you trail off, blinking. “Are you asking me for relationship advice?”

“A bit? If that’s okay,” she says. “Rosie already helped but, well, she did eat her first husband.”

“I don’t think I can be of much help.” Your lips purse. “Alastor and I don’t exactly have the most conventional marriage.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1927

“Do you like it?” Alastor offers you a spoonful of the simmering sauce.

You lean closer, shifting from your seat on his kitchen counter. Alastor dips the spoon in your opened mouth. “It’s spicy,” you say, lips twisting when you cough. “Is it supposed to be like that?”

Alastor tilts his head. A lock of his hair falls to the side. “No . . . it’s not.” He takes back the spoon and dips it into the pan. Alastor coughs as soon as it hits his tongue. “How many peppers did you add?”

Your legs sway, and the heels of your foot tap the cabinets below you. “I added what was written on the recipe! Exactly twelve peppers.”

Alastor twists the stove’s knob, killing the fire. “Take a look at the notebook again,” he says and reaches over your legs, grabbing his book full of recipes. “If you use these things called ‘eyes’ and ready, you’d be able to see that it says, ‘one to two’!”

“No, it does not!” you huff, grabbing the notebook from him. You read through the list of ingredients. There, near the bottom, pass the four cloves of chopped garlic, half a shallot, and a pinch of pepper, ‘one to two peppers’ is scribbled with blocky letters. “Oh . . . that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me.”

Alastor adjusts his sleeves, pulling it back up his forearm. (Hmm, not a bad look.) “There’s no point in teaching you how to cook this if you don’t know how to read!” he says, eyes twitching. “Go . . . Just go over there and let me fix this.”

“I already said I was sorry!”

“No, you did not!” Alastor says, throwing his hands into the air. “What you said was,‘Oh . . . that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me’, actually.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” you repeat with a snort. “That’s my bad.”

“Get out of my kitchen before you ruin dinner.” He leans on the counter, crossing his arms. You hum to yourself. Alastor should pull his sleeves up more. “Go set the table or something. And wash your hair when you get home—it smells like chemicals.”

With a huff, you do as you're told.

You slide off his counter, opening the cabinet and grab two bowls with one arm and reach for the table placemats with the other.

Two sets of utensils, glass cups, and paper napkins. It’s one more set than what you prepare when you’re at your own home. Two . . . Two. It’s becoming quite the word in your vocabulary.

There’s a proper table waiting to be used in the other room, but this smaller one you’re setting, with its fraying edges and turmeric stains suit the both of you much better.

Three ice-cubes bobble at the top of Alastor’s water. It’s how he likes it. It’s funny. You don’t remember Alastor disclosing this particular information. It’s just something you noticed one day, and you’ve never stopped noticing. What else have you unconsciously learned about him, and what have you unconsciously taught him about you?

Alastor walks to the table, a large steaming bowl in his hands. He places it between the bowls, and you reach into the drawer for a ladle.

The taste tingles your tongue. It’s good. Better than anything you could possibly make for yourself.

You reach into your pocket and toss a handkerchief at Alastor’s face. It lands on between his hair. He tilts his head, shaking it, and the cloth slides on the table. “It’s yours,” you tell him, taking a spoonful of your food. “Thanks for dinner.”

Alastor studies how his name is embroidered in near letters, thumbing the music notes framing it. “Dinner was a way to thank you for this week’s meat.”

He tosses back the handkerchief. It smacks your face.

You peel it from your skin, and trace the letters you’ve threaded during your very scarce free time. “I can’t go around with a handkerchief that has your name on it.”

His smile widens. “Why not?”

“People would think I’m a fan.” You hand Alastor the handkerchief this time. “Just take it as a gift then.”

Alastor takes it from you, and places it into his pocket.

You hum into your spoon with a pleased smile. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor takes his time chewing and swallowing his food. “As you can see,” he tells you, “I’m eating.”

“I’m bored,” you say. “Eat while you talk.”

He reaches across the table, and his fingers catch on the knob of the radio to turn it on.

Classical music plays out of the speaker. It was correct to assume that Alastor pre-sets radios to play his favorite stations. Although, you didn’t imagine that each of his many radios would have their own specific station. A different radio for different stations. You questioned Alastor about it, but he didn’t say much.

Once the bottom of the bowls has been scraped into your stomachs, you take the dishes and go to the sink.

Your nose scrunches at the sight of the piled dishes. Alastor watches you with a smile. You turn away when you notice.

Alastor takes a container from the cabinet above your head. He’s warm. Always warm.

He takes two containers, placing the leftovers inside. And there it is again, that word—Two. Not one, but two. One for him. One for you. You didn’t ask for leftovers. You’ve never asked at all. Alastor will just hand you the container like it’s the most automatic thing in this world for him to do.

You take the first of many bowls, and rinse the stubborn pieces with your hands. “There’s too many dishes,” you say. “It’s like you have one for every ingredient. Did you really need to use separate ones for each and every ingredient we used?”

He leans on the counter, slotting himself next to you. “I don’t like mixing the flavors until it’s time to add them.”

Alastor adjusts his pulled sleeves and crosses his arms.

The bowl slips from your grip.

“Oh . . . I . . . uh . . . sorry,” you say, picking up the bowl. “I mean, you really didn’t need one for the salt and pepper. They already come in containers—why couldn’t you just, I don’t know, eyeball it?”

“Eyeball it?”

“Yeah, or feel it with your soul or something,” you say and pick up the measuring spoons to show him. “You had to measure three pinches of salt instead of actually just pinching it.”

Alastor laughs, and strands of his hair slide down to his eyes. “And how did it taste?”

Your shoulders slump when you sigh. “Good.”

He bumps his shoulders with yours. “That’s just the way I was taught.”

“Well,” you start, “your way creates more dishes for me to clean.”

Alastor pivots from the counter, and takes his place in front of the second sink. He grabs the dish you’ve already rinsed and sponges it with soap. It’s quite the system you’ve created. You grab a dirty dish, rinse it, and pass it on to Alastor who cleans it with a sponge.

The next minute goes something like this:

Alastor flicks water at your face. You ignore it.

Flick. Ignore.

The water damps your hair. You kick his leg. “Stop that.”

Alastor drenches his hand under the faucet, letting his fingers accumulate water. He flicks it at you.

The grip you have on the plate tightens. “I am going to smash this on your head.”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. He glares. You glare back. He cups his hand under the faucet like a bowl. The water pools between his hands. He throws the water at you. It hits your eyes, blinding you. That does little to stop you.

You grip the plate, swinging it in his direction.

The plate doesn’t connect with anything . . . Sadly. You rub the water out your eyes, and find Alastor kneeling on the floor with a triumphant smile.

Alastor stands up, brushing dirt from his pants. “You missed.”

“You ducked.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” he says. “What if you actually hit me?”

You pass the plate to Alastor before you scratch the urge to swing at that smug smile of his. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor closes the faucet. “You always ask me that.”

“That’s because you say it in entertaining ways,” you say. “It’s boring to wash the dishes without something to distract me.”

Alastor soaps the dish. “Your lessening attention span worries me.”

You roll your eyes at him, and flick water at his face. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says. “I find myself having no reason to deny you.”

Alastor’s glasses slide down his nose. He leans close enough for you to smell his perfume. He’s warm—always warm. It takes a second for you to understand. You dry your hands on a stray towel and fix it in place.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1928.

The metal bench cools the back of your neck.

The sun blinds your eyes, but you keep a steady gaze on the afternoon beams. When was the last time you felt the heat of the sun kiss your skin? As the seconds tick by. As the birds fly above you. As the leaves fall from their stem, melting on this bench seems like a heavenly idea.

But as the clock will eventually strike. But as the birds will eventually find their nest. But as the leaves will eventually land. So, too, must you eventually go back to work.

A shadow blocks the sun.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Alastor’s upside-down face smiles at you. “Good morning to you!”

With a yelp, you swing your forehead forward.

Alastor leans backwards, narrowly missing your head by centimeters. “Not the greeting I imagined, but hello to you as well,” he says. “The receptionist said I could find you here.”

You twist, turning to him with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Alastor slides over the bench, and takes the free seat next to you. His legs cross. “Why would I not be, okay?”

There’s some bag slung over his shoulder, but that’s not important right now. Your eyes trail his body. Hair? Fixed. Smile? Wide. Clothes? Perfect. “You’re at a clinic.”

Alastor swats his hand. “I was in the area.”

That classic city stench attacks your nose, but it’s just nice to feel the way your hair sways from the breeze. “You’re not going to kill me, right?”

Alastor nudges his leg with yours. “You say that every single time!”

Your smile turns smug. “I’ll stop saying it when it stops becoming funny.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, showing it off to you. “It never was.”

“It is to me,” you say and wave your hands in the air. “Just imagine this, the great Alastor had to stalk me!”

“I am great, but remind me again,” he begins, propping his arm on the bench to lean on it, “how long did you have to follow me?”

Sighing, you lean your head on the backrest to count the clouds. It’s nice to be able to see actual clouds for once instead of the drawing of children who wait. “ . . . Three months.”

“Exactly,” he says, and you hear the smugness in his words. “And I didn’t need to do any stalking—you led me straight to your house.”

You blow a raspberry at him. “Why are you even here then?”

Alastor props his legs on your lap. You push him off. He brings it back. It’s not worth fighting him right now. “I actually was in the area,” he says, and hands you the bag slung over his shoulder. “The director thought it would be a grand idea to bring the staff out to lunch.”

You unzip the bag, and packed lunch greets you. And there it is again. Two. Two. Two. One for you. One for him. Maybe both for you? “Al, tell me why I’m currently looking at two packed lunches?”

Alastor beams at you, and slides his legs off your lap. “I accidentally cooked too much today,” he said. “I thought it would be a grand idea to share.”

Your frown. “But . . . you already ate.”

“Oh . . . I was already planning on dropping by,” he says. “It was quite the stroke of luck that you’re only taking your break now, and that we happened to have lunch nearby. I thought I’d bring you a treat.”

Questions bubble on your throat. “Thank you, Al,” you say instead. You open the container and take a bite, savoring the taste. “It’s delicious.”

Alastor leans closer, and picks a leaf off your head. “That’s because I actually followed the recipe.”

You point your spoon at him. “That was just that one time!”

He smiles at you, chuckling softly. “Three actually.”

Before the clock strikes, it will tick. Before the birds find their nest, they will fly. Before the leaves hit the ground, it will fall. And before you eventually go back to work, you will eat on this bench, Alastor to your side.

He stares ahead. As you eat, you watch his eyes flicker. It goes from the kid then to a plant then to an old lady. This, you don’t question. You’ve stopped wondering what he could possibly be thinking years ago.

Alastor leans closer to your ear. “Do you see that lady?” he asks, voice low. His breath tickles your skin. “That one over there with the feather on her hat?”

You scan the people around the area, spotting the lady old enough to be your grandmother. A scarf wraps around her neck, despite the sun beaming with the afternoon heat. She lazily walks around. “What about her?”

“Do you think her name could be Edith? She looks like an Edith,” Alastor says. “She probably had three children, and married young when her parents forced her to marry this ugly but rich man she could never love.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. It’s like a mantra that plays in your head. There’s no reason not to play along whatever nonsense he’s spouting. “Sure, why not?”

“But no!” he exclaims into your ear. You jerk away and shove him with an elbow. “Oof . . . .Edith just had to defy all expectations, and she chose to elope with her childhood sweetheart. He’s not the richest man, but they survived.”

“That’s sweet.”

“And to this day,” he says, “everyone still calls her, ‘Edith the Penguin’.”

“Edith the penguin?” you echo. “Now I’m just confused.”

Alastor’s eyes shine. “Because she walks like a penguin with their ass on fire,” he snorts. “Your turn, now.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

“Fine.” You place your spoon down, and look around to the first person who grabs your attention. “That little kid over there—His name is Thomas, and he likes balloons.”

Alastor blinks at you. “And?”

You take your time chewing and swallowing your food. “That’s all.”

He gawks at you, and rolls your eyes. “It must be so boring to be you.”

“It is not!” You huff at him, and kick his leg. “I am a very interesting person, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh really, now? Thomas, and he likes balloons?” Alastor says,and points at the kid with twitching eyes. “He’s holding a balloon!”

You wave your arms, the spoon still in your grip. “So, he probably likes it!” you say. “Thomas wouldn’t get a balloon if he didn’t like it.”

“I pity your sense of imagination.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

You swallow what remains inside the container, and pack it up. “Is this what you do when you zone out as I’m tal—and you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” you say. “You are an incredibly judgmental person.”

“It’s called using my imagination. Something you apparently don’t have,” he says with a snort. “So . . . tell me what you did today.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “That’s my question.”

Alastor shrugs, taking the closed container and zipping it inside his bag. He hands you a tissue. “Well, I’m asking it now.”

You prop your arm on the bench, leaning on it. Alastor’s hair spikes out in odd places today. It must have quite the trek to the clinic. “I’m not as good a storyteller as you are.”

He props his arms on the bench, mimicking your pose. His eyes stare straight into yours. “ I don’t need a story,” he says. “I just want to know what you did today.”

You press your palm on his face, pushing him away from your face. The sun’s heat is really getting to you. Alastor’s nose crinkles as he rubs it. “Why would you even want to know what I do?”

Alastor props his elbows on his knees, observing the people around him. “You always ask me what I did,” he says. “I want to know if there’s something special about it.:

“There’s nothing special about it,” you tell him. Was there actually? You’re not sure. “I just like knowing, and it always entertains me.”

Alastor meets your eyes with a wide smile. “Then tell me what you did today,” he says. “Entertain me.”

The clock ticks closer. The birds are already close to their nests. The leaves are already floating to the ground. You are already close to going back to work, closer to this moment becoming nothing but a distant memory. “That was my first meal of the day.”

Alastor’s eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a hard scowl. “That’s not healthy.”

You shut your eyes and sigh. “I never said it was.”

“How would you live without me?”

Remember, Alastor brought you lunch, and it would be nice if he could bring you lunch again. “I’m going to hit you.”

Alastor bumps your knees with his. “Lovely,” he says, and you can hear the smile he’s wearing. “I’m sure it will be very painful because you’re so full of energy right now.”

Eyes still shut, you bump his knees back. “I’ve been busy,” you say. “And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “First of all, we’re all busy,” he says. “Second, I didn’t roll my eyes.”

“You did—it was audible,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. “Anyway, there’s nothing new with my day. It’s just the usual, people to see, files to file, blood to draw, pee to get on me.”

Alastor digs his finger into your cheek, twisting it as he presses down. “Wow, you really are a horrible storyteller.”

You know what, maybe you don’t need Alastor bringing you lunch. You peek open an eye to stare at him. “I’m going to smash a plate on your head once we start doing the dishes.”

Alastor mashes your cheek like some button. Over and over and over and over again. You swat his hand, and he rubs it with a grimace. “Were you planning on dropping by today?”

You place an arm over your eyes, blocking out the sun. “Will I have to do the dishes?”

“You don’t have to specifically do the dishes.”

You comb through your hair with your fingers. “That wouldn’t exactly be fair to you.”

“If you're so insistent, we can find something else for you to do,” he says. “I mean, if you hate it so much you don’t have to do it.”

“I don’t hate it,” you say with a sigh. A church bell sounds. It echoes through the buildings and through the trees. “Al . . . I’m tired.”

“I know,” he says, and you hear how softly he chuckles. “Your eyes are drooping so low I could fill the entire ocean in them.”

“I want to sleep, Al.”

“I know.”

“I hate this job.”

Alastor pauses for a second, and he bumps his shoulders with yours. “You don’t.”

The clock hasn’t struck yet. The birds haven’t flown to their nests. The leaves haven’t reached the ground. And so too will you stay in this moment of time.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1929

Footsteps creak on the wooden stairs. The sound is ignored, just like every other thing that isn’t relevant to you.

The dead cadaver under you has weird kidneys. The one on your palm is too small for a kidney that belongs to someone of his size. You take your scalpel, slicing it to observe the cross section.

“It’s time to stop,” Alastor tells you. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Him and his smile is not important right now. “You’ve been here all night.”

“Leave me alone,” you mumble. The human body continues to be amazing. The medulla is clearly outlined. The colors of its cells were so different from the cortex. “ . . . Kidneys, Alastor. He has weird kidneys. Hehehehe weird kidneys . . . ”

Alastor says your name in a way that forces you to listen.

“ . . . Oh . . . yes?” you say a bit dumbly.

“It’s nightfall,” he says, and the tone of his voice buzzes your skin. “Come on now, do as you're told. Be upstairs in fifteen minutes.”

It’s not an easy task to do as Alastor says, especially when this man’s left kidney is a whole different size from the right. However, with a frown, you slot the kidney from the opened chest cavity, and pack up the body.

You step out of the basement, and walk to the kitchen.

There’s a plate waiting for you on the table. It’s still hot. Muffled music plays from the porch, and you see Alastor’s outline through the windows. Taking your plate, you step out the front door and into the outdoors.

(Something you really need to start seeing more.)

And oh . . . he’s not listening to the radio. Alastor plays the recording of his show. It was a present you got him a few months back.

You take your seat on the matching rocking chair.

Alastor watches you settle into your seat. He turns the volume down. “Tables were invented for a reason.”

The chair rocks when you swing your legs. “It’s nice out here,” you say, and take a bite of vegetables. “The sky is much clearer. It helps that there’s no stench of piss.”

He turns to you with a small smile. “That’s because you live in the city.”

The wind blows your hair into your face. You push it out of the way. “Hey, Al,” you say slowly. “Tell me what you did today.”

“Why should I?”

You lean back into the chair, letting the rocking sway you. “Well, you got home late,” you say. “I had to use my keys.”

Alastor leans back on the chair, using the tips of his shoe to rock himself. “Yes, that was the point of the keys,” he says, humming. “It would be a shame to come home to another broken window.”

The taste of the vegetables mixed with the meat makes you smile in delight. “Are you still holding on to that?”

“Always.”

“I paid you back, eventually,” you tell him, pointing your fork at him. “Why are you still holding a grudge for an honest accident?”

On his cheek , where it’s always been and where it’ll always be, his smile strains. “You expect me to believe that a rock smashing my window was an honest accident.”

You offer him your most innocent smile. “Yes.”

“Well, I hope your windows are much sturdier then,” he says, mimicking your smile. “One of these days, I might cause an accident.”

The stars twinkle in the sky. There’s a vast amount of knowledge those gassy balls hold. Maybe your life would be less horrific if you were interested in the stars instead. “In my defense, you were late.”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

You take another bite of your meal, and sway happily to do a little dance. “Just . . . okay? Just tell me what you did before I finish my meal.”

Alastor reaches into his pocket and tosses a keychain at you. It lands between your legs.

You set the plate on the coffee table between you, and hold the keychain to the light. It was a cute, little cartoon alligator. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours.”

“I can tell that much,” you say, twirling the gift between your fingers. “You never give me nice knickknacks. It’s always the ugly ones

Alastor huffs at you. “That doesn’t sound like my problem anymore,” he says. “I thought you would appreciate something that looks halfway decent one and for all.”

“I find the ugly ones really charming, actually. They’re very funny to look at,” you say. “So, where did you get this?”

Alastor clasps his hands, resting it on his stomach as he rocks himself. “Saw an advertisement. Went to the zoo.”

You scrunch your face. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“Go finish your meal.”

You pocket his gift, and grab the plate on the table. “Master of storytelling right here, ladies and gentlemen,” you say, barking a laugh. “I figured you would love the excuse of hearing yourself talk.”

Alastor ignores you, reaching for his notepad instead.

You watch Alastor as he writes on his notepad. The breeze sways a strand of his hair. His lips twist when he thinks, just like he’s doing right now

Your eyes fall on your plate, to where vegetables and meat were carefully tossed together. Alastor cooked today—he always cooks.

When you finish, you’ll grab the plates, and begin the mountain of dishes. Even when dish soap stings your fingers, even when the feeling of wet food grosses you, and even when thousands of dirty dishes wait for you . . . it’s something you don’t mind.

Once this meal is finished, you and him will step inside. He’ll properly tell you about his day, and you’ll take the pan and scrub it.

Ah . . . there it is again. That word—Two.

But it’s not two of anything. It’s simply just two. You and Alastor.

“You’re frowning,” Alastor says. He stares at you from the corner of his eyes. “Why?”

It’s weird.

Very weird.

You don’t . . . You don’t understand. How do you say the words you do not know how to explain?

It’s almost as if . . . “We should get married.”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the open land. “No.”

The inside of your cheek stings from how you bite it. You turn away to hide your flushed cheeks. “I . . . It just came out, okay?” you mumble. “I’m really trying not to be offended that you turned me down without a second thought, and with a laugh as well.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m nothing you want.”

The moonlight reflects off his brown eyes.

“Sometimes . . . ,” you begin, and a small smile appears on your lips. “Sometimes I wish you see yourself the way I see you.”

Alastor laughs at you again. “You’ve been having such thoughts about me?” he says. “What an absolute honor! I’m deeply flattered.”

“And then you say words like that, and I immediately know it’s not worth it

Alastor lifts his eyes from his notepad to peek at you. He fixes his eyeglasses. “You don’t actually think we should get married.”

To be infuriating, you take a bite from your plate, savoring each flavor with drawn out chews.

“I have no idea,” you say. “But . . . I mean, why not? There are many good reasons for me to marry you—it’s advantages for me, and everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad, shaking his head. “That’s the most absurd idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What, being in a relationship with me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s twice you’ve managed to offend me.” You laugh to hide your frown. “But that friend of yours. The feathery one from the lounge you like taking me to.”

Alastor tilts his head. “Mimzy?”

“Ah yes, her,” you say with a hum. “She asked me if you um . . . uh . . . well, if you liked vanilla or hot and spicy.”

“If I had to answer, Id say hot and spicy?” Alastor says, and you laugh at the confusion on his face. “I got a bottle of this pepper flakes infused with old. It was quite the treat.”

“That’s exactly what I figured you would say,” you tell him.“Unfortunately for you, Mimzy was talking about sex.”

Alastor scrunches his face.

“Oh don’t make such a face, there is absolutely no need to be afraid of the prospect of such activities.” The final bite of your meal bursts with so much flavor that you revel it for a second. “Al, let’s get married.”

Alastor glares at you. “No.”

You place the plate on the coffee table. It can be washed after this conversation. “Why not?”

He points his pen between you and him..“We aren't even dating,” he says. “And . . . I can’t express such passionate displays of affection.”

You rock the chair with your shoe. An owl hoots from somewhere beyond the trees. Huh, you weren’t aware owls lived in this area. “Don’t be a child—just say sex.”

Again, his face scrunches. “I will not.”

“It’s a really good thing,” you say, sighing, “that no one’s asking.”

Alastor searches for your eyes. He holds it. It was only ever his to hold anyway. “I’m not even sure I’m interested in romance.”

You look around, whipping your head. “I think I’m missing the part where someone asked.”

“Be serious.”

“Okay fine. This is me being serious because I am when I say that all I don’t need your romance—Al, you accepted me for who I am, and to me? That is enough,” you say with a soft smile. “You are all I could ever ask for.”

Alastor stares at the stars, his eyes capturing each one. “I can’t love you like a husband should.”

The stares are really beautiful. Each shines in their own way. Alastor sees the beauty in them, but you aren’t going to be beaten by a gas ball.

Tonight, you will be the only star Alastor should keep his gaze on.

“Alastor, look at me.”

He keeps his eyes on the stars.

Huffing, you stride to his chair, and block his view of the night sky.

You plant your arms on the armrest for support, and inch your face so close that you are the only thing he will see. “Alastor,” you say his name, voice oh so soft, “look at me.”

Oh . . . his eyes are browner than you thought. It’s a deep and dark brown that pulls you in.

“You can love me in ways that matter.” You press your forehead against his, and close your eyes.

There are more words to be said, but right now you and him stay in this moment of time. Just . . . for . . . a second.

“I will never force you to love me in ways you cannot,” you whisper. The ends of his hair brush against your skin. “Alastor, I could never reject the type of love you can offer me. I can never deny you.”

Alastor caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Friends don’t get married.”

Impulsivity was such a bad habit of yours. It’s a fact that makes you bear the consequences, but consequences be damned. You take his hand, holding it in yours. The pads of his fingers have different textures. Some are smooth. Some are rough. But the whole thing warms you to the touch.

It’s unfair. He’s unfair. How could something as simple as taking his hand intoxicate?

Your lips hover over his skin, brushing it a little. Alastor doesn’t pull away. With a smile that Alastor always seems to put on your lips, you plant a soft kiss on his ring finger.

“We aren’t normal people. There’s no reason to force ourselves into a conventional relationship.” You meet his eyes with a smile. Every word you utter brushes your lips yo his skin. “This marriage will be defined however we want. You offered me a partnership in death . . . .This is me offering you a partnership in life.”

You press your lip on the back of his hand one final time, and return to your chair.

Alastor doesn’t speak.

You rock yourself with your foot, enjoying the sway of the chair.“There is that added benefit that the police won’t be suspicious of a doting husband.”

Alastor scrunches his face. “Doting husband?” he echoes. “I thought we wouldn’t be having a normal marriage.”

“That doesn’t mean a lady doesn’t want to feel special,” you say, snorting. “I’ve always dreamed of a doting husband.”

Alastor rips a page out of his notepad. He folds it with his hands.

His vets match his shoes today. The hair on the back of his head sticks out and curls. Did he take a nap today? “I could be like this every single night,” you say softly. “You and me. The two of us under the stars until our hairs turn gray.”

Alastor’s gaze stays locked on the piece of paper he’s folding. “Why me?”

You stare at him with a smile, and lean your face on your palm. “Does it need to be said?”

Alastor glances at you with those brown eyes of his. “I’m asking.”

“It’s because . . . It’s . . . I . . . ,” your trail off. How do you summon the words to describe something you don’t understand?

There’s a smug smile on Alastor’s lips. “What, is it because you love me?”

“Would it be so bad if I did?” you say, chuckling into your arm. “But . . . well, I don’t exactly know how to properly say this.”

“Just open your mouth,” he says, rolling his eyes, “and let the words do it’s job.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” you tell him, and your cheeks tingle. “Maybe even past life. Can you imagine that? You and me in hell, doing our dishes together.”

There’s an odd look on his face. “Sure.”

“We can listen to the radio,” you say. “And I’ll ask you about your day, and you will tell me the wildest and most grandiose story while we clean a pot.”

Alastor smiles at you. “You hate doing the dishes.”

“I do not.”

“You do. I see it—I always do,” he says with a soft chuckle. Alastor taps his nose. “Your nose scrunches every time, yet you never ask for help.”

What expression are you making right now?

You bring your legs to your chest. “I’m willing to give up everything for dirty dishes if it means I have you as a companion for the rest of my life.”

Alastor turns back to whatever he was folding.

You hide your face in your legs, face flushed and warm. “Say something . . . please,” you say, whispering. “I just poured out my heart for you

You hear Alastor rise from his seat. He places a hand on your head. “Today’s dinner . . . ,” he says, and his voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Did you like it?”

You smile even if he couldn’t see it, and lean into his hand. “It was one of the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

“I wouldn’t mind making it for you for the rest of my life . . . if you’re willing to wash the dishes with me for the rest of yours,” Alastor says, and you think this is the most honest thing he’s ever told you. “It’s yours. Even if you don’t want it, this is yours now.”

You peek out of your knees. Alastor’s smile is soft. He opens his palms and your eyes flicker to them. He shows you what he’s been folding. It’s the paper of his notepad folded into a ring—a paper ring.

“Do it again,” you say with a beam that could rival the stars. “Ask me again.”

Alastor caresses your cheek, the back of his finger brushing down your skin. “Doting husband?”

“Exactly,” you say with a laugh and lean into his touch. “You catch on very quickly.”

Alastor takes your hand in his, and his thumb brushes over your ring finger. Does he feel your skin the way you feel his? He kneels on one knee and the paper ring is presented to you. “Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

You insert your ring finger into the paper ring. “The honor would be mine, my dearest.”

Alastor stares at you.

You stare back.

The moment your eyes settle on one another, laughter echoes across the land. It’s loud and breathy, and it echoes so far that the local wildlife gets disturbed. Alastor settles back on his chair, rocking himself.

Alastor calms down first. “Oh . . . uh . . . Should we share a passionate kiss?”

The stars shine above you. Not a single gas ball can beat the brightness of your smile. “Do you want to?” you ask. “Be honest, my dear.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “Not particularly—Do you?”

“Maybe? Sometimes?” you say with a shrug. “I could live a happy life without such passionate kisses.”

“Really?” he says, and the surprise in his voice makes you laugh. “You would be fine without one?”

“Well, since you’re so insistent, I’ll allow a kiss.”

Alastor snorts into the air. “And where and when would you want such a kiss?”

You hold him in your gaze. There’s so much to learn, so much to figure out. It’s alright. There will be time. “Anywhere and anytime, you want, my love.”

“You’re going to give me control?” he asks. “Is this not something you would want as well?”

“I’ll make this easy enough for you to understand,” you tell him, tracing the paper ring around your finger. “I demand a kiss whenever you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.”

Alastor hums, looking away to study the woodcarving on his chair. He picks on them. “I supposed if you need anyone to fulfill your needs I only as—”

“Just say sex, my dearest,” you say, and Alastor sinks into his chair with a huff. “That will never happen. This isn’t a friendship, my love. I am entering a relationship with you. No matter how unconventional, it is still ours.”

Alastor locks your eyes with a pleased smile. “Good.”

The rocking chair rocks you into a small lull. “My dear.”

“Yes?”

“My love.”

Alastor sighs. “Yes?”

“My dearest,” you say. “Would you want to share a bed?”

Alastor stays silent. There’s hesitation on his face. You see it in the way his lips twist. You see it in the way his eyebrows furrow. You see it in the way he leans back on his chair to stare at the stars.

“Okay then, we can circle back to that later,” you say with a soft chuckle. “How about a room—Do you want to share one?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows, staring at you with silent judgment. He is a book that you are allowed to learn. There’s so much to read, and so much still left to be read. That’s okay. There’s time. No matter how long. You have time.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we can share a room without sharing a bed,” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. “We can even have bunk beds. That would be cool. I’ve always wanted a bunk bed.”

Alastor rests his face on his palm to look at you. There it is again, the breathy and light laughter. “We are not sleeping on a bunk bed.”

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Charlie’s smile slowly morphs into a frow that you cannot decipher. It makes sense that you can’t. Afterall, she is not the book you’ve spent your life learning to read. “You . . . You don’t actually love each other?”

There’s a frame hanging on your kitchen wall that says otherwise.

It holds an art piece you embroidered for the sole purpose of giving it to your husband. The color of the wooden frame compliments the colors of the thread as if it was carefully chosen to match. The one here in the kitchen is but one of many frames around the house. Alastor keeps every single item safe beneath the glass to to be admired.

There’s a shelf standing on the living-room carpet that says otherwise.

It holds ugly knick knacks that Alastor bought for the sole purpose of giving it to his wife. It’s a pain to dust the shelves, but not a speck of dirt touches its surface, as if it was carefully taken care of. The one in there in the living-room is but one of many shelves around the house. You keep every item spotless to be admired.

“We’re not heartless,” you say. “Alastor and I don’t have the same relationship you and your girlfriend have.”

Charlie sways in her seat, a hand rests on her chin when she hums. “ I am so sorry,” he says. “I think it’s great and all that, I’m just having trouble understanding.”

“It’s not exactly for you to understand.” You take a sip from your mug.

“So it’s not a relationship,” Charlie says. “Sooooo, is it like a really really deep friendship?”

“The lines between us are so blurry that it’s become deeper than friendship,” you admit with a small smile. “I just know that my soul is connected to him in ways I do not know how to tell him.”

“Is that really possible?” Charlie asks. “To just . . . love each other so differently?”

“Can our relationship not just . . . exist?” You lean on your palms. “Do you really think it’s so impossible for two people to just . . . to just look forward to cooking and washing the dishes together?”

Charlie’s eyes brighten. “I think I’m starting to understand,” she says. “So like—”

“Charlie . . . if I sit here and answer all of your questions, we’re going to waste time.” You play with the fiddle of your mug. “You didn’t come here for relationship advice.”

“Oh . . . yes.” Charlie sits there. Her smile slowly falls into a frown. “I’ve been thinking of how to convince you to help me, but I can’t think of a single thing to say, and I don’t want to force you either.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You haven’t exactly asked for my help either.”

Charlie blinks at you. “ . . . Huh?”

You raise your mug to toast to her. “If you want my help, just ask for it.”

Charlie grabs your hand with a tight grip. “Please, help me,” she says, voice shaking. “I don’t want to drag Cannibal Town into an all-out war without knowing there was a way to keep them safe.”

“Sure, why not?” You pull your hand away.

A loud squeal bounces off the walls.

Charlie pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. She hauls you with all the strength of a hellborn princess. Your feet drag against the floor as she pulls you out of the kitchen and into the living-room.

Charlie drops you with a wince on her face. She stares at the broken window, and the obviously missing television.

You trip out of her hold.

Alastor wraps his hand on your shoulders, steading you against him until you find your balance. His touch lingers on you.

The television shaped hole on your glass window makes your eyes twitch.

Alastor steps away from you, twirling his microphone. It strikes the floor with a harsh thunk. “Oh, yes that,” he says. “It seems there was an unfortunate accident.”

“Oh, really now?” you say, placing a hand on your hips. “I would love to know exactly how that happened.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and his arms wave the air. “The clumsy boxed tripped right out the window.”

Your smile strains. “That is rather unfortunate,” you say. “What a shame, I rather liked that television. It’s been a constant companion, and never has it once disappeared on me for several years.”

Alastor glares at you.

You glare back.

“I would love to help you clean this mess,” Alastor says with that triumphant smile of his.

Would a second broken window be worth trouble if it means there would be an Alastor-shaped hole?

“Perfect!” you say. “I’m sure you still remember where we keep the broom.”

Alastor boops your nose. “Unfortunately, the cannibals will be meeting us at the hotel,” he says. “I think it’s time we take our leave. Say goodbye to my wife, Charlotte.”

Charlie opens her mouth to correct him. She changes her mind at the last minute, choosing to sulk with a wave instead.

Alastor opens the door, allowing Charlie to step out first. She strides to the flowerbeds, kneeling to observe the plants.

Alastor stills by the door frame.

He inches close enough for you to reach him. The fabric of his lapels smoothen as you adjust its fit on him.

A breeze tussles Alastor’s hair. You swipe the stray locks, brushing his hair away from his forehead, until . . . until the x that marks the gunshot catches your eyes. Frowning, you thumb the mark, caressing it with oh so soft touches. There was a time where you believed that you and him had all the time in the world. Death laughed at you that night.

Alastor watches you, taking your wrist to pull it away.

He leans closer, and picks a feather on your head. “Will you indulge me?” he asks. “There’s just something I want to ask of you before I leave.”

“Say it, and it will be yours.”

Alastor pokes his cheeks, mimicking a smile. “Just one of these from you will do—Something to power me through the day.”

With a soft chuckle, you widen your lips to show him the brightest smile you can muster. “Is that much better, my love?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “Indeed,” he says. “You’ve been frowning for a while now.”

Your eyebrows furrow. ��Have I?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You have,” says. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s nothing serious to you,” you tell him with a shake of your head. “It’s nothing worth listening to.”

Alastor taps his fingers across his microphone. “It’s not nothing. Especially when you frown like that,” he says. “If it’s serious to you, it is worth listening to.”

“Sometimes . . .I still find myself wondering how you feel,” you say, smoothening the feathers on your head “Even after being married for so long, there are times where I still do not know

“You’re not a mind reader,” he says. “If you want to know, you should just ask.”

“Alright then,” you say with a smile. “How are you feeling today, my love?”

Alastor caresses your cheek. The back of his fingers brush down your skin until it hooks around your chin. You tilt it to the side, offering your cheek, ready for him.

Alastor tugs your chin, adjusting your face until your eyes are drawn into his own. And oh . . . Has he always looked at you like this?

Alastor inches closer, his nose nudging against your own. Your heart thumps in your ear.

A minute has never felt so long as you stay frozen. It’s a whole minute if his lips brushing inches above yours. It’s a whole minute of his finger stroking the skin of your chin. It’s a whole minute of feeling his breath on your skin. It’s a whole minute where inches of space separate your

Alastor tortures you with the simplest of sensation that intoxicated you to your very core. You don’t move away, not from him—never from him.

Your eyes close when Alastor presses his lips across yours.

The taste of this morning’s coffee is dizzying. The soft tickles of his breath make your fingers curl around the fabric of his coat. You were never a poet. It’s Alastor who was better with his words. You cannot describe the way he kisses you with sweet metaphors or soft analogies.

Alastor pulls away.

You inch closer to chase him, until self-control takes over. It splashes you with the warmth of a bucket filled with ice.

Oh . . . oh.

There are words to be said, questions to be asked. The heat tingling of your cheeks and the electricity buzzing your lips make it hard to find the words.

You bury your face into the fabric of Alastor’s chest, curling into him to hide how red your face flushes. The back of his coat crumples when you grip it.

Alastor wraps his arms around you, tightening the hug. His finger stroke your shoulder blade. “Does that answer your question?”

You inhale into his clothes. It’s warm. He’s warm. So warm that int transfers to you. “No, not at all,” you mumble. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Alastor leans back, pushing you away to search your face.He stares at you.

You stare at everything but him.

Alastor squishes your cheek, giving it a light shake. “Stop demanding things from me when you’re not going to remember.”

“I did no such thing.” You swat his hand away. “Will I be seeing you soon?”

Charlie catches your eyes. She quickly glances away before eventually looking back. You bring out your hand, folding your fingers to indicate the number two. Charlie cringes so deep she creates a double chin.

Alastor brushes feathers out of your face. “You wouldn’t need to ask if you accepted Charlie’s offer to stay at the hotel,” he says. “ I was given a room there. I think you would like it . . . but, there’s still thousands of unused rooms if you wish to stay somewhere else.”

“My deerest, are you asking me to stay at the hotel?”

Alastor’s silence makes you chuckle.

With the tips of your toes, you reach to press a kiss on his cheek. “I will see you soon.”

“You always will.”

Charlie and Alastor leave with a wave. You close the door before they reach the gate, leaning on the door. The wood does little to settle the way your skin buzzes. Demand a kiss? You would never do such a thing.

The clock strikes. It’s time to leave for work. You take your coffee mug, scrubbing it with soap. (If you drop it twice, then that’s your business.) You open the cupboard, placing your matching mug next to Alastor’s clean one.

Today . . . Today will be a good day.

For today, there’s no need to throw away cold coffee mugs.

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Next Part: |Glimpse of Me and You: Part 1| First of all, you will never catch my Alastor cooking jambalaya. It’s a great dish, I know. But I refuse to fall into the curse. Part of the reason why this chapter took so long to publish, besides work getting in the way, was because I didn’t know how I would want Alastor and Reader to love each other. Like do I make it purely romantic? But I like keeping this as canon as possible. And I know that Alastor is only canonically ace. This problem struck me until I realized that to be accepted is to be loved. So I decided to write a story that will make me happy to show you. There are so many other fics with pure romance, and I wanted to respect Alastor’s asexuality and everyone who relates to him. This is my love letter to him and to you. Also, I’m just going to put it out there, just in case someone might ask why there’s a kiss on the lips? This is a reminder that you can define a relationship any way you could want. I debated whether that kiss should be on the cheek or on the lips. A cheek kiss isn’t inherently romantic, so I could have just done this. The lip kiss just felt…correct. I wanted to showcase that the relationship between Alastor and Reader isn’t a conventional one, and that it’s fine to have one that differs from what is considered normal. So the best way would be to take something that everything thinks is very romantic and twist it in a way that it could mean something different. And thus, any kiss before and after this chapter really just means that Alastor is completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @holymusicialmothman @lyralibra @alastorssimp @aestheticglas-blog @slaggylemon

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #Alastor #radio demon #alastor x wife reader #human alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel imagines

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loveshotzz · 1 year ago

Text

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap seven/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Bad Idea

summary: After a week of avoiding, you find Steve at your front steps.

wc: 4.3k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. Steve and Reader have THE talk, we learn Steve & Emma’s story. There will be discussions of feelings about watching a loved one struggle with terminal illness and death in this chapter. There’s not a ton of details about her struggles but it is touched on. Angsty beginning and a very, very fluffy end 🧡

author’s note: it’s all up hill from here guys, just a little growing pains. i can’t believe there’s only three chapters left after this 🥺 thank you for reading and all of the sweet reblogs and messages through out this whole series. you have made this so special for me and it’s been such a comfort to write as I navigate my own life changes right now.

🌇 <- chapter six -> chapter eight

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The tune:

End of June -

It had been a week since Steve came back from his camping trip. A week of good morning texts left unanswered, of making sure not to look out your window when you knew he was home - even when you could hear him play with Bandit. He was doing that outside more than usual, a tactic to try and get you to come out and talk to him or hell, even just look at him.

He doesn’t know that a few times it almost worked.

Always & Forever

The words engraved into silver also stay carved deep and fresh in your mind, not letting you forget. You couldn’t, even if you tried. Especially not her beautiful eyes. Does she hate you? Part of you feels like you would hate you. The guilt threatens to punch the air out of your lungs.

The days go on like this with you doing everything in your power to avoid him while he did everything he could to run into you. The last ditch effort was after you caught him getting out of his car, your eyes meeting for a split second before you cut through the alley walking in through the back gate instead. Your resolve to stay away grows weaker when Steve’s good morning texts finally stop after that.

So when Brad, the new server, gets the courage to ask you out, you say yes. It was a bad idea, anyone could’ve told you that, you didn’t really want him. He was just a distraction from facing the consequences of your own actions.

He takes you to RPM Steakhouse in the heart of downtown and surprisingly he actually makes you laugh. He’s full of food industry horror stories he’s collected over the years. He’s not boring and he’s attentive when you talk, asking questions like he’s really interested. The butterflies that have built a home in your rib cage don’t flutter and fly for him though. The nerves that make your heart beat faster, the ones that feel like they vibrate from your fingertips, like your skin is on fire, are stagnant.

He’s not Steve.

You skip out on dessert when it’s offered to you, but you let him hug you before you get in your separate Uber’s home. It worked for a few hours at least. Looking out the window when your car hits the expressway, the skyline shines gleaming like the stars in the clear night sky.

It’s not very long until your phone fights for your attention, the screen illuminating the backseat. It pulls you back to reality, your breath catching when it’s not Brad’s name that flashes across your screen.

Steve

Can we please just talk?

You aren’t expecting to see him at your front steps when the Uber drops you off at your gate. His hair sticks out wild at the ends, like he’s been pulling it all night, scratch that, all week and it makes more guilt settle deep in your gut. The scruff on his jaw is almost dark enough to be a beard now. His legs are covered in gray sweats and the white undershirt he wears fits tight over his shoulders. You hate how handsome he still is, even with his slides and socks.

He’s talking to himself, moving his hands like he’s trying to explain something, reciting a speech you can’t quite hear from as far as you are. The leftovers shift in your bag when you take your first step making the styrofoam squeak and plastic crinkle, his eyes shoot up instantly at the noise.

“Honey?”

Those wings start to stretch and flutter even after just one word. You wish you could be mad at how much power one word from him has, but all you feel is the weight of how much you missed him when his face softens.

“Hi Steve.” You catch the way his lips twitch at the sound of his name coming from your mouth when you open the gate. It had been too long for him, he’d become addicted to it without even knowing it.

He stands up, his eyes can’t help but roam your bare legs that sit exposed in your black cocktail dress, or the way the middle sinches into your waist, before fluttering out over the tops of your thighs. His own jealousy threatens to bubble over at the thought of you wearing this for someone else. He needs you to understand him.

“Is this a bad time?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck while he reads the restaurant name on your bag. He hopes whoever took you there isn’t coming back. “If it is sweetheart, I can give you more space. I just, I just wanted to see you.”

You stop in front of him, further away than normal but close enough to smell the cigar smoke that still clings to the cotton of his shirt. It mixes with the spice of his cologne from earlier this morning. His eyes find yours without hesitation, glazed over from the glass of whiskey you’re sure he nursed before finding himself on your front steps. They shimmer under the moon like emeralds and you just want to get lost in them.

The answer you want to give and the answer that you think will protect you are at each other’s throats, constricting yours from giving him anything right away. His face crumbles a little when his question is met with silence. You don’t want him to go.

“No, it’s not a bad time.” It comes out before you can fight it.

The smile that tugs at Steve’s lips warms your face like the summer sun, his hand reaching out for you before pulling back and finding a new home deep in his pocket instead. Baby steps. Your arm brushes against his when you walk past him, the smallest touch lighting the match.

“I just need to get out of this dress.” You can’t look at him when you pull at the fabric as if to show him how uncomfortable it is.

“Should I wait down here?” He clears his throat a little unsure of himself as he watches you dig through your purse. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

Cicadas buzz loud against the jingle of your keys in the beat of silence it takes you to unlock the front door. The stale air of the walkway hits you like an oven when you push it open, the heat making your skin stick more than it did outside.

“You can come up. I promise my dishes are done this time.” You flash him a smirk from over your shoulder watching the way your gesture makes him relax like you’d intended, secretly enjoying the blush you still can get to flush his cheeks so easily.

Steve hadn’t been inside your apartment since the day he fixed your sink, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him here. He’s handsome in a timeless way, still somehow put together even in his disheveled state. You watch the way he takes in his surroundings like he wants to commit it all to memory not knowing that he actually is, just in case this all blows up in his face and you never let him come back here again.

The only noise that fills the room is the loud whirr of your A/C and it’s your turn to clear your throat.

“Umm, feel free to take a seat. I’ll be really quick.” You awkwardly gesture towards your green couch, grimacing when your mind goes back to the beautiful leather one at his place.

He just nods, rubbing his palms against his thighs while taking one last look around before sitting. Your nose scrunches when you see how deep he sinks down, maybe a used couch wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had.

You wait till your door is shut to let out the long breath you feel like you’ve been holding this whole time. The familiar thumping in your chest returns ten fold. He’s in your living room.

You try not to think too much about the yoga shorts and oversized shirt you change into, especially when your muscles relax, no longer strained by the tight nylon material dress. Allowing a single once over in your long mirror, you force yourself back out, the creak of your door alerting him of your return. His stare makes goosebumps dance across sticky skin in a battle with the air conditioning.

“Do you want some water?” You try to sound casual when you ask, keeping your back to him so he can’t see the way you’re still buying time.

“S- sure,” he stutters out, a cough following and you hear the way the cushions respond to his weight as he tries leaning forward.

Now it's the whirr of your a/c and the grumbling of the ice machine that silences the unspoken feelings that are begging to come out. Scratching and clawing their way to the surface, the cracks in your facade start getting deeper the longer you stay quiet.

Steve breaks first.

“I think there’s a conversation we should have.” He pauses before starting over, “There’s a conversation I want to have.”

You freeze when the realization of where you left the watering can smacks you right in the face.

“Steve-“ you start, unable to meet his eyes and he’s quick to cut you off.

“Listen, I have some things I need to say and you should at least let me get it off my chest if you’re just going to pretend I don’t exist now.” His words make you realize the selfishness that hides under your insecurities of not being good enough for someone like him.

He stands up when you turn around, both of you staying on opposite sides of the room. He takes a shaky breath before dragging his fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel these things again with anyone else, I was sure of it actually and then you showed up in your horribly packed moving truck.” He laughs a little like he’s still wrapping his head around all of it, and he knows if the situation was any different you’d roll your eyes at him for the teasing jab.

“You brought all of these things out of me that I thought I’d lost for good. Like, I can’t remember the last time I cared about what I was wearing when I left the house, but the past month I’ve been obsessed about it. Like what if she’s outside? What if she’s looking out her window? What if she wants to talk to me?” The veins in his neck show themselves as he gets more worked up but he’s not done yet.

“Then last week when you showed up at my front gate, looking even prettier than the last time I saw you, because you do that somehow, I couldn’t help myself around you anymore. The fact that you were actually going to kiss me back after I put the worst moves on you made me feel like I won the lottery or something.” His gaze meets yours to make sure he isn’t scaring you off before taking a deep breath.

“And then, and then you just - you just left without so much as a reason why. It was pretty clear though when I got home, and maybe that’s my fault because I feel like I’m doing this all backwards but you didn’t give us a chance to even talk about it.”

Steve looks like his world is falling apart, and the things he’s saying make you feel like anything but a second choice. You wish you could go back to that rainy day at his house and do things over again.

“I wasn’t given the shot at a fair fight the first time something special was taken from me, but I have one now and I’m not walking away unless you kick me out.” He straightens his shoulders a little before another anxious hand runs through his wild hair. His chest heaves as he finally gets out what’s been sitting just below the surface the whole time, his fears revealing themselves behind flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

The feeling like you’re slighting another woman who isn’t here is hard to navigate. It makes your own eyes sting but you don’t let the tears fall. Not when he’s handing his heart to you like he means it.

“I’d never kick you out,” your words come out quiet - soft, a stark contrast to the way his boomed loud with conviction, but he doesn’t miss them.

Hope starts to sprout deep in his chest for the first time in years.

“Never?” He breathes, relief relaxing the hard lines on his face while he looks at you from under his lashes.

His feet take him those few steps closer and when you make no moves to tell him to stop he keeps going. The sadness that plagues his handsome features slowly starts to fade and the bags under his eyes become more obvious. You want to kiss them.

Your hand extends, fingers reaching out for his. His eyes follow your movements, taking in what you’re offering and he doesn’t hesitate anymore, interlocking them like when he walked you to your front door. You watch the way his shoulders give the moment they touch and his eyes close as he relishes in the feel of it. Of you.

Your back hits the edge of your kitchen sink when he crowds your space a little more, your fingers playing songs on imaginary strings together. Memorizing he dips between each one. His nose skims across your forehead making your own eyes close. How could you ever stay away from him?

“Never.”

He hums at your confession, squeezing your hand gently before pulling back. He takes his time admiring your face from this close. He missed you so much, he actually thinks it’s kind of crazy. His other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the high bone. He loves the way you lean into it. You missed him too.

“Can we have that conversation now?”

All you can do is nod, tears still threatening to spill out but now a different kind.

The two of you sit on your couch for hours, worn in cushions pushing you close together. Your head rests on his arm that’s draped along the back of it, your socked feet in his lap. He tells you how he met Emma through his high school sweetheart Nancy. The ex that turned him into a man as he put it, the one that made him really think about the kind of person he wanted to be. Even going as far to say Emma would have never given him the time of day if it wasn’t for her. Nancy was the Managing Editor of The Chicago Tribune and Emma was her Editor in Chief.

After being introduced by Nancy at a sports gala, Steve pursued her hard, especially because she said no the first three times he asked her out. It makes you giggle when he laughs about it. He said he knew he wanted to marry her after the first date and a year later he proposed to her on a group vacation with Eddie, Robin, Nancy and a few other friends in Mexico. The picture you saw was taken right after she said yes.

The wedding was small, just a few of their closest friends at The Chicago Botanical Gardens, and a dinner at Smith & Wollensky next to the river after. He told you how Eddie pretended to be mad the whole night becauseSteve made Robin his best man instead. They both moved into Steve’s apartment near Wrigley Field after a honeymoon in Italy. He said it was some of the best years of his life with her there, young and in love in one of the liveliest neighborhoods in the city. Then a few years passed and both their careers started taking off and they started wanting more as they got older. A family.

That’s when they started to invest in renovating this fixer upper of a house in a less nightlife oriented neighborhood. The house you live next door to. Between busy work schedules and dealing with contractors when the symptoms first started, they didn’t think anything of it. They chalked it up to exhaustion until she fainted in her office a few months later, then they finally saw a doctor. Another month later after multiple tests and hospital visits Emma was diagnosed with ALS.

“I’ve never seen something debilitate someone so fast, and Emma, god Emma was so strong. Seeing her like that at the end, it fucking broke me.” Steve’s voice cracks, a silent stream of tears falling down his cheeks now.

Your heart breaks for them, the tragedy of watching the person you love fall apart with nothing to do to stop it. An entire life you had planned ripped out from under you with zero warning or mercy. A cruel joke.

You reach up, using the back of your knuckles to wipe away his tears. He leans in your touch, his gaze meeting yours with so many emotions inside of them, you think you might drown.

“We decided to stay in our apartment when she couldn’t walk anymore, with the rate it was moving she didn’t want me to live in this big new house meant for our new beginning and have her…have her die in it,” the last part comes out in just above a whisper, stopping to collect his thoughts. His brows furrow together and his fingers search for yours again. You give them to him without question.

“We checked her into hospice a month after that, Eddie flew in the day she chose to get off assistance. She was surrounded by the people she loved the most those last days.” He takes another deep breath before he continues, it shakes just like his hands.

“That was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I don’t know how someone is supposed to go through that kind of pain and move on from it. Be a person again after it.” He takes another pause and he pulls you closer. His anchor.

“I don’t know if I’d still be here if it wasn’t for Eddie moving into the house with me those first three months, if I’m being totally honest with you.” He sniffs, his gaze falls to his lap to try and hide the shame at the thought, and you squeeze his hand a little bit harder.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” Your voice cracks at the weight of everything he’s been carrying around. The gravity of the way you left him tightens in your throat.

The tears you’d been holding back break free, making his eyes snap to yours. He lets your hand go to wipe your cheeks with gentle fingers like you did to his just moments before. He knows you're apologizing for more than just his bad luck.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m okay now,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. The tips of your noses touch, tears mixing and dripping down the ends of them. You keep your eyes closed in hopes that if you focus hard enough, maybe you could take away some of his pain. Even if it’s just a little bit. “We’re okay now.”

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like this together, not speaking, letting wandering hands memorize faces and fingertips. Your breathing falls in time while your cheeks start to dry. Puffy red eyes stay closed while your muscles finally relax. His nose rubs small circles against yours that make smiles neither of you can see stretch across tear streaked faces.

When you finally open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, something brighter inside of his now like he just let go of a big secret. He doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s you that finally works up the strength to pull away enough to really see his whole face after depriving yourself of it for so long.

“I actually kinda feel like she sent you here, despite me,” he admits, laughing nervously, breaking the silence, “She made me promise her that I’d try and find love again when the time was right, I eventually said yes after she asked me at least a dozen times, but I never actually intended on it.”

Steve stops for a second to brush some of your mascara that smudged, holding your eyes in the forest of his.

“Then five years later, this tough girl tries moving an entire apartment’s worth of stuff by herself next door. I mean, you practically did.” He smiles at how proud you look of yourself, “I knew I was screwed when Bandit sniffed you out.”

You giggle like you're just as love sick as him and he wishes he could play it on a loop whenever he’s sad.

“She was probably laughing at how bad I was at trying to flirt with you.” His ears turn cherry red while he tries to hide his very real embarrassment.

“You did run away from me for like a solid week after we met the first time if you remember,” you tease, making his eyebrows raise in challenge. You weren’t supposed to roast him too.

“I guess we’re even then aren’t we?” He counters, smirking when you scoff, wrapping his arm around you so you can’t move away like you try to in fake protest.

Your legs end up draped over the tops of his thighs, fitting snug into his side. The warmth of his body makes your eyelids droopy. The cedar undertones he always carries calms all of your nerves.

“She was beautiful Steve,” you whisper, playing with the chain that dangles off his neck before looking up at him with a smile, “And maybe even a little too cool for you if I dare say.” It’s genuine when it comes out of your mouth, no hidden insecurities, an understanding that he wasn’t settling for you and it makes Steve want to kiss you even more.

“She would have thought you were way too cool for me too.” He laughs, tracing the side of your face with his fingertips. You want to look away from the intensity of it all but you force yourself to hold his stare, keeping yourself open for him. It’s quiet for a few minutes, letting everything that was shared tonight really sink in. That stray you missed so much makes an appearance and you finally get to be the one that pushes it back, and his hair is just as soft as you imagined.

“What are you doing on the fourth, pretty girl?” The new nickname makes you shift in your seat, the hint of a smug smirk begs to break across his face when he catches it. Maybe he’s still got it.

“Nothing, I got the day off.” You hate that his question is enough to make you shy.

It’s too hard to hold his gaze this time, but he doesn’t let that slide. His fingers hook under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. Noses brushing, your lips just inches apart like this.

“Be my date to the block party?” He whispers, whiskey and tobacco still lingering on his breath.

You smile, nudging your nose against his in a dare.

“I’d love to Steve.” His name comes out around strawberry chapstick lips, they brush with his feeling like velvet and it makes his nostrils flare.

He dips his head with a groan kissing the corner of mouth instead, before placing one on both your cheeks and another, a lingering one, against your forehead.

“In honor of not doing things backwards, I’m going to wait until I’ve taken you out. The way it should happen. The way someone like you deserves.”

Steve wants to make you feel special too.

It's hard for you to feel rejected with his reasoning and seeing the clock on your stove read in bright red numbers - 2:46am. The fourth was only three days away now.

You play it off with a roll of your eyes and a dramatic “fine” that makes him really laugh for the first time all night, giving you another kiss on the cheek. This one a little wet. He can’t get enough of the way you can’t look at him after.

It’s another thirty minutes before he decides it’s time to go home when your yawn is too loud to hide and your head presses harder into his chest. He wishes he could stay, and one night he knows he will.

You both linger in the doorway with fingers wrapped up tight, neither one of you ready to let go. He just wants to stare at you, but he knows the alarm stuffed in his pocket is going to make his life miserable in three hours.

Instead, he gives you another kiss on the forehead telling you he’ll text in the morning, and he wishes he could have a picture of the smile you give him when you promise to text back.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

older!steve edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

🌇 -> chapter eight

#my wriitng #all i really want is you series #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington series #steve harrington fanfiction #older!steve #older!steve harrington

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bri-sonat · 10 months ago

Text

Bloodied Waters

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood and slight violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, non-sexual nudity and intimacy. Slight canon deviation.

Synopsis: When Brienne returns covered in traces of battle, you give her comfort and safety - and a nice bath.

A/N: This has been sitting finished since July but I haven't wanted to post it for many reasons. For some reason I don't hate this fic anymore so I am taking the opportunity now so I can't revert back to my original state, lol. As per usual, English isn't my first language and all that.

Thank you to @daydream-cement for being the most supportive and encouraging friend I could ask for, and for reading this and giving me your opinion months ago.

Two months.

It had been two months since you had seen her last. Since she rode off to fight Gods knows what battle. In this time of uncertainty, you couldn’t be sure where she was sent off to anymore.

The imminent threat of the Night King and his army breaching The Wall weighed heavily on the land and it resulted in Brienne being away more than usual – but she had never been away this long.

You couldn’t be blamed when you began to wonder if she was still alive after the six-week mark and she hadn’t returned or been heard from. No one had from the company she had departed with. And when it hit eight weeks, your worries didn't get any better.

So, they were all either dead or still fighting for their lives. Those were the only reasons your stress-ridden brain could come up with.

If she had been removed from this mortal realm, she would have died alone. Alone somewhere. Probably in immense pain.

Even if it hurt you to even entertain the thought, you hoped her possible death had been fast. That way, she didn’t have to suffer.

Your heartbreaking thoughts were cut short by the sound of a horn, signaling that the group had returned and to open the gate. From your window, you could see a band of people on horses, three of them unmanned, which made you feel uneasy.

It was usually easy to spot Brienne in a crowd of people, but her straw-blonde hair was nowhere to be seen. The pit in your stomach that had been growing over the past weeks seemed to drop when you couldn’t find her.

Maybe the chance of her losing in battle was more probable than you had been willing to accept.

But until someone explicitly told you that she had perished in battle, you would have hope for her survival.

You witnessed as the gate was opened and the warriors rode in - the people and horses disappearing from view before the gate was once again closed.

Staring out the window and waiting for a knock on your door was only going to drive you mad, so you decided to pass the time in some other way.

Scurrying about your room, you tried finding something to do but restlessness got the better of you, and you soon found yourself waiting for that knock on the door that could either be the face of your love, or the worst possible news.

After fifteen minutes of silence, you started to land in the fact that she may not have returned, and the person who knew about your relationship was slowly making their way to your room to deliver the bad news.

You couldn’t take the agonizing pain so you left your room to venture for some hot water – hoping a nice hot bath might allow your tense body to relax. If even in the smallest bit.

When you returned to your room, hot water acquired, you were surprised to discover that there was no one waiting outside your door, nor had you met someone on your walk to or from. It was strangely silent.

The bath basin sitting in the adjacent room to yours looked more and more inviting by the second and you sprang into action before the water in your hands turned cold.

Pouring the large water cans with hot water into the vessel, you pondered how it would be to bathe with Brienne. How it would be to have such calm intimacy with the person you loved more than anything in this world.

The thought made you the tiniest bit sad and even if you wanted to keep the image in your head for as long as you could, you knew it was better to think about something else for now until you knew that the fantasy was a possibility.

You filled the rest up with the cold water from the large bucket next to the basin so it would even out to a nice lukewarm temperature.

Just as you were about to take your clothes off, a knock on the door disrupted your actions and you nearly ran to the door to open it – desperate for any piece of information regarding Brienne.

When you opened the door, you were met by a face you knew all too well, only this time, it was covered in dried blood, grime, and dirt. “Brienne, oh, Gods.”

You reacted quickly by ushering her inside your room and closing the door after her. She didn’t say a single word and her eyes were empty – apathetic and void of any emotion.

You didn’t know if the blood was hers or not but there was only one way to find out.

Carefully, you sat her down on your bed and undid her sword belt and fur cape before you began removing each piece of her dark armor, sneaking eventual glances at her emotionless face, your heart breaking each time she did not even make a move to look at you. She just stared dead ahead.

Never had you seen her like this before.

When all her armor was discarded, you were hit with the stench of iron, sweat, and mud – the smell of what you assumed to be battle. You moved your attention to her gambeson and gloves, working fast to get everything off to assess her condition – if she had been injured or not.

You remained quiet throughout your entire undressing of your girlfriend, if Brienne wanted to talk – she would. You assumed she needed some silence to process everything and just enjoy being back in a safe location.

The moment her gambeson and the rest of her clothing had been removed - you took hold of her dirty hands to guide her up to a standing position. You raked your eyes over her body and found nothing except for more blood, most likely having run down her neck and invaded the skin protected by the armor.

“The blood is not mine,” Brienne croaked out. The sudden noise made you jolt, your eyes snapping up to meet her desolate ones.

“Right...,” you responded, her statement confirming that she was not wounded in a way that would warrant blood. With your worries settled, you guided her to the other room. You had poured the bath for yourself, but she needed it more.

Slowly, she stepped in, her hand in a steadfast grip in yours as she descended into a sitting position until her entire body was underneath the surface – releasing a sigh once the water enveloped her.

You let go of her hand and grabbed a bar of soap sitting on the table next to the basin and she let the hand you had previously been holding fall under the water as well.

Brienne sat in the basin, staring into nothingness – her breathing slow. You rolled up your sleeves, kneeled next to the tub, and submerged the bar in the warm water before you began gently cleaning her skin from the stench and the mud and blood that tainted her soft skin.

Starting with her face and neck, you used your hands to gently apply the soap and you observed the suds turning a brownish red as it mixed with the blood and dirt on her skin.

As your eyes scanned her face, you noticed that her disheveled blonde hair had also been soiled by blood spatter and dried mud.

“Close your eyes.” It was a gentle command, and Brienne complied – closing her eyes without question.

Using a cloth, you dunked it in the water and allowed it to soak before wringing it out – bringing it to Brienne’s face to wipe away the lather. You dipped it in the water again to rinse it, but you caught a glimpse of it before you did – the color of the froth alien on the white fabric.

With her face now clean, you moved on to her hair.

Normally you’d utilize your own mixed hair wash for this, but you didn't wish to leave Brienne in her current state to go and collect it. Soap would have to do.

Your movements were slow and calculated as you pressed gently on the bottom of her chin, signaling for her to lean her head back. Brienne complied and tilted her head back and you maneuvered yourself so you could have the perfect view needed to wash her dirtied hair.

Utilizing one of the jugs you had carried the water with, you dipped it in the water to fill it up and used it to wet Brienne’s straw blonde hair, going over it once or twice before you were confident that all the strands were permeated.

You grabbed the bar of soap once again and dragged it against the palm of your hand – getting a decent amount on it before placing the bar to the side and rubbing your hands together. Tenderly, you started massaging the soaping into her blonde curls and scalp, making sure that all the dirt and blood loosened from her locks.

Brienne hummed as your hands mildly rubbed her head – adoring the alleviating feeling it gave her. The feeling of comfort and security. Her eyes were still closed, and she could feel the corners of her lips twitch the tiniest bit as you pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving to fill the jug with water to rinse the soap out of her hair.

You worked softly and slowly when you combed your fingers through her locks – pouring the water over her hair as you did, making sure that all the lather was washed away.

With her hair, face, and neck clean – it was time to wash the rest of her body.

You moved away from the head of the basin and switched to sit at the side of it again, kneeling next to it. You grabbed the bar of soap and immersed your hand into the water that was starting to turn red at this point and started to cautiously drag the bar across Brienne’s chest – removing all the dried blood and dirt.

Whilst one of your hands was in the water, the other one rested on the rim of the basin, right next to Brienne’s ear, and before you knew it, you felt her leaning her head against it. A small smile started playing on your lips at the intimate position you had found yourselves in.

You had never experienced this type of closeness with your knight before – it was incredibly heart-warming and you wouldn’t complain if you found yourself in this position again; without the blood and dirt, of course.

Brienne’s head rested against the back of your hand at the same time as yours worked on washing her arms, hands, chest, stomach – anywhere you had seen dried signs of battle.

You enjoyed every single second of the casual intimacy. The fact that there were still new ways to be so deeply close even after so many months made you incredibly giddy inside even when the situation you discovered it in was somber.

Like it had the entire time, the only thing filling the silence in the room was the splashing of the water as it hit the sides with your hand continuing to move as it scrubbed Brienne’s skin. It remained like that for a very long time until the blonde woman opened her mouth to speak for the second time since she had come home. Your hand that was scrubbing her sides halted briefly before continuing - her voice surprising you. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You couldn’t help but inquire as to why she was thanking you. What you were doing right now only seemed like the most obvious choice. You took care of each other in any way the other person needed, and you were more than happy to offer her this small service.

She was quiet for a few seconds before she spoke again – her voice low, almost like a whisper. “For this... and for giving me a reason to keep fighting. It... It didn’t look very promising for a few moments, and I was... I was harboring the idea that I would never return to you again.”

You leaned forward to press a kiss to Brienne’s forehead as you continued scrubbing her skin beneath the surface of the water. “This is the least I can do for you... you take care of and for me every day. I wanted to return the favor. Thank you for coming back to me. And you’re welcome. I’m glad to provide you with a reason to keep fighting if it’ll bring you back to me each time.”

Brienne hummed and whined slightly when you removed your lips from her skin. To have someone care for her in the way you did made her feel so gleeful and she was so grateful for you and all you did for her. “Still... Thank you.”

“Anything for my knight.” You smiled as you washed her and finished your response – already knowing the next words coming out of her mouth.

The blonde woman chuckled slightly and silently, having had this exact interaction with you many times before. By now, she knew you did it as a way of making her smile and it worked; every single time. “I’m not a knight.”

“To me you are. You’re my knight.” You saw the smile that crept up on Brienne’s lips at hearing your words, even if she had heard them many times before at this point. “Besides, if you were a man, we both know you’d be a knight by now. You have the traits of a knight, so in my eyes, you are a knight. Even if you don’t have the title.”

Brienne adjusted her head to press a kiss to the back of your hand before returning to rest her cheek on it again. “You’re too nice to me. Thank you.”

“I only treat you in the way you deserve to be treated. Not my fault you’re such an incredible person.” You said this in a way that made Brienne smile and blush – something that you did with ease many times over the two years you had known the adorable knight. It only got worse once you began your relationship because it made you able to be more frank with your compliments.

The blonde didn’t offer a response to your words – silence filling the room once again. The way Brienne spoke about the battle, it seemed to have gone bad, so much so that she thought she wouldn’t make it. You knew she would talk to you about it if she needed to and you had no reason to ask but a part of you wondered what happened that caused her to see no hope.

The rest of the bath went by in tranquility, the occasional kiss on Brienne’s forehead and the planting of lips on your hand mixed with the comforting sounds of water making the second part of the experience a very pleasant one.

After helping Brienne out of the now red-stained water and planting her before the burning fire in the other room to dry with a fur wrapped around her, you told her to stay put before running as fast as you could to her room to collect her comb, and dry and clean clothes for her.

You didn't wish to leave her but the clothes she arrived in were bloody and dirty, and you knew Brienne would appreciate the gesture.

When you returned, she sat with her legs drawn up to her chest with her arms wound around them on the fur you had put on her.

You slowly approached her and sat down next to her – her folded clothes placed on your bed, the comb resting on the pile. “Hi.”

Her skin was dry now. Her hair was still a bit damp but you knew it wouldn’t be long until it was fully dried as well.

Brienne sighed and leaned her head against your shoulder. She stared into the crackling fire – the flames dancing in her beautiful blue eyes. “...Hi.”

“How are you feeling?” You wrapped an arm around her naked form and pulled her close to you. You had missed her so much and you were not ready to let go anytime soon except to get undressed to join her in bed.

“Better now... A little tired.” Brienne hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and she was exhausted at this point. The adrenaline had finally worn off completely and she felt the fatigue creep up on her like she had expected it to once she was back in your safe company.

“It’s getting late... Do you want to go to sleep? I will deal with the water tomorrow.” The sun had started setting as you were washing Brienne and it had been well below the horizon for a while now. You pressed a kiss to the top of the knight’s head and awaited her answer.

“Yes, please.” Brienne sat snuggly in front of the warm hearth, but she knew that it was much nicer to be in your embrace. It was warm, cozy, and oh-so-comfortable.

“Okay... Let’s get you covered and tucked in.” You stood up and began removing the things scattered about the bed. Brienne’s discarded armor, her dirty clothes, her cape, and her sword were swept off the mattress and placed on a round table close to the hearth. Her clean clothes and comb remained on the bed, and you squatted down next to her to lay a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to get dressed?”

Brienne leaned her head against your hand and closed her eyes. “No. I want to feel you pressed against me entirely. I don’t want clothing to restrict me from sensing all of you.”

You almost melted from her sweet words. You rubbed your thumb against her skin, the pad of it grazing against the tip of one of her scars. “Alright, my sweet Brienne.”

The knight lifted her head from your hand and you slid it down her arm – leaving it to rest on her bicep. You gently rubbed it up and down as she opened her eyes and stood up.

You swiftly removed the pile that was on the bed and placed them on the table as well. You would have to comb her hair tomorrow instead.

With the bed empty, Brienne could pull off the furs and crawl in under them – covering her bare body and providing her with warmth and comfort for the first time in weeks.

She laid on her back as she watched you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on top of your trunk.

You finally crawled into bed and cuddled up next to Brienne, her skin incredibly soft. She hummed as you slung one arm and leg over her torso, bare skin against bare skin, and rested a hand on your thigh.

Her other arm went around your shoulders and pulled you closer – your head resting on her chest.

Her rhythmic heartbeat was a consistent reminder that she was indeed alive and still with you. After two months of being apart, the whole situation felt imaginary, but her steady heartbeat let you know that it was real – that she was indeed with you. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Brienne’s hand on your thigh rested securely and her thumb drew soft lines across your skin. She smiled at your words as she kept her eyes closed to invite slumber. “It’s beating because and for you.”

Her words caused you to pull yourself even closer to her, which was impossible to do at this point. A smile and a blush crept up on your face, she always said the most adorable things and you had no idea what you did to deserve her love, but you were so thankful for her. “You’re sweet. I love you so much.”

Brienne chuckled quietly and you could tell she was close to falling asleep by her voice. “You bring out that side in me... what can I say? I love you, too. Thank you for being here when I returned.”

“I will always be here when you return,” you whispered. You were starting to feel the weeks of worried sleep catch up to you by now and you were more than ready to finally fall asleep in her embrace once again.

The only response Brienne gave was a hum and it fell silent after that.

You heard the knight’s breathing even out after a few minutes, and it signaled that she had fallen into a slumber that you hoped was a deep and restful one. You could only imagine the conditions she has been having to sleep in, and you couldn’t see them being comfortable.

You listened to her breathing and heartbeat for a few more seconds before sleep claimed you as well. Now back with a safe Brienne, you knew that you’d sleep incredibly well. You always did with her.

When you awoke the next morning, Brienne would kiss you all over to make up for two months of being away from one another. But that was up to you in the future to find out. Until then, you were more than happy to finally be with her again, and you remained clinging to your knight all night long.

------

taglist: @na-shoba, @pastanest, @the-fuck-do-i-know, @christies-fleur, @idontlikepexple, @lord6-6fandom, @sapphicmitski (can't tag you for some reason)

#gwendoline christie #brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #brienne of tarth x reader

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lord-fallen · 3 months ago

Text

gothic fiction delicacies

one. byronic hero

intense eyes; solitary wanderings; brooding silence; haunted gaze; dark charisma; tragic allure; veiled mystery

two. madness

fractured reality; psychological torment; deranged mutterings; whispering shadows; eerie obsessions; unraveling sanity; labyrinthine mind; feeling trapped

three. isolation

cut off from the outside world; trapped in a remote location; abandoned footfalls; neverending empty corridors; calling out and not hearing back

four. ruin

shattered windows; statues that gaze back; freshly-cut gardens despite rusty gates and moss-covered stones; feeling time standing still

five. the uncanny

familiar made strange; sense of unease; unblinking eyes; whispering portraits; distorted reflections; unseen presence; sense of odd terror

six. death and mortality

empty coffins; silent graves; sound of a raven; cold tombstones with faded names; creaking of an old casket lid; flickering candlelight; chill of marble; pervasive smell of freshly turned soil; watched by unseen eyes

seven. forbidden knowledge and power

secret manuscripts; silent incantations in forgotten languages; rough aged parchment of old scrolls; metallic taste of a casted spell; musty odor of ancient libraries; overwhelming compulsion to delve deeper into mysteries

eight. attraction and repulsion

ominous elegance; pale skin contrasting with dark attire; soft seduction laced with danger; heartbeat racing in a quiet room; hushed conversations amidst tension; electric sensation from a fleeting touch; bittersweet flavor of love

nine. dark and unexplored places

flickering torchlight in endless narrow passageways; shadows dancing on walls; cold stone beneath fingertips; brush of unseen cobwebs against the skin; faint scent of charred wood

ten. family secrets

locked doors and hidden rooms; stains on letters; a key to a long-forgotten lock; fragile papers tarnished with old secrets; bitter flavor of betrayal and deception; tension at family gatherings

part one.

#writing resources #gothic fiction #gothic literature #aesthetic #writeblr #wtwcommunity #lf: writing resources #.edit #writing help

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al-islam · 2 months ago

Note

Why is it so hard to get into Al Jannah?

Hard!!

The Prophet Mohammad ﷺ said, 'Whoever prays the two cool prayers will enter Paradise.'" Fajr (dawn) and Asr (afternoon) prayers

He ﷺ also said, "Whoever asks Allah for Paradise three times, Paradise(Al-Jannah) will say, 'Ya Allah, admit him into Paradise.' And whoever seeks protection from Hellfire three times, Hellfire will say, 'Ya Allah, protect him from Hellfire.'"

And He ﷺ said: "There is none of you who performs ablution (wudu) and does it well, then says: 'I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, alone with no partner, and I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and Messenger,' except that the eight gates of Paradise are opened for him, and he may enter through whichever one he wishes."

And He ﷺ also said "Whoever’s last words are 'There is no god but Allah' will enter Paradise."

And He ﷺ said "Whoever recites Ayat al-Kursi after every obligatory prayer will have nothing standing between him and entering Paradise except death."

And He ﷺ also said "Allah has ninety-nine names.Whoever enumerates them (knows and acts upon them) will enter Paradise."

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eff4freddie · 6 months ago

Text

Touch | Part Seven

The aftermath of the aftermath, an absence, and an arrival.

Words: 6k

Warnings: depiction of strangulation, grief and trauma, brief mention of suicide, no smut in this one, angst angst angsty angst, fuck Joel Miller but not in the fun way. Minors DNI.

Part Six | Series Masterlist | Part Eight

It was like the weather knew. As Jackson was dropped into mourning the weather turned colder, grey clouds now permanently blotting out the sun. The light turned silvery and feeble, the days short, and it felt appropriate, and earned. Your punishment for demanding more than this broken world could meter out.

There was a quick ceremony in the town square, five wreaths laid down at the gate, a handful of words spoken into the wind. You didn’t go. You stayed with Ray, slept on his couch, sequestered yourselves in your home of death, and of loss. You took your punishment for having hoped for something better.

And you were tired. Your bones hurt, your joints. You could swear you could hear the creaking protests of the blood pushing through your rusted, unwilling veins. You just kept getting up and getting food for Ray because he wasn’t going to, because Simon had abandoned you both, because if Ray died of cold and starvation in the middle of the most civilised town going for thousands and thousands of miles the irony would be enough to take you out, too.

He didn’t speak much. He slept less, waking at all hours to scream and cry and thrash at his pillows. You would haul yourself up the stairs, turn the lamp on, hold his arms and wait for him to come back to himself. You knew he was drowning in the guilt of it, in having interpreted the message, in having breathlessly passed it on. You knew that he was firm in his belief that the town blamed him, that he had been the one to set the dominos to falling. You wanted to throw him a lifeline, wanted to pull him to the bow of the boat, but you were totally unable to lift your arms, to hold the rope. You dropped it by your feet and watched the ocean take him. Borrowed all the power you had not to jump in and go under, the same.

It wasn’t just for Marla, this weight on your chest, and you knew that. But you also knew that it would be selfish of you to bring anyone else into this house now, to crowd the place with ghosts. You waited until Ray was asleep again, until you were back under your thin blanket on the couch, before you let yourself consider your own wounds.

Fuck Joel Miller, you decided. He was wrong, he was wrong in so many ways; about what kind of person he was, about how you saw him, about why you went for him that night. But you didn’t care to explain that to him, didn’t feel the need to go out of your way to reassure him when he had barely taken two steps from his.

Of all the fucking things to be fucking worrying about right this fucking second, you were furious that it was Joel who was taking up so much of your mental space. You didn’t cry for him, refused to, and when you felt the ache at the back of your throat, the downturn of your mouth, you thought instead of Marla, of your dad, of your sister, sometimes even of your mum.

You weren’t sleeping at Ray’s so that Joel would maybe panic if he came for you and discovered you were gone. You definitely didn’t lie in the dark until the dawn broke imagining the fear, his heart dropping into his stomach, at the realisation that he had wronged you and also that you had left, taking with you any chance for him to grovel, to get down on his knees and plead for your forgiveness, to beg for you to come back to him.

You also didn’t speculate as to whether he was looking for you. Whether he was thinking of you, wondering if you were OK, regretting anything. You didn’t speculate because you knew that he wasn’t. That he wouldn’t. It would have really hurt if you thought about it. So, you definitely didn’t. Fuck that guy.

A handful of days after the wreaths, you couldn’t say how many exactly, you and Ray ran out of food. You pulled on your jacket, the cold biting hard at your cheeks when you stepped out into the early morning air for what felt like the first in years, and you felt no warmth in it, no gentle caress. It was too bright, and you lifted your arm to shield your eyes, and you could just make out the shapes of people huddled against the cold, holding their jackets to their bodies, as they stumbled, heads down, to the mess hall. You followed them, putting your feet into their footsteps in the snow to try and conserve effort. You had no appetite, but you could feel you were weak, and you knew you needed something other than stale toast.

The mess hall was quiet, even with all the people in it. You joined the line for breakfast with your head low, your eyes on the tray in front of you. Behind you, two older gentlemen struck up a conversation. You didn’t turn, but you recognised the voice of one of them: Ben, who worked the greenhouses and had terrible problems with his mid-back as a result. You’d shown him some stretches, some strengthening exercises, and let him lie to you that he’d done them at his next visit. He’d been sorry when he swore with the pain of your elbow in his scapula. Had been kind about it.

‘Hasn’t felt like this in a while,’ Ben said, and you heard his friend mumble in agreement.

‘Haven’t lost this many in a long time,’ the other man said.

‘In one go,’ Ben clarified.

‘In one go,’ the other man confirmed. You felt your arms shaking under the weight of the tray, which was still largely empty. You wondered how long it took for malnutrition to set in. If grief made it faster.

‘The Council’s done a good job,’ Ben said, after a few moments of contemplation. ‘Been a while since most of us have had to fight.’

‘Too old for that,’ the other man laughed, a wheezing thing that brought a handful of splutters with it. ‘Think they just don’t ask us anymore.’

You heard Ben chuckle. You kept trying to remember his last name. Couldn’t.

‘That Maria, she’s a clever one,’ he said. You heard his friend agree. ‘Maybe if she’d been part of it-‘

‘Don’t,’ you said, spinning around on your heel and surprising them nearly as much as you had surprised yourself. ‘The trip was planned right, they were just ambushed. And Maria was busy pushing out a human, so you can’t turn this on her.’

‘Wasn’t trying to,’ Ben said, with his arms lifting slightly in defence.

‘It was just shitty luck and desperation, and general apocalypse,’ you went on, undeterred. You had raised your voice without realising, didn’t hear that the mess hall had gone from quiet to deathly as you spoke. ‘They were strong, and they were smart, and they still got fucked over and there aren’t any stupid little words that will make that less true, or less shit.’

You felt, to your horror, that you were about to cry.

‘Hey now,’ Ben said, and he was still being kind to you even as you unfairly ripped him a new one in the middle of the mess hall, with half of the town watching on.

‘They were good people,’ you said, your voice wobbling as traitorous tears appeared in your eyes. ‘Everyone here,’ you faltered, your cheeks flushing hot, ‘everyone here is good people,’ you finished, running out of steam and suddenly just so tired. You had forgotten, had somehow managed to forget, how exhausting grief is, how hard to keep one foot in front of the other with the anchor dragging in the mud at the rear.

‘We’re sorry, miss,’ the other gentleman said to you, as if he were defusing a bomb. You dropped your tray on the way out, eyes scanning over the crowd for the nearest exit, thinking you might have seen a flash of forest green flannel and ignoring it, folding it up and sliding it between your spleen and your pancreas, hoping your bile would degrade it, your bile and everything else so acidic and corrosive inside you.

Food appeared on Ray’s doorstep that evening, and then every morning for the next week. Soup in a thermos, pieces of fruit, sometimes butter and crusty bread. You gave most of it to Ray, spooned it into his mouth and watching him swallow, assuring him you wouldn’t let him choke when he panicked that it wouldn’t go down. His anxiety had morphed over the sleepless nights, over the nightmares, such that he had started to check his body each morning for bites, had started to worry that the food still had spores in it, that he would turn. Countless times he tried to push you out of the house in case he was infected and just didn’t know it, despite not having left the house, despite watching you eat the food first to prove to him it was safe. Sometimes he panicked that Marla was still alive out there, that she had only been wounded and so had, in fact, turned, that she had become twisted and gnarled like so many of the runners and clickers you had all slaughtered over the course of twenty years. He howled at the thought of it, rasped agony into the air around him when his voice gave out. These were the times you held him to you and promised him she was gone. Gone, gone. Which, in this world, was the far better option.

You assumed the food was from Tommy. When this was over, whatever ‘over’ turned out to be, you resolved to go and thank him properly. As the days wore on you noticed Ray slipping, just as you were starting to feel exhausted by it, by caring for him, as much as you also hated yourself for it. His paranoia was unabating, mixed in with misery and self-hatred, as his eyes darted around the corners of the room, over the skin on his arms, on yours. You knew that it had gone too far for you to be able to pull him back on your own, that you were running, fast, out of ideas, but you were reluctant to bring in Dougie, to ask for any help. So much of this, so much of what Jackson now endured, was because of the three of you. You felt you had to be the one to solve it, even though your prospects were rapidly running out. Out the window you could see that Jackson was slowly coming out of its fugue, while you stayed held under by the tide.

On the last night, he called you on it. You spooned soup into his mouth, and he watched you, his eyes unusually sharp, as you steadied your hand to keep from spilling any on his bed sheets.

‘You hate me now, don’t you,’ he said, and you paused, spoon in mid-air, letting a long breath out through your nose. He asked you this nearly every day. You were getting close to having to lie to him.

‘Of course I don’t,’ you said, and you wondered how many more turns of this conversation you were going to have to have.

‘No, not about Marla,’ he clarified, and he took the spoon out of your hand and let it clatter down into the bowl. ‘You hate being here, now. My sadness is too close for you. You can’t outrun it.’

You set your jaw, bit down on so much of what you could have said. ‘It’s been hard to see you like this,’ you said, settling on a truth that carried with it more meaning than you hoped he felt like decoding.

‘You wish I was bitten,’ he said. ‘Instead of her.’

‘I think you wish you were bitten instead of her,’ you said, plainly, bluntly. ‘I think you know I wish I was bitten instead of her, too.’

‘You kept saying you know she’s gone,’ he went on. ‘How do you know?’

You hadn’t told him about Joel, about running to him to end it before she turned, about needing him to do it because you couldn’t bring yourself to, not while she was still her.

‘It was taken care of,’ you said, and you hated that you made her sound like a sick cat being put out of its misery.

‘Who took care of it? How was it taken care of?’ Ray was different now, you realised. He wasn’t paranoid that she was still out there. This wasn’t grief-induced delirium. This was something sharper, pointier, something with more intent.

You faltered, having wondered blindly into quicksand. ‘It was…it was done well,’ you said, trying to think ahead of all the myriad pathways this conversation could go down, struggling to head him off at the pass when there were so many.

‘Who did it,’ he asked again, and you wanted to protect Joel, even if you didn’t fully know why, but you didn’t want to lie to Ray and tell him it was anyone else, pin it on them, because in this moment you weren’t sure what he would do to them.

Instead, you hedged your bets. ‘I did it,’ you replied, watching his face twist from shock to sadness to incandescent fury.

‘You,’ he repeated, quiet and deathly, and you steeled yourself for whatever was going to come next.

‘Yes,’ you said. In a way it wasn’t a lie. You had run to Joel knowing what he would do. Knowing he wouldn’t hesitate.

Ray regarded you for a long moment. You saw the way he took a shaky breath in, gripped the edge of the bowl in your hands, eased it from you to set it down, gently, on the floor beside the bed. Then he slapped you, came up hard and fast from the ground, his arm swinging with the full force of it, so that it hit you hard across the cheek and threw you sideways, landing you on your arse on the ground. You barely had time to gasp before he was on top of you, hands on your throat, and you felt your skin stretch and spillover trying to find space under the squeeze. You were surprised by the pain of it, the way you suddenly wondered if he was going to shatter the vertebrae in your neck with his grip alone, saw a flash of the way Jacob’s neck was bent when he came back strapped to Marla, wondered if that was how they got him, too.

For a long moment you didn’t fight it. Your hands flew to Jacob’s, both of them wrapped hard around your throat, but you didn’t claw at them, you didn’t try and pry his fingers from you. You gasped out of reflex, sought air where it was being pushed from your body, but with what oxygen you still had in your brain you contemplated for a moment just letting him do it. The pain wouldn’t last, you reasoned, and you wondered what type of flowers they’d use for your wreath, how long before they wilted under the weight of melting snow. You wondered if you would see your sister, your dad. If Marla would be waiting for you so you could talk shit about Ray well into the afterlife. You imagined her joking about haunting him. You almost smiled.

You couldn’t even really see Ray anymore, were barely in the room with him. You wondered if you would see your mum. How you would explain to her what the last 22 years of your life had been like without her, if she would wrap you in her arms and hold you warm and safe for the first time since you were 15. If she would have hair, wherever she was. If you could be together again, the four of you. If she had missed you like you had missed her.

You felt tears on your cheeks, and you were sure that they were yours, and that you were crying for your mother. That if you could speak you would call for her, raise your arms up to the ceiling and let her take you up. You were amazed by how deeply you wanted it, how you could feel the tug in your stomach, in your chest, the want to pull up and away. Before she got sick, she’d taken you on a plane to Florida, to Disney World, and you had felt the rush of the plane pushing you back into your seat as you sliced the clouds in two. She had held your hand in hers as you ascended. You felt you had left your fear on the tarmac.

You saw her, buckled in to the seat next to you, and you realised she had aged and so had you, and she was reaching her hands out to cradle your face, and you let her, and as she sucked in a breath so did you, down on the ground with Ray over you, you sucked in some air, and she screamed over the sudden roar of the engines, that you had to fight.

Your hand left Ray’s and flew to his cheek, where you drove your thumb into his eye socket, felt the give and pop of it. He howled, let go of your throat to reach for his face, and you scrambled out from under him, kicking away at the ground until you found purchase, pushed yourself up until you were backed against the wall and could leverage it to get to your feet. You gasped for air, held your throat as if you thought it would fall to pieces, spluttered and felt the burn of your lungs. Ray rolled on the ground, his hand covering his eye, and you could see that it was bleeding heavily, blood running through his fingers and onto his shirt, and with his good eye he was looking up at you, shocked and hurt and betrayed, and you left him there, kicked and broke the bowl on your way out without seeing it, took the stairs two at a time to get out.

Ray was escorted out of Jackson the next morning. You hadn’t told anyone what happened, but you had gone to the infirmary to see if they had any painkillers, and Dougie had seen the bruises, and then you mentioned he should probably go check on Ray. Two and two got put together without you having to pull out the abacus. Without Marla you didn’t care that he was gone.

Word got around and Tommy visited. He appeared on your doorstep holding a pot of stew and you thanked him for it, thanked him for all the food at Ray’s, and he seemed not to know what you were talking about, and you decided not to press it, because that little flicker of hope was too much for you right now, too dangerous, and despite all of the lessons you were still learning how treacherous hope could be.

Tommy brought you over to the window to inspect you under the light, and you felt the softness of his hands, the warmth of him on your skin, and you thought about Joel until you worried you might cry, and you wanted to crack a joke but couldn’t think of any.

‘It just feels like everything has gone further to shit, and I didn’t think that was possible,’ you said, trying to keep your smile fixed in place. ‘I think we ruined Jackson.’

Tommy shook his head, waved the words away like they were flies buzzing in front of him.

‘Bullshit,’ he said, with his eyes so brown and warm and meaning it, really meaning it.

‘But all of this…Marla and Ray…’ you went on, and he shrugged.

‘You cut that out,’ he said, suddenly coming on all Southern and bossy. ‘That’s the kinda talk Ray was going on about while we threw him out of here. No good comes from that talk. No good.’

You nodded your head. Knew that he was right, of course, but didn’t have anything else you could say.

‘It hurts,’ you said, in the end, and he furrowed his brow.

‘You been to the Doc?’ he asked, and you shook your head, dismissed it.

‘Not that,’ you said, waving to your bruised throat. ‘Everything else.’

‘Oh, Sugar,’ he said, and you would have melted into him except he was the wrong fucking Miller. ‘Maria told me once, people don’t get sad about somethin’ ‘til it’s over. ‘Til they feel safe, then they can get sad.’

You sniffed, the tears really starting to threaten now, and you curled your hands into fists to try and force them to retract, to just fucking behave.

‘Ray said I run from my feelings,’ you said, your face crumpling.

‘Do you?’ he asked, reaching out to hold you in place, somehow just knowing you felt like you were about to dissolve in front of him. You thought of the Little Mermaid, the proper Grimm one, where she turns into sea foam at the end.

‘I think I do,’ you spluttered out, and he threw you into his arms then, pulled you forward into his chest, and you wanted to wail but you couldn’t, didn’t. Joel had made you feel safe. Joel had given that to you and then ripped it away, and now it was just you and the sad.

‘Wondered why you and Joel got on so well,’ he said, and you gasped even though he was trying to help, and he immediately tried to backtrack. ‘Woah, woah,’ he said, as if you were a horse that he hadn’t properly broken, ‘it was a joke, I’m sorry, Sugar.’

You pulled away from him, feeling guilty and foolish. You willed your breath to settle, firmly instructed your stomach to stop rolling. You reached up to Tommy and wiped at the scant tears you had deposited onto his shirt.

‘I’m OK,’ you said, willing the moment to pass. You took in a shuddering breath. ‘I’m just so tired,’ you said, after a minute. You wiped your nose on your sleeve and ignored Tommy’s grimace. Surely Robin had done way worse shit three times already and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

‘You know I still think about you with Maria, and Robin,’ Tommy said, and you were pulled out of your misery for a second. ‘You just…you gave me the strength to be there for her, I guess. You were so calm.’

‘Yeah, well one of us had to be,’ you said, and you were grinning now. You reached out to hold his bicep, so that he knew you were only kidding, but he was smiling too, and you he knew that it was coming from a warm place, and it felt so good to have him smile at you, in your home by the window, where you he could better see your bruises.

‘Were you running from your feelings then?’ he asked, ‘with Maria and Robin?’

You weren’t, and you knew it as well as Tommy did, but you didn’t know how to tell him it was different. You thought about Joel hovering in the doorway, how he held you in his gaze so you could bear it.

‘Tommy, I have so much to thank you for,’ you said, after a while.

‘Don’t thank me yet, I need a favour,’ he said, and his tucked his hands into his pockets and looked genuinely contrite.

‘Oh,’ you said, and you worried that you didn’t have anything to give, that you were about to let him down, the fear that now he wasn’t going to like you anymore crashing onto your shoulders.

‘It’s Ellie,’ he went on, oblivious, while you tried to remember what breathing is. ‘Joel left her with us because she can’t be on her own, but with Robin and Maria, I mean we’re up all night. I don’t want to mess with her schoolin-‘

‘Left her with you,’ you said, your brain catching on the words. ‘Where did he go?’

Tommy shifted on his feet, looking out the window as a few people wandered past, still huddled against the brutal cold. You swallowed.

‘It’s...well, the pharmacy,’ he said, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest.

‘He’s going back out there?’

‘A few are, yeah. The supplies… they could really help.’

‘The ambush!’ you said, horrified and furious at what you were hearing.

‘We spoke to Matthew,’ Tommy said, and you realised he meant the other rider, the last of the six. ‘He reckons they got most of them, that even if they didn’t the clickers they had with them, they would have.’

‘Tommy, no…’ you started, but he waved a hand at you to stop.

‘I know, but the town council had a vote.’

‘He’s going to be killed like the rest of them!’ you screeched with your ragged throat. ‘You don’t even know if there’s really anything out there. Ray could have been wrong!’

‘Joel’s strong, and we know where they are now. We figure they were going for the same honey pot.’

‘They won’t have stayed there, Jesus Christ, Tommy,’ you said, wanting to push him over, shove him against the wall, hit something with something hard. ‘They could be anywhere, they could be…’ You trailed off, something clicking into place. They could be coming here.

‘Sugar,’ Tommy started, and you stopped him almost immediately.

‘Absolutely fucking do not call me that,’ you snapped.

‘It was good intel,’ Tommy went on, undeterred, but you didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to entertain it, didn’t want the words hanging in the air anywhere near you.

‘They kept clickers to kill people with, Tommy. They were…that’s like, super raiders or some shit. God, what have you fucking done?’ you asked, rounding on Tommy now, who looked shocked and hurt for a moment, before he steeled his features, and you saw the family resemblance, and you wanted him out of your house.

‘Can you take her?’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ you asked, realising you were now pacing up and down in front of your couch, and not fucking caring.

‘Joel said if we got stuck, that she mentioned you, that she…’

‘That she what?’ you snapped at him. ‘Trusts me? I don’t know her. But if this is what her family does I can fucking see why I’m the better option.’

You were so angry, and you had no idea why, but it felt good and you wanted to stay that way, wanted to punch a pillow and rip something in half, because finally you weren’t feeling so fucking greyed out anymore, finally you weren’t just radio static and snow.

You thought about Ray with his hands on your throat, about Joel throwing your clothes at you, at Marla so scared and so sad right there in front of the fire. You winced away from that memory. That one wasn’t allowed.

Tommy watched you, scared to move, and you could feel it slipping out of you now, the fight. Protective like they will lock you out in the cold to save you from the monster under the bed.

‘I have no idea how to look after a teenage girl,’ you said, after a while, and you heard the defeat in it, the give.

‘You were one once,’ he said.

‘I said what I said,’ you replied.

Ellie arrived, sullen and sad and fourteen, on your doorstep the next morning. Tommy stood behind her with a bag of her things. You stepped aside and ushered her in, slipping the bag from Tommy’s hand and closing the door on him. You felt cruel doing it, but you were also taking in Joel’s kid, so you figured you’d earned some shittiness.

Ellie moved straight to the couch and was genuinely surprised when you told her she could have your room.

‘Where will you go?’ she asked, standing rigid in your living room like she thought you were going to just up and leave her there.

‘I’ll go on the couch,’ you said, simply. ‘It’s fine, for years I went without a mattress, I can do pull a few more nights.’

‘You’re giving me your whole bed?’ Ellie asked, her voice rich with incredulity. You smiled at her, hoping she couldn’t see the desolation in you if you papered over the cracks.

‘I just want you to be comfortable,’ you said. ‘You’re welcome here anytime.’

You had no idea if you meant that, but you imagined it was something your mum would have said. You let yourself sink heavy into the cushions, your hand going up instinctively to pull at your turtleneck. As you pulled it away from the skin you realised Ellie could see the bruises. You looked up into her pale, drawn face.

‘Tommy said there were an accident,’ she said, quietly. You rolled the turtleneck up again, nodding at her.

‘That wasn’t an accident,’ she said, simply. ‘Or did you try and string yourself up from a tree?’

You remembered she had grown up in an apocalypse, in a QZ of all places. She would be desensitised. She would be insensitive. She would be fucking fourteen.

‘It wasn’t…’ you started, and then you remembered that at her age you could always tell when an adult was lying to you. ‘I was attacked,’ you started again, and you saw the way her face fell. ‘I’m OK,’ you said, reaching your hands up to her, but not close enough to touch. ‘I fought him off, and he’s gone from Jackson now.’

‘How did you fight him?’ she said, sitting down on the couch beside you, her face studying yours.

‘I poked him in the eye, well I…I kind of punctured his eyeball, I think? I’m not sure, I didn’t get a good look. But he let me go and then I made a break for it.’

Ellie seemed to think about this for a while, and you let her digest it. ‘Did you like it?’ she asked, quiet, and you shook your head almost immediately.

‘No,’ you said, ‘but I don’t regret it either. He would have killed me if I hadn’t.’ You went quiet as you thought, flexing your fingers, looking at the thumb you had pushed into Ray’s eye socket. ‘I guess, I regret being in the position to have to do it, but I don’t regret doing it. Y’know?’

Ellie nodded, and you watched her face and could see that she did know, that she knew exactly.

‘People have to do to shit to stay alive,’ you said. ‘It’s not like the before times. I mean, you weren’t born then. But back then we would never…I could never imagine, wouldn’t even know how to. We’ve still got all these morals and guilt and hang-ups from the before times, and sometimes I think we need them and sometimes I think they hold us back.’

‘Sometimes they make us feel guilty for doing things that didn’t exist back then, when the rules were written,’ she said, and fuck she was smart.

‘Yes,’ you said. Suddenly you were sad, and you wondered what your mum would make of you now, how you could ever explain. From the ashes you had not emerged a phoenix but something far wilder, something with far greater claws.

‘I think I get that,’ Ellie said.

‘Sometimes, I just try and forgive myself for the things I did to get here,’ you said. ‘Sometimes I try and thank my younger self, my previous self, my yesterday self, for getting me to today.’

‘That’s fucking weird,’ she said, and you giggled.

‘I never said it wasn’t,’ you replied. You nudged her with your shoulder.

‘You don’t want me here,’ she said, so matter-of-factly that you weren’t sure you heard her.

‘I…don’t?’ you asked.

‘No, neither does Tommy and Maria.’

‘They have the baby,’ you reasoned, and she nodded. ‘What makes you think I didn’t want you here?’

She shrugged. ‘You didn’t speak to Tommy,’ she said, eventually, and fuck she was a little too smart, actually.

‘That’s not about you,’ you said, quickly.

‘It’s about Joel,’ she said, speaking the quiet part out loud. You looked away from her, not wanting his name spoken in your sanctuary. You had moved the coffee table to the corner of the room.

‘We shouldn’t be trying to get to that fucking pharmacy,’ you said, and then realised you’d sworn in front of her, and apologised.

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ she said, and you gave her a half-hearted smile.

‘Just don’t tell Maria I swore,’ you said, and she rolled her eyes.

‘Maria will already know,’ and you snorted, then. ‘I didn’t want him to go either,’ she said, more quietly. You felt like you wanted to put an arm around her, but also didn’t know how she would react, if it would be too weird, reminded yourself that you didn’t really even know her that well.

‘Tommy says he’s strong, that he’ll come back,’ you tried to reassure her.

‘How do you know if someone’s lying to you?’ she asked, and she didn’t mean generally, she meant you, specifically. You floundered for a moment.

‘Uhh…I dunno, I guess I listen for things they say that don’t make sense? Sometimes they won’t look you in the eye?’

She turned to you, swivelled her whole body to face you, and fixed you with an unwavering, unnerving stare. You were completely disarmed in the wake of it.

‘Do you think Joel’s a good person?’ she asked.

You briefly wondered when exactly your entire life had become about trying to decipher that grumpy old man. The truth was that you hadn’t really spoken much, even in the time you’d spent together, and that you felt an attraction to him, a yearning and an ache right at the core of you, that was almost independent of you both. You became someone else with him, and all this time since you had wondered if that person was the person you were supposed to be if you weren’t so afraid all the time, if you hadn’t had everything and everyone you cared about stripped from you, if you feeling safe and warm and protected with Joel bore a version of you that was free and unafraid, and she felt so fucking unfamiliar that you ran from her, pushed Joel away just to make her disappear, before you disappointed her, before you lost her, too.

‘I know he’s done things. I mean I don’t know what things, but I know he would have done things. To survive.’ You thought for a moment longer, her gaze still on you. ‘To protect,’ you tried again. ‘I think he will do bad things to protect the people he loves, and that might makes lines blurry.’

‘You don’t doubt him?’

Fuck, did you? You tried to remind yourself you didn’t care.

‘I don’t know if I really know him, Ellie,’ you said, settling again on a vague kind of truth.

‘I spent a lot of time with him,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I know him really either. I don’t think he knows himself, so I don’t know how I’m s’posed to.’

You nodded your head, wondering when exactly this kid had turned 45 years old. ‘Ellie, I…’ you started, but she butted in.

‘I still love him,’ she said. ‘He’s basically my dad. But he does things that don’t make sense to me, and I don’t think he really tells me everything.’

‘Do you doubt him, Ellie?’ you asked, and she took a second to think about it.

‘He says he told me the truth,’ she said, after a while.

You wanted and didn’t want to ask what she meant. She didn’t sound convinced, more just resigned to the not-knowing.

She shrugged, suddenly. ‘I do want him to come back,’ she said. You slumped back against the couch, your back creaking as you curled your spine.

‘Me too,’ you said. Fuck Joel Miller. Fuck him and his perfect fucking face.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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emilystheories · 1 year ago

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Aelin, Nesta, Bryce: the secret of the eight-pointed star.

My all time favourite SJM universe theory.

[Spoilers for ACOTAR, Throne of Glass, and Crescent City!]

In Empire of Storms, Aelin is seen wearing a Wyrdkey around her neck. Because of this, a temporary gate is opened inside of her, allowing Deanna to possess her body.

Within the Throne of Glass world, Deanna is a god.

When Aelin attends a religious service to honour Deanna and the other gods, it is noted that the High Priestess bears the marking of an eight-pointed star above her brow.

In the ACOTAR world, it has been widely speculated that the Cauldron - with its three magical legs - is also made from Wyrdkeys (thus creating a Wyrdgate). Items dipped into the Cauldron, such as the Dread Trove, also appear to take on similar properties to the Wyrdkeys.

When Nesta uses the Dread Trove items - just like Aelin and the Wyrdkey - a god-like being appears to possess Nesta.

Nesta also bore a tattoo of the eight-pointed star. The symbol of the gods.

Many believe that the fourth Dread Trove item is the Horn in the Crescent City world.

The Horn is embedded into Bryce's back. Just like the Wyrdkeys, it allows Bryce to open up doors to other worlds.

When the Horn was repaired... Bryce also gained the same marking of the eight-pointed star.

Thus, it appears that Wyrdkeys and the Dread Trove (including the Horn) allow gods, or higher beings, to possess the bodies of those wielding them.

However, unlike Aelin or Nesta, who can remove their access to these items, Bryce is stuck with the Horn permanently inked into her back.

In the final chapters of CC2, when Bryce reaches the Asteri palace, it is said that an eye opens within her soul, and "snarls."

This begs the question; is there someone inside Bryce as well...?

Interestingly, after the Horn was healed and Bryce is racing to save the humans, the Prime of the Wolves looks at Bryce and refers to her as a "wolf." As he says this, he points to his heart.

Similarly, when Bryce meets the Prime again in CC2, he once again refers to her as a "wolf" and taps his chest - his heart.

But, the Prime isn't referring to Bryce. He's referring to Danika.

Bryce's best friend, the wolf-shifter... the one who is always inside of Bryce's heart... literally.

Danika told Baxian that she was trying to find a way into a new world. But, she also knew that she was going to die before this could happen.

Perhaps it's then no coincidence that Danika inked the Horn on Bryce's back; creating a gate inside of Bryce - one that she could enter, even after death, should she need it.

Danika inked the Horn in the "language of universes" - Wyrdmarks.

In doing this, she spelt out the phrase "through love, all is possible." When Hypaxia asks Bryce about this very phrase on her back, Bryce explains the meaning: that she and Danika will never be parted.

Danika says the same thing herself; that even if Bryce cannot see her... she will always be there.

And, I don't think these are just pretty words. Because, through the Horn - a gate into Bryce's soul - Danika's own soul resides.

This explains how, after the Horn was healed, Bryce was able to the Drop.

The Drop is a descent into one's soul. When Bryce does the Drop, when she descends into her own soul... she found Danika there.

But, this raises an interesting question; can any deceased or otherworldly being enter Bryce through the Horn?

Or... is Danika someone important?

Given the theme of reincarnation within the SJM universe... it is possible that Danika was once a god, or a higher being, herself?

Well, the name Danika means "morning star." Or, otherwise known as Sirius.

In the Crescent City world, Sirius was the seventh (and long deceased) Asteri.

Sirius was known as the WOLF STAR.

Further, within various strains of mythology, Danika is known as the Goddess of Dusk.

...Danika's search for Dusk's Truth.

...The Horn, given to Bryce by Danika, is a beacon to Prythian. To the Dusk Court.

The Dusk Court (most likely situated on the Prison Island), with the same marking of the eight-pointed star.

The symbol of the Starborn fae.

The symbol of the Gods.

With SJM's next (multiverse?) series speculated to be called Twilight of the Gods...

Twilight being another word for dusk...

It's all coming together.

(And, as an additional headcanon - if this theory is true - I wonder if this is all leading up to Starfall - the migration of souls. That we will see Danika's soul leave her place inside of Bryce, and join the other souls in the sky - destined to be reborn once more).

#acotar #crescent city #throne of glass #aelin galathynius #bryce quinlan #nesta archeron #sjm multiverse #sjm universe #sarah j maas #sjm theory #acotar theory #crescent city theory

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themotherofblood · 2 years ago

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byka perzys | part two

rosy riñītsos | part one | masterlist

Dark!Daemyra Targaryen x Crybaby!Reader

A/N: y’all filthies were hungry for part two so here we go, again do not come at me. This is very taboo with dad Daemon and step mom Rhaenyra. Feel free to skip this if it ain’t your cup of tea; I have other vanilla ones. A little angsty start!! Not proof read. I’m going to bed lol I will do it later :)

tw: naive reader, dubcon-ish,breastfeeding (lactation kink), infantilism, incest!, spanking.

It has been eight moons since Rhaenyra Targaryen claimed the Iron Throne, it had been a bloody affair truly- her own kin beheaded and hanging off the gates of the Red Keep as an example.

Usurp the throne and pay its price.

People that Y/N once called family all hung from the gates, her favourite aunt in chains with her little cousins. Daemon and Rhaenyra did their best to keep their children away from the monstrosity that followed with war, however keeping Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena proved to being harder. They won the throne regardless with every green supporter executed or incarcerated. Only after Rhaenyra secured her position did she send for her eldest daughter to be brought to King’s Landing from Dragonstone.

The battle had turned both Rhaenyra and Daemon bitter, while to the court they had begun celebrating their victory. With enormous galas being thrown for their children’s engagements. Both Jace and Baela being named future heir to the throne, they had begun being more involved in the politicking while Rhaena and Luke began to make journeys with their grandfather Corlys.

You felt alone in it all- Joff, Aegon and Viserys were all little making them the joy of everyone’s eyes and what remained of you? A mere bastard girl at court with nothing to her name. You were happy that the war ended, that your mother sat the throne; your family whole. You had spent all your life hidden, buried in your books or lost in the gardens. You didn’t care much for courtly attention, what you did care for were your kepa and mūna.

You went from nursing yourself to sleep in between them for many moons to the war making them forget of your existence, you waited, you truly did. However as the days passed, the more scared you became. You would cry yourself to sleep with fear of death, and now you felt alone. You stood at court and yet no one saw you. A giant table set for supper and yet there was just you awaiting your family. They never came.

You had found solace elsewhere, making multiple trips with your lady’s maids to the city as everybody made efforts to sew Kings Landing back to its proper glory, many of Daemon’s gold cloaks would accompany you; not wanting to loose their heads to dark sister. You offered baskets of milk, clothing and food out to the people of flea bottom and perhaps in those few hours you spent with the common people. You felt more seen than you had in over six months, your visits became frequent, and while Daemon and Rhaenyra believed you were holed up deep in the libraries in the Red Keep; you read stories to children at the Blackwater beaches.

You learned of tales of your own birth and how you might have been one of these common people had your father not been so considerate of his own blood. It warmed you heart and yet upset you more. He never spoke of your birth mother and you never questioned him on the matter, not until you sent out your lady’s maid to find the tavern you took birth in. It was weeks until they returned with the name of the tavern, which too they relayed to you with hesitation. A princess in a tavern…blasphemy.

You had found your people, while your mother perished while birthing you, an older tavern wench recognized your lilac eyes the second you set foot into her establishment, they cared for you the first eight moons of your existence until gold cloaks came knocking down their door to retrieve you for your kepus, the King. They did not fight, mayhaps their one child of many would be raised in riches. They closed the bar down as they celebrated your return.

Everyone of the barmaids began hounding you with questions.

“Do ya remember us little lady?” one questioned “I bathed you as babey”

“Aye- but I named ya little fires!” a woman named Chataya replied.

“Tell us litte fires, have ya gotten one of those monsters?” the older woman questioned, you happily smiled as you nodded your head.

“Vermithor.” you said smiling ear to ear.

“Vermithor!” they all cheered as they raised their cups of ale, making you flinch but giggle along. You spent a better part of that afternoon basking in happiness, there wasn’t a single room in the Red Keep that spread with this much joy at your presence.

That evening at the square named you the Princess of Flea Bottom.

A fitting title for a very different reason from when Daemon was named the very thing for his whoring habits.

Just as always even tonight, other than Joffrey everybody seemed to have found themselves occupied.

“Sorry sister, there are council matters.” Jacearys apologised on his and Baela’s behalf for their inability to join you for supper. Lucearys and Rhaena had extended their stay at Driftmark. You had spent the better part of supper scraping your peas from one end to the other as Joffrey went on about his new horse gifted to him by some lord- Massey? Baremon? You weren’t sure which.

“A proper princess finishes her food!” the shrill voice of Septa Marlow scolded you yet again.

That night you attempted something you would have never tried before, you frustrations seemed to have frozen your nervousness as you pattered your way over to the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast with a book in one hand and a doll in another. Hoping that tonight Daemon might read to you for the night, you wouldn’t even beg to lay with them; merely spend a few moments in their company. The queensgaurd placed by their doors already had succumbed to slumber as he leaned against the wall. Your meek nature made it far to easy to evade him as you entered the Queen’s apartments.

The door to their bed chambers were slightly parted as you heard chatter from within, a burst of joy spread through you. After much time they had been in their bed chambers at an acceptable hour, perhaps tonight you might sleep all through the dark skies till the sun graced King’s Landing. You smiled to yourself, already the forming the sentence of request in your head so you wouldn’t stammer while speaking. Running the words over your head twice before approaching the door.

You peaked in, immediately freezing as your knock barely reached the door. You eyes fixated on the image within the chambers. Your heart sunk, small twitches of anxiety moved through your fingers as your gaze fell upon a girl stood in between Daemon and Rhaenyra. Daemon’s lips attacking her neck as she suckled at Rhaenyra’s breasts, your feet took you backwards. Knocking over the vase placed on a side table by the door, a loud crash through the corridor.

Daemon’s eyes immediately shot to the door, furious at whoever would dare interrupt the Queen and her consort, and even more who would dare to peak in. He pushed the whore on the bed and unsheathed his dagger, ready to swing it at whomever he would find at their chamber doors. He heard hurried shuffling feet as pushed the door open with all its might, the queensgaurd placed at the door looking disheveled as he appeared to make himself look coherent. He stumbled to no evidence to who the onlooker might have been, other than a book laid on the ground.

He picked up the book, turning it to read it’s cover. A tale of romance that perhaps only one person would have read it in all of the Red Keep. He shook his head, cursing himself at what you might have seen as he returned inside to grab his cloak. He threw the book at his wife, who looked at him questioningly; she frowned at the cover as Daemon apologized to the doe eyed whore that both Daemon and Rhaenyra would have enjoyed tormenting.

“Sorry pet, here’s your gold.” He placed four gold coins on her lap before leaving to find you.

You ran as fast as your feet would allow, hiking your skirts with both hands as your discarded your doll by the servants chambers, everyone of them shouting at you; concerned of your well being. You had managed to climb over boxes just as you did with trees and jumped over the lower walls, ridding yourself of the Red Keep. You hated it here, you wanted to go home. You wanted everyone to just return to the days at Dragonstone. The metal fencing tugged at your skirts, ripping through a good inch or two of your lavender skirts and dug into the skin of thigh, drawing blood that in the moment you hadn’t registered somewhere in the scuffle you had also misplaced a slipper, leaving your one foot bare as you escaped. You just ran, escaping the vile portrait of another girl nursing on your mother.

Pushing through crowds of people as you ran towards the Dragonpit, Vermithor had already felt your inner turmoil, growling and freeing himself of his chains as he stomped his way out of his holding to the courtyard; awaiting your arrival as he still growled at the dragonkeeper trying to settle him down. They already knew the sudden outraged behaviour of the bronze dragon had to do with your arrival, in the darkness however they couldn’t tell a thing.

You ran towards your dragon, looking behind you to see if anyone followed which you were sure they would. Your father might have been as furious as you were at them, if not worse.

“Vhalar Vermithor!” you yelled at him.

“Soves!”

You hurried to pull yourself onto his wing, yanking your body up onto your leathered saddle. “Sovētēs!” you ordered once more before your dragon pushed its wings back to fly towards the dark skies. You hadn’t even bothered to tie yourself to him, you just held on as your heart hammered within your chest.

Daemon arrived to the dragonpit moments later, already finding a torn piece of your dress stained in blood and your doll discarded at the servant grounds, he cursed under his breath as Caraxes was brought out of his holding. He wasted no time in mounting his dragon after he made sure that the dragon keepers would send word to his wife. Caraxes would hunt them down to be sure, he had to.

Vermithor flew for hours to be sure; you had not a clue of where he took you. Your mind toiled of far worse things.

What were you thinking? The court didn’t want you and neither did your kin. The word bastard began to ring in your ears as you cried high above the clouds. The more Vermithor flew the more it became apparent that he was flying north, the air began to grow colder until he finally landed upon a strip of mountains. You sighed, looking around at the hill forests as you shuffled off him. You yelped out loud feeling the throb in your thigh, you began trembling again.

You wanted to go home.

You wanted to go back to Dragonstone.

Vermithor grunted, already irked that you had distrupted his sleep and yet he sympathized with your sorrow, the cold that had began to seep into your bones that your torn summer gown did nothing to shield you from. The bronze fury let out a gust of fire, circling around himself and you to keep him warm as he snuggled himself on the grass. You shuffled closer to his neck as you rested against the warm reptilian skin, crying into your hands. Afraid and alone.

Daemon had flown for hours, Caraxes had lost the scent of your dragon past the burning ruins in the Riverlands. He returned at dawn, failing to find you as he stomped into his chambers. He explained it all to Rhaenyra who looked terrified, hurrying to send out ravens to every lord to seek for a bronze dragon and their princess dressed in lavender. Daemon made trips himself, scouring through Dragonstone and Driftmark first, knowing the Vermithor spent most his time on those lands. To no avail.

He regretted no reaching out to you sooner, most of it was to blame the monstrosity that clouded Rhaenyra and his blood at the aftermath of the war. The enjoyed paying whores to leave those girls bruised by the morning, how were they to do that two their own zaldrititos. They couldn’t bare the thought of touching you while their demons ran wild in the sheets, you were far too pure to taint so early. Many night they’d free themselves of the council at late hours, Daemon himself would return covered in blood after he “interrogated” the green sympathisers. He’d peer into your bed chambers just as Rhaenyra would, watching a small frown that they would pet away from your sleeping body.

You had fallen asleep at some point, the simmering burnt grass lulled your sobbing frame to sleep as you hid under Vermithor’s wing. Come morning you woke within the same burnt circle, the sun glaring in your eyes as Vermithor rested from a few feet from you; nibbling on a roasted sheep. You shuffled up, groaning at the throb on your thigh, some where along the night the cut had stopped bleeding but left a better part of your gown soaked in blood.

You groaned as you stood up, looking around to have an inkling of where you might be, you limped toward Vermithor. Petting his skin.

“Can you take me home? Dragonstone?” you asked him, hoping he’d be done with his meal soon. His yellow eyes merely looked at you from his periphery before thudding his head to the ground to rest. “Please?”

He moved his snout to push the leftover sheep towards you, before closing his eyes to slumber.

You had begun to venture around the edge of the woods, luckily finding a pond to wash your wound. More tears followed as the gash burned anew, the cruel cold water bringing you much discomfort. Hours went past, you had begged your bronze dragon to take you home a dozen times, to no avail. He had begun to drag himself to a mountain cave, holding his fresh kill within his mouth as he huffed every two breaths; awaiting your limping frame to keep up with him.

Perhaps this was your home now, you were hungry, and ate around the cooked flesh of the kills Vermithor would hunt, you were in pain. Both physically and mentally, perhaps they didn’t care, perhaps they threw another gala as they were rid of their bastard daughter.

“What if she never returns Daemon?” Rhaenyra sighed as she held rocked baby Visenya to bed. “She won’t survive out there.”

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that?” Daemon snapped, still beating himself over your disappearance. “She has her dragon with her, he will protect her.”

Various lords around the seven kingdoms sent out watch parties, hoping to spot the princess or atleast her dragon. Four days past and not a word, until finally a white raven arrived from The Vale. A parchment containing the sightings of Vermithor atop their mountains and talks of Hill tribes and Mountain men attacking whatever that dragon was trying to hide. All attempts to make contact were met with dragon fire, killing the Knights of The Vale and Hill tribes alike.

Daemon was enraged as he rushed to mount Caraxes, armed with Dark Sister while he rode with all his might to arrive at the Eyrie before the dusk began to decorate the horizon. They pointed toward the taller peak, warning him of Mountain men all guarding the cave for any sitting of the bronze fury. Daemon flew above with Caraxes, watching as the savages below shoot arrows and boulder like rocks in the cave; above all he heard the furious roars of Y/N’s dragon. He had burned every last one of them in a fit of rage, the glowing carnage could be seen from miles below the mountains as Caraxes landed with a thud just outside the caves. Daemon approached the dark cave with stealth, singing a Valyrian lullaby that his grand sire sung for his dragon, one that he sang with Y/N while he helped her claim the enormous beast.

You hid behind your dragon’s tail, groaning in pain as a rock yet again bruised your skin. The first two days stop the mountain were peaceful. You had found yourself berries that kept your fed just enough to curb the rumbling, the fresh water pond helped both you and Vermithor and the gash on your thigh began dry as your cleaned them with washed leaves. Your dress on the other hand, went from lavender to dirt brown in no time, your feet covered in little cuts at you rid yourself of your only slipper. Your family consisted of Vermithor and little cave bugs, that was until the people Vermithor was stealing sheep and goats from came knocking- charging at your door.

You had fought them for two days, with barely enough sleep as they kept throwing things and shooting at Vermithor. He burned them and yet more came, then came knights who knew your name. Perhaps green sympathizers that wanted your head, you burned them too. You cowered behind Vermithor sobbing until you heard a familiar lullaby, you cried louder in your hands, you feared you had succumbed to madness.

“Y/N! Riñītsos?” you heard Daemon��s voice bellow in the darkness. You were sure somebody had come for you, and it sure wasn’t Daemon. You huffed pulling yourself onto Vermithor, hoping to scare away whoever it was.

“Dracarys.” you said, making Vermithor let out a blow of fire around the cave. You sat atop him with agony and rage in your eyes, you were exhausted and were sure you would die by the end of the fortnight. That was until the warm glow of the fire flashed the white haired figure stood at the entrance of the cave.

“nyke issa riñītsos.” his voiced echoed through the cave.

“k-kepa?” you bottom lip wobbled as you shuffled off of Vermithor, barely able to hold your own weight together.

As much as Daemon wanted to run to grab you, he couldn’t. The bronze fury still held a murderous stance towards him, he had to wait for you. You feet slowly limped forward to him, clearing your eyes in the little light that remained in the burning darkness. You whispered his name once more to which he replied, holding his arms out until he saw your body in the light.

Frail, your dress covered in soot, dirt and blood. The braids on your hair undone and unruly, stained in dirt and blood too. Wounds on your arms and a bleeding cut on your head, Daemon took in a sharp breath once he finally had you in his arm, you collapsed- whimpering as he rushed to cover your body with his cloak.

“Iksā ȳgha, iksan vaoreznuni.” He whispered against your temple as he pushed you hair away. Daemon carried you to Caraxes, helping you mount him first before situating himself behind you. He was perturbed to be sure, that you would be so reckless but in the moment he felt nothing but relief as he flew back to the Red Keep with you in his arms.

Two days, it had been two days as you graced the world of consciousness and then drifted to slumber again. The day Daemon returned to the Red Keep, carrying your cloaked frame in his arms as your lady’s maids rushed to care for you. Both Rhaenyra and him and sat through the ordeal as the cleaned your wounds, he wanted to backhand every one of your maids as your hissed and cried out as the girls tended your wounds. Upon being tucked in bed, Daemon sat with you for hours, humming a lullaby under his breath as he caressed your silver wisps.

When you had awoken for sure, you had jolted awake. Eyes darting over your canopy until they fell upon Rhaenyra and Daemon sat next to your bed. Both looked tired and yet furious, their faces reminded you of what you had seen, soon filling your relieved heart with bitterness.

“What were you thinking?” Rhaenyra questioned darkly, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

“The Queen asked you something.” Daemon said in addition.

You scoffed at the two of them, frowning at their audacity to question you after what they had done. You groaned as you sat up, shuffling yourself off your bed from the other end. The poppy you were sure they made you consume, helped with your aching joints. Daemon’s chair scrapped as he approached you, holding your arms firmly in his hands as he questioned you once more.

“Nothing, my queen.” you said bitterly, fighting to tear yourself away from his grip.

Your tone irked her even more, far more than you using her title to defy her. “We don’t ask you for much, that you remain with us, and obey us.” she lectured “Perhaps we have been to lenient with you.”

You still said nothing as you scowled at the floor, “Do you know what they do to the girls at Old Town? The ones that behave as poorly as you have!” Daemon scolded you this time as he dragged your body back to your bed. You fought harder against his hold only irking them further.

Daemon held your body down as they plopped you on your belly. You felt them shuffle over you before Rhaenyra lifted your sleep shift from your backside, hastily pulling away at your small clothes.

“Let me go!” you screamed “Damn you, damn both of you!”

Daemon held you face down, muffling your screams as you felt the leather resting against your rear. “How many days did we not sleep proper , sweet wife?”

“Seven days.” she replied with venom in her voice.

“Seven hits.” Daemon agreed. “You better count them!” he warned you.

You felt the first hit throb against your rear, you bit your lip to starve them of a reaction. Another slash of the leather burned against your rear. “You better count if you want her to stop.” Daemon tutted.

“Go to hell!” you spat.

They had not a clue of why you acted this way, surely they would have explained what you saw but your defiance angered them way beyond measure. They wanted their meek, shy girl to return, even if they had to spank it back into you.Another harder hit radiated through your bottom, this time you cried out; only to be hit again when you finally screamed out “One!”

“Have you a clue of how afraid we were?” Daemon scolded along with the leather connecting to your arse again.

“The Vale knights you have killed? The damage alone!” Rhaenyra yelled before spanking you again.

“What if something happened to you? Do you see the wounds under a fortnight alone?” Daemon loosened his hold on you as you succumbed to your punishment, now fighting to sob.

“You could have been killed!” Rhaenyra bellowed as she got her last hit in.

You scurried forward into the bed as Daemon let you go, you hugged your knees as you shielded your face away from them. Your muña would have yelled at you once more but Daemon pulled her out of your chambers as she heaved in anger.

They hated you.

They left you to ponder over what you had done, you killed people, you ran away from home. You were horrible and they hated you now. You hadn’t realized when you began to sob but you did, you lady’s maids visited once to stoke the fires by the hearth before leaving. You sobbed into a pillow, letting every last shred of emotions in your body wet through the silk of your pillow.

Rhaenyra resumed court for the day, still fuming at what her daughter had done. Reparations were made of the dead knights to the Vale as Daemon did his best to calm her down. Perhaps they had gone two far in punishing you, however you needed to understand if not fear leaving this castle ever again. She would have chained you to the bed for all she cared, fighting this hard to sheild you from a war. Atleast her sons knew how to fight, her step daughter by Laena were fierce. You were mouse disguised a dragon, spoiled endlessly. She hated that it had resorted to this and would comfort you sooner than later.

Daemon on the other hand had handed her his belt, the simmering rage he had felt as he held your frail body back to the keep, unsure if you were dead or just asleep in his arms. The pained screams he had to hear as they cleaned your wounds, all because you were too stupid to ask them or yell at them instead of running. He hated himself too, he should have known better. Known that she would wither if left alone for far too long.

They approached your room way after supper, trays of untouched food remained outside your chambers as a lady’s maid informed them of your refusal to move. Rhaenyra huffed as she picked the tray of supper as Daemin held the door open for her, it had been a while since she had fed you herself.

You still remained the fetal position in your bed, small whimpers left your body as the pushed through the bed curtains. At first she believed you were crying your sleep, a prank of guilt ran through them as they saw your reddened rear peaking through your sleep shift.

It wasn’t until you whimpered out more words that they realized you were awake, regressed to a mere child afraid of monster as you cried.

“I-I want to go home,” you said through hiccups.

“You are home,” Daemon whispered as he pulled your onto his lap.

“D-dragonstone, home,” you whimpered.

“Oh, zaldrititos. This is our home now,” Rhaenyra cooed at her.

“No, not my home- daor!” you wailed louder, only growing more distressed as you refused to look at them “Ao vēdros nyke! Daor nyke!”

Rhaenyra gasped, “No- we could never hate you.”

“Always want our riñītsos,” Daemon whispered against your temple.

You shook your head as more furious tears fell from your eyes “The girl! I saw her, s-she was feeding on muña. You want her, n-not me.”

You began to shuffle away from her as reached forward to touch your face “We were afraid of hurting you sweet pea, I never get this angry but we have fought so hard to keep all of you safe.”

“Not knowing where you were was death, do you understand? I couldn’t breathe knowing you were out there, alone.” Rhaenyra confessed.

“You have been alone and angry, we are so sorry riñītsos,” Daemon said as he pushed your hair away. “We should have come for you sooner.”

Daemon began to pepper kisses down your face as Rhaenyra approached you again, this time you let her touch you as she caressed over your bandages.

“kepa,” you whimpered as more tears fell from your eyes. “muña,”

“You need to eat,” he whispered in your ear, nudging you to sit up right. You whined, I wanting to untangle this cocoon you had craved for months. “No, just be here.”

Your tummy grumbled and yet your refused to let this warmth wash away for a stupid cut of steak or mutton. You nuzzled your nose in the peaking curve of Rhaenyra’s bosom, hoping she would let you nurse on her; you felt far to dazed to be refused of such tenderness. Rhaenyra being a mother new exactly what you wanted, she shuffled backwards, tugging at the front strings of her dress robes. Her breasts spilling through the loosely tied corset.

You hungrily latched at her pink nipple, all too inviting at your groaned the second the sweet milk hit your tongue. She tapped your nose to make your suckle gently at her sore breasts and yet your happily lapped as your nurses on her. Daemon shuffled away making you whine, he shook his head at your impatience. Which soon turned to joy as he returned with your discarded doll in one hand; dressed in a brand new red and black dress. His other hand held the book you wanted him to read to you. He slotted himself back in yet again as you smiled around Rhaenyra’s breast.

Daemon read through passages like melted butter to the tongue, with every pause he pressed a kiss to you temple or caressed through Rhaenyra’s hair. Before Daemon flipped through the first chapter you had switched to the other breast as you suckled her dry. One thing was to be sure, it would be a while before her miles dried up for good. Not that she cared as she doted over the contentment that washed over your features

You felt content, warm and safe. You were bathed and clean, fed and sated as your were cuddled in between the two people you loved the most. You muña letting your hair as your kepa read you to sleep, the wars had ended, the blood shed seized and perhaps just for a moment. The Red Keep felt like home.

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