#also when she cries holding waver's hand and waver wakes up and is like ??????? you good??????

[g0blintears]

Dark Devotion [Yandere! Dead By Daylight x Reader]

Summary: You are a mystery to both the survivors and killers within the fog. A servant of darkness, a creature created by the entity itself, you are the shadow behind the scenes that provides the survivors with the necessities they need to survive, while also assisting killers with the weapons they need to sacrifice. You are a servant void of humanity, but not one that seeks out despair. An empty slate that perhaps just needs to be taught a little bit of hope and empathy to help the survivors escape once and for all.

Five. Vigil

NOTE: Spoilers for A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)

TW: gore, MC is invasive but they’re learning boundaries

Laying in the cold paper thin bedsheets of his mattress, Quentin tossed and turned with his eyes screwed shut and his heart hammering against his chest. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, causing his shaggy brown hair to cling to his skin. The male clenched his teeth. He was trying desperately to sleep, but he couldn't stop the memories that flashed in his mind.

Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Just go to sleep.

He chanted in his head, but no matter how many times he tried to convince himself to sleep, he couldn't stop his past from haunting him.

Dean. Kriss. Jesse. He can still see them hanging on the walls of the boiler room. Dean's cold lifeless eyes would bore into him. The slit across his throat would have Quentin subconsciously gripping his own neck as though he himself had the same wound. Kriss would be right next to Dean. She would be hanging in her nightgown, bloodied and torn to shreds with her body ripped open and her inner intestines pooling out onto the cement floor. Jesse would be on the other side of Kriss. His jaw slacked open into a scream with a giant hole punctured into his chest.

They were dead. All of his friends were dead. Nothing more than hung up hollow corpses that were void of any soul, and yet, as he stared up at their swaying bodies, Quentin could practically hear their blood-curdling screams that shrieked with every steam that blew around him. Freddy was toying with him. He had become delirious; ridden with fear as he searched around the flame covered basement. The steam in the boiler room hissed and cried, echoing all around like terrified shrieks of the damned. He was scared, but Quentin persisted in his search of Nancy. He remembered looking everywhere for her. His heart pounding in his chest and his eyes wavering all around to find the brunette only for more flames to engulf his vision.

Quentin curled up into a fetal position. His hands clamped onto his head as he shook in his bed. A pathetic attempt to bring himself comfort only for more memories to resurface.

"Wake up, Nancy! Wake up!"

Tears would form in his eyes upon seeing her motionless body, unaware that she was crying out in fear as Freddy trailed his claws over her chest while she  was stuck with him in the dream state.

Nancy lying in bed, her body limp as she was trapped in the nightmare. Quentin hovered over her, his fingers clenched around her shoulders as he gave her a rough shake.

"Nancy, please don't do this! Please! Nancy, come back! Please, wake up! You promised!"

He remembered reaching over for the adrenaline shot. With blood stained fingers, he lifted the syringe over his head and plunged it into her chest. At the time he was relieved when she woke up with a start. However, his relief would be short-lived once Freddy entered the real world.

Both him and Nancy would fight Freddy to the death. While he was on the floor watching as Freddy stared at his decapitated hand in shock, Nancy would use that opportunity to take a sharp metal rod and end Freddy's life in a single swipe. With his throat slit opened, black ooze gushing out of his neck, the dream demon would collapse, lying in a pool of his own blood.

It would end there. It was supposed to end there. Him and Nancy being taken away in an ambulance, holding each other for comfort from the horrors they had to face.

Except it didn't end.

After Nancy's mom disappeared, he knew the fight wasn't over. Sure, it may have ended for Nancy. But for him? Quentin wasn't done. He wanted to make sure Freddy died and got dragged back into hell before he could even think to lay another finger on Nancy. He wanted that dream demon to pay for everything he's done. Not just to him and his friends when they were children, but for the lives he took and ruined along the way. He wanted to make sure that Freddy Krueger died, burning in a fiery inferno where he belonged.

Quentin grit his teeth.

He could still see it. That place where it all began. Badham's Preschool. Quentin had run through the empty hallways, the fluorescent lights flickered over his head. His sneakers squeaked with every step, but he didn't stop running. Zigzagging through the different rooms, he remembered running into a can of paint thinner, immediately a plan formed in his head.

He taunted Freddy. Shouting swears until he successfully lured the killer into his trap. A smile had formed on his face, enjoying the scene of Freddy's shocked face when he looked around at the flames that engulfed him. Fire reigned upon the preschool. While Freddy succumbed to the heated flames, Quentin took that chance to run.

He ran and ran until he found himself back to the basement, and in Freddy's secret room. He had been cornered with Freddy trailing behind him with a wicked grin. The killer had thought he had won, but Quentin refused to go down. Not until he saw Freddy's corpse six feet under. He wanted him dead. If Quentin had any sort of murderous bone in his body, it was reserved just for Freddy. He wanted him dead, and he was going to do whatever he could to make sure that happened.

He let those dark thoughts consume him. It was the dream realm afterall. Everything he learned he brought up to the table, unaware of the growing fog and tendrils that rose from the ground.

With his body covered in a black mist, the brunet would find himself alone. He looked around in the empty void, lost and confused. Did he do it? He walked around a bit. This place felt like a dream, but not one that was familiar to him. He wandered around into the space of nothingness until his eyes caught sight of a figure in the distance. The mystery person wore a red and green striped sweater and a familiar looking fedora that made Quentin's hands clenched into fists.

The figure would look over his shoulder. He would rub his claws together, the sickening sound of metal scraping against each other filled in the deafening silence between them. The Nightmare would let out a sinister laugh, a wicked grin forming on his burnt lips.

One, two, Freddy's coming for you

Three, four, better lock your door

Five, six, grab your crucifix

Seven, eight, better stay up late

Nine, ten, Freddy's back again

"Hey, Quentin. Did ya miss me?"

Quentin shot up in a cold sweat.

His body ached and his fingers dug into the flimsy bed sheets as though it were his only lifeline. The male looked around the room, his eyes scanned the quiet cabin for any signs of the dream demon. The only thing he could see were dark wooden floorboards and a single light bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling.

Brushing his hair out of his vision, Quentin rubbed his face in exhaustion. His eyes stung from the many sleepless nights where he would try to fall asleep only for his mind to haunt him with flashes of his past.

He thought it was over. He thought once Freddy was gone from the dream state then the nightmares would finally end.

It didn't.

Once he entered the fog, Quentin found himself in a never ending battle for survival. Serial killers, monsters, new demons he couldn't fathom even existing, all of them in this realm for him to face. And worst of all? Freddy was still alive. He was in this damned place too. All of his efforts, those countless sleepless nights of drinking redbull and gulping down modafinil tablets while huddled in a corner of the library, studying books, articles, and papers on lucid dreaming, all of that to make sure Freddy died and stayed in the darkest pits of the underworld- it was all for nothing.

The fog, it was a special kind of eternal damnation. No matter if Quentin stays awake or lets himself succumb to death, he would always find himself right back where he started.

In a sick twisted turn of events, Quentin sometimes often thought to himself that maybe he did get his wish. Freddy Krueger could no longer harm Nancy. The dream demon was trapped in the entity's grasp, forever serving as nothing more than a pawn.

And all it took was for Quentin to go to Hell and drag Freddy there with him.

The door knob to his cabin door twisted, catching his attention. The fearful man clenched his bedsheets in anticipation, adrenaline still running through his veins as he watched with wide brown eyes as the door slowly creaked open.

From the shadows of the night, in stepped your familiar silhouette, causing the male to release a heavy sigh. It was just you.

You walked into the cabin. Gently closing the door behind you, you turned your attention over to the restless survivor on the bed.

"You are still awake." You state with your cold [eye color] eyes observing the male, "You should be resting for your next trial."

Quentin screwed his eyes shut once more. He knew that already. He knew he should be asleep. He knew that he should be resting so he didn't hinder his teammates in the trials, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. How ironic. Back on Elm Street he was fighting the urge to sleep, but now? He needed it more than ever if he wanted to survive.

"Yeah I know, I'm just not tired," he lamely explained, but that answer didn't seem to satisfy you.

"You need to rest for your next trial." You repeated, much to Quentin's annoyance.

"Yeah, I know. But I already told you, I'm not tired." He snapped back. Weaving his fingers through his tangled hair, Quentin moved his eyes to you once more, and glared. "So I would appreciate it if you would just leave it at that and just piss off." The aggression in his voice was practically dripping with warning as he turned away with his hands clenched and his body teetering back and forth. Quentin could already feel himself on the edge of a breakdown, and having you around wasn't helping him calm down. So he had hoped you would take the hint and leave, but in spite of his irritable behavior, your demeanor never once wavered.

"In your last trial you had blown up a generator over ten times. You had caused The Nurse to change targets and you had gotten your teammate killed in the process."

Quentin's once tired eyes hardened. Why did you bring that up? Hadn't he already beaten himself up for that already? When he first entered the fog, he would always be there to lend a helping hand. He was the one the survivors went to when an injured person needed a medic. He was there to help with quick thought out plans and a fighting spirit.

But over time, that started to die out. He was getting sloppy. With each escape, he felt his will to survive slowly unravel, revealing a tired worn out young man that just wanted to rest. He tried desperately to keep up with the others, but he was drained. Nightmare after nightmare, Quentin became paranoid. He couldn't sleep. He would often faint from the lack of sleep, and when he awoke, all of his teammates would be dead and the hatch locked. Leaving him in the dying state as he embraced the entity's tendrils that would pierce his body until he awoke once more at the campfire.

He knew he had become a problem. The survivors would often give him a side-eyed glance when he walked by, but he couldn't help it. He tried. And tried. And tried. But he was tired of trying. He was done.

A sneer made its way to his lips. He snapped.

"I'm tired, okay!” He heaved, “I’m so fucking tired but I can't sleep! Every time I close my eyes, I see that bastard's face! You think I can sleep after everything he's done to me and my friends?! Who the fuck can sleep after seeing their close friends fucking corpses?! I sure as fuck can't! No matter how tired I am, I can't let myself go to sleep!" He shouted. By now he was standing to his feet, hovering a few meters before you with his chest puffing up and down as he took heavy breaths. Quentin stared at you. If his eyes weren't so dry, he might've actually cried.

"Do you know how frustrating it is to want something so bad, but you can't go for it because of your own mind? Constantly sabotaging myself and others— FUCK. I'm such a fuck up! I want to go to sleep again! I want to be useful to my team again— an-and, I even want to dream again. Good dreams, not the same bullshit nightmare I see every time I close my fucking eyes." With his body trembling, Quentin's gaze bored into yours, his blood shot eyes pleading as he held your stare.

"Why am I even suffering like this?" He asked, his voice raspy with his throat cut and dry. Shaking his head, Quentin let out a humorless laugh, "You know what? It's fine...I'm fine with suffering like this," His breathing was shallow and his entire body was hot with a hurricane of emotions. Despair. Fear. And worst of it all, rage.

"I'd be fine being here if only— if only I knew that he was fucking dead. But why? Why isn't he fucking dead?!" He screamed, "What the fuck am I still doing here?! What is this all for anyways?! It's just nightmare after nightmare, isn't it?! It's shit! It's fucking shit! This place is bullshit!"

Quentin shouted. His eyes finally caved in to his raw emotions with warm tears that streamed down his cheeks. Quentin cried, his face burning red and his body shaking, but he didn't falter his eyes away from you. He stared you down, pleading for an answer. He wished you would tell him. Tell him that Freddy Kruger can die for good. Tell him that Quentin's wish can come true. 'You want him dead? Be my guest,' and let Quentin end The Nightmare once and for all.

But no. As Quentin trembled before you with glossy eyes and an inch of hope, you met his stare with a shroud of mist.

Fuck, what was he even doing?

His hands moved straight to his face. Quickly wiping at his face to dry off his blurry vision, Quentin let out a groan. Letting his body fall limp, he sat back on his mattress and rubbed his hands over his closed eyes.

"I'm tired."

The air fell silent.

It felt like an eternity passed before Quentin felt his rage subdue and be replaced with nothing but pure exhaustion. When was the last time he vented out all of his anger? It had been a while. Now that he finally let his thoughts loose, he felt nothing. He was just done.

His eyes finally went back to you. You were still standing by the door, having not moved an inch during his entire mental breakdown.

He released a sigh. Rubbing his eyes, he spoke. "What're you doing in my room, anyways?" He asked, eyeing you down with a frown. "You always just barge in without announcement. Ever heard of knocking?"

And finally, for once the entire time since you've been in his cabin, you replied.

"No."

Quentin scoffed. "Of course not, what should I expect from you." He grumbled. Ruffling his wavy brown locks, Quentin sighed once more before turning his attention back to you. "Well knocking is what polite people do to inform someone that they're coming in." He explained in a snarky tone. Making a fist, he used the back of his hand to knock on wooden bed frame. "Like that."

"I see."

Still standing by the door, you used the back of your gloved knuckles to give his door a gentle knock. You then turned to him with a poker face.

"There. From now on I will knock on the door-"

Quentin nodded, a yawn leaving his lips. "Good."

"-after I've entered the room."

He looked at you in disbelief, "What?"

You stood up straighter. "I said I'll knock after I've entered the room, thus announcing my arrival." You responded, almost factual as if you were the one teaching him about knocking.

Quentin could only look at you with a pointed stare. He was too tired to laugh.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, you do it before entering. That way you don't just scare someone or embarrass them. You let them know before so they could either tell you to wait or come in."

You stared at him without saying anything. The male didn't have to see it to know you were confused.

"You know what? Nevermind."

You gave a curt nod before walking further into the room.

"To answer your first question, I have come to give you clean bed sheets." You said, stepping into his line of sight. It was then that Quentin noticed the bundle of white held in your arms.

"Oh."

You gently set the fresh blankets onto the empty wooden desk besides his bed.

Quentin could only stare at the bedsheets, his mind going blank. "Thanks." He mumbled.

Feeling a wave of exhaustion, Quentin threw his head back. Closing his eyes, he ignored your presence as to let his restless mind wander.

While he laid back on the mattress, you turned to face him. You watched as he fought down another yawn. He was a peculiar one. He claims to be so tired, but he won't allow himself to rest. The human psyche worked in mysterious ways. Ways you couldn't understand, but you found intriguing. This particular survivor was a stubborn one, full of hatred and determination. He hated being in the realm, he hated that the dream demon was still alive. However, he still had a drive to see the killer suffer. Unknown to the brunet male, it was his restless obsession to end the dream demon that drew the entity to him. It was that same drive that kept him here and not thrown into the void.

Tired? It was a mere bump in the road, one easily conquered if he were to just allow himself to replenish his energy. How bad has his condition gotten since you've last seen him?

Walking over to his bedside, Quentin felt your shadow loom over him, causing him to open his eyes and slowly sit up.

"What do you want-?"

Before he could finish that sentence, you had leaned down to his eye level. Both of your hands cupped his cheeks, and tilted his head up to meet your ice cold gaze.

Quentin felt his face heat up. He could feel your cold touch hit his pale skin. You were so close, so much so that he could smell the strong scent of burning wood and fresh pine linger off of you. With your face moving closer to his, he could see those pools of [eye color] brighten in hue as you stared at him with your pupils dilating smaller and smaller. It was fascinating, if not scary, seeing the colors in your eyes swirl with life. [Eye color] tones mixed with gold swirls, he has seen your eyes ever glow like this when the two of you would meet up for check-ups, and every time he saw your eyes, he was in awe.

But not this time. Caught off guard, his heart thumped against his chest in fear as you stared at him, expressionless.

"Wh- hey! What're you doing?!" He sputtered, trying to pull himself away. If he weren't so exhausted, he could've probably escaped your grip, but his body failed him, making him sit still as you brushed your fingers across his cheeks.

"I'm scanning your health." You explained, bringing your hand to his temples. "You've been through this process before. I'd assume you would know that by now."

"Well- yeah, but I'd be aware of it first!" Quentin hissed, his body finally moving on his command as he brought his hand up and gripped one of your wrists. It was then that you looked at him, head tilted a bit and the swirl of colors fading in your eyes.

"Is there a problem?"

"Yes." He responded, his eyes not once faltering from your gaze, "Remember the knocking thing?"

"Yes."

"Well, this applies with the same rules. It's only polite to let me know you're going to scan my health before you go on touching me whenever you want. Even then I don't appreciate that."

"Why is that?"

"Because it’s just not okay with me.” As Quentin stared at you, he could see the information sinking in. The touch on his temple was being ever so slightly lifted away, causing him to loosen his own grip.

"I see." You mumbled, brows furrowed for a brief moment before you went back to your stoic expression. "I apologize if what I did is considered impolite.”

Quentin let out a long sigh. He couldn’t quite blame you for not understanding. It wasn’t as if you were intentionally trying to be invasive anyways. You were just another weird species in the realm that had the inability to understand boundaries. So while he still didn’t appreciate you always shadowing over him and the others, he knew that you never really had any ill intent.

“It’s fine.” He groaned into his hands, rubbing at his restless face, “At the very least, you know now."

“Thank you. I will to be sure to learn from this experience and remember to always inform you when I will be performing a wellness check." You commented, eyes stern as you stared down at him. “However, I do need to continue to scan your vitals. So I will inform you right now that I will be checking on your health. It is my duty to ensure all survivors are—.”

“—adequate enough to perform in trials. yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” Quentin rolled his eyes. Of course you wouldn’t completely follow his words. Why would you? It wasn’t as if you were in an allegiance with him. He was just another prisoner in the realm— one of many victims to the entity. He was just lucky you even took his words into consideration when you had no obligation to.

So, with his head rolling back to face the ceiling, Quentin mumbled a string of swears under his breath before meting your eyes once more.

“Fine. Just make it quick." He grumbled, watching you nod and gently rest your fingers back onto his temple. While you hovered over him, Quentin could feel his face warm up once more with every passing second he took looking at you. He could see every detail of your face. The shape of your eyes and the swirl of colors in your irises, his eyes moved across your face where he noted the peach fuzz on your cheeks and followed along the curves of your lips.

Your body was almost flushed against his. Your legs stood against the side of the bed, but your body leaned in close as your hands moved across his forehead. If anyone saw him now, they would think the two of you were being intimate with the way you brushed his hair off his skin and gently caressed the space under his eyes.

Although you were way too close for comfort, he had to admit that the way you were holding his face with delicate care was really soothing. He could feel his heart returning to an even pace and his body relax under your touch. He knew he shouldn't be letting his guard down, especially around someone who works under the creature that brought him here, but the way your hands cupped his face made him feel safe again. He let his eyes close, this time without Freddy popping into his vision.

"You're sleep deprived. Your insomnia has caused you to have high blood pressure and become easily irritable."

You released his face, making him stumble forward and blink himself awake.

You straightened up, your eyes gazed down at him almost as if you were scolding him.

"I've already informed you, but The Nightmare has no access to getting to the survivors' side of the map. And even if it were plausible, all killings outside the map are strictly forbidden and are punishable."

Quentin turned his face away, his once relaxed posture straightening up as he sat back against the bed frame. His embarrassment long forgotten upon hearing his diagnosis.

"I already know all that. I keep telling you, no matter how many times you tell me these things, I can't go to sleep."

"Well, you haven't been visiting the medical cabin as much. I merely assumed you go when I'm not around. Have you stopped taking your pills?"

Quentin sighed, "They stopped working."

You were confused.

"If that was the case then why haven't you come to see me? I could always prepare you with other medication."

Quentin let out a sarcastic laugh. "So the others can keep questioning me? I already get a bad rep by falling asleep in trials, I don't want the others asking anymore questions. It'll just cause more problems."

You didn't understand why it was such a big deal, but if the brunet survivor was going to be stubborn then you would have to find other means for him to rest. Getting off the bed, you straightened yourself out before looking back over to him.

"If that's the case, then do you have any other methods of being able to fall asleep?"

Other methods?

Quentin scratched the back of his head. "Ugh, not that I know of."

The male racked in his brain for any memories. Warm milk did nothing. He's already tried exercising. And sleeping pills...he's taken so many that he's pretty sure that if he survived every one of his trials then he'd die of bad intestines. He's done pretty much everything.

A sudden flash of Nancy came to mind, causing Quentin to halt. Nancy.

He remembered those nights with Nancy after they both thought they had killed Freddy. He remembered how he would hold Nancy to sleep, lulling her with sweet words followed by small kisses. He remembered holding her as the visions would come flooding in, but once he tightened his hold on her, feeling her body against his as he cuddled her like a safety blanket, the visions would go away. It was all Nancy. Nancy was his reason to keep going. She made him strong. She was what kept him sane and the nightmares away. She was his everything.

A ghost of a smile moved on his lips.

"Did you think of something?" You asked, having witnessed his change of demeanor.

Quentin snapped out of his daze. Meeting your observing eyes, Quentin coughed into his hand, hiding his blushing face. "Yeah, but it's dumb."

"Please share." You urged, "it is vital you get your sleep to be proficient in trials."

Quentin felt his finger clam up. He hadn't really spoken about Nancy before to anyone in the fog, and quite frankly, he really didn't want to. But knowing you, if he didn't share what he had been thinking about, then you would never go away.

"When Freddy was constantly harassing me and my friends, there was this girl." He started, his mind wandering into a haze of broken memories. "She was warm, funny, a fighter- the coolest person you would ever meet. Her presence made me forget Freddy was even around." He chuckled, remembering the small moments between him and Nancy.

"Back home when we thought Freddy had died, we became a thing. Ever since those nights on Elm Street, we would always sleepover at each other's houses. We were paranoid, but being around each other brought us both comfort. Well, for me at least. I was always the one that was supposed to keep her safe, but she always made me feel safe."

Quentin smiled, "She was amazing."

The male let his mind wander, reminiscing about his time with Nancy. How long had it been since he last saw her? How was she doing? Although Quentin hated being in this realm, he was happy it was him and not Nancy.

"Unfortunately I can't bring that person here to this realm." You replied, causing Quentin to look up at you, alarmed.

"No, that's not what I want! Even if you could bring her here- that's the last thing I would want to happen!" He exclaimed, his heart aching at the thought. "Anything but that."

Burying himself in his arms, he mumbled. "I just miss not being alone."

So that's what it was.

"Well, would you perhaps want me to stay? Another presence in the room might make you feel safe from the Nightmare. You already know he can not leave the killer's side of the realm, but if it brings you peace to have someone watch over you, I can stay until you rest."

Quentin really, really wanted to decline. Although he's known you for quite some time, he didn't really know you, know you. It would be like a stranger watching over him as he slept. But, you were his only option. He didn't want to bother anyone anymore with his restless condition, and if having you in the room as he slept would keep him from bothering the other survivors, then so be it.

Quentin met your eyes and gave a hesitant nod.

"Then, please." You motioned towards the bed, "Get some rest."

Quentin reluctantly laid back in his bed. Settling under the sheets, the brunet motioned over to the desk and chair next to his bed. "You can sit there if you want."

You looked back over at the desk, and nodded. As you pulled the chair from the table and sat back, Quentin took his time setting himself back into a more comfortable position in the sheets. Although he wasn't the most comfortable in his jeans and jacket, he refused to be any more vulnerable in front of you than he already has been.

Closing his eyes, the tired male tried to relax.

Key word: tried.

While he laid in silence, he could feel your eyes bore into him, studying his movements like an animal in a zoo.

He furrowed his brows, "It's hard to sleep when you're staring at me."

"I apologize."

Another moment of silence, but this time, he could actually feel himself relax. Your strong scent of fresh pine still lingered in the air, making him forget about any thoughts of the dream demon. The only thing he could think about was your scent and the ghostly touch of fingers on his face. Before drifting off to sleep, Quentin looked over at you.

You stared out at the window, the darkness of the wilderness reflecting in your eyes.

He wanted to thank you for staying with him. But he couldn't.

So as he fluttered his eyes closed, the last thing Quentin saw was your silhouette. And for once, he allowed himself to finally relax for the first time in a long time.

Walking down the pebbled path, Feng Min wandered around aimlessly as her mind went back to the previous discussions with the others. She couldn't stop thinking about it ever since Yun-Jin brought it up.

Was it really possible to change you?

She didn't know, but she wanted to give it a try. All the facts point to you being nonhuman, obviously, but a nonhuman that didn't pick either the survivors or killers. You were a loophole, the perfect bug in the game, and she hadn't realized it until now.

Being a competitive gamer, Min wasn't one to give up on a challenge so easily. She strived to strategize, to succeed, and prove others wrong. So what if some of the others didn't believe in their plan? She was determined to change you and escape. Even if she had to do it alone, so be it. She was ready to leave.

Walking by the rows of cabins, Min caught sight of familiar [hair color] hair, causing her to halt. Speak of the devil.

You were carrying around bundles of sheets, walking into each cabin for a few minutes and shortly leaving afterwards. This was one of your routines, she noted, watching as you left Felix's cabin and walked into Quentin's.

For being a creature created by pure evil, you were surprisingly clean and maintained a perfect posture. Always doing tasks scarily quick and often appearing out of thin air. You were the perfect being, and Min often wondered if you were created that way or if that was something you learned. Did you even want to learn? Or were you just created perfect? Did you ever have any stray thoughts?

Maybe she should ask? No, she should wait for the others. They have yet to decide how to go about talking to you. They wanted to first recruit others, see how you interacted with all of the survivors, before setting up a plan.

Still, she was curious to know more about you.

Suddenly, Min heard shouting. Her eyes gazed upon Quentin's cabin with a raised brow. From the sounds of it, Quentin had been yelling at you. She couldn't really hear what about, but as soon as the shouting came, it went. Leaving nothing but silence to fill the air. She didn't really care what happened in there. If anything, you would just go back to what you were doing like how you usually do when dealing with either Meg's temper tantrums or Nea's bullying.

The black haired woman crossed her arms over her chest, and she waited.

Soon you would leave that cabin, moving on to the next, and continue your routine.

Or at least that's what she thought. But as time passed, you never left Quentin's cabin, leaving Min standing there confused and surprised.

Scratch out what she just thought. She did care. What happened in there? Why didn't you leave Quentin's cabin? What're you two doing in there? And how were the two of you associated?

Thinking about it now, Min realized that sometimes when she lingered around the campfire, she would often see Quentin go to the medical cabin, uninjured. Was he going there to see you? If so, then why? She knew Dwight would often see you because he had a crush on you, it was obvious. Well, it was obvious to her at least. But you and Quentin? Who else were you associated with?

Survivors in the realm often worked together, all of them were fighting the same fight, so there was no reason to keep secrets, right? Well, she thought that. But as she stood in the middle of the path, thinking over all the other survivors in the realm, she realized most of them were strangers. She truly didn't know some of them outside the trials.

Min hummed to herself. She didn't know Quentin all that well, but if you and him had some kind of association, maybe mentioning him to the others wouldn't be so bad.

Noting that for later, Min didn't care to stay any longer and continued on her path.

[seabysiren]

euclid

renowned, glorious. [part i. part ii] summary: the past. present. and them.

it starts with a wailing cry. one that pierces through the silence and makes the rain weep and the wind howl in terror. there's this desperate hushing noise, as a mother helplessly cradles her child to her front, her eyes darting around in terror. her precious little gem, wrapped in silks fit for a king, soiled red and dirty. an abomination. a terror of this world unseen. it vaguely resembles human. with its delicate, frail skin and the way its eyes gleam when the moonlight hits it just right. but it is unnatural, that such eyes hold competence. understanding. with claws as black as the void looking right back at her. and teeth as sharp as the fangs of a wolf. the rustle of bushes and vegetation makes her stiffen, yet she does not waver. she continues to travel in teh brilliance of the night, desperate for release. for safety.

for whom she had birthed had been a horror. one that made the village scorn her, and her husband beat her. whispers of shunning, regret, and hatred painted her back like a target. one that would become a burden. soon.

but a mother's love is one that such horrors cannot comprehend. that she will die with her hand outreached to the child who had been silenced once again.

there is no cries. for once. the forest is deadly silent.

and then.

there is nothing.

except the hatred of mankind.

and it. -

price wakes up in his bed. in complete darkness, without even a gleam of light to show him the way. his skin feels cool to the touch, showered in fresh dewdrops of sweat as he looks around.

all he can remember is sitting at his desk talking to laswell. then... rook happened.

he jolts up out of bed, stumbling over numb feet as he rushes back to his office. where the phone is left neatly on the dark wooden surface. where his computer is shut and unplugged.

where there are three angry markings cutting through the flesh of the wood. he winces as his bare feet press against sharp chips that spread over the once neat floor. there's a sudden twig of pain on his shoulder, and he absently minded rubs at it. only to feel sharp puncture marks.

he jerks his hand away and tears at his shirt, rushing to the bathroom only to stare in horror.

his skin, marred with scars and little imperfections are marked with an angry marking that stares right back at him in the mirror. teeth. blue and black bruises that litter his skin like he had been beaten bloody. but his skin is numb, and the bite only tingles when he traces the wound in confusion.

his eyes widen as he feels a ghosting of fingers against his back, yet there is no one but his pale complexion staring back at him.

he can barely hear rook's voice clawing in the back of his mind. soothing his frail, beating heart and reducing his eyes to mere black points. its a strange feeling. the way his chest tightens and his brain panics, rushing through thought after thought. yet the cool numbness soothes him. something has wormed its way into his chest and made its home. and he didn't like it one bit.

-

simon is enamored.

bewitched.

his once dead heart flutters to life once he sees you from a distance. the rook.

a mere piece on a chessboard. calculating and manipulative and full of secrets.

but for some reason, the secrecy doesn't bother him for once. even as your commanding officer, he feels like he would kill if you came and beckoned him over.

promises of eternal peace and the wanting of your presence all to himself leaves his thoughts whirling and confused.

even soap can feel something has changed in ghost.

soap, the playful and cheery sargent known on base. who cracks jokes and causes mischief and chaos at a tip of a hat.

who is also a merciless killer, an undiagnosed pyromaniac and bomb specialist. who knows the structure of buildings as quickly as a glance.

who can tell that the structure, the foundation that ghost created himself upon is starting to crumble.

ghost who is harsh and hard and maybe a bit of an asshole when he appears without noise and scares the crap out of gaz and soap.

ghost who takes no hesitation and shows no weakness.

has become strange.

soap sees him in the hallway, with his shoulders tensed and his eyes following the figure of something unseen in the corridor. ghost who seems to relax only when rook looks him in the eye for just a moment.

ghost who is strange. almost bewitched in a way.

and it makes soap curious.

what is going on between rook and ghost? it certainly isn't love. from the way that you barely glance over in their direction before going on with your daily duties. it isn't love. not with the way ghost's eyes darken and his jaw sets tight, even hidden behind the mask and the porcelain skull that shields him from humanity.

soap is curious. it shows in the way his eyes dark from ghost to you. the way his fingertips twitch in apprehension, wanting nothing more than to pull you or ghost aside and start investigating.

it shows in the way he suddenly starts hanging around you more. and you can see it.

that past his smiles and jokes, something is there. questioning you. questioning himself.

that his comrade, whom has saved countless lives, including himself and his squadmates, is hiding something that he needs to unravel.

johnny's mother had always warned him not to stick his nose where it doesn't belong.

yet here he is, staring in confusion as price calls him to his office.

price, his captain, who looks worse for wear with bruises along his arms and up his neck. almost like someone had mercilessly captured and beat him. marks and traces of violence that only interrogators held.

johnny stiffens up as price rubs his face, his signature hat thrown to the side and bottles of whiskey and cigars are left unfinished in the ash tray.

very unlikely of price, whom had once scolded johnny not to waste such good cigars.

whom only pulls out his secret stash of hard liquor in his desk when he's struggling. when he's stumped.

even in the worst missions, his captain hadn't looked so defeated. so desperate.

and johnny is so very curious. it tickles the back of the mind as price takes in a deep breath and says one thing.

"tell me everything you know about rook."

the bite on his shoulder stings as price inhales deeply, yet through the alcohol and richness of his cigars, can only smell blood and the faint smell of rook.

following him.

haunting him.

rook. a symbol of intelligence, the sign of a chariot that only rides into war when victory is assured.

rook. who is tearing this team apart and slowly stitching it back together.

rook.

you.

it. @elowynnlane @lilpothoscuttings @mintgreen24 @waves-against-a-cliff @tallmanlover @havingnonamesucks @dashigriffins @thriving-n-jiving @livelaugh-light @ripleyswife @piper570 @chloeforde

[academyofbrokenhearts]

Standing in the Wake of Devastation

Suna and Kaya, in the aftermath of the storm. Taken from episode 51. One-shot.

Author (lengthy) note:

Okay, listen, LISTEN. Episode 51 was quite intense as far as KaySun goes, and I have to say I disagree with many of the takes I saw in the fandom following it. One of the major takes I disagree with was "Suna knew Kaya would never hurt her, she was frightened for him, not of him". No, friends, she did not know that, and judging by the way Beril Pozam played the scene, I am quite sure she was frightened of him during his outburst of rage. Suna is a victim of severe physical and psychological abuse, and has been for most of her life. That has to leave some scars. Plus, she has only known Kaya for a short while, and even if he has treated her quite well up until now (especially compared to the other men in her life), it doesn't mean she trusts him blindly.

BUT ALSO. While I wasn't a fan of him telling him the following morning that she was going to be even more sorry if something similar were to happen again, and while it did sound very close to a threat for me, it obviously wasn't the case for her, considering that she is linking arms with him on her own volition in their next scene, even if he's obviously still upset with her. So I tried my best to illustrate her inner voice.

Does she love him? Probably not yet, but she is loyal to him (as seen in the scene with Abidin), and she is attracted to him, and I do think there is potential for more there. They need to TAAAAAAAAAAAAALK. But alas, they are too damaged at the moment for that.

And yes, I do believe that the writer made the correct choice by not making them talk after Kaya's outburst. I know you all wanted otherwise, but to me it makes sense. They need to build more trust, I think, and that comes with time. People like them will not open up so easily. Hell, it's actually a miracle they were so honest with each other up until this point.

Title inspired by Linkin Park's "Iridescent".

AO3 link here.

It has to be the adrenaline from earlier in the night that keeps Suna from wavering on her feet when Kaya's rage explodes.

That, and the certain something in her that shifted ever since she understood he intended to keep his promise to support her. She doesn't even have to think too much before jumping in his way and trying to stop him from hurting himself, as he's hitting his head on the wardrobe in anger, his previous words, the pain of betrayal echoing in every sound.

didn't we promise to be open and honest with each other didn't we say we were going to walk together on this way

I trusted you

I trusted you

Then his hands are all of a sudden on her wrists, her back to the wardrobe, and she cannot move, and in the blink of an eye, it's like time freezes, and the old fear seeps into her bones, because she knows the story so well from here on out, and it's her heart that cries, because he didn't promise her a fairy tale, but he did promise he will support her always, and why didn't she come to him, he's not his mother, he would have understood, he would have helped, and now it's like he's someone else, and why does every single action of hers, every single decision, turn out to be so wrong, and she was mistaken and she did something bad and now he's angry, and with blood frozen in her veins and heart in her throat, part of her expects a hit that never comes, because he just pushes her away.

She doesn't even have time to process what happened, before he starts hitting his head again. And it goes against everything she learned, against every single act of self-preservation she has internalised, but she hurries in his direction once more.

"Kaya, stop!"

She drags him away, and before she knows it, she's on her knees, Kaya crying with his face buried in her shoulder, holding her as if she's the only thing stopping him from drowning.

For a few moments, she doesn't know what to do with her hands. She's tentatively holding him, traces of her temporary fear still lingering, but in spite of it all, she whispers to him that it's okay, although things are so far from being okay. He cries even harder, and she feels one of his hands holding her head, caressing her hair.

This is also a story she knows well.

She knows how to console a child who is crying, has always knew. How many times did she hold Seyran just like this?

There's nothing scary about a hurt child crying in one's arms, after all.

So she goes through the motions. She embraces him fully, she returns his caresses, she's murmuring gibberish, until his eyes grow heavy, until he allows her to guide him back to bed, until he's lying there with his head on her chest, occasional sobs still rattling his chest.

They don't speak. Seyran and her never spoke either, back then. What's there to say in such moments?

*

In the morning, Kaya is calm and composed, but rigid, and more distant than Suna ever saw him. She does apologise; she didn't intend to offend him or hide things from him, not really, but the situation is complicated as it is, and she doesn't really see how she could have included Kaya in Seyran's escape plan, with Ferit and Abidin also around.

Part of her hates that Abidin can still affect her so much. She has chosen her way, what good is it to linger on the past? They were never in sync, and with the way things are going, it looks like they will never be.

"I don't want you to see me like this ever again, Suna," Kaya says.

"I don't want to see you like this either," she replies. It's far from being a lie; the memory of his voice, of his entire demeanour, still gives her slight chills, but there are also some parts that make her heart flutter weirdly in her chest.

He trusted her.

He really, really wanted to support her.

She's overwhelmed with a sudden urge to touch him, like she did during the night, but she refrains herself. Not yet. Not yet. Because he speaks again:

"If something like this happens again, you will be even more sorry."

It sounds like a threat, and she should perceive it as such, but strangely, she does not. He leaves, and all she feels is a flicker of disappointment.

I trusted you

I'm an idiot

I trusted you

*

It's shortly before the formal event they are supposed to attend, and she knows he must have heard the click of her high heels on the floor, but he doesn't turn towards her.

He's fully dressed in black, just like she is. Always in sync, her and Kaya - except when they are not.

She comes by his side, but his gaze remains ahead, unmoved, his hands in his pockets, his posture rigid. Like she isn't even there.

She understands he's not going to move, so she takes a deep breath, links her arm with his. He still does not look at her, still does not touch her in return, but she thinks she can feel his body relaxing, ever so slightly.

He doesn't touch her on their way there either.

It's only later, when Seyran comes after the Korhans, after their father, on television, metaphorical guns out, later, when she stands at the reception petrified (of admiration? of apprehension? maybe both?), that she feels Kaya's hand covering hers, squeezing gently, and although it's a difficult moment, and she doesn't know what the future has in store for her, for them both, she feels a weight in her chest she wasn't even aware of dissipating.

He still trusts her.

He still supports her, after all.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Ok, people kept saying in the tags "What if it's Mina?!"

So here's how we get both xD

----

The shadow at the window seemed to swallow all the surrounding darkness of the night and hold it to itself. 

Only in the eyes did light escape. Red as fire, as blood, as Quincey's.

Lu had never been afraid of Quincey's eyes, not even in those first awkward moments of meeting, when he'd looked up at her with those red, red eyes and kissed the inside of her wrist. 

She was afraid of these eyes. 

Not so afraid that she couldn't reach for her pistol though. 

She drew it smoothly and quickly as drawing a breath. Dad has shown her how to handle it almost as soon as she'd come to live with him. 

“Better safe than sorry”, he'd always said. “You never know when you might need some extra protection”. 

She moved with cautious swiftness, not wanting to wake Quincey, though he seemed to be deeply asleep as it was, though without the rise and fall of his chest it was hard to tell. 

But he had to be exhausted. 

He'd cried himself to sleep, after all. 

No, He'd been through enough today, reading those letters and files and--and he didn't need whatever this was on top of it. 

Lu could take care of it. She'd been prepared against vampires her whole life after all! Even if Dad never meant her to get this close to one. Even if she wanted nothing more then to scurry away to Dad's rooms herself and hide under his covers like she had when she'd been small and afraid of thunderstorms.

There was thunder rumbling somewhere now…

Lu sent a silent prayer up asking forgiveness for every time she thought her father overbearing--and another for what she was about to do. 

She raised her pistol, and stepped towards the window.  

“Who are you? What do you want?”

She kept her voice, and her hand, steady. Just like Dad, when he was giving orders, just like Uncle Jack, when he wrote in his notebooks with his prosthetic. 

The shadow behind the window wavered slightly, like a reflection in water distorted by a passing wave, the darkness about it pulsed once, twice, and then…

A woman stood behind the glass.

Her hair was so dark is melted into the night still clinging about her, and her skin was white as milk, as snow, save for a burning mark on her forehead, like a bloody half moon. She stood serene and still, and yet there was a sense about her like a storm just about to break. 

She was beautiful, yes, and terrible. 

And Lu knew who she must be.

“Are-are you…Mina Harker?”

The woman nodded, the slightest incline of her head, like a queen deigning to acknowledge a subject.

Lu swallowed, hard.

She'd come to quite admire the Mina Murray she'd read about in the old letters she and Quincey had gone over, and that Uncle Jack had described in his old cylinders.  A  determined and clever young woman, with a great deal of kindness and empathy as well. 

Dad's Lucy had loved her, Dad and Uncle Jack and their friends had been willing to chase the devil to his door for the sake of this woman.

This woman, standing on her balcony, who was now dead. Who'd died twenty one years ago in farr off Transylvania. Who had killed one of those friends, and had another killed for her sake.

For Quincey's sake.

Oh.

Yes, of course.

She would know how to find him, she was his mother after all. 

“You--you can't come in…” Lu whispered, pistol still held high, not daring to look away from the woman, as if while Lu held her in her sights she held her still. Unable to surge forward and take back what she had come for.

You would stand against me? Would keep me from the child I love? 

The words rolled across Lu's mind like distant thunder, and she gasped, shaken at this intrusion into the sanctity of her very mind.

But she pressed on.

“I-I would--if you're here for Quincey, if you-if you try to take him away--yes”

She knew Quincey loved his mother, his papa--but he also loved his ‘father’. He said they loved him. 

For Quincey, love was sacrifice. Lu didn't know if that same idea held for his parents. Love, for at least one of them, seemed very much like Taking, Possessing. 

She knew something of Mina before her death, she knew nothing of this woman that stood before her.

Better safe then sorry.

“You can’t have him” 

The woman's red eyes narrowed, sparking like a flame.

 You, with your child's mind, your body still bound by need of blood, and your little toy gun would stand against one such as I, and keep what I claim from me? 

“Yes…”  Lu hissed, pushing back againt the incessant pressure in her mind. The gun shook in her hand, and she gripped it tighter. Knuckles white. 

You would claim him? Make him yours?

“It's--it's really more of a-a mutual sort of thing. Him and me and--us together. We're sparking--as it were”.

Lu wondered briefly, amidst the buzzing pressure in her head, if her penchant for falling into slang under stress would render those her last words.

She wished she'd thought of something more noble sounding. 

…Good

The pressure collapsed, the storm broken, and Lu felt the relief of her jaw unclenching

“I--sorry?” 

You are willing to risk much for him, you put yourself between one who would try and claim him. You must continue to do so. He is coming. My husband and I will do what we can, but you, who still walk in favor, must keep him safe as well. Swear you will! Vow it!!

Lu wasn't sure anymore just what was happening, the woman didn't seem to be interested in tearing up her mind anymore--but if she was being asked to keep Quincey safe…

Well there was no question there

“I--I will” 

Vow it

“I-I vow. I'll keep him safe. I'll stand between him and whatever tries to harm him. I promise” 

“Father…” 

For the first time since she'd seen the shadow in the window, Lu turned. Quincey was laying on the sette, eyes closed, brow furrowed, a look of deep distress on his still sleeping face.

You

The woman's mind voice crackled through the room, as lighting flitted across the sky outside. 

You dare!

Her eyes were blazing now, glowing coals of hate hate hate. Her hands slammed into the glass, which shuddered under the impact, but held. Those eyes moved from Quincey's sleeping form back to Lu. 

Lighting filled the room with blinding light--and Lu saw within it another shadow, curling over Quincey… 

Wake child, wake, and prove your vow!!

“I-- this…a dream?”

Wake 

Lu shot up, gasping-- just as Quincey did the same beside her.

There was no storm, no cracked glass--and no shadows.

Only darkness, and the lingering echoes of the dreams that had come to them both.

"... While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door..."

(Continuing on from this post)

@animate-mush This started out with giving Quincey hugs after breaking his heart reading the documents--and then my darn brain went "hey what if..."

[pan-gya]

“I wanted to go back to the table where that girl was waiting,”

Please Reblog

[hanniejji]

born from the ashes of another

[ father!diluc ragnvindr x child!reader ]

summary: a phoenix born from ashes and flame, blaze as bright as the first, but can never last as long as the first burst. how does a phoenix ignite itself after losing its flame?

notes: this chonky piece of shit took a long while to finish goddamn. also, heavily inspired by my anons who keeps giving me wonderful brainrots! y'all are wonderful and i love reading your ideas! neways, watch me drop this out of nowhere without a proper ending haha suffer motherfuckers >:) | m.list

words: 7,449 | warnings: sad shit, character death (mentioned), "y/n" used, injuries, torture (not descriptive), trauma, neglect,

ACT I.

diluc's eyes flutter open at the start of your cries, the sound passing through the doors of your room across his, just like what he had intended.

well, what his wife intended for.

shaking the sleepiness out of his mind, he pushes his weary body off the bed, the cold floor helping his groggy brain to wake up by sending chills along his nerves.

"shit."

he winches at the stinging pain on his side from an earlier encounter. it wasn't a deep cut, but it stung like a searing burn against the cloth of his sleepwear. 'wretched abyss,' he thought. nevertheless, he forces himself to move quickly, hoping that your cries haven't woken any of the staff in the house.

yet, his hand flinched just before he could even turn the door knob of your door.

his chest feels constricted, the long hallways seemingly looming over him and the shadows wavering into figures that he's sure is just a figment created by the combination of his imagination and fear. perhaps with a mix of his fatigue and emotions that he had been restraining for the sake of going through his responsibilities without a hitch.

but who could blame him for having moments like this, when he hasn't even had a moment to mourn for the loss of his wife?

the loss of his beloved and the arrival of their child. it was a fear that loomed over everyone in the household after they discovered their madam collapsed one day. her body was too weak to nurture another life. diluc had been in denial at first, searching far and wide for someone to help them save his wife and the child in her womb.

in the end, the doctor had to force him to choose before they lost both of you.

and he chose what his wife begged him to. a final wish that he couldn't possibly deny her of. he could still remember her pained voice as she whispered her last wish to him.

"save them," she had begged the trembling man seated beside her bed. "there's no guarantee that i may even survive this, so please, at least save our child, my love."

if finding even the tiniest hope for her survival was a struggle, making sure that you live through the process was akin to fighting death itself. you didn't make a single noise the moment you were born and there was almost no air coming from your nose. the doctors were separated, some were fussing over you while your mother was taken care of for the entirety of the night.

the moment you made a small cry was like a small show of mercy from the gods.

your mother was still conscious enough to see you for the first and last time. she spent her last moments in his arms, smiling at your resting form bundled in a red blanket.

those mere minutes of tranquility was something out of his dreams.

the image of his wife—with the exception of her deathly pale skin and weak breathing—holding your frail body in her arms, the smile that was shared between them. yet diluc's lips trembled at the inevitable quietus in his beloved's eyes. her last words uttered in a whisper and the shiver that traversed across his spine when he felt her cold hands lingered on his skin.

"i love you."

the next thing he knew, doctors were scurrying right back to the room while he sat outside with you in his arms, lifeless eyes staring aimlessly at the floor.

nothing could possibly console him. but his life had forced him to go back and attend to his responsibilities, as if the death of his wife wasn't enough for the gods.

a loud shrill of your cries woke him a second time this night.

no, he scolded himself, turning the knob to push your door open and taking a deep breath, i don't have time for such thoughts.

carefully, he closed the door with a click, his face frowning at the incessant cries coming from your crib. he can see your little arms flailing up and around through the wooden rails, prompting him to quicken his pace towards you.

what a tiny little thing you are, he can still remember his wife's voice when you were placed in her arms that night.

"good evening, little one," he coos, lowering his hand to brush against the baby hairs on your head.

"if i remember correctly, adelinde fed you earlier just before i arrived—" he recalls that it had just been two and a half hours ago when he finished his patrol around mondstadt, "—what must be causing you to fuss at this time of the night?"

he wasn't aware of it, but the corner of his lips tilted up into a small smile. his voice in a gentle tone that only his beloved had the honor of hearing. your delicate skin barely felt the feather-like touches of his fingertips but it was enough to make your cries decrease in volume, your hiccups and whimpers left to echo in the four walls of your room.

diluc felt his heart leap for a second, but shook his head to focus on easing your cries.

"your diaper is clean," he glances at the sheets in your crib, "you hadn't entangled yourself with the mattress either."

it's safe to say that everything that diluc had read about parenting, which were multiple shelves upon shelves of books, had dispersed the second he had to put it to use.

"uh," he looks down at you in concern, clueless and hands trembling in nervousness.

you're still crying, albeit not as loud as before but he still wouldn't want you to keep crying until you get tired. he sighs, wracking his brain of anything that might solve his problems right away.

"barbatos help me—wait, no, nevermind," he groans, reprimanding himself for even thinking about that unreliable and drunkard archon of mondstadt. hesitating for a second, he carefully reaches under your armpits then pauses.

how do you carry babies again?

you must've sensed his reluctance, squirming at the uncomfortable grip he has around your armpits and whining.

"wait, no, that's not right."

cursing under his breath, he then slips his hands under your head and bum, carefully—almost too careful, he's so afraid to accidentally drop you—lifting you to his chest, where he lets your head rest on his shoulder. the weight of your body was unfamiliar in his arms, so light. he really hasn't carried you that much, huh? his arms are too stiff to be comfortable for babies, yet here you are, babbling quietly and relaxing.

wait, what?

he turns his head to look at your untroubled sleeping face.

did you… did you stop crying the moment he took you in his arms?

"oh, my little flame."

you look so… so fragile and at peace. he never imagined that such a vulnerable little thing like you would ever feel so secured in his presence that you'd cease your tears at the touch of his warmth. it's like he was all you were searching for in the first place—and he is. you really were asking, crying, for him. for a mere few minutes in his arms and you're already so comfortably sleeping, as if you weren't just fussing a moment ago. you wanted him, a man who had lost everything and grew familiar with violence, to hold you in his arms.

the whole time that he was awestruck at such a precious moment in front of him, he had not realized the tears running down his cheeks.

only when he felt the drops of crystal clear tears on your clothes did he snap from his gaze, shifting you gently to wipe away his tears. his tired eyes affected by his sudden tears feel heavier than earlier.

but he didn't want to leave this yet.

he wants to stay like this a little longer. he wants to feel the utmost trust you put in him to hold your fragile little self and protect you in your most vulnerable state.

this… this is an unfamiliar territory, yet it also feels right. like his arms is where you are safe the most.

so he stays.

leaning his back on the armchair placed in your baby room, he carefully shifts you to lay on his arms, watching you sleep with tenderness in his eyes. to be given such an opportunity to care, love, and protect such a precious little thing. one that was given to him by his wife. one that lit up a tiny flame in his heart, slowly engulfing his whole person and soaring the skies.

he would do everything to protect you, even at the cost of his life.

"rest well, little phoenix."

but you burned so brightly that he sometimes had to look away.

ACT II.

to say that everyone in the ragnvindr household, staff and employees alike, are in shambles is an understatement.

this includes even the ever so smooth cavalry captain, kaeya.

the cause? you, the only child of diluc ragnvindr, had fallen terribly ill a week ago. at first it was just a runny nose and a constant feeling of discomfort. three days later, your simple cold turned into a high fever. the bad news? diluc is thousands of miles away in fontaine, dealing with international business and he hasn't been answering their letters. yes, letters, plural form. they had sent the fifth letter this morning.

kaeya, and everyone else, is slowly losing their mind. adelinde and elzer are on the verge of a breakdown.

"ah, seriously, your stupid father."

kaeya sighed for the nth time today. he had been taking his day off for the past four days, choosing to look after your ill state. the convenience of his cryo vision came in handy in this situation, keeping your forehead cool with a hand and using his body temperature to make sure you aren't being affected by the heatwave outside.

yet, your fever refuses to go down. you weren't necessarily hard to take care of, but the frown on your face and whimpers from time to time says enough.

that, and you kept asking for your currently absent father.

"uncle?"

"yes, pipsqueak?" he rubs his hand across your back, "do you want something?"

"where's dad?"

kaeya couldn't help the grimace at your question, choosing to say something that wouldn't directly tell you that your dumbass of a father is too busy to spare a minute or two to read their letters regarding your state.

"he'll be home soon, alright?"

kaeya's never been a religious person, but he prays to the wielder of faith that what he said will come true.

"i want dad…"

"i know, kid, i know."

a few seconds later, you're once again in a feverish dreamland. kaeya couldn't imagine how it must've felt to not find the person you need the most at your weakest state. (well, he could actually, but even then he was always surrounded by people when he was your age)

perhaps it's not as obvious to the public, but kaeya is not just anyone. he knows the longing in your eyes whenever he sees you look at you diluc. the way you don't seem to have the same glee that klee and any other child have. he's also painfully aware of diluc's negligence and irresponsibility as your father. how can he not be aware, when you ask him things that you should already know just by spending time with your father? when he had never seen the two of you in the same room, bonding or doing whatever a father and his child should be doing? when he can clearly see you looking at your father with desperate eyes and diluc looks at you wistfully, unable to sort his the unresolved emotions he still had since your mother's passing? after all, diluc ragnvindr is a man who cannot waste his time to mourn when time is unwilling to wait. time is unyielding, merciless, keeps moving forward and will not spare anyone a moment to stop. and you are his child burdened at such a young age.

but you still ask for your father nonetheless.

"is dad here yet?"

that's the nth time you asked that question now.

adelinde couldn't help but frown every time you did, praying to the anemo archon once more that the master would soon push the doors to the manor open. after kaeya left for work—he unfortunately couldn't skip today's patrol, something about observing the recent appearance of an unusual activity in the wild—you had woken up from a fever dream. if adelinde wasn't already stressed for the past few days, she was sure she would've passed out when she saw you crying in your sleep, twisting and turning around under the crumpled sheets before waking up with a yelp, curling around your knees as you let out heart wrenching whimpers and cries for your father.

it took a while before you eventually settled down in bed again, but unable to close your eyes after the fright.

"please, young one, you need to rest if you want to get well."

"i want to wait for dad…"

she had never seen you in such a state where you'd stubbornly stick your feet to the ground with the resolve that resembled your father so much. you were always such an obedient child, listening intently to the staff—especially to diluc—and never having to be told of something twice for you to understand something.

but right now, even as your eyes refuse to stay open and your breaths turn shallow, you clench your fist around your blanket with a determination that's mighty as steel.

oh you remind her so much of diluc whenever he gets stubborn as a sick child, it would've been so endearing if only the two aren't in such a complicated situation.

"knock knock," elzer peeks inside from the door, giving you a gentle smile before entering. "don't want to sleep yet?"

"the young one is insisting on waiting for the master," adelinde sighed tiredly.

"i want to wait for dad," they barely heard your voice from under your blanket. when did you even cocooned yourself?

"i figured as much," elzer chuckled as he walked closer, pulling something from behind him to show you. "i have something that might help you. here, let me unwrap you from the burrito you got yourself into."

carefully, he takes the blanket away from your shivering body, quickly replacing it with two coats similar to the ones your dad wears everyday.

"did you take that from the laundry?"

"apologies," he sheepishly smiles at adelinde. "i thought our young ragnvindr here would feel better if they had something to remind them of the master."

"you didn't even have the mind to tell me?"

"you haven't left this room since master kaeya went out!"

"thank you."

the two whipped their heads to look at you, both exhaling a relieved breath at the sight of your eyes closed, snuggling into the coats that are remarkably too large for your size. you look a little more at ease now, forehead lacking the crease of your eyebrows.

"i miss dad," you subconsciously murmured, barely heard if it wasn't for the silence in the room.

elzer brushes the hair away from your face, delicately smoothing his thumb at your temple with a soft smile.

"fret not, young one. master diluc will arrive sooner than later," he purses his lips at the lie.

just like that, you have once again fallen into the land of dreams, hopefully one that will not stir you awake with fear.

as if the archons had enough of their constant voices, their prayers have been answered.

diluc can consider his business in fontaine successful. he had not expected it to only take a week and a day, clearly assuming that it would've taken more than just a week to strike a deal in business. but hey, what's done is done and he's thankful that he could come home to you sooner.

after all, he wouldn't have worked his ass off as diligently as possible if he didn't want to see you immediately.

he had been packed with papers here and there from multiple people who wanted to do business with him—he's much more surprised that he went through all of them in such a short amount of time—that he had unintentionally forgotten the unusual amount of letters from elzer and… kaeya?

what in the world would kaeya want from him other than to annoy him? no matter, the sooner he finishes things up the sooner he can go home.

ah, home. home is wherever you are safe.

except, he didn't expect to come home to his maids scurrying around without the supervision of adelinde and how they are extremely relieved to see him enter through the entrance.

"master diluc!" they exclaimed at the same time.

the two rushed to his direction, both simultaneously rambling his ears off in concern.

"wait, wait," diluc sighed, stopping them from their rambles, "i do not understand anything that the two of you are saying. now, tell me what's wrong, clearly this time." he pointed a look towards moco.

"um," she gulped—clearly nervous about the sudden stare—"it's about your child." the two tensed up at the way his eyes squinted into a worried look.

"yes? what happened?"

"they had fallen ill for a week and three days now."

without wasting a single moment after those words escaped moco's mouth, his feet hurriedly skips to the stairs and swerved the corners of every hallway to their room right in front of his, where adelinde is just about to close the door upon her exit.

"what happened?"

she sharply turned around at his sudden voice, breathing a sigh of relief. she almost thought that she's starting to see things out of desperation.

"i'm glad you've returned safely, master diluc," she curtsies, "the little one had only just fallen asleep after a few hours of restless tousling in bed. they've been asking for you ever since they fell ill."

"their condition?" he eyes the crack on the door where he can see the mop of hair just a little.

"their fever hasn't gone down for a week now, but it also hasn't gotten worse. although, i'm afraid this is causing too much stress on them and it's not allowing them to rest," she moves aside the door, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently nudging him inside with an encouraging smile. "i believe the constant thought of you and your absence in their delirious state is weighing down on their fragile condition. i'm sure they'll feel a little better with their father's presence."

"thank you for looking after them and… apologies, i—"

"it is not i that you should be apologizing to. please," she pleads, "they need you right now, master diluc. they need their father."

sharing one last glance of acknowledgement between the two, adelinde leaves diluc to his own device, the latter then pushing the door open as quietly as possible.

the sight of your tiny figure wrapped in his coats, curled into a ball in the large bed that seems to be too cold for your comfort feels like a lightning struck diluc's heart. your eyes are shut tight, half of your face covered by the clothes and obvious shivers wracking your body. to the eyes of someone that doesn't share the same sharp sense of a man who's been through harsh winters and countless near death encounters, one wouldn't be able to see the twitches of your eyes, completely encased inside your slumbering dreams.

all of this was happening while he was thousands of miles away. such a foolish mistake on his part to regard those letters inconvenient without even knowing its contents.

your pain reminds him of your mother's demise. like a mirage playing all of his suffering in a loop.

but no, he's here now and it's not the time to wallow in self-deprecating thoughts when he should be prioritizing your health.

"my little flame," he exhales under his breath, lowering himself beside you on your bed and brushing your hair away from your face, the mere touch of his warm fingers stirring you awake from a cold dream.

or maybe, you're still dreaming.

because there's just no way for the man that you've been calling out for just moments ago—it's been days but you're too delirious to figure that out—is now here beside you, smiling at you in a way he never had done so before.

"dad?"

"hey," he greets, staring right back at your sleep-hazed eyes with a soft smile, "how's my little phoenix feeling, hm?"

"cold. i feel very cold."

"i see, it just so happens that i have a pyro vision to help you with that," he breathed a relieved sigh when you chuckled quietly. "would you mind if i hold you to keep you warm for a while?"

"you're not… busy?"

"that doesn't matter right now, little flame. i would rather be here than anywhere else."

dad is always busy, you thought. this really must be a good dream.

"i… i want dad to hold me."

"i would gladly."

in the next few minutes, you fight to keep your eyes open, nuzzling your head against the warmth of your father's chest. he has you huddled close to his chest while he sits on the chair beside your bed, still bundled in his coats. you look so much like that night when he first took you in his arms to sooth your cries, falling asleep with your bundled form in his chest and waking up to see your peaceful slumber, not once stirring awake to cry after he took you in his arms. that night he swore to give everything he has to protect your light.

if the archons would let you, you would stay in this dream forever—and if falling asleep in this dream means you'd wake up to a reality where diluc barely looks behind him to see you trying to reach for him with your little hands, then you never want to wake up from this dream.

"rest well, my flame. i'll be here for you whenever you need me."

and what a wonderful dream it was.

ACT III.

kaeya had never felt so cold in the tavern in his entire life.

it wasn't raining, nor was it winter that sources the low temperature, and it couldn't possibly be cold in such an establishment that diluc owns. in fact, it's always been warm in the tavern.

until today, that is.

"would you care to repeat that again?"

kaeya, despite being a cryo vision wielder, felt the hairs in his body stood at the icy venomous tone that came out of diluc's mouth. he's used to hearing him speak in such way that makes him intimidating—not so much to kaeya—but right now his voice just reeks pure anger and murderous intent that everyone, sober or not, can do nothing but stare at the scene in fear.

"i will gladly say it again!" the man hollered, utterly drunk and out of his mind.

"fool," kaeya glared at the man in front of the bar counter.

"you would've been better off saving your wife rather than your wretched child. you wouldn't lose anything if you saved her, you could just make another! they're a pathetic child anyway! so meek and naive, how can they possibly live up to their parents' names?"

kaeya gritted his teeth, jaw and fists clenched, shooting up from his seat that pushed his chair backward. but before he could even make a step towards the man, diluc raised his hand as if to tell him that he's got this.

agitated and confused, but kaeya knew better. he may not look like it, but he knew that something is brewing behind that void expression on diluc's face.

"they are nowhere as wonderful as your gorgeous wife! in fact, they're better off gone from the face of this world instead of having killed their own mother—"

a hand reached out from behind the bar, grabbing onto his collar and pulling him forward.

"—hey! how dare you touch me! i am a nobility!"

"say. that. again."

the man felt his whole body tremble at the sudden rise in temperature and the blazing vermillion eyes staring right through his soul, molten lava swirling in rage in those orbs, glowering down at him with the intensity of a bursting sun, radiating pure heat that will melt him right before he can even get close. despite all of this, his sweat felt too cold, traveling across his whole body when the hand around his collar tightens when he doesn't answer.

one can tell that he's completely sober and wide awake right now.

"did i tell you to stop speaking?"

"no—no, no, no, please sir you must understand—"

"oh, i completely understand what you're trying to say."

suddenly the world spins and his face is planted on the bar counter's wood surface with the strength of a person who has trained with a claymore more than half his life.

"but sire, you know nothing about my late wife and my child," diluc smashes a wine bottle on the wooden counter, the money's worth of wine spilling on the floor but diluc could care less. the wine may as well be the blood of this buffoon here. his blood is boiling, a concoction of anger and pure bloodlust spilling over the nose of the pot that makes him point the shattered ends of the bottle near the man's terrified face.

"you better listen to every word i say with that pig-headed brain of yours," his voice gets impossibly colder, dropping into a lower tone as he looks down with murderous eyes. "if i hear you utter my wife or phoenix's name, i will personally see to it that it will be the last name that you get to say and my face would be the last thing you see."

he goes over the counter while dragging the man behind him like a sack of potatoes with great force, ignoring the cries for mercy—even the people at the tavern avoid meeting his eyes. he is soon thrown outside the tavern, his fancy noble suit kissing the dirty pavements.

"never show your obnoxious face in my tavern again," diluc turns around, pauses, before looking back at the horrified man once more. "oh, and don't doubt my ability. i will know if you mention my wife and child's name again."

"good evening and welcome back, master diluc."

"good evening."

diluc shrugs his coat from his shoulder, letting adelinde take the cloth from him before turning to elzer.

"i assume that the documents i asked for this morning have arrived?"

"yes, sir, i placed the document right next to the sales report files in your office. everything else is ready to be arranged for tomorrow."

"good, thank you," he sighs in relief then turns to adelinde. "how is phoenix? had they eaten?"

"yes, they did request that we place a smaller portion of food this lunch and dinner. they claimed that… that they'd be too busy to study to eat that much."

"they've been awfully invested in their studies these days," elzer added. "perhaps i should schedule a time for tutor sessions?"

"no need," he shakes his head. "y/n had expressed a disinterest in being tutored by someone else."

he bids the two a good night, venturing through the hallways that he knows so well like the back of his hand, mindlessly skipping his room until he is stood in front of your door. the adrenaline and surge of emotions from tonight's shift at the tavern left a sour taste in his tongue, bile lumping in his throat at the words he's been trying oh so hard to forget.

the sheer audacity to tell him that you are nothing like your mother.

you are everything that your mother wanted you to be. you remind him so much of her that it sometimes sends his heart in a spiraling tumble across mondstadt's mountains. sometimes it hurts, sometimes it gives him a sense of peace to have you safe and sound, right beside him—a piece of what's left from his wife, a blessing and a gift. but mostly, it scares him that he might fail to protect you as well, like he always does.

but despite all of these, you also bring so much comfort to him that your mother once did.

you are nothing like what the man mentioned you to be.

finally, diluc's shoulders drop the tense posture it has been with after the encounter in the tavern, his breath more regulated and mind finally free from the malicious infestation it once held towards that bastard.

"y/n?" he quietly knocks on your door.

a few seconds passed without a response, he quietly and carefully turned the knob and pushed the door, noting that your lamp is still lit and the windows are still wide open, letting in the cold wind of the night.

"oh, dear," he sighed exasperated—yet the fond smile on his face says otherwise.

papers and books are scattered all over your desk, all kept in place by your folded arms and head that was sprawled across the wooden surface. your cheek was pressed on an opened book, a quill lying limp on your hand and inkwell dangerously close to tipping over your pile of papers.

you had fallen asleep while studying.

he approaches your slumped body, placing the lid on the inkwell and moving it to a safer area. before he could even begin to move you back to your bed, his hand paused all movement as he stared at your sleeping face.

you look so at peace—something that he wants to maintain for your safety. something that he risks his life every night and works hard everyday for. he would raise hell from the underground and bring blazing fire to the abyss if he had to—he would do everything to keep you safe. even if it means burning himself in the process.

"my little phoenix," he whispered into the night, a hand brushing the hairs away from your forehead. "you look so much like your mother."

willing himself to move, he carefully carries you to bed and tucks the blanket around you, brushing your hair so it wouldn't get in your face whilst you sleep. he tidied up your desk and closes the windows, checking around for anything to arrange before turning the lamp off and making his way to the door.

he faces your bed right as he closes the door, smiling at how you seemed to be deep in your sleep.

"you did well today, my little flame. good night."

the next day, you groggily thanked adelinde on your way to the kitchen for breakfast, muttering how terrible it would've been if your ink had spilled all over your books. your mind was still half asleep to discern her confusion.

ACT IV.

birthdays are said to be a day of celebration. the special day that you were brought to the world and into the lives of those that cherishes you, receiving gifts and greetings and spending the whole day with those that you love.

you don't like celebrating your birthday.

your birthday is far from special. you despise it. every year, you grow agitated whenever the day slowly comes and you have to prepare yourself to plaster fake smiles to those that greet you, before trying your best to convince your father to not spend mora upon mora for a single party. it's one of those rare times that you're glad that he's too busy to arrange anything, letting elzer to handle the task. the poor guy has to deal with your incessant request to just drop the party plans and lie to your father every time.

overtime, everyone in the winery figured that you just don't like celebrating it at all, and that's understandable. it's something that they understand without having to say anything, choosing to greet you with warm smiles in the morning and your favorite platter of food instead. the cake—which is something you actually do enjoy by the way—and the fake props stays though, diluc would be suspicious if he finds no sign that a celebration took place.

your birth stole the life of someone precious to the people around you, why should you celebrate it?

the only problem lies in the city of mondstadt itself.

you once made the mistake of venturing to the city to buy yourself something for yourself—no offense to diluc's gift but it's more often than not something that you're not interested in, you will never say that to his face though.

the moment you step foot inside the city gates, people bombarded you with happy greetings and inquiries about how you would celebrate, some gave you a free treat—you particularly love the flowers and small treats. they raise their voices in such an over enthusiastic way that it echoes in your ear like a broken phonograph. it's irritating, infuriating, and exhausting—but as a ragnvindr, you have to force the most polite smile on your face and give them the same fake energy they give you, ignoring those who stare at you in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you may be in your preteen years, but you weren't born yesterday—hah!—nor are you blind.

you were lucky kaeya was near that time and saw your unnerving smile. since then, you made a point of not venturing outside the vicinity of the dawn winery for a week after your birthday.

unfortunately, that's not the case this time.

"where have you been the whole day?"

you froze on spot at the sound of his voice—stern, strict, and cold. you hadn't expected him to wait for you, especially not when the manor is littered with strangers plastered with smiles and disgustingly sweet voices greeting your ears the moment they laid their judging eyes upon you. surely, he must be tired from all the social mingling.

you felt suffocated surrounded by these guests.

diluc had scheduled a banquet held in the manor the same day of your birthday, celebrating not only your birth but also the emerging business opportunities for the winery. it had been a while since the ragnvindr manor opened its door to visitors—your parents' wedding, specifically—so it's no wonder why all of these noble families were eager to attend.

hosting a banquet on our birthday, means your attendance is a must. diluc had once emphasized the importance of making appearances when hosting an event.

for the most part, you had been present from start of the banquet, saying your oh so called gratitude whenever someone greets you a happy birthday. but you knew better than to trust those excited grins and sugar-coated words. you hear them all the time, what makes them think theirs is special? within this kind of society, there's no room for being naive and gullible.

yet it still did not stop you from feeling disgusted and asphyxiated.

right in the middle of the event, your head started to spin from how crowded you felt. excusing yourself was easy enough, you know the right words to say. escaping the manor was tedious though, everyone wanted to greet the young ragnvindr, but you successfully made it to the back porch where you found yourself hiding away from the monsters making themselves feel at home in a house that was supposed to be your safe place.

the comfort outside was soon disrupted when one of the maids found you, panic stricken on her face as she relayed to you that the banquet had been dismissed hours ago and your father was not pleased with how you ditched the event.

"y/n, i asked you a question."

his voice sounded louder than before, you can conclude that your silence was not what he was looking forward to, nor is any excuse you'd make on the spot.

"apologies," you will yourself to speak loud enough for him to hear, but avoid looking his way. "i got caught up admiring the view outside."

why is it so hard to make a lie on the spot when you're talking to diluc?

"the view outside?" you can hear the confusion in his voice. "the view outside has been the same since forever. what difference does the view have now that it made you leave the banquet meant to celebrate your birth?"

you dig your nails into your palms, biting the insides of your cheeks to refrain yourself from making a sarcastic remark.

"nothing, father. although i couldn't say the same for inside the house."

your mouth opened before you could even think of what you just said. well, there goes your attempt at a peaceful conversation.

i really should lessen the time i spend with uncle kaeya.

"inside the house?" diluc pushes himself up from the couch, arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. "i'm going to need you to expound on your words and while you're at it, why our guest claimed to not have attended any of your birthday celebrations that you and the other staff claimed you had hosted. elzer seemed to turn pale when i asked him about this, so i figured it would be better to ask you myself."

oh, he knows.

the look on your face confirms his suspicion.

"y/n, if you don't give me a proper explanation for your lies and sudden dereliction for your manners, know that i will not forget to address such topic unless you give me the explanation i want to hear—"

your head feels fuzzy, his voice is being muffled by the sound of faint ringing and your heartbeat in your ears, throbbing—pounding on the skull of your temple. your throat turns dry, lips parting to let you breathe as you felt the suffocating atmosphere from earlier once again.

never have you felt such a bubbling feeling of frustration and heaviness directed towards your father.

"yes, i lied."

"i am aware," he clicks his tongue at the nonchalant way you spoke—the sound wasn't that loud yet it echoed in your ears painfully.

the way he spoke sent your mind reeling with insecurities. your fear of disappointing the one person you strive to get to acknowledge you in the slightest prickling your skin with hot iron, as if engraving the tone of his voice in your head.

disappointing and shameful.

but something snapped inside of you when the circumstance has settled in, when the past occurrence whipped in front of your eyes in a single moment, along with the emotions that came crashing on you, recalling every little bit of effort you put through to get to him.

is it… really necessary for me to do something and be someone of distinction to deserve my father's recognition?

suddenly, you couldn't stop your mouth from spitting fire.

"in fact, i've been lying to you and myself, father."

cold silence flooded the room at your words, but you willed yourself to gaze upon his bewildered face, a hint of pain behind those familiar vermillion eyes of his. if he had looked at you this way any other day, you would've done anything to clear yourself of confusion to appease him.

but this is no any other day.

"what are you trying to tell me, phoenix?"

your mind is too fogged with frustration and everything you have suppressed to be delighted with the nickname he often calls you.

"why do you always insist that i celebrate this… special day?"

you watch him look at you, questioning, as if he wanted to ask why you wouldn't know such a thing.

"because today is the day of your birth and i want you to be surrounded with the people who want to bring joy to you," his tone seemed perplexed, wording his words like it wasn't obvious enough. "i wanted you to be happy on your birthday."

you almost want to barf the second he spoke those words.

"why would you even ask such things—"

“have you ever asked me what i wanted?"

diluc staggered backwards, mouth opening to say something but he paused, something akin to realization plastered in his face and he pales. his tensed shoulder visibly lowered, breath shuddering at your words that echoes itself in his head like a broken cassette.

no, he had never asked you what you wanted. he just assumed that you would.

but why, why did you kept quiet? did i really appeared like i don't care enough to listen to you?

"i didn't want to burden you any further with my preferences. i… i thought it would please you if i never complained about anything."

it was as if you knew how his mind works, answering with his unsaid question.

"phoenix," he takes a step closer but dared not to get too close. he felt like an invisible force, a wall, is hindering him from approaching your figure.

"to be acknowledged by you. it was all i ever wanted."

what?

"forgive me if i seem too… unmindful of my manners in an earlier banquet. i never meant to hurt our family's name like that—"

"that's not what—"

"i wanted to keep up appearances and stay by your side, be the ever carbon copy of the master of the ragnvindr clan. but tonight,"—your gaze lowered, as if embarrassed—"it didn't felt right. the crowd of people felt… suffocating. i used to think that it was easy to keep smiling to appease these people that i'm not familiar with. but i guess you just made it look easier," you smiled, although tight and forced, like the ones diluc uses for his business. a smile so unlike yourself.

it pained diluc to have you direct that kind of smile towards him.

"i never wanted these flock of people walking around praising me for their own benefit."

but you deserve all of those words of acknowledgement, you've done so much at such a young age. you deserve so much more.

"i didn't ask for this party filled with all these people that i've never even spoken to, not even once."

i'm so sorry my little flame, i never wanted to make you feel like a lone whale in a vast ocean.

"i never wanted to spend another birthday that would only remind me of how extremely lonely it is to be loved just for my last name, if they even love me at all—" you chuckled bitterly.

you don't know how much i love you my little flame, i would've gone to hell and back for you.

"—i never wanted to spend another birthday wishing for my own father to recognize me for who i am and actually look at me for more than just a few minutes and not just because he has to. all i want is to spend my birthday, heck it doesn't even have to be my birthday or any holiday, with my dad. just my dad. no one else. and i hope he also wants to spend just a day with me, not just because it's his responsibility."

i do! it doesn't have to be any special day, i would've dropped everything if you asked me to!

diluc felt his whole body run cold at your next words, eyes glistening with tears at the sudden imagery of the woman he loved in his mind, holding your fragile figure in her arms as she took her last breath.

suddenly, you seem so out of reach.

"i don't want another birthday where i wish that it should've been my mother and not me."

what… what do you mean? how could you say that?

wordlessly—with dull eyes that remind him so much of himself whenever he looks at the mirror when he was younger and angrier—you gave him a tired smile, before turning on your heels.

"forgive me for being disappointing, father."

say something, say something, idiot! do something! move, move, move!

he watched helplessly, unable to tear his gaze from your retreating figure.

do something for the love of god! it's all your fault, if you didn't stay quiet, if you haven't been distancing yourself, this wouldn't happen! you pushed your own child away!

his mouth parted to say something, but his voice failed to speak up. the tears that gathered in his eyes fell in streams, the image of your form closing the door blurry as he whispers his unspoken plea.

"please, don't take anyone else from me anymore. not my phoenix."

[saiyanprincessswanie]

My Angel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Disabled!Female Reader

Word Count: 1395

Warnings: Fluff, Talk of Disability, Emotional Issues,

Summary: Steve is proud to call you his wife even when life throws a curve ball and you fall sick. No matter what anyone says you are his saving grace, his beautiful Angel. He will always be happy to remind you how much you mean to him.

A/N: This is for @gotnofucks​ body positivity challenge. The challenge says “Pick something that may make someone self-conscious or insecure and make them feel better about themselves.” I chose my disability that I deal with every single day. Some know about it. I don’t normally discuss it much but this challenge really spoke to me. So you will see a glimpse into our lives. I read this to my husband and he legit cried. He said, “It’s like you wrote exactly what I feel about you.” He did laugh when I told him I put Steve Rogers in the husband role. LOL!

A/N 2: Italics are a flashback. Also, thank you to @pigwidgeonxo​ & @music-culture-mythology​ for beta reading this.

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD.

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps or third party sites. If you see my work anywhere else besides my personal accounts on Tumblr & AO3 then it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

The warmth from the sun casts its rays across their shared bed as his wife sleeps peacefully curled up next to him. He smiles knowing that she is his little angel and he feels blessed to have her by his side.

Life hasn’t been easy for them since the diagnosis that she received. Steve had promised her the day they got the news he would be by her side every step of the way. Their journey so far has seen many hospital visits, doctor appointments, and a variety of different tests. All of them saying there is nothing they can do for her except treat the symptoms.

So every morning Steve lets her sleep knowing that her body kept her up late from the pain she was in. Exhaustion had taken over only an hour ago as she softly cried against his chest, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back.

Steve gets up quietly like most mornings and gets himself showered and dressed. By the time his sweet angel wakes up, he's by her side. His strong hands are soft and careful as he helps her stand up. The risk of fainting is high as she goes from being in bed so long to now suddenly standing, but as she wavers Steve holds her hips tight until the feeling passes.

Steve places her walker in front of her body, her hands holding tight as she takes her first steps of the day. He follows closely behind her as she makes her way to the bathroom. 

Her legs feel like jello as she walks 'pigeon-toed' as the doctor calls it to the bathroom. She can barely get her legs to move but she presses on to get her morning routine over with. Her motto is always a simple one, “get two feet on the ground and it will be a good day.” That’s what she has lived by since her body started to break down. 

Once she has relieved herself, washed her hands, and brushed her teeth she heads back to the bedroom. 

Steve follows again behind her until she reaches the bed. He knows her heart is beating as if she just ran a race, so he guides her to sit down so he can grab her clothes for the day. Many people have told him he should have married someone healthy, who can work and bring something to the marriage. As he slowly dresses her for the day he recalls a conversation that took place last night.

“I don’t know why you are with her. She can’t give you the life you deserve. She is a fragile doll that could break at any minute. How are you supposed to have children when you are taking care of her?” Sharon tried to plead her case but Steve cut her off.

Steve narrowed his eyes at her, his stance widening as his anger simmered to a boil. “What I deserve is to be happy and she makes me feel that every single day. She is so strong getting up every morning with a smile on her face. She doesn’t complain about what she can’t do or how much she suffers. Instead, she conquers the day like a goddess and I’m literally in awe of her. If you could live one day in her shoes I know for a fact you wouldn’t have an ounce of grace like she does.” Steve had stormed off away from Sharon and as soon as his eyes locked with his wife’s he could see the tears in her eyes. He knew that his friend hurt his wife but the tears were not from what Sharon said. Instead, his wife later confessed she couldn’t believe how he once again stood up for her against someone who was supposed to be his friend.

The fact is Steve wouldn’t change a thing about his marriage or the woman he fell in love with. Watching her every day persevering in the face of uncertainty makes him feel proud to call her his wife. Unlike other women in the past, his angel has been by his side in good and bad times. She has never judged his past, has always given him the emotional support he has always craved. Most importantly, she has loved him as no other has ever had in his past. He would go to hell and back for her if he needed to. His angel was his everything.

Gently Steve carried her from the bedroom to the couch in the living room. He places a blanket over her lap and hands his angel a book she’s been reading over the last several days. Placing a soft kiss on her forehead he makes his way into the kitchen and prepares breakfast. Once her meal is made he carries it out to the couch and puts it on the tv tray next to her. 

As she eats her meal in peace Steve brings out the first of many medicines that she has to take that day, placing them on her table. Sipping his coffee he can’t help but smile as her eyes close and she hums in content from eating everything he cooked. She took her pills with the rest of her juice and looked into his blue eyes.

“What are you smiling about?” she asks.

Placing his coffee on the table next to the couch he watches her as she fidgets. “I’m smiling because of you angel. I think you are the only one who likes what I cook.”

“Well I mean it’s either eat this or starve.” She jokes as she side-eyes him.

“Why you little punk.” Steve moves quickly, gently pinning her to the couch, and starts to tickle her sides. She squeals as his fingers lightly move into her more ticklish spots. “Are you saying my cooking is bad?” He playfully mocks as she laughs harder. Steve’s legs are straddling her body, caging her in as he teases her.

“I was joking! I love your cooking. Steve-please!” She chuckles as his fingers finally stop. He knows not to push her too hard as she catches her breath. 

Steve pulls her to sit up as they both smirk at one another. “Are you okay, angel?” His hands rub up and down her arms.

“Of course I am. I’m not a fragile doll despite what others think.” She looks away from him thinking of the night before.

Steve's heart feels like it could break. “Hey doll, look at me.” She hesitates a moment before looking back at him, his hand grasps hers as he kisses the back of each one. “I don’t want you to even let what that woman said last night get to you.”

“But Steve…” she tries to plead her case but he interrupts her.

“Listen, you are my wife. I fell in love with you for who you are. You, my angel, are the strongest woman that I know. You get up every day and fight battles that I could never imagine. On top of that, you never ask for sympathy and legit get mad at people when they try to pity you. You’re brave, positive, resilient, compassionate, and most of all a badass.” 

Steve wipes her tears away as she chuckles. “I don’t know about badass babe.” 

“Are you saying I don’t know a badass when I see one? I mean hell, Nat couldn’t even hold a candle to you and I’ve literally watched her kick ass. You’re my beautiful wife Mrs. Rogers. I don’t want anyone else in this world or, hell, the entire universe.” Steve gently cups her cheek and she nuzzles into it. “Do you remember our vows? We both said, in sickness and in health. I’m always going to be here no matter what. You’re stuck with me angel until the end of the line.”

Leaning towards him she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a passionate kiss. At that moment after hearing him talk all she feels is love and admiration. Every doubt she has melts away as he expunges every negative thought she has about herself. It doesn’t matter what others think or how they saw her. To Steve, she hung the moon high in the night sky and shines bright for all to see. This is true love and true love conquers all.

[yannadere]

daryl dixon, shane walsh and glenn rhee (separate) reacting to their s/o getting bit

cw: loss, depression, unhealthy coping, suicide, angst, hurt/comfort

Daryl Dixon:

you're scared to tell him

he's lost so much even before the apocalypse, you don't want to hurt him

trying to distance yourself from daryl doesn't work at all

he just gets worried, which comes across as him being angry, and he clings to you

poor bby has abandonment issues

it's a few days after you get bit when you finally tell him, you already feel your health deteriorating but you hold up for him

you tell him when he's getting ready to settle for the night

bc evenings with you are when he's the most calm

"hey, daryl?" you mumble, and he hums softly, eyes still closed. "hey, look at me. i have to tell you something." you sigh, nudging his arm with your uninjured hand. "what?" he groans, finally looking at you. "i.. my hand isn't just cut, daryl..." you sigh, unraveling the bandages. "what'dya mean?" daryl's brows furrow, eyes falling onto the bandages as they fall.

his blood goes cold, and he sits up suddenly and grabs your wrist to observe the nasty bite on the side of your hand, between your thumb and forefinger. "damn it, why didn't you tell me?!" he snaps, stopping to take a breath as you flinch back slightly. "c'mere..." he sighs, pulling you into a tight hug. "i'm so sorry..." you whisper clutching his shirt tightly. "sh, it's okay... i... when you go, i'll be here."

"daryl... you shouldn't have to do that..." you close your eyes, tears slowly falling. "nah. it's fine. i... i wanna do it. i don't trust anyone else to. not even you." he holds you tighter, kissing your neck gently.

"i'm so sorry, daryl... i was being stupid, i-" he silences you, moving away and pressing his forehead against yours. "don't blame yourself. i knew something like this would happen eventually... i put merle down, had a feeling either of us would go next." he gently cups your face with his hands, wiping your cheeks and nuzzling his nose against yours affectionately.

"i don't want to put you through this, daryl." you cry, going to leave when he pulls you back. "don't leave... please don't leave..." daryl begs, pulling you back to him and letting your body fall limp against his. you let out a small sob, wrapping your arms around his middle as your head rests on his shoulder, tears dampening his shirt.

"it'll be okay. i'll take care of it. for now, get some rest. i'll be here when you wake up." he kisses your cheek, waiting for you to calm down. you sniffle, holding him tightly. "i'm so sorry..!" you repeat the words over and over, and he closes his eyes, trying not to cry himself.

"shh... please... don't be sorry." his voice wavers and he hates it. "just sleep, darlin'... i'm right here." you whimper before falling quiet, resting your hand on his jaw and nuzzling into his neck. "i love you, okay..? i didn't want it to be this way." you breathe out, letting him lean onto you slightly. "i know. i know. just sleep for me, darling." he sniffles, cradling you close as you fall asleep slowly, knowing it would be the last time.

you fall asleep in his arms, but he can't bring himself to harm you

so, he tells rick, who's also upset upon the news

however his best friend's distress makes it even worse

so, rick does it for him as the others try to comfort daryl

after your death, he becomes reckless and depressed, not eating or drinking at all and becoming skinny and malnourished

he shoots openly at walkers, and when his ammo's out he takes out his anger on other walkers in other ways

whether it's stabbing them, bludgeoning them, or just hitting their bodies after they fall.

rick decides to put him under close watch to ensure he doesn't harm himself

but daryl's rather experienced in sneaking out/away, and he visits your grave often

unfortunately one morning, rick finds him at your grave with a bullet in his head

he's buried next to you, as rick knows it's what daryl craved

to be with you again.

Shane Walsh:

you got bit on the way back from gathering medical supplies for carl

and with shane you knew there was no way he would take well at any time of the day

so you decide to rip the bandaid off and talk to him an hour after your own little grieving session.

you approach him when he's talking to the small group, asking him for a private talk, saying it's important

so, of course, he's worried, as are the group

you take him behind the barn and hug him

he's genuinely confused as to why you're acting like this

deadass asks you if you're expecting or smth

you hate to break his heart

"so why did you bring me back here?" shane asks, crossing his arms and cocking a hip. "shane... i'm sorry." you sigh, pulling the collar of your shirt to reveal the bloody bite on your shoulder.

he's speechless, blinking a few times before almost collapsing. you yelp, catching your boyfriend quickly, but fall under his weight. on the floor behind the barn, shane closes his eyes, crying as he holds you tight. "shane... don't cry. it's okay..." you try your best to smile, cupping his face and wiping his tears.

"this isn't okay..! baby, you're not okay!" he sobs, cupping the back of your head and pulling you closer. "shane- baby, stop crying... it's okay." you sniffle, smiling through your own tears as you kiss his jaw lovingly

shane tries to gather himself, but his whole world feels like it's collapsing. "shh, shh... c'mon, let's get you some water." you grab his hands, trying to pull him up. slowly easing him onto his feet, you help shane back to the house. rick spots you two immediately, stumbling to help you both. "shane-?"

"rick..!" shane is clearly distraught, and his best friend latches onto him quickly to try and calm him down. "shshsh- hey, look at me." rick soothes, and you stand back slightly, trying to calm your nerves. "what happened?" rick demands, eyes steeling as he stares at you. "rick- it's not-" you try to explain what happened, when shane answers for you. "they got bit! my baby got bit..!" shane sobs, knees feeling weak as he almost collapses again.

rick processes the information, looking at you in shock. lori overhears, muttering a fast "oh my god..!" as she approaches the three of you. "how did this happen?!" rick asks, trying to support shane fully. "i was in a rush, i got grabbed and..." you trail off, moving over to comfort shane who can't calm down at all.

"he needs to sit down..." you say softly, glancing at hershel who was observing from his porch. "come, sit him down inside. i'll get him some water." hershel guides you and you help shane in with the aid of rick. flopping down onto a couch, shane can't seem to catch his breath, so you crouch in front of him to cup his face, whispering comforting words to him. "baby... i'm so sorry, it should of been me..!" shane cries, and you hush him quickly. "don't you dare say that, shane walsh." you scold, pulling him into a tight hug.

"never blame yourself for my death. i wouldn't rest easy if you did." you sigh, smoothing his hair and kissing his temple. rick stands anxiously nearby, and you sense his worry. "sit, rick. relax... i've got this." you nod at him, and he nods stiffly, taking a seat of his own when lori pipes up. "when do you think you'll turn?" she asks, and you freeze. "lori-!" "i'm just thinking ahead, rick!"

shane becomes more distraught by her words, clinging onto you tightly. "shh, it's okay... i'm here, bubs." you sigh, cradling him impossibly closer. "the hell's goin' on?" maggie asks, confused as ever. "not now, please..." rick sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "right..." she mumbles, leaving as hershel comes back with some water. "here, drink some of this, son." he nods, giving the glass to you so shane could take it.

after taking a few sips, shane goes back to codding you, slowly winding down. "there you go, just breathe." you smile, kissing him gently. "i'm sorry i couldn't protect you..!" shane hiccups, nuzzling your neck. "shh. don't say that..!" you sigh, holding him tighter. your boyfriend whines softly, and rick closes his eyes with a pained sigh.

you last a few more days before turning, spending your time slowly becoming more sick with shane next to you all the while.

when you turn, shane is devastated, holding your head as you stare up at him with discoloured eyes

he ignores how you try to bite him after a few minutes of your brain losing all memory of him, and his tears drip down onto your face

rick walks in, and sighs. he knew it would happen eventually... everyone did.

shane holds you for a few minutes. you were slowly gaining strength but he was always stronger.

the room is silent except for you little noises, and shane finally accepts this fate when rick puts a hand on his shoulder.

"let me do it..." his best friend gruffly says, and shane shakes his head. "leave 'em be, rick... just for a little while longer..." shane begs, and rick sighs, looking away briefly.

"you know i can't do that. if you or anyone get bit-" "rick, i am asking you nicely. leave."

he spends a few days with you in walker form, and it scares everyone. lori tries to convince him that you're not there anymore, a hollow vessel of what you once were but he wont buy it.

he loves you too much to believe anything like that, or hurt you. to him, you're still his darling, his everything who held him when times got tough.

you scratch at his arms, not even breaking skin due to your blunt nails, and he doesn't mind.

finally, with a few kisses around your pale, sunken face, and a final kiss to your lips that he forced closed- shane raises his gun.

he hesitates, letting you get the jump on him, but he grabs your jaw before you can do anything

the sudden commotion makes rick fly in, only to see you lifeless once more in shane's arms.

Glenn Rhee:

unlike the other two, he watches you get bit.

he's completely distraught as the rest of the group fight off the walkers whilst he makes his way to you

he rams the zombie with all his strength, knocking it down before shooting it

you've collapsed, sat back against the car door as blood seeps from your cheek, whimpering in pain and holding the gash with your blood-soaked hands.

he's crying before he knows it, dropping down next to you and carefully covering your cheek with his shaky hands.

he tries to reassure you, and himself, that you'll be fine and won't get infected,

but the sad look in your eyes confirm that you're not making it to the date he wanted to take you on tomorrow

as you slowly bleed out, he tries to tell you stories, to keep himself calm as you slowly die.

"hey, remember when..?" you're not paying attention, just admiring him as you move your hands to cup his face.

"i love you.." you croak with a small smile, and he smiles sadly, sobbing all the while.

the others have to watch, all waiting for the inevitable

"please don't leave me... please, i need you." glenn pleads, and you smile sadly.

he's pressing kisses to your forehead as you hold him close, your blood staining his hands, arms and shirt

"baby...?" glenn mumbles softly, sitting with you leant against him. "i'm still here, darling..." you whisper, gripping his shirt tightly. "i'm gonna miss you..." glenn sniffles, kissing the top of your head gently. "me too. i'll always be with you, okay. when i go, i don't want you to be sad. i want you to keep going, to find happiness again, even if it means finding love in another. i want the best for you." you smile, despite the ache in your cheek.

glenn breathes out as his eyes close, his tears still falling. "i could never replace you like that..." he whimpers, fingers curling into your hair as he holds you closer. "baby, don't cry... don't cry, because i'll cry." you try to laugh, and glenn laughs too, gently rubbing your uninjured cheek.

"glenn, we've got to, y'know..." rosita sighs, but glenn shakes his head. "no! we don't kill the living..!" glenn protests, his hold turning protective. "right, right... okay." she fakes surrender, walking away.

when you pass, glenn just knows. he doesn't even look at you. he can't bring himself to.

however, when you turn, he doesn't even bother to restrain you, just holding you close as you bite into his neck.

abraham shouts in alarm, shooting you instantly, and glenn cries as you fall, cupping your face and leaning down to press his forehead against you.

the group is distraught, but glenn just lets everything happen, telling them to leave him be, move on.

abraham gives him a spare pistol, and glenn takes it with a nod.

the group leaves, and glenn knows what he has to do. so, he opens the car door, slipping you into the car easily

he gets in himself, closing the door so walkers wouldn't chew on you or him.

alas, glenn admires the gun before pressing it to his chin.

[landinoandco]

Could I ask for a Max Verstappen request?

Where you get all excited to tell him you’re pregnant and it doesn’t go well. Could you make it super angsty

Of course you can :) here you go, I hope you enjoy! 

Max Verstappen x reader 

Warnings: angst but with fluff at the end

Word count: 2.2 k 

Requests are open...

Baby, the future is ours

At last the summer break had rolled around again, to the relief of the Formula one drivers and crew, they had 3 long weeks ahead of them to fill with whatever they deemed stress-free or relaxing. The subject of activity depending on person to person - most sane folk tended to stick to a holiday to Greece or if you were an adrenaline junkie like Daniel Ricciardo jumping out of planes or BMX biking. You had lost count of the times Max - your boyfriend - had rushed in to tell you about all of the exciting things his best friend had gotten up to as of late. 

You and Max had decided to take a break and travel to a cosy, quiet part of Italy - to escape the press, the stress and most importantly the eagle eye of social media. It would just be you and him for a few weeks before reality brought you back to Milton Keynes in the shape of Christian Horner and his motley crew. 

You and Max had met in 2018 at a gala event Redbull had hosted, Pierre Gasly - being a close friend of yours - had introduced you two and to say the pair of you hit it off instantly was an understatement, whether it was a mixture of the Dutch meets British humour you had no clue but you weren’t one to complain. A few months later and Max had asked you to travel around the world with him - you did so willingly and life had been nearing perfect ever since. Of course you had your ups and downs, where the universe seemed to really test not only your love for one and other but your patience. A few arguments had shown you that both being hot-headed never ended well. 

You were sat out on the balcony, a book in hand and looking out into the Italien countryside. Max had left for a run and to explore the local village, leaving you, your thoughts and your growing baby. You were pregnant - you had taken the test just before flying out, this meant that Max wasn’t aware. You hadn’t told him yet and you had no clue how you were going to. As it turns out telling your partner you were pregnant was easier said than done - ironically. 

You and Max hadn’t had the baby talk yet - you had but only along the lines of: “one day, when we’re older and married and driving isn’t the main priority anymore.” Those were Max’s words. He wanted to be there for his child, to watch him or her grow, to see every milestone but most importantly to be a good and nurturing father. 

There was part of you that was slightly worried because you just didn’t know how Max would take it - you couldn’t keep it in any longer though. You had to tell him. There was another part of you that was excited - from a very young age you knew you wanted to have a family of your own with the person you loved the most. Call it childish naivety. At this point in time, you were ready to become a mother - well as ready as anyone ever could be. 

Placing your book onto the table, you made your way into the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it. Sighing loudly as you leant onto the countertop. 

“That was a loud sigh.” A voice called out from behind you. You recognised it instantly. Whipping your head around, you saw Max standing there, wiping the sweat from his forehead. 

Chuckling, you hit back, “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Rolling his eyes, he made his way over to you and wrapped his arms around your middle, placing a sweet, chaste kiss onto the side of your head. Leaning into his warm embrace, you let out another long but content sigh. 

“Seriously, what is it with you and sighing today.” Max uttered, his lips still against the side of your head. 

You went to move forward, out of his welcoming embrace. You knew what you had to do. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Instantly the atmosphere changed, you could feel Max stiffen behind you. Maybe the tone you chose to make that comment in was too serious but it was now or never. 

“Haha, which of your friends is pregnant this time.” He quipped jokingly, trying to break the tension. 

Instantly you knew the way the conversation was going to end, a pang of hurt felt in your stomach. You squeezed your eyes shut, catching your lip with your teeth. He stood there with an air of innocence and unknown, concern dancing in his eyes - he went to reach his arm out to you, to offer that encouragement. 

You braved the words that came out of your lips, “Me.” You almost whispered. Time seemed to slow. Max dropped his arm and instantly took a step back. 

“Pardon.” Was the only thing he could force out of his mouth, his throat seemed to close up and his hands went clammy. He definitely heard you the first time but he wanted to make sure it wasn’t a night terror. A bad dream he had failed to wake from. 

“I am, Max,” You said again, your voice wavering. 

“Oh.” He stated, his face drained of colour, his mouth set in a straight line. 

“Is that all you have to say.” You swallowed thickly, your eyes swam with tears. You had a hunch this was how it was going to end but it didn’t stop is from hurting the way it did. You had hoped he would have proved you wrong, to have wrapped his arms around you and to have spun you around. To have laughed. To have cried. To have shown a little more excitement to the fact you were now carrying his child. His first child. 

You moved past him and sat down on one of the wooden chairs, rubbing your hands over your face. He was still stood there. His eyes fixated on the view out of the window. No emotion read in his eyes. It was almost like you had hit the ‘off’ button. He tapped his foot and made a clicking noise with his mouth before turning around to face you - meeting your gaze. 

“How long have you known.” His voice was hoarse.

“A couple of days before we flew out.” You answered him, moving your face back to rest in your hands. 

There was a pause. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner.”

You took a breath, looking him dead in the eye. “Because I knew this was how you were going to react.” You didn’t trust your voice at all, you also didn’t know whether you wanted to scream at him or cry in the corner. 

“Right.” Was all he said. Still stood there like some awkward teenager after a rather large telling off from their mother. 

“Is that all you have to say to me?” You asked him, nostrils flaring. You were allowed to be angry, right? 

“What do you expect me to say.” He rounded on you, his voice raising more than was necessary. Tears had spilled down your cheeks, you didn’t have the energy to fight back. As soon as he realised the effect this was having on you, he went to move forward again, his eyes softening instantly. “I’m sorry - I - I shouldn’t have raised my-”

“Get out, Max.” You stated lowly. By this point, you had stood up, shuddering away from his desperate grasp. He knew he had made a mistake. You knew he regretted it, the moment the words had left his mouth. 

“Get out?” He repeated quietly, his voice cracking, you could see tears glazing his vision. 

“Just - please, go on a walk - come back once you have more to say to me.” You spat.

“But - But I already have more to say-” You cut his rambling off once again. 

“Please. Max.” You insisted, your voice betraying you again. “Go.” You whispered. 

Max stormed out of the door, ensuring to slam it so hard the chandelier on the ceiling swung precariously. You sank back into your chair and let out a loud sob, unable to hold it in any longer. 

Max was mad. Not at you, that would be unfair. He was mad at himself. At the world. At everything actually because at this point why the hell not. You were pregnant - don’t get him wrong, he was over the moon. He was going to be a dad. 

It was too soon. 

He still had his full F1 career ahead of him. A promising and long F1 career as a matter of fact. He wanted a baby to be his main priority and he wanted to share those one in a lifetime moments with you. He knew there was no point in being mad, it wasn’t like they were in a position where they couldn’t have a child. They had plenty of things to offer, a nurturing home with parents who were head over heels in love with each other and a large family - blood and not - who would be willing to support and love the child as if it was their own. Max really was in love with you. He knew it would be you to mother his children in the end, he just didn’t think it would be now. 

He reached for his phone, went into his contacts and pressed on the number that read the name: “D.R new phone.” Whilst it wasn’t adventurous like many thought it would be, it saved the confusion from calling a number that no longer existed. 

Daniel picked up on the second ring. “Hey dude, how’s it going?” 

“Not good at all, Dan, not good at all.” Max admitted, his voice wavering once again. He explained the events that had happened a mere 5 minutes ago, the way he reacted and the way he left you. Hurt and alone.

“I’m not going to lie to you, mate, you’ve fucked up big time.” Dan spoke after what felt like a loud silence. After all, Daniel knew you just as well as he knew Max. 

“I know. I know I have, do you think I’ve been selfish?” He asked, his tone full of raw emotion. 

“Yes.” Dan stated simply, “I think you have been, especially since she even told you this is how she thought you would react. How much stress do you think she had been putting on herself? Come one, I’ve taught you to be better than this.” Daniel paused, Max could almost hear him place his thumb and ring finger onto the bridge of his nose. “You know, just as well as I know, she knows it isn’t the best time. Her becoming pregnant is very much a two person job, I think it’s time that you go back to her and have a conversation like the adult I know you are.” 

In that moment, Max was so grateful to have someone like Dan just a call away. “Thank you, Dan. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“Alright Mr Father-to-be, don’t be going all soppy on me now.” Daniel joked, returning back to his normal teasing. That was the best thing about Daniel, he was quite useful when you needed him to be. 

“You can count yourself on being the godfather after that.” Max added, a large beaming smile plastered onto his face. 

He heard Dan let out a loud laugh, “Go on, leave me be. Good luck, mate, let me know how it goes and when the time is right tell her I say congrats.” 

“Of course, mate. Thank you, again.” Max muttered, looking back in the direction of the villa. After he hung up, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and ambled slowly - working out exactly what he was going to say to you. 

Once he had opened the door, he called out to you. “Babe?” He heard a sniffle in response. You were still slumped on the chair in the kitchen, shooting daggers at the cupboard opposite. 

Max sat opposite you, reaching out for your hand. Grudgingly you let him take it, you blinked and he took a deep breath before a large, beaming smile crept onto his face.

“We’re going to be parents.” He rubbed the back of your hand, speaking tentatively. You nodded, your lower lip trembled. Max stood up, still keeping a hold of your hand as he gave it a slight tug, indicating that you should stand up. You made your way into his embrace, his arms wrapping securely around you, tucking your face into the crook of your neck as he rocked gently side to side, burying his face into your hair. He then moved his hands to cradle your face, wiping the stray tears away before peppering your face with feather light kisses. 

“We’re going to be parents.” He repeated, a little louder and to this you let out another sob, laughing as he picked you up and spun you around. 

“I’m sorry. I was being selfish.” He said, as he wrapped you back up into his arms. You smiled into his chest. In that moment, you couldn’t be happier. It was like all of your childhood dreams had come true. In that kitchen stood your new family, mismatched and sometimes a little bit broken but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[clouds-rambles]

hello!~ o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

can i request headcanons for kaeya, diluc, childe, and venti on what they would while their s/o dies in their arms? (if thats okay with u <3)

thank u sm! :))

BESTIE THE PAIN I FEEL RN!!! Omw to make hurt some of my faves hope you enjoy <3

Also guys I’ve been here for a day how are there almost 50 of you following?!

Pairings; (Separate) Kaeya, Diluc, Childe, Venti x reader

Warning(s); hurt, big hurty, reader death, vague wound description, cursing, talk about dead bodies

Keep reading under the cut!

Kaeya

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were meant to live forever with him. You were supposed to grow old with him and become a parent to your future children. You were-

“Kaeya” you choke out smiling at your partner above you. The man shakes his head mentally pleading with you to not die “Kaeya I will always be on the wind” you tell him, a shaky, bloody hand raised to his cheek to weekly caress it

“Please” he pleads “Please don’t die on me [name]” you smile at him feeling the breaths in your lungs disappear

“I’m sorry Kae--ya” you apologise before passing away in his arms

He doesn’t move for a long time. He doesn’t feel for a long time. The one person he could share his secrets and his love to gone. Away with the wind

Kaeya doesn’t remember the last time he cried, but he’ll remember this one. 

Your beaten, bruised, broken, dead, and beautiful body slumped in his arms as his tears fall from his face as he feels an absence in his heart

How is he supposed to live on if this is the pain he feels right now?

Jean eventually stumbles upon Kaeya out in the wilds, still clutched to your now cold and even more lifeless body

Jean manages to get the man up with your body held close to his chest

“Jean, I can’t, I can’t let them go” he pleads as if he’s waiting for you to simply wake up in his arms

“Kaeya...” Jean says in a concerned tone having never seen him in such a state, even he seemed to quickly recover from his fathers death

Eventually Jean coaxed Kaeya to go back to the city and leave your body in the hands of the sisters. Where they dressed you up and prepared a funeral service for you

The funeral was larger than Kaeya was expecting, you had affected a many more people than he realised from your small jobs around the city. Kaeya can’t help but be awed at how many people you’ve helped while you were in Mond

The usual chatter of Mondstat is quiet and in a time of grieving for about a week or so, many people have wonderful memories of you and Kaeya seems to be collecting them all, that and bunches of flowers. Many of which find themselves laying on your tombstone as Kaeya tells you about his day

A month passes and it seems like everything's back to normal, Kaeya is back to his outgoing self. He spends more nights at the tavern, but even Diluc doesn’t have the heart to cut him off. 

Jean seems to pick up on the smallest things, goddamnit Jean, the extra nights at the tavern, the eyebags, the weeping she can hear from his room. In it’s own right is heart-breaking, the acting Grandmaster cannot imagine what it’s like to be actually experiencing that kind of pain

-

Diluc

No, not like this

You had both decided that night to join each other in your little vigilante escapade. Which was fine you had both done this before, but tonight resulted in something very different

Here you are, head on Dilucs lap. This could be considered romantic, and often was, were it not for the fact you felt like you choked up a mixture of your lung and your bloody supply

“Diluc” you speak with a much worse for wear voice, the red-head looks into your eyes, eyes already gaining moisture. A similar scene has befallen him before, a Diluc knows how this ends

“Please” he pleads his voice wavering “Please don’t leave me” he chokes back a sob and tears fall off his face the salt hitting your own

“I love you so much” you start, Diluc shakes his head. Must you hurt him so with last words? “Don’t blame yourse-” another set of hacking befalls you as you lose more blood

“Please” he pleads again as the grip you had on his arm goes slack indicating your loss of life

Diluc screams, he cries and he hugs you close. He screams into the air of Mondstat until his voice hurts and he cries until all he’s doing is dry sobbing and he holds you close until you’re broken body is pried from his own broken mind

A wondering Jean heard his screams into the night sky and hereby answered them. She never expected to see Diluc, still in his vigilante getup, crying over your body

She calls for more guards who take your body from his and Jean helps Diluc get back to the estate. At one point during the walk Jean can feel DIluc shaking and hyperventilating. So they stand for a moment, Jean holds and comforts the wine-master before they move again

Jean has never seen such emotion from Diluc before, and she wholeheartedly hopes she’ll never have to see it again. Seeing Diluc so raw and rife with emotion is enough to make anyone cry. And Jean nearly did on more than one occasion.

Your funeral is small, much to Dilucs request and really only were attended by the estate and Jean. Diluc didn’t want to cry again in such a large audience

Though the maids often hear pained sobs coming from Dilucs room as he contemplates and often blames himself for what had transpired. Maids daren’t speak up about what they hear though, Diluc’s pain is more than understandable

Diluc throws himself into work opting to man the bar most days of the week and fighting for the city as often as he can. People around him are more than concerned

Diluc’s stoic nature seems to be intensified now, not wanting to let another person in and die in his arms. He’s seen enough death for his life and wishes not to lose more loved ones

Everything seems to have moved back to what life was before you arrived in your life, depressive, monotonous, boring, mundane for the most part and sad. So very sad

He wishes for a day where his heart isn’t strife with grief, but he doubts that day will not be coming anytime soon

-

Childe

You grin up at him, feeling close to naught pain coming from the gaping wound thanks to the excess of adrenaline that’s pumping through your body

“Childe” you say the smile still on your lips in an attempt at not making the situation as dark and horrific as it is. Childe speaks your name in return

“I love you” you tell him mustering the strength to cup the mans cheek, who immediately nuzzles into it. The situation almost doesn’t feel real to him. He’s going to be shaken awake by a very unwounded you in just a moment and inform him he’s having a nightmare

But that moment doesn’t come. Nor do any words come from you. Your slow rhythms of your heart remind you that he’s still got time, but you’ve expended all your energy. Your smile you’re wearing seems to be dropping

“I love you [name], I love you so much, you are everything I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you” he rambles bringing your body to his chest

“Live for--- me” you sputter out into his chest, a dying wish that Childe isn’t too sure he can uphold. Is it really living if he’s an empty vessel.

You go limp in his arms and he can no longer sense your heartbeat. Death had finally laid claim to you

Childe sits with you for hours, you’d expect him to be wailing like a banshee if you knew his personality but that’s rather not the case. Sobbing quietly is a better word for what happens. Most of his sobs and hacks for air are hidden in your hair. He pulled your body to his shoulder just to weep

Eventually he finds himself mustering the courage to walk back to Liyue Harbour. You firmly held in his arms. He knows that if he walks too plainly the Millelith would pry and ask too many questions for his fragile heart to answer

Childe ends up barging into the wangsheng funeral parlour, which surprises Zhongli a little. He’s about to go on a rant to Childe about how he must book an appointment, until he sees your lifeless body in his arms

The funeral is arranged quickly and neatly. There aren’t many people who attend, Childe is okay with that, he secretly wants to see his family and cry on their shoulder a bit

Instead he opts for a letter, which arrives to the family tear stained and lacking the usual penmanship ‘I’m sorry, you won’t be able to see [name] after all. They passed away not too long ago...’ he basically writes your arbitrary in the letter. And his whole heart is in every word he writes

Determined not to let anybody in Childe finds himself in a pattern, when he’s not throwing himself into battles he’s doing paper work or yelling at his subordinates and when he’s not doing that he’s doing his weekly fight with the traveller. Childe gets next to no sleep and instead opts to reading and rereading every letter and note you’ve ever given him

If Childe passes out at his desk nobody bothers him either in fear of getting yelled at by the harbinger or an understanding of losing a loved one

They never said being a harbinger was fulfilling work. Yet, he let himself believe that he could be fulfilled and content with a lover. What a shameful lie

-

Venti

He’s awfully quiet. He hasn’t experienced death in so long. Especially one he thought would be forever.

He couldn’t even get to you to hear your last words. Ironic isn’t it? He hadn’t heard that guys last words either. And yet this pains him so much more

Sure mortal lives are fleeting but he was certain he had more time with you. More time to see you grow old, more time to put off your inevitable mortality. More time to-

He’s hyperventilating, Venti’s body shakes as he finds nothing to ground himself not even the person he loves so dear is there for him. He feels like he could explode, breaths caught in his throat refusing to surface and come up for air. Despite being an immortal archon, the breaths that refuse to surface don’t fail to make him feel like he’s choking

A bard he is. And one that knows every song from the past, present and future. Suddenly the pained songs from the future make sense to him. He knew what was written. A love lost

Suddenly he finds himself crying and hunched over your deceased form making promises to the wind that he’ll never forget you. Much like he’ll ever forget that bard

He isn’t sure how long has passed but he’s still sobbing over your form, there aren’t many tears left for him to cry but he can’t find himself stopping. He feels like they’ll never stop. 

Maybe he could lay beside you and sleep for another thousand years. But that would only delay the inevitable. The inevitable sinking feeling.

Maybe it was his fault for letting himself fall in love with a mortal, but in the moment he could truly see you living life with him. He could see a marriage, children. He wanted you to have it all.

Damn celestia and all things above for not letting you ascend, at least when he inevitably ascends you’ll be there to greet him. Curse that and your mortality

Jean eventually stumbles upon him during a recon mission to find him covering your body in various flowers, a crown made of cecelias don your head. He’s quiet, but he’s saying goodbye. Who would blame him? Jean doesn’t interrupt him and only wishes you a farewell

News of your death spread around town like wildfire, your grave donned with more flowers than Venti can count. He almost feels bad about not doing a public service after seeing how many people are truly in mourning

Diluc doesn’t push Venti to pay his growing tab no matter how much he should. And Diluc doesn’t say no to Venti singing his happy tunes in the tavern

It feels like his life has retuned to normal. Though Jean can’t help but look out the library window to see Venti sat atop his statue with an expression, as Jean can only guess, of sadness.

Venti finds himself going back to an old schedule again but he can’t miss the nagging feeling of somethings missing. The something being you

Sometimes he half expects you to hug him from behind, or join him up at the statue, or kiss him on his nose, or-

Venti can’t quite comprehend how he feels, he just knows there’s a hole in his heart where you belonged. And he doesn’t want to let anyone find their way into there

He doesn’t want to lose again

It’s happened too much

[hercleverboy]

the waiting room

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary ↠ the three times Y/N waited for spencer, and the one time he waited for her. (based off of this blurb)

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ mentions of death as a result of potential illness, spencer’s headaches, mri scans, swearing,  indefinite ending. 

word count ↠ 2.9k

dedicating this one to two of the literal loves of my life, @voidsfilm + @ellesgreenaway ♡

“What is stronger than the human heart, which shatters over and over and still lives.” — Rupi Kaur

Spencer had always hated hospitals.

He found it so conflicting, how a place could hold so much hope for life and promise for the future, and yet also hold so much heartbreak and despair and agony.

The strong disinfectant smell wasn’t his favourite thing, either. He hated how the bright lights always irritated his eyes, and how the hallways all just looked the same, so bleak and lifeless.

Most of all, he hated the waiting room. 

The navy-blue carpet that lined the floors, wooden chairs that were always, without fail, extremely uncomfortable to sit in. The way that nurses and doctors would walk past the room, eyes full of pity and sorrow. With his job, he’d seen more waiting rooms than he would’ve liked. He spent more time than he wanted to in hospitals, talking to victims’ families, and even sometimes having to witness them receive such heartbreaking news. On one or two occasions, he’d even had to be the bearer of bad news himself, the one who had to tell expectant family that their loved one was gone. It only added to the list of reasons why he despised hospitals.

Then there was the other side of the coin. He took frequent trips to the hospital, but unfortunately more oftenly as a patient than an FBI agent. He wouldn’t say he was reckless, but he didn’t exactly put much value on his life. Or at least, he never used to. He figured it was because he was the only one on the team without a family to come home to, without people who were dependent on him. And so, if it came down to it, he would willing take off his Kevlar vest and put down his weapon while talking down a gun-wielding unsub. Of course, he’d get the third degree from Hotch later, but he could live with that. And then he met Y/N, and he realised that now he had someone counting on him, someone waiting for him to come back home to them, he couldn’t afford to be so careless in the field.

Though sometimes, despite Spencer’s best attempts, things still went wrong. Y/N had seen the inside of the hospital waiting room more than most, often because she’d get called by one of his team mates to alert her that he’d been injured in the field. And without him ever asking, she’d drop everything to be there for him, even if it was his own stupidity that had landed him in those situations. 

The first time was after he’d been shot in the knee. Y/N had been midway through her workday when she’d received a call from JJ telling her that Spencer had been injured. She knew that it was only a leg wound, that he would be absolutely fine, but that didn’t stop her from being worried. She’d been sat in the waiting room, waiting anxiously for a nurse to come by and update her. 

As soon as she got the all clear to see him, she’d breathed out a sigh of relief and made her way to his room,  catching his attention as soon as she entered.

He gave her a tight-lipped smile, grimacing slightly at the pain shooting through his leg. “Hi.” 

She chuckled at that, moving to stand at his bedside. “Hi baby, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m ok.” He smiled, reaching up to tightly grasp one of her hands in his. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here, you know.” 

“Oh, stop.” She mumbled with a smile. “You know how much I worry about you.” 

He grinned at that, the warm feeling that he always got when he was with her spreading through him. He used the grip he had on her hand to pull her down to him, so his lips could meet hers in a sweet kiss. “Hotch has demanded I take some time off to rest, or whatever.” He murmured against her lips. “So, I’m all yours.” 

“Hmm, and what you mean by that is that you need someone to take care of you at home for a few days?” 

“Well, I did get shot in the leg, you know. Taking down the bad guy...” He gestured to his bandaged-up knee, a pout on his pretty pink lips. 

She let out a laugh at that, amused. “Alright, Superman. Let’s get you home, shall we?” 

The next time Y/N found herself in the hospital waiting room was a year later, when Spencer had been suffering from painful, unexplainable headaches. 

Initially, Spencer hadn’t wanted her to attend his MRI scan appointment, but it didn’t take much convincing for her to assure him that she wanted to be there for him. He’d held her hand in a vice-like grip on the drive to the hospital, only letting go when the nurse called his name to tell him they were ready for him. She’d kissed the back of his hand before he’d left, a whispered promise leaving her lips before he went, “I’ll be right here waiting.”

She looked around the empty waiting room, took note of its greying walls and stained carpet, and how awfully uncomfortable the chairs were. She thought of anything and everything that could distract her from the way she was feeling at that moment- knowing how scared her boyfriend was that there was something was wrong with him. 

Spencer came back to the waiting room an hour later, both relieved to see that his girl was indeed still waiting for him but frustrated with what little the doctor had told him. 

“Hey!” Y/N sat up straighter, putting on a smile for the sake of her boyfriend. “How’d it go?” 

Spencer just shook his head. “He says there’s nothing physically wrong with me. He suggested I should consider that it’s something more mental, but he’s wrong- he’s wrong, Y/N.” He sat down in the chair next to her, seeking comfort in her arms as he whimpered into the crook of her neck. “I’m not- I’m not crazy, am I?” 

And the truth was, she didn’t know. She was so afraid for him, worried that he was sick, dying, perhaps of something that the doctors hadn’t detected yet. It terrified her. Her hands ran up and down the expanse of his back, attempting to soothe his weeps the best that she could. Spencer grabbed fistfuls of the back of her shirt and breathed in the scent of her hair as deeply as he could to try and ground himself.

“I’m scared, Y/N.” 

That broke her heart to hear, but all she could do was nod in understanding, hoping her words would offer him some form of comfort. “I know, I know. We’ll figure this out, ok? Everything is going to be alright.” 

The next time Y/N inside of a waiting room was on what she could only refer to as the worst night of her life.

There were no words that could encompass the plethora of emotions she went through when she’d received a phone call from JJ, “Spencer has been shot. It’s- It’s pretty bad, Y/N. You need to come quickly.” 

When she got to the waiting room, she saw JJ and Alex sat opposite one another, a worry that made Y/N’s stomach sink on both their faces. She hurried towards them, tears blurring her vision. “Have you had any updates? Is he ok?” 

JJ looked up, shaking her head sadly. 

“What happened?” Y/N asked, her voice wavering. 

“He got shot in the neck. He pushed me out of the way.” Alex sighed, as though she was still in disbelief that he’d done that to save her. 

Y/N stared ahead in shock, dropping down into the seat beside Alex. Of course, of course, Spencer would risk his life to protect Alex. Y/N knew how fond he was of his colleague, how he idolised her, saw her as a sort of mother figure, even. 

Eventually JJ got called back to work, with Alex insisting that she’d stay with Y/N and wait for Spencer to wake. 

Y/N was so sick and fucking tired of the waiting room. Before, she hadn’t minded it, it had even bought a sense of comfort to her- because she was in a hospital, where they saved lives. But now? The familiar walls and dull navy-blue carpet made her feel nauseous. Not knowing whether her boyfriend was going to live or die was incomparable to any other time she’d found herself waiting in the same four walls. She was feeling everything and nothing all at once, she wanted to cry and scream, curse the universe for once again hurting a man that had done nothing in his life but protect others. Hell, part of her even wanted to laugh- laugh at the absurdity of the situation. If he died, - god, if he died - the world would’ve robbed him of a lifetime with her, the chance to live the life that he deserved.

She barely registered that Alex had left her side to bring her a coffee until she sat back down beside her. Y/N looked over at her, giving her a small smile as she gratefully accepted the coffee. 

Y/N brought the cup to her lips, relishing in how the hot liquid brought her a sense of warmth, and she wondered if she’d ever feel Spencer’s warmth again. She sucked in a shaky breath, speaking the first words she’d said in all the hours they’d been waiting. “You know he wants kids?” 

Alex looked over at her, sad smile tugging at her lips. “I do.” 

Y/N nodded, sniffing. “He’d be a phenomenal father.” 

“He would.” 

Y/N let out a small cry, trying desperately to hold herself together. “What if I never get the chance to give him that, Alex?” She cried, body finally giving in to the painful ache that consumed her entire being. 

Alex placed an arm around her, allowing the younger woman to lean on her shoulder for support. “You’ll get the chance. Spencer is strong, he’ll pull through.”

And sure enough, Alex had been right. When Y/N had been told he was awake, she couldn’t describe the relief that flooded her. After meeting Penelope in the hallway and being given a much-needed hug, she took a few deep breaths before walking into Spencer’s room. When her eyes landed on him, she felt the tears start to well again. She had to remind herself that despite the bandage on his neck and the numerous machines hooked up to him, he was there, and he was alive. 

She came towards him with the best smile she could muster, and he looked up at her with a drowsy smile.

“Hi.” She whispered, standing beside his bed. 

He grinned up at her, reaching out for her hand just like he always did. “Hi.” 

She squeezed his hand gently, reminding herself again that he was ok, though she couldn’t prevent the tears that began to tremble down her cheeks. 

Spencer’s heart throbbed at the sight, and he allowed himself to imagine the pain she must’ve been through, having to wait for hours to see if he was alive. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not the woman he loved more than anything else. “It’s alright, sweet girl. I’m alright.” He promised, wishing more than anything that he could pull her into his arms and soothe her, though the pain in his neck prevented him from doing so. 

“I could’ve lost you.” She whimpered, her other hand coming out to delicately trace the side of his face. 

“I’m right here.” He gave her hand three squeezes just to emphasise his point. 

She leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “You can’t ever scare me like that again.” 

Spencer chuckled lowly, nodding. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Promise me?” 

And though it was a promise they both knew he couldn’t keep, he granted her the reassurance that she craved. 

“I promise.” 

Y/N knew that wasn’t the last time she’d be sat in the waiting room, scared and anxious and hoping that the love of her life was ok. She knew there would always be a ‘next time’, no matter how many self-serving promises she asked Spencer to make. What she didn’t plan for, was that the next time she saw the inside of a hospital, it would be her fighting for her life. 

It had been a slow day at work for Spencer, with him managing to complete a majority of his withstanding paperwork. He sat at his desk, focused on how he twirled his pen between his fingertips, willing the clock to move faster so he could go back home when his phone rang, Y/N’s name flashing across the screen. 

He answered eagerly, though all eagerness was wiped away when it wasn’t her voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hi there, I’m looking for a Dr Spencer Reid?” 

Spencer’s mind raced, and he swallowed thickly before squeaking out an answer. “That’s me.” 

“I’m calling on behalf of Y/N Y/L/N, you’re registered as her emergency contact.” 

“Is she ok?” He croaked out, begging and pleading internally that all the worst-case scenario’s running through his head wouldn’t come to fruition. 

“She was involved in a severe road collision. You’re going to want to come down here-”

Everything past that was drowned out by the sound of Spencer’s heart beating quicker, so loudly he could hear it. He hung up, gathering his things together as quickly as he could and rushing toward the doors of the bullpen- running directly into one Derek Morgan. 

“Woah, easy there, kid. You got somewhere to be?” He joked at first, but erased all hints of a smile from his face when he saw the tears filling the younger man’s eyes. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” 

Spencer couldn’t form a sentence, only managing to splutter out a few barely strung together words. “It’s Y/N, she’s- she’s been in an a-accident and I need, I have to get to her.” 

Morgan’s eyes widened, nodding in understanding. “Alright, ok. You’re in no condition to be driving, let me take you.” 

Spencer wasn’t about to argue, already making his way toward the elevator. 

*

Spencer had always hated hospitals. 

But he’d also decided that he really fucking hated the waiting room. 

The doctors didn’t have any updates for him, no matter how many times he asked. So, he’d been forced to sit in that damned room and wait. 

He thought of how cruel the concept of the waiting room was. Waiting for either good or bad news, waiting to hear the words that would either fill him with relief or dread, signify the start of his life or the end. How cruel was it that people had to sit and wait, with the weight of the world on their shoulders and just hope their loved one was ok? 

With the first hour brought Spencer’s upset, tears trembling down rosy cheeks and whimpered words of disbelief that he could lose the woman he loved. He’d sat in the uncomfortable blue chair with his head in his hands as sobs wrecked through his body, with Morgan sat next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

The second hour brought with it a slither of hope, as a doctor came out to update them. Though it wasn’t good nor bad news, just that Y/N was still in surgery and was expected to be so for the next few hours. Spencer had again buried his head in his hands, his thoughts racing. The rest of the team arrived, joining the sombre atmosphere of the waiting room. 

The third hour saw Spencer grow agitated, angry with himself for not being with her, for not protecting her, despite how many times the team attempted to reassure him that there was nothing he could’ve done differently. They brought him cups of coffee with gentle reassurances, empty promises that Y/N would be fine, that she would pull through, but how could they possibly know that? 

In the fourth hour, Spencer sat staring blankly at the wall. He reminded himself of the future he’d dreamt of time and time again, and how he couldn’t imagine himself having that life with anyone else but her. He recalled the location of the velvet purple box he’d bought just a few months prior, hidden amongst pairs of his mismatched socks in the second drawer of his nightstand. What if he never got the chance to propose? To give her the life that he’d promised her time and time again when it was 3am and he was holding the love his life as close to his chest as he could get her. After all he’d done, the years of his life he’d given to helping to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, this was the thanks he got? What a sick twist of fate that was. 

By the fifth hour, he was exhausted. His eyes drooped but he fought to keep them open, choosing to ignore the pitiful looks JJ shot him when she saw him fighting sleep. He would wait for her, just like all the times she had waited for him. He recognised how the way that he felt must’ve been how Y/N had felt after he’d been shot the year before, and the thought almost made him sick. He ran over all the possible outcomes in his head, allowing his eyes to close for a single moment as he mentally calculated the statistical probabilities of each outcome. He despised how helpless he felt. For a man whose job was to help others in need, he’d never been a position before where he didn’t have the answer, where he couldn’t come up with a solution. His heart ached as the realisation that he could very well lose her settled over him, the statistic he’d calculated of her survival being a number that was way too low for Spencer’s liking. 

For the moment, he had no choice but to wait. 

It was all he could do. 

*

permanent taglist: @beyonces-breastmilk​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @thelovelyrose​ @averyhotchner​ @cynbx​ @calm-and-doctor​ @reidyoulikeabook​ @katexrichardson​ @jemimah-b99​ @muffin-cup​ @shadyladyperfection​ @rigatonireid​ @amoeebaa​ @mggsprettygirl​  @alltooreid​ @s1utformgg @awritingtree

spencer reid taglist: @reidtome

[yostresswritinggirl]

It is time. This took a while but I figured I should give you guys the closure you've wanted, even tho uh it's not really a closure lmaooo. Here's the first part for the new readers!

Xiao's Personal "Chef" Travel Edition

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant, adventuring together

General/Preparation

A visionless chef with an adeptus by their side, going in a routeless journey together to savor the world that had once been pulled away from their grasps.

It must be the cause of the recent ressurection and defeat of the Lord of Vortex, immobilizing him once more for thousands of years. And in the window time, there would be less worries for the Qixing and Liyue Adepti to worry about. Think of it as a day-off for the Adepti, and a vacation for you.

While you carry with you no traces of elemental blessings and an enthusiasm for swordplay, the blessed Sigil of Permission given to you by your adeptus (whom claimed it was created by Rex Lapis himself before his untimely death) grants you a special connection with Xiao.

Sadly a vacation from Liyue does not mean a break from the constant voices of demons within Xiao's mind. And you've prepared him the medicine necessary to soothe his mind even if temporary, three bottles to be exact, all of which can last him several months.

He looks at you with confusion and silent question, of which you waved away because you had prepared this batch in your room in the Inn to make sure he doesn't run out of stock.

He doesn't tell you this but lately the voices had been not intrusive while he gets distracted by your presence. Like a soothing balm, to numb the effects of the pain. It's still there but not as annoying.

Your adventure or journey usually lingers around Liyue for the first parts of it, looking around the nation to enjoy the sceneries without thinking about errands or protecting the villages from impending doom.

Xiao already uh announced his indefinite leave to the other adepti beforehand, but well, when you wanted to visit their domains, which you countered was PERFECTLY safe (almighty Sigil of Permission has lots of perks) it was a very awkward time for him upon meeting them again. It was inevitable because of the energy the sensed from Xiao and your Sigil.

"Hello again, Guardian Yaksha, were you not on leave?" "Y-Yeah... we're just... passing through"

Field trip with the Adepti!!!! Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper brought you around their domains as if to test you, like Ganyu's trials, while also flexing their achievements and who has the best domain. Humans are rare, but you are a mortal who carries the last blessed Sigil and you're tamed in the ways of the adepti because of your exposure to Xiao.

Cloud Retainer not only teaches you the glory of gliding, but she also has cute and embarrassing stories of Xiao from way back! Xiao is in the background trying not to scream or rage at the ensemble in front of him-

"He really likes collecting Qingxin flowers, always bringing one whenever he comes back from his exterminations. He even offers one to Morax everytime." "Yes, yes, such flowers grow common before, right?" "Wha- (Y/N), what do you think you're writing down in that book?!"

"The devoted that carries the last essence of Morax's powers. We've heard much about you from your adeptus, it is relieving to finally put a face to your name. Tell us, child, what is it that you seek in our domain?"

They pretty much just outted that Xiao talks about you to the others, and he- he's just so done. He's either going to hide, leave the area or pull you out of the conversation before someone *coughCloudRetainercough* starts embarrassing him in front of you.

Once you've gotten the supplies you wanted to collect from Liyue's wild lands, like flowers or ores, your little party will start going further away from the familiar nation.

Comfort on the Streets

Being the chef in the party, a lot of the time, resource collection stops you short from travelling despite the many prepped ingredients you had carried with you. There's a lot of things laying around and you just couldn't let such opportunities go. Your adoptive mother Verr had taught you to indulge in your curiousities, as a mother, as a traveler, and as a cook.

Xiao takes the brute force, the frontline of being the tank and general fighter of your band. He indulges himself with unhinged strength so long as he was sure that you were perfectly safe from his own barrage of offense. You think in the back of your mind that he's enjoying the exterminations but in his mind he indulges himself with your cheers and praises after fending off some pesky slimes that strayed too close to your temporary camp.

Xiao does not need rest and barely breaks a sweat but you're quite fragile of a human being, you still need rest and consumables, things that you had the luxury of despite working in the Inn. Here you were alone to carry your own weight and care for yourself. You look up from the boiling pot that was settled over the bright campfire to see Xiao's figure coming into view, a freshly killed boar in hand as some kind of offering for your sacred stomach.

You guess now the caring isn't one-sided.

When taking things into careful detail that requires precision and undivided attention, it seems the voices of the demons and revelled gods in the depths of his mind disappears, more so under the presence of you.

So it was the perfect opportunity now that no other errands hold you back, to teach Xiao how to make the infamous Almond Tofu.

When you teach him survival he takes into consideration everything despite the bored/blank face he dons.

Oh but he still prefers your way of cooking, he can never get the same soft texture of the jelly that you easily make.

Xiao doesn't really need to eat but he's glad to be your taste-tester for the new dishes you cook from the random, probably edible, ingredients you find here and then.

The stew continued to boil with bubbles popping despite the fire under it extinguished for a while now. It was an unnamed soup you concocted from the various seafood you've gotten from the ocean paired with the meat the adeptus hunted.

It was delicious. Despite being a palette he was not used to, it was something he can stomach. And despite the different meat mixed in, the flavours didn't clash like he thought it would but instead blended the tastes quite well. Xiao hums as he sips the soup politely, tilting the bowl as he gulps down.

"It is manageable, despite your first try, I can see this being sold in one of the restaurants in Liyue Harbour-" he turns to you as he proceeds to hold out his bowl for seconds when he stopped in his tracks, eyes slightly widening a crack at the sight of tears free falling off your chin.

The spoon on your hand was slack, eyes distant yet dilated as you silently cried. When you felt the glove of his hand cup your cheek, tilting your head to make you face him, your expression cracked to that of grief melded with forced laughter. "It's... it's just like what mum used to make." You sob, and his hand wavered from its touch.

Travelling reopened old wounds. For you and for him.

Xiao doesn't NEED sleep nor does he WANT it, despite the many times you had caught him dozing off in the middle of the day during your work at the Inn. Such occasions usually meant that there was an event that needed his aid the night prior.

Your guardian yaksha usually stays up to keep watch and when you wake up, you would find him spaced out or in the brink of passing out, desperately holding himself together

But there are other times when he feels more restless and not content with just standing guard to make sure you are protected—

Those moments are when you are held in his arms, him resting against a tree and you resting against his lean chest, travel blanket laid over the both of you. When the terrain allows it, the sleeping bag would be under your bottom and legs for extra comfort.

When you can't rest, he whips out his flute to play you a soft tune hoping to lull you to sleep. If he sinks into the comfort of the mood, he'll continue playing much softer to prevent waking you up so early

But the guardian yaksha can buckle at the temptation of comfort, a humanistic desire fuelled by the assurance that in his arms you are absolutely safe-

And you two lay under the stars in peaceful slumber. Good night~

Combat-side of Travelling

Kicking the bottom shaft of the jade spear, Xiao swiftly catches it with his other hand, a small smile aimed for himself at the expert action before he raises his eyes back at you where you lay splayed on the floor. Drenched in your own sweat and desperately breathing. A long, wooden stick discarded by your side.

You pried your eyes open when the rays of the sun suddenly stopped invading through your thin eyelids, the shadow of the Yaksha looming over your form with a rare triumphant smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say-"

"I told you so."

"Oh hush you!"

His soft laugh was melodic and it made you break a smile despite the exhaustion.

We've already established beforehand that Xiao is your main dps here and you're just support/utility. But you've expressed your desire to AT LEAST pick up some weight, asking the man to help you hone your weapon proficiency, even if you knew he'd decli-

He accepts. Oh. But it's not about swords sadly, it's for polearms. Since it's the weapon he uses, it's the only thing he can teach you.

Will be CONSIDERABLY gentle in training you compared to his massacres, and will be ever so patient so long as progress is made. Surprisingly, Xiao is actually a really good teacher, and you'd find his points to be precise and on the spot.

He'll be there on the side as you try to fight off a hydro slime for the first time, with the aid of your cheap spear you both from the nearest town over. If you get cornered, he'll be there to instantly swoop in. Fortunately you managed, and he gave an approving nod.

Despite his acceptance to teach he's not gonna let you fight actual threats because he doesn't wish to risk your safety. And you're still gonna be a hundred feet away as he does his job

If he ever managed to hurt you himself, it's... it's not gonna be good, not good at all for the both of you... luckily that hasn't happened! Uh, yet lol

Just admire him from afar, he looks pretty anyways, although the black particles that seem to surround him before the end of the fight

But he'll always come back to you, with a slight limp you always notice despite his attempts to hide, and you'll be there to heal him up

Like a knight to his princess? Or healer, more so

And the process rinses and repeats at your generally peaceful trip

"Oh, oh, I see it! Uuup there!"

His honey amber eyes follow where your fingers point, high and up against the cliff until he sees the glimpse of the swaying violetgrass. No orders needed to tell him what the objective is, but as you place your hand on his elbow when he was about to leap, you had different plans.

"Woohoo!" Please be careful, he shouts in his head as you rode the tides of his Anemo currents, gliding over to where the violetgrass awaits for your plucking hands. When the glider retracts as you grip the cliff face, you broke the stem of the flora. A eureka in your voice as you held it up like a treasure before pushing yourself off the cliffside.

The wind on your back was not harsh, carefully constructed and maneuvered as you seemingly float down into the arms of the awaiting Yaksha, as per routine of your retrieval, "Thank you!"

"Is it in good condition?" It didn't bother you that he has yet to put you down, nodding with a grin as you gently waved the perfectly grown violetgrass in your hand. Satisfied, he turns around to go back to your route when

golden, brown and white silhouettes entered your peripherals among the turn.

"Eh?"

"Ah?"

"Traveler, Paimon and Zhongli?"

"Well, it is the most intriguing that we meet again this far out and in such a circumstance, Xiao and (Y/N)."

Party gained 2 ½ members!

I noticed upon writing that after you started travelling with Xiao, the formality in your tone of speaking started to dissipate. Easing into the comforts of your relationship with him, Xiao is relieved.

@kookieyachi @moaa @dandelion-dreams @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @witchsungie

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (14/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.4k words

Warning : angst, sad reader, angry reader, dumbass Bucky, Steve being likable for once, smartass Sam, reader finally having some friends, mention of assault, confrontation, drinking, fluff, Bec is Bucky’s sister - Rebecca

Unlike you, Bucky remembered everything. He could never forget that you were hurt because of him — tied to a chair for hours while he couldn't save you — crying on the bathroom floor as he held you. The only thing common in all of those instances was him. You had to go through shit because of him, and yet, you still didn't blame him. You wrapped your arm around him as if he wasn't the cause of your pain. It was clear that his past and the baggage that he came with didn’t bother you. In fact, you understood and accepted his trauma and still loved him. You didn't love him despite his baggage. No, you loved him with every bad thing he offered.

Bucky was sure you were delusional. No sane woman would want to be with the man who was responsible for her captivity, yet you snuggled closer towards him the moment this thought occurred in his head. And Bucky loved you more because of that, and he thought he wasn't physically capable of loving you more than he already did. Bucky knew you reciprocated those feelings, it was very obvious that both of you were a goner for the other. Nevertheless, those emotions were not voiced out loud in your relationship yet. And Bucky wanted it to stay that way.

Bucky decided to sneak out of your bed and house before you could wake up. He was aware it was cowardly of him to just leave without giving you an explanation. But if he stayed to explain, you would have asked him to stay, and he didn't have it in himself to tell you no. You were the ray of sunshine in his stormy life and he could never say no to you. You could ask him to get you the sun, and he would get it for you, even after knowing that it would kill him and the humankind in the process. He would still do it.

But what he couldn’t do was refuse you, so he would have to leave you instead.

***

You woke up a bit disoriented, unaware of the surroundings you were in. It took you a minute to process that you were in your own house and not held captive. Once you came back to your senses instinctively you called for Bucky. He held you while you slept the previous night, so he had to be out in the kitchen. When no response came back, you went out to check for him, only to be met with an empty house.

When you tried to contact him, Bucky was distant. He didn’t respond to your texts and your mind was telling you that something was wrong, but you shoved those thoughts sideways, hoping that maybe he was busy with work. But you both went through something traumatic, you needed him to be with you. If he were busy, he could have at least texted you.

Well, if he was going to ignore you, then you wouldn't be one of those people whose life revolved around their partner. You had a book to write and ambitions that didn’t involve him. 

Two hours later, when there was no word from him, you stared at the blank  screen on your computer. You weren’t unfamiliar with writer's block, but it had been months and you haven't written a single line since the incident in the club involving Rumlow. And now that you were alone with your thoughts, you started doubting everything. Should you have stayed in that corporate 9 to 5 job? You'd have a stable life and a fixed salary. Maybe you could have even got a promotion. Should you have filed a complaint against Rumlow? Bucky wanted you to, he even assured you the cops would be on your side, but you just weren't ready. You realized that by choosing to remain silent, you were sending a predator out in the world. He could do that to other people and you could have stopped it.

A knock on the front door interrupted your train of thoughts and you were grateful for the person on the other side. You assumed it was Bucky, he didn’t need to buzz in because he literally owned the building. Well, it could also be any one of his friends. Sam and Steve also didn't need permission . And the other day when Peter came by to give you your phone (you left it in the club), he didn't buzz in either. 

Seeing Wanda, Peter and Pietro on the door was a good change and God, you needed a change or else you'd go mad with self-loathing. 

“We brought pizza,” Wanda exclaimed, lifting the bag in her hand to show you.

You didn't say anything, just smiled at them thankfully. You were really delighted they were here. Not only that, but you didn't have many friends here, and you considered your work friends, your only friends. It was nice to see that they saw you as a friend too and not just someone they work with.

“And beers,” Pietro chimed in, raising the carton in his hand. 

You looked at Peter before teasing, “Is he even legal, guys?”

Seeing you joke around with them made Wanda happy. Between all the testosterone, she truly needed a female friend, and she was relieved to see you treating them as friends rather than colleagues. And she understood the trauma that must haunt you since your kidnapping. She was an empath and when you didn’t show up at work, she grew worried. 

Half an hour later, most of you were on your second beer. Pietro was on his fourth. That man was fast at everything he did. A movie was playing in the background that none of you paid attention to while everyone was settled on your couch. It wasn't a very spacious couch, you were all squashed into it, but it was too comfortable to leave. You were sitting in between Peter and Wanda, while Pietro was situated beside his sister.

You forgot how nice it felt to have friends and bitch about people to them.

“And just like that he was gone. I woke up and he wasn't there,” you told them, “Hasn't been taking my calls either.”

Pietro took a sip of his drink before saying, “What an ass!”

Wanda raised her bottle, nudging all of you to join her, and said, “Fuck men!” 

“Amen!” you agreed, Peter and Pietro nodded too.

“You should focus on your book,” Pietro advised, “Bucky is gonna regret if he loses someone like you, babe.”

The book. Your book. You couldn't tell them why you weren't focused on the book. It was still a lot to process, and you were not ready, so you nodded before chanting, “Fuck Bucky!”

***

“What are you doing here?” Sam questioned as he and his husband entered the  office.

“Last I checked, I own this place.”

Sam huffed, “I meant why are you here instead of her place, smartass?”

Bucky looked around to avoid the questioning gaze of both Sam and Steve. He hadn’t talked to Steve since the argument they had over you. Of course, they did discuss business as usual, but nothing related to their personal life.

 “She doesn't need me,'' Bucky murmured and looked at Steve. “You must be pleased to know that it's over.”

Bewilderment was clear on the faces of both the men because Bucky exhaled loudly before continuing, “I almost got her killed. It would be wise and safe for her to not be with me.”

Steve finally spoke, “Did she say that?”

When his best friend shook his head ‘no’, Steve sighed in exasperation. “You are an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, that's what you wanted, didn't you?” Bucky retorted, “For me to focus on work and not on her.”

 “I was clearly wrong, pal,” Steve raised his hand in exasperation as if it was obvious, “And I’m sorry for that.” 

“Well, it's over now.”

***

“Before I met Nat. I dated a girl who pretended to be gay,” Wanda scrunched her nose, remembering the awful memory.

“Oh yeah, weird Sallie,” Pietro smiled teasingly, “Did you guys know that when Wanda brought her home, she hit on our dad?”

 “No!” Both you and Peter cried out, stupefied at his words.

“Yeah,” Wanda outlined, “And on Pietro too.”

 “I mean, Mr. Barnes is not like this,” Peter brought the conversation back to Bucky and you sucked in a heavy breath. “I’m sure he had a good reason for doing all of this.”

“Seriously?” you were pretty drunk, but not drunk enough to talk about Bucky. You looked at Wanda and Pietro for support, but they shrugged their shoulders in a manner that said, ‘He's not wrong, though.’

You wanted to go to bed and sleep. But you knew they were right. Bucky would never hurt you intentionally, you knew that. “Do you guys know where he is now?”

***

Since trying to talk some sense into Bucky wasn't working, Sam and Steve retaliated back to talk about business.

“Clint is officially out of here,” Steve reported, “Torturing him would just create more ruckus. Rumlow is behind us because he wants his weapons in the government, and Clint would just be a casualty in all this shit. He has three kids.”

Sam huffed, “We told Laura. Her wrath would be worse for Clint than our fists.”

Bucky didn't say anything and just nodded. Steve could feel something was on Bucky's mind, wrapping his arms to his chest, he raised a brow towards his best friend.

“I’m just tired of all of this,” Bucky said sadly, “Is this what we left Rumlow for, pal? You have a kid at home, Wanda has a wife, I have ma and Bec and I haven't met them in years, in fear of someone following me. And now — Well, now I’ve lost the girl too."

Steve and Sam looked at their friend with sympathy. They knew the toll their work took on all of them. Hell, they had a four-year-old daughter at home, and could barely sleep at night, always terrified of losing their kid because of their job.

Sam was about to ask Bucky to suggest an alternative that would help all of them could to make it out of there and just work on the club and not some shady business. Suddenly, the office door flung open and on purpose, everyone’s hand reached for the gun in their waistband. But in walked you with a beer bottle in your hand and a pizza slice in another.

“JAMES BUCKY BARNES!” You exclaimed, your steps wavering a little as you walked towards him. Oh, and you looked royally pissed.

Instantly, Bucky was on his feet and making his way towards you, to hold you — to be near you. And before you could say anything, he was engulfing his arms around your waist, his head settled at the crane of your neck and you frowned. Okay, You did not expect that. You thought he would ignore you, and you would give him a piece of your mind before leaving.

Sober you would have asked him to have a mature conversation like adults, but tipsy you wanted to flip him off and leave. Your arms hung around your sides awkwardly, trying to understand the situation before finally pushing him away.

“You left me,” you spoke so softly that if Bucky wasn't so close, he wouldn't have heard it. “I needed you and you left me alone.”

Bucky’s heart broke at your words. He didn't consider how his rash decision would affect you. You were kidnapped by the person who assaulted you. Fuck, he cursed himself. He was supposed to be protecting you, not hurting you. You sounded so hurt that Bucky wanted to get on his knees and ask for forgiveness. He was so focused on your physical injuries, he did not even realize he was hurting you emotionally.

Steve cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable to present. He interrupted and took his husband’s hand in his, “We’re going to go.”

Before they could leave, you shifted your attention towards Steve and pointed a finger at him. “Why do you hate me?”

Steve stammered, he didn't expect you to put him in a spot like this, but you had a tad more than necessary liquid courage in your system.

“Doll,” Bucky breathed, and you moved your gaze back towards him. Steve took the opportunity and left the room with Sam.

You were on the verge of tears by now — both of you were — Bucky wasn't a man who could voice his feelings, but with you, all of his armor came shattering down. With you — he would tell you his vulnerabilities and fears just so he could let you in. You meant so much to him that the fear of losing you blinded his sense of understanding. He realized that he acted immaturely and by doing so, he almost lost you.

“You hurt me,” Your voice wavered, the traitorous tears made their way down your eyes, and Bucky couldn't see you like that. Instinctively, he stretched his hands to wrap around you, but stopped, “Can I hold you?”

You sniffled and nodded, and Bucky engulfed you flush against his chest. After a while, you snaked your hands around his shoulder too, and a sob broke down from your throat.

He didn't remember how long he held you like this, but after a while, he picked you up and made his way to the couch. He stood before you and then slid one hand up to your cheek. Likewise, he brushed his thumb across your cheek. And then you slowly straddled his waist as you both settled down on the soft sofa. Bucky’s hands fell naturally to your hips to pull you closer.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whispered, once your tears suspended. You enveloped your arms around him and pressed your forehead against his.

Bucky didn’t know whether you meant it or not. You were pretty drunk. He hoped you did.

“I love you, doll,” he confessed as he kissed the crown of your head. He noticed that you were on the brink of sleep, your breathing even, and you looked so peaceful in his arms.

 He felt at ease — calm even with you in his arms and in that moment he decided he was never letting you go no matter what.

TAGS :  @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​ @rivers-rambles21​ @emmabarnes​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @boofy1998​ @marvel-3407​ @mybuck​ @priii​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @ladydmalfoy​ @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy​ @maladaptivexxdaydreaming​ @sabrinathesimp

Taglist for future stuff.

[bangtangalicious]

the glow up | pjm (3)

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: after going off to college, you & your best friend committed to working out. a year later, the results show, and you cant wait for your hot hometown friends to see you. now all you wanna do is wild out and have lots of sex, and enjoy it without feeling insecure

genre: smut, childhoodfriends!au weightloss!au (is that a thing) friends-to-lovers!au

word count: 1.7k

warnings: dry humping, sleep sex/wet dream, feverishly rough sex, choking, technically dubcon but she was genuinely fine with it, slut shaming, cheating (?), basically jimin fucks you hard but he thinks he’s dreaming, creampie, unprotected sex

part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7                                                  masterlist

You woke up, the events of the morning seemingly like a world away. You became conscious suddenly to a warm presence snuggled up behind you. Jimin and you had talked for a while before returning to the party. You stayed back late helping him clean up until you both passed out from exhaustion.

The tension had been uncomfortable. Jimin decided not to bring up Taehyung’s outburst, and you too avoided the topic entirely. It was too confusing.

Jimin’s arms were wrapped around your hips tightly, his fingers gently stroking your stomach. He was totally knocked out, you could tell by the way he whimpered slightly when you tried to move. You sighed, trapped by him completely. You tried to wiggle your way out but as you shook your hips you felt something graze against your ass.

He was hard. Really hard.

Your eyes widened, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t his fault, you knew morning wood was a thing, and seeing how pressed up the two of you were, it was bound to happen. You tried to move again, but it only caused him to press even more into your soft flesh. A shaky breath left his lips at the contact. His hands loosened and slowly began sliding down your bikini bottom. You gasped.

“Jimin what are you doing” You hissed. No response was heard, all you felt was Jimin’s cock desperately prying for freedom from his trunks, now against your bare ass. He slowly rolled his hips, humming in pleasure. “Jimin. JIMIN.” He was still asleep, you realized.

You could move, but you knew if you moved now he would wake up, and then he would ask what happened. And you really didn’t want to have to deal with that. Or maybe. You liked the feeling.

You wondered what Jimin must be thinking about. Was it you he was fucking in his dreams? He had denied you earlier. Your heart dropped as you recalled his cruel comment about Taehyung having came in you, and that grossing him out so much he refused to have sex with you.

As you were lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize the way Jimin’s hands had found your breasts, pulling you back into him with all his strength. You moaned in surprise. The feeling of his hands, slightly dry from the day in the pool but so large, covering the entirety of your breast and clutching it as if he was holding on for dear life.

You could feel his heart pounding against you. You wiggled your ass against him, seeing if he would react. He let out a high pitched whine, which cause goosebumps to spread across you. He sounded hot. You felt yourself getting wetter.

Apparently so did Jimin, because his hips bucked into you, his bulge dancing past your entrance in a quick thrust. You squealed at the sensation. The fact that he was acting involuntarily, following nothing but instinct, turned you on beyond reason. You felt him exhale heavily, his hot breath tickling the nape of your neck. He bucked his hips again, harsher this time, whining incessantly.

You could feel how bad his cock wanted to tear through the fabric and feel you. He thrust again. Then again. Harder. And harder. His hands clutching your breasts more aggressively each time. You couldn’t help but scream. It felt so good. He was like a dog just humping you so aggressively in heat. You felt animalistic and you loved it. You pushed back into him more, spreading your legs so he could rut right where you craved him.

His pace quickened. If anyone had walked into the room at that moment, they would see Jimin, eyes shut and lips parted, humping into your ass like there was no tomorrow, and you, pretty much naked, a moaning mess with your eyes rolling back in bliss.

“Jimin” You exhaled, turning your head as much as you could to try to see him. “Fuck, Jimin baby you feel so good”

His face was blushed pink, sweat forming at his forehead. He groaned as you spread your legs even more, allowing your wetness to seep through the fabric of his shorts. He let out a low growl.

Suddenly his eyes flew open, but he didn't stop. He was completely gone, you could see it in his expression. He his were lustful, almost frightening. He met your eyes briefly, not even comprehending who you were or what was happening before he flipped you over and yanked down his trunks. He grabbed your neck with both of his hands as he shoved his cock inside of you without any warning. You screamed out, not expecting the large girth. You were luckily wet enough for him to get inside you without too much resistence, but the speed had you crying out.

“Jimin—“ You tried to choke out but Jimin’s grip on you tightened. He fucked himself into you harshly, groaning at the way your pussy clenched down on him. He lowered himself so his chest was flush against your back as he continued to roll his hips into you. He grazed his teeth across your jaw before sucking it harshly. “Holy fuck” You muttered under your breath.

His pace picked up relentlessly, as if it were even possible for him to fuck you faster. Each thrust was practically splitting you opn. You tried to spread wider but you physically couldn’t. You were ruined under him, and you loved it. You felt yourself teasing your own edge with his cock hitting you in all the right ways. You cried out, nodding your head like an idiot, knowing full well that Jimin did not know nor care what you were doing.

You came like an avalanche, your body twitched and writhed under Jimin. You felt like you were going to lose your voice with how loud you were screaming as his pistoling cock did not give you a second to breathe. You gushed against him, your slick cum making his thrusts even easier. Before you knew it you felt him shoot hot com through you as he let out a loud moan. He buried himself as far into you as he could, pushing your face up against the headboard as his hands practically stopped your breathing. You felt dizzy, but so so good. He recoiled, laying down on top of you then, the full weight of him crushing you.

“Jimin!” You shouted as your ribs felt weak under the pressure. He blinked a few times before he suddenly jumped off of you.

“Oh my god” He whispered, looking at you, with his cum messily dripping down your legs and on your ass. You turned slowly, the soreness beginning to catch up with you. “What the fuck happened”

You exhaled, laughing slightly, “You tell me”

He shook his head frantically, worry filling his eyes, “Oh my god y/n…fuck…no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. I had no idea I…” His face reddened, “I thought I was dreaming”

You giggled, curling your finger and motioning him towards you. He obeyed, crawling into your embrace. He held you like you were a delicate piece of glass that he almost shattered.

“I know. You were wild”

“I didn’t fuck” His frustration was evident as you stroked his back calmly, “I didn’t want our first time to be like this”

“Yeah I mean, being conscious is definitely better” You joked. Jimin shook his head.

“I can’t believe my dick has just been where Taehyung’s has. EW” He shuddered, looking at you in horror. Your face dropped.

“W…what? That’s still your issue?”

Jimin sighed, stroking your hair, “Would you wanna suck my dick if I had it stuffed in someone else’s vagina the day before?”

You shrugged. You guessed you understood his perspective, but that didn’t make his words hurt less. Jimin kissed your cheek.

“Please don’t take it the wrong way baby. It was so good. You felt so good. And I want you so bad. But it’s…too soon. I still just can’t believe you’d just let someone so random touch you like that.”

You nodded, wanting to put the discussion to rest before you bit his head off in retaliation. You reached over for your phone, seeing a few missed messages.

tae: im so sorry princess

You chuckled, raising your eyebrows. Taehyung was the last person who needed to apologize here. You glanced at Jimin, who was also on his own phone, hand caressing your thigh absentmindedly.

y/n: don’t be sorry omg. wanna hang?

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Jimin asked softly, without looking up, “There’s a new taco place that opened up near here. I know you love Mexican so”

Your heart clenched.

tae: yeah i can pick you up. u still at jimin’s?

“Jimin” Your voice wavered. You had never been so conflicted in your life. Jimin was amazing, you adored him. He knew you better than anyone else and was so so sweet. But somehow this whole sex thing was making you question your willingness to redefine your relationship into something more. You weren’t sure if it was because of how amazing it felt to fuck Taehyung, or because Jimin was being an unapologetic little bitch about your promiscuity. “I think I need some space”

y/n: yeah, sounds good. b out in a few

He turned quickly, his eyes sad. You hated that you even had to have this conversation at all, “I just need some time to myself to figure stuff out. I’m not leaving you, I’ll come back. I’m just not sure if I wanna jump into this right now”

His eyes darkened and he pursed his lips. “Oh, okay” He faked a smile and kissed your nose again, lingering. “Just text me okay. Whenever. Whenever you’re done…doing what you need to do” You nodded. You got dressed and Jimin gave you some clothes. As you walked out the door his grabbed your wrist lightly.

“Y/n” His eyes were watery, “I’m still here for you okay. Please…” He inhaled sharply, “Don’t leave me”

You gave him a small smile, “I won’t Jimin”

“Promise?”

You swallowed your guilt and nodded. You walked out to the street and looked at your phone.

tae: i’m down the curb. same car.

You grinned, turned and waved one last time to Jimin, before walking away, your fingers excitedly tapping your phone.

<-----previous                                                                               next----->

A/N: ~sips water~ 

taglist: (lmk if you wanna be added!!) @honeyspillings @hollowtree10

[bokutoslittlebird]

Sorrow [pt. 2 of Regrets]

Alpha!Ushijima x Beta!f!reader

Warnings: this is angst and nothing else, mentions of reader’s death, miscarriage, Japanese funeral, introduction of [Y/N]’s family (no names), Ushijima’s bitch of a mother

The week after your suicide was the worst.

The day after is when Ushijima was informed by your distressed father, asking if he had heard the news. With his now-wife in the kitchen, making him breakfast, he listened to your father hold back his cries as he broke the news. Your funeral would be held soon, but family matters came first, so the wake would be held in the next two days. When his wife asked him what was the matter, he told her nothing. It was no longer his business. He left you hurt and broken, but this was not his place anymore. The invitation he received would not be used.

The next day was when he decided he would be attending your wake. A phone call from Tendō had him changing his decision, his sad voice asking if Ushijima can give the condolences he could not. Of course Ushijima would decide to go after that, giving your family a hefty amount of money and telling them it was his and Tendō’s condolence money. A trip to Japan suddenly was hard for Tendō, so hopefully your family would understand.

His wife seemed displeased at this event he’d be going to, but she said no more. He knew what she thought. She thought he wasn’t over you. Looking at her across the dinner table, he couldn’t find himself to blame her. The off-the-shoulder dress she adorned showed off her flawless skin — not a single bruise, hickey, or bond along it. After all, his mother was never bonded to his father, why would he force himself to bond to her?

But he bonded you.

He wonders if deep down inside, he did want to be with you. It would’ve never worked out, he tells himself when that thought flickers in his mind. A small candle he quickly snuffs out as soon as it’s lit, not wanting the flame to burn to bright nor too hot.

The day had finally arrived. Other Shiratorizawa alumni and peers of yours attended. A wake was held at your family’s house, to which he was also there. It was hard to ignore, but he felt out of place while people had their heads in their hands and continued to sob until tears stopped flowing. He felt sad, he shed a few tears, but not as much. Some friends of yours would look at him, glaring before looking back towards the altar.

Upon the altar, surrounded by flowers, especially your favorite, sat a picture of you. It looked like you — smiling joyfully as you held up a peace sign. In the back was the rest of the Shiratorizawa’s VBC. The picture was from last year, when he was still attending the school. You were only a second year, but you were the best manager for the team, even if they lost to Karasuno. A smile was plastered on your face, placed so freely and easily as if it was meant to never leave. Thinking back to when you left his house, you weren’t smiling.

That didn’t sit right with him.

When it was his time to be given a gift from the family members, your mother stopped him. “I’m glad you came. I’m sure she’s glad you came, too,” she said through her tears, a forced smile on her face. Ushijima wipes the tears away, before taking the gifts from her hands.

“I hope so, but I doubt it. Satori also gives his condolences. I know he’d be here if he wasn’t so far away,” he says, bowing. She thanks him and he leaves, but a friend of yours stops him before he can go too far.

“It’s your fault, you know. She wouldn’t be dead if you hadn’t left her,” they sneered, glaring at him despite the tears in their eyes and wavering lips. He sighs, but doesn’t dispute their claim. It isn’t his place to tell them where the blame lies. The blame lies in someone, whether that be him, them, your parents, society, or even you — it’s not up to him to tell them any different.

By the time Ushijima has made it to his car, his phone buzzes. From the hospital his wife goes to for checkups, he notes. Taking the call, he listens to the receptionist on the other end of the call.

“I’m sorry to inform you this way, sir, but your wife has suffered from a miscarriage,” she says. Ushijima feels his heartbeat increase as he feels his chest tighten. He won’t lie to himself and say he loves his wife — an arrangement forced by his mother with no room for love to bloom. However, the news of her miscarriage is news he didn’t expect or want to hear.

“Where...” he gulps, trying to stabilize his breathing. “Where is she?”

“She’s at the hospital. She won’t be able to leave for the next day or so, depending if she feels better and nothing is wrong with her. We’ll keep her overnight to check.”

“Thank you. I’ll come to get her tomorrow, then,” he ends the call there. He doesn’t question how she got there, if he should go, or if he should just sit in his car and watch people leave your wake. Sitting in his car doing exactly that, he decides going home to take in everything would be best.

Your funeral begins the next day at noon, Ushijima in attendance. With nobody at home, he feels as if this is a funeral for you and his miscarried child. He witnesses your family pay a hefty amount of money to give you a more elaborate name, most likely from the condolence money he offered to them. He thinks it’s fitting, given he didn’t do much when you were alive; in death, you’d benefit from his existence.

When the priest finishes the ceremony, the guests are able to see you upon your casket bed. Your mother weeps at the coffin, holding your favorite flowers to her chest while your father cries silently, rubbing his wife’s back. It’s a pitiful scene, but it does well to have tears springing into everyone’s eyes. Ushijima doesn’t have your favorite flowers, but rather a purple hyacinths and asphodel bouquet to place beside you. His place of choice? Above your heart, next to the bond he created. Despite the makeup and the kimono, he knows it’s there. He can sense it.

His sorrow comes from the lack of a beat behind the bond.

Once the funeral has come to a close, with your coffin being taken to the crematorium and your family moving to go follow, everyone is dismissed. However, your friend from before stops him before he can retreat to his car. “May I help you?”

“I saw the flowers you placed around her head. You do have a heart, apparently,” they scoffed, before moving to get off his car. A quick glance shows they didn’t damage it. “You shouldn’t have even been here. I wish she had never even met you and I regret telling her about the volleyball manager position.”

Ushijima doesn’t say a word back, but he does bow respectfully. They leave without looking back, letting him peacefully get into his car. He takes a couple of minutes to himself, knowing he has to go retrieve his wife from her hospital stay.

The drive home from the hospital was brutal. Silence hung in the air, Ushijima still dressed from when he attended your funeral. His wife sat in the passenger seat, yet had her eyes trained on the window and didn’t glance at him even once. He didn’t tell her he’d be going to your funeral as well, which might be why she’s upset, but he didn’t push an issue.

Arriving at home, she finally opened her mouth. “Your mother will be picking me up soon. She said she’ll take care of me while I properly recover.”

Once more, Ushijima says nothing. She scoffs, leaving the car to get her things. He doesn’t hurry, instead dragging his feet as he enters the house. It’s big and spacious, easy to feel alone in. When a knock resounds through the front room, Ushijima answers it to see his mother, the constant frown on her face as she looks up at him.

“I’ve come to get Mai.” Quick and to the point, as usual. She enters when he allows it, with his wife coming into the room shortly after. With barely any acknowledgement to his presence, his mother guides his wife out, rubbing her shoulder as she sniffles and spills some tears.

A click behind the door shutting really lets the silence settle. Ushijima trudges up to his bedroom, loosening his tie and shedding his jacket along the way. He changes into some more comfortable clothes, sitting on his edge of the bed while scrolling through the text messages Tendō has sent him throughout the day. Nothing of importance, but some of them do make him smile as it lights up the darkness life has forced upon him.

One of the messages is an old picture, one of Tendō and you throwing up a peace sign while smiling widely. Your eyes are shut while you grin, absolutely full of joy. With nobody around to witness his confession, nor the tears plinking against his phone screen, he doesn’t feel the need to snuff out the candle again. He doesn’t shove his feelings deep inside.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I shouldn’t have let you go and I should have been honest. I truly do love you. I regret not standing up to my mother. I regret not having the strength to confront my mistake. But most of all,” he wipes a few tears, zooming in on your smiling face, a sorrowful smile on his face to mirror yours.

“I regret letting you leave that day.”

Author’s Note: This is the direct sequel to Regrets ; the flowers mentioned (purple hyacinths and asphodels) both represent a similar meaning — regret and “I’m sorry”, which I thought was fitting to the original work, as well as the other piece I’m working on. However, purple hyacinths also express the bearer’s sorrow and asks for forgiveness, which is where the title comes from for this piece.

[themaribatpit]

Saturday Challenge: Double Crossover

Written by: The Maribat Pit   Prompt: Double Crossover Rated: M rating just to be safe (sexual references, mostly because of some very unsavory things Lila thinks and implies about Marinette.) Marinette x Jason Phantom of the Opera (specifically Hush Jason, from 2020′s Death in the Family).

A/N (Maribat fangirl): There is going to be a lot of class salt, Lila salt and some heavy duty character bashing.  I’m going to be upfront, there’s characters being called harlots. A/N (DC fanboy): My S.O. and I pretty much did karaoke while writing this.

Paris, 1875. Marinette worked in her parents bakery, while she loved her family dearly, she was dissatisfied with her current lot in life. She wished to become a singer, and everyday as she walked in the streets of Paris to bring flour to the bakery, she would stop and stare at the Conservatoire de Paris. The enchanting music and singing could be heard even in the streets.

Listening to music always reminded her of her favourite fairy tale told by her father, the one about  ‘Angel of Music’. She would sit on the street across the Conservatoire, close her eyes and listen to the beautiful music emanating from it. Once she tried to sing along, but passersby would be swift to yell at her to stop. They described her voice sounding like a rusty hinge.

Upon her 15th birthday, her parents presented to her a once in a lifetime opportunity. They had presented her with an approved application to the Conservatoire, they had saved enough money for tuition and would be sending her there to chase her dreams as an opera singer. Marinette held her parents tightly, thanking them constantly for the amazing opportunity.

That night, Marinette was unable to sleep, she was beaming with energy and excitement. She could not believe how her luck was changing, how she would be going to the musical academy of her dreams.

The next morning however she would be in a nervous panic for her first day of lessons. Running about the home, getting prepared, packing her bags. She even forgot to eat breakfast, she ran out the door with a croissant in her mouth, much to the chagrin of her parents.

However, her dream academy soon became a waking nightmare to her. She would be tormented daily by all her peers, especially one Lila Rossi, the prima donna of the academy. Every professor would sneer at her low birth, and did nothing when the others tried to sabotage her standing at the Academy.  She tried to keep her head held high, even as everyone else looked down on her for being a baker’s daughter. Marinette ignored the comments and rumours about how she was able to attend the prestigious academy.  Rumours that she dared not repeat, about how she and her parents must be criminals if they were able to afford to send her to the academy.  

It wasn’t enough for her to be stuck in the chorus, Lila Rossi wanted to make sure her place as prima donna of the academy was ironclad. A couple of the teachers felt that she was growing more temperamental, more complacent, and their eyes began to wander for a dancer to take her place.  The other dancers were unwilling to take her place, all except for Marinette, who saw it as a shining opportunity.  For Lila, this simply would not stand.  

The one time Marinette found a pair of scissors that had been used to cut the laces on her pointe shoes.  The same scissors that were missing from her sewing box days earlier. She decided that the time had come to confront Lila once and for all.

Marinette confronted her just before rehearsals began, scissors in hand, in front of everyone.  “Is it true?” she called, everyone turned to look at them.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lila gasped.  She looked down to see her wearing her worn out slippers, before looking back up at her face.  “You do know you’re meant to be wearing your toe shoes now, right? The show is in a few days.” she reminded her.

“I do,” she breathed, “I also know it was you, you’re the one who cut the laces on my pointe shoes.”

Lila gasped and stepped back, everyone else was shocked by the accusation. She looked away for a moment, and squeezed her eyes shut.  Marinette knew the trick well from their acting classes at the academy, she was getting ready to make it look like she was crying.  “Why? Why would you accuse me of something like this?” she made sure her voice wavered as she spoke, “what reason do I have to sabotage a background dancer’s shoes?”

Marinette knew she had lost the battle before it had even begun, every dancer would move to protect Lila and her crocodile tears.  Lila was the prima donna, the daughter of a diplomat, and she had the entire academy in the palm of her hand.  “Perhaps there was some mistake,” she muttered, walking away from her classmates rushing to defend Lila’s fake tears.  It was useless trying to explain that the scissors were stolen from her, and that this was an elaborate setup.  It was her word against Lila’s, as the directors tried to command the dancer’s attention, Marinette ran.  

Once again, she tried to keep her head held high, it wasn’t as if anyone would believe her when she told them about Lila’s machinations.   She made a habit of keeping her costumes and pointe shoes hidden.  On occasion bringing them home whenever she visited her parent’s bakery, somewhere that little saboteur would not even think to look for them.

Months later, tragedy struck again when she received a letter informing her that her parent’s bakery had been burned.  Her parents, her hopes, her dreams all burned to ash in one night.  It was made worse by the fact that one rehearsal, Lila snatched the letter out of her hands and read it aloud for the entire company of dancers and singers to hear.   She assumed that it would be some kind of love note, probably preparing to spread rumours about Marinette sneaking off into the night with a mystery lover.  Instead, Lila simply made a show of pitying Marinette, “poor thing, it’s worse than I thought.  Unless you can find a patron to support you, your days at the academy are going to be numbered.”

Just as the theatre managers had arrived, Marinette fled, keeping her head down as tears were welling up in her eyes and blurring her vision.  Since the day she arrived she had been mocked, humiliated, tormented simply so that one girl could have the adoration and sympathy of her fellow performers.  Through all the salacious rumours and lies, she tried her best to ignore them and carry herself through it all.  The loss of her parents, their bakery, and now Marinette’s hopes and dreams, it was all too much to bear.  

Marinette ran to an empty music room to cry her heart out, she sat right against the wall, knees curled up to her chest and sobbed into her legs. In this state of absolute despair, she began to sing a song of her favourite fairy tale that her father would sing to her whenever she had a nightmare.  She sang a soft, painful prayer for the Angel of Music and a farewell to her lost parents. “Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say goodbye…”, her singing was hoarse, off key, full of sorrow.

The more she sang, the harder she cried. Soon to the point that she could not complete the song. However, a disembodied voice sang the remaining verse for her. Marinette paused from her crying to look for the voice, it felt as if it came from everywhere and nowhere. It was hypnotising, elegant, enchanting. She walked out of the music room to try to find the source of the singing.

“Come to me, Angel of Music.” The voice sang, in a smooth tenor voice, luring Marinette as if she was a moth attracted to a flame. The voice led her to a musical hall, reserved only for the academy’s annual showcase. She turned the door knob, to her surprise, the door was unlocked. She peeked her head through the door to see a cloaked figure playing the organ, the source of the enchanting voice. “Insolent girl, this slave of fashion. Basking in your glory.” The figure angrily sang “Ignorant fool, this prima donna.”

“Angel of Music, is that you?” Marinette tentatively asked the figure. The figure stopped playing, and turned around to face her. Marinette was taken aback by the figure, he was a tall man, wearing a red mask on the left side of his face. Another distinctive feature other than his magnificent voice was the white streak of hair and piercing green eyes.

“You are unlike any of the fools in this academy. You did not join this academy for fame or fortune. No, you came here because of your love of music.” The figure told her. He took a deep breath and composed himself, straightening his jacket. Then he raised an arm, reaching out to Marinette. “I am your Angel of Music, come to me Angel of Music.”  Marinette walks forward and accepts the Angel’s hand, thus beginning their first musical lesson together.

Marinette’s talent and ability in music skyrocketed with her extra-curricular lessons.   Her mysterious patron was also the one continuing to fund her education at the academy.  Meanwhile, no one else had the time to spread rumours about Marinette, not when there were rumours of a ghost haunting the Conservatoire.  

Unbeknownst to Marinette, she was the key to establishing control over a very profitable endeavour for her mysterious patron. The managers were being extorted to the tune of 20,000 francs and requested that box five remain open.  This money was nothing to them, especially when the sons and daughters of the wealthy and powerful were attending.  Very few had seen Jason’s face, and if they did, they would draw back in fear.   It was the result of a boyhood accident that left him changed and altered in more ways than one.  Taking control of the Conservatoire was merely the first step in taking control of an entire city.  This girl, Marinette, was the key to captivating their attention.  She would hold their attention and adoration as the rising star of the academy, drawing their eyes away from his growing influence and power.  Using talents and potential that they had cast aside, twisting their own hubris against them.  

Months later, everyone in the academy worked towards its annual showcase for its patrons, the nobility and all family members of its students. Lila had grown bored of tormenting Marinette, and had moved on to other victims.  She had her other dancers and singers wrapped around her little finger, and all eyes would be on her at the annual showcase.  

At last the day of the annual showcase had arrived, Lila sat at her personal preparation room, after all she would be the star of the show. She walked over to her wardrobe and opened it, she then screamed in horror to see her dress tattered and in pieces.

In the days leading to the showcase the Director of Conservatoire de Paris had received threatening letters demanding 20,000 Francs, box 5 to remain vacant and worse of all to replace Lila Rossi with some baker’s daughter. Director Bourgeois scoffed at the threats, tossing the letter away.

The next day during the rehearsal for one of the ballet numbers, students and teachers paid no mind to the threats that were outlined in the letter. Until one of the dancers looked up and gasped in horror. The other dancers looked up to find the stagehand hanging from the rafters. The theatre soon bursts into screams of fear as they all see the dead body of the stagehand.   Director Bourgeois ordered all faculty members and students present to remain silent of the murder. This prestigious institution could not afford such a scandal this close to such an important showcase. As the Director inspected the body, he found a letter titled to him attached to the corpse of a stagehand.

Director Bourgeois read the second letter with shaky hands, it read “Monsieur Bourgeois, good day to you. It seems you did not take my threat seriously. I present to you this corpse to show my sincerity. I see you have a young daughter, pray that no harm would befall her. I shall reiterate my demands, 20,000 francs, box five remain vacant and Mademoiselle Marinette shall replace the harlot Lila Rossi.”

Director Bourgeois collapsed into his chair, wiping his sweat. Until he heard a scream from outside his office. He ran out as fast as he could to see Lila Rossi confronting Marinette. Crocodile tears flowed from Lila’s eyes as she accused Marinette of sabotage, purposefully doing so in front of the Director's office.  

“How could you Marinette?” Lila wailed, “Whatever your reasons, how could you do this to me? To the Conservatoire?”

Marinette merely said “Lila, don’t you stay in a private room with guards patrolling the hallway outside?” She shrugs, “I was in my dormitory last night. Besides, how could anyone sneak into your room at night, unless they were a phantom?”

Director Bourgeois goes pale at Marinette’s implication, he had to intervene quickly, before the situation got worse. He attempted to placate Lila, “Now now mademoiselles, I can’t punish anybody unless we have solid evidence. As the saying goes ‘the show must go on.’ Signora Rossi, as you are currently unable to perform, I’m afraid Mademoiselle Marinette will have to take your place.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at the offer given to her, she could not believe it. Director Bourgeois himself offered her the star role for this year’s showcase. It is all as her Angel of Music said would happen. She accepted the role wholeheartedly and thanked the director profusely, she skipped back to the musical hall to begin rehearsals, now as the main lead.

Lila’s jaw dropped to see the director siding against her, how he gave away her role to that peasant without any hesitation. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, she stomped her way back to her bedroom to begin scheming the ultimate humiliation for Marinette. She was so distracted with her rage, she had not noticed a shadowy figure following her.

Lila planned to show the entire Opera house just who Marinette was, little more than a filthy peasant who got lucky.  She was supposed to have packed her bags and left months ago, after her parents and their pathetic little bakery burned down.  “This Opera Phantom had a lot of nerve calling me a harlot, when Marinette is probably his little harlot.” she muttered harshly in the darkness.  She searched the costume room for the lead actress’ dress, a long flowing gown that brushed against the floor.  It was made with the finest fabrics that money could buy, it almost broke Lila’s heart to sabotage it.  She would rather die than see it worn by some peasant girl, a pretender, a talentless sham of a performer.  Before she can lay hand on the dress to destroy it, a gloved hand reaches out and grabs her by the wrist.  A voice interrupts her, “What do you think you are doing with that?”

Lila slowly turns around to see a grotesque figure staring at her.  In the candlelight, she was horrified by the person she saw. The left half of his face was severely burned, almost completely disfigured. His bright green eyes flared with a fury that genuinely terrified Lila as the figure glared at her. She immediately drops everything and screams, as she runs out the door as fast as her legs would carry her, wailing and screaming how the ghost is trying to kill her. “He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera!” she wails as he chases her down. The Phantom pursues his prey. Just as Lila runs around a corner, the ghost is there waiting for her. She gives another horrified scream, falling to the floor and trying to crawl in the opposite direction. “No no no, please don't kill me!” She begged as tears blurred her vision.

Her howls and pleas of mercy attract nearby students, teachers and guards. They all arrive to see Lila screaming like a maniac on the floor, alone and raving about some ghost hunting her down. “The ghost is real! He is real I tell you! He’s going to kill me!” she sobbed. As Lila was being escorted out of the academy, gossip spread like wildfire. Within hours everyone would be talking about how Lila had lost all of her sanity because of the ghost.

They had no other choice at that moment, the show had to go on.  If they wanted the night to go smoothly, with no one noticing anything strange or peculiar, they had to meet the Phantom’s demands.  Marinette stood there, centre stage, with all of Paris’ most influential in the audience. She began to sing her show stopping aria.  

As she glided across the stage and looked out into the audience, her eyes searched for the man in the red mask.  She liked to imagine her Angel of Music beaming at her with pride, without him, she would still be that sad little girl crying in the music room.  She sang as loudly and as clearly as she could, hoping that her voice would pierce the heavens clearly enough for her mother and father to hear.  

As she reached her crescendo, she peaked with an E6. Her voice echoed across the entire hall with the sharpness and perfection of a veteran soprano singer. The audience collective dropped their jaws at the spectacle. Marinette ended her aria with a bow, and the theatre erupted with a thunderous round of applause.  

Jason watched from his seat in box five, with a self satisfied smile on his face.  From that day forth, he would see to it that all eyes were on her.