#I haven’t gone one single day without being in pain for years now

[bass-alien]

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[grapejuicestyless]

Leader Of The Landslide

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: John B was always your dad’s favorite. You always assumed it was because he blamed your mother leaving on you. Though he never outwardly neglected you, you always seemed to live in your older brother’s shadow. To everyone except one.

I remembered it from a young age, as early as seven, the way they all shunned me. My mother had been long gone, and my tired brain hadn’t held a single warm memory of her other than one.

We were at the chateau, as my dad called it, sitting on the old porch. Only, it wasn’t old then, it was new, and without the cigarette buds littering the once vibrant oak. There was an old wicker chair in the corner, pushed where the dusty couch now lay. It rocked slightly, not because it was meant to, but because it was broken. The distant memory of mumbled yelling and crashing from outside. Arguments that kept me and John B hidden under his covers until daylight broke. I loved that chair.

When I was young, my mom used to hold me in that chair. She never thought I was too old to be held, to be doted on by my mother. I still called her “mama” in my toddler years, pawing at the ends of her hair and the old fabric of her shirt. She sang soft melodies to me, songs I had never committed to memory, but songs I found in the simple things I enjoy now.

Popes dad says I had her eyes, and John B once told me that our dad thought I had her laugh. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me, he tells me he loves me, but he doesn’t like me.

Right before she left, I had been padding along the grain of the wood floors, my blanket dragging between my legs and my dad’s shirt were my makeshift pajamas hanging down to my ankles. A storm, ones we got often in the summertime as the air became warmer and pushed out the cold, had broken down a few large branches in the yard, and in an effort to find comfort, I ran to my mama.

“You favor that girl over our son!” My dad shouted, his voice thick with a simmering anger I had never heard before. I swore even then I could feel it through the walls.

“How dare you! They are my babies! I love those kids more than anything I have ever loved, and I love them just the same!” My mama argued, but her voice was softer, more conscious of her young ones who she believed were tucked into bed just a few feet away.

“I should have known you would have been this way. You haven’t seen them the same since they were born.” My mama added softly, her words bitter and heavy with an unspoken truth.

There was a heavy silence, and then, a crack. I wasn’t sure what it was, the sound of rings hitting skin and the soft clanking of another hitting the ground. I ran quietly, light on my feet as soon as the collision happened, crawling over to John B’s bed and pulling the sheets up to my chin. He didn’t even stir, so used to the feeling of my legs curling against his, expecting to wake up nose to nose when the sun would shine through his thin curtains. The arguments happened so often, it became rare that he wouldn’t wake up with me tucked into bed beside him, a nervous wreck and furrowed brows.

That was the last time I saw my mother, or heard her voice. I hadn’t known it then, but the way my father seemed distant that morning told me it was more than one of the usual fights. She wouldn’t be walking through that door again in a few days like she sometimes would, and she would never sing to me again.

I remember laying out across that old chair, pulling my small knees to my chest. Her perfume lingered on the cushion tied around the back, and her voice was carried over the breeze. She wasn’t coming back, and the pain in my father’s eyes and the churning of his stomach told me that much.

A few days later, dad called my brother and I into the living room to tell us how mama had skipped town, set off for a better life. I could tell they both blamed her, bother hated her secretly for it almost instantly, and being so young and impressionable, I nearly agreed, I nearly believed it. But I saw the way my father spoke to her and the way he had the ability to make her snap back. She deserved that life my father said she was chasing, even if deep down I knew it was a lie.

I never told my brother that dad was lying, though sometimes I did whisper it in his sleep like a prayer, like my truth would reach his dreams and taint his false sense into seeing whats real. But even as a little kid I wasn’t innocent enough to blabber on about how horrible our last living parent was. Especially not when our dad was to John B as what our mother was to me.

The chair was gone soon after, and my dad refused to tell me where he’d thrown it. At first I thought he had broken it, but he was a sensible man at times, and the extra cash lying around the kitchen told me he had sold it, and he had killed her memory too.

Years later, with barely any recollection of who she was, and lacking the foundations of which she should have built for me, sometimes I found myself curled up in that corner, my knees pulled to my chest tightly in the same ball I wound myself in all those years ago, and sometimes I found myself still calling out for her, like if she had heard how much I still needed her, she would sing for me one last time.

But I am much older now, and it has dawned on me repeatedly like some sick prayer that I am too old to be held, to be shown the affection of a mother and her infant, and I have been since the day she left.

Early mornings and stained glass windows, not from paints, but mold. Old rotten wood and dusty broken furniture. A safe haven to call home, a quiet room on the heart of the cut. My brother and I often pulled out patches of grass in the backyard, and sometimes we’d sit together on the hammock, see how high we could swing and loop our fingers around the rope to hold on.

Dad would sit inside, sometimes by the kitchen window where he could look out and watch over us, but he mainly spent his time inside of his office, which had at one point, been moms bedroom.

He used to leaning over the dirty counters, feeling the sun on his skin, letting the gentle breeze cool the back of his neck. But dad loved a lot of things, and unlike mom, he lacked a discreet touch about those things.

I guess it could be traced back to when my brother and I had just turned eight. A week after the party had rolled over, and glasses kept piling up around the house, sticky and stained a faint brown from his favorite cheap whiskey. Sometimes I tried to clean them up, and I would place them in the sink, but the colors never faded, not even after my small palms would bleed and callous.

Once, John B asked me what I was doing. He had been playing outside with Pope and JJ, and JJ had been screaming for me to come outside and be his partner in ‘signs’, our favorite childhood card game. Though, JJ and I often lost because we too, lacked the ability to be discreet in any situation.

I told him I’d be out soon, I was just doing the dishes and I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face. The usually happy, calm man looked down at his feet with something I’ve later identified embarrassment. I never blamed dad for drinking. I figured if mom leaving was still hard on me after all this time, it must have been hard for him too.

He began using his coffee mug after that. The dark liquid less shameful in a cup that gave him the ability to not only disguise his problem, but to commit it at any time of day, because John B was too oblivious to notice, and I was too naive to believe he would.

“Bird.” Dad called for John B in the backyard, not caring how Pope and I were arguing nonsensical things over each other, waving our arms and pointing fingers. JJ happily mediated, laughing at our schoolyard taunts and remarks, encouraging us to snap back, though we all knew our words were nothing more than that, and we all loved each other a great deal too much to mean any of it.

If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own thoughts, maybe I would’ve seen the way dad was swaying. The way his knuckles were white around the frame of the door. His glasses were crooked, and his breath rotten with substances. But I didn’t notice, and so little John B happily walked towards our father with open arms.

Dad hugged him. He hugged his son and held back his tears like it was the most beautiful moment he could ever dream of. He held John B like he was precious, and not to deny that he wasn’t, to me my brother was worth more than anything in the world, but to my dad, it was something more than that, and to me, it felt that way too.

Because dad never held me, his daughter, who cleaned his dishes, and covered his tracks, and lied, and stole, and cried out for him, for some peace. He never hugged me like that. Because he blamed me.

He blamed me for my mother leaving because unlike my mother, he could never love my brother and I the same. He couldn’t love two of something if he barely wanted one. He never hit me, but he was cold, calculated, cruel when he wanted to be.

That day, at just eight years old, I sat in the grass with dirt under my nails and heavy breaths wondering would it would be like to feel the warmth of my father. Would it solve all my problems or only tear me apart further.

Because maybe if I continued to never feel the embrace of the man who gave me life, it would be easier to disassociate and pretend that it didn’t hurt. Maybe it would be easier to not like him anymore, and the unbearable guilt I carried even as an eight year old, would go away finally.

I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t fighting Pope anymore, or how my gaze had drifted over to watch how tenderly my dad held onto my brother, because I couldn’t even feel the way tears burned into my skin in slow droplets that fell into my lap.

JJ hugged me then, and it felt special, I felt special, because I knew even at that age that affection was a rarity in my life, and JJ, as much as I knew he loved me, was not a physical person. Still, he held me from behind while Pope spewed out apologies, swearing on everything he believed that he hadn’t meant a word. I could tell that he too, felt confused because we had gone after each other multiple times and never had I broken down.

In that moment it felt like I had gained something more than a hug from my father, but a silent acceptance with my best friends. Because soon, even Pope shut up and looked to where JJ’s eyes were glued, and even as flustered as he had been, everyone who sat in the dirt that day understood that no words that were thrown around had ever hurt me, nor did they even reach me, because what had made me so inconsolable was the fact that my happy brother received all the praise while I laid out in the lawn, crying until I dry heaved, ignored by someone who I only ever wanted love from.

“It’s gonna be alright, Y/n/n.” JJ mumbled quietly into my ear, and for the first time, I didn’t believe a word he said.

“Dad, dad stop.” I defended myself for the first time when I was thirteen. I was only half his height and he was triple my age. I thought that somehow, if I stopped enabling his behavior, he would get better. He would see how much I cared and he would finally love me.

That was the first time dad yelled at me, really yelled at me.

My dad refused to lay a hand on me, so when my friends ask if I was ever abused, I tell them no because it feels laughable to compare my psychological trauma to the welts on their ribs when they barely escape home.

When JJ asks me whats wrong, why my eyes look so puffy in the afternoon, after I stumble out of the house in the same clothes as the night before, I tell him I didn’t get enough sleep, because how do you tell your best friend who has been climbing through my bedroom window since we were nine that my dad hurts me too, you just can’t see it.

Dad called me a liar and a psychopath when I told him he was hurting me. He told me that it wasn’t true because he loved my brother and I and he would never lay a hand on either of us, not then and not ever. Dad says that he deserves respect, that I’m only a kid and he’s the adult so I better start acting like it. He tells me that it’s like a switch went off in my head ever since I became a teenager and all of a sudden I can’t stand him. But that’s not true.

The truth was even at such a young age, I always knew I would lay my life on the line for my dad. He meant more to me than I could ever express, because to me, he was the man who hadn’t left, even when he was given all the right reasons to bail out. So, for years I tried to cover for him, clean up and take care of everyone to show him what I could never articulate into a phrase of my affection. Still, he preferred John B’s half hearted sentiment over anything I could give him.

I wished so deeply that I was born different, that I wasn’t me. Because maybe if I wasn’t the clone of my mother, maybe then my father would like me more.

I guess the worst part of it all is that I can never be sure if my father’s anger could have been my mother’s, only given to him in her absence. Would his hands have been hers as I grew older? Would her hugs turn into the white knuckles wrapped around my throat? And would her songs become the vile words my father threw at me in drunken rage?

Maybe if I kept hiding behind the cruelties of his excuses for the way I cowered around him, then John B wouldn’t have to live in the same sense of shock I have been stuck in for a decade.

Dad never laid a hand on me, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to touch me to kick me in the stomach, all he had to do was show me how he was capable of being a loving father, but never put me on the receiving end.

He found time for John B, even as he buried himself in his work, searching for some gold that seemed far away and unimportant. He locked himself away while I slid food under the door, and I watched as he kissed my brother’s forehead and bid him goodnight, leaving me to sleep on the couch.

Even as a thirteen year old girl, an age so tender and impressionable, I felt so much more mature than I should have. I felt the effects of neglect I couldn’t wish on anyone. In my self pity, even after he gave me every reason to turn on him, I couldn’t hate him, so I began to hate myself.

“Dad, when was the first time you felt love?” John B asked one night. For the first time in a long time, we were all lying in the living room. My brother hung over my dad’s lap and my head resting on the floor as I sank off of the old dusty beanbag.

Dad thought carefully, his large hands splayed out against my brother’s small back.

“The day you were born.” He answered thoughtfully, and I watched as my brother’s eyes lit up.

I had every right to scream, to beg for an answer because the little girl trapped inside of me didn’t deserve this kind of pain from her own blood. But I didn’t. I sniffled and sat up, storming out of the house that I wasn’t even sure I could call home. How foolish I felt for ever believing my dad would ever love us the same. How stupid I felt for thinking that my brother, who inherited our fathers name, would never be preferred over my mother’s child.

“Y/n Routledge, get back inside now!” Dad yelled, storming down the porch to catch me. But I had become good at slipping away, and neglectful parents raise angry children.

“Go to hell!” It was the first time I swore at my dad. Even I shocked myself, because it had never occurred to me that I could do that.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” He asked me, and it made me want to laugh because when had I ever done anything to him that wasn’t in good faith? “Just like your mama! Storming off!” My dad cursed under his breath, not really bothering to chase after me. How easy would it have been for me to have ran away.

I could live under a tree, a big willow with drooping leaves and heavy branches. I could make friends with the squirrels and be a good mother to them, the mother I never had, but always dreamed of.

“My mama was a good woman!” I cried out, suddenly overwhelmed with my freshly made emotions, ones that felt too strong for a new teenage girl.

“You know nothing about her! She left, I’m the one who stayed!” Dad yelled, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious.

I did something I had never done before. In all of my life, not once had I ever blamed my dad for my mom leaving. Not even after I heard their fights from when I was no taller than the notches in the doorframes, and not after he began to spend his paychecks on alcohol instead of new shoes for John B and I. I never blamed him because he always blamed me, and if it made me feel so worthless, then how could I ever do that to him?

“I don’t blame her!” I fought back, tears burning my eyes almost as hard as the back of my throat stung. “And I don’t blame you.”

I couldn’t stay mad at dad for more than a few minutes. I couldn’t blame him, and I couldn’t lie and say I did when I didn’t. Dad didn’t say anything then, so I turned on my heels in the dirt and I stormed off.

That night, I knocked on JJ’s window. I was wearing an old Star Wars t-shirt that he once called nerdy and my rainbow pajama pants. I looked thirteen going on seven, my cupcake slippers caked in mud.

But JJ didn’t pull on my braids like my brother did when we fought, and he didn’t poke fun at my pants. He opened his window and leaned out, his messy blond hair and tired eyes adjusting to admire my face.

“Y/n/n? What happened? Why are you here?” He asked, and I could tell he sounded a little on edge. His dad used to be discreet about how he dealt with JJ, but after middle school had began, he stopped caring as JJ stuck around the same kids he grew up with. So, I stayed as quiet as possible, not wanting any trouble.

“I just missed you.” A lie. The first of many lies I would spew out to my best friend because I felt too awkward to confess my own feelings and burden him when he had it so much worse.

“Oh.” His face lit up slightly, and I could tell my words made him feel nice. “C’mon, I’ll help you in. Wouldn’t wanna lose a slipper.” He teased with a toothy grin, a smart ass from birth.

I playfully smacked his shoulder, holding my breath until my feet hit his dirty floors. He held onto my arms longer than he had to, and I wondered if he could feel my body shaking.

“Don’t make fun, okay? I like my slippers.” I smiled, blinking away the old tears that I cried on the way over, and pawing at the scrapes from the bushes I cut through to get to his house quicker.

“I would never!” He defended softly, his arms raised in a scouts honor. “Cross my heart, cupcake.”

Sometimes I wished that JJ and I were older, I thought about it often. It kept me awake after long fights with dad, that I would one day save up all the money I could scrape together and take JJ with me. We’d go around the globe, just me, him, and open ocean surrounding us, and only the scars on our skin and in our heads to remind us of the past. But we wouldn’t care, because we would be there for each other, and the ocean would wash away the evil men on the shore.

“I wish I had a more appreciative daughter!” Dad yelled at me as he packed up his things in a hurry, chasing yet another lead on his quest for the gold, a passion driven by his valiant greed.

It hurt, but it would have hurt me a lot more three years ago. At sixteen, his words meant nothing to me, because at sixteen, I had finally come to terms with the fact that my dad simply did not like me, and that was okay.

So instead of sitting in self pity, or swallowing myself whole in a another bottomless spiral of self hatred and depression, I finally found the spark that was burning so fiercely somewhere deep inside of me.

“Fuck you!” The second time I swore at dad. “Fuck you and all your promises to get better!” I stepped forward, crossing into his office, which I swore to never go in, not only because it reeked of him, but because it was only a reminder of how quickly he let mom go, and how quickly he shifted the blame onto me, an innocent infant with no real chance to do anything to anyone.

“Fuck me? Oh, fuck me? Your father? I have done everything for you! I have given you the chances my own parents couldn’t give me and you are so ungrateful! I pray for a day you wake up and see the damage you cause around here!” Dad spat, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck all your pride and fuck all your prayers!” I stepped closed again, and my knuckles pawed at his shirt desperately, my eyes looking up at my father, who stood ten times taller than me, or so it felt that way. “All this time I waited like a fool, because you’re my dad. Above anything else, before the treasure and before the alcoholic, you’re supposed to be my dad!”

“Are you drunk?” He asked. I wasn’t, but I might as well have been with how quickly my mind passed through emotions.

Here he was standing in front of me, and here I was already done processing all my grief. He wasn’t dead, I could feel each breath under the palms of my hands, yet for years it felt like walking next to a ghost with how absent and withdrawn he always was from my life.

“All I ever wanted was a father.” I told him softly. “Was that too much to ask?” I deserved to know, but I should have known better.

My dad was an asshole, and he always would be. It was in his fashion that he would brush right past me, unfeeling and lacking empathy for his own daughter.

I felt angry. Before, I felt betrayed, sad, even embarrassed by him, and by how easily I let him get away with all his faults simply because he was my father and if my brother loved him, then there had to be some good in him. But there wasn’t.

Here he was, walking out of my life, the keys to the car that I paid for in his hands, dangling just as carelessly as he was with my life. I don’t know why that set me off, but it had. I heard my feet slap against the floors before I felt myself moving.

“Give back my damn keys!” I caught up behind him, snatching the carabiner from his dirty knuckles and pushing him into the wall. He wouldn’t hit, but god, had he made me wish I could. “I paid off that loan it’s under my name!” I stuffed the clasp into my back pocket tightly.

“You wanna leave, thats fine. But you’re walking out of my life if you’re going!” I breathed out heavily, the frames on the wall rocking back and forth from the force he hit the wood with.

“What is wrong with you? Where’s my sweet little girl I used to love?” My knuckles loosened on his shirt again, but my elbows remained pressed into his stomach.

“Loved? Like you ever loved me. You couldn’t have, because you wouldn’t have taken it out on me. You wouldn’t have gotten rid of her existence in spite of me. You wouldn’t have tossed that damn chair, and you wouldn’t have burned the things she kept for me!” I wanted to cry, but more than that, I wanted him so see how exhausted I felt.

“All I wanted was a fucking father, John.”

“And you got one, and look at you, you’re a strong young woman now!” He laughed bitterly, fighting against my shaky hold. He could barely look at me. I wondered if he was asked, could he even tell a friend the color of my eyes? If I were to wash up on the shore, could he even report the body? Would my grave lay empty simply because he hadn’t known me for years, and he never would.

“I was a little girl! I was a little girl, and I still am! I’m sixteen, dad! Stop treating me like some type of problem when I’ve been nothing but great to you!” I cried this time, pushing him harder until the wood splintered and my arms gave out. We both stumbled away from each other.

“All I ever wanted was a father, but for the first time, finally I can see you are the leader of the landslide.” I scoffed pathetically, staring him down with a broken heart.

I deserved to smash all the plates in the house, to rip off all the wallpaper and spray paint the rotting white paint bright blue just in spite of my father. But even though he wasn’t kind to me, I couldn’t ignore how good of a dad he had been to John B, and more than anything I ever held close to me, I loved my brother dearly. I wiped my tears and let dad walk out on me. Neither of us said a word.

He clapped John B over the back when he got outside, promising to return soon, this time with the promise of an unpromising fortune. He swore that he loved my brother more than anything, called him by the nickname he earned long ago, and left without saying another word.

I watched wordlessly from the front steps.

We lost the gold. Once or twice. The gold we had found first was a slap to the face, but having the cross stolen right out from under us felt so much worse, especially with Pope being tied into it on such a deeper level.

We all sat around the first now, our bodies tucked close together like a perfectly woven blanket, arms tangled around each other and weak laughter echoing around the smokey fire. We didn’t have much left to fight for, but to me, I felt deeply that in a more important way, we had gotten the gold, and we had been filthy rich all along.

The gold we’d found couldn’t be measured on a scale and dealt between the seven of us evenly, but unmeasurable and sought after by anyone who understood. Because in the end, we still had each other, and to me, this was family.

JJ’s blonde hair tickled the top of my forehead. We sat close together on the low swinging hammock in the backyard. His arms wrapped around me tightly, and my legs thrown over his lap carelessly. We talked quietly with Kiara about the little things. We found alternatives to seek out her dreams of preserving the ecosystem and to swim with the turtles.

It all felt so real, so domestic for a group of friends who were always running from something. It felt like the first time in a while I had time to stop and catch my breath.

“What are you thinking about, cupcake?” The nickname rolled nicely off the tongue, his crooked smile endearing to me, and his eyes sweeter than any doe I’d ever encountered.

I sighed contently, cuddling closer to the boy and soaking up his warmth greedily. Though we both never said it would loud, it always felt nice to share close proximity with someone we trusted so deeply. To feel affection for someone when we had grown up scarcely to it.

Dad had been dead for nearly two years now, and the truth was, I wasn’t sixteen anymore. I wasn’t the sad little thirteen year old who hated herself more than anyone else, who climbed through the blondes window at midnight in her muddy slippers, and I wasn’t the timid toddler who could barely walk without tripping on her blanket she dragged around everywhere for a pathetic kind of comfort.

John B took it hard at first. I wanted so desperately to tell him everything. He was my older brother after all, but most days now I felt like it was my job to look out for him. It always had been. He was my brother and I would never have let him suffer, but sometimes it was hard not to wish for once I could selfishly struggle openly and degrade the man he saw as his hero.

It would be wrong for me to taint that image of a dead man, a man I still believed John B was openly grieving, even if he said he was okay now. You are never okay after losing someone like that, no matter how evil, and I think he forgets that he was still my father, even if he never saw us in the same context as he saw him.

“Thinking about how comfortable you are.” I mumbled, stretching my limbs out tiredly along his tanned skin. I laid like a lap dog on his chest, my head tucked under his chin and my hands playing with the rough fabric of his dirty t-shirt.

“Not about John B?” He prodded quietly. JJ always knew when the wheels in my head were turning, just like I could always tell when something was wrong. It was like our super powers, to know each other so well we couldn’t hide anything.

“He’ll come back, he wouldn’t leave you.” He assured softly, his fingers dancing gently along my curved spine. It felt like oddly in times like these, the calm after the storms, that it truly would always be just JJ and I against the world. Like we were the only two people who truly understood each other, through the laughter and under the deepest scars littering our skin.

“I know. He’s my brother, he wouldn’t do that.” I agreed, and just as I was about to let the serenity of the lazy swinging of the hammock lull me into a sleepy haze, the crunching of boots on leaves alerted me elsewhere.

There he stood, his clothes still grimy from the tropical heat and wet mud from Barbados. His hair was stuck to his forehead in the same curl pattern from a few days ago, but the deep rooted brunette seemed to become a shade of dirty blonde from all the harsh sun. His skin was tanned and covered in sweat, but he was still my brother, and he had finally come home.

I sat up quickly from JJ’s arms, pushing off of his chest with so much force, I felt him bend at the waist and let out a puff of air. I shouted an apology before wrapping my brother in a bone crushing hug, relief filling my stomach and the unease dispersing finally.

“Where have you been!” I pushed him away with a smile, I didn’t even notice the seriousness in his gaze as he called out for me softly.

“Are you crazy? Staying behind like that in a foreign country?” I laughed breathlessly, my eyes searching his face and settling on his lack of a smile.

“Y/n/n.” He called out again softly.

“What? Whats wrong?” I breathed out, my smile fading slightly into a dimmer smirk, confidence slipping from my face into a deep furrow between my brows.

“John B, what happened? Did someone hurt you…d-did-“ My happy touch became a panicked grip on his clothes, my knuckles white and face pale as I searched for answers.

“Y/n.” He cooed calmly, the ease between his eyes and brows calming the pace of my breath. “I found him.” He said with a soft smile.

“What?” I breathed out. “Who?”

I racked my brain for answers, mulling over every possible explanation for what could have made me stay behind, leave behind all the good that had surrounded him for the past few years, and the good that would continue to grow with him.

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own dad?” An old voice called out from behind the brush, long greasy hair and an un-groomed bears covering a good portion of his old face. From his glasses alone I could see who it was, never mind the voice that often haunted me even in my sleep, the ghostly presence that lingered even as I slept on my own.

He was a poltergeist haunting my life, torturing my soul until I bled out completely blue. Had the punishment of forcing a child to clean up his mess for over a decade not been enough karma for all the bad I hadn’t done yet? Would I forever be stuck in the broken glass of his aftermath? How much longer would I have to hide behind the shell of who I once was just to please those who don’t yet know about who I am, of who I could have become?

I decided then I couldn’t do it, and I let go of my brother, and I let go of my pride.

“No.” I spoke softly, looking between the boys. John B looked more and more like dad every day.

I watched my brother’s face crumble in confusion, my heels dragging against the dirt, I backed away like a scared dog, no longer the eager retriever with a bird at the door. My tail was between my legs.

“Y/n/n, it’s dad!” John B gestured like it would click for me, but that was not my father. Maybe by blood, but he would never be more than that to me, just evidence that linked me back to John B.

“No, I-I can’t.” I tried to explain through staggering breaths, choking out my words like tranquilized venom.

“I know it’s a lot, but everything’s going to be the way it was.”

My back hit JJ’s chest, and for the first time in the last few seconds, the ringing that blocked out my brothers bargaining seemed to fall deaf on my ears, and all I could hear was the sound of my heart beat dying in my chest.

“No, you don’t get it.” I cried out, though my eyes felt dry. “You don’t get it and you never will!” I begged silently for him to see the way the spark seemed to die as soon as dad came back, the way that my shoulders slumped and the confident young woman I had become faded back into the teenage daughter who wished for nothing more than to run far away from here.

“Y/n, come on, don’t be like this.” Dad tried to reason, like it was his say to decide how I would handle his return, like he could decide when I stopped feeling the effects of his abuse, because that was a word I had learned to call it, because that is what it was. Abuse.

“How dare you!” I shouted, anger making my skin hot. I felt queasy, like the world was crashing down on me, betrayal hot on my face. He didn’t know, my brother didn’t know because I protected him from it.

Couldn’t he ever notice how much happier I seemed after dad left? How I finally started living for the moments between us instead of for the times when I could go to sleep, where I could quietly call out for our mother who I didn’t know.

JJ knew, of course he knew. He knew by the time dad left. I’d confessed it all in a drunken ramble in the backyard after he commented on how happy I seemed, and though I laughed when I told him, neither of us found it funny. He apologized for making me feel like my problems were minuscule compared to his, but I assured him it was my own self doubt, and never his own actions. Neglectful parents raise insecure kids.

So if my best friend had known, if he could see just how happy I was without the burden of my father’s blame, how could my other half not see it? My own DNA? It led me to believe he was neglectful of me in his own ways, pushing aside the obvious signs of my own struggle just for his own benefit, for the gain of a relationship with the father that severed ours long ago.

“How dare you come back here after all the shit you put me through!” I cried, and I hit him. I hit him in the chest and I watched as he kept his ground, his shoes not even sliding against the mud. I had grown weaker without his constant fighting, and it showed in just how quickly the flame flickered out.

“How dare you come back and expect me to just be okay with it when all you’ve given me is years of therapy that I can’t afford!” I hit him in the jaw, and this time, I felt a pair of arms pull me away, my hot tears burning their tan skin. I kicked and I screamed, and my brother dragged me off until I couldn’t reach him anymore.

“You’re a piece of shit! I owe you nothing!” I pointed at him, staring him down as he rubbed the quickly blossoming bruise on his skin, his beard covering the welt almost entirely. The mark didn’t make me feel better at all, and instead, I only felt more pathetic.

“I gave you everything!” My limbs fell limp, all fight leaving my body as my tired joints ached, my head falling onto JJ’s shoulder. The boys passed me off like some kind of child, and looking at the man who tormented me my entire youth, I felt just like the timid child once again, like all my growth meant nothing.

The bright moon was replaced with the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, clouds traded in for floral curtains that hung crooked over the windows, and the cool grass fading into hard wood beneath my feet.

“Y/n, hey…” JJ cooed, his hands brushing against my shoulders.

“I just…fuck…I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why I hit him, I don’t know, I just-“

“Y/n, cupcake, hey, baby,” he called for me again, a plethora of nicknames tumbling from his lips that I had never heard him call me before, but all that held a genuine affection in them. I stopped my senseless rambling at the tenderness of his touch and softness in his voice.

“It’s okay to not be okay.” He affirmed quietly. “You earned your anger, it’s okay.”

I nodded, my gaze drifting from just beyond his shoulder were my brother stood dumbfounded with my father, looking at him with a mix of question and anger towards the man that he once saw with stars in his eyes.

“Jay, I don’t know what to do.” I confessed quietly, feeling like we were ten again, sharing secrets through a game of telephone, just the two of us stuffed in the corner of my bedroom at midnight, my father unaware that the blonde was still in the house, let alone snuck in my room.

“That’s okay.” He nodded again, and this time his palms molded against the apples of my cheeks, thumbs brushing away my stale tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, we can run, or we can stay and kick him out, or we can do nothing.” I focused on the way he said each option with the use of we, because in our minds, we always escaped hell together.

“Can we just stay here for a little longer?” My eyes found his, and I saw the way his flickered down in a way that felt too intimate for just best friends.

“We can do whatever we want, it’s you and me against the universe, cupcake, and we’re winning it.” He promised.

And just as I always had, I believed every word he said.

[munson-blurbs]

hope you don't mind me asking but could reader adopt harris officially? it'd be a sweet little blurb ☺️

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: Harris makes a special request on his birthday: for you to adopt him and officially be his mommy.

TW: mention of parental neglect/drug use, pretty much just all fluff and happiness

WC: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms out there! Y'all are badasses who deserve to be celebrated. I used this video for the judge's dialogue to ensure accuracy.

February 2001

“So, Har,” Eddie starts through a mouthful of cake, “did you have a good birthday?”

Harris nods emphatically, digging into his own slice. A dollop of vanilla frosting dots the tip of his nose, but he continues eating, unbothered.

Eddie looks at you as you try to contain the inevitable mess that Hendrix will make. His chubby cheeks are already decorated with chocolate cake, and he’s only a few bites in. “Can you believe we have a nine-year-old now?”

You shake your head. The years truly have flown by, and though you haven’t had the privilege of being there for all of them, it feels as though Harris’s fifth birthday was only yesterday. 

“What’s crazy to me is that Harris is the same age you were when I took you in,” Wayne says to Eddie. He glances at his nephew, a wistful look in his old eyes. 

“Oh, yeah!” Harris grins. “I forgot you took care of Daddy.”

Eddie leans back in his seat and smirks. “Did you ever regret adopting me, Old Man?” 

“Every damn day.”

While he may have tuned out his dad and grandfather’s back-and-forth, you can see Harris pause before he continues eating. He’s never been one to stifle his curiosity, the wheels in his head turning as he processes the information. 

His time to ask a question grinds to a halt when Hendrix slams his little palm right into the cake slice, grabs a chunk of it, and smashes it into his face. If any actually got in his mouth, it would be a miracle. 

Harris gets his opportunity later that night. Eddie tucks him into bed, pulling the SpongeBob comforter up to his chin, and kisses his head. 

“Daddy?” Harris asks before Eddie can stand up. 

“Hmm?”

“Why did Grampa adopt you?”

Eddie exhales, chewing on the inside of his cheek. As his eldest son has gotten older, he’s become more honest with him, not constantly shielding him from painful truths. He chooses his words carefully before speaking again. 

“Well, my mom and dad weren’t good parents. They didn’t take care of me, and they made a lot of bad choices,” he says. Memories flash through his mind, ones of eviction notices and strangers constantly in his home. Ones of police officers snapping handcuffs on his parents’ wrists, the two of them too far gone to even register to the severity of the situation. He shakes it off, turning his attention back to Harris. “And so Grampa Wayne took me in and adopted me so I would have a safe, happy home.”

“Like how my mom made bad choices? My real mom?”

Eddie nods, wondering if Harris knows how closely their situations resembled each other. Except you did what your father didn’t–you changed, he reminds himself. 

“Yeah, like that.”

Harris thinks for a moment. “But now Mom is my mom. So does that mean she adopted me?”

“No, she didn’t adopt you.” His heart sinks when he sees the small pout forming on Harris’s lips. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Eddie scratches at his jawline, his nails digging into a particular itchy patch of stubble. “Well, honestly…we wanted to make sure it was what you wanted, Har. Because Mom will love you no matter what,” he makes sure to add. 

Without any hesitation, Harris declares, “It’s what I want.”

“Are you sure? You can sleep on it—” Eddie feels a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth despite his attempt to remain neutral. Yes, his son often acts on impulse, but Eddie can tell this isn’t one of those instances. 

Harris huffs out an impatient sigh, irritated that he even has to explain himself. “Dad, I’m nine now,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m almost double-digits. And I know I want Mom to adopt me.”

Eddie grins wider, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “All right, bud. You got it.” He stands up with a grunt, something that Harris has already dubbed an ‘old man noise.’ “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Harris agrees sleepily, cocooning himself in his blankets while Eddie turns out the light. 

Eddie is teeming with excitement when he sees you sitting in the family room, an open bag of sour cream and onion potato chips in your lap. Hendrix was fast asleep in his crib, and it was finally time for you and your husband to relax. 

“So,” Eddie says, sliding onto the couch cushion next to you and plucking a chip from the bag, “it turns out that the birthday boy has one more gift request. A big one, actually.”

You raise your brows. “How big? Like, Hot Wheels track big or space camp big?”

“Neither.” Eddie’s eyes gleam. “He wants you to adopt him.”

You sit up quickly, a smile stretching across your face. “Are you…are you serious?”

“One hundred percent.” Eddie says with a nod. “He insisted on it, actually. I don’t think you could say no even if you wanted to.”

His teasing would normally draw a snarky retort from you, but you’re too overwhelmed to come up with a quip. “Harris wants me to adopt him,” you say slowly, letting each word seep into your tongue. 

Eddie kisses your cheek, his nose brushing your warm skin. “This is everything I ever wanted for him, you know,” he murmurs. Another kiss, then he tilts your chin so he can place his lips on yours. “Thank you for loving him.”

You snuggle in closer, your head resting on his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me.”

September 2002

It’s a special occasion when you can convince Eddie and Wayne Munson to wear a suit and tie, but you didn’t even have to ask today. Both men are dressed with their shirts tucked into their slacks—not jeans. 

You smooth out a pleat in your dress, scoop Hendrix out of his Pack-N-Play, and grin at your family. 

“You guys ready?” You ask, desperate to get everyone into the car before someone spills something on their clothes. While Harris and Hendrix would be the most obvious culprits of a mess, the men are just as capable of causing chaos.

Eddie slings Hendrix’s diaper bag over his shoulder and takes Harris’s hand in his. “Let’s ship out, team.”

“Ship out!” Hendrix echoes–loudly, right in your ear. You wince, but you can’t stay annoyed for too long, considering how happy you are. How happy everyone is; even the baby of the family, who doesn’t know why he’s in a good mood, just that he is.

Everyone piles into the sedan: Eddie in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, and Wayne squished between his grandsons in the back.

“Don’t know how I ended up here,” Wayne grumbles, reaching behind for his seatbelt. 

Eddie grabs your hand as he pulls onto the road, giving it a tender squeeze. This is a huge deal; logically, you know this. To Eddie, he’s officially giving his son the mother he always deserved, and you’ll be able to make all sorts of important decisions for Harris. But to you, there is no piece of paper that can strengthen or weaken your love for your oldest son. Still, this is a promise from you to Harris, one that you will never break.

The courthouse’s silence is promptly broken with the Munsons’ arrival, as your family’s presence tends to do. Hendrix enjoys the way his delighted shrieks reverberate down the empty hallway, and Harris grips a nearby bench to jump out his nervous energy.

“Har?” you call out, waving him over to a private spot. He stops jumping long enough to follow you, shaking his hands excitedly.

You crouch down to his height and dig through your purse until you find what you’re looking for: a shiny silver compass with a quote engraved on the back:

“If you don’t get lost, there’s a chance you may never be found.” 

“Uncle Dusty recommended his favorite compass, and he said you can bring it on your next camping trip” you say with a smile, your lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “I hope that every time you use it, you remember that I’ll always be here to help you find your way.”

Harris looks from you to the compass and back again. He grins and flings his arms around you, nearly knocking you over in the process.

“This is so cool!” He cheers. “I’m gonna show everyone!”

“What do you say?” Eddie reminds him, a twinkle in his eye.

Harris barely turns around to you to yell, “Thanks, Mom!”

Mom. That title never gets old, and you don’t think it ever will.

“Munson?” You jump slightly when a bailiff announces that it’s your turn to see the judge. He gives a small smile as you enter the courtroom, probably relieved that this is a joyful occasion that won’t likely require his intervention.

This is it, you think. You wish your dress had pockets to hide your trembling hands.

Everyone takes their positions. Harris stands between you and Eddie, and Wayne holds Hendrix at the end, ready to make a quick getaway in case the youngest Munson decides to throw a tantrum.

The judge addresses you directly. Her tone is firm but warm as she says, “Do you understand that if your petition for the adoption of Harris Wayne Munson is granted, you will be legally responsible for him?”

“Yes.” You feel Harris’s palm slide against yours; when you briefly look down, you see that his other hand is holding Eddie’s.

“And do you understand that this support includes food, clothing, shelter, as well as medical and educational support?” She continues.

You nod. “Yes.”

“And do you understand that if your request is granted, that you will be Harris’s parent in all respects, just as if he had been born to you?”

“Yes.” Your heart swells with love. Just as if he had been born to you. Even with the memorable pains and trials brought on by carrying and delivering Hendrix, you considered Harris just as much your son.

“And do you understand you will be undertaking the intellectual, spiritual, and moral guidance of Harris?”

You can almost hear your husband’s thoughts: Better her than me.

“Yes.” 

The judge goes through a few more questions, all regarding your abilities to care for Harris. With each one, you feel Harris’s bouncing get more exuberant; part of you wishes you could join him.

Finally, she declares, “Based upon the reports and recommendations, this court finds that granting this petition is in the best interest of Harris.” She looks directly at Harris as she says, “Congratulations, she’s officially your Mommy.”

A choked sob escapes your throat, and your free hand flies to your mouth. You and Eddie both crouch down to embrace Harris, and you can’t help but notice the tears in your husband’s eyes. Wayne makes his way to you and, as best as he can with Hendrix still in his arms, wraps you in a hug. You think he might be the only adult not crying, but a tell-tale sniffle gives him away.

Hendrix is very confused by the overt display of emotion. The last time Wayne cried was well before the boy was born, back when the Colts won the 1970 Super Bowl against the Cowboys.

“Daddy? Mommy? Grampa?” He asks. “Why you cry?”

“We’re fine, buddy. Just have some big feelings. Happy feelings,” Eddie clarifies, kissing Hendrix on a chubby cheek. He looks at Harris and grins. “How does it feel, Har? Now that Mom adopted you?”

Harris scrunches up his face. “Like the same.”

You laugh and ruffle his hair. It’s not as wild as it was when he was your student, his curls less of a mop. “Good ‘the same’?”

He grins, nodding and hugging you again. “I can’t wait to tell all of my friends, and Uncle Dusty, and Mr. Will…”

Harris continues listing people he’s going to share his news with all the way to the parking lot. Some names you recognize, and others he might as well be making up.

“Wait! I almost forgot!” You reach into your purse and pull out a Ziploc bag containing five Oreos. “Everyone take one, but don’t eat it yet.”

When each person has an Oreo in their hand, you raise your own to eye-level and begin your toast. “To my first son, Harris. Thank you for making me a mommy.”

“To Harris!” Wayne and Eddie chorus, and Hendrix just yells his brother’s name before chowing down on his cookie. 

As you all pile back into the car, Eddie takes your hand in his. Chocolate is still tucked into the crevices of his lips. 

“To you, Sweetheart. Thank you for being the mommy Harris always wanted. Thank you for making us a family again.”

The kiss tastes of vanilla creme, sugary sweet, and you swear you wouldn’t have broken it if Wayne didn’t clear his throat. 

“No need to make a third kid up there,” he mutters under his breath. 

Eddie glares at him, hoping Harris didn’t overhear the comment, but you press on. “Shall we celebrate at the diner?”

“Can we share pancakes?” Harris beams.

You crane your neck and look back at him, once again overwhelmed by the amount of love you hold for him–for your son.

“I’d love to.”

--

[topazy]

Inside, outside

Pairings: 10k x reader, Addy Carver × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, minor violence

Chapter: 4.12

Your hair fell over your shoulders as you pulled clumps of blood out of 10K’s hair with your fingers. It would make cutting his dark locks, which had grown to just under his ears, that much easier without pieces of Z still in them. You were both drenched in blood and in need of bathing in the nearby river, but it was safer to wait until all the thick smoke from the explosion had cleared.

“It meant what I said.”

“I know; that’s why I agreed to marry you.”

10k tilts his head around, looking up from over his shoulder; his eyes almost have a pleading look in them. Just over half a year had passed since your group had all gone their separate ways, but it never became any easier to accept; out of everyone, 10k had taken it the hardest. Growing up, he only had his mother, so gaining a family he never had just to lose it was difficult to adjust to, especially with how it ended. 5K was dead, Murphy had gone AWOL, which was concerning considering he tried to build his own army last time, you and Addy weren’t on speaking terms, Warren was untraceable, and Doc decided he needed to do more and left to join a Z hunting party. He promised he’d be back, but I still hurt when he left. You were grateful that Red chose to stay with you and 10K, but all the new memories you were making didn’t ease the pain of the old ones.

All of this, combined with 10k’s body trying to function as normal after being bitten, had made him paranoid; he was scared anything that was too good would suddenly disappear.

“I love you, Tommy.” You kiss him on the only blood-free part of his face, which was his left cheek.

“I love you too,” he smiles. “When the time is right, we will get married, and hopefully our old gang will be there.”

“How will we know when the time is right?”

He shrugs and says, “I don’t know; I guess we just will.”

“You seem lost in thought; what are you thinking about?” 10k asks as you walk through a plot of land that was mainly rumbling from collapsed buildings and abandoned vehicles.

“One day in the future, when we have our own home again, I'll have the note you’d written me framed and hung up on a wall.”

10k raises his brows, smiling, and says, “That's a very hopeful thought to have, although I’m surprised that note has lasted so long.”

“You’re kidding, right? I treat it as if the paper were made from gold.”

“You know,” Murphy says loudly for Warren, who was charging in front, to hear. “If you just told us what you were looking for, it would be a lot easier to help you find it.”

Warren takes a moment to reply as her eyes scan the area, “I’ll know when I see it.”

Rolling your eyes, you sighed. You’d been relentlessly flogging Warren for days, and she had shared nothing useful about the location or any other information that would help you help her. It was growing increasingly frustrating, especially with Murphy dragging the zombified president behind him. After a while of walking, Warren zones out again, but then comes to and orders Murphy to stand in one spot while holding his hands in the air.

“How long do I need to do this for?” He moans, “I haven’t showered in three weeks, and my arms are tired.”

“It’s definitely longer than three weeks,” you snort.

After making Murphy change his arm position and holding up a sign post, Warren spots something no one else can see and somehow finds a hatch that had been hidden beneath the dirt and rubble leading to your next location.

—

Your mouth twists in irritation as you struggle to lower the dead president, who was surprisingly heavy, into the room the hatch led to, which was part of an underground army base. 10K, Warren, Murphy, and Doc had already gone in first to make sure it was clear, leaving you and Sarge alone for the first time in days. Neither of you had attempted to utter a single word to one another before this, but now you were forced to.

“Easy, steady,” she says, looking down. “Take it slow, nice and slow.”

“Easy for you to say.” You grit your teeth as you feel the rope burning the palms of your hands. You feel yourself startling to lose your grip. “I’m going to drop him!”

Sarge quickly grabs the rope that’s slipping and says, “Holy shit, he’s heavy!”

Even with the two of you trying to keep him steady, the president's weight became too much when he began wriggling about in the makeshift harness, causing the rope to slip from both of your hands. Hearing the thud below, you share a shocked look before both moving to stare down the hatch. Luckily, he was still moving, which meant you hadn’t re-killed him.

You let out a soft chuckle while getting to your feet. Sarge looks at you nervously; she motions for you to climb down the ladder first, “after you.”

“Thanks.”

10k takes your hand as he helps you jump off the end of the ladder, giving you a knowing look that says, “My bad.” You clear your throat. “So where to next?”

“That way,” Warren says before exiting the room.

As you go down different hallways, you come across a handful of Z’s that have gone blind due to the lack of sunlight, which meant it was easy for you to show mercy to time. Not wanting to create any noise, you shot them in the head with arrows. Your group remains silent until you reach a staircase and try to figure out the best way to get the zombie down it quickly.

“Maybe we could make a stretcher?” Doc suggests.

“That’s a good—” you stop talking when you hear a loud thud, and you glance over your shoulder to see Murphy standing suspiciously alone. “Murphy, did you just push the zombified president down the stairs?”

“Ex-president,” he points out. “And it saved us time, and besides, he’s already dead.”

Warren shakes her head. “We better go get him before he wanders off.”

—

You finally find the president after going down thirty flights of stairs to find two Zs eating the organs from his stomach. “I got it,” 10k says before using a slingshot to fire a sharp blade that goes through the two Z’s heads. He clicks his tongue and says, “Eight thousand, four hundred fifty-two.”

While Doc and Murphy tried their best to fix the president up as best they could so the zombie could walk again, your eyes remained glued to Sarge, who was staring at 10k so lovingly. You felt as if something was finally clicking into place as an uneasy feeling set in your gut.

“Let’s go,” Warren says, interrupting your thoughts.

You go into a control room and look around until Warren spots a red sign with a black message saying fourth strike and declares that’s the way to go.

You manage to fight your way through a small herd of Z’s without anyone getting bitten or hurt. While you all catch your breath, another Z appears suddenly behind you. Quickly, you stab it in the head and ask, “Where did that come from?”

10k points to the floor above, “up there.”

“I don’t think God has anything to do with this,” Murphy says sarcastically.

“No, I mean someone is pushing bodies over the edge.”

You look up as more Zs are pushed over and spot an older man with glasses about to push another Z over. “Hey!” You are behind him, firing arrows at him while Warren begins firing shots; however, the man is able to duck behind the wall. “Son of a bitch! Who the hell is that?”

“Possibly the same zona bastard who hacked the northern lights, then he had the launch codes,” Warren says, sounding panicked. “We can’t let him get to the drone before us.”

“Looks like it’s a race to the finish, then.”

—

A few things became more obvious to you while looking for the drone, including that Warren had apparently picked up a number of skills she had no memory of, including speaking Latin and hacking computers; the missions were growing increasingly dangerous as the minutes passed as more Z’s appeared; and Sarge most definitely had feelings for 10k. Seeing her stare at him with puppy-dog eyes made anger swirl inside you, but you had no right to be angry when she hadn’t acted on her feelings or had any control over them.

“Anyone else seeing this countdown?” Doc asks as a beep fills the room.

Warren remains silent as she clicks away at the computer, which now shows multiple CCTV footage of a small aircraft as gunfire fills the room. You join 10k and Sarge as they try to hold off Z’s from entering the room.

“Warren, we need the door code to close it!”

She doesn’t answer and sits, talking to herself instead.

“The code! Now, before the Z’s kill us!”

When she doesn’t answer, Doc tries his best to push the door closed, but he only manages to push it so far.

Suddenly Warren snaps out of her trance and back to reality, “It was Teller.”

“Dr. Teller?”

She explains that she remembers that Dr. Teller from Mercy Labs was the one who woke her from her coma to tell her about the black rainbow and how to stop it. She passes on instructions to both Doc and Murphy before saying she needs to go alone for the next part of the mission.

“We go where you go, boss.”

“Doc’s right, we can’t split up now. It isn’t safe.”

“You guys need to stay here and turn the keys in the computer,” she says, glancing down at the ground. “Where I’m going, no one can follow.”

Your jaw drops as the feeling of sorrow spreads through the room; it felt as if Warren was saying goodbye.

Warren pulls 10K in for her hug. She holds onto him tightly and says, “When you get to Newsmerica and find Addy, Sun Mei, and Red, tell them I love you from me.”

This was wrong. It felt as if Warren had already accepted that she needed to die in order to save the world.

With tears in her eyes, Warren steps back from her hug with 10k, turning to Doc and hugging him before embracing you tightly. “You’ve done good, kid,” she whispers. “I want you to go on and have the best life possible, with lots of little babies and at least one named after me.”

You let out a broken chuckle as you held back from crying. Throughout the years, Warren had been a massive part of your lives and was the reason all of you had survived so long. Losing her was going to be devastating.

“I’ll see you soon,” you sniff.

10k rests his forehead against the back of your shoulder as she leaves. The only thing you could do now was watch the screen on the computer.

—

“What is she doing?”

“Changing a cylinder on the aircraft,” Doc answers. “Apparently one saves the world and the other destroys it.”

“Okay, but once she’s done that, she can leave, right?” Deep down, you knew the answer but desperately wanted someone to tell you you were wrong.

“Uh guys!” 10k says, “we aren’t alone!”

When a Z forces itself through the crack in the door you fight to kill it as the others turn the keys and press the alarms as Warren had instructed causing red lights to start flashing and another countdown.

When Murphy spots the man from before who’d thrown the Z’s down on the screen he rushes from the room, despite Doc trying to stop him.

Your eyes flicker between screens as you watch Warren climb back into the drone and try to watch for Murphy on the other. The countdown reaches the final ten seconds causing you to panic, “what do we do? The drone is going to take off with Warren inside.”

“We can’t stay here,” 10k says, opening the door.

The four of you race down to the landing strip just as the drone dissolves into little pieces in the air, leaving behind what looks like a black rainbow in the sky.

—

She’s gone. Warren was really gone.

“What the hell?” Doc asks from beside you.

You glance to the side to see Murphy, who looked quite sunburned. You look at him in disbelief before looking back to the sky and saying, “We’re all going to die, aren’t we?”

“Looks like it,” 10k answers.

You stare up at the black rainbow above, finding it hard to believe you’d just lost Warren, your leader, your friend. Behind you, Sarge, let’s out a small gasp, but you don’t pay attention to why. You only look away from the darkness above when you feel something brush against the back of your leg. You glance over your shoulder and see 10k looking as if he’s going to sit on the ground. “What are you—”

10k falls to one knee and pulls out a ring box, “Astra…”

You momentarily freeze, unable to think as you process the unanswered question his shaky voice wasn’t able to get out. 10k opens the ring box, revealing multiple rings, each of them looking a different size. The thought of him saving them all for you causes tears to swell up. You look over to Doc and say, “can you marry us?”

He laughs a little before lifting his head to address Sarge and Murphy, waving them to stand at the side. The sun was setting, the air smelled of smoke, and everyone was covered in sweat, dirt, and blood, but weirdly, it seemed fitting for the type of life you lived. Doc clears his throat: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the love between these two crazy kids. Now in the world before wedding ceremonies were drawn out, but since there’s a chance the dead could gate crash, I'm going to keep it short and cut to the vows.”

You all laugh at his words as 10k, who’s now standing, takes your hand in his. “I have spent my entire life feeling like something was missing, and I didn’t know what it was until I spotted a group of strangers fighting off the undead. That’s when I first saw you and finally found what was missing.”

You wipe away the tears trickling down your cheek while you let out a shaky breath. This was a moment you’d been looking forward to for so long, but it felt surreal finally living it, and it also broke your heart thinking of everyone who should have been there. Addy, Mack, Cassandra, Garnett, Vazquez, Red, and Warren 10k squeezes your hand when he sees you become emotional and gives you a moment before he continues. You wipe at your nose and nod for him to go on, “Sorry.”

He smiles brightly. “I knew from the moment I saw you pull the blade from your belt and take out a bunch of Z’s so fearlessly that you’d be important to me.” He chokes up and takes a deep breath. “My biggest fear is losing you. When you were kidnapped, I realized how much I loved you and that there was nothing I wouldn’t do to find you. I love you and promise to always protect you and stand by your side.”

Your heart melts when you hear those sweet words fall from his mouth. “When the apocalypse began, I lost all faith that anything good could last, but from the day you saved me, I knew our fates were intertwined, but I had no idea how madly I’d fall for you. You’re my best friend, Tommy, and there’s not a line I wouldn’t cross to keep you safe.”

By the end of saying your improvised vows, you are both crying, along with everyone else, including Murphy, who is now holding the ring box. He looks between the rings and your hand before pulling one out and handing it to 10k, saying, “I think this one will fit.”

It was a plain silver band that surprisingly fit as 10K placed it on your finger. You notice Doc's eyes have now gone bloodshot from crying; he claps his hands together and cheers, “You now may kiss the bride!” Your lips collide, and you smile into the kiss as 10k wraps his arms around your waist. When you pull back, Doc announces, “I now pronounce you man and wife!”

You kiss 10k again and mumble into his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[tatsumessy]

You took my heart, and gave it a home - {003}

Synopsis

you, rin and all the blue lock boys are classmates in your final year of high school. both of you have to work together on a project so thankfully yours good friend bachira was way too excited to give it to you, but who knew that would turn into everyone you know and love finding out your worst secret.

Pairing

Itoshi Rin x fem reader

TWs

physical abuse, mental abuse, sexual abuse, alcohol abuse

Taglist

@shikamiru @babbymario @oppirate-blog @little-charlatan @vilarawaltn @miyuaditt @beidousbubz

Rin stood there leaning against his truck with his notebook in his hands patiently waiting for you to show up. He was so confused as to why you had him come to a bus stop and not your house but he decided to let the situation go. He doesn’t even like people at his place so he could understand the secrecy.

Rubbing his hand against his eye he’s been trying to fight off sleep for the past hour now. He was ready to leave once again and just say fuck you for making him wait there like an idiot but he stopped his movements when he saw a small figure walking towards him.

It was you, you had on black joggers with a black hoodie, your hair was thrown into a messy bun and you were wearing a mask. He sighed putting the pieces together as to why you’ve been gone. “Y/n?” He spoke and you perked up hearing his voice for a second. “Hi.” He cringed at how rough and unpleasant your voice sounded, if he had to admit one of his favorite things about you is your voice.

Your voice is so smooth and beautiful to him that when you two are together he loves to shut everything out and just listen to you speak. Hell that’s why hiss ass stayed four hours at the library just so that he could hear you voice. Stupid.

“Here, you haven’t missed much but this,” he pointed to the neatly written notes on the third page, “this is going to be on our next exam. I also finished my research for our project and already started my half of the slides, I’ll share it with you when I get home-” he paused feeling you stare up at him.

Your eyes locked onto his and stayed there, the both of you continued to just stand there staring at each other. “I know this isn’t like you, you’re very sweet Rin. T-Thank you.” You stuttered out on the verge of tears. You were hooked up on pain meds so you weren’t feeling like yourself right now, no one needs to know right?

You just needed to feel something other than the pain you feel every single day. So without thinking you raised your hand to cover his eyes then slowly pulled your mask down to show your whole face. You leaned in, using your tippy toes to try and reach his height. Rin didn’t even flinch when he felt your lips touch his.

The whole thought of you being sick was thrown out the window the moment he opened his mouth inviting your lips to do whatever you wanted.

Pulling away quickly from the kiss you pulled your mask back up and removed your hand only staring at the notebook in his hands. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first.” You said bowing to him in an apologetic manner, waiting for him to say something you stayed like that until he slapped the notebook on your head.

You jumped up seeing him cover his face with the back of his right hand and look off to the side while his left hand held out the notebook for you. “T-Take it, I didn’t mind.” He admitted. You smiled under your mask noticing the faint blush appearing on his cheeks.

“Let me take you home, it’s already late.” He said walking around his car to the passenger side and opening the door. “Oh no, I can walk. It’s just a few blocks from my place.” You rejected and walked away but not before you yelled out a croaky thank you to him.

Rin wanted to follow you and make sure you got home okay but that would be an invasion of privacy so he left then shot out a quick text to you. To which he didn’t receive a reply until forty minutes later…

masterlist - next

[wandawiccan60]

The Lycan & The Princess: A Forbidden Love Story

A/N: Hello everyone and I know what you’re thinking you have been away fro so long what happened?? I am sorry for not being active here guys I know it’s crazy how long I haven’t been in here. I have been away because of school, life, and also just having time for myself. And I am back and I will try to upload more here and there. I wanted to give you all a preview of what I wrote about a Lycan and a vampire princess. I recently started watching The Originals(thanks to my bf for recommending me it 🥰). And I thought why not make a story about a world where Lycans and vampires are forbidden to be friends and also lovers with each other but two. However there is two that break that number one rule. Ons is a Lycan called Matthias, and the other or royal blood named Otsana. Here is a small preview that I just wrote out of nowhere and I hope you all enjoy it. Let me know if you want more and see how this story goes. See you all later.

Tags: @i-love-th-characters1, @kittycatcait219, @zablife,

~~~Preview~~~

“I don’t need you help you, you Lycan,” said Otsana huffing in and out of breath uncontrollably.

“Don’t be foolish princess, if you want to live come with me now,” said the male Lycan extending his hand towards her way.

Otsana refused his hand, knowing she was standing in front of her enemy that her father found disgusting. It has been written in the vampire rules that it was forbbiden that both Lycans and Vampires are not to be friends and moreover, and most importantly. Both breeds are banned to fall in love with each other, if found guilty both wound be sentenced to death. This was taught by her father, Marcus, ever since she turned 18 years old. He felt that her daughter was ready to teach her the ways of their people and preparing her to be queen one day and will be next in line to the throne. It was her purpose and destiny to lead her people and continuing the family legacy. Which Otsana gave her word, though she hated that her mother and father have already found a suitor for her.

Henry Dunkan was his name, handsome, hazel eyes, curly brown hair, and overall a boy that Otsana saw him as just a friend and nothing more. He didn’t seem to be the type of person that Otsana will feel unhappy since Henry, is the type of person to flirt with other She-Vampires. She despised it very much, seeing how many girls he has been with before they were told they were to be married. Though it is after all her duty to marry him, even if they both didn’t know each other much and they seem to not have a single spark between them. And so Otsana decided to do what ever arranged marriage girl would do. Run away from home.

“Come on Matthias. Leave the She-Vampire go,” said another human Lycan from behind him, suddenly transforming into his wolf form.

Matthias ignored his friend, still having his hand out towards the princess.

There were sudden growls and evil laughs heard in the distance. Otsana without saying another word, ran the other way towards her home.

“Wait no,” Matthias called out to her, but she was already gone in a speed of light.

Between her breaths and hearing the sound of her heartbeat, she ran as fast as she could through the Dark Woods. Hoping to make it out of alive and go straight back home. Until she heard the sound of growls and snarls once again. She picked up the pace, giving in everything she had in her. Suddenly without her noticing, A swift figure aggressively pushed her from her left side. Making her land hard in the dirt floor, hitting the side of her head on a hard stone. Groaning in pain, her vision became foggy feeling a stream of her crimson blood running down from her forehead. She tried to get up, but her body felt heavy and weak.

“What is a little vampire princess like you doing in these parts of the woods?” croaked one of the male incubus creatures.

Their faces appeared white like the dead, with hollow and sunken eyes that only you could see is blackness like the night. Their skin white as ash and wrinkled and dry.

Otsana tried to stay awake, but every time she wanted to get up on her feet, both her body and eyes would droop and fall back top the ground.

“Let’s finish her off quickly, before she becomes bitter and spoiled,” croaked another one, this time it was a woman’s voice.

The group of incubus started to circle around Otsana, aggressively smelling and craving for the princess’s blood.

“Don’t worry my child,” said the male incubus, grabbing a fist of her black hair with its hand making Otsana cry out in pain, “this will only be painful for a quick second.”

Bending her head back, exposing her fair neck, the incubus creature suddenly was swift away from Otsana’s grasp. The other incubus’s looked on with shock and fear. Seeing their leader being bitten on the side of his neck, screaming out in pain. Once he fell silent, the Lycan creature slowly turned around, with dry dark blood stained from mouth to chin. There was sudden howls that came from every direction, circling around them. The howls became in unison, ready to attack their preys in front of them.

“Lycans, attack them!!!,” commanded out a female incubus but it was too late.

Coming in fast from left to right, each Lycan caught one incubus after another. It was a bloodbath, every dead incubus creature fell to its doom. Otsana was going in and out of conscious. Her vision started to become more blurry by the second. Hearing screams from every direction, while the sound of bones being crushed together. Smelling the foul blood of the demon creatures gushing out from their bodies. In the corner of her right eye, she saw two Lycans decapitating a male incubus’s neck in one go. While the other, ripped off the side of its neck, leaving a high hole.

One by one fell, until there was nothing but body parts and pools of black blood. The Lycans then went back to their human forms, Matthias then ran towards Otsana. Which she didn’t notice his presence, until she caught the scent of incubus blood under his chin.

“Hey, you ok?” He asked her, but her hearing was muffled and became more exhausted.

Otsana suddenly saw blackness, feeling herself fall in slow motion. Matthias grabbed her gently in mid-air, while his right hand was resting against the back of her head, feeling her soft, black hair. Her presence caught Matthias attention for a second, not realizing he was memorizing every feature on Otsana’s beauty.

She is… like a…like a goddess…

“Matthias leave her, we have to get back to the our pack. Before more those fucking things come,” said his friend, Darko, while the other Lycans piled up the lifeless bodies of the incubus creatures in a pile.

Matthias only ignored his friend, as he gently hoisted Otsana in his arms. Feeling her head resting against his chest, which this made him feel warm inside.

“No. I’m not leaving her out here, she is still bleeding, we’re taking her back home with us.”

“Are you crazy, how will the chief think about us bring in a blood sucking creature into our home? I’m sure by the time we get there, her people will come looking for her,” said Darko, knowing that it was risky to bring in a vampire into their pack, especially if its a female.

“I don’t care right now, we have to take her in before she starts losing more blood.”

“Ugh! You’re unbelievable Matthias. Do you even worry or even care if our people gets attacked by this woman’s breed? Imagine if something happens to us, all of our fingers will be pointing to you, and mark my words Matthias. You will be the only one here to feel guilty and should have listen to me.”

“Darko. This is not the time that I don't want to talk about this. I know what will happen if her people will find out we have her with us.”

“Oh sure it looks like you do. So fucking pathetic and weak.”

Matthias gave Darko a wolf like growl sound, which his friend did the same in return.

“Enough! The both of you!,” said a female Lycan named Miriam, steeping in between the two men, “we have to keep going before more incubus’s come. Darko, yes your right about the royal Lucinda family. They will come looking for their princess but Matthias,” Miriam looked at his direction as she spoke on, “Once she is fully recovered from her wounds, she has to go without any excuse. Do you understand?”

Matthias only responded with a simple nod of his head, keeping his word. His friend Darko, wasn’t pleased with this but he just said nothing else.

The Lycan then carried Otsana with care, while the other Lycans then set the pile of the dead incubus creatures on fire. Only for a big campfire-life flame burst to life. Some of them turned back into their wolf forms making their way back to their home. While Matthias picked up the pace, holding onto Otsana in his large arms. Knowing the consequences that was waiting ahead of him, will be in his hands.

I hope the chief welcomes her, and see she’s not a threat… but a hope of a new future for both Lycans and Vampires…

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Just a little heads up…. I may or may not be around the next couple of weeks. My queue is full-ish, so whether I have internet to post from my drafts there will be posts. Just maybe not sculpting (my least popular posts anyway, but still…) or anything else non-woodsy photo like.

I’m heading off to help take care of my Mom. That’s the good part. The bad part is the living situation.

I don’t do well in someone else’s house, feeling constantly like I’m walking through a minefield. It’s like there are all these rules and I don’t have a rule book, or maybe it’s just this feral creature expected to act domesticated.

In this case it is worse. I will be judged there. History proves that. Everything I do or say, or even my facial expressions. And there will be no privacy. Or space to move.

I’m nervous. Will I be able to do what’s needed for Mom despite being clueless? Will I even be able to sleep? Will I get to use the internet? Will my reading to Mom annoy people? Will I be able to watch any of the things I want? ** Will I get any vegetables to eat? Will I get any exercise? Will I..

Actually, I might just go mad from not making anything. I haven’t missed a single day sculpting in two years, only one in three years, and having gone a week without sculpting eight years. Nothing like breaking an addiction cold turkey.

Meanwhile back home someone will feed that animals, but otherwise they will be alone. I have to trust they will be okay without me, or anyone petting them. I have to hope no one breaks in or nothing catastrophic happens. A tree fell on the dog lot last night. If something like that happens while I’m gone, say taking out a section of Ryoga’s, it could be a disaster.

Could. Just could. It will probably be fine. Lots of emotional turmoil, some suppressed tears, awash with a sense if being found fault with and exhaustion…but “fine”. Fine as it can be when the mother you love dearly is in a terrible way and the other people around you think you are the worthless family member and there will be daily visits from people that are the source of your worst phobia.

If only I could shut off my emotions with a switch, go selectively numb. I wish I didn’t feel such deep shame at being thought of as nothing, that I didn’t care at all what happens to me, that I stop all my worries from being felt, that I even didn’t love Mom so much so her condition wouldn’t be so painful.

It’s funny. As a little girl I put on a “play” from the Sendak book Pierre, because I adored it and believed in the idea that caring is important. Now I wish to hell I could stop caring. Caring has worn me down, devoured me. Give me being a lion’s dinner at day over the never ending monstrous caring.

Sorry, this turned into a vent post. The next couple of weeks are going to be rough for me, and it spilled out a little here.

**Watching Wallace and Gromit got me thrown out of that house once, so danged if I can guess what will cause trouble.

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Taura Lamb’s new bittersweet indie-pop single ‘Chapters’ reminisces on memories that haven’t even passed yet, with a warm acoustically layered sound

After working as a songwriter, the London-based musician Taura Lamb found herself wishing to launch her own artist career. Self-producing her debut EP ‘Lucky Girls’ in 2020, Taura has always shown big ambition even from her beginnings, constantly standing out from the crowd. Combining sounds that weave from pop to R&B to indie to folk, Taura really doesn’t limit herself to any one sound, fluid between whatever she feels expresses her storytelling best. Now after being named BBC London's 'Rising Record Artist', 2023 looks to be a big year for Taura, and her newest single ‘Chapters’ will go a long way in solidifying that.

Setting off with a speeding finger-picked acoustic guitar riff, ‘Chapters’ feels rather intimate from the get-go, paired-down and placing Taura’s narrative front and centre of the nearing three minute journey. Slowly adding intermittent haunting backing vocals for a handful of lingering lines, the verse lightly builds whilst Taura continues to touchingly sing atop the warm bedding of sound. From her more spoken-sung verses ‘Chapters’ delivers like that of a novel, with Taura poetically sharing her heartfelt storytelling before the chorus’ absolutely soars into a soft, higher range. Subtle deep guitar plucks accompany the ongoing riff once the chorus hits, adding a powerful resonance as they ring out into the soundscape and leave the chorus feeling all the more impactful. A thudding beat joins the tender instrumentals amidst the second verse and moving forward, with ‘Chapters’ feeling like a constantly growing experience enriched by its many building layers that all interlink for a journey you won’t regret being a part of. The sound can’t help but feel comforting and familiar all throughout, a little saddened in undertones but consistently bright regardless, picking you up in its sound when its words may leave you feeling a little more thoughtful.

All-too relatable for anyone, the lyrical journey of ‘Chapters’ is one that’s both wholesome and bittersweet, capturing all the fleeting moments that make up the chapters of our lives whilst yearning for them to never end. Opening with the aching line, ‘I know I should savour the moment… I already miss it, and I’m still here’, Taura right away touches on the incredible difficulty of being present in a moment that you know will be one you truly treasure when it’s gone. Never knowing when it’ll be the last time something happens, the chorus hook sings ‘life moves quick, swear it’s getting faster, I need a second to relive this chapter’ , an almost desperate plea for more time and a trip back to the past to relive it all from a world that doesn’t stop spinning regardless of who asks. Almost unable to let go of these weighty thoughts, further lyrics add ‘even the good times feel wrong when you miss them this much before they’re gone’ , somehow finding that even the most magical days can be twisted into painful ones when you allow yourself to remember their quickly passing nature. In many ways, though, ‘Chapters’ is a beautiful appreciation for those around her who matter most, an ode to friends who make the most mundane of moments feel grand and spectacular, even when there’s a melancholia seeping through in the unavoidable passage of them. Find yourself both yearning for more time and also encouraged to feel more grateful for the things you perhaps once let you pass by without a second thought, as Taura reminds you how speedily life can pass you by in ‘Chapters.’

Adding more on the creation of the song, Taura explains that “Chapters, one of the most meaningful songs I’ve ever written, was actually born from a TikTok comment. I was asking listeners to comment what they’d like me to write a song about under my videos, then I would write a short song and respond. One of my best and oldest friends ended up commenting something so beautiful that I had to finish it. She recently found out that she quite suddenly had to move away, and the lyrics are about her last few weeks in London with her friends, her flatmates, her job, and her late night cycles to pick up her favourite Thai food. It’s about finding nostalgia in the tiniest things and somehow managing to miss them before you’ve even left. It’s the feeling of knowing you’re doing the right thing, but not being quite ready to turn the page.”

A nostalgically-brimming music video also accompanies the release, showing snippets of a day out with friends in an older video-camera format. Absolutely radiating joy, the video adds a stunning depth to the unravelling story of ‘Chapters’, carrying through Taura’s appreciation while she yearns for more time in this moment that’s already passed.

Check out ‘Chapters’ here to experience a gorgeous soundscape littered with lyrics that are so very bittersweet.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[fatuismooches]

OH MY GOSHHHH I LOVE THIS SM!! Ahhh the brainrot is IMMENSE. Just when you think your life can’t get any worse, that you’ve hit rock bottom, the bottom of the barrel, you’re proven wrong once again. Because lying by your feet is the corpse of your beloved husband. Eyes dull and face bloody, his chest doesn’t rise and fall the way it usually does. Collasping to your knees, all you can think is that you’re too late. You’re always too late, you’ve never been able to do anything useful for Dottore. And now he’s dead. Without you even being able to witness his last moments. Did he think of you? Did he wish to see you one last time? Did he have regrets? You’d never know. You want to scream. Scream until your throat goes hoarse and bawl until you can no longer keep your eyes open. But you don’t. At that moment you make a decision. A decision you would have never thought you would make.

You’re going to bring Il Dottore back to life.

You may not be on Dottore’s intelligence level, and you haven’t done extensive research since your Akademiya days four hundreds years ago, and you still have your illness plaguing you, but one thing about you is that you haven’t quit before. Dottore was the reason why you still kept going, and he still is. You’re pressing on so you can see him again, and then everything will be okay. But having no one left in this life, you become a changed person… Well, you have Bina and Pantalone but, in your grief you once again shut yourself out from the world. What’s the point of enjoying what the world has to offer if you don’t have your beloved to enjoy it with? The Tsaritsa though, she understands your pain. She is the God of Love, after all, and although you keep your emotions uncharacteristically bottled up, she lets you cry on her lap about how much you miss your husband.

But it’s after Dottore’s passing that you decide to scavenge and go through every single thing in his office. In a way, it brings you closer to him even though he’s no longer here, reading and learning about the experiments and research he was so passionate about. Your own attempts are not as good as his, they might never be but, with your extended life you will keep trying until you breathe your last. Similar to your husband, you soon realize that there are few lines that you’re not willing to cross in order to take one step closer towards an answer, a breakthrough. You don’t care about others when the only one you’ve cared about is gone. So you keep going, you don’t care if you can’t recognize yourself in the mirror, from the multiple times you’ve ended up passed out or even more sick from neglecting to take care of yourself and your illness. You only start paying more attention when Bina tells you Dottore wouldn’t want his only love slowly killing themselves.

It’s only now that you truly understand Dottore’s feelings of having to watch you be unresponsive and sleeping for centuries. Only this time, it’s worse because there’s no chance of him miraculously waking up… not unless you do something. Sometimes you pound on the glass and yell, asking why he had to die. Sometimes you just stare blankly. Sometimes you stare with a smile because he still manages to be handsome even in death. But at the end you always press your face to the glass and cry, your only words being a simple i love you, and a promise that you two will be reunited again. You will not let fate get in the way again.

You keep Dottore’s ring close to your heart, because you await the day you can slip it on to his finger once again.

Also another alternate ending I’ve been thinking of: reader who dies from a broken heart. Literally. No elaboration. (And lastly, thank you so much for your kind words!! dw, snoopers are still appreciated here, and i’m glad you found your way here anyway!! i’m really glad you liked the ending too :3 and being paid is nice BUT. lovely asks like this always make my day. thank you for sending this amazing brainrot in!!)

I cried at the “Raven and Sparrow” story you wrote, man.. you are really fantastic, I wish I came across your blog sooner!(I’ll admit, I’ve been silent because I tend to snoop in secret) My brain immediately thought of like some different scenarios on how it could have ended.(that ending is fantastic fr though, you deserve to be PAID to be putting this kind of god content on here.)

Imagine if [name] wasn’t able to make it there in time. Left in shambles to all they have lost, yet it only fuels into some sort of angered state. With a miracle that they find the Doctor’s corpse, taking in the fallen mask into their trembling and diseased hands. Stumbling with tears streaming upon the dimmed and burnt surroundings of the building, but dares to not fall.

They place the mask of the crow on their face, still stained by he very blood of the mask’s owner. Than with a bitter and sorrowful taste in their tongue, they snap at the Fatui agents to grab the corpse of Dottore. Their Zandik. They know the agents will have to do what their brittle body couldn’t do, but they make no remark on it.

The frail and wingless butterfly is shut on this. They always wanted to reciprocate what the crow has done for them. So they will. They return to the frozen god that their beloved served, now swearing their dedication to her. It is now the butterfly’s turn to learn the impossible.

To learn the uncovered secrets to resurrection.

The butterfly shall not stop until they succeed. They swear to do so. Let Celestia be damned, let the Golden Comet who burnt the Crow be damned.

The butterfly wears the fox fur.

The butterfly follows the Crow’s footsteps, to repay their Crow’s love. With mask in hand, and a new chapter to this forsaken story.

[Name] stares in silence at the corpse of their lover, Dottore, laying in the lab. Not just laying, but encased in permafrost. Permafrost that shall keep the Doctor’s body fully preserved, as their wounds have been stitched up to cover the bloody mess that had been bestowed upon him. [Name] clutches the edge of the encasement, a tear sliding down as their gaze stare at the unmoving face of their fallen lover. The trembling and frail hand still grips harder, trying its very best to not crumble so easily. With a murmured and shaky utter, yet the words promise success. Success that may take a while, centuries, millennia, or even eternity.

But it will occur.

“You’ve awaited for me long enough, I shall do the same for you.”

The butterfly… no, sparrow—The sparrow opened their damaged wings, and forces themselves to take off to begin their search and journey with the fox fur wrapped around them.

[dyhayc]

How The Tables Have Turned

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Vampire!AFAB!Reader (Fluff, Smut)

Summary: You’ve had a hard life as a vampire. When you meet Eddie, your entire world turns upside down.

Word Count: 6.6k (I have a problem)

Warnings: MDNI 18+ only, Reader Is Old (But Looks ~20-21), Reader Is Kind Of A Perv (And Also A Stalker With A Hint Of Obsessive Thoughts For Flavour), Hand & Finger Kink, Light Humiliation (Eddie Makes Reader Beg), Oral (M Receiving), A Little Switch!Eddie & Switch!Reader, Thigh Riding, Biting, Blood Drinking

A/N: I know we’re all horny for Vampire!Eddie, but here’s some Vampire!Reader for your consideration… There’s a lot of personal headcanons about vampires in this that don’t really align with traditional vampire rules, if that’s something you care about.

In my update, when I said this was 2k words more than I thought it would be? I lied. It’s more like 4k. I thought this would end up 1.5-2k at most, I have no idea why or how I wrote so much extra.

Sorry it's kinda late, Tumblr was being a pain in the ass and not letting me log in on my computer.

@pixiehollands You asked to be tagged when I finished! :]

Masterlist

It’s been a rough hundred years. And, if you’re being completely honest, it’s been a rough life. You’ve gone through every terrible supernatural experience, from demon bites to being swallowed whole by a sea monster and even being seduced by a succubus. Okay, maybe that wasn’t so bad. Vampires are kind of the punching bags of the otherworldly creatures; too human to be monster, too monster to be human.

Before you were disowned, you were untouchable. And, now? You’re worth less than the dumb demon bats that swarm the other dimension. All you wanted was a break, a single decade without being targeted by the supernatural. And you got it.

Just… not in the way you’d wanted.

Humans. Stupid little humans and their silly little wooden stakes and silver bullets. Hunters are like children with toothpicks; they rarely get the kill. This particular group has been trailing you for the past four years. Never close, yet never far. This week, they’d chased you to a dense wood that works out perfectly for you. It’s not so great for them. The forest perfectly conceals you. The shadows and lush foliage provide perfect hiding spots. And, if you’re feeling especially lazy, you can hide by climbing a tree. Those idiots never look up.

It’s been a few days since you entered the forest. You’ve caught a few deer to satisfy your thirst, but animal blood isn’t as nutritious as human blood. Aside from the Hunters, there are no humans here– faint traces of hormones here, a few droplets of old blood there, but nothing substantial. You’d found a strangely-shaped rock that smelled strongly of lust, so overpowering that you had to leave.

Then, you smell him. A human, yes, but not a normal one. Something about his blood– it’s intoxicating. Swiftly, you travel through the forest, wanting to see the man whose blood calls to the most primal parts of your brain.

After about a thousand yards, you come across a table. Wait– A thousand yards? You’ve never been able to smell a human from that far. Perplexed, you turn your head from side to side, attempting to figure out where you are. You don’t think you’ve ever been to this part of the forest before. There’s a lot of different scents, indicating the frequency of foot traffic in this area. Yea… that explains why you haven’t come here.

A little intimidated at the thought of being seen, you decide to turn back to the hidden depths when he pushes through the thicket. A zap of fear shoots through your spine, and you dive for the trees. He turns his head in your direction, narrowing his eyes but not moving.

You stand as still as possible, not wanting him to investigate. Luckily, it seems he’s over his moment of suspicion. You watch, enraptured, as he finishes the distance to the table and swings his leg over the bench.

The chain on his jeans rattles with the movement, and the metallic clinking sounds like music to your ears. His hair is messy and unstyled– something your family would’ve mauled you over; after all, image is everything in the supernatural world. His jewelry is silver, which you’ve always found ugly —probably because you’re deathly allergic to the metal— but it’s so attractive on him. And, you haven’t even mentioned his eyes.

He’s absolutely fascinating.

The metal box he carries has a peculiar scent to it. Quietly, you sniff the air, attempting to get a better whiff, but to no avail. Your senses are consumed by the unique smell of his blood, sweat, and hormones. You’re not surprised, though. Vampires aren’t built to detect unnatural odors.

Not that you mind, anyways, just a hint of his scent in the air could make your day. You’ve had the blood of countless humans, but none of them can even compare to his. And, the craziest part? You haven’t even had a drop. Yet, your instincts scream loudly at you: this man has the sweetest blood you’ll ever taste. Don’t let him go.

You’ve never had such a visceral reaction to blood before. Sure, you need it to survive, but it’s never been a pleasure to take. With this man, your mind conjures up multiple lewd images of feeding off him that would make the most promiscuous beau blush. You, yourself, can feel a heat in your cheeks that wasn’t there before. How embarrassing, getting flustered over a simple man.

Then again, he is the most magnificent human you’ve ever seen.

Overwhelmed with your thoughts, you don’t realize you’re lowering your fangs until too late. Now, it’s really embarrassing. You’re so invested in the idea of a stranger’s blood that your body has prepared to bite. This juvenile lack of control over your fangs hasn’t happened since you were about seventy-five years old.

You need to leave before you make a fool of yourself. With one last longing glance, you glide quietly into the familiar shadows of the forest.

You resist the temptation to return to that run-down table the next day. His blood didn’t even smell that good, you attempt to rationalize, it’s just been too long since I’ve had human blood. Any human would smell that sweet.

The mantra works for about two more days before curiosity gets the best of you. Returning, you can smell the remains of his odor through the hundreds of others. Just the stale scent is enough to make your mouth water, and you know you weren’t wrong about his blood.

You hide behind the same tree as before and wait. For hours you stand until you can take no more. It was foolish to believe he’d be back. You shouldn’t have indulged in your fantasy, regardless. Humans are bad news. He’d probably kill you if he knew what you are.

Dejected, you turn to leave when a deliciously fresh scent fills your nostrils. A haze comes over your mind, pleased to recognize the man from before. Looking back, you hide again as he hops onto the tabletop and checks his watch. His arms rest on his knees as he sighs, more of a huff than a gentle exhale. He exudes agitation, the smell permeates the surrounding air.

Finally, a second man arrives. You know before he even comes into view because you can detect him from a mile away. At least the fascinating man’s animosity smells enticing. This newcomer smells disgusting– absolutely foul, like deception, desperation, and rubber. “Freak!” he calls loudly, catching the man's attention.

Your human— no, the original man replies, “Y’know I’m startin’ to think you call me freak ‘cause you never learned my real name,” he holds out his hand with a smug grin, “Eddie Munson, absolutely terrible to meet you.”

Eddie. How quaint. It’s perfect for him. Not that you’d know or even care. His name is irrelevant. He’s just a vessel for blood, a living meal to you.

The foul man scoffs, then fishes money out of his green jacket’s pocket. “For the… stuff,” he says, hesitating slightly.

He holds out the cash, which Eddie swipes harshly, laughing, “You can say ‘weed,’ nobody’s out here but us.” Wrong. “You’re lucky I even showed. Last-minute calls aren’t usually my thing.”

“Well, then, why are you here,” the foul man spits aggressively. The hair on the back of your neck stands up. How dare he talk to Eddie that way? Not that you care…

Eddie holds up the money and waves it in his face, “This is one month's rent, right here. Which reminds me, why the hell are you buying so much weed?”

“It’s for a party. You wouldn’t know because you’re too much of an outcast to be invited to one,” the foul man retorts, watching Eddie like a hawk as he fumbles around in the metal box.

“Not true,” Eddie comments, unbothered, “I go to parties all the time. Great place to sell weed.” Finally finding what he was looking for, he holds up a baggy. It smells much more substantial out of the box, and you realize this is the peculiar smell you’d discovered earlier in the week.

The foul man snatches the bag in the same harsh way Eddie had taken his money and turns without another word. Eddie calls out, “Not even a thank you? I busted my ass to get here, y’know!”

“Fuck you!”

Eddie snickers, shouting, “Love you, too!” at the man’s retreating form. He receives a hand gesture in kind. The middle finger, which, as you understand it, is some sort of insult in their culture. How odd.

In fact, the entire exchange was odd. Why did the foul man waste his money when there are weeds everywhere? He could just pick them up off the ground if he wanted some. But then that begs the question, why would someone want weeds anyways? Maybe it’s a cultural thing you can’t understand as a vampire? It’s all very confusing to you.

Eddie’s moving again, drawing your attention back to his hands. The money shuffles through his fingers as he counts the bills until he’s satisfied. Excited, he throws his hand up in the air, holding the cash up and throwing his head back, exclaiming “woo!” into the cool forest air. The corner of your mouth lightly upturns. You never knew humans could be so entertaining. Your family always told you they’re dangerous and uncivilized.

Just like his sudden arrival, he abruptly leaves. Gone too soon, but judging by his scent ingrained in the wooden slats of the bench, he’ll be coming back. Your body feels like it’s alight with energy as you leave. The gentle buzz in your bones is an excellent reminder of the man you’ve been observing. Yes, just observing…

You end up ‘observing’ him for weeks. The tree you chose the first time you stumbled across him is your favourite spot to watch. The reason why? It has the best view of him. The best view of his hair, and his eyes, and his hands adorned with rings of gleaming, dangerous silver. It’s so, so bad, the way you think about him.

A few times, you were almost caught. An accidental sniff here, a light twig snap there. He seems to regard the tree you’ve claimed with uncertainty, giving it a wide berth when he walks through the little clearing. It’s better this way, he won’t find you, and you’ll be able to watch him until he dies.

Today, you arrived earlier than usual. Boredom had consumed your mind hours ago. It appears the Hunters decided to take a break today, so you’d spent most of it making daisy chains and trying to catch animals to put said chains on them. Let’s just say it’s a blessing you’re incapable of getting rabies.

You have two daisy chains left, both the perfect size for a human-sized flower crown. Or, a fox-sized necklace, but you don’t dare to try that again. After some not-so-careful consideration, you impulsively place one of the chains onto Eddie’s side of the table.

Returning to the tree, you hold your flower crown to your chest. If he wears his, you’d be matching! Then, the realization sets in that he’ll know someone is watching him, but it’s too late. He saunters in, placing the metal box –which you’ve since learned is a lunchbox– on the table next to the flowers.

He lifts the flower crown with his pointer finger, examining the delicate chain. “Hello,” Eddie calls out, “Is anyone there?” You don’t respond. Flipping open the lid of his box, he drops the flowers into an empty space and sits down.

Today he’s visited by some repeat customers and one new boy. He looks, and quite frankly smells, young. Eddie’s reluctant to give the teenager some of his weeds, instead spending the time educating the young man on alternative activities he could be doing.

Throughout his deals, you smile softly at his antics, hopelessly clutching onto the tree's bark. You feel like a princess from a human fairytale: you’ve stumbled across a handsome man in the forest, and admiring him from afar, you swoon like a lovesick puppy. He’s just so…

No.

No, he’s the kind of human your family warned you about when you were a child. Crass, careless, cheeky, far too confident, caring enough to make his buyers comfortable around him, with an intelligence that’s concealed behind a smug grin and lazy demeanor. Damnit, why are you so attracted to him?

His blood drew you in, but everything else about him made you stay. There have been others, those who visit the table to buy weeds– again, you’re not sure why anyone would do such a thing when they’re free everywhere in the forest– but, back on topic. The others have never had the same effect on you.

Being around him is like a hit of adrenaline, your skin tingles, your tummy twists and turns, and there’s an odd fluttering feeling in your chest. You’re not sure what’s happening, you’ve never known any sensation like this before, but you do know that you really enjoy the feeling.

The effect is similar to lust, but, for some reason, it feels like it means more than just a physical attraction. Maybe it’s love? But love is a human concept. Vampires don’t experience love. Vampires court and marry out of duty to their family. Most vampires that is. Some are stupid enough to reject a marriage…

You sigh and shake your head at the memories. It happened so long ago. You need to move on. Checking up on Eddie, you freeze. He’s gone. The lunchbox sits unassumingly on the table, indicating his presence nearby. Wringing your hands, you slowly move backward, attempting to flee.

A twig snaps, and you know it’s him. Turning, your eyes meet briefly, and on instinct, you bare your fangs and hiss in warning. He yelps, startled, rushing behind a tree for cover. Seeing the opportunity, you bolt, running to the safety of the inner woods.

This is the second time you’ve lost control of your fangs around him. You’re almost disappointed with yourself. He would’ve assumed you were human if you hadn't acted irrationally. Yes, you would’ve had to explain the stalking, but at least he wouldn’t be afraid of you. Now, your only source of entertainment is ruined– what a terrible day.

Back at the table, Eddie’s freaking out. All around town, people have been talking about the vampire hunters.  They visited all the churches on Sunday, preached about vampires being sent by the Devil to corrupt Hawkins, begged for the town’s empathy and support. And they got it, yes, they got a hell of a lot of support. The gullible townspeople eat up their lies, groveling at the Hunters’ feet to offer costless places to sleep and food to eat. Safe to say, he thought it was a load of bull, just some bums trying to scam the town for free room and board.

Now he’s eating his words after meeting a vampire face to face. Granted, it wasn’t for very long, but the strangest part? He’s not that scared. Of course, it’s a life-changing realization that vampires are real, but… really? A twenty-something human-passing creature that leaves daisy chains on a table for drug dealers? He’s supposed to be afraid?

He hadn’t heard what the Hunters had to say in person –he’d probably burn to ashes if he stepped foot in a church– but gossip spreads fast in Hawkins. Yet, this ‘terrifying demon’ is a far cry from the horrible monstrosity they’d apparently made vampires out to be. Sure, he got hissed at, but he kind of deserved it. Anyone would react defensively if they got snuck up on. Like that time he jumped out at Gareth in The Hideout. For such an unassuming dude, he’s got a mean punch.

Shockingly, he’s feeling a lot of guilt. With a loud, annoyed groan, he runs his hand through his hair and packs up his things. He makes sure to be extra careful with the flower crowns, gingerly picking up the one you’d dropped while escaping. Tomorrow is a new day. He’ll come back and apologize. He’s not dumb; he knows you’ve been watching him behind that tree for a while. Hopefully, you’ll come around again.

Deep in the forest, you’re feeling the same guilt. How could you have scared Eddie like that? He didn’t do anything. He was literally just standing there, and you hissed at him. Now, he’ll be too terrified to come back. You’ll never see him again. Mourning what could’ve been, you decide to return tomorrow and smell his scent one more time before moving on from this forest.

The night came and went too fast. The walk to the table is not as peppy as it once was, your feet dragging depressingly through the leaves that litter the forest floor. Typically, you’d be more careful about tracks, but it’s irrelevant now that you’re going to be leaving the area.

Pouting, you lean against your tree dramatically and inhale his scent. It smells so fresh that you swear you can hear his heartbeat. Now that you think of it, you can hear his heartbeat. Hesitantly poking just your eye out from behind the tree, you can see him. You can also catch his lack of silver jewelry. The sight brings a genuine smile to your face. Not only did he come back, but he was considerate enough to remove his silver, too?

For the second time, he locks eyes with you. Afraid of what you’ll do this time, you simply sit and wait for him to make a move. “Uh. Hi,” he starts awkwardly, wincing at how loud his voice sounds when disturbing the silence.

“Greetings,” you murmur, slightly shifting so you’re further behind the tree. It doesn’t matter if you have a soft spot for him. He could still be plotting your demise.

Noticing your movement, he tries to coax you out. “I wanted to say sorry. About yesterday, I mean. I– well, I wasn’t trying to scare you. I thought you knew I was there.”

You narrow your eyes. Why is he apologizing to you? “I should apologize. It was unbecoming and a misrepresentation of my kind to hiss at a defenseless human.”

“I wouldn’t say defenseless,” he mumbles indignantly under his breath.

You furrow your brows, moving further out of your hiding spot to educate him, “Humans are the most defenseless of the sentient creatures that roam this dimension.”

“You heard that?” he asks before thinking over your words and repeating, “Sentient creatures? This dimension? What the hell?” You open your mouth to answer his questions when he cuts you off, “Y’know what? Forget I asked. Sorry, it’s just… you’re so metal, it’s fuckin’ awesome.”

Metal? Like silver? There’s nothing about that sentence you understand. Was that supposed to be an insult or threat or maybe something else? Uncertain, you move back behind the tree. “Shit,” he curses.

“Hey, forget I said that, too. I’m really sorry.” He turns around and returns with the daisy chains you’d made yesterday. The edges of the petals are wilting, and some stems are completely withered, but they’re well preserved for a bunch of plucked flowers. Holding one up, he pleads, “Come out, please. We can be friends.”

Carefully, he lays the flower crown on the end of the table closest to you. Stepping back, he sits down on the opposite side and furthest corner. Placing his own chain in front of his spot, he continues, ”I think you’re in danger. There’s these idiots in town who say you’re here because of the Devil.”

It’s not a good idea to leave your safe space. In fact, it’s a terrible idea. Still, your body moves of its own volition until you’re seated in front of your flower crown. You can’t hold eye contact at this distance. He smells so amazing you’re a little afraid he’ll be able to see it in your eyes.

Bashfully, you slightly boast, “The Hunters will never catch me. They’re arrogant and dull. I’ve been evading them for years.” He hums, impressed, asking more questions about the Hunters. You probably spend half an hour talking with him, slowly becoming more comfortable.

Unfortunately, all good things must end. In the distance, you can smell the stench of vanity emanating from the Hunters. How had they found you? …The trail you’d left in the leaves! Why had you been so reckless?

Panicked, you stand. Eddie follows your lead, getting to his feet. “You run,” he directs, motioning to your tree, “I’ll distract them.” It’s courageous of him but unnecessary. Looking at the tree, you know you can hide in it. The branches are too high for you to reach, even jumping, so it’s the perfect spot. They’d never suspect it.

Now, the problem. You need to get up a tree you can’t reach the branches of. There’s a second tree close enough to give you leverage. Decision made, you run at the smaller tree and jump, pushing off the bark and boosting your jump high enough to reach a branch. From there, you simply pull yourself up.

The great thing about being a vampire? You can look as unassuming as a human yet possess the strength of a manticore. And, you can say from experience that they’re powerful. At the very least, Eddie seems impressed by your display if his muffled “holy shit” is anything to go by.

Your successful jump is not a moment too soon. The Hunters, armed with what appears to be everything they have burst into the clearing. They’ve got their weapons aimed at Eddie but quickly recognize him from town.

You’d never bothered to learn their names, but you can identify them by their most prominent feature. Their leader has a hideous mustache, which is why he’s ‘mustache man.’ You have a knack for creative names. He’s fortunate you didn’t choose to call him “hat boy” because the cowboy hat is really something. A bad something.

Anyways, mustache man drawls, “What are ya doin’ out here, boy?” He holsters his gun, a nasty contraption loaded with deadly silver bullets. When you were young, your family friend had been shot in the forearm with one of those kinds of bullets. She’d died, despite the nonlethal place she’d been shot. The allergic reaction had been too much for her body to handle, which is what happens to almost every single vampire shot with a silver bullet.

All this to say: gun scary. Stay away from bullets.

Eddie seems to understand this, most likely because he’d just had said gun pointed at his face. Guns can hurt humans, silver bullets or not. Fumbling over his words, Eddie finally spits out, “I’m making flower crowns?” Not the strongest answer.

The right-hand man, ‘neck scar,’ responds, “Why do they look like shit?”

Eddie scoffs, defending your work, “The flowers died before I could finish making them. Don’t judge if you’ve never tried it.”

Now, the strong man ‘skull tattoo’ says, “We know you weren’t making fuckin’ flower crowns. What were you actually doing?”

“Maybe I just like to hang out in the woods,” Eddie snaps back, “You got a problem with that?”

Mustache man steps in, “I haven’t seen ya ‘round church, that why ya don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” Acting innocent? Maybe not the best move.

“Vampires,” skull tattoo exclaims dramatically, “You’ve got ‘em. Town’s infested with ‘em. The woods aren’t safe for little boys like you. Go home and read a book.”

Eddie scoffs but picks up the flower crowns and leaves down the path without a word. The Hunters scour the area for a few minutes but find nothing. Eventually, they head back to follow your leaf trail back into the forest.

Relieved they’re gone, you drop onto the floor below. Surprisingly, Eddie comes out of the forest and meets you. “I assumed you had left?” you question, baffled.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admits, “those guys seemed like real assholes. Didn’t wanna leave you alone.” You huff at his lack of faith in you but still crack a smile anyways. Eddie then offers, “Why don’t you stay with me? My uncle won’t mind, and we can hide you from the Hunters.”

Caught a little off guard, you hesitate to respond. “Are you absolutely certain? When I feed, my clothes get messy. I could drag animal blood into your home and stain your valuables.”

“Half our shit is stained already. Why not add blood to the mix?” Amused at his reaction, you nod. Obviously, he’s never had to clean blood out of things. You have nothing but the clothes on your back, so there’s nothing to get before leaving. The walk to his van is consumed by silence. You hate to break it, but you have to ask. It’s been bothering you for weeks.

“What is weed?”

After a very shocked reaction from Eddie and an entire lesson on drugs in his van, you make it to his trailer. He’d also explained trailer parks and moveable homes to you since you’d never seen them before. You appreciate how helpful he is without judging you for your inexperience.

Once inside, he gifts you some clothes and teaches you how to operate a shower. You’re really out of your element. You delay your attempt to turn on the shower by about fifteen minutes, and once it’s on, it takes another five before you touch the water. Stepping out, you have flashbacks to before. When you were bathed every day by servants and hadn’t ever known dirt or grime. Those days are long gone. But, it feels good to finally be clean.

The next few weeks go by quickly. Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, accepts your cover story and welcomes you into his home. The only condition is that Eddie has to pay for the higher bills, but he says he’ll do it. You fall into a routine with both of them. You spend much time bonding with Eddie since you can’t leave during the day unless you’re fully covered.

It’s challenging to hide your attraction. He’s so charming. The more you get to know him, the harder you fall. You’ve accepted that, yes, this is love you’re experiencing. And, yes, it is very inconvenient. You understand now why your brethren participate in arranged marriages and avoid falling in love entirely. It feels like Eddie constantly has a hand squeezing your heart.

Eddie likes to ask multiple questions about your life, though you suppose it’s only fair since he’s answered all of your questions about his. Today, unfortunately, he’s taken an interest in your upbringing. You’ve alluded that you grew up rich but never confirmed anything. Currently, he’s nagging you while spreading a substance named ‘mayonnaise’ onto your bread. Or is it toast? You don’t remember what the difference is.

You’re both nocturnal on the weekends, eating meals late at night. Tonight he’s making sandwiches. You can eat human food, but it doesn’t give you nutrients or aid your health. Still, it’s nice to enjoy the flavour of two slabs of wheat and all the fillings between every once in a while. Not to mention chips, which have become your second favourite food. After blood, of course.

“So, why were you hiding out in the woods if you were rich? Wouldn’t you have a huge old mansion that looks haunted? Like in the movies?” Eddie inquires, calling from his kitchen.

You scoff, flopping onto the couch. “My family does have a mansion, but I was disowned. I don’t have access to anything from my parents’ wealth.”

“Disowned? Why?”

You debate if you should even tell him why. You hate to think about these memories, but he’s always answered your questions, so you should answer his. “Well, as the seventeenth sibling of one hundred and sixty-eight–”

“I’m sorry, what?” He looks absolutely perturbed, butter knife in hand, as he whips around to examine you.

“What? I don’t understand. Why are you confused.”

“Why do you have so many siblings?” he interrogates, pointing his knife at you.

You raise your eyebrow at his dramatics, shifting to lay on your stomach on the couch. “Vampires have the same short gestation period as humans, yet the lifespan of the supernatural. It’s common for vampire families to have hundreds of children.” Your parents have most likely had more children since you left. You’re not sure how many siblings you have anymore.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he apologizes, turning back to the sandwiches, “I guess I never thought about how long vampires live. How old are you?”

“I thought in human culture it’s considered rude to ask for someone’s age. I will never tell you the exact number, but I am the human equivalent of twenty and a half years. I still have much development before my brain is fully matured.”

His demeanor changed after you’d said ‘rude.’ He appears to be nervous he offended you, which is something you’ve gotten used to. You’re a powerful supernatural being. It would be concerning if he wasn’t a little apprehensive when speaking to you.

“Moving on, I was disowned because I was the seventeenth sibling. Thus, the responsibility to marry the head of the Andilet family fell on my shoulders. After getting to know my future spouse, I declined. I felt something was off, and I didn’t want to be bound to someone I was suspicious of.”

Abandoning the sandwiches for a moment, Eddie leans against the counter. “You didn’t marry someone and got disowned?”

“Yes,” you nod, “Marriages are necessary to connect families. It was my duty to serve my family, not to act in my own self-interest.”

Hu pushes back, “Your own self-interest? Didn’t you say there was something wrong with your fiance?”

“Yes, my fiance was a serial killer,” you gloss over that fact, hopeful he won’t notice you said it, “But I shouldn’t have rejected the marriage. I disgraced my family name.”

“Woah, what?” he exclaims, throwing his hands up, “You escaped marrying a serial killer, and you feel bad about it? Fuck your family. You’re better off single than dead.”

You shake your head, “Return to your sandwiches. You won’t understand vampire culture.”

He scoffs, mumbling, “We’ll talk about this later,” as he turns back to the sandwiches. You make some light conversation to change the mood in the room, asking about his little monster game. He falls for the trick and begins to ramble about someone named Vecna.

You listen intently, though you don’t understand half of what he’s saying. He’d explained the essentials to you a few weeks ago, so you at least know the basic gist of the game.

He’s now getting more excited, his talking speed increasing. “And I’m going to make the party think he’s dead, only to bring him back– fuck!”

Startled, you jump. The sharp knife you hadn’t noticed he’d picked up clatters to the floor. At the same time, your pupils blow wide, smelling the blood leaking from his hand. He’s clutching his finger to his chest, wincing in pain. If you could, you’d feel guilty for how excited you are that he’s cut himself.

“That’s what I get for using a knife to open a package, huh,” he sighs, worrying over his finger for a few moments before turning to you. You’re too far gone to pay attention to his words, lips parted and eyes hazy, thinking about drinking his blood. Realizing what’s happening, he smirks arrogantly. Walking over, he squats right in front of you. His blood is right there. You subconsciously lean towards his fingers.

He pulls his hand back. “You want my blood that bad?”

In a trance, you admit, “I’ve always wanted your blood. The reason why I watched you was because you smell divine.” His heart skips a beat because of the admission, but he still wants to tease you.

“Then beg for it.”

Fuck. He’s going to be the death of you. Hesitating a little, you mumble, “Please.”

He responds, “What? I can’t hear you,” cupping his uninjured hand around his ear. Cheeky bastard.

Sheepishly, you speak louder this time. “Please, can I have some blood?

Smirking, he leans in so close that his lips just barely brush your own. “Oh, that wasn’t good enough, Sweetheart. You can do better.” Damn him, and his attractive face, and his enticing blood.

Wiggling closer to his body, you whine, “Please, I haven’t had human blood in so long. Just a taste. I swear I won’t bite your finger, please.”

He taps his chin like he’s considering it, making you wait. Finally, he brings his fingers to your mouth. You open eagerly, running your tongue against his cuts, moaning the second you taste him. He’s everything you thought he would be. Using your gathered saliva, you rub off the dried blood on his skin.

Wanting more, you close your lips around his fingers and suck hard, pulling more blood from his body. Your fangs have lowered, framing his digits and holding them in place. Apparently, he doesn’t get the message and pushes on your tongue, moving his fingers. You both know you’ve just pricked him, yet neither acknowledges it.

Your thighs squeeze to relieve some pressure, but it doesn’t work. You can see he’s having a similar issue, his hips pressing forward to grind his hard cock on his jeans. Maybe you can solve this problem, but you’re not sure you dare to suggest it. But then, he pulls his fingers from your mouth, and you instantly miss his sweet, metallic taste.

Losing all decorum, you let loose, dropping the formal speech you’ve always used with him. “I’ll suck your dick if you let me bite your neck.”

“Jesus Christ,” he blurts, genuinely shocked, “You didn’t know what weed was, but you know how to suck dick?”

“I learned the important things.”

He laughs, and you do too, elated you were able to tell a joke he likes. He gets up and sits on the couch, so you slide to the floor between his legs. Reaching for his belt, you push his shirt up and lean forward to press a kiss to his exposed stomach. Then, you lightly graze your fangs against his happy trail. He exhales shakily, his hand coming to rest on your head.

Unbuttoning his jeans, you pull the zipper down slowly, making strict eye contact with Eddie. He seems shy, nervous even. Oh, how the tables have turned. A small taste of his own medicine, and he’s crumbling under your gaze. Your left hand rests on his stomach, feeling the muscles contract and expand under your touch.

Maintaining eye contact, you pull his underwear down to reveal his hard cock. Neither of you look away, caught in a staring contest. Barely wrapping your hand around his shaft, you inch it upward until your thumb is pressed under his head. Eddie’s trembling now but still too stubborn to avert his gaze. Sticking out your tongue, you gently lick his slit. Finally, he breaks eye contact, dropping his head backward and bringing both hands up to hide the flush covering his cheeks.

You giggle but continue with your task, licking his tip and swirling your tongue in a figure eight pattern on the underside of his dick. Using your hand, you spread your saliva, so hopefully, he won’t be uncomfortable. You will say, you have a few tricks up your sleeve…

Some things that are great about being a vampire: one, your species doesn’t have a gag reflex because your primary source of food is blood; and two, you can survive without breathing for about thirty minutes. Meaning you can deepthroat him, and if he wanted, he could fuck your throat. Now, you don’t want to move too fast, so you opt to slowly ease him into your mouth and see where it goes.

Wrapping your lips around his tip, you’re cautious of your teeth. Luckily, like his fingers, your fangs have framed his dick instead of puncturing it. You pull back and push forward, allowing more and more of his length to fill your mouth. Occasionally, you glance up at him to see how he’s doing, but every time you’ve looked, he gets redder, his mouth agape. You’re pretty sure he’s enjoying himself.

You miss the taste of his blood, so you decide to be a little devious. You have to be careful, a tiny nick won’t hurt anyone. He can afford to lose a little blood. However, one wrong move and he’ll be bleeding out in your mouth. Which wouldn’t be so bad for you, but you’d like to keep Eddie around for a bit longer, and you’re not gonna accomplish that if he dies from blood loss.

Gently, you make a small cut that releases little droplets of blood into your mouth. Pleased, you push all the way down until your nose bumps the dark coils at the base of his cock. Glancing up one more time, he’s finally picked his head up, looking at you. His thumbs reach down to brush against your hollowed cheeks, causing you to hum. He gasps, throbbing in your mouth.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum,” he groans, hands now gripping your jaw. Ignoring him, you hum and suck harder. A soft moan is all the warning you get before he’s spilling down your throat. He pants as you pull off, taking a moment to calm down. Meanwhile, you’re squirming on the floor. You want his blood. No, you need his blood.

It seems his dominance is back because he notices your struggle and pulls you up into his lap. You’re so desperate that the second your clit touches his thigh, a zing of pleasure shoots up your spine. You’re still wearing your clothes, but you’re so wired it feels like you’re making direct contact. Gripping his leg, your hips rock on his rough jeans.

He does nothing to stop you. In fact, he encourages your movements, placing one hand on your waist to guide you. He gently shushes you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. You hadn’t noticed it before, but you’re babbling nonsense pleas for his blood.

He pushes his hair off his shoulder, leading your head to the crook of his neck. You latch on and bite, the tang of his blood so much sweeter when pulled from his neck. It’s so good that you instantly cum when tasting it. As you continue to draw blood, you grip onto his shoulders, stars bursting behind your closed eyes.

Eddie doesn’t let you stop moving your hips, pushing and pulling with two hands. Whining in confusion and overstimulation, you don’t fight him. If this is the price you must pay for some of his blood, then so be it.

You stop taking blood when his grip doesn’t feel as tight and he appears to be a little woozy. Pulling back, you lap at the bitemark to slow the bleeding. He flops back onto the couch, and you follow with a little squeak because of his hands on your waist.

Now that his neck is not bleeding as much, you leave little kitten licks around the wound, hoping to soothe the irritation from your venom. He lightly clears his throat, “Am I gonna turn into a vampire?”

You chuckle. The things humans believe are ridiculous. “No, you aren’t,” you reassure him softly, “I’d have to kill you with my venom. I’m not old enough to do that.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, before speaking up again, “How old do you have to be to do that?”

“About a thousand years, approximately.”

“So you’re under a thousand years old? You’re so young,” his comment is laced with light-hearted sarcasm. “Are you under five hundred years?”

You huff, “I’m not giving you any clues about my age.”

“Oh, come on,” he pleads, “Just a little hint.”

Laughing, you kiss him to shut him up. He reciprocates, smiling the entire time. Soft and sweet, you know you’re deep in love. But, it seems he is, too.

Maybe this will be your decade after all?

[mldniqhts]

You Wish You Felt Better

Summary: You reminded Marc too much of his mom

Warnings: Mentioned child abuse, alcohol, addiction, mental health discussion

The silence was deadly. Quiet. Taunting. No word has been said between the two of you since Marc walked back into your home. No ‘hello’, nothing. Just the presence of each other was there, and the stares that revealed everything.

You’ve already began your day with drinking. Doing nothing more throughout your day than drinking. It filled a hole inside you that you never realized was, in fact, there.

And it then turned into a cycle. Every single day. One that no matter what, you couldn’t break it.

It grabbed a hold of you each second of your life.

You’ve always thought that in your life, you would never be lead to this. You’ve always thought that you could never do such harm to yourself, or others. But then you did.

You wish you could feel better in any other way. But this was one that completely controlled you. And it ruined you. It ruined him.

Your blank stares were held on the wooden table as Marc saw that the glass bottle was empty once again. He didn’t even think that you fully acknowledged that he was there anymore. You were now lost in your own world that pushed away your sorrows.

Seeing you like this pained him. It hurt him deep inside. But still, it was a miracle that Steven and Jake haven’t fronted. They stayed inside the headspace, quiet. Silent.

Marc had wished that this was the first time he’d seen you like this. That this was the first time the two of you spent your night like this. But, it wasn’t. He’d lost count.

And frankly, he’s had enough.

Pushing himself off the chair in front of you, he walked over to you. Getting down onto his knees, he grabbed your hands, one of them pulling your chin to face him.

He knew you were lost in it. So, he prayed to God for this one thing: to have you listen to his words. For they could be possibly the last ones he would say.

With his tears daring to come out, he frowned, looking up at you and said, “If you can hear me, actually, hear me. Then please listen to what I say now: don’t become her.”

The words came out with such a breaking tone, for he had forced them to come out for this one time. The years he had spent with his mother drinking away the grief that she held onto for eight years.

He didn’t know what had happened to you. He never wanted to ask, he never wanted to interfere. But whatever it was to lead into this, he knew it was bad. And he still, stayed. He stayed for months with you as the bottles grew in number.

It was quickly that he realized that what happened to his mother was happening to you. And he couldn’t live with that. He could never.

“I can’t let you be like her.” Marc had weeped out after he heard no answer from you. Your eyes stared at the wall behind him.

“Please.”

Then the tears came down as he lowered his head onto your lap, his hands gripping onto yours with such force. He didn’t want to lose you. But he couldn’t save his mother, so how could he save you?

It was his fault, he thought. After he first noticed, he chose to stay silent to the fear that once he called you out, you would do the unspeakable to him. Just as his mother did, you would hurt him.

He should have not been scared and focused on your well being rather than his. Fuck, he should’ve.

Marc began sobbing into your lap, his breathing coming in and out without rhythm.

Just as he was about to look up at you to beg again, he felt your hand touch his back, rubbing it up and down softly. He stopped his sobs, looked up at you with confusion to see your gaze held to him.

Your mind was still halfway gone, he could see that. But with what true words, and your conscious that was there, in that moment, you felt a tear come down your cheek before you softly spoke the words that Marc would come to regret he heard.

“Just go, Marc.” You said.

Parting his lips, another year rolled down his cheek before he rose his hand to hold onto your cheek.

But your own hand caught it, pushing it away as you whispered the last words he would hear from you: “You don’t deserve this again.”

From that night Marc has never heard from you. Though he wished he never left, the words of a man ringed into his head: “I won’t save anyone who won’t save themselves.”

You’ve made your decision. It was your choice to bring light into your life, or continue to push it away. He could only be there to help.

[hatsukeii]

i’d love to see boyfriend headcanons for artem from tears of themis 💕

You asked, I shall deliver with what information I have as of now (I’m a Luke stan so I haven’t actually done the other character stories yet so pardon me if I’m wrong ab some things)\

Artem Wing bf headcanons gn reader LETS GO

Edit: I got really carried away this is a long post where you have to get halfway through it to get to the main point of the request

- Mans does not know what he’s doing at the start

- No, like seriously.

- He’s gone what, 29 years without a lover? Not even lover, a partner??? Hell most people would expect him to be a ladies’ man but apparently no one’s piqued his interest before.

- Until you showed up. You and your undeniable presence, waltzing elegantly into his boring, work-filled life.

- Never had he ever thought he would have such prominent and unescapeable feelings for you. After all, you were, and still are, his junior employee. He is your senior, he ought to keep things strictly professional.

- Right?

- But who could possibly resist? A beautiful soul with a just as beautiful face, creating a calming centre wherever they tread, always knowing exactly how to lighten up the mood,,,

- You.

- You truly were beautiful in Artem’s eyes. 

- I don’t think he realised his feelings for you until he watched as you broke down in front of him out of relief. You clung onto Artem after a particularly dangerous stakeout mission that he came back from, refusing to let go. Although unscathed, the thought of him risking his life out there to investigate a mere drug was enough to invoke a week of sleepless nights. 

- As you collapsed into his chest, he couldn’t help but press your head further into himself, heart clenching at your trembling figure. The second the mission debrief with the NXX crew was over, he had rushed over to your apartment to check on you. Not because he knew you were worried sick, but because he was worried sick. Was there anyone to take care of you while he was away? Luke had been particularly busy, he couldn’t have checked up on you that much. Had something happened to you unbeknownst to him? Raging thoughts raced around his mind as he slammed onto the gas anxiously.

- Now that he knew you were safe, a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A minute ago as you opened up the door for him, he had noticed your dark eyebags, along with your raspy voice as your mouth opened only to say a single word.

- “Artem!”

- Nothing else was needed as you wrapped your arms around his back, sobbing into his shirt. With his white shirt bunched up in your fists, he really couldn’t help it. He longed to keep you safe. Even if impossible, to shield you from the world’s evils. Being a lawyer, it’s a stressful job. Every day, you punish people for acts they’ve committed that you may deem depraved, yet you would never understand the pain they have gone through that pushed them to these lengths. 

- As his shirt became progressively more and more wrinkled, his grip never loosened. This was the moment he had put down all his barriers, melting into your embrace. Feeling overwhelmed by everything, Artem starts to pepper soft, fluttering kisses over your head, before sweeping you off the ground in a bridal carry, heading towards your bed.

- He slowly lays you down, pulling the blanket out from beneath you and tucking you in, before quietly going downstairs to your kitchen, where he boils up a good serving of chicken soup with whatever he can find from your fridge for your sore throat.

- He carefully wakes you up from your short-lived nap, just to feed you the soup he had made. He insisted on feeding you, but you got your way in the end, slowly eating the first proper meal you’ve had in a few days.

- As he was about to leave, you tug on his coat hanging from his arm, eyes practically begging for him to stay the night with you. Out of sheer exhaustion and, unbeknownst to Artem at the time, love pouring out of him, he gave your forehead a soft kiss, letting it linger on your skin, as he took a seat next to you on your bed.

- Now mans really thought he was slick and thought you wouldn’t notice the warm, fluttering feeling on your face, so picture the embarrassment and shock he felt when you questioned him about it the next day.

- “Artem, I didn’t know you gave such nice forehead kisses.”

- Oh my god.

- An absolute blushing mess, doesn’t know how to respond to that properly, imagine getting a lawyer all tongue tied, the power you hold wow.

- “W-well, I was simply trying to calm you down, that’s what my mother used to do, it was really just a force of habit, there’s not much to look into and or analyse, if it made you uncomfortable in any way I sincerely apologise.”

- “I said they were nice, you really think it made me uncomfortable?”

- And cue Artem awkwardly looking at you, you couldn’t quite make out what he was feeling. Guilt? Shyness? Relief? You never figured it out as he landed a quick, soft peck on your lips.

- “Is this nice too..?”

- And thus the moment you guys became official.

- Okay onto the main point, he is SO SWEET.

- As my friend calls him, a manwife.

- He can cook, clean, is good with kids, will stand up for you, calm and collected, just the right amount of romantic although a little awkward at times (he’s new to all this love stuff let the man live), tends to your needs, knows how to ground you when needed, literally such an ideal partner.

- However, he is not without his own flaws. At times, he might fail to fully sympathise with someone as his lawyer principles kick in, viewing situations too objectively for his own good. Whenever he gets fed up he tends to hide away and avoid contact with people out of frustration and fear that he might hurt them accidentally, making communication difficult at times. Did I mention that he is extremely socially awkward?

- As a lawyer, he would very much rather negotiate things in a peaceful, rational manner than to argue, he rarely raises his voice at anyone, let alone you. The one time he got so fed up that he raised his tone a little bit, he made it up to you tenfold. I’m talking apologising over and over again, watching your favourite movies in bed even though he can’t stand stupid animated movies, and making a mental note on what to and not to say in arguments and how to avoid them.

- Artem is a socially awkward 29 year old virgin, it’s pretty funny when you go out with him. He’s got girls from every direction swooning over him and eyeing you enviously, and whilst you are obviously irked by the situation, he simply pays no mind and doesn’t understand what is going on. By the time you get home and suddenly become extra clingey and protective, he still hasn’t figured out what happened and is actually confused as to why you’re acting this way.

- In order to live with your very own Artem Wing 2021 limited edition boyfriend you must learn what he likes and what he doesn’t like. When he’s frustrated, closed off, and or in a distressed state, helping him relax his shoulders and playing with his fingers and hair are a big yes. His shoulders are stiff from work, they need a break. Massage his scalp!!! Literally so relieving, no more headaches that shit go bye bye~ Please refrain from trying to pry until he seems to be less tense prior to the comforting.

- This man is so sweet in the most clueless way. He’s a bit of a textbook romantic. He’s not sure what to do so he does whatever he’s seen done in movies or books or examples from that stupid pyschology of attraction book Celestine gave him. So far he has randomly started twirling you around whilst walking home on an empty street at night, had picnics during nice sunny days like in that Up montage before his wife just fuckin dies, kissed you on a field during a bike ride on an off day, you name it, he’s tried it out or at least thought of trying it out.

- Artem has never asked for much, yet pours his heart out for you, he tries so hard god I love this man. All in all he just hopes that he can be by your side along the way, guiding you along the way to become a successful attorney like himself, as well as protecting you from harm to the best of his abilities. He just wants to see you truly happy and relaxed, the sheer sight is enough to put a smile on his face, and remind him why he fell in love in the first place.

Oh my god i finished this it is currently 5:32am and counting hope you like it i got way too carried away ok bye goodnight

Tagged:

@izzyphantomgamer

DM me to be added to regular taglist bc i forgot what my old one was:)

[spockandawe]

mmm, thinking about the guanyin temple scene, and the things jin guangyao finally says once people corner him.

Wei Wuxian laughed from anger, staring at Su She. “Have I ever done anything to you? I didn’t see you as an enemy— I didn’t even know you!”

Jin Guangyao said, “Wei-gongzi, shouldn’t you be the one who knows this best? Would you be safe just because you didn’t see him as an enemy? How could that be? In this world, everyone begins without enemies. Yet someone eventually moves to strike that first blow.”

and we only see a sliver of his childhood, but like, in just that TINY moment, first

The woman said, “Oh, why would I lie to you about something like this? Her son is running errands for us right now. There, that’s him.” The woman twisted her waist, waving at a boy holding a tray. “Xiao-Meng! Come here!”

The boy did as he was told and walked over. “Anxin-jie, what is it?”

All at once, Wei Wuxian understood everything.

The clients studied Meng Yao with judgmental eyes. Meng Yao asked again, “Am I needed for something?”

Anxin grinned. “Xiao-Meng, are you still learning all those things lately?”

Meng Yao paused. “Which things?”

Anxin said, “The things your mother wants you to learn, like calligraphy, etiquette, swordsmanship, meditation… How are those things going?”

Before she even finished, the clients began to chuckle as if they thought something was funny. Anxin turned around. “Don’t laugh, I’m telling the truth. His mom’s raising him like a young master of a wealthy family. She taught him to read and write, bought him all sorts of swordsmanship pamphlets, and even wants to send him to school.”

A client exclaimed, “Send him to school? Did I hear wrong?”

“No! Xiao-Meng, tell these gongzis. You’ve gone to the library before, haven’t you?”

The client asked, “Is he still going?”

Anxin said, “Nah, he came back just a few days later. He refused to go back, no matter what. Xiao-Meng, did you not like studying, or did you not like the place?”

Meng Yao didn’t say anything. Anxin giggled, poking a red-painted finger at his forehead, “Little one, are you angry?”

She pressed quite hard. A light, red mark appeared in the center of Meng Yao’s forehead, almost like a shadow of a vermillion mark. He touched his forehead. “No…”

an adult woman makes a point of calling him over just so she and her clients can laugh at his expense. and then moments later

Suddenly, someone screamed. The sound of cups and saucers shattering came from the second floor as a guqin crashed down, smashing to pieces as it hit landed in the hall. It scared the wits out of the people enjoying themselves at the nearby tables. Anxin stood, almost tripping, yelling, “What happened?!”

Meng Yao cried, “A-Niang!”

Anxin looked up. A burly man dragged a woman out of a room by her hair. Anxin tugged the sleeve of the client next to her. It was unclear whether she was nervous or excited. “She’s at it again!”

Meng Yao rushed upstairs. The woman covered her head, trying her hardest to pull her clothes up her shoulders. As she saw Meng Yao run over, she hurriedly cried, “I told you not to come upstairs! Go down! Go down this instant!”

As Meng Yao tried to peel away the client’s hands from his mother, he was kicked in the stomach and rolled down the stairs, causing a wave of exclamations.

This was the third time Wei Wuxian had seen him kicked down a flight of stairs.

The woman screamed as the client grabbed her by the hair again, dragging her all the way downstairs, where he stripped her and threw her onto the street. He spat on her naked body, cursing, “Hags do nothing but haggle— This old whore thinks she’s fresh meat!”

he watches his mother get physically attacked and thrown naked into the streets, just because she tried to get decent payment for her work. and he’s kicked down the stairs for trying to help her

After the kick, Meng Yao hadn’t been able to get up, and was still lying on the ground. The lady grabbed one person with each hand and dragged away both the mother and son.

that’s so much unnecessary cruelty! in such a small time! and it’s not like everything is magically fixed once he enters the cultivation world, he still has to deal with all the pointing and laughing, getting kicked down the stairs of jinlintai when he just tried to present himself to his father, the gossip without regard for whether he can hear it, people wiping their hands after they accept a cup from him, madam jin beating him, hearing his father drunkenly talk about how his mother was such a huge pain in the ass, and he didn’t want to support her because it would have been annoying. there was so much suffering that he never ““asked”” for in any sense.

and given the ways that wei wuxian and jin guangyao are parallels for each other, especially in terms of the hardships they endure, i definitely think it’s both interesting and important that the story repeatedly emphasizes 1) wei wuxian’s terrible memory, and 2) jin guangyao’s perfect memory.

Wei Wuxian knew that ‘for once’ referred to how his memory had been good, for once. He couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t always be so angry about it. It was my fault before, alright? Besides, my terrible memory is thanks to my mother.”

Wei Wuxian propped his arm on Lil’ Apple’s head, spinning Chenqing in his hand. “She said you have to remember the things others do for you, not the things you do for others. Only when people don’t hold so much in their hearts will they finally feel free.”

This was one of the only things he remembered about his parents.

vs

Jin Guangyao could remember the name, title, age, and appearance of any person after just one encounter. Even years later, he’d be able to greet them without any fault, and carry out a solicitous conversations as well. If he’d seen someone more than twice, he would remember all of their likes and dislikes, and would therefore be able to cater to their needs.

there’s a lot at play in the different ways that the two of them react to the suffering they lived through, but that line about ‘someone always moves to strike that first blow’ really stuck with me. preemptive hostility doesn’t feel like wei wuxian’s style in general (post-burial-mounds ptsd excluded), but the difference in how they react to being singled out and mistreated is really striking. madam yu hits wei wuxian for being shirtless in the summer heat, even though everyone else was too, and when there’s a quiet moment he’s kind of :(( over ‘why is it always ME’, but he gets distracted in like two seconds, and pushes it all away. jin guangyao can compartmentalize like a motherfucker, and even as a child, he’s good at keeping a smile on his face no matter what, but he isn’t able to forget. 

i don’t have a clean-cut conclusion to come to, only that i’m a picky binch when it comes to how people characterize jin guangyao’s actions. this is a story where i personally struggle a lot with how badly these characters hurt each other, and how sympathetic i am to all of their motivations. i find the story agonizing, in a lot of very good ways, and i’m constantly overflowing with thoughts about how jin guangyao specifically parallels the people around him, and how his actions compare and contrast to the decisions those other people make. rereading the flashback sequences was one of the most painful parts of this whole reread process, and then the guanyin temple scene in general hurt way much more than i was expecting. for the most part, i have too many feelings screaming for attention right now to do justice to any of them, but this particular character note jumped out at me, and i felt compelled to share.

[harryspet]

please don’t bite | p.parker, s.rogers, b.barnes

[Warnings] peter parker x reader, dark!steve x reader, hints of dark!natasha/dark!bucky x reader, vampire!steve/bucky/natasha, vampire au, vampire blood addiction, withdrawals, kidnapping, dubcon, intoxicated sex, oral sex (female recieveing)

A/N: hello, it’s been forever! I was in the middle of writing this when @cherienymphe announced her  “Cherienymphe’s 5K Twilight Renaissance Writing Challenge” so I decided to join in! She’s one of my favorite dark writers so please check her out if you haven’t. 

In which addiction leads you into a den of vampires. 

taglist: @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes  @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan

main masterlist

word count: 3.7k

You piled all the dollar bills you had in your pocket on the table, “There. We can just use this.” You plopped down beside your boyfriend on the couch, fully feeling the headache you’ve had for the past two weeks. It was like your brain was pounding against your skull and sending painful waves through your body. 

“This is twenty bucks and a … grocery store coupon for … shampoo,” After counting it, Peter flicked the money back onto the coffee table, leaning back with you. You tossed your legs over his lap and he wrapped his arm behind you, “So we have fifty bucks between us … great.”

“That’s enough, right?” You asked, barely able to hear yourself think through your headache. 

“It’s like two-hundred just for a small vial,” A shiver ran through your body and Peter pulled you closer. Not only did the heat not work in the shoebox you two called an apartment, you were starting to get random chills and it was another rough winter in New York. 

“Fuck,” You cursed, “Fuck, fuck-”

Peter shushed you, “We’ll be okay,” Peter said, trying to be strong for the both of you though his body was punishing him even more than yours was, “I got a gig by the pier, and by the end of the week, we should have enough.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you clutched his chest, “That’s too long. We’ll die before then.”

“We’ll be okay,” Peter insisted though he didn’t quite believe himself. 

Vampire blood was one cruel mistress. It was hard to remember your lives before you took your first sips of the addictive potion. You both had everything going for you, highschool sweethearts that became successful college students but that was all gone now. You can’t hold a job or go to school when you’re on vampire blood. The highs last hours and, when you have enough of it, weeks can go by without you noticing. 

“What was it like? Drinking from the vein?” You asked him, the taste of the blood was faint on your lips as you tried to remember the exact taste. 

Peter’s head tilted back as he stared up at the cracks in the ceiling, “Like Heaven on earth. Like eternal life …. like nothing any normal human would ever feel. So good … jesus.”

Sometimes Peter wished he never introduced you to the taste but he’d forget all about it when you were high together. The sex was unbelievable, vampire blood being a strong aphrodisiac, and your love felt even stronger, “I want to try it,” You thought out loud, “If I’m gonna die soon, I-I wanna try it.”

“You’re not gonna die. Our brains are just totally miswired right now,” Peter groaned, turning his face towards yours. He kissed your forehead and, for a moment, it eased the pain. You tilted your head up to kiss the sides of his mouth. He tilted his head to the side and you kissed deeply. He pulled away suddenly and his eyes gazed into yours, “What would you do?”

“W-What?”

“What would you do to taste it from the vein?” You swallowed and your throat ached. 

You nodded your head, “Anything. Oh god, anything, Peter.”

You’d sensed he’d had an idea and a weak grin began to pull at your lips. That quickly fell as Peter pulled away from you. You expected him to be excited but he was completely solemn, “I have an idea,” He said, “You can say no … but if you don’t say no, you have to promise that things will be how they used to be afterwards.”

“How they used to be,” You couldn’t even think that far back. You couldn’t imagine a single date, single birthday card or New Year’s Eve kiss while you were in so much pain, “Sure, Pete. We just need a taste a-and that’ll clear our minds and things we’ll go back to how they used to be.”

+

As if things couldn’t get any worse, your stomach growled. You’d gotten dressed up, put on light makeup, and styled your hair for whoever Peter had taken you to meet. You didn’t quite care anymore because your headache continued to cripple you over the past few days. 

You pulled your jacket tighter as you waited on the steps of the gentrified brownstone. Peter pressed the doorbell nervously, watching as you shiver in your small, black dress. Peter dressed in his finest slacks and button down but was very aware that he probably wouldn’t be the center of attention tonight. He reached out to grab your hand which you happily took. 

“Why is he making us meet him so late?” You whispered, shivering. 

“He’s a vampire,” Peter shrugged, “They’re like nocturnal, I guess.”

Peter had reached out to ring the doorbell again when the door suddenly opened. A red headed woman opened the door, her hair cut short and a sultry smile on her face. You could tell instantly by the shine in her skin and darkness in her eyes that she was not like you. 

“Peter,” She greeted, smirking, “You look … hungry.”

“And cold,” He added, sensing your uncomfortableness as she took him in like he was her prey. 

“Right, come on in,” Peter led you inside the expensive home and out of the cold winter. You pressed yourself closer to him, not only because you were still shivering but because you’d never been alone with a vampire, “Steve will be here any moment.”

The woman led you down a corridor and you passed modern art sculptures and other expensive decorations you didn’t quite understand, “Steve?” You perked up at the mention of someone else. 

“That’s, uh, who we’re meeting,” Peter said quickly.

“Unfortunately, I’m booked tonight. A sweet young thing I met a few weeks ago. British accent, total dreamboat, but Steve will take great care of you two,” She led the two of you into a dining room where wine and horderves were laid out, gesturing for the two of you to take a seat, “Let me take your jackets.”

You looked at Peter and he nodded, “It’s okay,” Hesitantly, you slid off one of your sleeves and you felt her eyes begin to burn into the skin of your neck. Your arms weak, you lifted it out to her and she graciously accepted it. Peter did the same, taking a seat and waiting for you to do the same. Your eyes were still on the mysterious woman until Peter grabbed your hand. 

“I hope to see you both soon,” She smiled again, leaving the room, “Keep your eyes on this one, Pete.” 

You turned to him, your eyebrows raised, “How do you know her?”

“That’s her,” Peter said, grabbing the bottle of wine, “I told you about the first time I tried it from the vein. I think she has a thing for young guys. Or young anything.”

As he poured himself a glass, you reached out for a cracker and tried not to eat too fast as you pushed them into your mouth, “Why’d she look at me like that?” You asked, covering your mouth. 

“You’re a virgin,” You almost snorted, “I mean, your veins are. You’ve never been fed off of.”

“Oh,” You swallowed, taking his glass from him as you washed down your food, “I don’t wanna be. That’ll hurt, right?”

“Don’t worry, that’s not what we’re here for.”

Feeling some of your energy return, you stood up from the dining table, deciding to look closer at all the artifacts, “Y/N, what are you doing?” Peter asked, his fingers rubbing his temples, “Sit down, please.”

“Why do they have food if vampires don’t eat?” You asked out loud, annoying him further. There seemed to be a million framed pictures on the wall and you studied them as you passed along. They seemed to transform from black and white to fully in color, polaroid to digital. 

“For their human prey, probably.”

“Prey?” A deep voice spoke up, surrounding the room, bringing Peter out of his chair and your head turning quickly, “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Mr. Rogers,” Peter rushed out, and you wondered how he could muster up so much energy to be nice, “I didn’t mean …”

“No worries, I try to be polite but I am a blood sucking demon after all,” The blonde-bearded man smiled. He was so muscular, you’d pictured someone skinny and frail. “Won’t you introduce me to your …”

“Girlfriend,” Peter said a bit sadly. He wasn’t sad that you were his but that this was the saddest excuse for a date night, “This is Y/N.”

You raised a hand to wave but he crossed the room to take your hand. He kissed your knuckles, smiling charmingly as he looked into your eyes. Blue eyes, you weren’t expecting those either. Despite the porcelain skin he looked quite human. His suit was black, and his white shirt was pressed nicely beneath it, like he’d just returned from an important event. You smiled back weakly, “Pleasure to meet you, doll.”

“It’s … nice to meet you too.”

You felt Peter’s eyes on you as your hand fell back down to your side, “You two look like you’ve seen better days,” You moved closer to Peter because, despite his kind smile, you didn’t fully trust him. 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Is it that obvious?” The nice clothes couldn’t hide the fact that they hadn’t had any vampire blood in almost three weeks. It was amazing that they were still standing. 

“I think I can help you both out,” Steve assured you two, “If you had enough of the horderves, you can follow me upstairs.” He turned and Peter grabbed your hand as you all left the room. 

“What exactly do we have to do … you know, for the blood?” Looking up at Peter, you worried that he was nervous for reasons that he was not telling you. Steve led you to the stairs and, as you climbed, you couldn’t help but look at all the photos that lined each wall. The upstairs wasn’t lit, making it feel like you were stepping into a story with a not-so-happy ending. 

“Peter didn’t tell you?” Steve asked, not bothering to turn around. He led you down the hall to what you assumed was the master bedroom. 

“Not everything,” Peter said quickly. 

You expected some kind of evil den but the room was quite normal. High ceilings, brown upholstered bed, a view of the neighborhood, and a fireplace. You and Peter stood awkwardly, looking around, as Steve made his way over to the fireplace. He leaned down to turn a dial and moments later, it sprouted with fire. 

“Peter,” You nudged him, your brows furrowed. He didn’t say anything which worried you more. Steve stood up, taking off his jacket which made your heart begin to race. Some of the fear disappeared quickly as he rolled up his white sleeves … exposing lower arms. 

Now, your mouth was watering, “There’s no need to worry, doll. I already promised Peter that no harm will come to the two of you. But you do understand that this is a trade? I give you my blood and you give me what I want.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted, “And what do you want?”

“I want to watch,” He stated, looking the two of you over, “I consider myself somewhat of a voyeur, I like to watch when people are intimate.” You looked back and forth from him to Peter. 

“Y/N, we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Peter spoke quietly, worry in his eyes. 

“Of course not,” Steve smiled, already a bit aroused by your shocked expression. He reached into his pocket to pull out a pocket knife, its handle having an old and intricate design, “But I think it’ll be very enjoyable on your side of things. The blood will certainly take the edge off and I won’t overstep my boundaries, I promise.”

“And we’re supposed to trust a vampire … ,” Steve stepped closer, pressing the knife to his skin. 

“We don’t have another option,” Peter said, his eyes focused on Steve’s vein. Peter let go of your hand, the addiction taking over as he moved closer to Steve. Steve cut into his arm, the crimson running down it but not a drop touched the floor before Peter pressed his lips to the wound. 

When Peter pulled away, his head tilted all the way back, as the sweet serum traveled down his throat. You were still staring in shock, the scent reaching your nose, and drawing you further in. It took everything in you to keep your feet planted and your fingernails dug into your palm as you watched. 

Peter smiled, blood on his lips and mouth, “Y/N,” He drawled, “Please, taste it …” He walked towards you, his hands outstretched. The blood on his lips, you could smell it, and you wanted to taste it so bad that it was hurting you. When he leaned into your lips, you didn’t stop him. His tongue entered your mouth and you felt the high he was feeling. 

Your vision began to blur a little as your head tilted back. Peter’s hands were holding you steady as the biggest smile spread across your lips. It was like tasting heaven, something beyond reality and you wanted to never let that supernatural feeling go. 

You felt a foreign hand against your back but you felt like welcoming any touch under the influence of the drug. As Peter pulled his lips away from you, your eyes opened to Steve’s as he was offering you his wrist. With the taste already on the tongue, you gladly accepted more, Peter’s hands roaming over your body as you drank. 

You weren’t sure how you made it to the bed, it felt like you had floated. Peter was right, he was so right, were all the words you could think. You heard those words, felt Peter’s hands, and watched as Steve’s lips turned into a mischievous smile. 

Steve stepped away, the cut on his arm already healing, as he made himself comfortable in a lounging chair by the fireplace. He had to give it to the kid, he seemed to know your body much better than he expected for a guy his age. Either that, or you couldn’t tell what was what at the moment and it was all just pleasure in your glazed over eyes. 

Your head tilted to the side so Steve could analyze every detail of your face. Your dress was pulled down at the top and the bottom rolled up past your stomach. Peter held your legs firmly, biting and kissing your thighs as he made himself comfortable between your legs. 

“God, I fucking love you,” Steve smiled at Peter’s words. Your back arched up as he finally pushed your panties aside, tasting your warm center, “You smell so good. You taste so good.”

You cried out his name, biting down on your bottom lip, and Steve imagined you accidentally drawing blood.  You wouldn't have noticed, there was already blood dripping down your chin. Steve liked how loud you were, he didn’t like the girls that held everything in, and he liked even more how Peter took your mewlings as encouragement to lap at you faster. 

“Fuck,” You cursed, gripping the sheets tightly. Steve felt his pants begin to tighten though he promised himself he would wait, “Fuck, fuck!” You finally came and Peter crawled up your body in order to kiss you on your lips. 

He fumbled with his belt and Steve felt his desperation to be inside you. He was still slow with you when he finally entered you, much more patient than Steve imagined he would be. He kept things slow so you could adjust. He made love to you, kissing your neck, “Is that good?”

You nodded eagerly, “Y-Yeah! Like that …. I love that, Petey. Feels so good … feels so good.”

It was more than ecstasy. The blood mixed with the love of your life, you thought you might cry knowing that no other feeling could compare. 

+

Steve watched the young lovebirds through several rounds and several different positions, your stamina never seeming to run out. Like any other drug, the high relieved the side effects but it didn’t last forever. Eventually, you and Peter floated to sleep. 

You slept through the entire morning and you thought you’d wake in Peter’s arms. You could face any shame and guilt if you were with him but, when your heavy eyes finally opened, you were alone. Your palm against your head, you sat up in the bed, a little bit of sun creeping through the curtains. Looking down, you were completely naked most likely from last night's escapades. 

You felt dirty, for more than one reason. “Peter,” You whispered, stepping out of the bed to look for your dress. Covering your chest, you kneeled down to check beneath the bed, “Peter.”

You breathed heavily, trying to push down your anxiousness as you struggled to find your clothes. When the door of the room opened, you panicked, grabbing ahold of the comforter and pulling it against your body. 

It wasn’t Peter or Steve but a dark haired man, abnormally muscular for a vampire just like Steve. He tilted his head as he looked at you, “Where’s Peter?” You asked immediately. 

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow, shutting the door, “Ohhh, Peter. Right. The boyfriend.”

“Where’s Peter and who are you?” You continued, your eyes wide with fear. Bucky ran his hand over his beard before folding his arms over each other. 

“I’m Steve’s … friend,” You began to recognize him from all the photos, “There’s a few of us who share this house, you know. And I heard you all last night, I asked Steve if I could join the fun but sitting on the sidelines is a bit boring to me.” 

You didn’t care, “If you’re not gonna tell me where Peter is-”

He rolled his eyes, “He’s with Natasha I think. He woke up still craving. Are you craving something too, dollface?”

“Nothing from you,” You shook your head though the idea of his bleeding wrist did pop into your brain, “I-I need to see him.”

“Be my guest. Are you going naked?” You scowled at him, “Go clean up first, please. There should be something for you to wear in the bathroom.”

The two of you stared awkwardly until Bucky realized you weren’t going to move until he left the room, “Fine,” He raised his hands in defeat, “They always get shy in the morning.” He mumbled to himself as the door shut. You quickly hurried to the bathroom, shutting and locking it. 

Why the hell was Peter with Natasha? She’d look at him like she wanted to devour him, in a completely non-vampire kind of way. And he’d left you all alone for that man to find you. Sure, you’d done things last night you weren’t proud of but he’d promised that things would go back to normal after. 

You freshened up in the sink, throwing on a night blue, silk nightgown. You had to scrub the dry blood off of your lips and your inner thighs and you were forced to relive the night. Everything was perfect but as soon as you thought about who watched and probably got off to it, you only felt guilty. You felt even more guilty that you were craving more blood. 

The room was empty when you stepped back into it. Tip toeing over to the bedroom door, you made sure to check to see if the coast was clear before stepping out into the hallway. You thought you could find Peter, snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and take the two of you home even if you had to carry him out on your back. 

“Natasha warned me to keep an eye on you,” He appeared in front of you so suddenly that a small shriek left your lips. You backed up quickly only to run into another tall figure. 

“Bucky, you’re going to hurt her,” Steve warned, his deep voice sending chills down your spine. 

Bucky smirked, “No blood, no foul.”

“You say that now.”

You stepped away from both of them, your back pressing against the nearest wall, “Would you like breakfast, doll?” Steve asked, catching you off guard. 

“You should get something on your stomach, doll,” Bucky seemed to mimic Steve’s concerned nature which caused Steve to press his lips into a frustrated, thin line. 

“Where. Is. Peter? I want to go home.”

“He’s-”

Bucky interrupted him, “You can’t go home.”

“Buck-”

“There’s no use in sugarcoating it,” Bucky stepped closer, resting his arm above you, “We need new blood bags and it’s not like you guys have much to go back to.” 

“We’re not blood bags-”

“We’re all blood bags,” Bucky chuckled, “You guys need us too. Anyways, it’s not a request. Steve is just nicer than me but we’re all going to take what we want.”

You slipped away from him, your feet pushing you even though you knew you were faster. The only reason Bucky didn’t chase after you was because of Steve, “Peter!” You called out, running down the hall, “Peter!” You frantically opened each door you walked past until you got to the end of the hallway. 

When you stormed in, you found him shirtless, sprawled on a bed. Natasha, in a robe, was in front of a vanity, brushing through her red hair. You hurried over to the bed, grabbing a hold of his shoulders, “Peter, we have to get out of here.”

He smiled, softly grabbing ahold of your arm, “My love, you’re so beautiful, you know that?” He was so high that you weren’t even sure if he was really seeing you. 

Tears pricked your eyes, “You promised, Peter. You promised.”

He shushed you, “It’s okay, just give me a few … hours. We’ll be … okay.”

You felt hands on your waist that you didn’t fight. She brushed a piece of hair from your face, touching your cheek with her freezing hand, “I knew you’d like her, Buck. They're both so perfect,” Natasha guided you away from the bed and towards the door where the other two vampires were standing, “So who gets the first bite?”

“Steve’s had his fun. She’s mine tonight.” 

+

hope you enjoyed that fun little one-shot!

[retrievablememories]

love thy neighbor | kun (m)

title: love thy neighbor pairing: kun x black reader genre: fluff, smut, neighbors to lovers request: “Hello again Rain! I hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see you're open for requests again. Your writing in general is a treat to look forward to. An idea for a fic I'd like to suggest is wayv kun/black oc where they're neighbors that secretly pine for another and do feel free get very nsfw lmao. TY!” word count: 5.7k warnings: alcohol use, protected sex, dirty talk, dry humping, riding a/n: i used a prompt from this list of ideas to help me create this fic.

i’m sorry, this fic could’ve theoretically been finished long ago but took me 3893 years because kun intimidates me (and i don’t know why) and that makes it hard to write for him l m f a o chile anyway...

--

Your neighbor might actually kill you one day—but only in the figurative sense.

Kun is too beautiful and kind for your sanity; he’s like one of those men out of a romantic novel who simply should not exist. In other words, the ideal guy. One who helps all the little old ladies in the building take their groceries up to their apartments, one who feeds all the stray cats that hang around the complex, one who helps new tenants move their things in without even being asked.

Your roommate Charlotte would probably be totally smitten over him just like you if she did not already have her own happy relationship with her girlfriend. But since she does, she has decided to spend her time instead teasing you about your crush on him and trying to persuade you into getting tangled up in a matchmaking mess.

“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend, I don’t know, trying to shoot my shot seems ridiculous,” you say to her, worrying the edge of your blanket in your hands. You toss and turn on the couch, flipping onto your stomach and sighing before shuffling onto your back again. “People like that can never stay single for long. Right? They get snapped up quick.”

“You’d know if you simply asked,” Charlotte points out. “Staring holes into his head won’t help you find out more about him.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, your fingers stumbling over the blanket as it momentarily slips from your hands. Still, the idea of asking him if he’s dating anyone, whether discreetly or more openly, makes you nervous. You’ve talked to Kun several times before, even hung out with him at those friendly get-togethers your apartment building always holds to get the residents mingling, but you’re still anxious around him. It makes you feel silly, like you’re back in high school; but you aren’t quite sure what to do with those emotions or how to form them into something coherent. “Easy to say all that when you already have the person you want, though.”

“Oh, girl. Love is not easy, but that’s why you have to fucking work for it. AKA, go for what—or who—the hell you want and stop pining over him like some lost Juliet on our couch. It’s better than watching you flop around like a dying fish.”

You stand up from the couch abruptly, leaving your blanket to the side and glaring at her. “You don’t get it, ugh.”

“I get it! But you refuse to let me help—”

“Yes, because if I did, you’d say something completely ridiculous and tell him I’m madly in love with him or something.” You head to the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror.

Charlotte throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, maybe. But that wouldn’t be a lie.”

“Really? I don’t think—”

“I think so. The way you talk about this guy, it’s definitely sounding a little like love to me.”

Once you’re satisfied, you come back in the main room and grab your keys, wanting to end this conversation before Charlotte sets a world record for how many times she can make you feel embarrassed. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go to the corner store, so...speak now if you need something or forever hold your peace.”

“You can’t run from it,” Charlotte sing-songs, going back to reading her magazine. “And no, I don’t need anything.”

Once you get out your front door, it’s just your luck when you see Kun’s door is also open. You are not dressed for running into him, of all people; your “corner store” clothes being just a T-shirt, leggings, and slides. You freeze in place and momentarily think about unlocking your door and bolting back inside, which you realize is utterly ridiculous. By then, it’s too late; he’s already coming out his door and closing it behind him. 

He perks up when he sees you outside, smiling at you with those deep dimples that make your insides melt. “Hey Y/N, good to see you.”

“Kun! Uh—great to see you too.”

“Are you going out somewhere?” he asks. Inwardly, he feels a bit silly for asking because you clearly are, keys in hand and everything.

“Yeah, just to the store to get a few things.” You wave your hand, and you almost have the urge to lean on your doorframe to appear more calm and collected than you are. Which could potentially end up looking sillier than you intended. “How about you?”

“Going to see a friend,” he answers, and he brushes his hand through his hair in a way that’s completely casual but somehow modelesque at the same time. This is unbelievable, you think to yourself. “We haven’t met up in a while, so…”

“Oh yeah, it’s always nice to go out with old friends,” you say, smiling at the thought of it. Kun nods his agreement, and then has an abrupt, wild idea to ask if you’d like to go out somewhere sometime. Too busy warring with himself over whether he should take the dive, he doesn’t notice you heading towards the stairs already. “I hope you two have a good time!”

“Oh—thanks. Hope you enjoy your trip.” He chuckles, following you down the steps to get to his car. Well, that moment has passed. Sure, he could probably still ask you now if he was bold enough about it, but it feels too awkward to randomly ask someone out in the middle of a stairwell.

You wave bye to him once you both get in the parking lot. He watches you walk to your car with a wistful smile on his face. He wants to say more to you, but the timing isn’t right and it’s best not to hold you up right now. Plus, Hendery’s probably already waiting for him.

It would’ve provided you with a lot of relief if you knew Kun was facing a similar dilemma to you. He’d never had much problem talking to women he liked in the past, but something about you made him feel clumsy and hesitant. But just like with your inability to move forward, there’s no way for you to know his feelings without him saying anything about it—which he has been hesitating over for the longest. 

Maybe he was also still cowering from the embarrassment of the time he’d tried to show you a magic trick that didn’t quite work out, but it was a convenient excuse. At least for him, anyway.

One day he’d get the courage to tell you how he felt, but he didn’t think today was that day.

–

Some strong shots and a few hours at the club was exactly what you needed to unravel your nerves after a long week. You and a few others from your work had decided to go out that Saturday night as a group effort to unwind from dealing with your overbearing boss. “Just a couple shots” eventually turned into more than that, though, but you weren’t complaining. As long as it gave you the opportunity to discard all your issues for a while, you didn’t mind losing yourself a little.

However, your night of fun quickly dissolves into frustration when you realize you’ve lost your keys and have no way to get back into your apartment. You’re not even sure where they might’ve disappeared—in the club, or in the rideshare back to your apartment?

Charlotte is out of the city for the week visiting her long-distance girlfriend, so there’s no way you’re getting back in your apartment tonight. The main office won’t be open at this hour, either; it’s the weekend, and nobody will be there regardless until Monday. And you’re definitely not drunk enough or desperate enough to try to bust the door down.

Though it pains you to do so, you knock on Kun’s door, your head throbbing and dizzy. You feel bad about this. He won’t even be awake at this hour and might not answer, but you don’t know what other options you have. You aren’t familiar enough with your other neighbors to ask this of them. Especially not the old lady living on the other side of you who has a perpetually judgmental aura towards everyone in the apartment building. The only person she seems marginally approving of is none other than the man himself—Qian Kun.

It takes a good minute or two, but you hear the latch unlock, and Kun is suddenly standing in front of you, a look of concern on his sleepy face. He is adorable like this, in his pajamas and his hair mussed and his eyes foggy with sleep. He’s so cute it makes you want to cry—and so you do. 

But your tears are mostly because you’re very tipsy and tired and currently locked out of your very comfortable apartment.

This awakens Kun immediately. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” He gently pulls you into his apartment, his tone quiet but panicked as you put your face in your hands and cry. You just shake your head for a few moments, crying too much to say anything to him. When you don’t reply, he doesn't try to press you for answers; he just puts his arms around you, a bit carefully as if you’re made of some easily breakable material, and lets you wet his T-shirt with your tears.

Finally, when you’ve collected yourself some, you abruptly feel foolish for crying over something like this. He probably thinks someone’s died, and you’ve gotten him all worked up for practically nothing. “I-I’m locked out,” you sigh heavily, and he has enough politeness not to outwardly react to your alcohol breath with your close proximity. “And my roommate is gone…forever.”

His eyebrows lift. “Forever?”

“The whole week, Kun...but it feels like...f-forever.”

“Ah...I see. Is that why you were crying?”

You put your head back in your hands. “Just kill me.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Kun says, and there is a tiny lift to his mouth like he wants to smile at your dramatics. “It’s fine. You can stay here tonight.”

“Kun, thank you.” You’re still loosely embracing each other, and you squeeze your arms more tightly around him. Maybe it’s just a reason to rest your head on his chest again and hear his heart beating strong against your cheek, but you wouldn’t admit that. Wait, why is his heart beating so fast? “Thank youuu, I love you so much, this means the world to me.”

Kun’s mind catches on the words I love you so much, and he knows you’re just drunk and need to sleep it off and aren’t really thinking about what you’re saying, but he cannot help lingering there for a moment. He’s glad the front room is still dim from the single lamp he turned on, otherwise you might notice the flush growing on his cheeks. “I...it’s no problem. We should get you comfortable, then.”

As it turns out, get you comfortable means he lets you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch. In another context you’d protest, not wanting to kick him out of his own space, but you are simply too smashed to think about it. You’re seconds away from falling asleep where you stand now that the adrenaline of discovering you’re locked out has worn off. Kun has the idea to make you drink some ice cold water, though, which wakes you up enough to take a proper shower.

By the time you get out of the shower and are wearing his clothes—his clothes—you are feeling a little more sober. You also feel like you’re going to have another small meltdown over all this. “This” being: wearing Kun’s clothes and standing in his bedroom, which is decorated with all his interests and treasured belongings. There’s a small studio setup in one corner, which interests you, but you don’t investigate it any further.

Now you have another little problem, though; what are you gonna do about the pillows? You don’t have anything to cover your hair with, with all your scarves and bonnets in your own apartment. One night of sleeping on a cotton pillow wouldn’t kill you, but that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to think about.

Kun comes into the bedroom to check on you and sees you puzzling around, sitting on the bed and looking awkward. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh. It’s nothing really,” you rush out, unsure if you should tell him about a problem he likely won’t even understand. It must be at least 4:00 a.m. by now, meaning you both desperately need to get some sleep.

“You can tell me, I won’t bite.”

I wouldn’t mind if you did pops into your head, but you immediately try to ignore that thought and are silently grateful that you do not blush visibly.

“Uh, my hair.”

“Your hair?”

“Okay, I need to cover it at night so it won’t get all broken off or anything—sleeping on cotton does wonders for destroying moisture—but I don’t have anything here to use. I mean—it’s...not a huge deal though, I can deal with it for a night?” You’re rambling now. Kun just nods, taking in all this information like he’s listening to something very important and very interesting.

“So then, what would you do to stop that?”

“Wear a scarf, or a bonnet, or using a silk pillowcase works, too. But you probably don’t have any of that stuff, you don’t have to bother with it—”

“Well, let me see.” Kun disappears into his closet and you pause, wondering for a moment if he actually does have a bonnet or something in there. Which would probably be a little hilarious to you.

He comes back out with not a bonnet of a scarf or even a pillowcase, but one of his own shirts. It’s just the right material though, being a pretty purple silk.

“Oh—Kun.” At this point, there are several emotions all trying to come to the forefront, though you have no clue which one to settle on. “Your shirt? You really don’t have to. I could…”

“It’s just a shirt, Y/N. There are a lot more where that comes from...I don’t mind.” He chuckles.

You sigh bashfully but take the shirt from him. “Thank you, it’s really thoughtful of you.” You cover the pillow with his shirt, and it works perfectly.

“Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell me,” he says, lingering by the door.

“I will...thank you,” you say, your voice quiet as you give him a nervous smile. Only when he shuts the door and his footsteps fade away do you allow yourself to bunch the comforter in your fists and scream into it. Everything in here smells just like him, which is probably more than enough to fuel all of your Qian Kun-related daydreams for the next 8 months.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off when you finally do lie down, and your mind is blissfully empty of anything throughout the night.

--

The next day takes a bit of settling into. You’re momentarily alarmed when you wake up faced with a strange room until you remember last night’s events and recall where you are. There is also the smell of food, good food, which is also sadly unfamiliar to you. Charlotte can’t cook to save either of your lives, so you know you’d never be waking up to the smell of a professional chef-approved breakfast if you were still in your apartment with her.

Walking out of Kun’s room, you see that he’s in the kitchen, halfway finished with cooking breakfast for the both of you. It’s more like brunch at this hour, but what does that matter.

You linger at the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to imagine that this is what things would be like if you were dating. Getting this view everyday? Life cannot be this unfair.

Maybe not too much, though, since you are standing in his kitchen.

“Oh, good morning,” he greets you, breaking your reverie. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning. I slept great. Thanks again for, you know, the shirt, haha…”

He grins, and his dimples come out. “Sure thing. Go ahead and sit! Breakfast will be ready soon.”

It’s the best breakfast you’ve eaten since living with Charlotte; maybe some of the best food you’ve ever had. “I had no idea you could cook this well,” you say. “I mean. I guess I wouldn’t since I haven’t—you know, uh—eaten here before, but—it’s great.” It’s just your luck that your thoughts come out in this fumbling mini-rant, but Kun only laughs good-naturedly.

“Thank you, I’m truly glad you like it.”

You both continue eating breakfast while making light conversation. This just might be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other, and that knowledge seems surreal. You’re almost a little glad you lost your key. Almost.

“So...today is Sunday. And the leasing office still won’t be open until Monday.” Kun says this over the remnants of breakfast. He speaks in a measured tone, like he’s trying to ensure he says the right thing. Whatever that could possibly be. “And you told me your roommate won’t be back until Monday.”

To your credit, you hadn’t exactly accounted for this when you first came over to his place in your distressed state. That means another night spent in his apartment though, which becomes very obvious to you now. “Ah. Sorry, am I imposing?”

“What—no, I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you can stay here tonight, or—however long you need.”

Relief floods through you, and you briefly wonder why you even worried about it; as far as you know, he’s not the kind of person to just kick someone out. “Ohh, of course—that’s good to know. Thank you for all this!”

“You’re welcome.” You miss the smile he gives to your response as you’re busy drinking your juice, but it’s one filled with a certain affection.

--

It feels a bit awkward to just sit around in his apartment all day, with nothing to do and all your belongings still locked out of your reach in your own place, so Kun shows you the studio in the corner of his room. He’d talked about being into music before, but you’d never heard anything of his until now.

When he plays the keyboard for you, it’s to the tune of a beautiful self-composed song. You almost pinch yourself to remind yourself this isn’t a hallucination or a fever dream. A man this appealing really exists, and you’ve stayed the night in his apartment and eaten his breakfast. You give a small round of applause when he finishes.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you became a famous singer or something? I’d come to all your concerts,” you say lightly, kicking your legs on the edge of his bed.

“All? Really, all?” He laughs.

“Yes, all. A voice and talent like that deserves all the attention.” You lean back on his bed, stretching your legs out. “But all your venues would probably be sold out. Hopefully you’d remember me from your lil’ ole apartment building. I’m sure you’d be living in a penthouse by then.”

Kun smiles bashfully at your compliments, waving his hands as if it’s too much. “Thank you. But I don’t think I could ever forget you.” His voice grows a bit softer. His expression is more genuine than you expect for a conversation that was so playful only seconds ago, and you find it hard to hold eye contact all of a sudden.

It is your turn to be bashful, and you shrug in an effort to seem natural. “Well, I’m flattered.” Despite your unaffected demeanor, you don’t think those words will leave your mind for a good while, even if you wonder about the meaning of them. 

--

Later that evening, Kun makes dinner and you watch TV together, flipping to whatever channels have dramas or movies playing.

You two eventually fall into another conversation when you can’t find anything good to watch—one that does not make you overly nervous for once. During a lull in the talking, that big question pops up into your mind, and you wince internally at how Charlotte would’ve already told you to make a move. You aren't sure how to do that without making him uncomfortable or seeming too sudden, but you decide to make an attempt.

You edge into it with, “So, um, your place looks pretty nice for one guy. It’s just you here, right?”

“Ah yeah, just me. Thanks, I do try my best.”

“Haha, I’m used to my guy friends all having super messy apartments until they get a girlfriend and she teaches them how to clean a stove for the first time…”

“Oh really? That’s a bit sad for them, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “I’m not dating anyone right now, so it’s all me.”

Just the information you were looking for. You try not to show your elation. “Why not?” you blurt out. Then you cringe because this might sound too invasive or even judgmental, but Kun only grins. “It’s just, it’s a little surprising. You’re such a generous person. You seem to care about everyone, even those poor stray kitties that stay outside the apartments all the time.”

He smiles timidly in response to receiving more of your compliments. “I guess it seems curious when you put it like that.” Just like when you’d drunkenly said I love you so much, there’s suddenly heat on the back of his neck that he hopes won’t turn into another blush that’ll expose him. “I don’t really know, I haven’t thought much about it; life’s weird like that.” He isn’t really sure how to answer that question in a way that won’t be too big of a hint that he’s interested in you, though he’s also not entirely sure why he’s still trying to hide it. Wouldn’t now be the perfect opportunity? When will you two have this much time together again? Still, you staying in his apartment for two days doesn’t mean you like him, and maybe he’s jumping the gun.

“That’s true. Guess that’s the same reason why I’ve been alone for a while now.” You shake your head.

“You?” Kun is equally surprised to know this about you.

You laugh incredulously. “Does that shock you or something?”

“I...well.” He rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the words. “I just thought...you’re very pretty, and you’re always really kind when we speak, so...”

“Oh?” Your face heats up at that.

“Yeah, I…think anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“Oh.” Your body’s first instinct is to freeze with nervousness, but you know Charlotte would be kicking your ass in gear right now if she were somehow here. So, you decide to stop stressing about it and just do it. “Well...wouldn’t it be nice if we both had a way to fix our problems at the same time?”

Kun pauses for a moment before replying. “What do you suggest?” He knows what you are proposing—you can see in his eyes and his slight grin and his posture that he knows—but maybe he wants to hear you say it out loud.

“Hm, well…I don’t know, what do you think?” You lean a bit closer to him, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look innocent and unassuming. His smile turns into something different with your increased proximity. Something a little more sly.

Mirroring your actions, he inches nearer to you until there’s little space left between. “Well, I think…” Kun tentatively closes the remaining gap between the two of you, the rest of his sentence left to linger as his soft lips envelop yours.

Maybe it’s corny to say it, but it definitely feels like one of those fairytale kisses with the fireworks going off and streamers popping; even though you’re sitting on his couch wearing his pajamas, some movie in the background you’ve long forgotten the plot of, empty dinner plates sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You aren’t sure how you end up in his lap—who made the first move? Was it his hand on your back or your hands on his shoulders? You straddle him on the couch, your arms slipping around his shoulders and his hands on your back but assuredly traveling farther down your body.

Kun’s hands come to rest on your thighs, pulling the fabric of his shorts up a few inches higher. “I never thought I’d see you wearing my clothes,” he says lowly, grinning against your mouth.

“I also never thought I’d be sitting in your lap like this, but maybe sometimes dreams do come true,” you say jokingly, your lips rubbing against his skin as you slowly kiss his jaw.

You can’t see his expression, but his eyebrows shoot up at that. “Dreams, huh? You think about me often?” His voice pitches lower when he asks this, aroused by the thought of you imagining anything quite so lewd about him. You’ve definitely incriminated yourself now and won’t be able to wiggle out of it without an answer.

“...Maybe.”

“What do you think about me?” Kun grips your hips, which quickly turns into him grabbing your ass—tentatively at first to test the waters, and then firmly enough to grind you against his hardening cock. Sensing him solid and warm underneath you sends a shockwave down your spine, and the sensation heightens when his voice caresses your ear, all low and tense with arousal. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else has to know.”

“I think about your...lips. How you might kiss me. Or what you might say to me. And...your hands.” You pause there, a quiet breath whispering past your lips. “You have really big hands, you know.”

“My hands…” Kun places one on your chest, spreading his fingers across and touching your collarbone. The heel of his palm glides on the top of your breast, and just that touch is enough to get you more worked up. “Hmm. Actually, I’ll admit I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirks, and he’s possibly the finest thing you’ve ever seen. “What else, Y/N?”

“I thought about how you’d touch me.” His hand slides between your breasts now, down your sternum, and to your stomach. “Maybe I’d invite you into my apartment when Charlotte wasn’t there. We’d watch some stupid movie and pretend to be into it, but we’re really just thinking about each other. You’d eventually end up slipping your hand up my skirt...and making me cum all over your fingers.”

You aren’t sure how you’re saying all this to Kun right now, the dude you have a major crush on, without bursting into flames.

His shaft rubbing against your clit even through your layers of clothes makes you sigh dreamily, pressing your forehead to his and gripping at his shoulders and biceps. His bangs are soft against your forehead, and your breath stutters when he moves to kiss the side of your neck. He has to know how hard your heart is beating right now.

“And then what?” His voice is barely a whisper, then.

“And then you’d fuck me, of course.” There’s a slight laugh in your voice at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing your skin.

“And then I’d fuck you...hm,” he echoes. “Sure, I can do that.”

The promise of it entices you, and more heat pools between your legs, amplified by the fabric rubbing against your sensitive parts. His hand that’s still on your stomach travels under your shirt then, and your hips falter in your rhythm against him when his fingers brush across your nipple. He brings his lips to your other breast, lapping his tongue against your nipple over the fabric.

You soon come like this, his shaft grinding against your clit and his clothes rubbing against your skin, his hands on your ass and his lips traveling across your breasts. The orgasm is sudden and surprises you, but it’s good, and you convulse as the waves of pleasure course through you. You weaken and slump against him, with him still teasing your breasts with his mouth and hands. Pushing your face into his hair, you moan into the black strands until the quivering stops.

You’re breathless when you speak again. “You haven’t come yet.”

“I’d rather do that when I’m inside you,” he replies. You giggle quietly.

“...What are you waiting for, then?”

“Hold on.” Kun carefully maneuvers you off his lap, and you already want to complain at the lack of his touch. “I have to get a condom.”

“Hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun,” you say as you pull your shirt off with your back to him. You look back over your shoulder at him and grin mischievously.

“You’re such a tease…”

Kun goes into his room to fetch a condom, and when he returns he’s already pulling his shirt off, leaving it on the floor somewhere. You’re fully naked now, your legs pulled up to your chest and your chin resting on your knees as you sit on the couch. Kun’s eyes drop between your legs, your inner thighs still glistening from your previous orgasm, and he swipes his tongue across his lips at the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

Likewise, your eyes drop to the dark trail of hair leading into his pants and his bulge just below it, the way his sweatpants cling to his length, and your pussy throbs with the desire to be filled.

“Please, hurry.”

Kun doesn’t waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, shoving his pants and underwear done in one swift move and rolling the condom over his shaft. He climbs onto the couch, grabbing your legs and guiding them around his waist, and you giggle at his eager but gentle touch as you recline on the couch pillows behind you.

He grabs his dick and lines it up with you, then pushes it in slowly at first. The stretch makes your toes curl, but it is a good kind of stretch, the kind that fills you to the brim. Like the missing element you needed.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice husky from the pleasure.

“Fuck, please,” is your answer as you shift your hips and try to get him all the way inside quicker. Noticing your urgency, he slides the rest of the way in until your hips are flush against each other and starts thrusting into you. His length dragging across your walls feels much better than you could’ve imagined on any given night, and you clasp your legs tighter around him to get ever closer.

After a point, he pushes your legs up with his hands behind your knees so he can get a deeper angle, and you both moan at the difference in sensation and how much tighter you get around him.

There is no ignoring the messy wet noises of your bodies colliding due to the slickness of your previous orgasm and the new wetness he’s continually fucking out of you. Each thrust reaches deep inside you, deep enough to make you nearly sob, your hands fumbling over your breasts and your clit all the while.

“Kun, god yes please,” you whimper, rocking your hips into the rhythm of his own. You fucking him back makes him groan deeply, his bangs hanging off his forehead as he dips his head to watch himself slide in and out of you. You could not control the urge or the motion of your body even if you wanted to; you want all of him, as close as he can get.

“I don’t want this to end,” he moans, and he pulls out without a warning. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, and your discontent comes out in a full whine. You’d be more embarrassed about it if you weren’t currently consumed with desire, but you presently do not care.

Kun sits back on the couch and pulls you on top of him again. “Ride me,” he says. So you grasp the base of his cock, him grunting as you do, and you press the tip against your entrance before pushing it in. He watches himself slip inside of you while fully enraptured, one hand tight on your hip.

Once you are full with him again, you experimentally grind against him to see how it’ll feel in this new position, and your arms tremble as his pelvis stimulates your clit.

“Go ahead,” he whispers, grasping the nape of your neck and kissing you hard once more, “fuck yourself on me.”

So you keep grinding your clit on him like that, your limbs shaking from the stimulation and your walls fluttering around his cock. You can barely catch a complete breath from him kissing you hard enough to make your lips swell, and your head is so fogged with lust that all you can concentrate on is getting yourself off just like he told you to do.

“Kun…” You roll your head onto his shoulder, pressing your forehead into his skin, your body tiring as you get closer to reaching that high. You’re so close to coming, but you’re not sure if you have enough strength left to get there on your own. Kun notices the state you’re in and grasps your hips to pull them into his, effortlessly sliding himself into you while making sure your clit gets stimulated at the same time.

The new friction of his dick rubbing against your g-spot in this position is enough to have you finally coming and crying out against his neck.

You continue babbling nonsense against his neck as he keeps fucking you, searching for his own end. His hands are hot on your body as he moves you up and down his length.

His climax comes soon after yours, his dick pulsing and his pace slowing. Your back arches at the sensation of him throbbing inside you and releasing his cum into the condom. The way he groans in your ear has your stomach clenching.

For a few minutes after, you both sit quietly and do nothing but cling to one another as you come down from the pleasure.

“So, does this mean we’re together now…?” Kun asks hopefully, running his hands over your back as you lie against him.

You smile against his skin. “Obviously. But if you still want to convince me, we can go a couple more rounds…”

[mothandpidgeon]

REPUTATION - Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Words: 3615

Rating: T

Warnings: slowest of burns, gender swapped characters, TOUCHING HANDS, no us of y/n

Summary: After scandal damages your reputation, you are finished with society. But a mysterious bachelor by the name of Mr. Djarin has a reputation of his own. And you are determined to keep yourself from getting mixed up with him.

A/N: So after THAT LOOK I know we are all working on our Darcy fics. I feel very intimidated to give it a go when so many talented writers are going to be doing it better but I really haven’t been able to think about anything else.

Also please forgive any historical inaccuracies. I hate those even when they’re on purpose so let’s just agree to ignore them.

And thanks @pascalslittlebrat for taking a look at this and listening to all of my feelings.

MASTERLIST

You used to enjoy going to balls. You used to feel excitement when you got dressed in a fine white gown, your hair set elegantly with little silk flowers. Your heart would race when you would arrive and see all of the gentlemen in their finery. And dancing. There was a time when you could stay on your feet all night, drinking in the attention of all the eligible bachelors.

Those days were long gone. Now you felt a rock in the pit of your stomach the entire time. You counted the moments until you could leave. You couldn’t even bother to put on a pleasant expression, spending entire evenings sullen and taciturn. But at least this was the last ball you had to drag yourself to this season.

You had been forced to spend yet another season in town. This time you had the company of your younger cousin Julia, though her older sister Emma was a difficult chaperone. And tonight you were being hosted by Captain Charles Dune and his wife Lady Georgiana Karga. They threw wonderful parties– at least you had enjoyed them when you enjoyed those things. It was a masquerade ball which meant Julia had picked out a dainty little mask for you to wear. You couldn’t be bothered to choose one yourself but Julia had an eye for this sort of thing. And you liked the creamy white bow that she tied into your hair.

Julia was looking forward to tonight. She was very popular despite being related to you, containing all of the traits a man would want in a wife– good looks, excellent conversational skills, and a talent at the piano forte. She had a number of young men constantly calling on her and her dance card was practically full before she had even gotten into the carriage.

“You look so pretty!” she insisted, though she was probably admiring the work she had done to make you presentable.

Emma was looking forward to being finished with you. She had been married for three years and fancied herself an authority on the subject. She spent much of her time lecturing you on the proper way to comport yourself. Tonight she was just trying to get you to quit sulking.

“Would you at least try to be sociable?” Emma requested with a frown.

“I don’t much see the point,” you huffed. “Do you really believe I’ll get a proposal at the last ball of the season?”

“Lady Georgiana has invited an old friend of the captain’s,” Emma encouraged. “Mr. Djarin. She says he’s quite admirable.”

You rolled your eyes. You both knew you were headed for spinsterhood. Emma had lost her mind if she thought that she was going to pawn you off on some aged, paunchy bachelor.

The ball went exactly as you had expected. You watched Julia dance and laugh. You stood by as Emma talked animatedly when she wasn’t giving you sharp looks. Though there were gentlemen without partners, no one asked you to dance aside from Captain Dune and a few of the unlucky young men he could press into service.

Even now at the end of the season, where so many engagements had been made, you could still feel the eyes on you, the whispers behind hands. It was as if they thought the masks covered their looks of derision. You knew what they were saying, why they snickered and turned away.

It was all because of your broken engagement to Mr. Vanth. There was no returning from a situation like that. You had been cast aside and all of the ton could enjoy surmising the reasons. Your reputation was in shambles.

But it wasn’t the fact that he had gone and married some heiress not two months after he’d given you up that made it all so painful. What had really destroyed you was the fact that you’d let yourself love him. He wasn’t the best choice though he was handsome and had enough income to keep you comfortable. But you had given your heart to him and he had crushed it. And you looked like an utter fool for it.

For some reason, tonight it all stung. You’d learned to drown out the comments and ignore the sideways glances. But here you were, closing yet another season, as single as the day you’d come out. You’d begged your poor mother to let you stay at home in the country so that you wouldn’t have to suffer these indignities. It was pathetic that you had even shown up in London. But she had insisted, had assured you that you were still desirable, still attractive and spirited.

You certainly didn’t feel that way now. You snatched up a glass of wine from a nearby valet and drank it down in nearly a single gulp. It did little to soothe your nerves.

You needed air. You took another glass and sped towards the garden. The noise and music floated out here but the fresh air was cool and the garden looked quite empty, the vacant pathways lit by torches.

You’d once been so much fun. You’d laughed and smiled. You’d had no worries about your future. Now, not only were you a laughing stock but you would be lucky if you could rely on your cousin’s generosity for the rest of your days lest you end up in the poor house.

Tears were welling up in your eyes. You tore the mask off of your face to wipe them away. With your vision clouded and in the dim of the garden, you didn’t see the man that was standing in the shadows until you’d run right into his back.

You’d hit him with enough force to knock you back a few paces but he hardly flinched. He was tall and broad shouldered and he turned to look at you with curiosity. He was alone, thank heavens. He wore a black tailcoat and under that a waist coat that looked like silver and shined like silk. You didn’t recognize him but, of course, he was wearing a mask like all of the other guests. His was rendered in the same silver fabric with a slim slit for his eyes. A scalloped piece of fabric fell from the bottom of the mask down to his chin so you couldn’t see anything of his face other than his dark eyes.

Once you’d regained your balance you began to stutter an apology.

“Forgive me, sir,” you stammered. “I must mind my step.”

The stranger didn’t say anything, he just continued to look you up and down, the torch light reflected in his eyes. His hair was a mess of dark curls. His stature was imposing and incredibly still. You were so shaken that you suddenly realized how you looked, your face stained with tears and eyes glassy. You felt your cheeks burn with even more embarrassment.

Just as you opened your mouth to give some explanation, a voice came from behind you.

“Djarin! There you are!” Captain Dune called out, as jovial as ever.

You did your best to wipe the tears from your cheeks while the masked man turned his attention away.

Captain Dune sauntered down the path with his wife on his elbow. He was a dark haired, stocky man who still looked quite dashing in his dress uniform. He had been a hero of the Nile and served with your father before his ship had been lost. His round face was adorned with a black mask.

“Ah! I see you’ve met the young lady I told you about,” Dune said.

Lady Georgiana’s bright eyes looked between the two of you from under her leather mask. She was a beautiful woman with dark skin and a wide smile. She had always been kind to you even after the disastrous affair with Mr. Vanth.

“My dear, allow me to introduce Mr. Djarin,” Lady Georgiana said. “He is a very good friend.”

Mr. Djarin gave a tight bow when she introduced you but barely murmured a, “How do you do?”

“What are you doing hiding out here, Djarin? The dancing is inside!” Dune teased.

Mr. Djarin gave a chuckle but he didn’t sound amused.

“Why don’t you ask this young lady for a dance? I’m sure she would lower herself to stand up with you,” the captain continued with a wink.

“I’d better not. Please, you’ll have to excuse me. I should retire,” Mr. Djarin said, his voice deep and raspy.

Your eyes fell to the ground and you swallowed hard. You hoped in the darkness of the garden, Lady Georgiana didn’t catch your upset. Clearly Captain Dune had told him everything about you. Why else would this man be so impolite?

“Oh come now. It’s early, yet,” the captain protested.

“Forgive me. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he bowed and took his leave.

“My dear,” Lady Georgiana tried, “you’ll have to forgive Mr. Djarin. He has lived alone for so long that he sometimes forgets his manners.”

You gave her a smile, clenching your jaw so that you would not cry.

“I just had a splendid idea!” Lady Georgiana exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “You should come stay with us at Nevarro Hall. We leave next week. It would be great fun. I do find that part of the country so diverting.”

“You are too kind but I couldn’t impose,” you said politely. You had a feeling this offer only came because Georgiana felt responsible for her friend’s slight.

“Nonsense! You’re quite right that is a grand idea!” the captain agreed.

It was agreed that Lady Georgiana would write to your mother to inform her of the invitation. You knew she wouldn’t disagree considering how kind the Dunes were and how generous an invitation it was. Once the matter was settled, Captain Dune insisted you return to the party and you reluctantly slunk back inside.

Julia was with a gaggle of some friends when you returned to the ballroom. There was some excitement going on between them.

“Did you see him, Lucy?” one of the girls asked.

“I was introduced,” Lucy squealed. “It is a shame he was not here earlier in the season.”

You realized they were talking about Mr. Djarin and you felt yourself frowning.

“You’re not happy with Mr. Calican?” Julia laughed. Lucy had accepted his proposal just yesterday.

“No, of course!” she scoffed.

“What was he like?” Julia asked.

“I’ve heard he has a fine estate,” Lucy said.

“Oh, he was terribly handsome,” the first girl craned her neck to try and spot Mr. Djarin.

You wanted to laugh. You had also been introduced to Mr. Djarin but there was no way of knowing how handsome he was beneath that mask. You might have even ventured to tell them that but Emma joined the group looking disgruntled.

“I have learned some most unsettling news about Mr. Djarin,” she said. “He is traveling with a child who is in his care.”

“What about that offends you so?” Julia rolled her eyes.

“That is just it, Julia. I am told that this young boy is not merely Mr. Djarin’s ward. He is, in fact, his natural child.” This last part she said in a scandalized whisper.

This raised quite a few eyebrows but you furrowed your own.

“You are told?” You responded. “By whom?”

You knew the rumors that had circulated about yourself and had grown to absolutely despise and distrust gossip.

“I have it on good authority,” Emma said, which meant that some busybody had told her.

You shook your head. You hated that you felt the need to defend Mr. Djarin after he’d been so rude to you. If he had a child out of wedlock, one that he paraded around shamelessly, then what right did he have to rebuff you? You reminded yourself that this was merely hearsay. And no one deserved to be slandered like that.

But when you saw the way the other girls eyed you, you remembered yourself. If you protested too much, it would only speak to your own reputation. So you let them prattle on and as soon as you could slip away, you did, and spent the rest of the evening counting the minutes until you could leave and fall into bed.

After such an excruciating time in town, you were happy to be going anywhere else and, selfishly, you were glad that you didn’t need to spend a long carriage ride hearing Julia go on and on about how much she would miss being in town.

Nevarro Hall was situated on a gorgeous estate in a quiet part of the countryside. Lady Georgiana had given you a well appointed room with a view of the grounds. There was a beautiful garden with a fountain in the middle and, beyond that, a manicured lawn. You could see down to the lake and, past that, the tall trees. You spent a week walking the grounds with Lady Georgiana.

You loved to draw and you could set yourself in some corner of the garden and sketch the flowers for hours on end. It was such a wonderful change from the constant noise and hustle of town– the endless parties and calls, Emma herding you around like a prized cow. When the weather was fair, Lady Georgiana would have tea set outside and she and the captain would ask for a tour through your sketchbook and kindly remark on your talents.

“Perhaps you will create a likeness of the captain, my dear,” Lady Georgiana suggested. “If he will sit still enough for you.”

The captain laughed at that remark as the valet presented him with a letter.

“Very good! It seems Djarin will be joining us tomorrow! His business in town is finished,” he said.

You tried to hide your displeasure. You had no interest in sitting through dinners and excruciating evenings with Mr. Djarin. But you had little choice in the matter. And the captain and Lady Karga had been such generous hosts, you wouldn’t insult them by cutting your visit short.

You decided that you would be as polite as necessary but keep away from him as much as possible. This was wise, you told yourself, because your reputation couldn’t suffer any more difficulties. There were plenty of people that would jump at the chance to make even a passing association with Mr. Djarin into a scandal. But, of course, there was still a part of you that smarted at the way he had dismissed you in your very first encounter. You couldn’t be prevailed upon to be pleasant to a man that was so insulting. And so you would not.

Luckily, the first two days, it was easy to avoid Mr. Djarin entirely. The captain had taken him out riding or shooting or some such activity men enjoyed and they had dined out. Lady Georgiana had become a dear companion to you but she had begun to spend far too much time hinting at how much she liked the new guest. You would merely nod and smile and let your mind wander when she started to tell you how agreeable Mr. Djarin was or how he had been such a kind friend to her father.

On the third day, you had complained of a headache so you could excuse yourself from breakfast. After you had the tea and toast that Lady Georgiana had sent up to your room, you insisted a walk would be good for you and you set out across the grounds with your sketchbook.

You decided the stables were a good place to be left alone. It wasn’t like anyone would be looking for you there and, save the horses, there was nobody there. You found a little wooden chair and sat down to draw the horses and tack.

There was a beautiful black mare with white whiskers around her snout that you were sketching when you heard a noise. It was a funny little squeal. You thought you had imagined it until you heard it again. It had come from the empty horse stall at the very end and when you set down your sketchbook to investigate, you found a little boy sitting in the hay.

“Hello,” you said to him.

He smiled up at you. He looked incredibly sweet with chubby little cheeks. His ears seemed too big for his head and his eyes, too, were big and round. He wore a little brown suit with a delicate ruffle around the neck that was now covered in mud and hay.

“What are you doing in here?” you asked him, though he seemed too small to answer.

He babbled at you and held out something in his hand.

“What’s that?”

The child leaned forward, stretching towards you, and dropped it into your hand. It was a little silver ball that jingled like it had a bell within.

“Thank you,” you chuckled.

You shook it and it made a tinkling sound. He clapped his pudgy hands together, then planted them on the ground, and carefully got to his feet. He continued to yammer on as he tottered towards you, falling on his behind once, but determined to reach you on his own.

“Grogu!” You heard a voice from the path outside that you recognized. “Grogu!”

The boy scampered out of the stable and right up to the boot of Mr. Djarin.

“Where have you been, lad? They’re turning the whole house over looking for you,” he said.

He scooped the little boy up, holding his whole body in the crook of his arm, a wide hand grasping the boy’s calf. Grogu put a dirty hand up to Mr. Djarin’s chin and he laughed softly.

Now that you had the benefit of seeing him without a mask, you realized Mr. Djarin was, indeed, quite handsome. He had full lips and a prominent nose. His skin was a shade of gold that complimented his dark eyes. His starched collar met a square jaw that was dotted with stubble. In the sunlight, you could see that his soft curls and thick sideburns were threaded with grey hairs. The smile that spread over his features was so warm, you wished you could capture it in your sketchbook.

This was the infamous child, then. You saw little resemblance between Mr. Djarin and the lad but he held him so tenderly, it made you wonder if the rumors hadn’t been true.

That’s what you were pondering when the boy turned his attention back to you, pointing with a plump little finger. Mr. Djarin’s whole body stiffened when he saw you, his eyes turning sharp.

“Good morning,” you said with a curtsy.

His jaw clenched and he nodded.

“He was playing,” you tried, tilting your head back towards the stable.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I was drawing the horses,” you explained.

His head tilted just slightly.

“Is that his name? Grogu?” You asked when Mr. Djarin failed to speak.

“Yes,” he said.

You smiled. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Grogu.”

You put out your hand and the lad wrapped his fingers around one of yours.

“Ebba!” he cried.

You laughed. When you glanced at Mr. Djarin he was looking at you with an expression you could only describe as fear. Your smile faltered.

“I take it your business was concluded. In a satisfactory manner, I hope?” you inquired politely.

His brow furrowed momentarily and he opened his mouth and then set Grogu down at his feet.

“Yes. I-” he cleared his throat. “Please, you must forgive me for my behavior at the masquerade. Lady Georgiana said that I offended you. That was not my intention.”

You felt heat in your cheeks once again, embarrassment mixed with anger. You couldn’t believe he had to be told that he had acted like an ass. “Not to worry, sir. My pride has already been damaged so thoroughly, what is but one more slight?”

The look that crossed his face was absolute horror. You would have apologized for speaking so plainly but you frankly didn’t care. What right did he have to judge you? To apologize like you were so pitiful when here he was with his love child. You knew what men like Mr. Djarin were like and you’d learned to keep a wide berth.

“I- I should tell them that I’ve found him,” Mr. Djarin said. “Good day.”

He turned to go back up the path.

“Wait!” you called.

You blushed when you realized how impolite it sounded. Mr. Djarin turned carefully but said nothing. You approached him, painfully aware of the way he stared at you. It was difficult to meet his eye. You swallowed and held out the child’s ball to him. Mr. Djarin put out his hand and you placed it in his palm. As you did, your fingertips brushed his hand and you shivered. His skin felt rough and his palm was so large compared to your own. Your breath caught and, for some reason, you wished he would close his fingers around yours. You quickly withdrew your hand.

The boy reached out for the ball with a coo.

“Much obliged,” Mr Djarin managed. He was still looking at you with intense concentration.

Your chest felt tight.

“I’ll let them know at the house,” you stuttered and after a quick curtsy you were rushing back up the path.

--- Chapter 2

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