#coughs up blood. it’s OVAL!!! it’s finally OVAL!!!

[redhotarsenic]

For soapallo

[the-sun-and-the-craftsman]

The Sun and the Craftsman - Chapter 3

Content warnings for this chapter are at the bottom and tagged!

For more info, read the pinned post here.

The circle's drawn. One of the threads from Darius’ coat sits inside it, cradled by the dark powder that constitutes it. Ashur stands outside of the circle, balancing a tongue of flame on the tip of his finger. And Darius shakes so bad he can barely see straight. 

“What’s wrong?” Ashur asks. “You want to go home, don’t you? Marco told me you’d probably be the most excited.” 

“Marco knows shit,” Darius grunts, feeling as if he can’t get the words out fast enough. The powder around him smells metallic, like blood, and he suppresses a cough on the dusty air. 

Ashur cocks a brow and waves out the fire on his fingertip. “So. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Darius doesn’t want to go spilling his entire life story to Ashur of all people—he knows the kinds of sadistic things this being’s capable of, acts so unthinkable that it could unwittingly drive him back to his self-made prison deep within the recesses of his own mind. But right now, there doesn’t seem to be a thought in Ashur’s head—seems as if they all slipped out through that gold-sheened, crusted-over wound. Though Darius still suspects that Ashur’s memory isn’t as gone as everyone else had assumed, after some waiting, he finds that he has little choice but to speak. 

“When I first came to this world, I was running away from something,” he says slowly, picking each word carefully. “If I go back to that same place and time, I’ll be...” 

Caught? Imprisoned? Killed? Ashur’s waiting for him to finish, but Darius can’t find a good word. 

“Something bad will happen?” Ashur asks. 

“Yeah,” Darius says. 

Ashur lets out a long sigh. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and he heads over to one of the wooden walls, looking up at the drawers spanning floor to ceiling. Then, he places one hand around his other arm and pulls. His arm elongates, which has a sickening sound to it, a sort of crinkly, organic sound. And as he stretches that limb out, his hand hits the floor, followed by the coils of his arm. 

Darius looks away, putting one hand over his mouth as his stomach tightens. 

Eventually, he hears a drawer open far above them, then he hears it close. He hears Ashur shift his form again, grimacing as he imagines the muscles and skin folding in on themselves. Finally, Ashur’s bare feet thunk against the floor as he returns. 

“Take this.” 

Darius looks at Ashur. He’s holding out a small, flat rock to him—dull and gray and about the size of his palm. Darius reaches out and takes it, examining it. 

There’s a magic circle in it—more of an oval, actually. Within the oval, the light, crudely-carved lines form a circle with rays emanating out from it, flanked on either side by feathered wings. 

“If things don’t turn out the way you hope over there, you can use this to return here,” Ashur explains. “Just touch any form of fire to that, and you’ll be swept back here, just like how this circle’s gonna bring you back home.” 

Darius runs his fingers over the lines in the stone. “Just one problem,” he sighs. “I don’t have a way to start a fire on me. I swear, when I put myself in my box, I had my gun, and my matches, and my flint. Where’d it all go?” 

“Oh,” Ashur says. “I can get you some. Just don’t move. Please don’t mess up the circle, I don’t want to have to work on it anymore.” 

With that, Ashur carefully traces around the edges of the circle and leaves the room. 

Darius stands there for a moment, his heart pounding, the back of his neck cold as if it’s wet. He grasps the stone in his hand, squeezing it with all his might. Now that he’s been out of his box for an hour or two, the pain of living’s starting to come back—the ache in his chest when his heart pounds too hard, the growing hunger in his sunken belly, the dull pain in his limbs from lack of food and water and sleep and...pretty much everything. He doesn’t know whether or not he had managed to take care of his basic needs while he was in his box, nor any idea how he’s survived if he hadn’t. Was he just walking around like a mindless automaton, doing everything that life in this world demands without any thought behind it...? 

Ashur comes back with a box of matches. He hands them to Darius, and as Darius grabs the box and looks it over, he realizes that...it’s his. It’s his own small, cardboard box, cream-colored with blue lettering, and tilting it in one hand, it has about the same about of matches rolling around inside as he remembered leaving it with. 

“You took them?” he asks, glancing up at Ashur. 

“I did,” Ashur says, once again conjuring a flickering flame at the end of his finger. 

Darius balks once again—if Ashur remembers taking those matches from him, then on some level, Ashur remembers him. Which means that he must’ve been faking his memory loss. Which means that this is all probably a trick. 

Ashur drops down and touches the flame to the edge of the circle. Darius’ heart leaps into his throat—sputtering, he lunges forward, trying to avoid Ashur’s spell, but it’s over in an instant. He doesn’t land on the wooden floor, but instead in a marshy wetland, rain pounding down around him. 

He props himself on his hands, watching the mud between his fingers rise around them. Tree leaves rustle above him as the wind blows harshly through the forest. Thick, stinging drops of rain pelt his back and his scalp. In the distance, he can hear dogs barking. 

It’s as if everything that had happened over the last few years had been nothing—nothing but a fever dream after slamming his head against one of the low-hanging branches in this soaking hellhole. Darius is on Earth again, just beside the Mississippi River, running for his life from a group of locals that, hell, might’ve even been some of his customers before he had done what he did. He is no longer a victim, but a perpetrator. And if he wants any semblance of a peaceful life, or even a life at all, he has to get away. 

His shoes skid against the mud as he pushes himself up into a run, leaning into long strides with no control over where they land. His blood roars in his head and his throat feels dry despite the thick, humid air settling heavily around him. His fist clenches tightly around the rock in his hand, knowing it could be his only way out of this—but with the matches in his other hand soaked, he’ll have to get away first and find a way to light a fire later. And that’s assuming that Ashur was being truthful about what the rock will do once he lights it! And with the barking getting louder, complimented by the clear ring of human voices, Darius finds himself with no other option. 

He keeps his eyes open for the silvery glint of water, passing by small puddles from the rain. When he finally finds a body of water longer and deeper than he is tall, wide enough to even clear a spot in the canopy, he takes a breath and plunges inside of it, the cold flashing through every inch of his body like lightning, the torrent beneath the deceivingly-calm surface thrusting him downriver, head over heels. 

And the rushing water in his ears drowns out the sound. 

CW: mentions of dissociation and execution descriptions of head injury, amnesia, deceit, fire, body horror, encounters with law enforcement, and near-drowning.

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[foragingincanadamb]

Bearberry

Find:is common in woodlands on sandy hills, exposed rocks, eskers and river banks.

Description: It forms large mats, with spatula-shaped,smooth-edged, evergreen leaves,pinkish-white urn-shaped flowers,and dull red edible but mealy berries.

Edible Parts and uses:tea made from the roots that can be drunk to treat a persistent cough or to slow excessive menstrual bleeding and to bring on menstruation.The leaf decoction can be drunk to treat bladder and kidney problems.

Precautions:While bearberry is highly beneficial, specifically for the urinary system, it should not be used for more than five days at a time. Hydroquinone is a powerful compound that will kill bacteria, however, overuse can cause damage to the liver.Not recommended for children, or women who are pregnant or breastfeeding. People with high blood pressure or people who suffer from Crohns disease, digestive problems, ulcers, kidney or liver disease should avoid Bearberry products.

Blueberry

Find:full sun, but will tolerate partial shade.

Description:Blueberry is a crown forming, woody, perennial shrub in the family Ericaceae grown for its fruits, or berries, of the same name. The blueberry plant possesses oval or elliptical leaves which grow alternately on the stems. The stems, or twigs, are yellow/green in color and turn reddish in winter. Flowers are bell shaped and can be either white or pink, occurring in clusters of 8 to 10 flowers. Berries are blue to black in color and 0.6–1.3 cm (0.25–0.5 in) in size.

Edible parts and uses:Blueberries can be eaten fresh or can be dried or baked for further processing. Frozen or pureed berries are commonly used to make jams and preserves and baked goods. Lowbush blueberry is commonly used to make wine.leaves,the best time of year to harvest them is in the fall when their colour changes.

Precautions:Drinks made with freeze-dried blueberries might cause constipation, diarrhea, nausea, or vomiting in some people.

Bunchberry

Find:prefers shade, it will tolerate some light.

Description:ground cover is a petite ground-hugging perennial plant that reaches only 8 inches (20 cm.) at maturity and spreads by underground rhizomes. It has a woody stem and four to seven leaves that are set up in a whorled pattern at the tip of the stem.

Edible parts and uses:The fruits can be consumed raw or cooked.Harvest late summer to early fall.Use them in puddings and sauces or dried them for winter use. The fruit is said to be rich in pectin.

Precautions: Don't eat the leafs.

Canada Buffaloberry

Find:sun-loving.

Description:shrub with long thorns and beautiful silvery leaves.Deciduous shrub with opposite branches and opposite leaves; Underside of leaves covered in silver hairs and rust-colored dots.

Berry Edible and leaves can also be harvested for tea.Fruit ripens in late summer and should be picked slightly under ripe when making jellies because of the higher pectin levels.Dried added to stews and puddings. Fresh berries are cooked to make syrup, sauce, or jelly.

Precautions:For humans, these berries have a very strong, bitter and are an acquired taste. Often a first reaction is to spit them out.

Choke Cherry Black-Fruited/Red-Fruited

Find:near water sources and on older homesteads.

Description:Chokecherry trees bear 3- to 6-inch (7.5-15 cm.) long creamy white blooms, which become dark red fleshy fruit, maturing into a mature purple black with a pit in the center.Harvest chokecherry fruit in the fall.

Edible parts and uses:This fruit is used to make jams, jellies,syrups and wines.

Precautions:The leaves, stems and seeds contain a toxin, called hydrocyanic acid, which may rarely cause poisoning in domestic animals.Poisoning signs are distress, bluish tinge to the mouth, rapid breathing, salivation, muscle spasm, and finally coma and death.

Cloudberry

Find:plant grows in peat bogs and peaty forests.

Description:unripe berries are hard and reddish.ripe berries are salmon-colored.stems are unbranched, slender and wiry.leaves are broader than long, and have five lobes.The cloudberry plant is a small herb growing up to a height of just anything between 10 cm and 25 cm (4 inches and 10 inches). This plant produces alternate leaves that have 5 to seven lobes similar in appearance to the human hand on erect stalks that are branchless. Each cloudberry fruit comprises about 5 to 25 drupelets. In the beginning the fruits have a pale red hue, which changes to an amber color when they ripen in early autumn.

Edible parts and uses:berry is an ingredient in many desserts, jams, confections and alcoholic beverages.The leaves of cloudberry are used to prepare an herbal tea.

Cosmetics:For dry and sensitive skin, a mask is prepared in which crushed berries are mixed .For hair,1 cup cloudberry infusion+1 egg.The ingredients are thoroughly mixed and whipped. The mixture is rubbed into the skin of the head and applied along the length of the curls. Stand for half an hour and wash off with warm water.

Precautions:no side effects.

Cranberry Bog

Find:part shade, sun and bogs.

Description:small creeping shrub, appearing in single to densely clustered stalks as a ground cover. It has small evergreen leaves (3-10 mm) with a leathery texture and alternating growth pattern. They are deep green and shiny on the surface, grey-waxy underneath, and have rolled under edges.Harvest September to early October.

Edible parts and uses:Fruit can be eaten raw or cooked.

Precautions:no side effects.

Crowberry

Find:full sun environments.Sandy locations,inhabits bogs and openings in bog forests.

Description:Crowberry has narrow, simple leaves. Their sides are curled backwards. Leaves are light green and alternately arranged on the stem. Fruit of crowberry is black, dark purple or red berry-like drupe. Fruit ripens in the fall and remains on the shrub until the spring making it a great source of food in the winter. The berries are about the size of a pea.

Edible parts and uses:The berries are the only edible part although the twigs can be used as tea. They ripen in autumn and remain on the bush throughout the winter. Crowberries can be eaten raw but taste better after they have been exposed to a heavy frost. The taste somewhat acrid and are generally used for making pies, wine, jams, jellies, etc.

Precautions:no side effects.

Currant-Northern Black-Swamp Red-Wild Black

Find:prefers damp fertile soils.Often found around old homesteads.

Description:Stems are erect to ascending. As the shrub ages, stems become brownish to gray and lack spines or prickles.New twig growth is green, with a mix of glandular and non-glandular hairs. It becomes smooth and dark reddish with white lenticels.Ribes triste typically reaches heights up to 1 metre (3’).shrubs have leaves with three to five shallow lobes with bluntly toothed edges and palmate veins. The leaves are alternate and are usually wider than they are long. They measure on average 8cm (3”) wide and 6cm (2”) long. Leaf undersides are pubescent, without yellow resinous dots.

Edible parts and uses:Ripe fruit can be eaten raw or cooked despite having several seeds in each fruit. They have a pleasant, yet somewhat acidic flavour. Currant leaves are commonly dried and used in teas. Young leaves are used in the Finnish summer drink known as 'Louhisaari’. Currant leaves are so tasty that when steeped in a warm liquid, they release a definitive currant-like flavor. This makes them good as a flavoring agent for jellies and ice creams. Curant leaves are also used in pickles. They contain tannins, which help keep the pickles crisp. To store Currant leaves, place them in a plastic bag in the refrigerator, where they will last for several days.

Precautions:no side effects.

Dewberry

Find:sandy savannas, woodland borders, meadows in wooded areas, and abandoned fields. Common Dewberry is found in both sandy and non-sandy habitats.

Description:trailing woody vine with curved prickles, rooting at the cane tips. Young stems are green; older stems are brownish and woody. Flowers are in small groups or sometimes single, on long stems, white with whitish centers, the stems often subtended by a small leaf.

Edible parts and uses:The leaves can be used to make a herbal tea, and the berries are edible and taste sweet. They can be eaten raw, or used to make cobbler, jam, or pie.

Precautions:no side effects.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

єxτrατєrrєsτriαℓ (ραrк sєσทgнωα) rατє∂

ραiriทg: αℓiєท! ραrк sєσทgнωα (ατєєʑ)× нυмαท! rєα∂єr (ƒємαℓє)

gєทrє: αทgsτ, ƒℓυƒƒ, sмυτ, ∂ysτσρiαท/ sci-ƒi/ ƒαทταsy αυ

sυммαry: ωнєท τнєy cαмє αท∂ iทvα∂є∂ τнєir ρℓαทєτ, нυмαทiτy ∂єscєท∂є∂ iทτσ cнασs αท∂ iทsαทiτy, нυทτiทg τнєм ∂σωท αท∂ vσωiทg τσ rєταкє τнєir нσмє. нσωєvєr, y/ท ∂σєsท'τ вєℓiєvє τнєy αrє ∂αทgєrσυs, ทστ αƒτєr sєєiทg σทє υρ cℓσsє αท∂ ρєrsσทαℓ.

ωσr∂ cσυทτ: 5к+

ωαrทiทgs: ∂ysτσρiαท sσciєτy, viσℓєทcє, αℓℓυsiσทs τσ ∂єατн, мαss ∂єsτrυcτiσท, єxτrατєrrєsτriαℓ вєiทgs, sℓigнτ нyρทστisм, кiทєτic ρσωєrs, sυρєrทατυrαℓ scєทєs, sєxυαℓ scєทєs iทcℓυ∂iทg вriєƒ вrєαsτ ρℓαy, ƒiทgєriทg, αท∂ υทρrστєcτє∂ sσƒτ, vαทiℓℓα iทτєrcσυrsє (αℓωαys υsє ρrστєcτiσท єvєท iƒ yσυ'rє ƒυcкiทg αท є.τ).

iทsρirατiσท: є.τ вy кατy ρєrry

ταgℓisτ: @multidreams-and-desires @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @yunhoiseyecandy @galaxteez @brie02 @a-soft-hornytiny @deja-vux @rvse-miingi @daniblogs164 @couchpotatoaniki

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The world forever remembered the day when the sun suddenly went dark when it wasn't even close to being evening yet. The darkness that shrouded the city made them anxious, which then turned to fear when shining beams of light suddenly passed through the sky and fell onto various parts of the earth. At first they thought they were shooting stars or even asteroids that were there to destroy the planet. But alas, masses of rock from space don't have a perfectly oval shape and neither do they have blinking lights covering most of the base. And they certainly don't have strange beings coming out of them. When humanity saw the otherworldly creatures, they immediately went into panic, running for their lives, not wanting to find out or not if they were intelligent, friendly or were cold blooded killers. They simply shut themselves away, causing chaos amongst their land and hurting each other more than anything else.

Y/N definitely remembered that day but for different reasons. At the time, she was in the outskirts of the city, perched on top of a tree as she usually did to escape the bustling city life she was used to. Half daydreaming and half asleep, her leg swung idly as the warmth of the sun casted down on her face. She was jolted fully awake when something like thunder resonated from the heavens, her eyes immediately finding her surroundings to be pitch black. She squinted her eyes, trying to adjust her sight. A colossal spaceship landed near where she was, causing the earth to shake and she let out a piercing scream when she tumbled down from the tree, her knee getting scraped in the fall.

She let out a pained groan as she tried to get back up, but her legs gave out from how badly she was hurting. Looking up, her eyes went wide when a door opened from the ship, cold smoke blasting out and some of it reaching where she was, making her cough softly. She held her breath when several figures started pouring out of the ship, all of them scattering towards different directions. They all donned the same white uniform, their faces covered by a gaiter styled face covering in the same color. When one of them started nearing where she was, her feet scrambled to get up and hide. Only managing to take two steps before she tripped once more, the extraterrestrial turned his head in the direction of the sound and proceeded to go investigate.

Realizing that she had been caught, Y/N gripped onto the trunk of the tree, nails scraping so harshly that she felt blood trickling down. Finally able to stand upright, she turned once more to run but was stopped when two hands slammed against the tree, trapping her in place. The poor girl trembled in fear as two cold eyes looked straight at her. Scanning her body, the being's eyes took in her damaged knee, blood pouring out as some of the skin and tissue was badly torn off. Getting down on one knee, the being took off one its gloves that covered its hand before reaching out to press against her wound. Y/N flinched when they made contact with her scrape and nearly kicked them away but when a purple light emanated from their hand she stood still to see what would happen. When the otherworldly creature pulled its hand away, she was in shock when she saw that her knee was completely healed, not a scratch as if nothing had happened, as if she didn't suffer a nasty fall.

"How...how did you..?" She whipped her head towards the person or non-person in front of her, had gotten up and was slowly creeping their body closer to hers.

The being murmured out some words in a language she did not recognize, and she knew it wasn't just caused by the covering around their face. She gasped sharply when they suddenly pressed her back onto the tree, hands firmly keeping her in place. Once establishing that she would not run away anytime soon, the extraterrestrial lifted one hand up and pulled its covering off. Y/N was speechless as she gazed up into the most beautiful and perfect face she had ever seen. The being's face seemed to be perfectly sculpted to perfection by gods themselves. Blade straight nose, chiseled jawline and sharp angled eyes perfectly complimented each other and distinguished them as someone not from her world.

Before she could even comprehend what they were doing, she felt their hands cup her cheeks as they pressed their pink and soft lips against her own. When she tried to pull away, the creature only clung her tighter to them, their kiss becoming more forceful, tongue dipping inside her mouth which had her moaning. It seemed the extraterrestrial noticed the effect they were having on her since she could feel them smirking against her lips, and indeed they were still smirking when they pulled away and looked back at her. They curiously studied her face, as if they were trying to figure out something.

"Y/N? Is it?"

She was startled when she heard them say something she understood and even more so that they knew her name.

"You actually....speak my language?" She asked them.

The extraterrestrial chuckled softly.

"I do now."

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8 months had passed ever since the aliens first invaded the world, and things only went from bad to worse. The government fell in the hands of civilians who decided to take control after they failed in not only giving them answers but in failing to drive the intruders away. Without a proper leader to govern them, the people just ran rampant through the streets, criminal activity and violence escalating each day that passed. The only real form of leadership or organization that still was existed was the Resistance force, a group of individuals who had gathered together to fight off all the aliens, which always resulted in unnecessary attacks and bloodshed. And unfortunately for Y/N, her own father was one of the ones leading that force.

She shook her head everytime she watched him and all the other people march off in search of extraterrestrials, hoping to demolish them once and for all. Every time they went out, very few returned, but that wasn't the part that worried her.

What worried her was imagining if her friend was one of the few extraterrestrials that had been taken down, because as she'd learn, they were definitely capable of being killed. She let out a sigh and closed the blinds of the kitchen window to continue her task of washing dishes. It seemed that was her life from now on, attending to the house while her dad was away fighting off beings who were actually harmless as she soon learned. But of course, she could never say anything about it, one because no one would believe her given how brainwashed and unreceptive they were and two, which was the most important one, she had promised her otherworldly friend not to spill anything about the mission they were currently carrying out and she intended to keep that promise.

"Aliens! They're here!"

Hearing the frantic commotion outside that was followed by a loud blaring of sirens and shotguns being fired, Y/N ducked and stayed away from any windows or any glass. She slowly crawled her way out the door and went outside, as stupid as it was but whenever there was an attack such as these ones, she always went out to ensure no child was wandering the streets and accidentally got caught in the action. She didn't care that she was risking her own life in doing so.

She carefully ran through alleys, taking cover behind walls or dropping to the ground when she heard shots being fired. It had become a lot easier for her now than it was in the beginning. Peeking her head out, she was relieved to see that most of the civilians had already cleared themselves out. But her relieve was short lived when she saw a white uniformed figure fall in the middle of the street, their hand clutching their left side which was stained blue, clear indication they were seriously wounded. Even with their face covered, she recognized their eyes right away.

"Seonghwa." She whispered softly, panic rising in her when she heard more shots being fired in his direction.

Looking at the other side, her face paled when she saw that it was none other than her own dad who was pursuing him, gun in his hand as he reloaded bullets in them. She looked back towards Seonghwa, who was trying to desperately heal himself faster, but was running out of time. With her dad getting closer and aiming his gun right at him, Y/N didn't even think and bolted out of her hiding place, heading straight towards her father.

"Dad don't!" She exclaimed as she tipped over his gun, causing him to shoot instead towards the opposite direction. Both of them hit the pavement with the strength she used to make sure he didn't hurt her friend.

"Y/N! Get off me!" Her father grunted as he shoved her off his body. Grabbing a hold of his gun once more, he made way to aim once more at his enemy but unfortunately he was too late. When he looked back, he was surrounded by two other extraterrestrials, one of them holding a small device that he threw onto the ground which helped them teleport out of there instantly, leaving behind nothing but a faint cloud of smoke.

Livid at having his prey taken away from his hands, he turned his attention back to his daughter who was barely standing up. When she lifted her head up, she was instantly struck back to the floor as the brute force of her father's fist against her face knocked her down.

"You stupid bitch! You let them get away!"

Each kick laid against her stomach was felt not only by her but by the extraterrestrial being that had connected his mind with hers. From miles away, inside one of the space crafts, he cried out in pain and clutched his abdomen as he felt each and every one of the violent acts laid on her body. With raging and glowing eyes, he pulled off all the wires and needles connected to his body and stormed out of the room, ignoring the protests coming out of the medical team that was tending to his wounds.

"Seonghwa! Stop! You're not healed yet!" One of his comrades tried to stop him.

"I don't care Hongjoong! Y/N is in trouble and I need to save her!" He tried to pry off the other male's fingers off him.

"You can't go! It's too risky. You'll get caught." He tried to reason with Seonghwa.

"If I don't go she could die! She saved me and now I must go save her!"

Having left with no other choice, Hongjoong used his supernatural strength to pin his friend to the wall, keeping him locked in there with no way to escape.

"Yes you must, but now is not the time! You're hurt, if you go now you'll only get yourself killed and then what will happen to her?"

Seonghwa's lip quivered in rage and hurt. He was unable to speak let alone move. He looked down at the floor and wept softly, his mind filled with images of her bruised and bloodied body in agony and pain after the beating she just endured. He knew in such a state, he couldn't even contact her telepathically.

"There's only a few more days until we have to leave back to the home planet. Our mission will be completed and if you still want..... you can take her back with you."

Seonghwa whipped his head up at Hongjoong's words, but before he could get his hopes up, Hongjoong raised a hand.

"Only if she wants to. You can't force, hypnotize nor abduct her. Am I clear?"

Seonghwa immediately nodded.

"Yes Hongjoong."

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Y/N laid in her bed, body still sore even though 2 days had already passed since that awful day. Her sides would ache if she put too much strain on them, but at least she was finally able to walk again. What she really wanted to know was how Seonghwa was doing. Was he all right? Was he too injured? Did he make it? Or did he..?

She pulled her blanket over her face to keep herself from thinking such things. She only wished he'd talk to her like he usually did at night. It was funny considering the first time she heard his voice in her head she was beyond freaked out, but now she had grown accustomed to it, sometimes even scolding him for bugging her so much.

"Are you awake?"

She couldn't keep the smile of her face as she finally heard his voice after so long. But wanting to play it cool, she forced a huff out of her mouth.

"I am now no thanks to you weirdo." She responded, her voice sounding grumpy and making Seonghwa chuckle.

"You know I'm not that knowledgeable with your language yet, so I'm not sure what that word means, but I'm deducing it's not a compliment." He asserted.

"How can you still not know what some words mean? Didn't you suck the language out of me when you slipped your tongue inside my mouth months ago? Wasn't that enough?" She chastised him, yet her cheeks flushed pink as she recalled the first time they met and he greeted her with a kiss, which she ended up finding out was a method his kind employed to be able to understand and talk to beings that spoke differently from them.

"We only grasp the basics, our abilities only stretch so far." He calmly explained.

Y/N sat up and tugged at different ends of her blanket.

"Does that mean you've gone around on other planets kissing other people?" She questioned him, her voice tinted with a hint of jealousy at the thought of Seonghwa kissing someone else.

"I may have kissed other kinds, but I can assure you that you're the only one I've used tongue with." He smirked to himself as he read her thoughts.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" She felt bitter knowing he had indeed gone around kissing other people.

"Well no... but that little action helped create the mind link with you. Lip to lip contact with another creature helps us communicate with them, adding tongue is a way to communicate and connect telepathically with the individual. Hence why I have been talking to you and vice versa without having to utter a single word. That and I can see what's going on in that tiny head of yours." He finished with a suspicious snort that unsettled her.

"Does that mean... you've been reading my thoughts all these months?" She fidgeted nervously.

"Some, not all. Although I've accidentally stumbled upon some that are rather..... interesting if you ask me."

Y/N whined as she slumped her face into her pillow and let out a high pitched scream. She felt so embarrased knowing he probably knew some of the explicit thoughts she's had at times that involved him.

"Do me a favor and take one of your laser guns and just vaporize me out of this world." She begged him.

"I'm afraid protocol doesn't allow me to vaporize any individuals without proper cause. So you're stuck with knowing that I know that you want me to-"

"Ok stop! Please don't finish that sentence and pretend like what you saw in my head wasn't real." She sighed.

"As you wish."

Seonghwa stayed quiet for a while, biting his lower lip as he pondered about how to approach his next subject. He knew it was now or never.

"Hey Y/N?" He asked softly.

"Yeah?" She responded.

"Can you..... do you think you could meet me in the place we first met?"

Y/N looked out her window and saw that it was past the curfew established by the Resistance, no doubt most of them standing guard at every street and corner, making sure everyone stayed indoors while keeping watch.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to get out without being caught."

"I thought just as much."

Before she knew it, Seonghwa appeared right in front of her bed, making her shriek as she pulled her blanket to cover body up. She was about to ask him what was going on, but he was faster as he took hold of her wrist before transporting them both in the outskirts of the city in the blink of an eye. Y/N cowered and shivered when she felt the night breeze blow, her arms wrapping around herself since she had gone to bed wearing nothing but black panties and a flimsy white tank top that left little to the imagination for anyone who saw her chest. And seeing the extraterrestrial looking intently at her, she knew he was taking in her state of near undress.

"Please tell me you don't have laser vision that let's you see under my clothes." She squinted at him.

"Some of my kind do posses that ability, but I'm not one of them....." Stepping closer to her, he tilted her chin up and grinned smugly.

"Unfortunately."

"Why you little perv-" She was cut off mid sentence when Seonghwa inexplicably wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a tight embrace.

"You're cold, let me warm you up."

She indeed started to feel heat being produced from his body which started to flow into her own. It felt so nice, not only having him act as a personal heater but to just have him hold her after having to go through endless shit day after day. Closing her eyes, she rested her head on his shoulder, slowly drifting off to sleep right then and there. One of Seonghwa's hands was busying itself by softly brushing her hair, being careful not to accidentally pull any out. He stayed like that for a few minutes before finally blurting out:

"The mission is finished. We'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow."

Y/N felt her heart sink when she heard him say that.

"So....bringing me here was so you could say goodbye?" She lifted her head off his shoulders and stared at the ground with a blank expression.

"Well it depends..."

Y/N raised an eyebrow when he paused.

"Depends on what?" She urged him to finish.

"If you wanna leave this place and come with me." He offered, his eyes growing rounder as he hoped she'd say yes.

Y/N looked at him in disbelief.

"Are you being serious right now or is this some kind of alien joke?"

Seonghwa nodded in earnest.

"Deadly serious. I want you to come to my home with me. I know.... I hope you'll like it. It's not that different from your planet, although you know the technology is more advanced and flying cars and what not..."

When he saw that she wasn't budging, Seonghwa gulped nervously.

"But the location I live in is a more... tropical one. The water is sparkling blue, the glittering sand is warm to the touch, and the weather is always cool and refreshing. Wouldn't you like to live in a place like that with me?" He spoke those last two words out softly but he knew she definitely heard them.

He could hear and see her thoughts, debating whether or not it would be wise to leave with him or not. She looked behind her towards the city she lived in, almost in complete ruin with possibly no hope of redemption.

"There's nothing left for me here, is there?" She asked to herself rather than to him.

When she looked back at him, there was still a hint of doubt in her mind. Clasping his hands on her head, Seonghwa's thumbs rubbed circles on her temples as his orbs started turning a light yellow color.

"Please come with me. Stay with me and live with me." He spoke out softly, his voice having a light melodic tune to it.

Y/N felt herself getting immensely drawn to him, her thoughts beginning to fill up with images of staying by his side. It was as if she was getting pulled to him against her will.

"Wait..... Are you using hypnosis on me?!" She exclaimed in anger, pushing him away when she realized what was going on.

"It was worth a try." He admitted in defeat, head hung low in shame.

"Since you failed miserably..... I'll spare you the humiliation and accept to go with you."

Seonghwa widened his eyes when he heard her.

"Wait, for real?"

Y/N responded by placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Don't make me regret my decision though or I'll steal your laser gun and vaporize you." She warned him.

Lacing his fingers with hers, Seonghwa nudged her to follow him.

"I promise you won't."

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Y/N shifted uncomfortably on the bed she was currently in, alternating between wrapping herself with the blanket and kicking it off a second later. She was still in the middle of her fight with the covers that she failed to notice the door opened and her current roommate walk into their small compartment. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her struggle with an amusing smirk.

"Having fun there?" He broke her out of her trance.

"I can't sleep, I feel like I'm developing claustrophobia from mostly staying inside these 4 walls, and I'm still suffering from motion sickness." She grumbled, 1 week and she had still not adjusted to being inside an intergalactic spacecraft with no one but extraterrestrial beings to keep her company.

"Anything else you'd like to add?" Seonghwa raised an eyebrow.

Y/N pouted her lips and stared up at him with puppy dog eyes.

"I'm lonely and want company?"

Unable to resist, Seonghwa faked an exhausted sigh as he began taking off his jacket.

"I'm off my piloting duties anyway, might as well get some rest before my next shift."

Finally happy at having someone by her side, Y/N made some space on the bed for Seonghwa to fit in, although she wondered if it would be big enough for the both of them since it was a rather compacted area. When she looked back at Seonghwa, she nearly wheezed when she saw him sliding right next to her completely bare. Catching her staring, Seonghwa continued on as if it was the most normal thing in the universe.

"What? Don't you humans go to sleep the same way we do?"

Y/N covered her red cheeks and turned her face away from him.

"N-no....we wear clothes when sleeping." She explained, body heating up from embarrassment. Seonghwa replied with a slight gruff.

"Seems impractical."

Wrapping one arm around her body, Seonghwa pulled Y/N down on the bed and held her close to him, his breath fanning against the nape of her neck.

"Try to rest." He suggested.

Y/N wondered how on earth was she supposed to rest knowing the extraterrestrial being was pressing his bare chest against her back? She tried hard not to move in fear of accidentally brushing along his cock.

"Wait, do aliens have dicks? I didn't really get a good look between his legs. I just saw abs and looked away."

Her thoughts began spiraling deeper and deeper into not so pure territory. She began wondering about Seonghwa's anatomy. Do his kind even have reproductive organs? Do they even have sex? What if he could produce tentacles out of his body that would suction onto parts of her body like some of the kinky hentai she watched a long time ago? That thought aroused her more than it should. How would it feel to have Seonghwa's tentacles latch onto her nipples and suckle them as another one slithered inside her core and probe around until it made a mess of her? She clenched her thighs inadvertently as her mind started to produce more and more dangerous scenes.

She was startled when she heard the alien behind her laugh softly.

"I hate to interrupt your sexual fantasy foolish human girl, but my kind do not possess the ability to produce the slimy limbs that you are imagining."

She had completely forgotten that their minds were still linked and if he wanted to, he could still read her mind. She buried her face deeper in the pillow, wanting to cry out in shame.

"I do apologize for that inconvenience, I'm afraid the closest you can get is my hands around you."

Y/N half gasped half moaned when she felt one of Seonghwa's large hands snake inside her sweater and cup her breast. His thumb tweaked at her nipple, giving it experimental tugs and pinches until finally settling for simply rubbing them since it seemed to produce more effects on her body. He listened intently to the way her breath hitched with every brush of his thumb and squeeze of her soft skin, feeling her body start to get warmer just for him.

"Isn't this what you wanted? I remember you often fantasized about having my hands all over you." He recalled all those times where he refused to go to sleep because he was too busy prying into her erotic thoughts that included him.

"Y-yes..." She breathed out.

"Did you only want them here?"

Y/N whined and shook her head.

"No.... want them- want them..." She felt embarrased to say it out loud even if she did have Seonghwa groping her chest, so she hoped he'd read her mind and give her what she wanted. Obviously he got the hint since he moved his hand and slipped it inside her shorts. Pushing her panties aside, Y/N groaned when he dipped two fingers past her slick folds. She was so unbelievably wet that even with the slow movements he was making, they could still faintly hear the squealching sounds that were being produced.

"Right here? This where you want them?" Adding a third finger inside, he drove them deeper inside her body as their pace intensified, the slopping noises becoming louder.

Y/N bit down on the sleeve of her sweater to muffle the moans that were spilling out, afraid of anyone hearing what was going on.

"Don't worry about anyone else, just focus on the way my fingers are invading your most intimate places. Tell me does it feel good? Do you like it?" He asked as his lips kissed across the side of her neck.

"Feels so good- I love it." She sighed blissfully as his fingers continued to swirl around her hole, tips curling so they could graze at her g-spot.

"Want to feel something even better?"

Y/N hummed in affirmation and allowed Seonghwa to move her onto her back. He surprised her when all he needed to do was tap twice against her clothes and they immediately vanished from her body, leaving her completely naked under him.

"How long have you been waiting to do that?" She eyed him suspiciously when his lips curled upwards in a cheeky grin.

"Far too long."

Cupping her cheeks, Seonghwa kissed her, almost like the first time when he came to her home, but this time the kiss was more passionate and full of raw emotions. He took his time and didn't slip his tongue inside her mouth, instead he wanted to savor how soft and plump her lips felt against his own, pulling away every few minutes only to catch his breath before diving back in to mold his mouth over hers. They were so lost in their heated kissing and tangled bodies, that they forgot they were both in their most intimate state until Seonghwa's member brushed along her slippery folds.

"Oh god-." Y/N stammered as her hips grinded up to feel more of Seonghwa, who had a proud smirk on his face.

"Are you going to be ok with an extraterrestrial being breeding you with his cock?"

Y/N grimaced slightly at his choice of words.

"Is that what you guys call it?"

"Well what do you guys call it?" He questioned.

"We like to call it fucking." She giggled.

Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows as his hands lifted her legs up to wrap them around his waist.

"I don't like it, sounds too impersonal and distant."

The cry coming out of Y/N's throat cracked and only half sounded when Seonghwa stuffed her full of his cock, his size stretching her out in a delicious sting.

"I prefer to get as close as possible."

Taking hold of her hands, he placed them on top of his shoulders before proceeding to rock his hips against hers. Y/N clung onto him as if her life depended on it. She closed her eyes and let her body succumb to his. Every touch from him was magnetizing, and she completely melted when his lips sought hers once more, a cosmic sensation pouring into her. Her nails dug onto the flesh of his back whilst her legs tangled themselves tighter around his waist, wanting to keep him near her as she started to feel a knot unraveling at the pit of her stomach, similar to the ones she'd feel all those nights she daydreamed about having him close to her. Only this time the feeling was more electrifying and intense, almost as if it was magic. Her eyes shut even tighter as the knot came loose and her lips began spilling out chants of Seonghwa's name as her juices flowed out of her body and coated his member that was still sliding deep inside her, not stopping so it could further heightened the sensation she was going through.

Feeling her release herself all over him, it was only a few moments later that Seonghwa himself vibrated against her body and filled her core with his own cum. His body started to faintly glow due to the rush he just felt at being so intimately connected with another person, the pulse in his heart beating so rapidly he thought it would burst any minute. Stroking her hair in a gentle manner, he pressed his forehead against hers, panting softly as he layed his body on top of hers, careful not to put too much of his weight on her.

"Never in my life did I ever believe that on one of our scouting missions would I meet someone like you."

Pulling back so he could look at her beautiful face, Seonghwa smiled with adoration and fondness at his loving partner

"Yet here I am, going back home with the brightest star in the universe."

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[emeren]

bloodlust ☤ 1

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“The devil and I get along just fine...”

Pairing: Fem!reader x Vampire!Eren 

Word Count: 5.1 k 

Chapter Warnings: Blood, anxiety

Chapter Summary: Reader, a nurse, finds themselves facing a fanged beast, unsure what to make of the world. But this devil with dark hair may not have the intentions you think. 

☤ this work of fiction deals with vampires. in turn, there will be discussions of blood and minimal gore. it will also include nsfw content in the near future. all chapters will be marked appropriately☤

Moonlight soaked the path towards his freedom. It danced and reflected off of the dew coated blades of grass. Each one emulated a life he planned to save, with the destruction of his  people and the protection of the person he cared for most in the world. She had yet to materialize into something more than the soft breeze of a memory.

He was hungry; the tortuous cry of his instinct to ravage told him so. However, years of training and restraint had yielded him more than capable of swallowing his own desire. The one thing he sought most weighed heavier than impotent monstrous actions. For his goal, he could resist the craving to release his sharpened fangs.

He allowed his eyes one last glance over the house he’d called home for the past four years; dark and gloomy against the stormy night sky. Soon, those who’d chained him in shackles and dragged him to the cellar would be amiss in panic. Wrought iron bars that once caged his devilish soul would be found empty. A beast was on the run.

He felt brief sorrow for those he would hurt in the process of securing their freedom from a pained existence. But he’d made up his mind. All that was left to do was to head north.

His nimble hands pulled the dark hood of his coat above his head. He took one deep breath, the entrancing smell of rain and dirt wafting through the air.

North, to the person that occupied his past, present, and future. To freedom.

☤    ☤    ☤

You considered yourself well suited to the role you’d decided to serve for the rest of your life. Time spent meticulously memorizing health patterns and disease characteristics had broadened your sense of confidence. Doubt rarely ever plagued your mind past the childish decision of what to eat for breakfast in the morning.

Nursing had not always been your final destination in life; the unprecedented scared you enough to mark healthcare as a profession to avoid. Losing two parents unexpectedly in high school due to a mysterious illness had been enough to change your once convinced mind.

Your rain jacket was slick with the slight precipitation clouding the late night sky as you entered the hospital locker room -- a weak cup of coffee in hand, marred with a ring of chapstick residue against the lip. Night shifts were often greeted with unrelenting misery on your behalf.

“You look excited to be here,” The familiar tone of your coworker hummed from behind you. There seemed no force strong enough to concur surprise in your unrested eyes. Historia was someone who lacked a certain fear factor in most aspects of her being, anyways.

“I didn’t see you when I came in, Historia,” You answered, eyes glancing over your shoulder to take in the blonde-haired nurse. Despite having walked in the rain the same as you, her demeanor was much more spritely.

She gave you a smile, following you towards your adjacent lockers. “Ah, I came in the back entrance today.”

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s working the night shift,” Your half-assed attempt at being friendly mingled with the clammer of your locker. Historia chuckled softly from behind her door.

“I prefer the night shift, actually. Isn’t this your third night on?” She asked. You slipped your wet jacket from your shoulders, shaking it slightly before hanging it in the metal box.

“Yeah, it is. Can’t say I enjoy it as much as you do,” You lightly closed the door, Historia doing the same. Overt kindness wasn’t a trait you claimed when burnt out on work; she knew this and gave you no foul for it.

Her blue eyes crinkled in the ghost of a smile. “Not a creature of the night, hm?”

“I’m no vampire, that’s for sure,” You chuckled. Historia’s smile faltered slightly. It came as no surprise that she was afraid of monsters and ghouls. You decided to change the subject in her favor. “Speaking of, I hear it’s a full moon tonight.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened, coy smirk wiggling its way back onto her blushed cheeks. Despite your adverse to the unknown, you enjoyed indulging in childish hospital rumors. The notion that weird cases spiked on nights when the moon was full in the sky was a tale as old as time; strange people flooded the hospitals, with even stranger injuries and illnesses. Or so that was what people said, not that you’d ever experienced it yourself. “I wonder if anything crazy will happen tonight.”

“Doubt it,” You stepped aside, allowing her to match your stride as the two of you headed towards the conference room for a briefing before the shift. She hummed in agreement, the rest of the walk done in a comfortable silence.

The room for debriefing was a mundane conference set up. The walls were a bleached white; anatomy posters and warnings about the harmful nature of cigarettes decorating the walls. An oval desk surrounded by blue, plastic chairs took up most of the room. It smelled like microwaved Kraft, courtesy of a nurse scarfing down a last helping before their shift started.

“That’s odd,” Historia frowned, blue eyes tracing the room. Staff sat around in quiet huddles, most silently waiting for the briefing to start. She glanced down at her watch before nudging you in the arm. “Where’s Doctor Smith? We start in two minutes.”

The tall, burly man was never late for a briefing; his stoic nature didn’t allow room for such a lack. He had never given you a reason to doubt his trust, but something about his demeanor made you uneasy. He commanded a room with such conviction that your coworkers fell to his feet with unadulterated respect; you, a mindless sheep following their lead. Rational thought would’ve placed your discomfort on his position of power and his role as your boss. Simply put, however, he gave you the creeps.

The plastic chair skidded against the polished floor as you took your seat at the table beside Historia. The older staff coughed and occasionally grumbled, filling the tired silence with a sense of annoyance. Your blonde coworker sensed your gripe, elbowing you in the ribs and leaving a crease in your lilac scrubs. You suppressed a smile.

“Pardon me,” Doctor Smith’s commanding voice echoed through the room before he stepped in the doorway. Your muscles tensed; back straightening as if to give the illusion that you hadn’t been hunched over, looking exhausted and miserable. His blond hair was perfectly sculpted; not a strand out of place and not a wrinkle in his blue dress shirt. His lab coat was almost a sickeningly bleached titanium. “Sorry for my tardiness; I was dealing with an emergency back home.”

Historia shifted beside you.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He gave a terse smile before picking his clipboard off of the table and flipping through the papers. “Looks like we’ve got the regular scheduling for this evening. As usual, the night shift staffing is lighter than our other shifts, so remember to be vigilant and take action without being told to.”

You tended to tune out the mundane precautions and warnings that were part of a pre-shift briefing. Outside the window, rain pattered against the glass pane. The shower provided a sense of comfort; rain often preceded a night spent inside, wrapped in blankets with a mug of hot tea. Though your current schedule didn’t allow room for such indulgence, you took a small delight in the weather condition.

Historia bumped your knee with her own under the table. You glanced at your friend, slightly alarmed from your daze. She leaned over, attempting to discreetly whisper in your ear. “He looks distracted tonight, hm? Wonder what that’s about.”

Your eyes glanced at Doctor Smith, who was reading through the clipboard with a staccato like urgency. Not wanting to cause any disturbance, you nodded your head in agreement.

“We’ll follow through with our regular assignments. If you don’t know where you’re located this evening, I suggest checking the bulletin in the locker room. As for this meeting, you’re all free to go,” His blue irises scanned the faces of all the employees, searching for confusion or questions to be answered. You averted your gaze, following suit as the rest of the room erupted in moving chairs and shuffling scrubs.

You already knew where you were working for the night; the same place as the last two, over in the geriatrics wing. This night would be the same as the others, not that you were in any place to be upset about that.

“Y/N!” Historia’s voice called you to look over your shoulder, barely out of the conference room. She had a slimy smile on her face; the kind that reeked of favors and avoidance. You felt the need to control your eyebrow from rising in annoyance. “Can I ask you something?”

You exhaled from your nose. “Shoot.”

“I have a patient in room 702 that I was assigned to,” The slightest batting of her mascara slicked lashes, blue irises working their hardest to win you over. You raised your eyebrows, urging her to continue. The other staff shuffled by you, sparing nosy glances. “I was wondering if you could take it? I’ll work in the geriatrics wing tonight for you.”

You had to give it to the tiny woman; for all she was worth, she was great at getting people to do what she wanted. You valued her responsibility and reliability, and she’d proved to be a friendly presence in the workplace. However, that didn’t stop you from seeing the selfish underbelly of her prosperous actions.

“What’s the patient in for?” You humored her. Even if her request was self-fulfilling, you figured might as well use it to your own advantage. Almost anything beat another night in geriatrics changing diapers and administering pill dosages.

“A blood transfusion,” She responded, smiling softly at you. “I’m not very good with bloody things, you know. Easily squeamish.”

You pretended to ponder whether or not to take her up on her offer. It was an easy choice, really. “Yeah, sure. What blood type are they?”

☤   ☤   ☤

The stand rattled unpleasantly against the tiled ground as you stopped in front of room 702. The thick bag of blood shook slightly from the sudden stop. How Historia had ever become a nurse when grossed out with the concept of blood, you weren’t sure. It seemed that her sweet disposition often aided her in whatever situation she needed to change for the better. You were an adult woman though, so whatever her motivations might’ve been didn’t concern you.

You gave the cart a once over, making sure all the necessary tools and items were there: a needle, an IV, gauze, those sorts of things. Blood transfusions were a typically fussless procedure; tediously watching the red liquid pump itself into the body.

Your knuckles lightly knocked on the door. “Hello, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion!”

Silence, beating through the empty hallway of the hospital. The lights were dimmed and eerily abandoned. You waited for ten seconds before opening the door to the sleepy room.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing he who was to be given blood. Historia had mentioned he was a John Doe, lying unconscious on the bleached sheets. You turned back to grab your cart, not bothering to be quiet. He’d be awake soon enough, anyway.

As you wheeled it in, your back was to the patient. The cart squeaked and rattled, stopping at the foot of the bed. You turned around, ready to rouse him from his slumber.

Beautiful.

You’d had attractive patients before. Both men and women who floated by life with the easy wings of accurately placed facial features to boost them up. A pretty face often had heat rising to your cheeks, but professionalism stopped you from thinking any further. Natural biological responses couldn’t be helped, after all.

Never had a patient left your lips parting in awe, heart drumming up it’s own beat of excitement in your chest. His face was slim; sharp jawline and a large, broad nose peeking out into the air. Pale cheeks barely dusted by the pink of an almost intangible blush. His eyelashes were long and thick, jutting out against the purple hue of his impossibly dark circles. Hair the color of old driftwood swirled and bunched on his pillow. He had to have been one of the most attractive people you’d ever treated, let alone seen.

What color were his eyes? Were they a dark brown, one to match the nature of his hair color? Or were they green, contrasting his pale skin? You began to feel eager to find out, more excited to know and learn as your gloved hand gripped his broad shoulder. You frowned at the frigid temperature of his skin.

“Excuse me, sir,” You gently shook, trying not to give away the way your body was reacting. There was no place for hormonal displays in your line of work, and despite his undeniable beauty, you were determined to remain professional.

His eyelids snapped open with such a speed you had to compose yourself not to trip backwards. Contrary to what you thought, his irises were a pale, almost sickly greyish blue. They held no gleam; no life behind them. Disturbance washed over your brain, warning bells going off in your mind. He looks slightly… feral?

He jolted upwards, confusion knotted on his once peaceful face. You stumbled backwards slightly, hip clipping on the cart.

“Who are you?” His voice was gravelly, as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Blue eyes stared at you with such an uncertainty it made your head spin.

“I’m your nurse, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion,” You gestured towards the cart and stand, a red bag hanging from it like a token of peace. Despite his prickly reaction, you weren’t frightened.

“I feel like I’ve met you before,” He said, eyes squinted. Analyzing you, trying to pick apart your being, yet there you stood before him, a marvel to be held. He briefly glanced to the side; not more than a millisecond were his eyes off you before they were back, filled with unadulterated panic. “Where- where is Historia?”

You frowned, a little perturbed. “She asked to swap-”

“I need you to leave, now.” He growled, voice deep and authoritative. You widened your gaze, taken aback by his demanding request. The sheet fell from around his shoulders, bare chest exposed. Large hands raced to his face, hiding the features you’d once considered beautiful. “Get out of here!”

“Are you alright?” You panicked, stepping closer to the bed. His large form began shaking, knees drawing towards his chest from under the blanket. He appeared to be in pain; like a wounded animal.

“Fuck,” He yelled, breathing becoming labored. There wasn’t time to ponder. Was he having a panic attack? Was he going into shock? Questions didn’t need to be asked, you just knew that you needed to act. “I said leave!”

“No, I need to help you with whatever-” His hand shot off of his face, long, black claws sharpening from his fingers. You became fear stricken, his palm connecting with your chest. It sent you stumbling backwards, tripping over the wire to the heart monitor and slamming into the wall with your back. Tendrils of pain clamored up your spine.

“Close your eyes,” He rose from the bed, both hands dropping from his face. You couldn’t see his eyes, fist clutching your scrubs above your heart. Uncertainty. Terror, facing death like this. A monster stood before you, created by the devil himself. Tall, foreboding, chest heaving. His neck snapped upwards; wide, red eyes piercing into your thinly veiled soul. He spoke something like a garbled beast. “Promise me you’ll close your eyes.”

You didn’t respond. There were no words to be spoken. Between his pink lips glinted a pair of large, sharp incisors. “Promise!”

You reverberated with his words, wincing and shutting your eyes involuntarily. He didn’t want you to watch as he slaughtered you. “I-I promise!”

The loud clamor of metal colliding with the polished floor had you breaking your promise mere seconds after it’d been made.

He stood, illuminated by the fluorescent bulbs like an angel ascending to heaven. The bag, once an object you’d believed to be a healing beacon, clutched between clawed hands. His teeth, bare to the world, puncturing the thick plastic as though it were paper.

His adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed mouthfuls of thick, red blood. It was as if he’d been starved; knees buckling and desperate blood sucking so intense that his legs could no longer support his body weight. He knelt on the once clean floor.

The twine that connected your sense of reality and rationale had been pulled taut -- pieces of the frayed string snapping and threatening to drop you into depths unknown. Uncertainty had always been a foreign concept; you’d been given the option to study your circumstance and fully conceptualize it before going head first into a situation.

That’s what had intrigued you about being a nurse; though the job seemed like a bull in a china shop, you’d learned every reason why or how that bull ended up there and what exactly you needed to do to get it out.

You lacked the expertise or even the understanding to handle this particular situation. What studying could’ve been done? Reading horror stories or watching Twilight as a teenager with your friends? Even then, the probability of this happening to you felt like it should’ve been a zero percent chance.

You liked knowing what to do. Thrived on it, actually. This man, tall and dangerous, presented you with no opportunity to know. There was no textbook on how to handle a vampire, as childish as it felt to recognize that that’s what this was.

You’d been so sure. So convinced that there was no possibility of this heinous monster being an actual thing to walk the same crusted earth as you. Yet here he was, dawning the shape of a man and the face of an angel. How could someone so beautiful be so terrifying?

The hospital wall was cold against your back, the distant hammering of an organ that no longer felt placed in your chest rang true against your clenched fist. You felt the chilling call to move, to rise from your place and run. You didn’t know where, but the muscles in your thighs screamed a silent symphony.

He made quick work of the bag, like it was nothing and had never been anything in the first place. Who had donated that blood? They were probably asleep somewhere, lying in a bed and dreaming of a different world. A world where their charitable donation wasn’t being consumed by a devil before your terrified soul.

The red liquid oozed from his lips and dripped onto his barren chest. You hadn’t moved since you’d collided with the wall what felt like an eternity ago. Your ears rung rapidly with the obnoxious blood flow to your overstimulated brain.

Eyes the shade of a blue jay traced from a pair of blood soaked claws up towards your face, following the path of destruction. Though shock and fear reverberated through your every nerve, the softness in his gaze dulled a small part of your terror. He looked guilty, holding his dripping hands in front of his face like he’d just committed murder.

“You promised to close your eyes,” A voice so small, as if he’d known you your whole life and you had just witnessed a character altering situation. Something echoed in the back of his words, something that sounded like resentment. You couldn’t tell if it was directed at your prying eyes or himself.

“I- I didn’t, I mean, I tried not to but,” You were at a loss. A loss for a way to communicate how you were feeling, a loss for sanity in the world. The monster before you scowled, as if scolding a child who’d disobeyed their parent. “What are you?”

He brought his bloody hands to the floor; you noted that the claws were gone. “I figure it’s pretty obvious at this point. Can’t you tell?” He whispered.

“But vampires aren’t-” His steely gaze hardened at your choice of words. “They aren’t real, are they?”

“They are,” He responded, looking at you with such a strong emotion that you shifted uncomfortably against the wall. What was he thinking? Those eyes looked like they were fixed on someone he cared deeply for, not someone he’d met mere minutes ago. “But you weren’t supposed to know that, which is why I asked you not to open your eyes.”

“You started drinking a bag of blood right in front of me!” You whisper-yelled, brows knitting together to display your slight frustration. The wonder and fear still laid active in your chest, but something about him was familiar and comforting, despite his gruesome actions. You couldn’t explain exactly why you knew he would bring you no harm. “Of course I was going to open my eyes. If I’m not supposed to know, why would you do that right in front of me?”

His scowl deepened. “I tried to warn you. I haven’t had any blood in awhile and I lost control of myself.”

“What happens now?” Your question came out smaller than intended, unfamiliarity rising in your abdomen. The thick stench of blood was beginning to make your intestines twist in disgusting unease.

The question sought to strike a chord in the young man’s features; a grim and saddened look swept across his sharp attributes. His hand came up to pinch his temples, unperturbed by the bloody fingerprints left in its wake. “We have to get out of here, and fast. If we don’t, the people who are after me will kill you.”

“Kill me?” The word had a different sense of fear wafting over you; the kind that pricked your eyes with the sensation to shed tears. He looked pained. “I can tell them that I didn’t see anything, I can promise that I never saw you and-”

“It doesn’t work like that,” He snapped, glancing at you with irritation. His harsh tone forced your pleas to die unsaid in your throat. “The people following me aren’t rational. One of them will also be able to tell you’re lying.”

“So then, what am I supposed to do?” You cried, allowing the bottled up and suppressed emotions to spill over the thin wall of resolve that his comforting presence provided. He didn’t flinch but remained in serious tranquility. “I’m supposed to leave here and hit the road with some random man, who is a fucking vampire, and what? Hope for the best?”  

He looked away from you, blood-covered face staring at the hospital bed that he’d once occupied. “It’s my fault you’re stuck in this now. I owe you enough to protect your life as best as I can.”

You were in hysterics. What sort of ultimatum was this? Stay and die or leave and risk dying? Another predicament that couldn’t be solved with the aid of literary education. Resentment was beginning to build in your own chest. Diving into an unexplored depth of the ocean, brimming with creatures and lore that you had never predicted to be real.

“Hey,” You snapped back to reality. The man before you scooted forwards slightly. Though his face was that of a devil, soaked in another’s blood and deathly pale, his movement had your chest tightening in something other than fear. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise, if you come with me, you’ll be safe until I can get them off our tail. Then I’ll take off and they’ll follow me, leaving you alone.”

Sticky tears trailed down your cheeks, eyes burning. When did you start crying? “How -- how can you be so sure? How can I trust you?”

He was on his hands and knees in front of you now, sharp nose half a foot away from your face. Any call to breathe was put on hold, teary eyes widening slightly at his stare. It was soft and open, trusting in the strangest way. His dark hair hung around his face.

“My goal is to rid the world of demons such as myself. That’s why they’re after me, and why they would take your life to guarantee silence. When I’m finished with what I want to accomplish, I will be dead and so will they. I have nothing to gain by hurting you. I promise to keep you alive long enough to see the end of this.”

Your lips parted in awe. The conviction in his tone was that to lead an entire army into battle; to create religions and cult followings. Blessed be the demon who wished to take down his own kind.

You had spent years convincing yourself to trust in what others told you to follow. Self-intuition wasn’t enough to breed a successful nurse; you needed the expertise of studies and procedures done before you. You required the necessary tools that others had used and approved of. Your heart’s certainty had no place in medicine. It had no place in the tried and true.

The man slowly rose one freezing hand towards your face, apprehensively watching for your reaction. You sat unmoving, owl-eyed. His palm caressed your chin, cold thumb swiping the tear from your cheek, smearing blood in its wake. “Find it in your heart to trust me.”

The conviction of his words rang lightning through your veins, mouth speaking without precedented thought. “Okay.”

He rose from his crouched position, offering a red hand to help you up from against the wall. You shook your head. There had been enough blood sharing for the evening, sanitation crossing your mind as you shakily slid along the rough plaster, bracing yourself to display a toughness that you weren’t sure you contained.

The rule of thumb not to trust those whom you don’t know played a soft melody in your heart. Mothers’ warnings and fathers’ lectures. Apparently all you had been told fell upon deaf ears, clouded with the hazy judgement of a life threatening situation. But in circumstances such as these, did the general rule apply? You were left to ponder.

“Hey, wait,” You frowned, a dumbfounded feeling crossing your mind as the man stepped towards the opposite side of the room. He stopped and turned, sharp jaw jutting against his mane. “What even is your name?”

“Oh,” He turned back towards the other side of the room. You didn’t follow. The door was the opposite direction, so whatever business he had over there did not concern you. “It’s Eren. And you?”

You felt a slight heat rise to your cheeks at the confession of his name. It was beautiful, feeling somehow appropriate for his physical appearance. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ah,” He responded, as if he already knew. You scoffed inwardly at his tone, still anxiously pressed against the wall. His blood stained hand rose to the latch on the window, attempting to open it.

“Why are you opening the window?” You questioned, noticing a beep from out in the hallway. The door stood open, allowing passersby to witness the blood on the floor and your cheek, as well as this man called Eren, who appeared straight out of a horror movie.

Closing the wooden door meant deciding with certainty to trust him; to follow him and hope that whatever tales of murderous vampires he’d shared had been truthful. To step away from the knowledge and the comfort of your current life. It implied that no one would see you in there with him and come to your rescue.

They will kill you.

Your hand gently clicked the heavy door into its place.

Turning back to Eren, you noticed his hand wrapped around the latch to the window. He was frozen in place, watching you make your final choice.

“You didn’t answer my question,” You reiterated. Eren turned back towards the glass. His reflection wavered slightly in the shine.

“This is how we’re getting out of here,” Eren responded, pulling the latch and shoving the window open as far as it would go. It stopped at about two inches, for safety reasons.

Disbelief once again danced across your mind, pulling you into what was beginning to feel like a new equilibrium. “If you’re planning to leap out of that window, it only opens that far.”

He ignored you, bringing his bloodied palms up against the glass. It appeared as though he merely shoved it; so light that it shouldn’t have budged. It shouldn’t have moved at all. The heavy window snapped at its industrialized hinges, pummeling down towards the ground below.

He glanced at you from over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised semi-smugly. You gawked back; simultaneously impressed by his strength as well as put off. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll die if I jump from here,” You scoffed, still not moving from your place. Eren stared back emotionlessly. He stepped towards the bed, reaching beneath it and pulling out what appeared to be a black hooded jacket.

He swung it over his shoulders, pulling the hood above his head. “I know. If you ride on my back, you won’t die.”

“Are you always this mundanely serious about fucking supernatural shit like this?” You spat. There was a warmth beginning to settle in your face as well as your core; heated by the idea of being so close to him.

“Yes,” He retorted, walking towards you so quickly you thought your head would start spinning. “No time to waste with your endless questions.”

He reached down, abruptly swooping you up from behind your thighs, effectively gripping you bridal style.

“Eren, put me down. Put me down!” You started squirming as he thundered towards the open window. You hated heights as much as the next person; they were fine in retrospect, but made you dizzy when in close proximity. Eren seemed unbothered by your quiet cries of protest.

“Eren, I swear to god,” You brought your fist to his broad chest. He ignored you, stepping onto the ledge of the window. Against any better judgement you still retained, your eyes glanced towards the drop. Your stomach sank, becoming a heavy boulder in the bottom of your abdomen. “Fuck, put me down!”

He stared down at you. A gaze so tranquil that the rest of the scene seemed to fade away. You became hyper-aware of his bare chest which you were pressed against; that unfamiliar churning in your core spreading towards your limbs.

“Hold still, or I’ll drop you.”

☤   ☤   ☤

next chapter >>

tagging: @sunshinedragonofthewest​ @ryukatters​

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 19

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 19 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story

The girl was extremely pale, with an oval face and round eyes which were especially attractive. She was wearing a light pink skirt, her hair tied back. She looked like a young woman. She rubbed her eyes blankly in the dark, looking from side to side.

"Where am I. . .?"

Chu Wanning said: "You are in Return to Truth barrier I set up."

The girl was taken aback and said fearfully: "Who are you? Why is it so dark here? I can't see you, who's talking?"

Chu Wanning replied: "Did you forget?. . . You're already dead."

The girl's eyes widened: "I'm. . . I. . ."

Slowly, she remembered.

Lowering her head, she folded her hands across her chest. She murmured in a soft, unwavering voice: "I. . . I'm already dead. . ."

"Only souls can come to the Return to Truth barrier. Here, their hatred will be eliminated. No matter whether the dead person has transformed into a vicious ghost or an ordinary spirit, they will retain their original and personality appearance, known as their 'Return to Truth.'"

The girl was frozen for a while as if she was gradually remembering the past. Abruptly, she dropped her face and silently wept.

Chu Wanning said: "Have. . . you been wronged?"

The young girl sobbed: "Are you King Yan*? Or Bai Wuchang*? Are you here to avenge me?"

*(T/N: King Yan [阎王爷] is the one to judge the dead while Bai Wuchang [白无常] is one of the deities to escort spirits to the underworld)

Chu Wanning held his forehead and said: ". . . I'm not King Yan or Bai Wuchang."

The girl sobbed quietly. Chu Wanning was quiet for a while and didn't speak. He waited until her cries calmed down a bit and then said: "But I am here to help you air your grievances."

When the girl heard this, she choked and raised her gaze, and said with a mixture of joy and sorrow: "Then you really are Lord Yama*!"

*(T/N: Same person as King Yan)

". . ." Chu Wanning decided not to continue this topic with her and instead asked: "Do you know what you've done after you died?"

"I don't know. . . not really. I just remember that I was so, so sad. I wanted to get revenge. . . I wanted to go to them. . . I wanted to find him again. . ."

When the soul had just awakened, it would take a minute for all their memories to return to them, but it didn't matter. Chu Wanning patiently asked her: "Who did you want to go to?"

The girl whispered: "My husband, Chen Bohuan."

Chu Wanning was astonished. Chen Boyuan - wasn't that the name of the eldest son of the Chen family?

He asked: "What. . . what's your name? Where are you from?"

The power of Tianwen was infused with this illusionary barrier, and the dead who entered would almost always talk honestly with Chu Wanning. Therefore, the girl replied: "I'm a concubine, Luo Xianxian. I'm from Caidie Town."

"Before I came, I read the analects of Caidie Town. There are more than 500 households in this town, and there's no Luo family. Who is your father?"

The girl slowly remembered the details, her eyes filling with even more sadness: "My father used to be a scholar in the village. He was my father-in-law's brother-in-law's close friend. A few years, he contracted tuberculosis and passed away. Then I was the only one left from my family."

"Then why did you die?"

The young girl froze for a moment and then she sobbed: "I had no other option but to die. They, they lied to my father and stole the secret recipe for the butterfly fragrance powder. They beat me and scolded me, threatened me, and told me to leave Caidie Town. I. . . I'm a weak woman, where else could I go? I didn't have a single relative left in this world. . . The world is so big, where could I go? Apart from the Underworld, where else could I go? Where would there be room for me. . ."

After she recalled the events of her life, she seemed to have infinite bitterness and sorrow in her heart, She was desperate to talk to someone. Chu Wanning didn't even have to ask anything else, she slowly continued on her own.

It turned out that Luo Xianxian lost her mother when she was young. She heard from his father that she had an older brother, but her brother was separated from them in the chaos of the Lower Cultivation Realm, and they never saw him again so she didn't know whether he was dead or alive. When her elder brother was lost, Luo Xianxian wasn't even a year old, still in swaddling clothes. Later, she tried to remember her elder brother, but she still had no recollection of him.

There were only two people left in the Luo family were Xianxian and her father. The father and daughter depended on each other. They wandered around and finally built a small house in Caidie Town and lived there.

That year, Luo Xianxian was five years old. The Chen family's oldest son, Chen Bohuan, was two years older than her.

At that time, the Chen family hadn't made its fortune. Several members of the family lived in a two-bedroom earth-rammed hut. An orange tree was planted by the low wall of the small courtyard. In autumn, the tree was full of fruit and it grew over the low wall and snuck into the Luo family's yard.

Luo Xianxian tilted her head. The branches full of oranges looked like lanterns during the Lantern Festival. She was shy and introverted. She didn't play with others. She was always alone. She would dutifully be peeling some beans, raising her head from time to time and peeking at the orange tree peeking over from the Chen family's yard.

The oranges were temptingly yellow, and against the sunlight, you could almost taste the sweet and sour fullness of their juice.

Luo Xianxian looked eagerly, gulping and swallowing from time to time. Her cheeks were sore from the cravings.

But she never reached out to pick one. Her dad was a scholar who had been inferior to her father-in-law's brother-in-law. He failed the exam, but he didn't lose his backbone. His sour scholar brain was probably hurting but he always coached his daughter to be a "gentleman."

At the age of three, Luo XianXian knew that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed. She never reached out to pick the oranges that were close at hand, even though she craved for them.

One night, Luo Xianxian sat in the courtyard humming and washing clothes by the moonlight.

Her father wasn't very strong, so he had to go to bed early. The poor man’s child had to take charge of the house. The little girl rolled up her sleeves, soaked her thin arms in the barrel, and rubbed her face earnestly.

Suddenly a hoarse cough came from the door, and a young man covered in blood staggered in and stared at her.

The little girl was so frightened that she even forgot to scream.

The young man's face was dirty and bloody, but his eyebrows were very handsome. The two people stood frozen staring at each other for a while. In the end, the young man couldn't stand up anymore. He sat down slowly against the base of the wall, panting, and said hoarsely: "Bring some water."

Xu was that kind of young man who didn't look like a bad person or perhaps Luo Xianxian was simply too kind-hearted. Although afraid, she still ran back to the house, made a cup of tea, and held it up to the young man's mouth.

The young man wasn't very polite. He threw back his drink, then wiped the corner of his mouth. Rolling his eyes back, he stared at Luo Xianxian's pretty face. His eyes glazed over and he didn't speak for a while.

He didn't speak, Luo Xianxian didn't either, she just blinked timidly. She held her hands at a distance she thought was safe enough and sized up the stranger.

". . . You look like an old friend of mine." The young man suddenly grinned, squinted his eyes and smiled eerily. With the bloodstains on his face, it was really quite terrifying. "Especially the eyes, they're so round. It looks like you could gouge them out, stick it in your fingers and swallow it in one bite."

When he said such horrible words so plainly, even with a little smile, Luo Xianxian trembled even more, and subconsciously covered her eyes.

The young man said: "Heh, clever girl. Just cover them up. Don't keep staring at me. I can't control my own hands."

He spoke casually with a northern accent.

Moonlight fell into the courtyard. The young man licked his chapped lips and suddenly saw the orange tree stretching into the yard. For some reason, his eyes lit up. His pupils flashed in the light, the lustre brightening for a moment before dimming back down. He raised his chin and motioned.

"Girl."

Luo Xianxian: ". . ."

"Pick an orange and peel it for me."

Luo Xianxian finally spoke up. Her voice was soft, slightly trembling, but she didn't hesitate to say: "Sir, that's not my family's fruit tree. It belongs to someone else. I can't pick one."

The young man was taken aback. She wasn't sure what went through his mind but his face slowly sank.

"I told you to pick one. I want to eat an orange. Pick it for me!" The last phrase was harsh like he spat it out through his teeth. Luo Xianxian shuddered, still stubbornly stood her ground.

The little girl was soft-natured, but her bones were the same as her stubborn father.

"I won't."

The young man's eyes narrowed. He raised his nose, his expression changing: "Do you know who you're talking to, brat?"

"If you want to have some water, I-I'll pour it for you. If you want to eat, there's some food inside, but the orange tree isn't mine. I can't pick it. Father said taking something without asking is stealing. I'm a gentleman. Wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed. You can't fish. . ."

In her rambling, she started talking about fish instead. The half-grown girl blushed. She insisted on what her father had taught herself and ended up completely fumbling her words, but under the young man's gaze, she was violently trembling, and her legs were weak.

The young man was speechless.

Hearing such a little kid, especially a young girl, say things as odd as "taking without asking is stealing", "wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed", and - and "I'm a gentleman"?? pfff, he normally wouldn't be able to stop himself from laughing out loud.

But he couldn't laugh.

On the contrary, there was a strong resentment in his chest and his heart was being crushed like it was being trampled by a horse.

"I hate your kind, so-called. . ." He supported himself on the wall, shakily rising to his feet, and hissed out: "Good man, gentleman, hero, benevolent."

Under Luo Xianxian's horrified gaze, he slowly moved his injured foot, he moved over to the orange tree. He looked up, sniffed the smell of the orange tree almost greedily, and then a red gleam of rage flashed in his eyes. Before Luo Xianxian could react, he climbed the tree, shaking it, trampling, kicking, and hitting its branches.

All the oranges on the branch crackled and fell to the ground, rolling away. The young man's smile was twisted and he shouted wantonly: "Taking something without asking is stealing! Wealth can't be lusted after! The mighty never yield!"

"Sir! What are you doing! Stop! Dad! Dad!"

Luo Xianxian hadn't wanted to call for her father. Her father was a weak, powerless scholar so there wasn't much he could do. But she was a little girl after all, and she was so terrified that she finally broke down.

"What are you shouting about! Your dad can come out and I'll cut him down too!"

The little girl was scared silly. Small water droplets rimmed her round eyes, tears forming.

The Chen family next door went to a neighbouring village to visit relatives so the whole family was away. No one could stop this lunatic.

The little madman shook the oranges all over the ground and still wasn't satisfied. He stomped on the ground several times, crushing several oranges, growing ferocious. She didn't know where he found the strength, but he jumped over the wall and flipped into the Chen's yard. In the courtyard, he found an axe and chopped down the whole tree. Then he turned around and cackled.

He laughed and laughed then abruptly stopped. From his squat, he straightened himself, staring blankly in a daze.

Suddenly, he turned his head and waved to Luo Xianxian: "Girl, come here."

". . ." Luo Xianxian didn't move. She was frozen to the spot, the little cloth shoes embroidered with yellow flowers digging into the ground.

Seeing her hesitating, the young man calmed down his voice and said as sweetly as he could, "Come here. I have a treat for you."

"I. . . I don't. . . no, I don't want to go. . ." Luo Xianxian mumbled. Before she finished speaking, the young man suddenly grew irate again——

"If you don't come here, I'll go into your house and slice up your father!"

Luo Xian trembled harshly but finally took small steps towards him.

The young man squinted at her: "Hurry up, I'm not waiting all day."

Luo Xianxian lowered her head and moved towards him. When she was still a few steps away, he suddenly stretched out his hand and violently pulled her over. Luo Xianxian let out a scream, but it only reached the back of her throat before something was shoved into her mouth to gag her. The young man stuffed an orange into her mouth. It wasn't peeled or washed, but covered in the dirt and pushed into her mouth.

The young man tried to force her to eat it in one bite. The orange split open and was rotten inside. Half her face was covered in the rotten fruit, but the lunatic was still smiling. He crushed the fruit into her face, stuffing it into her mouth that she was desperately trying to keep closed.

"Aren't you a gentleman? I thought you didn't eat stolen food. So what are you eating now? Huh? What are you eating now!"

"Haaa. . . no. . . I don't want. . . dad. . .dad. . ."

"Swallow it." The young man narrowed his eyes and stuffed the last bit of fruit into Luo Xianxian's mouth. His pupils gleamed with an eerie light and he shuddered. "Swallow it!"

He watched Luo Xianxian forcibly swallow the orang. She muffledly choked out "Dad". The young man was silent for a while, then he suddenly smiled.

That smile was more terrifying than his hideous face.

He stroked Luo Xianxian's hair with satisfaction, squatting in front of her, and said softly: "What are you calling your dad for? Shouldn't you be called out to me? Isn't the orange I gave you sweet? Was it delicious?"

With that, he picked up another one off the ground.

This time, he didn't stuff it in her mouth. He carefully peeled off the orange peel and cleaned off all the white piths attached to it. Then he wiped his hands, broke off a piece, and brought it to Luo Xianxian's lips. He whispered: "If you like it, eat some more."

Luo Xianxian knew that she had encountered a madman today. She had no choice but to lower her head and silently ate the orange that the madman handed her. The sweet and sour juice melted down her throat and her stomach churned. . .

The young man squatted there, feeding her slices of oranges. He seemed to feel better and even started to gently hum a song.

His voice was rough, very hoarse, like a broken gust of wind, vague and inaudible. Luo Xianxian could only make out a few words.

"Three or four flowers fall into the pool, the bell chimes once or twice on the shore. The best thing is to be young, a light-footed horse, you can see the end of the world. . ."

He suddenly said: "Girl."

". . ."

"Tsk." He curled his lips and reached for Luo Xianxian's slender face, "Let me look at your eyes."

Luo Xianxian shivered. She was powerless to resist. She could only let the young man inch forward, his bloody finger coming closer and closer to her eyes.

"This is how it is," he said.

Luo Xianxian whimpered and closed his eyes. She was really afraid that this madman would, on a whim, poke out her eyes like they were fruit.

But the young man didn't poke them.

The other coldly said to her: "Didn't you teach me the saying that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed? I've also got something to tell you."

"Hmm. . ."

"Open your eyes."

Luo Xianxian's eyes were tightly closed. The young girl laughed in exasperation and hissed: "Don't be like that. Open your eyes!"

". . . Do you think I won't be able to gouge your eyes out if you have them closed?!"

Luo Xianxian forced her round eyes open, her slender eyelashes trembling, and tears streaming down her face which looked pitiful and fearful. She wasn't sure how to make this stranger happy. He suddenly let go of her cheek, his hand lingering in the air, and then gently patted her head.

He gazed into her eyes, and a trembling smile shook from the corner of his mouth. His smile was distorted, ferocious, and just a bit miserable.

He said: "There are men in Linyi. Twenty of them are dead."

After he spoke, he turned around and his figure sank into the darkness and gradually disappeared.

Only the mess on the ground was the only evidence that such a person, covered in blood in the middle of the night, had been here.

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[retrievablememories]

picture me | johnny (m)

title: picture me pairing: vampire!johnny x black!reader genre: fantasy, romance, smut, fluff, angst summary: you meet a vampire-slash-photographer whose self-identity is increasingly lost to him, and you try to help him find some purpose again. word count: 18.3k warnings: age gap (cuz you know, vampires...but everyone is legal), mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species, self-identity issues/self-deprecation, general angst, sheltered!reader, mentions of blood and drinking blood, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, corruption kink, use of lube, unprotected sex (do not try at home), creampie, johnny is packing in this fic ok! a/n: today (the 28th) is my birthday, so i’m posting this 100% self-indulgent fic that i’ve been working on between requests since september. it was very hard to get johnny’s characterization right for this fic and idk if i actually succeeded but i’m not revising this for the 1000th time lol. i love this fic with my whole heart tho.

i haven’t seen many vampire fics that really explore the whole “doesn’t show up in mirrors/photos” concept (shout em out if you know em) and...there’s probably a reason for that, this shit is hard af to write and there are some logic issues but whatever 🤪

(the beginning quote is from “criminal,” stan taemin!!)

The moment I fall for you is the end of my innocence

—

He sits in the same coffee shop everyday, like it’s a habit he just can’t break. But who are you to judge? You’re there, too. Watching him like a creep. Or maybe like an interested coffee shop patron, trying to be discreet and failing at it.

He wasn’t hard to notice. You’d never been to this coffee shop before, but your friend recommended it to you mostly for their in-house-made pastries; she claimed the coffee was good, too, but she wasn’t much of a caffeine person. You decided to give it a try when you had time between classes and a moment to breathe, not needing to talk to this advisor or that professor.

You saw him immediately when you walked past the shop window. He was sitting at a table near the front, staring down at his phone with a small cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Its miniscule size was almost comical in contrast to his...everything. He was tall—that much was obvious even with him sitting down—and imposing, wearing all black. His hair was equally pitch-black, his bangs hanging to one side and the rest shaved in an undercut. If you didn’t know much better, you’d think you’d stepped back into 2007 and landed dead in the middle of the emo craze.

He was interesting to look at. Not in a bad way, but in a way you don’t see very often. Deciding to walk in before you made yourself look totally weird staring at him through the window, you’d stepped into the coffee shop, the small bell dinging above your head. A barista greeted you at your entrance. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man, to your left, still looking at his phone.

You’d given your order and waited for it to be ready before taking it to a table on the other side of the shop. From that vantage point, you had a good view of the man. You tried to keep your eyes on your food and your phone, not wanting to spend the whole time looking at him, but it was a little hard not to.

When you took a bite of your pastry, you quickly discovered it was just as delicious as your friend promised—probably even more so. You made a noise of approval before you could catch yourself, and you glanced around the shop in embarrassment to see if anyone nearby noticed. Didn’t seem like it, at first. But then you glanced over to the man again only to find him looking at you below his eyelashes with a small, amused smile on his lips. He only kept his gaze on you for a second before returning to his phone.

What? You hadn’t thought you were that loud. How did he hear you from over there, and above the noise of the café? Even now, you remember how embarrassed you’d felt, ducking your head and looking away.

The man finished his coffee not long after that; he slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. You glanced up only momentarily when he stood, but your eyes soon slid back to his form when you noticed something odd. On the wall behind him, there was a big oval mirror sitting pretty in its elaborate silver frame. He stood just a few feet in front of it, yet there was no reflection of him. The only thing you could see was the other side of the café reflected back, with another man sitting alone at a booth enjoying his own coffee. The tall man’s reflection was nowhere to be found.

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

You’d never met one before. At least, you didn’t think you had until then.

Unbeknownst to you, vampires are notoriously able to blend in more easily than most other supernatural beings—until faced with situations like that one in the coffee shop. Ultimately, there’s no faking a reflection no matter how hard you try to remain inconspicuous.

The man had caught your eye again. Thinking back on it, you aren’t sure of what expression you had on your face or what it must’ve looked like to him. It must’ve been something akin to surprise, though; you weren’t quick enough to disguise your reaction at his lack of a reflection.

He gave you another smile, though it felt sadder than the previous one, and walked out of the store, the small bell on the door ringing at his departure. He disappeared down the street in a swirl of black fabric, almost like something out of a movie, and you watched him retreat until you could see him no more.

You scraped your index fingernail over the wood table your food was resting on, your mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts. Your interest was piqued. And yet there was no way for you to know if you’d see him again.

—

At least, that’s what you believed then. Luckily for you, your subsequent visits to the coffee shop have proven fruitful; the strange, tall vampire is there more often than not, always in the same spot in front of that same mirror. Sometimes he reads a book, other times he looks at his phone, and other times still, he stares out the window at the passersby.

He acknowledges you whenever he sees you, either with a nod or a smile. You’ve never spoken to each other, though you know what his voice sounds like from hearing him talk to the baristas. It’s a nice voice, rich and handsome like him, and you find yourself gradually wanting to hear it spoken in your direction. But you aren’t sure how to talk to him, or what you should say.

There’s a lot you want to know about him and his vampirism, but you don’t think it’s fair to bombard him with questions right after meeting him—if you could somehow work up the nerve for that first step.

When you were young, your parents made sure to keep you safely sheltered away from anyone who could potentially be a vampire or any other nonhuman being. This game kept up until you went to college, where they could no longer “shield” you. Because of their lifelong fear and disgust, your knowledge of nonhuman beings is scarce and mostly inaccurate.

The man’s skin isn’t deathly pale like you’ve heard others say vampires always are. It’s nicely tanned, in fact. Nor are his eyes red, or his canine teeth abnormally sharp. And obviously, he has no aversion to sunlight, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here during the day. The only visible marker of his inhuman nature is his lack of a reflection. Maybe he’s not a vampire at all? Maybe he’s another type of being entirely. That only makes you more curious.

It’s not rare to come across supernatural beings, but they only make themselves known if they want to, or if it’s imperative to their survival. Most of them would rather quietly assimilate amongst humans or stay safe and hidden within their own communities. Humans are still too judgmental towards those who are different from themselves for nonhumans to feel truly safe or welcomed—at least not on a global scale. Small pockets of communities forged with human allies are helpful and sometimes vital for survival, but not always enough.

These small tidbits of information cycle through your mind as September gradually bleeds into October. You continue watching the thoughtful man in the coffee shop and making up your own secret theories about his life. You haven’t told anyone from school about this, because you already know the reaction would be nothing short of awful. Your parents would only let you go to school at the one university in the city that explicitly didn’t allow supernatural beings; it goes without saying that your classmates don’t view them in a positive light.

Part of you feels like you might be breaking the unspoken rules just by being at this coffee shop all the time and allowing this man to take up space in your mind. But who will know what’s inside your thoughts except you?

One day, your friend decides to accompany you on your lunch break, finally stopping by the café she recommended to you. The man is already there, as usual, and he smiles slightly when you and your friend enter. She doesn’t catch this, too busy wondering what she’s going to get off the menu today.

“I haven’t been here in forever, I wonder if Sam still remembers me?” You know Sam to be one of the baristas there, having read it on their name tag before.

“I doubt there are very many people who’d forget you,” you answer.

When you both have your food, you take a booth farther away from where the man sits, though you can still see him easily from this distance. Your friend settles into the seat in front of you.

You try to keep things inconspicuous throughout your conversation, but you must glance over at him one too many times, because your friend eventually raises her eyebrows questioningly. She turns around in her seat, making it obvious that she’s looking, and you groan as you keep your eyes in the opposite direction towards the window.

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

“He’s obviously someone. Someone interesting enough to hold your attention.”

“I don’t know the man,” you say curtly. You shuffle your napkin and spoon aimlessly, your nervousness rising. What if he has some kind of enhanced hearing and can hear what you’re saying right now? He definitely heard you make that noise that first day.

Your friend looks at the ceiling and blows air out of her mouth. “Whatever. I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.”

You take a sip of your drink and lower your voice to just above a whisper. Although you want to leave the subject alone, you’re curious about one thing. “You mean you’ve never seen him before? This café was your hangout spot before it was mine.”

She shrugs. “No, I think I would’ve remembered someone as...visually striking as him. Why are we whispering, anyway? It’s not like he can hear us above all this noise.”

You think to yourself, I’m not so sure about that, but you merely shake your head.

You spend a few more minutes talking before movement catches the corner of your eye. At this point, it’s practically a reflex for you to look in that direction. You try not to, but your friend has already caught you and turns her head to spy, too. The man has gotten up for whatever reason to say something to one of the baristas at the counter. Your gaze darts back to your cup after you’ve gotten your eyeful, but you’re nearly startled into dropping the cup at your friend’s gasp.

Oh. The mirror.

She grips the edge of the table. “He’s a vampire…?”

You don’t know what to say to that, and you feel oddly guilty for some reason you can’t pinpoint. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “U-um, I don’t know…?” You can hardly finish your thought before your friend is scrambling to grab her purse. She hurriedly stands out of the seat, tugging your arm as she does.

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you serious—?” You feel embarrassed heat rip through your body at her display; some other café-goers are already looking at her curiously, probably wondering what the hell she’s doing. She tugs more incessantly, and you already know she’ll get louder if you don’t get up now and defuse the situation. Leaving your half-full cup behind, you grab your things and follow her out of the store, keeping your eyes firmly on her back as you pass by the man. You don’t know if he looked up, or if he could sense the reason for your sudden departure—you’ve never left the shop before him until now—and you don’t want to know.

Neither of you talk until you’re well down the street and around the corner. “That wasn’t necessary,” you huff, your hands still sweating from the spiked adrenaline at suddenly being rushed out.

“Yes it was! We all know bloodsuckers and all these other weirdos are dangerous...even if they think they’re being well-intentioned by living among humans. I hope you don’t go back there.”

“Whatever...you’re the one who told me to visit the café,” you mumble, unable to muster up the energy to say anything more. You both know very well she can’t tell you where to go, but you hope she doesn’t mention this to your other acquaintances on campus and make it into a bigger deal than it is.

When you part ways with your friend and get back to your dorm, you realize you’re missing your planner. The planner with all your upcoming assignment dates in it. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, knowing it must’ve happened in the chaos of her pulling you out of the shop. Maybe if you’re really lucky, it’ll still be there, picked up by an employee or simply left untouched. Knowing how many people go through that café in a day, you’re not optimistic.

For the first time since visiting the quaint little shop, you’re not anticipating returning and seeing the man again, afraid he’ll ignore you or look at you with distaste—like you’re just another unsympathetic human. And would he be wrong to think that? You’re only strangers to each other.

You try not to dwell on it too hard when you go to bed that night.

When lunch rolls around the next day, you hesitate a couple times on your way to the café, not wanting to show up. However, the desire to see what became of your planner pushes you forward. You don’t even have to stay; if it’s there, you’ll take it and leave. If it’s not—oh well. You can still leave. It’s not hard to buy another.

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

He nods at you when you step inside, though he doesn’t smile as he’s become accustomed to doing. You nod back, but you can’t ignore the renewed rush of embarrassment you feel. You linger at the entrance for a second longer, wondering if maybe you should say something. Apologize, even? But what if he really didn’t know what was going on yesterday? Then how odd would you look for bringing it up?

You decide to move on and go back to the booth to search for your belongings, but his voice stops you. This takes you by surprise.

“Did you come back for this?”

You turn to him to see him holding your planner in his hand. You stare, momentarily dumbfounded, and almost shake your head before realizing it is yours. Definitely the same sticker-covered, scribbled-all-over planner.

“Oh—y-yeah. Thank you.” He passes it to you, though you notice he’s very careful not to let your hands touch. You’re a little perplexed about why, but then the rumors about vampires having cold skin pop up in your mind. Maybe that’s actually true, too. “I usually don’t lose things so easily, but…” Your voice falters, and you don’t know how to finish that sentence without bringing up the other day’s events.

He doesn’t seem to mind as he replies, “It happens to all of us sometimes...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera.”

“You take pictures?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice.

He nods. “I take photos of anything that interests me. Which often ends up being everything I see. I work at an art museum, so I guess having an eye for photography comes in handy.” He hesitates for a second, then says, “I could show you some?” He waves his phone, indicating that the photos are there.

“Oh, sure.” The man gestures for you to sit down in the empty chair in front of him, and you do so. He swipes through his phone a few times until he settles on what he’s searching for, then puts the device on the table and slides it to you. You lean forward to look at it and see that it displays an album full of pictures, simply titled with the emoji “🌌.”

“It’s okay, you can pick it up.” He chuckles. You pick up the phone and swipe through the numerous pictures. Many of them are nighttime shots of the moon, trees, half-empty streets, darkened storefronts. Others depict nature scenes at sunset or the beginning of sunrise, with the sky colored in darker hues. No matter what the subject matter is, they all look to be professionally taken, even for an iPhone.

“Wow, these are nice. You said you work at a museum…are you a professional photographer, too?”

The man shrugs, and as you look at his slight grin, you realize you still don’t know his name. “Something like that, I guess.”

“You should be if you aren’t already,” you say, looking through more photos. “I’m sure you’d make a lot of money.” When you reach the end of the album, you go to hand the phone back to him but realize he’ll probably want to avoid contact again, so you slide it across the table. He takes it and slips it into his pocket.

“I don’t really care about the money,” he responds. “I just like it because…” He trails off, unsure how to convey his thoughts, wondering if he should even get that personal with a stranger. “It...helps me pass the time.” He’s not quite satisfied by that answer—it doesn’t feel like enough—but it’s all he can think of on the spot.

“Well, that’s nice too. It’s always good to have a hobby just for the sake of it...not for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

“Do you have one?” He takes a sip of his coffee. You don’t expect to be asked about your own interests, and your mind goes blank as you try to think. Why does this always happen when I’m asked these kinds of questions?

“Um, just different things here and there.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, amused.

“It’s not that, I just don’t have a ton of hobbies or anything. I’m kinda boring, so…” And wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until I left home.

“Being boring isn’t always a bad thing.”

You lean back in your seat, shrugging slightly. “Maybe if you see it that way. My friends don’t.”

“Would one of those happen to be the same one who dragged you out of here yesterday?” He speaks casually, putting his cheek in his hand. You slump further down in your seat, feeling exposed. Of course there was no escaping this topic. He notices your mood shift and shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel so bad about it. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

“I’m sorry for all that mess,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I am.” You stand up from the seat, gripping your planner. “Thanks again for this. I don’t want to take up any more of your time today.” You’re about to turn to leave when he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…you could talk with me whenever you feel like it.” That’s the last thing you expect him to say. His voice takes on a quality that’s...not what you’d call begging, but it’s clear he’d enjoy some company. Maybe he’s doing this for your benefit as well as his own, because it’s obvious how your eyes always stray to his little corner.

You nod, giving him an apprehensive smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

The rest of your day after that is uneventful, full of classes and unexciting lectures, but you keep thinking of one thing. Though he appears to enjoy his time in the coffee shop, how lonely must he really be? There’s never anyone else around him. His eyes when he’d spoken to you held a certain sadness.

And you still didn’t get his name.

You don’t see him for the next few days, mostly because you aren’t at the café. You’ve gotten busy with a new project and haven’t had as much time to return to the coffee shop, mostly spending your time in the library instead.

When you finally get a chance to buy lunch outside campus, he’s not there. This disappoints you more than you thought it would, and you wonder what his absence means. Did he just decide not to come today, or has he found another place to frequent? You kind of hope the second option isn’t the case, though you also don’t know why you’re even caring this much about where someone else goes on their own time.

You get a drink to-go this time, deciding you’ll just take it back to the library and continue your studies there. The entryway bell rings behind you as you wait for your order to be made, though you don’t pay it much attention; half of your mind is still occupied with what you need to do next for your project.

When you turn around to leave the shop with your drink, you’re surprised to see the man standing there, waiting to get his own coffee. “You’re late,” you blurt out. You immediately feel silly for saying it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He gives you a slight smile. “Yes, I am.” Then he spots your to-go cup. “Are you leaving?”

“Uh, well,” you glance at your drink, “are you staying?”

He nods as he steps up to the counter. “Yeah, I’m staying. My offer’s still open, by the way.”

Right. The offer to talk to him sometimes. You’re tempted to stay awhile and talk to him now, though you don’t even know what about. Your project? That’s boring. Him being a vampire? Too invasive. Your school? Also boring, and probably not the best idea considering which one you attend.

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

You both sit at his usual table, with you grinning nervously.

“How are you? I noticed you hadn’t showed up in a while,” he asks, settling back in his chair.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I’m just busy with school stuff. These teachers don’t give us a break.” You laugh a little, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He grins. “I never did go to college, but I’ve always heard others talk about how tiring it is. And expensive.”

“They’re right.” You roll your eyes at the thought of it. “But I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end. Maybe. If the economy isn’t in the toilet.” The sound of his laughter is nice, and you’re glad you could make him laugh. “Also, I’m sorry—I don’t know how this flew under the radar, but I don’t know your name.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for, really. It’s Johnny.”

You tell him your name, too. “Since I haven’t seen you lately...how are you doing?” You circle your hands around your to-go cup, feeling its warmth transfer to your palms as you await his answer.

“I think I can say I’m the same as always—which is fine. Life slows down a little when you have a lot of time on your hands.” Johnny’s lips quirk up at that, and you think he might be referring to his vampirism. Your eyes widen a little.

“What’s that like? Having so much free time. I wouldn’t know much about that right now, but…”

“Maybe not as pleasant as you think it’d be. But there’s good in it. Like coming and going when you want to. And you can take up whatever interests you want without worrying as much about busy schedules.” You already know he’s alluding to his photography. “I do like having a job, though…it gives me structure.”

“You’re probably right…I wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I had a ton of free time…like, which hobbies to pick up first.” You consider how you initially thought about him being lonely and wonder if that’s one of the unpleasant parts he hinted to. “Speaking of hobbies...did you take any new pictures lately?”

Johnny nods. “Most of them were on my camera this time, but some are on my phone. You want to see?”

“Yes!”

Johnny lets you have his phone again to look through the newest pictures he’s taken. There are varying shots of car-lined streets and storefronts, some of the latter decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns for the onset of October. A pigeon sits on a streetlamp during the daytime, holding its head up like royalty upon a throne. In another image, a stray cat and her kittens huddle in an alley, the babies grooming each other while the mother looks quizzically at the camera.

You recognize a few photos from the nearby park; he also had some pictures of it the last time you looked. “Do you go to this park often?”

“Yeah, it offers some great shots. It’s especially pretty if you go just before the sun sets...the light filters through the tree leaves and it looks kinda like a kaleidoscope.”

“Ah, I’ve never seen that before…” you say a little sadly. Your parents didn’t much like taking you to that park when you were younger because of how far it is from their house. And since living away from them, you’ve only been able to visit it during the early hours of the day—like now.

Johnny looks closely at you. “Would you ever want to?”

“If it’s as pretty as you say, I should.” You slide the phone back across the table to him, not catching what he’s trying to hint at as you keep talking. “Do you go anywhere else besides here and the park?” As soon as you say it, you realize this might sound a little rude and try to make a quick save. “I mean, do you have any other favorite places? I’m not trying to say you don’t have a life or anything!”

Johnny laughs at your slight panic at thinking you’ve offended him. “Nothing too out-there, I guess. The bookstore, the photography store, the theater. Pretty much all the same places others visit.”

“The movies are fun.” You trace your finger across the table’s surface, thinking of your own favorite spots. “Me and my friends like to go downtown. There are a lot of cute little shops down there…”

You and Johnny talk for a while longer, and you almost forget you have to get back to campus until you glance at the wall clock. “Oh no, I’m gonna be late.” Flustered, you jump out of your seat and crumple your empty cup. “Sorry to cut it short, Johnny, but I gotta go back now.”

He smiles good-naturedly and nods, his dark bangs sweeping his face. “I understand.” As he watches you gather your things and get ready to go, he speaks up again. “Actually, if you want to see the park at sunset sometime...I could show you? It’s up to you.”

You pause, suddenly curious at the thought of seeing him outside the café. In the back of your mind, you feel a little paranoid and afraid of your friend or maybe even your parents seeing you there with him, though the latter is extremely unlikely. It’s hard to shake that familiar fear of judgment and ostracism when it’s been ingrained in you since childhood. “That sounds good. If it’s not any trouble for you…?”

“Never too much trouble. I usually get off around 4 on Fridays, just before the sun sets at 5. Unless the weekend is better for you?”

You nod, holding your books tighter to your chest. “Friday will work for me! I’ll meet up with you then.”

Johnny smiles. “Great; I’ll see you then, kind stranger.”

Maybe he says it to be joking or quirky, to sound like one of those characters in a movie or drama, but it makes you smile. Nodding to him again, you step out of the café and rush towards the direction of your school. Johnny watches as you retreat, your roles reversed.

You meet up with Johnny at the park that Friday, just as you both agreed. You spot him sitting on a bench near the park entrance, waiting on your arrival.

Johnny’s wardrobe is still mostly dark, but it’s a little lighter than usual today. He’s changed things up with a white polo shirt underneath his black sweater. Seeing him dressed like this, you wonder what he’d be like as a student, or maybe even a university professor.

He stands up when you get closer, hearing the sound of your footsteps approaching and turning towards you. His camera sits safely around his neck, the lens catching in the light of the sun.

When you stop in front of him, he smiles at you warmly. You try to relax into the genuineness of that smile and ignore the still-lingering traces of anxiety about being out with him. “Hi, Johnny!”

“Hi, Y/N.”

You and Johnny walk around the park as he looks for something interesting to shoot. He snaps a few shots of the trees, fallen leaves, bushes, and other natural elements along the way, though it seems like he hasn’t quite captured what he wants yet.

“Are you looking for something specific?” you ask, peering at his camera as he holds it in his hands.

“There’s an aster bush around here,” he responds. “It hadn’t fully bloomed yet the last time I was here, but it should be open by now.”

It turns out he’s right as you two finally come up on the bush. Its blooms make bright purple smudges against the rest of the landscape, which is a monochrome red-and-orange palette from the leaves changing their hues. You watch as he comes up to the bush carefully and quietly, like it’s a small animal he’s afraid to scare away. Johnny is very attentive while taking pictures of it, always conscious of getting the correct lighting and securing the exact angles he wants to capture. “Compassionate” is not a word you’d usually associate with the act of taking photos, but that’s the only word you can currently think of to describe this display. He treats the flowers with a peculiar sense of respect, as if they’re a human subject.

After he’s gotten the images he wants, Johnny offers you his camera to take a few of your own. You’re anxious about holding his prized possession and are afraid you’ll find a way to mess something up, but he promises you it’s fine. You take a few shots of the sky, still with a few wisps of clouds left, and a nearby tree that’s almost stripped bare of leaves. You know the shots will probably end up blurry from your unsteady hands, but Johnny tells you you’ve done a good job anyway.

Something about getting his approval makes a pleasant warmth settle in your chest.

As you both walk down a long trail, you finally ask him, “Sorry if this is invasive, but I was wondering how old are you? Like...as a vampire.” Your voice becomes hesitant on the word vampire, even though you’re the only two in this part of the park.

He chuckles a bit. “I’m 85.” You try not to look surprised. “I’ve been turned for 60 years. Old, but probably a little younger than most vampires you’d think of.”

“Kinda,” you say quietly. “They’re always like 2,000 years old in movies.”

“The ancient vampires are purebloods. They keep to themselves and avoid mingling with turned vampires, let alone humans. Some people are even skeptical if they exist. Supposedly, they use humans as servants or blood banks.” He gives you an apologetic look after saying this, though you don’t really know why. You don’t get the feeling he’d do that to another being, but he is still mostly a stranger... “At least, that’s what my mentor told me.”

Your curiosity is roused at all this new knowledge. “You had a mentor?”

“An older woman. She was also a turned vampire.”

“Turned, huh…”

Johnny nods, toeing at a small pile of leaves on the ground. “She went away eventually, said people are meant to pass in and out of each other’s lives. I don’t think she ever had intentions to stay. But I enjoyed her company while she was there.” Johnny stops at a short bridge above a small manmade lake, and you both look down into the water.

You place your arms on the bridge railing so you can lean over more. You notice he doesn’t have a reflection in the water, and this startles you more than you expected. Before meeting this strange man, you’d never thought much before about why vampires don’t have mirror reflections, but it seems even more unnatural to see this phenomenon happen again in the lake.

You find yourself looking at the side of Johnny’s face, trying to read his expression as he peers into the water’s depths. He turns to you, and you flinch at being caught staring, but he only smiles slightly. You force yourself to form words and break the silence. “What—what did you do after she left?”

“Lived on my own. She taught me a lot of things to help me live independently as a vampire, so it wasn’t too difficult to get along without her...but emotionally? A different story.”

“You sound like you had a very close relationship with her.”

“Yes. Quite close…” Johnny’s tone suggests something deeper, more intimate than a regular friendship. You feel a bit astounded at the idea of him having an older, more worldly lover while being only a newly changed vampire. Your reaction makes you feel foolish, inexperienced. Still, you can’t help imagining a scenario of them living in a big, dark mansion somewhere in the mountains, rolling around in a bed with bloody red sheets—and maybe drinking from the occasional naïve, misled human hiker.

Strangely, too, you feel jealous at his freedom, his ability to go wherever and do whatever with whoever he wants without overbearing relatives always just a step away.

You continue staring at the ripples as they circle in and out of the water’s surface, the motions triggered by a small orange leaf falling into the lake. You’re unsure of what could be the right thing to say to his admission, so you blurt out whatever comes to mind next. “You said she taught you to live independently as a vampire. What does that mean? How do you get...you know. Blood?”

“There are ways,” Johnny says cryptically, which makes your own blood rush faster. He turns to you with a grin, like he finds your naivety endearing. “It’s nothing drastic, though. At least, not for me. I never drink directly.” It does make sense that there are other ways to drink human blood without taking it straight from their necks, though you can only speculate on which methods he prefers. “Drinking directly is lethal, and often not worth it.”

“So, it’s true that vampire bites can kill?” You watch as Johnny pushes himself off the railing, and you follow him as he continues down the trail.

“It’s not false. But it’s never really that simple.” Johnny’s answer is mysterious, and he doesn’t elaborate further. He turns to you. “Where did you hear that, anyway? Your university? The one that bans all nonhuman beings?”

“You know where I go to school?” You feel embarrassed, thinking he must assume you’re like the rest of the student body who hates nonhumans but still nurtures an odd obsession with them.

“I saw it on your notebook one day, the school insignia. I’m not a stalker, by the way.” You laugh only slightly, and Johnny seems crestfallen when he notices your apprehension. “I don’t care if you attend school there. Just because you do doesn’t mean you think the way they do.”

“You must think I’m some weird opportunist, then,” you mutter, heat finding its way to your face. “Asking you all these questions...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think anything except that you’re a pleasant person to be around.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the compliment sink in. You think you should probably give him one of his own, but before you can, he says, “Look. The sun’s already setting.” Just like he told you before, the dying rays filter through the tree leaves and create impossibly intricate patterns on your surroundings. You hold your hand out and watch the latticework that the leaves create dance over your open palm.

You let Johnny take a picture of your hand with the tree shadows flitting over it, but you shy away from the camera’s lens when he points it higher to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “Maybe some other day.”

You walk around for a while longer until the sky bleeds into a dark purple. “I guess I should be going soon. It’s getting late,” you say, though you’re also a bit sad over your evening with Johnny meeting its end.

“Do you want me to take you back to campus? You shouldn’t walk back alone. My car is just in the parking lot there.” He points to it where it sits in the distance.

You look at Johnny with a confused gaze. “But you can’t come on campus. They have...things to ward off vampires.” Like gates made of pure silver, displaying intimidating, elaborately designed crosses. You don’t know if any of it actually works, but it’s probably better not to find out.

Johnny doesn’t seem bothered by this information. “Yeah…I know. I can just drop you at the street across from the main gate.”

You hesitate a moment longer but eventually agree. He is right; you’d rather not walk alone at night, and getting a ride with him is better—and cheaper—than calling for a rideshare.

The ride to the college is fairly quiet, with the radio filling the silence. It’s not an awkward type of stillness, at least, which you’re grateful for.

As he said he would, Johnny parks on the side of the street that sits in front of the main gate, just outside the immediate vicinity of the campus. The metal crosses stare back at the both of you, glinting in the light of nearby streetlamps. You turn your face away from them, biting the inside of your cheek.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride. I guess I’ll see you back at the shop next week, yeah?” Again, you get the urge to say something, anything, to remedy or cover up the foreboding source of discomfort sitting just in front of you, but there’s no one sentence you could say to wipe away decades of hatred.

Johnny nods and smiles, and still he shows no signs of being disturbed. He doesn’t cast another glance at the gates. “It’s no problem. See you then.”

You get out of his car and cross the street to get inside the gate; it’s early enough in the evening for it to still be open. Any later, and it’d be locked shut to even humans. You risk another wave at him before turning back around and heading for your dorm, which sits a few yards from the entrance. Johnny lets the car idle on the side of the street until you’ve walked into the dorm, and only then does he drive away.

It doesn’t take very long for you to warm up to Johnny inviting you to other places. The next time you and him go somewhere other than the coffee shop, you accompany him as he buys some film for his camera on one of his free days. You don’t know a ton about photography, so you’re more than happy to let him tell you all about how film works and why he buys certain kinds over others.

The place he frequents is a specialty photography shop that still carries older varieties of film—ones that fell out of favor once digital cameras became a thing. The store looks noticeably old, but not in an unkempt or decrepit way. You can tell it’s been around for a while, holding all kinds of history in its structure.

“There are so many different types.” You look over a shelf of film rolls in awe. “How can you tell them all apart?”

Johnny laughs. “It gets easier if you’ve been doing it for a while…or a few decades.” He picks one up from a row of them and holds it in front of you. “35mm is the most common type, which is what you’ll find the most of when you look through any film shop. That’s what I use.”

He sets that one down and walks past another display of film rolls, gesturing toward them. “There’s also 120 and 220 film formats here…those work for even older cameras, sorta like ones you’d see in 1930s movies. You can even turn a film camera into a digital camera.”

You nod to his words, looking over what seems like millions of film canisters—and occasionally glancing at the lines of his broad back as he walks ahead of you. “You should teach a photography class. I’d be more willing to listen to you than some old professor.”

Johnny snickers. “Huh, I don’t know. Not a professor, but I am old.”

You both continue walking through the store, with Johnny giving you the rundown on every item that catches your interest.

Like the coffee shop, there’s another mirror in this store. Many more, actually—there are whole rows of them on a series of shelves, all in varying sizes and shapes. They create a fragmented view of your form as you stand in front of them, though you don’t initially realize you’ve crossed into their glassy line of sight. You’re busier with looking at a roll of film Johnny’s handed you. When you notice your reflection shifting in your peripheral view, you look up.

Johnny’s only a few feet behind you, and you know this because you can hear him and feel his presence. Yet, it’s strange to see yourself as the only person in the aisle.

Eventually, he notices what’s got you preoccupied and comes to stand next to you. Though you see him clearly in front of your eyes, there’s no trace of him in the glass reflections.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the aching loneliness of it—how it must feel to never see yourself. You can see him with your own eyes, and so can everyone else who encounters him, but what must it be like to be virtually invisible outside of other peoples’ perceptions of you? You almost feel utterly alone even though you know he’s beside you.

Noticing your sudden melancholy, Johnny takes the film roll from your hand and tosses it up in the air, making it look like it’s moving on its own in the mirrors. He means to lighten the mood, if only to see the cloudiness disappear from your expression. It works to a degree, though you still feel downcast deep below.

“It’s not good to dwell on it.” Johnny presses the film roll back into your hand, still carefully avoiding skin contact. He has no problem meeting your eyes, though, and you shyly look away from his dark gaze after a few prolonged moments.

“You’re right,” you say softly, turning back to the aisle and away from the rows of mirrors.

—

You and Johnny head to the coffee shop after your trip to the photography store. Once you get your drinks and sit down in your usual spot, he speaks suddenly. “Something’s wrong.”

Your eyes dart around the shop, thinking he’s referring to one of the patrons around you. “What? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out a bit panicked. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he does.

“No, I mean...something’s wrong with you. You seem far away.”

“Oh…” You wonder if you should even bring it up and potentially ruin the mood. But you have been curious for weeks now, and you don’t think you’ll get a trustworthy answer by asking anyone other than him. “I just...I was wondering why you don’t have a reflection. I know it’s a vampire thing, but I’ve never really known why...you don’t need to answer, though. Like you said, it’s not good to dwell on it.”

Johnny makes a motion like a half-nod once your question is revealed, his eyes darting to the window and back to the table. His fingers trace across the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtful but stormy expression on his face, and you’re afraid you shouldn’t have reawakened this topic. “You know...being undead means being in two places at once.”

“Two places?”

“We are caught between the living world and the world of the dead. Something that’s not really supposed to exist, yet…” He’s quiet for a moment. “You can only imagine the kind of issues and side effects that can cause. One of them being no reflection.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you say. “Two planes of existence...what does it mean to be a part of the world of the dead?”

“Our blood runs slower. Ours is more like sludge compared to yours. The heart beats only a few times per minute. Don’t need to eat or sleep, either, though many vampires still do.” Johnny pauses. “How much do you really know about vampires?”

“I don’t know much about any of this...stuff.” You gesture vaguely, meaning all supernatural beings and not just vampires. “No one ever told me these things growing up, and it’s hard to tell truth from fiction at school. People will say anything, horrible things, and you just take it at face value, I guess. I never really thought to try to find the reality.” You sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know anything.”

“Learning is good. You can always learn. I don’t think it’s too late for that.” Johnny’s voice is a little lighter. “Anyway, everyone’s knowledge is different. Sometimes it slips my mind that everyone doesn’t know what it’s like to live as a vampire, though the world never lets me forget for long.”

“Then…do you hang out with other vampires who do understand? Or…maybe humans who can sympathize?”

Johnny gives a humorless laugh. “Most humans are hesitant to interact with us, if not full-out terrified or disgusted. At the museum...it’s less pronounced because all the employees already know. They…tolerate it. But every time someone else realizes what I am and doesn’t take well to it?” He shakes his head, acts like he’ll say something else, and then abandons that line of thought. “And do you really think I’d want to spend my free time around other bloodsuckers?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but you’re more inclined to think he actually feels that way. You can only nod, feeling bad for him but also a little disturbed by his view of his own kind.

“I think you’re a kind person, and you being a vampire doesn’t affect that,” you say hesitantly. “I like talking to you. And even if you feel that way about other vampires, I…wish you wouldn’t feel that about yourself.”

Johnny remains quiet, but he nods. You wonder about the struggle occurring in his mind. The only outward hint of his uneasy state shows in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tense set of his mouth. With his right hand resting on the table, he rubs his fingers together absentmindedly, like he’s analyzing your words. You have a sudden and startling desire to hold his hand, to twine your fingers together and feel his skin on yours for the first time, but you don’t dare cross that boundary.

He finally replies with, “You’re much kinder to me, an old and bitter vampire, than you probably should be. But maybe that’s a good thing about you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you agree, your voice low. “Every living being needs companionship. Good companionship, anyway.”

The corners of Johnny’s lips shift in something reminiscent of a smile. He turns a rueful gaze once again to the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Aren’t I lucky to have yours, then.”

On a day when you don’t have as many responsibilities to juggle, you visit Johnny at the art museum after his working hours are up. He’d already invited you to come to the museum any day you felt like so he could show you around. 

When you get there, he’s waiting in the visitor’s lobby for you, framed by receding sunlight as the day starts fading into night. He looks the same as he always does when you see him in the café on his lunch breaks, but within the context of the museum, he suddenly seems more…alive? Vibrant? He could’ve served as a muse for one of the many statuesque, perfectly proportional sculptures in the museum, and you’d never know anything different.

Your heartbeat increases at the sight of him, just enough to be outside the normal range.

“Hi, Johnny. I hope your day went well?”

“It was fine, nothing too crazy. But it’s better now.” And he smiles at you, sincere enough to make your heart ache.

“Oh—that’s great.” That’s it? You scold yourself internally, but you aren’t quick enough to think up a witty reply to his comment before the topic shifts.

“Is there anything in particular you wanna see first?” Johnny asks, leading you further into the museum.

“I guess I hadn’t thought too deeply about that…do you have a favorite exhibit? I want to see what you like.”

Johnny smiles faintly. “Let’s see, then.”

The dark-haired man takes you to a section of the museum filled with oil paintings, all by one singular artist. At first, all you see is varying shades of black and gray and red, with some white splashed in between. When you begin looking at the paintings more closely, it’s easier to see that each one depicts a different scene of chaos. Maybe a sort of organized chaos, but disarray all the same.

There is one picture that holds a clearer subject than the rest. One of the oil paintings is of a vampire—obvious by the fangs—with bloodied lips and anguished eyes. You pause when you catch sight of it, your steps stilled by the sheer frenzy in the other being’s painted eyes. Their hands reach out for the viewer as if begging for an escape that can only be provided by whoever’s observing.

“This one was painted by a fellow vampire, you know. The same one who did all the rest of the paintings in this gallery,” Johnny explains. He points at the placard next to the painting that displays the artist’s name and a short description of the piece. The word fellow comes off his tongue wrapped in cynicism. “And it was one of the ones I personally chose for this exhibit.”

You glance at him, a tinge of surprise blooming in your chest. “Really?”

He nods. “Who better to depict the ills of vampirism than a vampire themselves? I thought it was a…fascinating change of pace from all the humans who try and fail to do so, ironic as that is.”

If you look at the painting for long enough, you think you can recognize sadness in the corners of the vampire’s eyes—pure, unadulterated sadness. Different from anguish or panic. A similar mask of sadness you’ve seen on the man next to you.

You say nothing for a while. You simply feel the painful throb of your heart in your chest and listen to the small sounds around you. Even now, there are still other people exploring the museum and walking through this very exhibit, but you can’t hear or see any of them. Johnny notices the disconcerted look on your face, and his forehead creases. “But I’m sure you want to see something less…morbid than this, right? Come on.”

“Uh, I-I don’t mind,” you insist, even though you feel like you’ve just awoken from a painful trance by the sound of his voice. But he’s already gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

The next set of paintings you end up in front of are a series of sunflower studies. One frame depicts the long green stems; another provides an up-close view of their lined petals. One zooms in close on the flower’s brown center, only small glimpses of yellow left at the edges of the frame.

“This is definitely very different.” You look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. “But it fits you. I see why you like it.” You remember him back in the park, taking careful pictures of the aster bush and of your hands…and then offering to take one of you. You don’t know why that last one makes your stomach jump.

“I thought you might like it.” Johnny’s eyes linger on your face as he observes your reaction to the paintings. He’s seen these flowers probably a hundred times by now in this permanent exhibit, but the wonder in your expression is new to him.

—

You both walk through a few more exhibitions after that, all with different subjects and mediums—some consist of sculptures, others are clay vases and figures. There’s still a lot to see in the museum, but you’re starting to get hungry, and you know Johnny has already heard your stomach growling.

After the 2nd time it happens and you think you might melt from embarrassment, he grins at you and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll get my things and we can eat. The restaurant here is pretty good—or at least that’s what everyone else says…”

When you get to his office, you feel almost like you’ve stepped into a room from years past. Your gaze drifts across his desk immediately; it’s not sleek and modern like you’d expect, considering the rest of the museum’s aesthetic, but wooden and heavy and vintage-looking. It’s olden quality resembles everything else in his personal space. Even his desk chair, a big and plush thing, feels vintage with its soft leather and rustic design.

This feeling is far from a bad thing, though. You enjoy the aged look of the bookcases, the picture frames, the chairs, the small decorations here and there—everything about this room.

Johnny notices how you look around, studying everything in sight, and smiles. “It’s not the most modern, but I like it.”

“It’s perfect. Like a world of its own.”

“A woman of taste, I see.” Johnny puts a hand over his heart, giving an expression like he’s truly touched, and you can only grin sheepishly. When he has his belongings, he leads you out and locks the door behind him.

“Let’s see what they have on the menu today, then.”

—

You get dinner at the museum’s restaurant, just as Johnny recommended, and he even decides to eat too. Maybe he does it so you won’t look odd being the only one eating, or because he really just wants to; he doesn’t let on. Either way, sitting across from him like this in a fancy restaurant with both of you having a nice meal feels almost like a date. You let that thought amble around for a few minutes longer before tucking it back into one of your mind’s many small niches.

“I’ll probably be digesting this for the next few weeks,” he says jokingly, pulling a mock-disappointed face at his plate.

“That sounds like the worst constipation in history.” He snorts at your comment, his eyes creasing as he laughs. You notice he has a dimple when he smiles, and your grin mirrors his. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh quite so genuinely before, but now that you’ve experienced it, you want to hear it again and again.

Anything is preferable to the perpetual gloom, always slinking around the corner.

—

When Johnny gets back home after dropping you off at the university, he undresses himself and showers and pulls on his bedclothes, which are nothing more than his underwear and a pair of sweatpants. His upper canines ache in his gums the entire time he goes through these motions, like two pulses of red-hot heat positioned on either side of his mouth.

He takes a blood bag from the fridge and drinks it in bed, leaning his arms against his knees. A sudden remembrance manifests itself in his mind; he hears the hazy echo of his mother’s decades-past voice in his head, reprimanding him for eating in bed. A sharp pain grips his chest, and he tries to send it back to the depths where it belongs.

When the blood hits his stomach, the pain is eclipsed by the bloodlust, which is no better. His fangs drop immediately, spiking into his lower lip. Johnny closes his eyes and, very gingerly, allows himself to draw a picture of you in his mind, of your blood in his mouth and your heartbeat roaring in his ears. The way your blood would flow out so delicately, crashing into his tastebuds like the high tide. He is usually better than this at curtailing his bloodlust, not even letting it reach the point of his canines hurting—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened—but being around you sets him on edge. Awakens him in some strange, raw way.

That only makes him more wary. And more guilty about imagining himself drinking your blood. He shouldn’t even be around you if he’s losing his grip on his hard-won control. But although it makes him feel ashamed, it also causes his heart to rush.

He drains the blood bag to the last possible drop. To his relief, it calms him significantly, though the thoughts of you don’t leave. More innocent ones now, of your outing earlier in the evening. Deep beneath, they are tinged with his ever-present guilt at his vampiric nature.

Johnny doesn’t need the sleep, but he drifts off anyway, if only to quiet the conflict sending daggers into his mind.

You’ve known Johnny for a few weeks now, not counting the time you spent silently staring at him in the café, but you find yourself intertwining yourself further into his life. You end up visiting his apartment sooner than you anticipated. You didn’t think of anything as ridiculous as him living in a coffin or sleeping in the rafters like a bat, but you also had a hard time imagining what his place might look like.

You come over on a weekend when you have more time to simply hang out and not worry so much about anything else.

Like usual, he waits in that spot on the side of the street for you to come out. In the daytime, you’re more apprehensive about him being here and someone potentially seeing him and trying to cause trouble for him, but there’s a part of you that likes the rebellious aspect of it. And if he truly doesn’t mind coming near the campus to pick you up, you don’t have much issue with him doing it.

Johnny’s apartment is clean—and a little sparser than you’d expected. Maybe he’s a fan of minimalism. One side of the wall is taken up by a wide bookcase, which features a bunch of different knickknacks, books, and a collection of larger hardcovers that look like photo albums. On the other walls are a few framed pictures of different scenes, and you assume they’re ones he must’ve taken.

“This is a nice place,” you say as he takes your jacket for you and puts it up. “It must cost quite a bit, too…” You sit down on the couch, stroking the soft material of it.

Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle...being nearly a century old gives you plenty of time to save money.” He appears charmingly self-satisfied when he’s able to make you laugh. “Do you want anything?”

“Water is fine…thank you.” Johnny nods and goes off to the kitchen.

Despite trying to keep your eyes on the wall photos, your gaze follows him as he leaves. You discreetly watch him move around his kitchen. With his dark clothes, he’s like a splash of black paint against the pale tile and stainless steel.

There are blood packs in Johnny’s fridge. Lots of them. You know because you saw them from your vantage point on the couch when he opened the fridge door. They look like the blood bags you’d see in a hospital, which makes you wonder how he even gets access to those. Another mystery you struggle to wrap your head around.

He comes back to the living room with your water, and you take it gratefully, though you also feel a little awkward. You think maybe the blood bags are something you shouldn’t have seen, although you know he probably would’ve made more effort to hide them or put them away if that were the case.

“You have a good supply of blood, a nice apartment, and a great job. Does every vampire get these kinds of perks?” Admittedly, it sounded better in your head. Your attempt to stave off the awkward feeling—which was really only coming from your end—only makes it more intense. Johnny laughs dryly in response. You can’t tell if he actually finds it amusing or is just trying to humor you, which makes you feel incredibly silly.

“All of it’s government-issued if you promise never to bite any humans.” Johnny gives a wry smile. “But it’s a mistake to think vampires live glamorous lives, filling up on blood and having no cares in the world.”

“N-no, I get it,” you stutter. “Bad joke.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you or be mean. It’s just the way things are.” Your roles are suddenly reversed, and now he seems to feel some sort of sympathy for you, like you’re just an ignorant little human who doesn’t know any better. The last part of that is more your insecurities speaking out than anything else, but you try to ignore that and take him for his word.

Johnny gets up from the couch to go over to the bookcase as you sip your water. After looking through the photo albums intently, he takes one off the shelf and hands it to you. You set your water down and hold the album carefully as you open the front cover. The cover itself has a neat little label that reads Telluride 1976 - 1980, so you can already expect what you’ll find in it. There are numerous photos of trees, bushes, snowy mountain ranges, lakes, brilliantly vibrant flowers, and woodland creatures. You stop at a picture of a deer looking straight ahead, its black eyes wide and curious as it examines the lens.

“I lived in the mountains back then, a little after my mentor had left. I spent some time trying to reconnect with nature...and all that other hippie shit people used to do back in that era.”

You chuckle. “Did you wear the same kinds of clothes, too? Bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts and all?”

Johnny laughs and shrugs. “Maybe…but that’s only for me to know.”

You grin and look at the photos again. “Well…did your plan work, at least?”

Johnny gives a wistful smile. “In some ways, I think it did.”

You continue looking through the rest of the album, which you could probably do for hours if you had the time—just sit and trace every possible line, curve, and ray of light. Johnny sits beside you as you do, occasionally explaining some pictures and their backstories.

“Lately, I’ve been wanting something else to take pictures of...someone else, maybe.”

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’d be nice...I haven’t taken pictures of another person in a while.”

You nod quietly as you flip through the pages—another possible hint flying right over your head. Then a thought comes to you—one that makes your skin warm. “Have you ever taken pictures of anyone you were...involved with?” You don’t say it directly, but you hope he can get the gist of what you’re asking.

Johnny nods as if he doesn’t want to admit to it, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “A few different people…but I always gave them the pictures after we, you know, stopped seeing each other...so there’s none left here.”

“I see…” For a few moments, your thoughts circle around that concept. What was it like to bare yourself in front of someone else like that, immortalized on film? What might it be like to allow Johnny to see you like that, to take pictures of you in your most vulnerable form? The idea doesn’t make you as downright anxious as you expected it to, though you can’t completely shake the lingering embarrassment about it.

After you finish looking through the entirety of his Telluride adventures, Johnny shows you some recent pictures he’s developed, and you’re giddy to see your own blurry creations among them. Now that you’re holding them physically in your hands, you can agree that they look nice, each with its own little personality.

“I thought about putting them in a new photo album,” he says, “but you can keep them, if you prefer.”

You hold them to your chest. “Yes, I’d like to keep them. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m sure I’ll leave you with plenty other photos to put in your album, anyway.”

—

The sun is close to setting again. You aren’t ready to leave yet, though, and Johnny is content to let you stay longer. He pulls out another album for you to look at, this one dated with 1960 - 1964. Unlike the others, there’s no title to describe what’s in it except for that year range.

“This is a picture of me someone took before I was turned,” Johnny murmurs, sitting back down beside you. He turns the album to you, and in the middle of the first page is a sepia-toned photo of him sitting on a bed—or maybe a couch?—wearing a suit. White, handwritten lettering on the bottom right of the photograph reads August 4, 1960.

“Oh wow...” You touch the photo gently over its protective lining. “You look exactly the same. Of course.”

“It’s the only photo I have left of myself,” he sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “If it weren’t for that...I’d feel almost like I didn’t exist at all.”

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

“…Vaguely.” His answer doesn’t feel like the whole truth, and the way his eyes dart anxiously as he says it confirms your suspicions. Then he sighs again, heavier this time, and he seems to be exhaling all 60 years of his burden along with it. “I was...going to be married. It was for our wedding shoot.”

You’re surprised for a reason you’re unsure of, never even imagining that Johnny could’ve been married at one point in time. Could’ve had an entire life and a family, if it hadn’t been for...

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You know you never would’ve met him if things hadn’t happened this way, and that knowledge tugs at your heart in a way that makes you feel intensely selfish.

Johnny shakes his head and avoids your eyes. “It was long ago.” He wets his lips and his jaw clenches like maybe he wants to say something else, but he remains silent for a while.

You continue exploring the photo album in silence. With its thin size, there aren’t as many pictures in it as the others—much less, in fact, but each one is still enough to keep your interest. Your mind keeps drifting back to the one of Johnny.

You hand the album back to him when you’re done. He takes it from you, but in a gesture you don’t foresee, he allows your hands to touch for the first time. You make a tiny flinch at the unexpected coolness—not ice-cold, but enough to be noticeable—but you don’t draw away from him. You let his fingers slide across yours as the photo album leaves your hands, and it sends electricity racing up and down your spine.

“S-sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for flinching or for making contact at all, though there is no reason to because he initiated it.

“Doesn’t it ever disturb you at all that I’m not human?” Johnny asks softly, still holding the album.

“What?”

“You’ve taken all this so easily...much more easily than many others. You aren’t even disgusted at my cold hands.” A ghost of a grin comes over his face.

“If I were disgusted, I wouldn’t even be here,” you say, trying to lighten the tension. It’s not the kind of tension that arises from anger, offense, or upset, but something else that you are lost on comprehending in this moment. “Some of it’s unfamiliar, obviously, but I’m not disgusted.”

He glances down at the album in his hands, as if contemplating something. Maybe thinking about the only living photo of himself beneath the cover. Or maybe he’s thinking back to how he was turned in the first place and subsequently lost the life he was about to have. He still hasn’t told you anything about how he became a vampire, and though you’d like to know, it’s obviously a sore spot for him.

Eventually, he nods, willing himself to smile at you. “I’m glad.”

—

Night has fallen by the time you’re done exploring the decades of his life, though there is still much you haven’t seen and don’t yet know. You let him drive you back to the school as you stare out at the passing cars, wondering how many more of these people sitting in their vehicles are nonhuman and you’d never know it.

You hesitate after he pulls up across from the main gate.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Uh, nothing really, it’s just—I still don’t have your number or anything.” And I want to talk to you more often. I want to hear your voice more often. You don’t want to say anything overly dramatic or cheesy, so you just keep those last thoughts to yourself.

Thinking it had been something serious, he smirks at your concern. “Oh, I see. I’ll give it to you now, then.”

Once your numbers are safely in each other’s phones, you finally bid each other goodnight. 

Though you try to steer your thoughts towards other things, you keep veering back to Johnny. His apartment. His fridge full of blood bags. His photo albums full of years of history. Even when you get into bed that night, you can’t keep him off your mind.

You wake up gasping and sweating when you dream of him with his fangs in your neck, your own blood running down your neck and chest. You glance over at your roommate to make sure you haven’t woken her and rest your head on your knees, trying to catch your breath and settle your racing heart. Your skin still prickles with how you could practically feel his heated breaths on your neck, ice-cold hands gripping your shoulders.

The worst part of it is that you can’t quite say you completely disliked it.

“It doesn’t make much sense to have a Halloween party and dress up as the very beings that you hate, but whatever…” you mumble, looking through a rack of costumes with a certain impassivity. You’re not very enthusiastic about going to this Halloween party, but your friend refuses to go alone. You haven’t been spending as much time with her anymore—partly because of Johnny and partly because you feel even more out of place around her than normal—and with all her begging and pleading, she refuses to let you opt out of this one.

“It’s about having fun, no one really cares Y/N. They’re freaks, aren’t they? That’s why people dress up as them, they’re practically meant for this.”

You become even more apprehensive about the party after hearing that, if that’s even possible. You smooth your hand over the fabric of a witch’s robe and sigh again, shaking your head. It doesn’t feel quite right to keep spending time in her presence—or anyone else who goes to your school—but you feel trapped on all sides, left without much of a choice. You would never hear the end of it if you tried to switch universities…or even drop out.

Your mind strays back to Johnny as always, with his melancholy aura and weird jokes and pretty pictures and monochrome clothes. The smell of his cologne, the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans, and his toothy smile, when he does show it to you. Something in you makes you want to drop everything you’re doing right now and go to him. It might even be nice to settle in his arms, feel them strong and solid around you—though he’d probably need just as much comforting as you.

“Dress up as this!” Your friend breaks the reverie as she prances over to you with a pair of fake fangs, the tips of them painted in acrylic blood. She holds them up to your mouth, and you struggle to manage a smile, if only to sate her enthusiasm. “It actually reminds me of…that vampire at the café. Say, have you seen him since then?”

You shake your head, moving away to sift through another rack of outfits as you try to maintain a detached expression. “Nope, not a glimpse. Haven’t even thought about him.”

When your friend doesn’t suspect anything, you let your expression drop just a tad, breathing out quietly.

The night of the party, the full moon is heavy and bold against the black blanket of the sky, which feels horribly cliché. You wonder if there are any werewolves out tonight, and what they might be doing right now.

“We’re going to have a good time tonight,” your friend insists as you both walk up the front steps of the host’s house. It’s someone you only vaguely know, a friend of a friend of a friend, but clearly a person who has an abundance of money judging by this expansive home. You don’t know why she feels the need to convince you, but maybe it’s because you haven’t seemed very enthusiastic so far. You only give a thumbs up to her words, which feels like an unconvincing gesture. Luckily for you, it works.

After a few hours, the party is still going strong but your head is starting to hurt from the music, and you’re growing weary of all the men crowding in too close, looking at you in your angel costume like you’re something to be devoured. You’ve rolled your eyes at way too many of them and their haphazardly put-together costumes, dressed up as vampires with terrible fake fangs or werewolves with manes of matted up fur.

Your friend keeps flitting around the party, talking to whoever she recognizes from classes or campus organizations, and you’ve given up on trying to follow her around any longer. Every time you turn around, she’s somewhere else. Noticing that you’re currently solo, a guy from one of your history classes comes up to you and begins what he thinks is an interesting conversation on how angels actually look more like Eldritch abominations than the cherubic humans depicted in paintings—so your costume is “technically inaccurate” —and your eyes glaze over as you pretend to listen to him.

You eventually manage to get away from him and get to an undisturbed corner, wedged next to two girls drinking cider and critically rating all the guys’ costumes. You pull your phone out and think about calling for a ride back to campus, but your thumb hovers over the message icon. You press it without thinking too much about it, and Johnny’s name appears as one of your most recent conversations. Though you feel somewhat nervous, you will yourself to open the box and begin typing.

To: Hi Johnny. I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I come over? 🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I’m over this party

You put your phone back in your purse, trying not to get your hopes up for a quick response. You know there’s a good chance he’d still be awake at this time of night since he doesn’t need to sleep, but he has his own life and is probably off doing...vampire-y things. Whatever those things could be.

However, your hopes are met when your phone pings only a couple minutes later.

From: Of course. You’re not scared about spending your Halloween with a vampire? 😏

You smile at that.

To: I think I’ll be fine…as long as you don’t bite me.

From: 🦷🩸

—

You get to Johnny’s studio apartment not too long after, and you hang around outside his door for a few moments before knocking, suddenly feeling bashful about your costume. Maybe you should’ve changed before coming over here; what if he thinks it’s childish? Or maybe too revealing? Does he even care about that kind of stuff? Doesn’t matter now, though. You’re here, and there’s no way you’re turning back around.

He answers a few seconds after you knock, wearing a sweater and black pants. You notice his sweater is a cream color and not the usual black. He looks a little surprised to see your costume, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Wow, you look pretty. Nice of you to visit me after falling straight from Heaven.” You cringe at his cheesy line, though you also cannot deny that you secretly enjoy every bit of it.

“Thanks, Johnny...” you say timidly, stepping into his home as he lets you in. “Nice work with changing up the color scheme.”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing you’re talking about his clothes. “Oh yeah, that...um, haha. Thanks.”

Unbeknownst to you, the back of his mind is buzzing with a form of excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the clawing, frantic spikes of bloodlust, but a more physical kind of desire. It’s pleasurable, but he also feels guilty about pining over how sweet and innocent you look in your all-white outfit, stockings hugging your legs perfectly and your dress just short enough to tempt the imagination. Really, you’ve painted a picture of perfect purity, and the only thing he can think about is ruining you. Putting his hands on you and peeling your dress off to reveal the soft skin underneath.

He casts those thoughts aside as you sit prettily on his couch, legs crossed at the ankles—though it’s hard to do so. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? There isn’t a whole lot of food here, but I can order something…”

“Do you ever make your own coffee?” The question seems a bit random at first, and you try to explain. “You know, since you always get it from the café.”

Johnny smiles. “Do you want coffee? I can make it.”

You nod. “That would be nice…whatever you have.”

“I pretty much have your usual order memorized by now, so I should be good on making it.” Johnny walks to the kitchen. “You can look through the albums while you’re in there. The ones you haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh, thanks.” You feel a little nervous to be looking through the shelf of his treasured photo albums by yourself, but you’re also glad he trusts you enough to let you do it. It makes you feel important. Maybe even important to him, as silly as that might sound.

It isn’t long before the scent of coffee wafts out into the living room. Johnny returns soon with two cups of it, and just as he promised, yours is made just the way you like it.

“Thank you.” You set the album back on the shelf and take the cup from Johnny. For a while, both of you talk of nothing important—just filling the space with the details of your days.

“So how was the party?” Johnny finally asks, and he raises his eyebrows as he scans your outfit again. You grin halfheartedly.

“It was…alright. Kinda weird. I think it’d be more fun if I went to a regular university, but you know…”

Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for bailing out.”

“Yeah…I’ve been to college parties before, but the Halloween theme was a bit…”

“Strange for an institution that bans all supernatural beings?” Johnny finishes your sentence. He doesn’t look offended or irritated by it—only slightly amused.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, look on the bright side. I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in your natural form otherwise.”

This one almost goes over your head, too, but you catch it just in time. Johnny’s compliments make you feel warm all over, like you’re sitting under the sun. You grin and look down into your cup of coffee, unused to receiving such bold praise and unsure how to respond to it. Something pops into your mind, though, and you think it might be a good idea to run with it.

“You could...take a picture of me, you know. If you want to...since I’m all dressed up now anyway.” You meet his eyes only for a second and then look away, twisting the mug in your hands.

Johnny sits up a little straighter at your words, trying to catch your eyes, though you don’t hold his gaze for long. “You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. Go ahead! Before I change my mind.” You laugh nervously and carefully set your half-empty mug on the table.

Johnny’s camera is never too far away from him, so he grabs it and plays with the settings for a bit before looking back to you, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna start, okay?” His voice is surprisingly soft. This, yet again, reminds you of him and the aster bush. He acts as if you might run away at the first shutter click, which makes you feel babied, but you don’t totally hate it.

The first few photos are a little awkward—at least to you. You aren’t sure how to pose, or if you should try to look more casual, though Johnny assures you you’re doing well. He gives you directives throughout, telling you to look in his direction or angle your face a certain way, and you follow his instructions to the best of your ability.

At one point, one of your dress straps slips down. When you go to fix it, Johnny says, “Wait. Could you keep it like that?”

You look at him, your body heating from the suggestion.

“Is that okay with you?”

“…Yes.” Your throat is dry, and your body reacts in a way you don’t expect—little nervous thrills in your hands and feet, though you try to internally explain it away as the coffee’s effects. Johnny takes a few more photos like this, and then he steps closer to gently touch your chin, guiding your face to the angle he’s looking for.

“So good for me.” It slips past his lips in a reverential murmur before he can really consider what he’s saying, and you both freeze. Your heart rate increases, and you wonder if he can hear how hard the red organ is beating in your chest. Probably.

You want to hear him say it again.

Johnny laughs awkwardly, his hand coming back to his side almost a little too quickly to be natural. “Um, I’m really sorry. That was a bit...”

“It…it’s fine.” You avoid his eyes. Johnny takes a few more photos, but the set of his mouth is a little tight, as if he’s stressed about something. Or regretting what he let slip, maybe. You want to tell him you really don’t feel bad about it, but you aren’t sure how to do that without making things more awkward…or revealing your true desires.

When Johnny has taken enough pictures of you to be satisfied with, he sits next to you on the couch, setting his camera on the coffee table and looking suddenly timid.

“I can’t wait to see them,” you say, attempting to break the tension that never really cleared the room after his earlier comment. He blinks for a moment like he doesn’t know what you mean, and then realizes—obviously, he’ll be developing the photos.

“They’ll come out nice, I’m sure. I think you’ll photograph well.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and now it’s your turn to be unsure of how to resurrect the conversation.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s an abrupt comment. It makes your stomach twist in a pleasant, fluttery way, and you become hyperaware of his form sitting next to yours.

“Haven’t heard that one much, but thanks.”

Johnny turns to you. “Anyone who’d think otherwise is a fool.”

There’s a pause after this where you both simply study each other, watching for hidden reactions that can’t be read on the surface. The way he says it is…decisive, assured. But it also manages to be tender, as if he needs you to know what he thinks of you. Needs you to see yourself the way he does—the same way you do for him. You don’t know where the confidence comes from, but maybe his tone and his words and his endlessly dark eyes have pulled it out of you. “I want to kiss you.”

Johnny’s lips part. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Johnny moves closer to you and cups the back of your neck. Something awakens in his eyes in the seconds before he presses his mouth to yours. Though he wants to drink eagerly from your lips, his kiss is languid to avoid overwhelming you, and there is an audible smack of your lips whenever he pulls away and presses back in.

His mouth tastes like the coffee you just drank, but underneath that you swear you can taste a hint of the deep iron of blood, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You think about what his fangs would feel like scraping against your bottom lip, if he’d ever show them to you, and you moan quietly.

“Do you want this? With me?” Johnny confirms once more, pulling his gaze away from your lips and up to your eyes. His own eyes are yearning, but there is also an element of something like fear roiling in them. As if you’d turn him away, even though you’ve already shown your desire for him.

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

Johnny’s body gravitates towards yours, and you think he’s going to push you down onto the sofa, but he scoops your legs up and carries you to his bedroom instead. Even his hands on your waist and legs makes you burn inside.

This is the first time you've seen his bedroom. The sheets are cloud-soft when he sets you down on them, and his window lets moonlight shine through the open blinds and scatter in thick beams across the floor. The only other light source is the bedside lamp, which emits a comfortable yellowish glow.

Johnny joins you on the bed and lets you climb into his lap—encourages you to do so. His cool hands pulling at your thighs as you settle them on either side of his waist makes tingles go through your body. You don’t hesitate to bring your lips back together, kissing each other deeply as one of his hands cradles the back of your head and the other settles on the small of your back.

You are certain vampires don’t have any powers of enchantment—that’s for magic wielders. And yet, you feel like you’ve been put in a trance by his kisses alone, and you wonder how you could’ve lived this long without knowing how his lips feel—how they fit perfectly against your own. As if everything up to now has purposely led you together.

You shift in Johnny’s embrace, and the movement causes his thigh to slide between your legs. Your heat is pressed against his thigh directly now, your silken panties catching against the denim of his pants. You murmur against his lips, not really saying anything of substance but wanting to vocalize your desire to him. Johnny’s hand tightens slightly on your back, and he experimentally lifts his leg higher and slides his thigh across you. That draws a gasp from you.

Noticing your positive response, Johnny continues rocking his thigh up against your pussy and kissing you until you’re breathless and your nipples are straining against the fabric of your dress. You pull away from him for a moment to try to ground yourself, feeling like your nerves are already being singed with fiery pleasure. Johnny’s face is noticeably more flushed than before, but he also looks much more composed than you feel at the moment.

“It takes longer to get hard,” he explains, as if reading the lingering question in your own expression. “Since...you know. Slow blood.” You rock your hips over his thigh more enthusiastically, motivated to get him hard underneath you, and you listen to his choppy breaths as you move. Your movements aren’t the smoothest, but he helps you guide your hips in a way that feels good for you both. You’ve never been with anyone before, so it doesn’t much matter to you how long or quick it takes for him to get there as long as he does.

Feeling the bulge grow underneath you excites you. Johnny groans against your lips as you kiss him and rub yourself over his member. The sound comes from somewhere deep inside him, as if it’s something he’s been containing for a long time. Your hand goes to his waist and tugs at his belt loops, then drifts closer to his belt buckle, pulling the leather and metal apart. Johnny pauses when you get off his lap and slide further down, grips your arms like he doesn’t want you to go. “Are…you sure? You don’t have to…if it’s too much—”

“I want to, Johnny.”

With your affirmative, he lets you kneel between his legs, pull his zipper apart, and trace your curious fingers over the bulge beneath the fabric of his underwear. Johnny loses his breath when you drag his underwear down, sliding it over the heated skin of his dick. His length is thick and long—even with him not being fully hard yet—and the tip glistens wet with precum. You weren’t sure what to expect, but this is much bigger than you think you might be able to handle. It makes your face warm and your stomach do another series of flips. Still, you want it and you want him, so you aren’t going to stop now.

You lean closer to press your lips against his shaft, leaving a few soft kisses behind. Johnny’s mouth parts when your mouth touches him.

Johnny gently holds the back of your head as you leave small licks over his shaft, tasting the salty skin on your tongue. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you, his other hand brushing the side of your face.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, his voice heavy with lust as you circle your tongue around the thick, darkened tip, catching drops of his precum. He never takes his eyes off you, and this makes you feel a little exposed, but you continue with your actions. When you suck Johnny’s tip past your lips, his thighs tense under you, the thick muscle reacting beautifully to your actions on his body.

More precum drips from him, and you find the taste strangely pleasing. It makes you want more of him, of whatever he has to offer you. You wrap your hand around his shaft, though it doesn’t fit entirely around, and begin stroking him in a way you hope feels good.

Johnny’s hand slips over yours to guide your movements and show you how much pressure to apply, what pace to stroke him at. “Like this, baby…yes, that’s so good…” He showers you with praise as you get the hang of it, and he eventually lets your hand go so you can do it on your own, his own hand drifting back to the bed to grip the comforter.

It’s hard to quantify just how much seeing you like this turns him on, you kneeling between his legs with his cock between your lips while wearing your pretty, angelic outfit. His previous guilt about “corrupting” you descends to the very back of his mind as he savors every moment of your hands on his cock and your tongue circling his slit.

“I’m close,” he whispers. You quicken your movements on him, hollowing your cheeks tighter around his dick, and the moan he gives shoots straight between your legs.

Johnny carefully pulls your head back so you won’t choke before he comes, streams of his seed shooting into your mouth and running down his cock. Your hand still squeezes around him as he comes, and he slowly thrusts into the tight circle of your fist as you milk every drop from him. By the time he’s spent, your mouth and hand and part of the sheets are completely sticky with his release. You imagine it must have been a long time since he’s last had an orgasm.

The vampire watches intently as you swallow his cum, which causes his softening dick to throb in your hand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His hair tickles your face as he kisses you feverishly, his nose bumping yours and his tongue prodding past your lips.

“Come here, angel.” Johnny pulls your body up onto the bed before you can get yourself up there first. The pet name makes warmth flood through your body, like drinking a hot chocolate at the café, except a thousand times more satisfying. Johnny’s hands are once again caressing your thighs, though this time they slide up underneath your dress and squeeze your hips. “Can I take these pretty panties off you?”

“Please.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of them and pulls them down your legs and past your ankles. One of his hands goes underneath your dress to feel you soft and wet against his fingers, and you both moan at the same time. He slides his digits through your lips and over your clit, and him leaning forward to bring his mouth to your throat is enough to have you nearly overwhelmed. His fingers tease your entrance but don’t push inside until you nearly have to beg him.

“Please, Johnny…” You push your hips up to get his attention.

“Do you want my fingers?” he asks softly.

“Y-yes…” At your words, he eases the middle one into you, slowly enough to avoid discomfort. It feels strange to have someone else’s fingers inside you. His finger reaches further than yours can, touching you more deeply than you’ve felt before; it makes you gasp a bit too sharply.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, freezing and thinking he might’ve done something wrong.

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Johnny’s mouth edges closer to the cleavage of your dress as he starts thrusting his finger into you, warming you up enough to take a second digit. Shakily, you bring your hands up to slide the straps down and make it easier for him, and his breath hitches when you pull the top of your dress down.

His mouth envelopes one of your nipples as he slides the second finger into you. His fingers encounter a part of you that makes you moan unexpectedly and grab onto him, a little surprised at the sudden spike of pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he purrs, his lips moving against the curve of your breast as he speaks. “And so responsive.”

As Johnny’s mouth and fingers work you closer to an orgasm, you marvel at how handsome he looks and how good he feels. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him, your pupils wide and mouth desperate, and he separates himself from your chest to kiss you deeply once again.

When you come around his fingers, Johnny whispers more compliments to you about how good you are and how he wants to watch you come undone because of him all the time. When he thinks you might be on the brink of overstimulation, he takes his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth to taste you.

“I’ll take this off now. Is that okay?” He whispers this into your ear with his hands on either side of your hips, caressing the fabric of your dress.

“I-it’s okay.”

Johnny slips your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your white sheer stockings. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, breathing heavily from your climax in your pretty thigh-highs, has his cock throbbing and rising to life once again.

“Lay back on the bed.” You do, and he settles himself between your legs like you did for him earlier. When you glance at him, his eyes are heavy and piercing. In this moment, you are acutely reminded of the fact that he is not a human, with how he looks like a beast of prey about to devour a meal. You are too nervous to look back at him for long, so you stare at the ceiling with your legs shaking from anticipation.

Johnny’s mouth on you is almost jarring in how wet it is, and you arch up into him in surprise and a rush of pleasure. He gently presses your legs back onto the bed and continues licking into you, parting your lower lips with his tongue and making your thighs tremble under his grasp.

If you had to describe it in words, you probably wouldn’t be able to. He kisses your pussy the same way he kisses you on the mouth, passionately and with more than enough tongue to satisfy. Johnny slips his fingers into you again as he curls his lips around your clit, and you moan unabashedly.

You’re quickly spiraling towards another orgasm, maybe quicker than you expected; but it makes sense with you still being so raw from the climax you just had. You gain enough courage to give another glance down at Johnny, and you see the way his other arm moves back and forth from beneath the bed, stroking himself while he eats you out. Something about that pushes you over the edge, and you cry out as you come on his tongue.

As Johnny gives you time to calm down again, he stands and finally pulls his clothes off, baring his body to you. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.

He goes to get a condom, and your words stumble from your lips before you can psych yourself out of saying them. “I-I’m on birth control.” Johnny looks back at you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite read. He comes closer to you, holding himself above you on the bed so his face is hovering just above yours.

“You want to feel me raw?” he whispers.

You nod under his burning stare, feeling like you’re on a high you won’t be able to get off of. “I need you, Johnny.”

Johnny climbs fully onto the bed then and positions himself between your legs. His cock is thick and heavy between his thighs as it bumps against your inner thigh and leaves a smear of precum behind. After putting some lube in his hand, he slicks himself with the sticky substance, preparing himself to fuck you open. Something deep in your abdomen shudders, and your walls clench around nothing as you watch him stroke his shaft, the squelching, wet sound of his hand on his dick loud in the quiet room.

When he’s done, he grabs your thighs and pulls you a little closer to him. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

The slick tip prodding at your hole makes you want more, though you are a bit afraid of how this is going to feel. When it finally pushes inside of you, you gasp. Johnny watches your face for signs of pain as he slides forward further.

With two previous orgasms and the lube to help, his cock stretches you open with some discomfort, but not the kind of sharp pain you expected. Your nails leave little half-moon shapes on Johnny’s biceps as you squeeze his arms and try to keep your lower half relaxed, wanting to take all of him in—or as much as you can manage, anyway. You try to keep your breathing even as he pushes into you slowly.

Your eyebrows crease and your mouth tightens when he slides deeper still, and he pauses. “Johnny…” You worry your lip with your teeth, feeling like you’ve been stuffed to the brim—and he’s not even all the way in yet.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you beg, maintaining your grip on his arms. “Just…try moving.”

Johnny pulls out and slowly thrusts back in again, angling his dick to find that sensitive spot within you. Your mouth falls open silently when he does; this feels much, much different from his fingers. This is better.

Johnny repeats the movement, being mindful not to push himself too deep—only enough for you to handle. Beneath him, your body begins unwinding at the pleasure he’s delivering to you, and your eyes flutter closed as the ecstasy takes over your mind. One of his hands goes to tease your clit as he settles into a good rhythm, and you cry out at the extra dose of pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well,” Johnny mumbles as he sits back and watches himself slide into you, both of your lower halves slick from lube and your own wetness. “So warm and wet, angel…” You can tell he’s using a lot of his energy to keep his pace controlled and gentle enough for you to actually enjoy. The idea of being fucked harder makes you ache deep inside, but you figure it’s best to save that for when you’re more used to this. You already know it’ll be difficult to walk in the morning after this.

Johnny leans forward to kiss your lips, changing the angle again and circling his pelvis into you, and a choked gasp escapes your mouth at the slow wind of his hips.

Johnny lavishes your neck and throat with kisses, and though he is a vampire, you aren’t worried about him biting you. His fangs have not made an appearance since all this started, and you doubt if he would ever bring them out in front of you. You don’t know if you should ask about it, either, wondering if it’s too soon after only a month and a half of knowing each other—but maybe you could say the same about him being inside of you right now.

“Johnny…” you whisper into the air, your fingers scrabbling against his sweaty skin. The mounting tension in your abdomen is close to snapping, and you are almost frightened by how intense it already feels. He moves his face from your neck to be face-to-face with you again and plants a heavy, dizzying kiss on your lips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve got you, Y/N.”

Falling apart in Johnny’s arms feels like a form of Heaven that’s meant to be kept hidden, because you might become addicted to it otherwise. Your inner muscles squeeze around his dick as you come. His name flows from your lips in a high song. You can’t imagine any physical sensation that could be better than this, his hips rocking into you as you tighten and cream around him, and you know innately that Johnny has ruined all chances of you ever feeling this fulfilled with anyone but him.

The constant pulse of your walls against his dick is too much to withstand for long, and Johnny’s muscles pull taut with pleasure when he comes, groaning into your neck and spilling overflowing streams of thick cum into you. His hips falter in their former rhythm, and he resists the urge to push himself as deep as he can into you.

When he pulls out, you whine from the discomfort of it, but also because you wish he could stay in you forever. You know you’ll be sore when you wake up—and you can already feel the very beginnings of exhaustion and ache settling in your body—but you’d do it a hundred times over without changing a thing.

—

Johnny curls himself around you after he’s cleaned the both of you up, as if he means to shield you from the world. You’re quiet for a while as you listen to his slow-beating heart and feel his cool skin against yours.

You look up at his face, which is hard to see distinctly in the dark of the room. With the lamp turned out, the only source of light comes from the moon now, but you can decipher enough to make out the shape of his lips and his glittering eyes. You know he can see much better than you in this light, and he takes his time tracing his fingers across your face and cheek, studying your features.

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

His body tenses at your question. “Don’t say anything ridiculous. You still have a whole life ahead of you to live. What I have here...this is no existence.” He’s not mad, at least not at you, but his voice hardens at the very idea of it.

“But what if I wanted to live it with you?”

Johnny takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything to that. He just continues stroking your face and looks at you for a long time, like he’s searching for something. You don’t know if you truly expected an answer from him, or how you would feel if he did give one.

Eventually, your eyes begin to fall low, and sleep overcomes you. The last thing you register is Johnny’s chilly hand touching your cheek. When he notices you’ve drifted off, he pulls the covers tighter around you both. Then he presses you to his chest as he tunes out the sound of cars rumbling on the streets below in exchange for the beating of your heart—still alive, so red with blood.

[dirtychocolatechai]

meet-cute | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): fluff, awkward Bucky, vet appointment stuff, Alpine Request: Babes if you're lowkey taking requests can I lowkey make one? 👉🏼👈🏼🥺💕 something flirty and cute and maybe a lil spicy with Bucky and vet!reader where something's going on with Alpine? Not self indulgent at all 😻💖 Notes: This was the first thing I’ve written in months and it felt damn good. Funny story, I actually almost went to school to be a vet tech + shadowed a vet for two weeks and got to see some wickedly cool things.

This was a bit self-indulgent on my part because I had a cat who passed away some years ago because of struvite stones and I wished he had a happier ending like Alpine so I thought why not 🤷‍♀️💖

Taglist is open

(gif from google)

There’s nothing Bucky hates more than the stringent smell of industrial cleaners and clinical white walls - too many associations and shades of memory long laid to rest - except for when something’s going on with Alpine. The Turkish Angora was fine up until a few days ago when he started to hide away and sleep all day.

That wasn’t too concerning at first...

But then came the pained little noises, the frantic running back and forth from the litter box, the excessive grooming. The pit that started forming low in his belly grew, his instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, very wrong, with his little buddy. 

Bucky wasn’t about to fuck around and set up an appointment with the first vet office he could find that had a same-day opening. And now he’s trying not to fall apart at the seams while he waits for the docs to do their magic and tell him what the hell’s going on with his cat and what he has to do to fix it.

The vet tech collected Alpine a bit ago and every minute stretches into years, the cat’s pitiful meow echoing in his ears and those betrayed eyes burned onto the backs of his eyelids.

I know, Bub, I’m sorry but they gotta figure out what’s going on. It’ll be okay, they’ll take care of you. 

His ass went numb from the plastic chair ages ago, his leg jiggling up and down at a rapid pace as he chews on his thumbnail and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

God, he knows these things take time but he’d rather be back at home, curled up on the couch with Alpine pigging out on breakfast food and watching space documentaries. 

How much longer-

“Alright, Mr. Barnes?”

The heavy door swings open with a click, a kind, professional voice preceding a pair of sensible shoes as the vet steps into the room with a clipboard cradled against her chest. His eyes snap up, skipping over her completely to look at the tech holding his cat who looks absolutely miserable. 

She introduces herself but he’s not paying attention. He’s not meaning to be rude but all his focus narrows in on that white little face, the knot in his chest unfurling at the little mew.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he breathes, “Hey there, Little Buddy.” 

The vet doesn’t push, in fact, she seems a little enamored with how much he melts at the sight of his pet. Her own lips quirk up into a soft smile while she stands off to the side patiently as Alpine’s set down on the metal table.

Bucky gets in a few good scritches under his chin, the beginnings of a purr just starting to vibrate his hand when the vet clears her throat delicately. 

He clears his throat, heat burrowing into the apples of his cheeks. “Shi - uh, ‘m sorry.” A hand scrubs over the back of his neck. “I’m just - uh - y’know...” 

Her laugh trickles down his spine like warm rain, the sound effectively drawing his attention away from the cat rubbing up against his side. He gets his first look at her and oh.

A bare face and a no-nonsense hairstyle greet him, her scrubs and white coat adding to the overall doctor vibe but she’s still breathtaking. The natural beauty in the curves of her face, the slant of her brows, the sparkle of her eyes.

He feels like he got sucker-punched in the chest, his heart giving a sudden throb that has him coughing like an idiot as he scrambles to not look like such a jackass.

“So,” he clears his throat, scratching at the stubble along his jaw, “What’s - what’s wrong with him?” 

Glancing down at Alpine’s chart, she hums and writes a note before glancing back up with a reassuring smile. “Nothing that can’t be managed with a special diet and watching his water intake.”

It’s like the weight of the world disappears from his shoulders, his broad frame practically heaving with his sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking- ahem, ‘scuse me - thank god.” 

Her chuckle and sly smile have him blushing from the roots of his hair to the collar of his shirt, his stomach squirming in discomfort. Old habits are hard to break, especially ones his momma taught him with a box to the ear.

“You’re allowed to swear, Mr. Barnes,” she says, reaching down to run her fingers through snow-white fur. “We’re all adults here.” 

“No, no, I know...” 

“Hm, anyway, his blood work came back and everything looks fine which is a good thing.” 

And it’s back to business like that, any hint of personality hidden behind cool professionalism that Bucky thinks even Tasha would admire. Except for the playful gleam in her eyes as she sneaks peeks at him while going over everything they did and what they found. 

“Struvite crystals are quite common in cats at low levels, especially males because their tract is longer and narrower.” She pauses, flipping to a new page. “Depending on the severity, they can clump together in the urinary tract and actually form stones. That’s where the true problem lies because get one large enough, and it can cause a blockage.”

He’s listening with rapt attention, soaking in the knowledge she’s imparting to him all the while, petting Alpine who keeps nuzzling him and making little sounds. Honestly, he could listen to her talk for hours even if he didn’t understand a goddamn thing. 

She’s so animated when she speaks, holds eye contact and makes sure he understands everything without making him feel like an idiot. He’s had so many doctors who talked at him rather than with him, staring through him without seeing, more interested in the paycheck rather than their patients.

But not her, she cares.

Deeply.

He can see it all over her face and it’s utterly enchanting. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little enamored, charmed.

Turning the tablet towards him, she shifts closer and a waft of whatever perfume she’s wearing tickles his nose as she explains what the x-ray of Alpine’s abdomen found.

“These are the stones but thankfully they’re relatively small,” she points to several hazy white ovals starkly visible on the radiograph, “We caught them in time before they became a really big problem.” 

Shit, she smells so good...

 “Now, we’ll send you home with a special diet and see how he does. Also, make sure to up his fluid intake as much as you can. The food can take several months to start dissolving the crystals so we’ll have to do everything we can to help. Sound good?”

Bucky hasn’t pulled his eyes away from her face once this entire time, and how fucking creepy is that?

Quickly looking down at Alpine, embarrassment gnawing at his belly, he nods and wishes for the first time since he cut his hair that he hadn’t so he’d at least have a passing chance at hiding the blush burning its way across his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the ball of white fluff to hold against his chest, a makeshift shield. “Is there anything else I should do?” 

“No.” She smiles, writing another note and tapping away at the tablet next to her. “I do want to see him again in about a month for a check-up.”

Fuck, he doesn’t want to leave so soon.

The irony isn’t lost on him either.

How does he make this last longer? What can he do? If Sam was here right now, he’d be kicking him in the ass and bitching at him to ask for her number already, Ice Pick.

The clack of the chart being set down rings through the room, bouncing off the walls and sounding so fucking final that he starts to panic. 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 

She’s already halfway to the door when she asks, “Do you have any questions?”

The word vomit spring from him, unbidden and sudden without any thought, more forward than he’s been with a woman in years.

“Can I have your number?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, he curses, cringes and wishes he could snatch the very words from the air itself.

Great, I just hit on my vet.

No amount of backpedaling can salvage this but goddamn it if Bucky doesn’t try, stuttering out some half-assed excuse about wanting it just in case he thinks of something later.

When he glances up, he wishes he hadn’t. The vet tech is in near tears in the corner, biting her lips so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they started to bleed.

But it’s the absolute surprised bafflement on the woman he just inappropriately hit on that does him in, makes him about ready to burn all forms of identification and run for the hills. 

Her brows nearly reach her hairline, her mouth slack, eyes startled. She gets ahold of herself before he does, and he barely stops himself from slapping a hand over his face.

Right when he’s thinking there’s no way he’s going to be able to show his face in the office again, her expression softens with gentle amusement and her lips twitch. 

Struck dumb, he can only watch as she writes something down on a slip of paper before handing it over to him. He barely believes the string of numbers and the cheeky little call me anytime :).

The wink she sends his way is there and gone, so fast he almost believes he imagined it. 

“For emergencies only,” she says, slyly. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he agrees, almost tripping over the cat carrier as he hurries to stuff Alpine back in. “Of course, thank you. I...appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, Mr. Barnes.” 

Bucky leaves the room in a stupor, the world sharply shifted to the left as he heads to the front desk to make the follow-up appointment, but not before hearing the whispered, “Girl, you’re lucky. He’s fine!” and the “He is, isn’t he?”. 

[redhotarsenic]

For Pigeon_wishes

[littleblackgoldfish]

Sunfall

Soli lives in the sun-drenched city of Deylos with his mom, dad, three older sisters, and younger brother. His world is about to end, in fire and terror and darkness. And once it has ended he will be cast off on a journey to places strange and wild, where everything he has ever known is nothing more than a memory of kinder days. Go on this journey with him; see what he sees and meet who he meets, in Sunfall.

Chapter 1

His feet pounding against stone Soli pushed himself up and onward even as he heard the distant sound of another of Deylos' towering spires of glass and spell-wrought metal crashing to the ground. Once the wide promenade would have been a smooth ascent up to the crest of the hill, now it was broken and uneven; its careful masonry jostled into a treacherous tangle. Thick dust choked not only the air — tasting faintly now of copper, like those medallions Kiestre's priests handed out on High Mercy Days — but his throat as well. Heart hammering up through his chest and into his throat Soli struggled up the rise as dust and sweat mixed in a cake of grime on his face and arms and legs. Around him other people ran too, some stumbled and fell behind while others overtook Soli and dashed ahead.

Then there were the people who weren't moving. Those shaking, huddled shapes in the lees and shadows of buildings. Those too tired to move or too broken by what they'd seen. Figures sprawled in the rubble, bodies reduced to mangled collections of limbs and meat that no longer housed even the faintest spark of life.

He ignored all those. Soli focuses mostly on the way ahead, at the rise of the city beyond the hill looking still so quiet and tranquil and undisturbed that he knows if he can reach it he will be safe.

And so he misses the bit of the street sticking up in his path; a bit of brick dislodged by the tremors, one of thousands, that the edge of his sandal catches on. He stumbles forward and falls, just managing to catch himself palms out. Tiny shards of stone cut into the soft flesh of his hands and sharp bolts of pain shoot up from his knees.

When he scrambles back Soli leaves behind faint smears of blood.

His knees protests, screaming in agony as he struggles forward at a hobbling run. But he doesn't stop. Won't. Can't stop.

Stopping is death.

Overhead the sky is clear and blue as Lythra, middle Daughter of the Five and Patron of Genius, burns bright and high just as she would on any other day of high summer. Had he any attention to spare for such details and were he perhaps more devout than most boys of twelve Soli might notice and muse that it is not fitting that such death and destruction to happen under such an auspicious sky, that instead the sky should be dark and shrouded, storming even. But it was instead a fine morning.

Perfect for a family jaunt to the park — named after some hero of the Days of Illumination Soli thinks, or maybe a famous battle? History is not his best subject — with his mother and father. Ostra and the others were going to meet with them later, his older sisters and younger brother coming back from a trip to the theatre and Soli just back from staying the night at Talwyn's. He had just been telling his parents about the crystal array his friends' father had showed them, meant to help track weather or something, when they first heard the boom. At first he hadn't really paid attention, figuring it was just someone setting off fireworks or some construction or something like that, but then it was followed by another.

And then another.

That was when the first spire started falling. People started shouting and pointing and that got his attention. It didn't make sense to Soli's eyes, things that tall… that big didn't sway like that; like thin trees during a storm or tall grasses in a breeze.

But it wasn't actually swaying, it was falling over, just slowly on account of its size. When it finally hit the ground there was a huge crash, drawn out like a peel of summer thunder echoing over the city and a huge cloud of dust went up. Then another of Deylos' spires started careening towards the ground and then people really started screaming. What had before been a gently milling and diffuse crowd of people in the park became instead a surge mass of people churning in every direction.

Soli's mother and father each grabbed a hand and started moving. They weren't screaming. He can remember looking up at them, glancing between his mother's long oval of a face frozen in a mask of stony silence and his father's hawkish features locked into a wide-eyed stare, and feeling his words lodged themselves in his throat like the knot of a tree root. Looking back it might have been better to stay where they were. But with the crowd wild about them there was no chance for that, it was either move or be crushed beneath the stampede. Soli locked between his parents as they maintained an irongripped lock on his hands and dragged him towards the eastern edge of the park. They made it in just a few minutes and there joined an ever greater flow of people.

Not just people coming out of the park but others going towards it from the surrounding blocks. Everyone moving just so they wouldn't be trampled underfoot by the people all around them.

Somehow throughout it all Soli didn't lose his grip on either his father or mother even as the great mass of people pushed and pulled them this way and that. By then the air was filled with a chorus of screams and shouts that joined together into a wordless barrage, behind which was a now constant refrain of booms echoing through the city.

Every few minutes he felt another spire fall by the tremors they set off. Glass cracked, stone planters tumbled over, loose brick was shaken free, and people fell never to rise again. Huge plumes of dust rose into the sky and colored Lythra's darker, drifting through the streets.

He remembered coughing for what seemed like forever in the alley between a tiny little furniture shop and a restaurant as his parents argued in quiet whispers about what to do next. They tried to keep their voices low enough that Soli couldn't hear but neither had been willing to let go of his hands so he heard it all. His father 'won' and they decided to start trying to circle around the park and head back towards home, where they would hopefully meet up with the others.

They'd only made it a block and a half through the press of people, winding this way and that as the flow of the crowd shifted when a shadow fell over them. Soli looked up and saw the impossible. Glinting light reflected off of windows twice as tall as he was sandwiched between beams of metal as thick around as three of him put together.

It was like looking up and seeing the ground rushing up to meet you.

And before he could process what exactly it meant he felt hands on his back shoving him forward and heard a wordless scream that opened up his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed it like a vice. Soli tumbled forward into his father's back and they both crumpled to the ground in a heap.

He had one last glimpse of his mother from that position, her green eyes shining and her mouth flung open as the warm skin of her face pulled taut and the coiled braid of brown hair on top of her head fell loose over the sharp points of her ears.

Then… nothing. She was swallowed by a cloud of dust and stone and shattered glass.

Of the long minutes that followed Soli mostly remembers feelings; his hand in his fathers tight grip, trying to cough out his lungs, and blinking to clear his eyes. Tears carving tracks down his cheeks through the caked layer of grime and dust as he struggled in the wake of his father's long stride. Emerging from dust clouded hell into the relief of Lythra's clear gaze.

He remembers hearing the screams and shouts of those running alongside them mutely, distantly, as if something thick and stuff was stuck in his ears. He remembers his lungs burning. Stumbling. A skinned knee. Then more running.

Soli remembers running for hours, days, years. Feeling as if he was a string stretched too tight across a chasm.

Then he felt a blast of hot wind at his back. Like after a long high-summer day when the winds have been still for too long and then a fresh breeze blows in, stirring up all that stagnant air into a wave of dry scorching heat. And with it a great roar like the crowd at a Pinpoint match when the home player scored a perfect bullseye.

He glanced behind himself, but instead of a rambunctious crowd he saw the street opening open like the maw of those monsters on the covers of Captain Thellere stories. People fell screaming into the jaws of the earth. Tongues of flame as big as trees licked up the sides of the gap. And it was growing.

Soli felt himself being lifted, his fathers long arms gripping him under his arms as he redoubled his pace. He remembered thinking that he hadn't been carried like that in years. All around them people ran and screamed, their faces twisted masks locked into perpetual terror, as the ground behind them continued to collapse in great chunks that dropped away with either groaning shrieks or utter silence. It had to end, at some point it had to end. But it did not, instead seeming to go on forever as Soli's father stumbled forward on aching legs.

Until he could not any more.

As the last of his frantic strength left him he heaved and threw Soli forward. Soli did not see his father fall, didn't even hear it, all he knew was that one moment he was being carried and then the next he was tumbling through the air towards the street below. His back was the first part of him to hit the ground and he skidded to a halt through rubble and dust just a second later. Bruiser and a little more scraped up, but whole.

Of his father he saw nothing. Only the gaping chasm stretching before him, still swallowing buildings and streets to either side but no longer creeping inexorably toward him.

How long he stayed there staring at the destruction Soli doesn't know, he also doesn't remember getting up and resuming his journey or when he made the decision to start running again or even the one never to turn around again. He isn't even sure how long it has been since that moment. Days, hours, minutes. They've all blended together.

It's hard to even remember what it was like to count time in anything but his own (dust choked) breaths and (bruised and aching) steps. There's more dust than air in his lungs it feels like sometimes. And a persistent split in his side like someone has reached in and started tugging on his organs. He doesn't even have a destination except away. The number of other people around him has steadily dropped since then, going from a scattered crowd to a sporadic trickle to the occasional glimpse across the street. Sometimes it's adults trudging along, dust caked and bloodied, and other times its kids his age and younger huddling alone in the shadow of a collapsed and ruined building that was once a home. He's seen people with crudely bandaged injuries and others so covered in dust it was hard to make them out against the ruins.

And sometimes they aren't even people anymore. Just bodies.

He stopped really seeing them a while ago and now Soli just runs on. Until he too can't anymore.

Something, a bit of brick again maybe or maybe a patch of wet… something, tripped him, sending him sprawling. Getting up was too much of an effort so instead Soli simply lay there in the dust as his tired and aching lungs struggled to suck in what air they could. Mostly they seemed to get dust.

Instantly his throat and mouth were coat in it and he could feel it settling into his chest.

He let out a wracking cough which rattled his ribs and bruised his throat. Then another. And another. Each one gusting more dust into the air in front of his face and making the problem worse.

On and on they went, until finally he could breath cleanly with great sucking breaths that pushed his chest painfully against the hard paved brick of the street below him. His whole chest was a single bruise and his throat felt like a raw wound. Every part of him was spent; his arms and legs felt limps useless at his side, his feet like another pair of bruises, and behind his eyes a drum beat against his skull.

Soli decided then that he might as well die. The world seemed to be ending anyways, so he might as well end with it.

And so, as his breathing slowed and the pain receded down to merely a constant dull ache, he simply lay there and waited. For how long he didn't know.

Long enough.

With the same gradual awareness of the Daughters' rise after dos'lya — that brief period between one Daughters setting below the horizon and the next's rise, when the world seemed half-asleep, cast all in long shadows and pale reflections of the Daughters' radiance — he became aware of a pair of feet by his head, then as his eyes drifted upward he saw two legs attached to them and then the rest of the body. It was a girl. Or so he saw her.

She was twenty and a university student who had so far survived the apparent apocalypse by virtue of being at first far from the center of the city where the worst of the devastation had been concentrated and then by moving from alley to alley with her friends. Soli knew none of that. All he saw was a girl untouched (physically) by the devastation around them, her short blond hair tumbling down around her cutely rounded ears to just tickle her shoulders. Dressed in a pale blue shirt and long green pants she looked like one of those paintings of Kiestre in the temple murals.

And behind her five others, two boys (one only a little taller than Soli himself, with a scowl that seemed permanently etched into his face alongside several studs going through the bridge of his nose and eyebrows and wearing clothes as dark as his mood, and the other a lanky enough he towered over most people in a crowd wearing a pair of rounded half spectacles that gave him a distinctly owlish look only reinforced by his rumpled clothes) and three girls (another blond, her hair falling in a long braid down her back while the shaved sides of her head reveal the arc of rings running down her ears to match the one in her lip, next the perfect picture of a farm girl — sunkissed skin and work worn hands — in her sundress if not for her unnatural red blade of hair and the scattering of tattoos running up her arms to disappear underneath the floral fabric of her dress, and at last a girl with a tress of midnight hair that cascaded down onto shoulders hunched underneath a jacket made to look like Ranger garb at least two sizes to big for her) all around the same age. Two of them were looking anxiously around, one each of the boys and girls, their eyes tracking the sky as if it might start falling on them even though there were no spires in the immediate area, just the usual ten to fifteen story buildings scattered amongst lower slung shops and homes of the area. All of them had the same drained expression, but they were all a far cry from the rest of the people Soli had seen about; lacking the despondent gazes and lifeless postures. Whatever they had seen it had not been the sheer death and destruction as further into the city. Somehow that made him feel… not hopeful exactly, but less hopeless.

If these people had survived his sisters and brother might have too. He wanted to see them again.

Even if their parents were- even if it was just the five of them they were still a family.

"Can you stand on your own?"

Her voice was low, sort of rumbly, though he couldn't tell if it was her normal voice or the result of something else.

There was no mistaking it for anything but a real person's voice, and with that his faint hope of everything having been some horrible nightmare disappeared. His scattered thoughts slowly came back around to the present moment as Soli took in his immediate surroundings; the shattered, scattered landscape of Deylos spread out around him like something from one of those old paintings about the Illumination. Only transposed onto a modern city of metal and stone and glass. Smoke, it looked too dark to be dust, rose in black columns to spread a haze across the clear blue sky.

If he strained Soli could just make out the distant shouts and screams of other people over the persistent booms that echoed across the city. Though most were distinctly different from the original ones, he could tell because those still came occasionally to shake loose whatever fragmentary shards of glass still stood in the windows.

Apparently taking his halting movements as an answer the girl stooped closer and put her arms beneath his shoulders, lifting with a single great heave. They stumbled together.

"I- I can't carry you, kid. You've got to stand or you'll…"

She didn't say what would happen.

He understood anyway, after all he'd been ready to accept it just a few moments before. Part of him still was ready to just lay down and die.

Not enough of him to do it, it turned out, as his legs finally caught underneath him and after another moment of shaky stumbling steadied against the uneven street.

"Good, good," she didn't let go all the way as she moved back towards her friends, leading him by the shoulder with a tug and pull.

The rest of them accepted him silently into their midst with little more than a nod as they, just as silently, moved back into the alley that they'd come from (he thought at least).

This group did not run with terror-born endurance, but rather slinked with the anxious gaits of the hunted and eyes cast towards the sky. Over the next hour or so they alternated between creeping through darkened alleys and sprinting across ruined streets picking their way further and further away from the Deylos' city center and closer and closer to its outskirts. He wondered if they were trying to get out of the city entirely. Soli had only been beyond the city once before, to visit his grandfather's estate when he was a few years younger.

Maybe it would be safer there. Without all the tall buildings to fall on them.

But then again, how would they feed themselves or find water to drink or even just stay dry if a storm rolled in? If they found a town maybe? One of the little outlying 'burbs that clung to Deylos' fringes like raindrops.

That was a long way away. Deylos might not be like the older cities (only just two centuries from its founding) of the Summerlands, which stretched from horizon to horizon and rose so high into the heavens that the taller spires shaded the shorter, but it was still a far cry from some dinky little frontier colony. Tens of thousands called it home. Tens of thousands more worked within it everyday, travelling in from those same outlying little towns everyday to the towers and spires at its center in enchanted cart-trains pulled along by spectral horses. There were, throughout its many kilometers of sprawl scattered compounds, clusters of towers and parks, belonging to the various combines and concerns that called Deylos home.

In fact one such compound seemed to be their immediate goal. Locate in one of the newer portions of the city towards the southeast that seemed to be relatively untouched by the devastation otherwise wrought on the city Soli could make out the distant forms of a number of middling towers. The sort that the big combines liked to use for office space. Big, blocky things that loomed over the surrounding streets with imposing power they looked eerily pristine from a distance.

Just beyond them he also glimpsed one of Deylos' grand temples. He didn't know to which Daughter in particular it was dedicated, though given its proximity to the compound he would bet it was Lythra. Combine adverts were always thanking Lythra and such.

Soli and his family prayed mostly to Kiestre and Kauvandra like most people did. Everyone gave some prayer to each of the Daughters of course. But unless you were a Ranger, glory and honor were pretty far from most people's lives and unless you were a mage developing spells or an artist, genius wasn't something most people needed much of. People needed justice all the time though, whether you were hoping for someone to catch the pickpocket who stole your coin purse or praying that all studying paid off on your next test, and mercy… well everyone made mistakes or got sick.

As the group approached closer and closer to the collection of towers, sneaking through quiet streets and dashing past shop windows hanging open like yawning mouths, complete with rows of glass teeth, the peeking shape of the temple disappeared though. In its place more and more of the ground level came into view. Between the towering edifice of stone and glass that stretched farther and farther above as they grew closer, smooth paved plazas stretched out underneath the clear light of Lythra. Lined by trees and bushes and even occasionally run through with trickling little false rivers they broke up the monotony of the compound.

Eerie did not begin to describe the deadly silence of their surroundings combined with faint and fading booms and the distant cries of the city, only a whisper on the wind howling overhead as they walked beneath the shadows of the towers at the edge of the compound. It was almost peaceful. A graveyard sort of peace.

Had it not been for the scattered signs of hasty flight Soli might have been able to fool himself into thinking everything was alright.

But everywhere he could see where people had left food lying about, or dropped papers and jackets and all other sorts of things. An enchanted door kept trying to close automatically on someone's dropped luggage.

As they crept slowly deeper into the cluster of towers the others of the group grew increasingly more anxious, craning their necks more and more towards the sky. Conversations had been sparse the whole time but not it ceased altogether. No more whispered conversations or low chuckles at some private joke.

Soli wondered what they were looking out for. He'd never been the most observant, his middle sister Euma always complained that he stole her pairs and triplets whenever they were paired together for Twos-and-Threes on family nights. No one else seemed as bothered to be paired up with him, but Soli didn't know if that was just because they weren't as competitive as Euma or if she was just making excuses for losing. Either way he didn't see what the others saw.

Then again, maybe they hadn't seen it yet either, he thought, just in time for the scowling boy to curse.

"Cieliel's puckered assh— "

His tattooed friend stopped him before he finished. Soli almost rolled his eyes; he was twelve, not six. He and his friends said worse. Out of earshot of their parents at least.

Or maybe it wasn't because of him, because all the others had suddenly tensed up and their eyes had swiveled across the skyline in the direction of scowly's gaze. He tried to see what had caught their attention but couldn't. It looked like any other patch of sky, hazy from the dust and smoking swirling through it but otherwise clear of anything except the towers.

Which were plenty interesting, sure, with their crystal prisms, wire-webbing, bronze discs, and all other manner of magey stuff. But none of that seemed to warrant cursing.

A second later it didn't matter how unobservant Soli was because he heard it; a long whispered roar in the distance that echoed back and forth between the canyons between the towers. Like the droning of thousands of insects it broke the eerie quiet into a million little pieces. Without discussion the group rushed for the nearest alleyway, sweeping Soli up into their middle and pushing him along with half a dozen different hands.

Quickly, with the suddenness of a spring rainshower, the buzzing grew into a dull roar that shook the windows in the towers and set the hairs on the back of Soli's necks on end.

Just as they reached the mouth of the alley he saw them, not that he knew that at first, a pair of black dots in the sky that grew from the sizes of birds to the size of an entire building storey in seconds. Dancing between the buildings with incredible grace the… things swept through the compound and circled around it once in the seconds it took for the group to crowd into the alley way. It was as if someone had scooped out balls of blackish-purple stone and strung them together into a sort of caterpillar before sticking spikes all over the underside like dozens of legs or arms.

Something like water or flames shot out from little slits in between the spikes and out of the back. And in certain parts he could see bits so black they hurt to look at for more than a moment.

They came to a stop at the tower one over and across the street from the alley Soli and the others were hiding in and just hovered there in the middle of the air. He'd read stories about ships that could do that, but he'd never seen anything like it before and Soli had never imagined that they would be so big. Each of them could have fit more than a dozen of the big passenger carts inside.

Barely a second later Soli was smushed up against the wall as the whole group tried to slink as deep into the shadows as it could even as they all craned their necks to see as much as possible.

A seam on the belly of each of the flying stone-caterpillar things opens and out drop dozens of little shapes. For a second he thinks they might be shedding parts of themselves like shutu birds in summer, but then the shapes unfold into figures, people figures. Each dressed in a shell just like the stone-caterpillars, with slightly fewer spikes.

They look almost like Rangers, dressed up in their green and silver armor to march in the Illumination parade every year. They didn't move like Rangers though, there was none of the swagger and cheer that the Rangers had, these black-shelled people prowled like the panthers in Deylos' zoo hungrily baring their teeth at the watching crowds. A shiver went through Soli. Each of them was carrying a funny little bow, like they'd taken the practice bows they handed out at school and stuck them to a wooden stake. Some had shortswords at their hips.

None had spears. Or proper bows.

They looked… he didn't want to say that they looked silly, but Soli didn't have a better way of describing them.

Like an actor from one of those silly skits the school used to be put on when they were kids all in black makeup and with ridiculous white hair pretending to be storybook monsters. Even when he was a kid dosrowi stories had never scared him. Not even when told by crinkly old priestesses of Cieliel visiting from Miithraith. Dead things just weren't scary.

Squeezed in between two of the group — the blond girl who'd helped him up and the jacket girl — Soli couldn't see much, just a thin slice of the world; pale white-grey pavement of the plaza glowing in Lythra's bright light, edged by splashed of green and brown. He did not see the black shelled people prowling out from their landing zone in ones and twos. And he did not see their hovering transports lift away to soar back into the sky.

That he merely heard as whatever drove them roared out greater and greater until they drifted far enough away that the distance swallowed it some.

Forming a loose and irregular circle the black shelled people began sweeping through the courtyard holding their stubby little bows like warding amulets before them, poking through bushes and trees and peering into windows. Not all of them. But most of them. Back where they'd first been dropped off a handful remained, their armor sleeker and fancier in ways that were too subtle to notice at a distance, huddling in a tight circle around something on the ground.

Slowly the expanding wave pressed closer and closer towards the group hiding in the alley. Though none gave an indication they'd notice them.

And just as slowly the group edged away from the mouth of the alley, trying to hide deeper and deeper in the shadows, but they did not turn and flee. Fear kept them tightly bound in place. Moving things were easier to notice, even in shadow. And people that ran got chased.

So, if they didn't run they wouldn't get chased. Hopefully.

But the not-rangers in their black armor, with their strange weapons, did not seem to be turning back. With every second they took another few steps forward. Two of them were within shouting distance of the alley, one looking at the lobby of the tower directly adjacent to them while the other scanned the plaza. At least three more were within shouting distance of those two.

Then, at some silent signal, without warning or any seeming sense they stopped. Retreating away from the group they began making their way deeper into the compound, roughly in the direction of the temple Soli had just barely glimpsed earlier. A sigh of relief went through the group.

They hadn't really gotten all that close and none of them had any reason to think they were anything other than some secret Ranger force (whatever their fears, the group Soli had fallen in with knew nothing more concrete than he did), but… still they were glad to pass by unnoticed. After a moment of waiting to see if anything else would happen another wave of relief passed through the group.

Next Part

[luxexhomines]

why did you have to betray him?

This is the second SFW Leviathan fic I’ve published on my AO3! Please click here if you would like to read it on AO3. If you venture onto my AO3, please be warned of NSFW and problematic content that may include triggering topics!  Click here to read my card. Commissions are open (but I won’t start working on them until after May 8th because of other responsibilities)!

This is a Hanahaki disease work; MC/Reader has Hanahaki’s for Levi. If you need to know the ending before you start reading, feel free to skim the tags.   I’ve included a short excerpt before the cut for the rest of the story.

             --------

“Sorry, Levi, not today.”

You shut the door in his face, and Levi feels his heart sink for what feels like the hundredth time in the past month. It’s not like he’s been counting, but even with all the years he’d been alive, it sure seemed like a whole lot of rejections in such a short amount of time.

He had even gone as far as to go knock on your door and ask in person—but you had still turned him down. Sighing, he trudges back to his room. Levi’s not sure why he’s so surprised. Or disappointed. Because this is only natural, only expected, that you wouldn’t want to hang out with someone like him. A repulsive otaku shut-in. There was no reason for you to want to hang out with him in the first place. He should be surprised that you’d even hung out with him before you started rejecting him.

Maybe it was time for him to give up on asking. He shouldn’t harbor hope in his chest anymore, no matter how badly he wants to spend time with you, to see your smile, hear your tumbling laugh, look into your shining, bright eyes. The times he did get to spend with you, it almost felt like all of that, all of you had been meant just for him. For him, and him alone.

But he supposed that ended today. Or, rather, it had ended weeks ago. Levi couldn’t help it if you’d realized that you didn’t want to hang out with him. It had only been a matter of time. And the time had finally come.

He shuffles into his room morosely and shuts the door. Only the sound of the aquarium is here in his room, a quiet, calm, trickling sound, constant, almost unnoticeable. But in the face of your absence, it was loud. It isn’t silent, but it's quiet enough in his room that the space feels glum.

Levi stands in front of his shelves of discs and runs his fingers along the sides of each one, the smooth plastic cool under his touch. He’ll pick lively music to listen to today, he thinks to himself. Sucre Frenzy’s newest album would do just fine. But instead, he ends up pulling out a Bithir Gloom album. He frowns but slides it into the CD player anyway. Maybe it was fine to wallow in this misery. Just for a little while.

Although he knows a little while always ends up being a long time, ranging anywhere from a month to a century. It’s his nature, isn’t it? At least, that’s what he always told himself. It made him feel better if he couldn’t help it; if it was a part of him. He couldn’t deny the nature of his existence.

Yes, he was the Avatar of Envy, and he was a repugnant, otaku hikikomori.

His chest aches, and the sole sound of the melancholy piano drifts from the speakers faintly, discreetly filling the room with the elegiac, dark tones, like a mist of shadows engulfing him.

He embraces it. As he always does. As he always will.

It’s a part of him, after all.

           ----------

You’re hunched over at your desk, trying to distract yourself by studying as furiously as possible.

From that incessant, severe pain. Or maybe, more accurately, from your flowering, profound feelings.

No. You can’t think about that. You turn back to the textbook, Ancient Lore and Myths of the Devildom’s Cursed Artifacts, but it’s too late.

Something is swelling within you.

You let it because keeping it in would be more painful.

You cough into your arm, and the action seems to take years off of your life. It’s a deep heaving of your lungs that, out of its pure force, makes the rest of your body quake violently for moments after it’s gone.

On your tongue is the taste of iron. You want to dismiss it, to forget about it and go back to your work, but you stand and go to the bathroom instead, against your better judgment.

The fluorescent lights burn into your skin, and you lean in toward the mirror over the sink. When you open your mouth, you see red. Crimson red. Not the muted, pinkish-red of your tongue and cheeks.

Blood red.

A chill rushes down your spine, and you close your mouth, swallowing dryly before realizing you should perhaps wash it out. With trembling fingers, you bring water to your lips and rinse. You spit out bloodied water, tarnished, impure, dirty, disgusting. You can’t bear to look at it, and you run water over the remnants in the bowl of the sink. No evidence could be left behind. No evidence of your burgeoning, vile feelings. Of your betrayal. You’re willing to die with that betrayal kept a secret. As long as he doesn’t know.

Leviathan can never know that you love him.

You amble back to your room and lay down on your bed, exhausted.

Bad idea.

You’re sitting up and hacking again before you know it. You’re not sure what it feels more like: being set aflame as the tongues of fire eagerly lap at your chest, or asphyxiating to death under the pressure of water and drowning. Take your pick. Not that there was much to pick between, anyway. It was both, and it was neither. It couldn’t be described, not really. Sensations like these could only be felt to be understood—although, no one would willingly accept that fate, knowing what it entails. You didn’t. You were dragged, kicking and screaming, and confined to it with heavy shackles that fettered your movement, kept you from escape, or any hint of freedom. You’d never asked for this, never wanted this, but here you were, regardless.

When you finish coughing, there’s that same taste in your mouth again, and your chest is sore. You rub it in hopes of alleviating any amount of the pain, but it’s useless. If it were that easy, you wouldn’t be coughing, to begin with. You lick your lips and then become aware of something, some foreign entity in your mouth. You open your mouth and let it fall into your hand.

It flutters gently, despite the violence and agony it signified.

A petal.

It’s a motley, striped purple, slightly long and oval, tapering off and curved outward. The first to appear. You’re not sure what flower it comes from, but you sense that it doesn’t bode well for you. Not that you couldn’t have already known that with all the blood you were coughing up and the pain that had persisted in your chest for a few weeks already. You were so, so tired. Nausea was rising from your throat, closing up.

You stare at the offending petal. More evidence of your abominable love. Regret surges inside you.

Why did you have to make this mistake?

Why did you have to love him?

Why did you have to betray him?

Tears bud in your eyes, and there’s nothing you can do but let them fall, bitter and full, unwarranted and yet irrepressible. Just like your feelings for him. Just like this pain. Just like-

You don’t finish that thought. It hasn’t happened yet. You’re still praying it won’t, even though you know there can be no other answer to the question of your fate. No other ending.

You have no say in it, and you resent it.

You curl up on your side and let yourself escape the pain of reality as you fall into a dreamless sleep.

          ----------

Waking up is excruciating. Because it’s then when you know that tomorrow has come and that another day awaits before you, full of tangles and roots waiting to trip you, to cling to you, to hurt you. Dread lives in you, but you’ve long grown numb to it. After all, this is reality. You’re not going to escape it. There’s nothing that convenient. It’s all you can do to just manage, day-to-day.

You peel yourself from your bed and force yourself to go through the morning routine. Somehow, you make it to breakfast, where you slouch in your seat and pick at your food, slowly shoveling a few bites into your mouth.

You glance up when Levi arrives and feel a pang of guilt. You had been avoiding him for weeks now. Well, for the few weeks since your chest had started to hurt because you had your suspicions, and you ended up being right. You had hoped to nip your flowery little problem in the bud, but clearly, it hadn’t worked. You supposed that wasn’t how it worked. You were supposed to not love someone in the first place. You couldn’t just unget feelings. It was a painful realization, both physically and emotionally.

Then, you had wondered if you could just hang out with him, knowing what was going on—but then also realized that you would probably cough around him, which would raise questions and potentially expose you. That was the one thing that couldn’t happen. At this point, you couldn’t stop the growth, but you could keep him from knowing the truth. And that was what you were going to do. No matter what it cost.

You have to admit that he doesn’t look too good today. Dark circles were under his eyes, and he looked like he was about to collapse—it seemed like a miracle he’d even gotten to the breakfast table today. He plops into his chair, not even sparing a look in your direction. You guess it only serves you right, after how you’ve been treating him the past few weeks. Each time you had to turn him down was like another barb in your heart, tightening around it and drawing blood. But there was nothing you could do. Perhaps it was selfish of you, to want to protect yourself from the imminent lash back of crossing the boundary you shouldn’t have.

Of betraying his true friendship.

You shake off your thoughts and clear your dishes. You glance at Levi again, who’s eating like a zombie while scrolling on his D.D.D., but ultimately scamper away. This was for the best—or at least, for you, it would be. You’re not sure what would hurt Leviathan more. Your betrayal, or your rejection.

And you don’t think you want to know. Because you think you might know the answer, and confirming it would only deepen the wounds in your heart.

Levi has been in a haze ever since he woke up. He had hardly slept, having stayed up until the wee hours of the morning in his misery, and once he did sleep, he didn’t sleep well. He’d tossed and turned and overall had been half-conscious but also trapped in a darkness that he couldn’t navigate.

He isn’t paying attention to anything. How could he? He’s not even sure what he’s eating right now, or what he’s looking at on Devilgram. All he’s aware of is this dull pain still in control of him, filtering the world around him, turning it all to darkness.

“Levi.”

He blinks slowly and lifts his head. Asmo is looking at him with a concerned face.

“...What?” he mumbles. The words barely even leave his lips.

“What’s going on? The two of you have been in a mood lately. Both of you came in looking like someone had broken your hearts and are generally listless.”

He swallows the spoonful of—what even was it? Poison apple oatmeal with a smattering of sugared newt eyes?

“What do you mean? Everything is fine.”

But he knows he doesn’t sound convincing. He doesn’t believe those words himself, so how could he? The one thing that did surprise him was the fact that Asmo thought you were also dispirited. You were the one rejecting him, so how could you be unhappy? Consciously remembering what led to his current state only drives another stake into his chest. He winces.

Asmo is peering at him like he’s transparent, surveying him closely with discerning gold eyes. Levi knows it’s never a good sign when Asmo looks at him like that.

“No, it’s not. Your skin is rougher than usual. Come on, be honest with me. Something is going on, and it has to do with each other, doesn’t it?” Asmo puts a hand to his cheek in thought. “You two have barely been talking or spending time with each other in the past few weeks. Did you fight?”

Leviathan stiffens. How was he supposed to answer that? He wasn’t even sure what exactly had happened. One day, you’d just stopped hanging out with him, and that was that. It hadn’t even petered out. He also hadn’t been able to recall anything particularly dumb or offensive that he’d done the time before it’d happened. He’d just assumed it was because he was—well, him.

He bristles and throws Asmo a dirty look.

“Why are you asking, anyway? Even if we did, it doesn’t involve you,” Levi grumbles. “But no. Not really. I don’t know. Don’t ask me anymore.”

Asmo huffs and crosses his arms.

“I’m your brother. I can’t not ask you when it’s been going on for this long. I’ve already been holding back, okay?” He looks around the room conspiratorially and then back at Levi. “Just for today, I’ll make an exception and skip school for you. You have to tell me what’s going on. It affects both of you, not just yourself.”

Levi protests half-heartedly, but he��s shot down, as he knows he will be. Asmo is a lot pushier than he might seem, and he has to give in. He wonders if talking about it might help, although it seemed hopeless at this point. An unsalvageable situation. Or relationship. Whatever. The two of you had been true best friends, right? But then you’d just up and left, and now it was just him again. Alone. As he’d always been. As perhaps it always should have been, until you came and disrupted it. But it had been a welcome disruption, he thinks to himself longingly, his heart aching.

Asmo follows Levi into his room, and they sit. Asmo’s orange eyes are serious, and his pink bangs sway slightly as he tilts his head, scrutinizing Levi.

“You’re a wreck,” he says bluntly. “Tell me what’s going on. I don’t know isn’t an acceptable answer.”

Levi sighs and slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I mean, I don’t know,” he starts, but seeing Asmo’s face, continues hastily. “One day, they just stopped hanging out with me, and then it continued. And we haven’t talked much or spent time together since before that happened.”

He sneaks a look at Asmo’s expression, which is disgruntled. Asmo seems to be in thought, puzzled.

“Do you know why? Or have any ideas?” he prods.

“If I knew why it would make this easier, wouldn’t it?” Levi exhales in frustration. “No, I don’t know why. I spent hours thinking about everything we did the last time we’d hung out and if I’d done anything dumb or offensive. But there was nothing different from usual. And it was sudden, too, when we stopped hanging out.”

Asmo leans in curiously.

“So it wasn’t gradual. Any other details?”

The other demon blows his bangs up with a puff of air, out of his eyes.

“No. Uh, I mean, I’ve asked to hang out multiple times. I even went in-person. And they said no, every single time.” He pauses. “Usually, they said it was because they were studying. Or they didn’t say why. But I mean, it’s no wonder they wouldn’t want to hang out with a disgusting otaku like me.”

The sound of the aquarium water filter punctuates the silence as both sit in thought.

“Did you notice anything weird about their behavior?” Asmo looks into Levi’s eyes. “Because I think something is up. I don’t think it’s because of you, or they wouldn’t have spent time with you before, either. They seem distracted all the time, and they’ve been shutting themselves in their room a lot more often, too.”

Leviathan leans back, crossing his arms and thinking. Weird behavior? None that he could think of. Or anything that mattered. He frowns.

“No, not really. Although I had wondered if they were sick because the other day I heard them coughing through the door of their room after they said they couldn’t hang out.”

Something glints in Asmo’s eye, and Levi’s not sure he likes it. His palms are starting to get clammy, and he rubs them against his trousers clumsily. It doesn’t help, but he does it again anyway in vain.

“Levi.” Asmo catches his attention and he freezes, looking up. “We need to talk to them. I don’t think they’re sick, exactly—not in the way you’re thinking.”

Levi’s shoulders droop. How was he supposed to talk to you when he could scarcely get within a five-foot radius of you? That was too tall a task for him to accomplish.

“You’ll have to talk to them alone,” he says dejectedly. “I’ve barely been able to talk to them, much less approach them the past few weeks. They hightail it immediately when I come into the picture.”

Asmo sighs and shakes his head.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll talk to them for you. You owe me,” he smirks.

Levi opens his mouth to object—he doesn’t want to be in Asmo’s debt -but thinks better of it. This was the best chance he was going to get in terms of ever finding out what was going on, and why in Devildom you’d been avoiding him. He just nods.

“Fine. But only if you get to talk to them and find out something.”

Asmo laughs.

“Of course. I’ll get the job done, don’t worry.” He stands and heads for the door. “I’ll let you know when I have. Or, preferably, I’ll send them your way so the two of you can talk.”

Levi’s not so sure the second option is feasible, but he wants to hope that there’s still a chance, however slim it may be.

“Okay.” He looks at Asmo. “...Thanks.”

Asmo just grins and winks at him and pops out of his room.

Levi sits on his gaming chair, still feeling like he was half-dead. But at least he was a little less dead. Hopefully, Asmo would come back with news, whether good or bad. But he knows he shouldn’t hope. His hopes will only be crushed in the end, anyway.

          ----------

You’re walking back into the House of Lamentation after school and traipsing through the garden when someone calls out to you. You blink and turn.

“...Asmo?”

He smiles in that Cheshire cat way of his.

“The one and only! Listen, let’s have a little chat. I noticed you haven’t been doing the best recently.”

Before you can say no, he hooks an arm around yours and practically hauls you away and lets both you into your room. You stumble in and sit on your bed as he closes the door. Your throat is tickling, and you take a sip of water from your water bottle. You can’t cough. Not while Asmo is here. He’s too astute. You know he’ll pick up on the reason straightaway.

“So what do you want to talk about?” You eye him suspiciously.

Asmo sits on your chair, and suddenly his eyes aren’t laughing anymore.

“I know something’s not right. Tell me what’s going on.”

You smile and play dumb. It was always the best tactic, especially when you didn’t know what cards your opponent held—in this case, what Asmo knew.

“What are you talking about? I mean, my studies aren’t too great, but that’s nothing new.”

He shakes his head, disapproval leaking into his voice.

“You’re not doing anyone any favors by beating around the bush. You’ve been avoiding Levi.”

You register his words, and half-relief, half-dread crawls into your heart. At least that seemed to be most of what he knew. You purse your lips.

“...Well, I can’t deny that,” is all you can say. It wasn’t like you had any excuses for Asmo.

“Why?” he presses.

You fix your gaze to the floor and swing your legs back and forth.

“I’m just trying to catch up with my studying. Lucifer will skin me and feed me to Cerberus if I don’t get my tasks done right. It’s a lot to manage, so I haven’t had time to hang out.”

Asmo’s eyes are piercing. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, being stared at like that. But you also know that it’s not unusual, given the situation.

“You’ve been so busy that you suddenly had to stop hanging out with him at all? For weeks?” His tone softens. “Tell me the truth. You know I won’t judge.”

It’s true; Asmo had usually been an impartial bystander to all of the problems you’d encountered in the Devildom, a safe confidante and trustworthy. But you can’t tell him. No one can know.

“There’s nothing to tell,” you insist, even though you know it sounds weak. Your lungs are itching. You hope Asmo leaves soon. You weren’t sure how long you could last without coughing.

His face is skeptical.

“I know something is going on.” He puts a hand on your shoulder soothingly. “You look like you’re going through a lot.”

You glance up at him and then look away again.

“It’s nothing. I just have to manage my tasks and studies. Which I should be doing now,” you hint.

Asmo sighs.

“No. Not right now. It can wait.” He smoothes a piece of your hair and then pulls back. “You’ve been coughing.”

It’s a statement. Not a question. And you’re not sure what to make of it. You study him, but your silence speaks volumes.

“...Did you hear me or something?” You run your fingers through your hair, distraught. “I’ve been keeping quiet. There’s no way…”

He watches you panic with sadness etched on his features.

“You’re not sick, are you?” A pause. “At least, not in a conventional way.”

Your eyes meet his, and a flash of understanding goes through you. He knows. He’s known all this time. He was just trying to pry it from your lips, to hear it directly from you. You feel nausea building inside, and almost immediately, as if on cue, you start coughing. The inside of your mouth feels sticky, and you rush to drink water and wash the blood down your throat before he can see anything. But you start coughing again, and he shifts, sitting next to you on the bed. Asmo places a hand on your back and rubs in soothing circles. It’s enough to make you want to cry, and you do. Through all those tears, you finally stop coughing. But something is in your mouth again.

With cold, numbing dread, you part your lips, and it falls into your mouth. This time, it’s much bigger. It’s not a single petal, but the whole bloodied head of a decapitated flower and the sight clutches your heart as you realize what species it is.

“...Purple hyacinth.”

You feel Asmo’s touch halt. His hand is simply resting on your back now. Before you can do anything, he’s plucked the flower from your hand, and you stretch to try and get it from him in desperation, even though you know it’s useless since he’s already seen it.

He casts a knowing look at you.

“This is why you’ve been coughing, isn’t it?” He knows the answer. You’ve never wanted to curse him more than you do now. “I’ll admit that my understanding of flower meanings is lacking, but it’s obvious who this is for, given your behavior.”

You grit your teeth, but tears spring to your eyes again. A stray cough goes flying into your arm, and a few petals scatter onto the floor. They’re beautiful, that muted purple with hints of orchid mixed in, but dyed in its nature, cruelty, the red blood leaving stripes and dots across them, marring that beauty.

You grab Asmo’s shoulders frantically and your shaking fingers sink into his suede jacket.

“You can’t tell him!” You shake Asmo urgently. “Please, Asmo...you can’t.”

Strength is leaving you in spades—any strength you’d had since you’d been condemned to your fate, anyway. You sink to your knees, and they knock against the floor with a thud. Everything hurts, but your chest hurts the most. You don’t know what you’re going to do. It’s hopeless. You’re sobbing, panicked, and Asmo kneels in front of you, rubbing your head.

“Hey, breathe,” he urges.

He waits until you calm down, and you shoot him a murderous look, however weakened the effect of your stare is by the watery veil upon it, blurring the edges of your vision.

“You’re not going to tell him.”

Asmo’s eyes meet yours.

“No. You are.”

Suddenly, you’re laughing. But it’s a crazed, despairing laugh.

“What gives you that idea?” You snort incredulously. “No. I can’t tell him. I won’t. Never.”

His gaze hardens.

“Even if you die?”

You won’t back down.

“Not over my dead body.”

He pulls you to your feet and embraces you. His hug is warm and gentle, almost comforting in spite of what’s just happened. You’re still hurting.

“You need to tell him. The worst that can happen is that he’ll say he doesn’t like you, and you won’t be any worse off than you are now.” He pulls back and pecks you on the cheek gently. “And if he says he does like you, then you won’t have to avoid him or cough anymore. And you’ll be alive. I don’t know about you, but I’d much prefer you alive in the Devildom than not. You’d probably get sent up to Heaven, anyway.”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“Who knows.” You sigh. “Asmo, I can’t tell him. We’ve been such good friends up until those few weeks ago. If I tell him I like him, it’s…” You trail off.

Asmo purses his lips.

“It’s?”

“It’s betrayal,” you finish. “I’ll have been seeing him as something other than a friend. It’s a betrayal of the friendship we had. It’s better to be hated for the way I treat him than the way I love him.” Your eyes are still wet as you stare at Asmo, begging for him to understand. “Don’t you get it?”

He pets you on the head, and his eyes tell you what he thinks. That you’re being silly and worrying too much.

“Oh, he’s not going to hate you even if he doesn’t like you back.” He smiles. “And he does like you, so there’s that. I guess that’s not my place to say—but in my opinion, it’s kind of obvious, although his affection seems to masquerade itself under the guise of friendship.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“Asmo, I would know if he thought of me as anything more than a friend. Trust me. With all the time I’ve spent with him, I would know.”

Asmo boops you on the nose, laughing.

“You seem to have forgotten that I’ve spent thousands more years with him, while you’ve only spent a few months with him,” he reminds you gently. “You’re also just much denser than you think. You don’t see the way he looks at you. And even for a friend, he’s been moping around, absolutely heartbroken this entire time that you’ve been avoiding him.”

You drop your gaze.

“You’re right. But still. I don’t think he likes me that way. I know it’s selfish, but I can’t stand the thought of being hated for what I can’t even control, which is liking him to begin with.”

“It’s not selfish. You’re just looking out for yourself,” Asmo relents. “But you’re not doing it in the right way. You should trust me. Just talk to him. If you don’t talk to him, I hate to say it, but I’ll tell him the truth for you.”

You grab his hands, lacing his slender fingers with yours, and give him big puppy dog eyes, which he only laughs and shakes his head at. You pout.

“Asmo, please! Just do me this one favor.”

He’s adamant.

“I think you forgot that you’re going to die if you don’t address this quickly. And I’m not about to let that happen. We’re going over to his room, right now.”

You squeal as he picks you up and runs out of the room. He’s strong, even if he’s not ripped like Beel.

“Asmodeus, stop! Put me down! You’re the worst, I swear,” you’re half-wailing at this point. But part of you might be relieved. Maybe you could just get it over with. And then you wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. You could die in peace, you supposed. Accept your death sentence.

Asmo opens the door and shoves you inside, flashing a thumbs up at you and Leviathan, who’s sitting in his gaming chair, now upright, tense, and gawking.

“Have a good talk!”

He slams the door shut, and you turn back to Levi. Being in front of him is harder than you originally thought it’d be. Your chest twinges.

“Levi, I…”

The way he looks at you is so woeful. He’s wretched. He still looks as drained as he did this morning. All of the air seems to seep out of him as he sinks back against his chair, sighing.

“Asmo dragged you here, didn’t he?” His orange eyes flicker darkly. “It’s okay, you can leave. Don’t worry.”

You wet your lips anxiously and take a few steps toward him. With each step, your chest grows tighter.

“No, uh… I should talk to you, anyway.” You hesitate. “I’m sorry, Levi. I didn’t want to avoid you. It’s just-...” You cut off abruptly. It was so hard to say it. You didn’t know how to, either. Your chest burns; you can hardly breathe under the current fire of the circumstances.

Levi shifts in his chair and leans toward you, rubbing his neck.

“What is it? You realized you don’t want to hang out with a disgusting otaku shut-in like me?”

The way he says those words, too, is just the worst. Because he sounds like he truly believes it, and knowing him, he probably does. It’s a knife to the chest. Your throat is itching, and you end up coughing again.

“No, that’s not it…!” You manage to sputter out that much in between your hacking.

He seems to forget himself as he leaps to his feet and rushes to you, closing the distance between the two of you, and he flusters, his hands flailing in the air as if torn between touching you and restraining himself.

“Are you alright? Are you sick? I knew something was wrong when I heard you coughing a while back.”

You glance up at him and your coughing eases for a moment.

“You heard me coughing?” Your stomach drops in horror. You hadn’t hid it as well as you thought. “Did you tell anyone?”

He starts to shake his head but then nods.

“Well, I told Asmo just today.”

You feel like you’ve kicked yourself in the foot as you start to understand what led up to your confrontation with Levi.

“So he didn’t hear me in person. He heard it from you.”

Levi wavers, and his eyes dart back and forth.

“I guess so. Is that important…?”

You shrug, and another cough sends another object into your mouth again.

“I mean, I don’t know, um…”

You let the new entity fall into your hand gingerly. It’s another purple hyacinth, of course. It’s whole this time, too. It’s just tinged with blood this time around the edges, mostly dry.

When you look at Leviathan, he’s in shock as he looks between the flower and you, confused and horrified.

“Did you just cough out a flower?!” He blinks. “Oh, wait, this is just like that manga I was reading, about how the main character coughs out flowers when they think their love is unrequited…”

Damn. It wasn’t surprising he knew, considering his plethora of knowledge for anime and fiction tropes.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” you admit wryly.

Levi slumps.

“So it’s Asmo, huh? That’s why you asked me if I’d told him.”

You stare at him. Was Levi this slow?

“Levi, it’s not Asmo. I asked you because Asmo figured out what was going on with me, not because I like him.” You laugh. “Are you really this dense?”

Levi narrows his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Hey, are you mocking me? I’m not dense! I bet I can guess who it is. Uh…”

You can’t help but laugh. Despite the current situation, the two of you had easily fallen into the same comfortable banter you used to have, and it’s both a relief and slightly startling.

“Levi, at this rate, you’re never going to guess who it is.”

His eyes land on the flower in your hand.

“Wait, I can—just give me a sec… Is that...purple hyacinth?” His eyes look up in thought. “Those represent...apologies and sorrow…? I think they mean, ‘please forgive me.’” He frowns and his face crumples. “Never mind. Just tell me. I’m confused now.”

You chuckle and slip the flower into your pocket. It was time to tell him. Time to face your fate. Time.

You admire those orange eyes one last time. Molten orange, with a flame of shadowy purple leaping inside. You comb your gaze through his purple hair. Muted and soft. You read those lips, slightly pink and always so expressive. Finally, you turn your eyes back to his again, which are looking at you in bewilderment.

“Leviathan, please forgive me.”

There’s silence for a while. You can tell he’s still confused but knows better than to just ask. He’s processing. Then, his eyes light up. It’s the time of reckoning. His face turns pink.

“Wait...does that mean what I think it means…?” He pauses, his cheeks reddening further as he presses his hand to his mouth shyly. “D-Do you...do you maybe li-” He stops, defeated. “Ugh, never mind…”

You groan inwardly. Levi had always been wishy-washy. You would just have to spell it out for him.

“Yes. I love you, Leviathan.”

Those words come out much sharper and matter-of-a-fact than you’d intended. But you can’t take them back. Nor would you want to, anymore. You’ve come too far.

He’s staring at you in awe. But it doesn’t at least seem to be repulsion, so maybe you have hope, the hope of still staying friends, of maintaining the easy relationship you’d had with him before the entire debacle of this ridiculous and cruel lovesickness had fallen upon you both.

“Uh, are you sure? I mean, are you talking to the right person? Someone like me? Really? You must be kidding,” he sputters.

You sigh and take a step back.

“Levi, it’s true, whether you believe it or not.” You should go. You grasp the door handle and turn and look at him one last time. “Please forgive me,” you muster a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”

He flounders and comes over, grabbing your wrist.

“W-Wait, no! Don’t go,” he pleads. Levi’s eyes are open, shining, genuine—something in them is so beautiful, but you’re not sure what it is. “I, uh. I just found it hard to believe. Why are you apologizing, anyway?”

You turn halfway to look at him and tilt your head as you look him in the eye. Your chest hurts. You want to cough again, but you suppress it. The way you’ve been suppressing your feelings. The way you’ve been suppressing the truth. But you can’t suppress the latter two anymore, not the way you could hold in a cough. Perhaps this had been inevitable; as inevitable as your love that had blossomed for him.

“I’ve betrayed you.” Those words, heavy and pained, are almost soundless as they leave your lips. “I’ve betrayed our friendship. We were best friends, weren’t we? And then I ruined it. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you,” you confess. “Because it would be so much less painful to be hated by you for what I could control than to be hated by you for what I couldn’t. And I couldn’t stop myself from loving you. I tried, but I couldn’t.” Your voice breaks in the last few words, and you try not to burst into tears again. You didn’t need another waterworks show, and neither did he.

Levi lets go of your wrist, but he clearly wants you to stay, so you turn fully to face him as you wait for him to respond. He mostly looks stunned, but his face is also bright red. More than you’ve ever seen it before, which is a feat in and of itself.

“You didn’t betray our friendship,” he says. You search his eyes, and they’re honest. Relief overtakes you, although you’re still waiting for more elaboration. “I would never hate you. I was just...depressed when you were avoiding me. I didn’t hate you. And I don’t hate you now.” He fumbles over his words, but you wait patiently. “I mean, I guess what I’m trying to say is… I love you, too.” His last words come out in a rush, and he hurriedly continues. “Like you said y-you...you couldn’t not love me,” he blushes, “I could never hate you, and I also can’t not love you.”

You don’t know what to say. It sounds too good to be true. Like what dreams are made of. Although, you’d readily admit that all your dreams recently have been far from lovely or wonderful or anything close to what this moment was bringing you; pure, unbridled joy, only made stronger by the prolonged absence of it previously. The pain in your chest has dissolved, and in its place is a warmth. You bite your lip.

“Really…? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

He nods firmly, still red in the face. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Ugh, I’m the worst at saying these things,” he sighs. “The way you said it sounded like something straight out of an anime, and then I went and ruined the moment.”

Laughter is bubbling out of you before you know it, and you throw your arms around him, ecstatic.

“Leviathan, you didn’t ruin anything. I love you, and I thought you were adorable. Like you always are.”

He’s tense at first, but he also wraps his arms around you.

“L-Like I always am…?! You’re just saying that, aren’t you?”

His voice is still doubtful. You sigh. You’d have to work on that with him. With him. The thought sends you over the moon and back. You hug him with renewed strength.

“I wouldn’t just say anything. I promise, I only tell the truth when it comes to you, and you’re the cutest demon in the Devildom. And I love you,” you drag out your last words.

Levi’s speech is largely incomprehensible, but you do get a few words out of it.

“I-I love you, too…” He sighs happily into your embrace. “I’m not dreaming, am I? This isn’t an April Fools prank? I’m not getting filmed on the gag comedy show where they trick people and film their reactions?”

You snicker.

“Levi, April Fools passed a long time ago. And you’re awake, in case you couldn’t tell. Should I hold you a little tighter?”

“N-No!” He blurts. “Uh, I mean…! If you hold me any tighter, I might just die of happiness. This is already a lot to handle. I probably used up all the happiness in my life just now.”

You pull back just a little and see his face drop slightly, but then it’s glowing and red again when you kiss him on the cheek.

“How about that? Not going to die from that?”

Levi looks like he’s stopped breathing as he holds you in a fixed state, his eyes glazing over. When he finally does answer, he’s breathless.

“No, I… I’ll survive, I think…”

You place a kiss on his other cheek sweetly, joy fluttering in your chest. You can’t stop smiling.

“Good, because you’re going to have to get used to it from now on. Be prepared.”

[c-atm]

Prepared?

Steven couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his eyes. He arrived too late. Too late to protect her...Thank goodness for Garnet, future vision and Lion. She would've be in worse shape than she currently is without them. Still, torn clothing, the bruised and sliced cheek and eye, the bloody and burnt gashes on her torso, inner thighs and chest, smaller ones littered all over her body, her left arm cauterized from the shoulder and her haggard breathing. It was too much to take in.

Still he allowed some pride to seep in. By the time he and the gems appeared at her now trashed campsite, there were a number of mutant fusions gems poofed at her feet and ready to be bubbled. As for Connie, she stood ready to fight..to defend the camp. Never dropping her shaking blade, even greeted them with a pain-filled and tear stricken yet brilliant smile.

He already knew what she was going to say but he quickly and gently silenced her. There was no way in hell he was going to let her apologize and beat herself up for defending the lives here, successfully at that.. His main objective was three fold. Get Connie to the fountain for recovery. find who or whatever did this. Make sure they can’t do it anymore.

“ How many are left?” Steven urgency in his voice made his question almost come off as a command. Connie didn’t take no offense though, she can imagine how much it pained him to see one of his loved ones in her currfent condition

“Just one...they’re smart” Her voice started to break up with her facade of strength. She coughed harshly, overwhelmed with sadness and disgust before she started to sobbed “ They killed three councillors, sent the smaller and lesser ones to overcome them, swarm them and tear them like animals.” She coughed up a bit of blood and dropped to her knees still sobbing.

Seeing her breakdown like this fueled him with an unknown rage, he looked at the gems and non-verbally told them to find the gem. As soon as they left searching in different direction lion heard a shuffling in the trees. Getting on in front of his master and mistress, the mighty beast released a supersonic roar, clearing quite a piece of land bear and creating bit of a dirt cloud..

A quiet ‘fwwth!” was heard from said cloud as a red hot spike flew towards the trio. Before Steven could respond, Connie with her last bit of strength knocked it back toward which it came, before collapsing out of fatigue,and pain. Steven lifted Connie up onto Lion gently. She tried to refuse stating she could help still, which brought a small smile to his face. Her spirit was his inspiration even now.

“Get her to the fountain now.”

Lion didn’t need any coaxing as he opened up the portal and leaped through. He watched them go before balling up his fist, his eyes cold as ice and harder than any diamond. He turned to see the creature walking from the cloud, a stalker smile on its face...

Thin and jagged mass, about the size of garnet, looked like a green, red and purple polygon humanoid with two legs and arms. It’s gem was a surprisingly perfect oval but was damaged with a noticeable crack. From what he could tell it had one rectangular eye, a perfectly formed nose and a mouth. It had claws in sets of three with blood on them and piece of Connie’s camp uniform in its ‘right hand’. A set of two talons on each ‘foot’

“Any other time I might have thought you were cool looking, like a boss from a game.” Steven taunted, as he stood waiting.

“Thisss isss no a game diamond bearer. Thisss isss a hunt and you just took my candidate for assimilating and population.”

Steven was a little put off by the fact that this mutant can talk, didn’t help that its voice sounded like it was slithering..but neither of that matter..No, what matter was this thing attacked his Connie...with intent to use her for 'population'?... Steven was sure he heard wrong.

“What do you mean..?”

The mutant smirked before speaking. “It assss I sssworned, to bring ssstrong humans and gemssss to populate usss through assimilation and artificial breeding. But now none of it matters since your here..Her time will come, regardlesssss.”

As the thing was speaking he saw the gems heading back and gave them a look to stand down for now.

”You swore huh..Means there someone in control and you’re a soldier” .Steven smirked abit. “ And you guys know about us? Me, Connie, the Crystal gems and such?”

The thing smiled as it claws started to burn red hot “What of it Diamond bearer?”

The mutant charged forward claws ready to burn the young hybrid in half only to stop mid run; feeling an extremely uncomfortable, drill-like sensation through its body before being blown back a few feet and onto the ground. The mutant looked up and saw Steven walking towards it, his hands encased with bubbles with spinning spikes. It was literally it only thing it could do, it’s gem cracked to a near shattering, from Steven’s blow..it couldn’t even close it’s drill wounds..

“You know, if your boss or whoever knows about us..then there is no need to keep you around...So Ms.jagged.” His cold tone dropped even lower and in his eyes shined with malice as he stood over the now horrified gem. “For harming innocent humans..For killing innocent humans”

Steven lifted his fist, the spin on the spike getting faster and faster creating sparks of energy. “FOR HAVING THE AUDACITY TO EVEN THINK OF ATTACKING MY CONNIE! YOU’RE PREPARED FOR WHATS NEXT, RIGHT!?”

The mutant couldn’t respond, the roar of Steven scaring it straight to it’s very essence mustering what little energy it had it spoke lightly. “n-GUUUUUUUAAAAAHHGHGGGHGAAAhhhhh!”

Steven spinning fist interrupted the response, turning it to horrifying gurgled scream as the drills burned, twisted, ripped, and chewed the mouth of the hard light construct. Steven didn’t stop there,The rectangular eye was next, it’s nose after that, it’s limbs followed then he just started to wail on it. Each strike more nightmarish than the last, the scraping and sawing sounds, the mutants gargled attempts at screaming and Steven unrelenting stare as he worked.

It lasted all but 45 seconds before the monster finally poofed. He looked at the gem and was so tempted to shatter, but it did had information he reasoned and decided to bubble it without healing it. Sending it back to the temple with the others.

The crystal gems while cautious walked up to him, Pearl was the first to speak.

“Steven, are you-

“NO!”

His rage was still there but subsided when he realized it was Pearl. He looked forlorn and broken “ I’m sorry for that..Just, I’m not gonna be ok, not to until I see Connie is back on her feet.”

Pearl gave him a reassuring smile “Steven, we understand. No one gonna fault your actions or your emotions.”

Steven looked around and saw that they were all in agreement with Pearl; he gave them a small smile in return “I appreciate that…”

“Steven”

The boy turned to pearl as she presented the corpses of the brave councillors who fought with Connie, two women and a man. They wore torn, scarred and missing pieces of meat but they would be ok. Steven smirked to himself as the tears started to run. It took only a few minutes for the corpses to turn pink, missing parts grown back and was waking up like it was all a dream.

It was at this time that Lion decided to return. Steven didn’t hesitate to get the beast to bring him to the fountain, leaving the gems to explain what happened...Not before thanking the councilors for their part in the battle either.

Steven arrived at the fountain and quickly ran towards his berry, who was relaxing neck deep in the pond back facing toward him. Before the teenager could even register what was happening, Steven was holding her in most secure and loving hold she ever received.

She was a bit nervous and embarrassed due to being in only her sporty undergarments and having scars from the recent healing.

That was until she felt the trembling, heard the apologetic and thankful whispering and felt his tears running down her face. It was too much not hold him back with BOTH her healed right arm and new PINK left arm and do the same.

“I almost lost you.”

“I’m here because of you.”

His grip tightened around her frame. “You could have died.”

“I know...i’m sorry.”

“You were so valorous”

She rubbed his back and gently ran her hands through his hair. “ I tried. I couldn’t let them down. Couldn’t let you down.”

“You never do. Why didn’t you call us?”

“You just had a crisis with Spinel. I wanted you to rest...Didn’t expect it to go south that bad. That and I really couldn’t anyway, they targeted communication.”

He moved his face to her shoulder, lips brushing her skin as he spoke. “I am getting you a communicator and a tracker, so i can always find you.”

Connie giggled in spite of her tears “Deal...I was so scared Steven.”

“Hard to tell with how fearless you seemed..You definitely cleaned up house, Berry.”

“They weren’t hard. Though they did get some licks off..Fast buggers. Is the camp OK? “

Steven kissed the top of her forehead, hearing the worry in her voice “ Yes, a little trashed but everyone is alive...though I had to resurrect the three who helped you.”

“Damn it.”

Steven could feel her shaking as her tears ran down. “They’re alive, not in the best of ways but they are alive..”

Connie could only nod to Stevens voice. It was better than nothing. ” I got a new arm, It seems."

“I see, it’s fluorescent and a bit illuminating. ”

“That it is...It feels..off and not-off. If you can understand where I’m going with this..”

“Nope..We’ll discover you new limb together. It fits you though.”

Connie chuckled before giving his temple a small kiss.“Yeah.."

“I...Went off on that gem mutant. Think I’ve might have gave the gems. nightmares.”

"It might have given every camper and counselor nightmares and traumas.”

“I’ll guard your dreams, Nini. Just say the word.”

“We’ll guard each other, both in the dream and in the waking world.. I refuse you to lose sleep over me.”

“I already do..Though it’s usually over things like about how much I adore you.”

“Sssttteven..that’s not fair saying something like that now “ Connie hid her face in his shoulder so he couldn’t see her heated face. Ignoring the feeling that she was now pressing upon him in her current state of undress.

Steven just held her tighter picking her up slightly as he did, basking in her touch, sound and smell. “ I love you Connie. And happy you’re alive to hear me say it So you better be prepared for me telling you everyday from now on..”

She lifted her head up off his shoulder and looked him adoringly before giving sweet and tender kiss which he returned. She placed her forehead to his, smiling that ever brilliant smile of hers. "I’m happy I can hear it.. I love you too Biscuit. You better prepare yourself because I love as hard as I fight. ”

“As do I Connie, as do I.”

[weartirondad]

Sometimes Home Is A Mess

Prompt: “Please don’t leave me, I can’t do this without you.”“(With bby Peter and Tony) The Avengers are paroned from the according and return to the tower but haven't really asked for forgiveness. Baby Peter remembers days his dad returning with a limp and dent heart. Peter being a little genius connect the dots is now clinging to his father he felt he could have lost. Seeing the avengers gives no only Tony anxiety but to Peter as well. He scream and cries when he's so much a inch away from his farther heart. begging him not to go or leave his side.” (Anon)

A/N: Set after You Made Me A Believer. You don’t hafta read it together but you could.  Also check out this amazing song Home - by Stefanie Heinzmann 

Summary:  When the Avengers break apart, Tony is tired and worn and broken but Peter is there and it helps. -- When the Avengers get pardoned a year later because the world decides they need their heroes back Tony is worn from the fights he fought to get them there and Peter is still there.

FF.net I ao3 

--

There’s a dull ache behind his temple when his fuzzy mind clambers back into consciousness and a throbbing pain sits right behind his sternum. The feeling of his chest split open and his every muscle battered and bruised is a distressingly familiar one and for the briefest of moments the air around him feels too humid and dirty.

He can taste the blood and the sweat and smells the burned flesh and metal. He hears the crunching of sand between his teeth when he moves his jaw. He sees red and feels cold.

He’s not there, though, he knows that. Knows it by the way his ribs are cracked in a meticulously designed half-oval and by the memories he can’t push away.

His near death experience years ago in that cave in Afghanistan feels small, manageable, compared to the new betrayal. The new incision cut open scar tissue he’s been trying his hardest to forget but it’s different this time, somehow, more personal.

A humorless laugh slips past his dry lips at the thought of something being more personal than what Obie did to him and soon after he starts coughing, wincing when each and every fiber of his body is cataloging more pain until he feels it’s all he is.

“Jar?”

The name is out before he can think better of it and when it is – warm and familiar and soothing on his tongue – the wrong voice replies, hesitant in a way JARVIS wouldn’t have been. But Jarvis is Vision now and doesn’t have to answer to him anymore – not like that at least. Just another soul slipping from his desperate fingers that are always searching for a meaning, closeness, a family.

“You seem agitated, boss. Do you want me to call for help?”

He wants to scoff at the notion but thinks better of it, eyes still closed, mouth still dry.

“No,” he croaks out eventually because he doesn’t want help – doesn’t deserve it either. If he has to keep living, he wants to do it like this – in darkness and alone. He wants to embrace the shadows that have been hovering at his doorstep for as long as he can remember.

Some famous dead guy once said ‘We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone.’ and that’s exactly what he wants to do. Somewhere without the hurt, the constant betrayal and disappointment. He just wants peace.

That's all he’s ever wanted.

It’s all he’ll never get.

When F.R.I.D.A.Y. stays quiet he feels tears burn in his eyes. JARVIS would’ve ignored his orders.

He’s close to drifting off again when a small commotion startles him awake – survival instinct kicking in, even in a tower better secured than Fort Knox he’s always alert, always expecting something to attack.

This particular assault, though, makes his heart lighter and his muscles relax for the first time since… since that bunker probably. Since that god forsaken video.

“Peter is here to see you, boss, he asks if you’re up.” The AI’s voice is fond and it eases the pain of missing his old friend. F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Peter are getting along. Peter loves the Irish voice and the way she’s coded. To him she’s family just like Vision is.

“Let him in.”

It’s only been a few months since that fatal shooting that lead him to the boy and his aunt but ever since then they have taken up such a huge part of his life that he can’t remember a time when he didn’t have a kid running through his living room, dropping pens and paper and Lego everywhere.

When Peter is there, every corner of the empty tower is filled with life and laughter and love. He drives the ghosts and memories away, replaces them with new ones – better ones, purer ones – without realizing what he’s doing.

The squirt comes barreling into the room, arms clutching a lime green notebook to his chest, eyes twinkling and lips moving with rambles Tony’s dazed mind doesn’t quite catch.

He is young. He is life. He is hope.

He is everything Tony isn’t.                                                          

But then he stops and takes him in and his mouth slams shut, the audible click of his teeth like a gunshot in the sterile room. The smile in his eyes drains like a plug being pulled and there’s something wary in them now – a mind trapped in a memory – and there’s fear and hesitation.

“Tony?” he asks, voice eons away from the happy one he craves to hear. “Wha – What happened?”

Peter doesn’t drop the notebook like Tony might have. Instead he clutches it more tightly to his chest when he slowly steps closer to the bed, entire posture guarded and tense, ready to bolt at any second but not really wanting to.

“I,” he sighs because he hates lying and then tries not to wince which goes less than successful, “I got into a fight,” is what he settles on but he can see by the frown forming on Peter’s forehead that he’s suspicious. “You know how the super hero life goes – criminals don’t like being stopped.”

It’s a pathetic attempt at a joke and he knows that even with six years Peter can see right through his façade. Damn this kid and his emotional intelligence.

“Normal criminals don’t get that close,” he retorts quietly and then adds, voice dropping: “Pepper said you went out to help Captain America.”

Ah. Well, that’s just unfortunate.

“I did.”

“He hurt you.”

“Maybe I hurt him too.”

That makes the boy pause and look down, gaze stopping on his bruised hand that is connected to an IV stand next to his bed. Somehow, when he looks up again he looks older.

“Mister Vision had to fly out to get you back. If Captain America was that hurt he would’ve brought him back, too.”

Tony hates the matter of fact way he says it and the distrust that swings in his voice when speaking about one of his child hood heroes. He wants to take it all away but he finds that he’s too worn to lie, too tired to comfort, so he does what he does best and deflects.

“I thought you didn’t like hospitals.”

Peter shrugs like it’s not a big deal but his knuckles are turning white with the force he uses to clutch his notebook and when he mumbles a reply he doesn’t meet his eyes, “’S not a real hospital. ‘S like home. I was –“ He breaks off blushing and voice small when he finally looks at him again, “Are you okay?”

A small smile graces Tony’s lips and, to his utmost surprise, it doesn’t feel fake. He likes it when Peter calls the tower home. It feels like a spark of hope that it might be one again one day.

“I’m better now that I’ve got my favorite person in the whole world around to blow kisses on my booboos,” he grins and scoots over to make room on his bed for Peter.

It’s what they usually do when he gets back from a mission and is resting on the couch or his bed and Peter doesn’t waste another second to comply, jumping up and nestling into his side like a cat like he always does.

Like clockwork Tony’s arm winds around the boy’s back despite the pain the movement elicits and Peter leans forward to receive the usual kiss to the top of his head. When he leans back to scrutinize Tony his nose is adorably scrunched up and he looks slightly indignant. “Y’ know, booboo is a baby word and I’m a big boy.”

“Oh, you’re a big boy now, are you?” The offended puppy eyes melt away the last of the Siberian ice and he yields to the little boy. “Okay, okay. You’re a big boy,” he acquiesces, “So what kind of big boy stuff have you been up to while I was gone?”

Peter jumps right into it, pulling up his notebook and showing him how he has been practicing writing cursive. It became a thing just before Peter started school in summer that Tony would start to teach him the art of cursive writing. The moment he saw May’s awful handwriting for the first time he knew he couldn’t let the poor boy learn on that alone, so he took it upon himself to coach him on the intricacies of it.

Despite popular belief he actually loved writing things by hand and he had a good handwriting – it was just impractical most of the time and when did he ever do things for fun?  

The kid is still flicking through his book looking for a particular page when Tony startles both of them with a laugh.

“Did you,” he snorts and blinks away the moisture in his eyes that he’s not sure comes from the pain or the laughter, “Did you really write my name on there? C’mere, show me that!”

The hand not holding Peter in place tugs the book out of his hands and flicks to the side where he had painted a big Iron Man helmet and had written his superhero’s persona’s name next to it for Peter to practice writing the capital I. Peter, being Peter, though had decided to defy him on all accounts and had written his name – Anthony Edward Stark – over and over until the page was full. Ending on a half- finished Anthony Edw –

The writing is shaky and awkward because some of the letters they haven’t even practiced yet but all of them are correct and in that moment Tony loves Peter more than he could ever put into words, more than he ever thought he could love someone and he laughs again and this time he knows the tears are from both the pain of what he’s lost and from the bliss – the future – he’s holding in his arms.

“You think you’re being really funny, don’t ya?”

Peter scoffs and sticks his tongue out at him. “I am funny.”

Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

“I really love you buddy, you know that?”

“’Course I do. You tell me all the time.”

 -.-

When the Avengers get pardoned a year later because the world decides they need their heroes back Tony is worn from the fights he fought to get them there.

He’s scared and anxious and angry but when he steps out into the penthouse Peter is sitting there – the picture of a content child – working on a LEGO set Tony is sure is above his age range and his inner storm calms when he approaches and sits down cross-legged next to him, watching him align the pieces carefully and with his tongue tucked between his teeth.

Maybe it’s selfish to break him out of his concentration, maybe he should just let him be but he needs Peter’s strength right now, needs his smile to build up his own because he’s tired and he’s wary and he needs to be reminded what he’s doing all this for.

“Hey bud,” he greets him with a hair ruffle and presses a kiss to the top of his head, lingering an instant longer than he normally would to breathe in the familiar scent. It’s home and it’s safe and it’s wonderful.

“Whataya up to?”

Peter beams up at him and somehow it makes his heart lighter and heavier at the same time. “May got me an AT-AP Walker Set! Pepper promised to help me build it but Morgan was hungry and I think she pooped herself,” he sniffs as if thinking back to a truly awful memory and Tony can’t help the smile forming on his lips. “Do you wanna help, too?”

“I would love to,” he sighs dramatically and leans back against the couch, watching Peter with a lazy smile. When he’s here like this he can almost forget what comes after. “But I still got an important meeting in, uh, five minutes and just wanted to drop by to, uh, say hi.”

Almost.

Slowly Peter puts down the grey bricks he has been working on and eyes him critically. “You never come home early when you still have a meeting,” he notes, “Unless you’re not going to the meeting but I think Pepper’d be mad if it’s important.”

“Shush,” he rolls his eyes and reaches out again to ruffle his hair. A part of him just wants to hold his boy close and never let go but the bigger part doesn’t want to worry him and to keep him as far away from all of this as possible. Which might not be very far for long.

“I promise I’m going. I just wanted to see something cute before I spend the next few hours with all these boring old folks.”

“I’m not cute,” the squirt quips back and goes back to sorting his bricks, “Morgan is cute. I’m –“

“Yeah, you’re what, Petey? Adorable? Precious? As sweet as the marshmallow fluff that’s giving you cavity? Delightful, maybe? Or what about-“

Suddenly his mouth his covered by a small sweaty hand and he can see how Peter is trying to be serious but he’s failing to suppress a giggle. “I’m not cute.”

Seizing the opportunity he tackles the kid into a hug and holds him close, “Okay, whatever buddy,” he breathes into his hair, “You know I love you, right?”

Soft curls tickle his nose when Peter nods dutifully and he knows he has to leave soon, knows he’s already running late and he can’t be – not for this. But suddenly letting go is so much harder than just getting his muscles to release the small body. The conference room suddenly seems so much farther away than just two stories down, it feels like they’re worlds apart and he likes this one better.

“Steve Rogers is requesting entry to the penthouse,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts his musings and just like that he feels Peter freeze in his hold and look up at him, eyes wide and betrayed and scared.

“What’s he doing here?” he demands, “What does he want? Why’d you let him in? Wh –“ Then, suddenly, he stills and glares, pushing away from Tony’s grasp and crossing his arms in front of his chest in a way that looks less like defiance and more like he’s shielding himself.  

“He’s your meeting, isn’t he?” he all but spits out and it sounds like the ultimate betrayal. His voice is shaking with anger and his doe eyes, usually soft and loving, are as closed off as Tony has ever seen them.

He pushes himself up to sit on the couch instead of on the ground so they’re eye-level and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Without looking away from Peter, he raises his voice to talk to his AI.

“Tell him access denied and I’ll be with them in just a sec.”

“Them,” Peter narrows his eyes, “Who’s them?”

“The Avengers, Peter, I’m sure you’ve heard of them,” he retorts and immediately feels guilty when there’s a flash of hurt in his eyes. He sighs, head hanging, “Look, I’m sorry, Pete. I’m –“

Before he can decide on what to say, he’s being interrupted, something Peter rarely does and never when it’s important but the boy in front of him who dropped his arms and has his hands clenched to fists, shaking with fury isn’t the boy he usually deals with.

“Why are they here?”

“To talk.”

He wants to walk over to him and take him in his arms again to stop him from shaking like a leaf but he doesn’t want to tower over him, doesn’t want to crouch to be on his level either. This conversation is important and he knows he needs to stay put for now.

“The world needs the Avengers, Pete. We need them to protect the world. I need them to protect Morgan and – and to protect you. To protect my fa-“

“NO!” He all but screams and it has Tony mentally take a step back and stare when he’s stomping his foot and pulling his hair.

“No! No, no, no, no, no. NO!” he yells again, “I don’t need them! We – We don’t need them. We have you!” He scowls angrily. “You’re – You’re Iron Man! And they – I don’t trust them! I hate them! I want them to – I want them to go! Tell them to go away!”

Now, without trying to be braggadocios, Tony would say after helping raise Peter for almost two years and having a toddler of his own he has a pretty good grip on the whole parenting thing but – for fuck’s sake – he’s had it easy so far and never really had to deal with an actual tantrum before.

Sure, Morgan fusses and cries and wails like the world is ending sometimes but a four-month-old tantrum is much different from Peter having a meltdown in front of him. Peter, the most well behaved boy on the planet who rather screams into his pillow than at people and who, for reasons he tries not to dwell on, never ever pushes May or him away in fear of pushing too far and losing too much.

Peter is a good kid. Sometimes he’s angry, sometimes he’s sad and sometimes he has so many emotions he doesn’t know how to deal with that he shuts down but the last time Tony has seen him this helplessly angry was the night he found him in a dark alleyway bend over his uncle’s dead body.

The entirety of his small body seems to be filled with rage. He’s trembling with it, overflowing with fury and what looks like something that’s much too close to hatred for Tony to ever want to see it in his boy’s eyes ever again.

He remembers the first time he had to calm him down, remembers the blood and the pain and the harsh light of the streetlamps and he hates it. Hates the Rogues for making Peter feel that way again more than he hates them for leaving in the first place.

“Kiddo,” he murmurs and slides down from the couch, sitting cross legged and with open arms in front of the shaking kid. He doesn’t scoot closer even though he wants to and tries to beckon him towards him with his voice alone. “They won’t hurt you, I promise. I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“But they hurt you.” Peter hasn’t moved yet but his voice has dropped a few pitches and some of the anger is seeping out of his shoulder. Tony would only count it as a half-win, though, when it’s instantly replaced by sadness and fear. Those he knows how to deal with at least.

“I don’t want them to hurt you again,” he whispers, taking a timid step forward and letting Tony reach for his hands that are hanging listlessly by his side. He watches him uncurl them quietly and when he looks up to meet his gaze again there are tears running down his cheeks. “You have to take care,” he demands reverently and takes another step forward, dropping into Tony’s lap and throwing his arms around the older man’s neck.

“You have to take care and come back,” he presses into his collarbone, “You can’t – Please don’t leave me all alone. I only have May and you and I can’t do this without you. I can’t. You have to promise!”

Oh Peter.

Tony pulls the small boy impossibly closer, rubbing a hand over his back and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I promise I’ll always come back home to you, kiddo.”

And maybe that’s an unfair promise to make when he can’t ever be sure he’ll be able to keep it. Maybe lying makes him a bad parent. But right now he has his kid crying into his t-shirt and he’d do anything to make it better and so he promises himself that he’ll always do his best and fight his hardest to make sure he’ll always be there to make it better.

[thorbunni]

heartbeat

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader, natasha romanoff x steve rogers (platonic)

warnings: cursing, mentions of torture, angst

summary: you’re kidnapped in order to torture and lure the black widow, but it becomes a trip down memory lane for the both of you.

a/n: sorry about my short hiatus, life has been a stressful place for us all as of late. i started this a while back, but i randomly got the inspiration to finish this early this morning. this is set in the time frame right before the winter soldier, when both steve and nat were working for S.H.I.E.L.D. enjoy!

The door to Natasha’s room was thrown off it’s hinges, revealing a disheveled Steve Rogers standing in the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot with defined bags underneath them, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Sweats hung low on his hips and his shirt was loosely splayed across the muscles of his upper body. 

“Nat, come on. You’ve been at this for days. We’ll find her, but you need to sleep first. Tired eyes and terrible judgement will do you no good once we find her location,” Steve said as he flipped on the light switch. The red-haired woman winced at the sudden influx of light into her corneas. 

Steve took this opportunity to look at her surroundings while she desperately attempted to find something to cover her eyes. The walls of her room were covered in pictures of you, all connected by pieces of red yarn and sticky notes. Every mob boss, every criminal, every high-level enemy the Avengers have ever fought (including Tony Stark) had their portrait and information stapled onto the wall above her bed. The furniture had been shifted and there was a shattered lamp in the corner of the room. Steve gawked at the mess that was unusual of Nat to create. However, he couldn’t be surprised, as you made her do things that Steve would never have thought she would do. 

“I can’t, Steve,” she spoke softly, voice cracking as she looked up at the super soldier with teary eyes. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But you can,” Steve walked over to sit next to her on her unmade bed, carful to avoid the dirty clothes and hidden pieces of glass. “Look, you haven’t been getting anywhere. Maybe a pair of fresh eyes will help you discover something useful that would lead us straight to her.”

Natasha said nothing in reply. Her endeavor for something to cover her eyes led her to smother her head in a bed sheet, and her body gave into her exhaustion. Steve placed her entire body into her bed, tucking her in for the night. He rose from the bed, turning off the light and picking up the broken door, resting it on the doorframe. 

“Miss Romanoff, Director Fury wished for me to inform you and Captain Rogers that we now have a location on Miss Y/L/N,” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voiced blared through the overhead speakers. The morning drowsiness was wiped from her system as soon as she heard those words. She rushed from her place in bed to get her suit, almost throwing onto her body while she awkwardly hopped down the hallway. 

The Quinjet ride was longer than usual, even though they were flying halfway across the world. Somewhere in Southern Europe, Nat thought she remembered hearing Fury say. She wasn’t listening during the briefing, her mind consumed with the thought of getting you back. You hadn’t been gone for very long, just under two weeks, in fact. But Natasha was a mess without you. You were the only stability in her life. You were her light. You were the only positive thing her life had ever seen. So when you went missing, her mind crumbled. Natasha was so obsessed with getting you back, that she no longer took care of herself. As far as she was concerned, you were probably being beaten and tortured to get to her, so she shouldn’t waste any time on things that took time away from finding you. 

Finally, the plane touched down on the snowy ground. The door unfolded, the frigid air flooding the Natasha’s senses. Steve placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Nat, you okay?” he asked of her. She nodded timidly, just barely hearing his question.

The cold didn’t affect the two agents, as Tony had a heater sewn into all of their suits to prevent them from dying. Their trek through the snow lasted for what seemed even longer. Every thought that dragged through Natasha’s head revolved around you. Except for one. She thought of what she was going to do to the person that took you. Natasha would use every ounce of her training to ensure that whoever had you was going to die a slow, agonizing death. She would make them suffer until death seems like the best possible option. Lost in her head once again, she didn’t realize that she had arrived at the base. Natasha would’ve ran straight into a wall had Steve not taken her by the shoulders and forcefully moved her in front of the gateway. It was a normal-looking, abandoned military base, mainly comprised of bricks and steel beams. With a nod of agreement, the two pulled out their weapons and stealthily marched up the steps and into the base, determined to bring you back home. 

Not long after forcing the heavy door ajar, Natasha found the base completely empty. Every corridor, room, hallway, and staircase was barren and left devoid of evidence that anyone had been there recently. A particular room caught their attention more than the others: the library. Still remaining on high alert, she began to flip through the pages of the open notebooks that sat on the wooden desk in the center of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, most tall enough to require a ladder to reach the top levels. 

“Hey, Nat,” Steve whispered from the elaborate doorway, “Come here. I think I found something.”

Natasha placed her hands on her gun once again, raising it to eye level as she moved towards Steve. The super soldier pointed down a dark, narrow corridor with a gesture of his head.

“Can you hear that, Nat?” Steve said, lowly. She closed her eyes, trying to listen out for footsteps or any other sign of the enemy approaching. For a split second, the assassin could’ve sworn that she’d heard classical music playing deep down the hallway. The kind of classical music that the Red Room would slowly train the girls to hate as their bodies crumbled to the floor in exhaustion. 

The farther Nat and Steve travelled down the hallway, the more prominent the music became. In just a few seconds, the faint music filled Natasha’s ears. A loose brick in the wall caught her eye. Steve held his shield out in front of her as she felt around the wall, finally pushing the brick into the wall. The sound of Nat’s quick-paced heartbeats echoed off of the walls, possibly the only sign that gave away their position. She released her hand outstretched hand from the wall. At this point, the Black Widow was desperate for any trace of you or your presence. 

The wall slid to the side, making the entire room tremble around them. Steep stairs heading down into a basement now laid in front of the two agents in place of the large wall. She descended down the staircase without a second thought, foregoing all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protocols and all of her training. When it came to you, fuck protocols. The red-haired woman no longer held her gun and completely ignored Steve’s silent warning signals. She didn’t care. All she had to do was get to you and get you home safe. Only then would she be okay. 

As soon as the tip of her boot touched the base of the last stair, bright lights cut on. In the exact center of the room was a table and a chair setup in a classic forceful interrogation manner. Little blood splatters covered the entire concrete floor. A two-way mirror had been installed into the wall to the left of where they had entered the room, but they had no time to peer into the tinted glass. 

“Nice of you to join me, Miss Romanoff and Mister Rogers,” a stout man revealed himself from behind another door in the room. He couldn’t have been much over five feet, complete with a thin bone structure and sparse, scraggly hair. A set of oval-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his wrinkled nose and a white lab coat seemed to smother his skinny frame. He struggled to stand upright, and instead leaned on his right leg more often than the left. Overall, a classic bad-guy-mad-scientist look. 

“Where is Y/N?” Steve’s deep voice boomed in response to the feeble man. Natasha’s throat went dry. She had allowed a man like this to take Y/N. Her Y/N. She was supposed to be the greatest and most efficient killer in the world, but she couldn’t even protect you. Tears began to prick her eyes at the thought, but Natasha knew she could not let them fall. Not in front of a man that was going to be dead as soon as she found you. 

“And I suppose you would also like the answer to that question?” the old man inquired sarcastically. He continued his statement after being met with a glare in response to his question, “I had her brought her so I could have a little chit-chat with at least some of the Avengers.”

“What would you like to speak about?” Natasha spat, “Because I can guarantee you that you have exactly 15 seconds to live after you tell me where you put my girlfriend.”

“Is that a threat, Miss Romanoff?” the man smiled knowingly, eyebrow cocked in a manner that could only be executed by the most evil of evil. 

“A promise,” she replied, crossing her arms while keeping a gun in her hand. 

“Anyways,” he clears his throat, but that only leads him into a major coughing fit that leaves him wheezing, “I suspect that you also want to know why I took her.”

Natasha took a handful of his lab coat and brought his entire body extremely close to her face, ensuring he could hear her say, “Tell us the location of the damn girl before you’re struggling to breath for a different reason.”

Psychotic laughter fell from the lips of the estranged scientist, a chuckle only a madman could even think of doing. Natasha then looked into his eyes for the first time, only seeing the insanity within his green orbs. A permanent grin was painted across his face as he gestured towards the two way mirror. 

“Why, Miss Romanoff, she’s just in that other room,” he said maniacally. As if it was connected to it’s words, the mirror cleared, revealing a simple ballet studio. On cue, the music became much more climactic and dramatic as he continued his words, “She seems to love dancing. She even panics when I turn certain compositions on. It’s adorable.”

A leotard-clad woman comes spinning into view, body bent and elongated in ways only a Red Room trainee could achieve. Natasha panicked, feeling her catsuit get incredibly tight when she saw your strained face. She finally has sight of you, but only in pain. Weeks and weeks of no sleep brought her here in the same room as you captor, but not you.

Natasha dropped the scientist and jolted forward, fists pounding on the tinted glass, “Let her out, you bastard! Let her out!”

“If you can get her out, you can have her. But I believe I should be taking my leave,” he confessed before he began foaming at the mouth. His eyes glossed over before his body hit the ground with a quiet thud. Steve rushed over to feel for some kind of pulse, but the dead guy was the last thing on Natasha’s mind. 

In half an hour, Natasha had tried everything. She ignored the dastardly memories of her training just so she could get to you. You continued to dance, terrified of the guns that were aimed directly at your heart. Nat continued to attempt to pry at the edges of the mirror, hoping that it would amount to something. 

“No bombs, triggers, anything on the premises,” Steve announced as he waltzed back into the room and laid his shield on the table, “Everything dangerous is in that studio.”

“Well, big guy, I’m going to need you to punch this glass really hard because that’s my girlfriend in there and I can’t get to her.”

Steve nodded and lined himself with the glass. His fist connected with the glass: nothing. The captain pulled his fist back once again, with the same end result. On the third try, his fist connected with the glass and it shattered on impact. Natasha jumped through it and dragged you back into the room. Your exhausted body slumped into her arms, little whines coming from your mouth as Natasha guided you to the floor. She knew you’d never cry in front of anyone, but she didn’t need tears to know that you were struggling. It broke her heart to see you so broken. The assassin wrapped her toned arms around your body, and smiled as she teared up herself. 

“Shh, shh,” she whispered into your hair, “You’re okay now.”

What she didn’t notice was the foam dripping from your mouth onto her suit. 

[mysterious-story-teller]

SUF AU- Chapter 4: Droplets

Author’s note: Hello! Mystery is here! I would love to say thank you to everyone that has taken the time to read my work and I know what you are thinking: It has been almost two weeks and this is all you can offer? I get it, this is a lot shorter than the last post but trust me when I say this: Having all the chapters combined into one file is around 19k and I will not have those that take the time to read an essay. I still do believe my AU isn’t as strong as the rest I have seen but I am taking a step forward and have my work being published for all the world to see. Without further delay, let’s get started! Word count: 1,993 ^x^

Also, for now on: I will have a *Trigger Warning* whenever something drastic is happening in the chapter. So for this warning! There will be blood. Enjoy <3

A pair of amethyst eyes slowly opened with the teen looking around in confusion, all he could see was darkness; no light in sight. However, with a twitch of his ears, he was hearing the sounds of water hitting the ground. Which brought more confusion when he could have sworn, he was in Steven’s home, but maybe he dreamt about it and this was his reality. From everything being pitch black, he slowly gets off the ground but with such struggle when not being able to get up with such ease. The ground below him was so slippery and upon losing his footing, he felt water hitting his face; subconsciously licking the corner of his lips. His whole body froze momentarily to process what he has just licked and how it tastes like...copper?

Before fear consumes his mind, he carefully and cautiously gets up from the ground and taking his first steps forward; trying his hardest to ignore the fact that the floor was not only wet but sticky. As much as he would like to run to find some sort of light with his mind spiraling; he inhales and exhales slowly with every step he made when his mind can be playing tricks on him from not being able to see. Trying to convince himself that he is just imagining it when it would be impossible to be in a situation that involved...blood.

He held no memory as to how he got here in the first place so all he was left with is confusion and desperation to find answers of his own whereabouts. He continues on walking forwards to wince when bumping against a very hard surface with his hand rubbing against his forehead; placing his other hand against the wall to find something that he can grab or anything for that matter. The teen felt some sort of switch and with a bit of force, he was able to move it up as light engulfs him; blinding him from having everything being so bright. Slowly, he opens his eyes to have his vision being fuzzy for the moment yet the only thing he could make out through his blurry vision was the color of red.

He closes his eyes tightly in fear when that couldn’t have been right. There is no possible explanation as to why he would see the color of red; bringing his hands close to his chest to try to calm his beating heart and how everything will be okay. With a slight yet hesitant nod, he slowly let’s go of his hands to notice that his hands had a sticky texture to it; opening his eyes with extreme caution to completely regretting it. His hands all the way to the tips of his fingers were covered in blood to look all over his body to see nothing but red.

Breathing heavily when seeing the walls, the ceiling, and the floor being drenched with blood, his feet taking a step back.; t The smell of blood hitting his nostrils making his gag to being sick to his stomach with his hand placed over his mouth. “Why is this sickening to you? You are the one who brought such destruction into this place. Bask into the delightfulness of your work of art.” Startled, the teen looks up at the source of the voice to see no one was around to hear the echoes of laughter. “Skittish, aren’t you? Maybe if you were able to see yourself, you won’t be as scared.” With that being said, an oval shaped mirror appears on the other side of the room as the teen slowly takes small steps yet from what he is seeing all over his body.

Does he want to see the reflection of his own reality? As much as he wanted to stop his tracks, he couldn’t. It was his body that had a mind of its own and not listening to him when wanting to stop walking towards the truth. His body stops moving when finally, being in front of the mirror, his eyes widening so far that it started to hurt with his pupils shrinking in size at the sight before him. The playful spikes of his hair weren’t so playful anymore but rigid with the strands being stuck together from the dried-up blood to his face had the same result.

However, from all the blood and gore that surrounds him, the only color that popped out to him was his eyes. How the color of amethyst contrasts with the color of red yet his eyes made it stand out more; feeling some sort of comfort when seeing another color other than red. “Fascinated by it? Look how innocent your eyes look when there is nothing pure about you.” The reflection of the teen shifts to now seeing him holding onto a blade tightly with his expression looking so twisted as the voice continues to echo through the walls of the room, he is trapped in. “Why do you look so traumatized? This is what you wanted.”

The teen holds onto his head to try to focus and recall anything at all that got him here in the first place to have the voice interrupting his concentration. “It’s such a shame that you don’t remember of the massacre you’ve created but then again, you were seeing red.” The teen covers his ears in desperation of trying to block out the words with his teeth grinding in frustration to look up at the ceiling to try to shout back at the voice that has been taunting him to hear  crackles echoing through him that it brought a chill down his spine.

“Don’t protest and deny the truth. You are a murderer, a being who kills for fun and loves to bask in your victims’ blood all the while.” The teen tries to make another attempt to defend himself when none of this can be the truth to hear the sounds of squishing organs; turning his head towards the sound. This was becoming too much for the teen when seeing a figure slowly walking towards him; how the being was disfigured with the eye sockets filled with blood and their body slashed up; their intestines dangling through their stomach. “Come on, ___, this is what you love to do. Taking the eyes of your victims so they won’t see you and wanting to see their organs out in the open just so you can enjoy the sight when they stop functioning.”

The teen had enough of this and stopped forward with blood splashing around them, “I’ve heard enough! I know this can’t be real and I refuse to be tormented by this!” The voice of the teen was shaking as the disturbed being gives him a crooked smile and half-hearted claps, “Such strong words for such a small boy. If you don’t believe me then maybe this will jog your memory.”

With a snap of their fingers, the scenery changes with the floor collapsing beneath the teen with his screams echoes so loudly that the walls could break just by how terrified he was. The drop felt like eternity with the disfigured being continuing to taunt him by getting closer to him, “Let this be engraved into your memory so you will never forget.” The disfigured said to the teen and points down with the teen looks down to face first into the pools of blood and quickly swims up with a cough escaping from his blood-stained lips to the only light to guide him through this slowly vanishing. The teen moved as fast as he could to get away but there was nothing to grab, it was like he was in an endless sea of blood to have the light vanishing.

Stopping him from swimming further to looking around to see nothing but the blood splashing around; yelping when feeling cold hands gripping onto his ankles tightly. Being dragged down into the depths of the warmth of the blood surrounding him yet with the strength he can gather; he tries to swim the opposite direction. His lungs were squeezed the life out of them when having no air and his mind becoming shrouded with fog.

His heartbeat being heard within his ears, the pupils of his eyes going into a daze, slowly accepting his fate. ‘Yuugi...’ Amethyst eyes shot open when a single word snapped him back to his senses, but his lunges couldn’t take it any longer as his screams were silenced. Closing his eyes tightly, forcing himself to try to wake up from this hellish nightmare. ‘Wake up! You need to wake up from this, Yuugi! This isn’t your reality!’ The taste of copper overpowers his taste buds with membranes curling around him tightly to keep him in place; his lungs being filled with blood. ‘Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! This isn’t real!’ With the last bit of strength, he had left, he extends his arm up and just before losing consciousness; he says one final plea.

‘Please...open your eyes...get me...out of here...’

———

Amethyst eyes flew open so wide that if they were open any wider that he was sure he would get a splitting headache. With his hand covering his mouth, he looks around to see he was nowhere near what he just dreamt about; he’s back, in a world that he would even dare to say that would make him feel secured. His heart still pounding against his chest from having such a heart stopping nightmare with his other hand carefully unzips the zipper of the sleeping bag he was sleeping in so he can properly sit up; his hand finally letting go of his lips so he won’t let out a voiceless scream.

With a bit of wiggling, Yuugi got out of the sleeping bag when starting to feel unbearably hot with his clothes feeling stiff and his hair feeling slightly damped; going on autopilot from folding and putting the sleeping bag to the side when his mind was still racing from what has occurred. Of having no memories of his past or who he was, it shook him upon having such a vivid nightmare that he could still smell copper in the room when there was no blood on sight. However, with a slight sigh escaping from his lips, he tries to focus on what is around him; his amethyst orbs glistening of the sun’s rays.

His eyes wandering to paused momentarily when hearing a pleasant sound of soft snoring to look over on his right; not being able to see much yet his mind quickly registered that the clumps of hair was Steven and Connie’s. Recalling back from last night's events before going into a hellish experience of both of the teens helping him to bed as it is pretty evident that Connie stayed over the night. A slight smile was playing on his lips and carefully gets up from the ground so he wouldn’t disturb the young teens and how he felt his eyes sparkle at the sight. The scene was so sweet, so serene that it would be impossible to see both Steven and Connie being close to one another; their hands slightly touching with their expression looking so calm like nothing was going to hurt them.

Still having a hard time to brush off the nightmare he had, it warmed his own heart from seeing such a wonderful scene before him to snap back into reality when his clothes were now making him feel uncomfortable. He walks back to where he was resting and grabs ahold of his notebook to write a message down so when the cute ‘couple’ finally wake up from their slumber, they would know where he has run off too. Hoping that deep down in his heart that the nightmare he had would not ruin this day for him and for the sleeping teens…

———

Author’s note: Horray! You made it! Now wasn’t that fun? :D Please don’t forget to like and reblog! Have a amazing day and remember: Steven loves you! :3 

[toomuchponytail]

Prompt Nineteen:

The antagonist doesn’t have time to waste, he clumsily unlocks the trunk and pulls the hood off of the protagonist’s head, the protagonist is bleeding from a cut above one eyebrow but otherwise look alright, confused by the brightness, and then his eyes land on the antagonist, and  narrow in anger, he’d been having such a nice day until he’d been snatched off of the sidewalk, he starts yelling through the gag but the antagonist can’t understand him, which is probably for the best. The antagonist leans forward, almost falls over into the trunk, he notices marked weakness in his right wrist, which is making the freeing of the protagonist really difficult, he tried to cut the zip ties binding the protagonist’s hands, but he can’t get his own hands to cooperate. He doesn’t notice the Protagonist’s eyes widen as he takes a real look at the man leaning over him, he doesn’t notice the sudden silence and the unmasked concern in the other man’s eyes. 

The antagonist has been beaten, possibly tortured, he is bleeding heavily from what the antagonist assumes is a large wound in his side, his thin t-shirt is sticking to the wound, his blood dyeing the shirt in an expanding crimson oval. His face is mottled with bruising, both of his eyes are blackened and swollen, his nose is crooked and definitely broken. The protagonist quickly scans the rest of his antagonist for wounds, and the way that the antagonist is moving, switching between oddly stiff and weak swaying gives him a sense that the rest of the antagonist is most likely just as bad off as his face.

Finally the antagonist manages to cut through the zip ties, freeing the protagonist’s hands, as their hands come forward the protagonist flinches but doesn’t look angry anymore, this strikes the antagonist as wrong but they can’t focus enough to decide why. The antagonist notices that he suddenly feels very far away from the antagonist, from the car, from himself, he pushes the knife into the protagonist’s hands so that he can continue freeing himself and dizzily braces himself on the car, his world spins by, a carousel of agony. He is vaguely aware of the protagonist’s voice somewhere, and then his legs fold under him. Strong hands steady him, keeping him from hitting the ground, he tries to focus, to fight the darkness, panic is crawling up his throat, a thought strikes him with such sudden feverish certainty, that he instantly believes it, if he passes out he’s going to wake up either in prison or chained up somewhere in some dungeon like basement. He forces himself to open his eyes, and works to focus them. 

“What happened to you?” the protagonist asks in a horrified whisper, his arms wrapped around the antagonist, supporting his weight.  

“We’ve got a little problem,” the antagonist groaned regaining his footing, pulling away sharply from the antagonist, the force sent him swaying so heavily that the protagonist moved to catch him again, but he grasped the trunk of the car to steady himself, “That guy from Florence, he’s here, and he knows that the only way to succeed in this city is to kill you.” 

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” the protagonist mumbled, watching the antagonist wheeze against the car, afraid to go to help him and risk having the antagonist get upset and hurt himself more, and afraid to do nothing and watch his longtime nemesis collapse onto the asphalt. He settled on helping him prop himself up against the car, all the while watching the growing circle of red. 

“I got to you first,” the antagonist chuckled and immediately started coughing, it was a horrible wheezing rattling sound that hurt the protagonist to even hear. When the antagonist had gotten hold of himself there was blood dripping off his chin, “I barely got to you first,” he corrected himself in a croak.

The antagonist was quiet for a minute, feeling an odd mix of emotions for his antagonist, a guy who had once flew over a thousand miles to steal his luggage, forcing him to fight an out of town villain in hotel purchased pajamas.  The coughing fit had taken almost all of the rest of the energy that he had, the antagonist sat there woozily for a moment, leaned up against the car, his eyes refusing to focus, his mouth in a grim line as he kept fighting his way back to reality, he was vaguely aware of the antagonist’s voice, always asking questions, but he couldn’t answer, or even find it in himself to understand, all he was capable of at this moment in time was to sit there, trying not to pass out.