#held all of his mistakes over his head to use against him when convenient

[cryptidcalling]

Not to have two brat characters in a row but honestly I think Cosmo has some (poorly) suppressed bratty tendencies that he's gonna need to indulge eventually

[s0fter-sin]

nik finding out ghost’s father is still alive

he teases out personal information from him over years of careful dedication; always knowing when to back off, always knowing when ghost needs him to push just that little more so he can free himself of his own memories

it’s not always important; sometimes it’s little things like preferring full fat milk for his tea or that he enjoys morning runs with his back to the sunrise. that he prefers to sit in an armchair than a couch and he hates the feel of cotton balls but endures it anyway

it takes a while before he gets to the deep things. the tragic things. broken plates. snake infested beds. dead prostitutes in toilet stalls

all with one man at the centre of them

ghost isn’t shy about his opinion of his old man; he knew he was a cowardly, addicted bastard who stood up for what he believed in only so long as the person he was standing against was weaker than him. he tells nik how close he came to killing him one night when he found him passed out on the couch; foaming spit and vomit all around him. he tells him how much he wished he knew then what he knows now; how he could’ve killed him with a toothpick if he just learned earlier

and he tells him that even unconscious, even when grew bigger than him, when he was stronger than him, ghost was still too afraid of him to try

he tells him around a shared cigarette that he got the call about his cancer just after he enlisted; how bitter he felt that he wouldn’t be around to watch him suffer and wither away. and it’s with a sour laugh that he tells him it was a few years after his first deployment that he got the call that he was in remission

“bastard couldn’t even give me that much,�� he scoffs and stares at the smouldering butt long enough that nik takes it from him before he can snuff it out on his skin. “know the funny part of all this? i’ve killed hundreds of men. i know how to use more weapons than i can count- i’m the fuckin’ ghost…

“and i’m still fuckin’ scared of him.”

silence falls and nik sits in it; in the cruelty and discomfort of a man’s fear. he thinks of an old wooden home with its little chapel at the end of the yard. he thinks of silent dinner tables and repeated prayers over the crack of a belt. he thinks of the weight of a bible clutched in his hands and how it never eased the heat of his blood dripping down his back

he thinks and lights another cigarette and pretends ghost’s hand isn’t shaking when he offers it to him. because that’s all he can do

for now

-

months pass and nik does ghost a favour by acting like he’s forgotten their conversation on the roof despite them both knowing it’s bullshit. you don’t just forget sharing something like that; the shame of admitting and the hatred of knowing are too strong for something as merciful as forgetting

but they don’t talk about it again

months pass, missions blur together except for the ones that really don’t and it’s been a while since nik was in country when he slides up beside ghost as he oversees recruit training

he doesn’t say anything; just lets ghost feel his presence, conveniently from behind so he can slip something in his hands held behind his back before he steps up beside him. they watch the repetitive drills and the repetitive mistakes until ghost barks at them to fuck off or he’ll make them run until they puke then make them keep running

he waits for the last of them to huff and puff their way to the showers before bringing his hands to the front and unfolding the paper nik gave him

he doesn’t get past the first line before he stills

ghost forces his head to turn, eyes reluctantly dragging away from the paper to nik who stands waiting expectantly

“a gift,” nik says simply. “it does not bode well to have a haunted ghost, yes?”

he doesn’t let himself deflate the way his body wants; he keeps his back straight and shoulders wide and lets out a carefully controlled breath. “it last long?”

“oh yes,” he nods with a wide smile. “hell received quite a few pieces.”

ghost nods back and looks down at the paper in his hand, refusing to acknowledge the fine shake running through it. it isn’t enough to blur the cutout from a manchester local newspaper and reading it again makes his knees weak with 30 year old relief

missing: norman riley

[writesleah]

not a chance ౨ৎ m. riddle

౨ৎ mattheo riddle x reader

౨ৎ you and mattheo are sworn enemies, but everything changes when he becomes your tutor

౨ৎ use of y/n, i’ve just read this back after like a year and for some reason i made them FOURTEEN? i hate this but yes cutie patootie or wtvr

౨ৎ this is way longer than i was planning on making it but once i started writing, the words just flowed. this hasn’t been proofread either so i apologise if theres any mistakes that slipped through. i’m also fairly new to writing mattheo, but i’m so obsessed with him right now that i just had to do it for my first published fic!

enemies should never spend time together - that’s just a fact - and mattheo riddle was your worst enemy. you had never met someone more infuriating in your life, someone so incredibly cocky that it made you want to pitch yourself off the astronomy tower. he did all of that for you, and more.

you were in your potions class, watching the hands on the clock tick by every second, every minute, waiting to finally be released from the hell professor snape held you in for a full hour every tuesday and friday.

potions was never really your strong suit, so you knew doing your O.W.L for the class wasn’t going to go so well, but your friends convinced you to go. of course they did.

your eyes darted to the door as you heard it swing open, a boy with curly, brunette hair stalking in.

“you’re late, mr riddle.” snape glared at mattheo, his voice it’s usual stern tone. “forty-five minutes late.”

“sorry, professor. i was helping professor moody with something for defence against the dark arts.” he sneered back, emphasising the fact that mad-eye moody was teaching the class and not snape, who gave him a sharp look before continuing on with his class.

“surprised to see you here.” the familiar voice scoffed as he took a seat on the table next to yours, where all of his friends were conveniently sitting. how pleasant.

“riddle.” you murmured, eyeing him as he took his seat and pulled out his quill.

“awh, greeting me?” he smirked, his head tilting just slightly in a way that was so incredibly frustrating. “did you miss me over the summer?”

you scoffed at the idea, rolling your eyes. “miss you? not so much.”

“ouch. that one hurt, not gonna lie to you.” he laughed to himself, scribbling down the date on the top of his parchment.

“cute.” you spat. you never really bothered to give him full replies, not in the way that he did, unless you felt it was absolutely necessary. “why’d you even turn up? the lesson ends in fifteen minutes.”

“i was going to just skip, but then i remembered my favourite person would be here.” he smiled warmly, though it was laced with that familiar sarcasm you knew all too well.

you give him a small glare, quirking a brow at him. “yeah? who’s that? me?”

“is that a joke?” he scoffed, his expression turning serious as he glared at her. “no, daphne.” he motioned to the girl on his right. you had noticed they had grown closer over the last few weeks of third year, but never really thought much of it. he wasn’t really the type to get into serious relationships, more just little flings or girls he would snog and then never speak to again.

you felt a pang of emotion in your heart, but you weren’t sure why, or what it was. a smirk slowly made its way onto his face as he watched your nose screw up, his brows raising in amusement. “why? you wish it was you?” he laughed again, sarcastically, as always.

“course. whatever will i do now that i know i’m not mattheo riddle’s favourite person?” you scoffed, shaking off the feeling and giving him the glare you always did. why did you care? you didn’t, right?

he gave you a small chuckle in return, before the conversation quickly ended, along with the lesson not so long after.

“miss (y/l/n), mr riddle, please stay seated when everyone else leaves.” snape demanded, causing you to roll your eyes and let out a quiet groan.

when everyone else had left, the professor stalked towards the two of you, eying you both up cautiously before he spoke.

“as you both know, you begin to prepare for your O.W.Ls in fourth year, this year.” he began, the mention of the tests making you want to curl up in a corner and never think again. “given miss (y/l/n)’s frank inability to brew a single potion over the last few years, she will need a tutor to give her any chance of passing the test.”

you screwed your nose up at the slight dig, but continued listening to him nonetheless. “now, mr riddle has proven himself to be quite talented in my class, so he will be your tutor. i trust that i can leave you two here for the hour to begin your first session?”

you groaned loudly, watching a smirk spread on mattheo’s stupid face, but nodded in defeat. “yes, professor.” you mumbled, your head in your hands.

snape swiftly left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

“you reckon we can just lie and say we did the hour?” you murmured, your eyes peeking through your fingers to look at the brunette.

he scoffed quietly. “kind as ever.” he retorted, shaking his head. “you might as well do it. we all know you’re hopeless when it comes to potions, so it might do you some good.”

“myeh, kind as ever.” you mimicked, rolling your eyes. “fine. hurry it up, though.”

he moved to sit next to you, beginning to ask you questions to gauge where you were at with your knowledge in potions. of course, you managed to get every question wrong, or do something that put him off.

“you don’t know anything?” he groaned, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “you’re so fucking stupid, merlin. i’ve never met a fourteen year old girl as dumb as you.”

you furrowed your brows, a small pout on your face. “i’m not stupid. it’s the subject. it doesn’t make any sense.”

“i’m going through first year stuff right now. you’re ridiculous if you think you’re going to pass your O.W.L.” he scoffed, waving his hands around frantically as you laid your head on the table, your tongue between your teeth as you held back a snarky comment.

“whatever.” you groaned. “i give up. i’m expecting myself to fail at this point. i know i will. there is no point in us doing this.”

“i mean… you’re probably right, but you should at least try.” he shrugged slightly, his tone still full of annoyance. you watched his fingers brush through his dark curls, your head tilting just slightly as he did so. his brows furrowed as he looked at you, muttering a small “what?”

“why are you so insistent that i stay with you right now?” you blurted, voicing your thoughts before you could take it back.

he didn’t say anything, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you, his eyes tracing your body just long enough for you to notice. you squirmed slightly at the sudden tension between you, shooting him a dirty look.

“stop looking at me like that. it’s weird.” you spat, attempting to shake off his gaze, if that was even possible.

“like what?” his eyes shot back up to yours, his nose scrunching slightly, his smile frown lines more visible than ever.

“like i’m one of the girls you try to snog up in the astronomy tower. stop it.” you had witnessed and interrupted his shameless make out sessions far too many times, the tower being a place you both frequented, though for reasons of the complete opposite. you went there to be alone, he went there to have company.

his hand shifted to your thigh, landing on top of your pleated school skirt the uniform required you to wear, a smirk on his face. “do you want to be?”

your gaze was fixed on his hand, squirming slightly at the sudden contact, though not making any effort to stop it. “uh, no. not really. what the fuck?” you let out a half-laugh as you looked back up at him, seeing his brows furrow slightly. “what? was that not the right answer? want me to get on my knees and beg for you to make out with me under the stars?”

he scoffed to himself, rolling his eyes. “yeah, you’d definitely do that.” he retorted sarcastically, giving you a small glare.

“you have the wrong idea of me.” you shook your head, biting your lower lip just slightly as you felt his thumb move to the hem of your skirt. “what are you doing?”

“showing you how much i want you.” his voice took on a low and serious tone, before crashing his lips into yours. you didn’t move for a moment, before quickly coming to your senses and shoving him off.

“are you high or something?” you looked him up and down, rubbing your lips together in an attempt to make the strange sensation they held go away.

“no. completely sober. i don’t smoke weed.” he laughed quietly, looking at you in amusement. you gave him a small huff, knowing that he wasn’t exactly telling the truth. “was that your first kiss?”

your lips parted in amusement, the tip of your tongue held just between your front teeth. “what?”

“was that your first kiss?” he repeated, his eyes tracing every inch of your face. “because, no offence, but if it wasn’t, you’re a pretty shit kisser. i doubt you have experience.”

you scoffed at his words, shaking your head with a small pout. “no, it wasn’t my first kiss. it was just ‘shit’, as you so elegantly put it, because i didn’t fucking kiss you back, idiot.” you felt the overwhelming urge to spit as many swear words and insults you could muster at him, but held back when you saw the look in his eyes.

“wanna actually kiss me, then?” he huffed, rolling his eyes, before they settled on the pillowy, pink flesh of your lips.

you hesitated for a moment, before leaning in to give him a small kiss. his lips were soft, and the slow motions gave you a better feel of him than the first kiss. it felt safer, more intimate.

the second you went to pull away, he pulled you in closer, the kiss growing slightly more aggressive. you felt the edge of his fingertips slide just slightly under your skirt, going no further than the edge of the hem. the movement was enough for you to pull away, though.

“riddle…” you whispered, your eyes shooting down to his hand. “look, i don’t know what you get up to with half your little girlfriends, but i don’t wanna, like, do anything, so…” you shrugged slightly.

he looked at you with a furrowed brow for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle, which just confused you further. “oh, wait, no.” he shook his head, which tilted as a sly smirk came across his face. he removed his hand from your thigh and let out another short laugh. “i wasn’t trying to- sorry. yeah, no, i’m in the same boat as you. i may get with a lot of girls, but i’m still fourteen at the end of the day. i’m not really doing anything other than make-outs yet.”

you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding at his words, a small smile settling on your face. “okay, good. i was panicking a bit there.” you added with a single laugh.

it was silent for a while as you both relished in each other’s company, or rather, didn’t know what else to say.

“so…” you spoke up after a couple minutes, your eyes darting back to his, “do we still hate each other?”ll

he raised his brows in amusement, a small, almost disgusted scoff coming from his mouth.

“not a chance.”

[rookiesbookies]

Part 2 of Assistant Fic (pt1 here)

It’s basically all smit delivered with love from me💜

“I’m so sorry, Colonel, I should have read it better,” she cried with each thrust, “I should just live with you as your little housewife! You’d never let me make those mistakes!”

At least that’s what he wanted to hear. He wanted her to scream it as he speared her with his cock. Preferably bent over her little desk with all her nonsense work on the floor.

A week. She’s only been here a week. Every time a recruit attempts to harass her, he tells them they will all run until they can’t. He’s already done it twice to them.

He would admit, they knew how to hire someone who was exactly what he wanted. Over the course of the different outfits she had worn, he had learned a lot about her body. She had a pair of skinny jeans tighter than anything he’d ever seen and it made his imagination run wild. Or a blouse that hung so tightly to her chest he didn’t need much to imagine how her chest would fit in his hands.

He felt so criminal imagining his sweet little assistant like this.

They had worked out a deal that day, truthfully. When she had her head in her hands and that distressed look when he returned from his meeting.

He could use her, as the contract stated, she was dumb enough to sign it and she wouldn’t go back on it, she just simply requested that it all be private, careful, and with consent from both of them. Also that asking went both ways, so she could also request from him.

He truthfully believed she thought of him as a monster and he would take her without permission? Well, he considered it, but now he doesn’t need to.

Her quarters were right next to his. Very convenient.

So, with very thin walls, he could hear the dying noises of her vibrator. Giving out like an engine out of gas. She huffed, letting a loud curse leave her lips, before stomping out of her room. He counted the 11 steps it took her to get to his room, then he listened for the soft knock.

She took a deep breath and knocked. He tried to get out of bed and act as if he hadn’t just been listening.

“Look, I know we have a verbal agreement so you can say no,” her eyes were so glossed over, face flushed, she looked ready to cry and so so frustrated. “It died and I can’t…”

“What died.” He asked without letting her know he heard. She held up a little blue toy, a sucker toy for the clit. He hummed, stepping aside in his door to let her through.

“Are you sure?” She asked meekly, earning a nod from him.

“I should be asking you.” He said, but was over joyed she had broken down first.

“I’m ok. I just need some quick focus in my clit, my own hands just don’t do it anymore,” she awkwardly chuckled

To say she was frustrated was an understatement. Her face was flushed as he guided her to his bed. She layed down on the edge of his bed, nervous as ever. She meekly pulled up her silk nightgown. He let out a sigh. She was soaking.

He gently lifted his hood, setting it on her abdomen before sinking his head down further.

She toyed with the edge of her night gown, unable to look at him. She did, however, notice the tiniest bit of dirty-blonde hair that poked from the top of his hood. What looked like the collar off a t-shirt. She blushed and looked away when he looked up at her.

“Do not be so nervous, Schatt, I do not bite women.” Konig mumbled before his fingers pulled the top of her pussy back and the lips apart, giving him better access. Her breath hitched as she felt his heavy breaths against her. He mumbled softly, hoping she could just barely hear him, “you are beautiful indeed.”

He dipped his head down, tongue swiping at her clit. She gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth to bite on her knuckle.

It felt like he was spelling something with his tongue against her clit, she couldn’t figure out what it was as one of her hands instinctively went to the little patch of hair on the top of his head.

He was a sloppy eater, he really hadn’t ever eaten women out often. He knew where to pay attention to and touch, but he never focused hard on how to pleasure a woman.

So when he found her clit, he focused on that, it was what her toy was for after all. After massaging it, spelling random German words on her clit.

He latched his lips around it like a baby on a tit and began to softly suck. Her fingers gripped stronger on his hair and her mouth fell open. Soft groans and whimpers fell from her mouth.

“Please… oh please,” she began to plead, wanting him to keep it up. “Colonel, please, oh so close.”

He was so sloppy, there was drool everywhere on her.

He inserted two fingers into her and curled them up towards her g-spot, making soft whimpers slip from her lips.

After a few minutes he felt her spasm around his fingers. Slowly fucking her through her orgasm softly. Causing moans to fall from her.

She shakily sat up and attempted to go back to her room. He gently pushed her down, licking his finger clean.

“You will walk like a newborn fawn, just stay for a bit.”

She gently took his dry hand, red in the face, “thank you.”

He walked to his bathroom and dapped where his nose would be in his mask against his mouth to gather up her off his face. To save it for later. She smelled heavenly. He appreciated their choice in her, she smelled like straight female pheromones. It was delicious. He licked what was left of her from his lips before washing his face and hands to seem normal.

Her smell lingered on his mask and his eyes almost rolled back. She smelled so wonderfully, she tasted just as beautiful. He would give anything to treat her again.

He rubbed his face into his mask again before walking out.

“Let me help you.” He said, gently helping her walk back to her room. Tucking her in.

He returned back to his own, hanging his mask and laying down.

He was giddy like a child and hard as a rock. He planned to handle himself and not make it the problem of someone as sweet as his assistant. At least not yet.

He handled himself over his sink before washing it out.

He was slowly falling into the trap of his superiors. This girl– this lady– was a wonderful trap though.

Friendly reminder to submit requests to inbox (i dont bite), check out my pinned masterlist, and tell me what you think!

[sevendeadlywhispers]

7Seals

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Chapter 3

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• Previous Chapter: Chapter Two Next Chapter: Chapter Four •Content: Levi Ackerman x OC female. Canon verse!

• Word Count: 1.3k • Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter.

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A gentle touch brushed against my back, drawing my attention as I lifted my head. Opening my eyes, I met Alexander's gaze, a rare sight as he appeared surprisingly content.

"Erwin called the captains to Wall Sina; I'll be back tonight. Enjoy your day off. I left some money on the table for you," Alex said, placing a brief kiss on my lips before departing without further words.

I've grown accustomed to Alexander's frequent trips to Wall Sina. Initially, it felt like an odd adjustment, but it granted me the luxury of savoring my days off without the uniform and ODM gear. I reveled in wearing my favorite dresses, letting my hair cascade freely. Alone time became a joy—whether spent shopping or relishing a cup of tea in town.

Today's canvas was painted in normal hues, yet the strokes changed course when my eyes caught a glimpse of his raven-black hair.

Levi's eyes met mine, and there he was, unexpectedly dressed in a black suit and gray undershirt, examining teas on his day off. It was a rare sight, considering his usual no-nonsense demeanor.

"Hey, you," I greeted, strolling over. "Thought you'd be in Wall Sina with the crew."

He turned, cradling two teas in his hands, the white cravat adding an unexpected touch to his appearance.

"Why would I be in Wall Sina?" he asked, his tone as sharp as ever.

"Erwin's got a meeting with the captains there, and I figured, you being a candidate..." I trailed off, offering a playful smile.

"I was just with Erwin. He's not in Wall Sina today. Whoever told you that was feeding you lies," he responded tersely.

I chuckled at my mistake. "Well, my bad."

"Who told you that?" he pressed.

"Alexander, this morning," I admitted, avoiding eye contact. "Must've heard it wrong."

"Is that shitbag your boyfriend or something?" Levi questioned, examining the teas in his hands.

"Yeah, been my boyfriend for the last six years," I replied, feeling a twinge of unease.

He remained focused on the teas, seemingly disinterested in the personal tidbit I'd shared.

Determined to sidestep the whole Alexander debacle, I shifted gears.

"You really like your tea, don't you?" I tried to divert the conversation.

"Yeah, what about it?" Levi grumbled.

"Nothing. I just never met anyone who admires it as much as you do," I replied with a smile. "Have you been to Mrs. G's tea shop yet?"

He shot me a confused look and shook his head.

"Really? Everyone knows Mrs. G's. You're not from around here?" I prodded.

"No," he answered quietly.

"Where are you from, Levi?"

"Not around here," he said as he avoided eye contact.

"Well," I laughed off the awkwardness. "Let me show you Mrs. G's."

"I think I'll manage," he grumbled.

"Nonsense. Please, just let me show you the tea shops around. I promise it's worth it," I insisted.

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed.

I reached for his sleeve, and he promptly slapped my hand away.

"Hey! What was that for?" I protested.

"You're going to soil my shirt," he grumbled, briskly wiping off the spot I'd touched.

"Oh, whatever," I said walking out the shop. "It's not too far from here."

He followed behind me as we walked through the town.

"It's pretty convenient that they gave us time off and pay all in the same day." I smiled back at him. "Shadis would always delay pay."

Levi's reply was short and sharp,

"Yeah, the glorious pay for risking my life every day."

His tone held a bitter edge, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. As he stuffed the coin bag into his pocket, I couldn't help but wonder about the struggles he faced. I decided to shift the focus away from the somber topic, opting for a brighter note.

"Well, let's not dwell on that. You're going to love this next tea shop. It's a hidden gem!" I grinned, leading him out of the store and into the lively streets.

The vibrant town buzzed with activity, and I couldn't help but share my excitement.

"Isn't it just fantastic? The hustle and bustle, the variety of shops, and the people with stories waiting to be discovered. That's what makes this place special."

I led the way into the streets, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the town. There was a pleasant breeze, and the laughter of children playing echoed through the air.

As we strolled, I couldn't help but notice Levi's subtle shift. His guarded demeanor seemed to soften, revealing glimpses of someone more than the stern soldier everyone saw.

Levi followed, a reluctant shadow, as we explored the vibrant market. The aroma of freshly baked bread and the lively chatter of vendors filled the air. I couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility to break through the walls he'd built around himself.

"So, Levi, any hidden talents or hobbies?" I probed, attempting to pry open a window to his soul.

His response was curt, "None of your business."

I chuckled, undeterred. "Fair enough. But hey, everyone's got something they love. For me, it's sketching and finding joy in the little things. Life's too short to be serious all the time, don't you think?"

He wasn't big on having conversations, anyone around him would know that. He kept to himself more than anyone I have ever met. Anyone else would call me a fool for trying to get him to talk. Shit I felt like I fool but I wasn't going to stop now.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I grinned, watching him observe a street artist at work. "Life's full of little joys; we just need to open ourselves up to them."

"You don't need to do all this," Levi said, walking beside me. "I'm not some charity case."

"You're right. You're not some charity case," I said to him. "You're my friend. It would be a disservice not to show you the hidden gems of this cute town."

"I'm not your friend," he quickly said.

Before I could respond, the world around us shook. It sounded like large footsteps all around us.

I watched a red hand grip the fifty-meter wall and hoist its head over to peer at the townspeople. It was a Titan that lurked over all of our heads. I froze, watching above, seeing the steam radiate off the ugly thing.

For a moment, everything around us stopped. Everyone was in shock, staring back at the Titan who loomed above us. But the world resumed, and people ran screaming as soon as the rocks hurdled our way.

"Iris!" I heard someone yell. I was too zoned out to realize the severity of the situation. My wrist was grabbed, and I was pulled away from the scene. I looked to see it was Levi dragging me away from the open and into an alley where he covered me. His arms wrapped over my head as we both kneeled on the ground. He used himself to protect me.

Rocks and boulders flew over our heads as the blood-curdling screams drowned our ears. The flying debris stopped, but the screams got worse.

"Are you okay?" Levi asked, holding my shoulders up to look at my face.

"A rock hit me in the head, but other than that, I'm fine. You?" I asked him.

"Fine," he said, standing up and helping me up as well. He looked around and watched others run past us. "We need to evacuate these people."

"Agreed," I said, running out of the alley to look at the wall.

Wall Maria has been breached. Titans were flooding in. People were crying next to rocks covered in blood while others stood in shock, watching the Titans.

"Everyone, head to Wall Rose!" Levi yelled. "Fuck. We don't have any gear."

"All we can do is get them to safety," I said, filled with guilt.

Together, we joined the chaotic scramble, directing survivors towards Wall Rose. The once lively town now echoed with the sounds of panic and destruction. The colossal Titan's ominous presence cast a shadow over our desperate attempts to save lives.

As we navigated the pandemonium, I stole glances at Levi, his stern expression carved with determination. He was born a natural leader, the way the townspeople followed his commands, and how he helped everyone in his way.

Who are you, Levi?

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[hebuiltfive]

WIP I-Don't-Have-A-Name-For-Yet!

I've lost count of the amount of WIPs I'm currently working on. This one has a Christmas themed chapter, so I'm buckling down on it for now. Here is a slightly longer-than-a-snippet snippet, featuring a kind of domestic Scott.

-----------------------------------

The fridge door opened and Scott's stomach grumbled. Had lunch really been the last time he'd eaten something other than a snack of pretzels? Not good. Virgil would have his head if he knew... Scott chuckled to himself.

"What the eyes don't see," he mumbled under his breath. "The heart doesn't grieve over."

His eyes scanned the almost empty fridge, halting their scout on the half eaten pasta bowl he'd placed there a couple of days prior, back when he'd had the time, energy and resources to cook himself something up. In all honesty, he was surprised the cleaner hadn't thrown it out with some of his other days-old supplies.

He slid the bowl out and gave it a cursory whiff — it seemed to smell alright still. A drawer was opened and a fork was retrieved. Scott proceeded to poke at a few of the penne pasta pieces before lifting one up to his lips to take a bite. Cold pasta had never been his favourite dish, but it was edible and it would do. After all, the two alternatives were to either leave the warmth and safety of the hotel to find food or ring up room service — both completely ludicrous to a Scott who was about to fall asleep on his feet.

He left the kitchenette, switching off the neon lights to favour darkness as he returned to the sitting area. He unceremoniously threw himself onto the couch, carefully not to drop any of the pasta onto the cream fabric, and reached for the holo-projector remote.

Wedging one cushion behind him, to support his lower back, and one under his head, Scott setttled back into the comfort of the couch, undoing his smart tie until the two stands were hanging over his shoulders. The channels were flicked through whilst Scott decided on what to watch; a couple of festive films were playing; an animation (though why the programmers thought children would be up this late was a mystery to him); John's favourite show—

Scott almost jumped off the couch. John. He'd promised to call in with his space brother once he'd finished for the day. The bowl of pasta was set to rest on the coffee table in front of him, the holo-projector being left on a news cycle, and Scott ran to fetch his communicator.

He was running through a variety of apologises and excuses by the time John answered, which didn't take him long.

"John, hey! Listen—"

"Did you conveniently forget to call, or was it a genuine mistake this time?" His brother teased with one of his usual smirks.

"Genuine mistake." The communicator was held in on of Scott's palms, allowing his other hand to lift up. "Tracy's honour."

John nodded, the humour in his features remaining. "I owe Virgil twenty bucks."

"... You gambled on how late I was going to call in?"

"No, of course not." John paused. "We gambled on whether you'd purposefully avoid it or not."

"And you bet against me?"

"It's not really betting against you." John tried to reason, though the chuckle was infectious and soon Scott found his offensive fading.

Scott returned himself to the couch, resuming his position but replacing the bowl of pasta with the presence of the communicator. For a moment, he was content to watch John floating above the disc in the light blue shade he was so accustomed to seeing his brother cast in.

"Was it bad?" John eventually asked.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

More silence followed as John waited for an elaboration.

Scott sighed, sitting himself up into a better position; this may turn into a long call. "Kennedy doesn't want us to buy into Techawear."

"It isn't Kennedy's choice."

"No," Scott reasoned with a tilt of his head. "But he is one of our larger shareholders. What he says matters. We can't afford to just not listen to him."

"Kennedy is an ass."

"Still doesn't change the numbers, bro."

[drowzyscatterbrain]

this one's like, 98% workplace nightmare with a little bit of him, but still.

(cw toxic work environment)

I was a new employee in a massive office building.

Had to be at least 10 floors, maybe even more.

It towerd over all nearby buildings, looming, intimidating.

Dressed in brand new white office shirt and dark pants, navy tie around my neck, a new uniform for a new job.

And enter the building I must, to find the office I am assigned to and start my first day.

Staring at the concrete giant that is my new workplace, I took deep breaths and prepared myself.

Breathe in...

Breathe out...

Relax, it is your first day.

Just try your best.

Mistakes are normal, today is your first day.

You got this.

With one last deep breath, I walked inside and started my search.

...

I can't find it.

I don't know where it is.

No messages telling me where to go, and there's no network. No floor directory signs in sight, either.

That means I must ask for directions, if I want to make it on time.

I am absolutely terrible at asking for help, this is bad.

But I need to do it, I have to.

So I reached out, and asked one of the figure standing around for help.

They turned around, but they did not answer me.

A glare, full of annoyance and disdain was all I received.

Then it got worse when the lobby went quiet, as I felt the air shift and all turned their eyes upon me.

Indifference, sneer, each of them held different kinds of malice within.

None of them offered help.

They just stared.

Feeling like a pinned moth, I decided to shut my mouth and try to find it myself.

I never managed to find it.

As my fruitless search goes on, they began to talk amongst themselves.

They spoke of me like they are watching a dog chasing its own tail.

I am simply a fool, a clown in their eyes.

Standing inside the elevator, clutching my office bag so hard my knuckles went white.

I only dare to stare at my own feet as the sneering continues around me, trying my damn hardest not to cry.

There were so many people, yet I felt incredibly alone.

It was horrible.

Then eventually, I ran out of time.

And they didn't like that.

Not at all.

They've all decided, since I wasn't in my cubicle when my shift started, I must be torn apart by every single person in that building.

And ran I finally did, away from this horrible building and into the streets.

Conveniently, a thunderstorm started as soon as I turned the first corner.

How fitting.

With only my office bag in hand, I am soaked within minutes, the files within definitely ruined.

It took a while, but after a few close calls, I managed to lose them.

I was horribly lost, standing beneath the roof of a 7-11, out of breath and shivering nonstop.

I remember just spacing out, it's all too much. Ridiculous, even.

Just trying to not think about what a terrible day it was.

A few minutes later, still in a trance and shivering uncontrollably, I decided to hug my bag. Not very useful against the cold, but it's better than nothing.

But the bag wasn't in my hands anymore.

One arm held in my hands and dangling, my sans plushie stared at me instead.

That snapped me out of it for sure.

Now holding it properly, I stared back, while trying to figure out how, or when did this happen.

Then quickly, I decided not to question it anymore.

He's all dry and fuzzy, oddly warm, too. And I was absolutely freezing.

So I hugged him tight, and buried my face onto the top of his head.

He smelled like he's freshly cleaned, and have been sitting under the sun for a good while.

And just like sunbeams breaking the clouds, this calmed me down fairly quickly.

A couple of deep breaths, and my heart stopped shredding itself into a thousand ribbons.

I am still under that roof, drenched and extremely lost.

The storm's still going hard, no sign of going away.

But he's there with me.

Well, not actually like, living and breathing, but he's there, in a way.

I think I felt him trying to comfort me through the doll.

And that's why I know things will be fine.

I'll be alright.

[highlady-sorcha]

Postpartum (Rhysand x Feyre)

Here’s another one. This was never on Wattpad- my first original for tumblr. Thanks for reading!

************************************************************************************************

Nyx’s howls echoed through the marble halls of the river house. The decorative furniture placed expertly along each corridor did little to damper down the noise. When Rhys built the house and let Feyre design it- she hadn’t known there would be a screaming little one around any time soon. 

The baby’s screams got louder and louder, and Feyre didn’t know if they were truly that deafening, or whether it was just her sharpened sense of hearing picking it up that way.

Feyre knew she needed to get up and handle the baby. She rolled over and squinted through the gloom of dawn until her eyes focused on the alarm clock. The green letters read six forty five. 

She groaned pulling the covers over her head. It was late enough that she needed to just get up, get out of bed for the day. Not only tend to her son’s needs, but just… people expected her to get out of bed. That’s all there was to it. 

Her eyes stung at the thought. Another day of living in this body that no longer felt like hers, having every body watch her like they expected her to drop dead at any moment. Rhys was still showering her with gifts, more affectionate than he’d ever been. Not that she didn’t appreciate it all, but… it just brought back the memories. 

Against her will, an image flashed in her mind. The insides of her blood slicked thighs against white sheets. Well, sheets that had been white at one time. The room swung around, vertigo an overpowering force. Rhys crying, the family gathered around her. The feeling of knowing that once again, she was facing the end of it all. And this time, not only would she go, but she would take her son and mate with her too. 

Feyre gritted her teeth and pulled a pillow to her chest. Hot tears ran down her face and she sobbed through clenched teeth. The scar on her belly had barely healed. Only yesterday did Madja feel comfortable pulling out the stitches, and it hurt. It burned right down to the womb.

And still, Nyx screamed from down the hall. For a fleeting moment, Feyre hated him. It felt like that little creature had taken everything from her. All the happiness that she had built with Rhys over the past couple of years. 

Her conscious mind took over then, berating her for the thought. 

That is your son. That is yours and Rhys’ son. How can you think that about him? You’re the one that laid down and spread your legs, you chose to have that baby. It’s not his fault that you’re a shitty mother. You’re no better than your own, using your children when they’re convenient for you. 

It had been a long time now since she’s hated anyone more than she hated herself. Preparing for pain, Feyre threw back the covers and sat up. 

She clenched her belly, hissing in pain. It felt light lightning had struck her and refused to leave. After a moment, she pulled her hands away. There were a few drops of blood that had soaked through her shirt from the fresh scar. Feyre wiped it on the sheets. 

Scooting to the edge of the bed, Nyx let out the most ungodly scream yet. Feyre’s body reacted before her mind. Feyre’s breasts felt heavy, fuller than what was even normal since Nyx had been born. Her nippled tingled before warm milk began to dribble from them. Soaking her shirt and running down her stomach. 

“Shit.” She cursed. 

With one arm, she held her breasts, trying to keep them from leaking further, and she braced the other across her belly, and rose to her feet. 

Feyre gasped. Pain exploded across the skin, echoing deep within her as the weight of the new fleshiness on her belly pulled at the fragile line. 

Gasping, Feyre stumbled across the room and opened the door. Her shirt soaked as the sound of her baby crying grew louder. 

At the nursery door, Feyre hesitated. Could she really do this? Had having Nyx been an awful mistake? Some people weren’t meant to be parents, what if she was one of them? 

She turned the knob and walked into the dark room, closing the door gently behind her. 

Nyx lay in his crib, on his back across the room. Softly glowing bulbs of fae light lit themselves as she crossed the room to her son. The warm yellow glow, close to that of candlelight revealed the small boy. 

Her heart clenched at the sight. Tears stained his round, flushed cheeks and his wild black hair was messed up from his scooting back and forth in the crib. 

Feyre walked to the crib and reached down, ignoring the pain in her belly and picked him up. He still wailed, his little arms waving and kicking with all his might. Instinctually, she bounced lightly, swaying back and forth and patting his back. She shushed him as she turned to the other corner of the room where her rocking chair sat. The plump cushions were the most comfortable place for her to nurse him, with the support her body needed. And besides, sometimes it was nice to be able to prop her feet up on the ottoman in front of it and just doze with the baby. 

Early morning light started filtering in the pale blue gauze curtains that hung at the window. For a moment, Feyre’s heart slowed a bit. Until she saw herself in the floor length mirror propped against the sliver of wall between the two large windows. 

That couldn’t be her. That couldn’t possibly be her. The female that stared back at her was a stranger. This female was thin in all the wrong places, and fat in all the others. Her hips jutted out at a wide angle she’d never seen before, her thighs thicker, and moving on their own when she shifted her weight. The bottom of her belly pushed gently against her silken top and her breasts sat lower than she remembered them being. So much larger than she knew she’d been. This female’s eyes were purple hollows in her face, her cheekbones jutting out despite the fat everywhere else on her body. She looked haunted, feral in the worst way with her knotted, matted hair and oil built up across her forehead. Feyre tasted her mouth, noticing the sour taste for the first time, and the fuzzy layer that seemed to have gathered where her teeth met ones next to it. When was the last time she had even bothered to brush her teeth. 

Nyx screamed and twisted in that female’s arms. That female couldn’t take care of herself, much less an infant. That female had already failed at something she should naturally know how- 

Feyre kicked the mirror. It shattered at impact, her foot going clean through the thick glass. Silver shards rained down onto the tan carpet of the room, sticking up in the pile. 

Still holding the baby, Feyre stumbled forward, stepping on more of the shards. Hot pain exploded up her foot. Bright red lacerations ran in angry lines across her foot and up her ankle. The bleeding was heavy, running in hot rivulets to the floor, staining the glass filled carpet. 

Nyx, who had just settled slightly, mewling instead of screaming erupted in a new fit of rage. The clatter had scared him. 

Feyre burst into tears with him. As the baby screamed, she sobbed and bled openly on the carpet. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.

A velvety cool breeze grazed the backs of her arms, the soft sent of lavender wrapped around them. 

Rhys appeared behind them. Shirtless, in a pair of low hanging black drawstring pants. Sweat glimmered on his chest and brow. He’d been at the house of wind training early today. 

He stepped up behind his mate, wrapping his arms around hers, cradling their baby. His wings rustled behind him as he brought them forward. Rhysand wrapped his little family in his wings, shrouding them in a warm darkness. 

“Feyre, darling, what’s wrong?” He murmured a second before he smelled blood. Clamping down on his alarm, Rhys brushed his night kissed power against Feyre’s mental shield, asking gently for her to show him what had happened. He began to gently rock them back and forth as she allowed her mate in, and showed him the last few minutes. 

Rhys’ stomach twisted. He felt sick. 

Leaning his face down to Feyre’s shoulder, he dropped a gentle kiss below her ear, and nibbled at the lobe. 

“Let me take the baby, go sit down.” He commanded softly. Feyre tensed, starting to argue. Rhys sent a wave of calm down their bond. Silently promising her that he was here to help, if she’d only listen to him. 

She sighly thickly, the sound blurred with tears and snot from her swollen sinuses. 

Gently, she let go of the baby, entrusting him into his father’s thickly muscled arms. Rhys tucked his wings back, and Feyre ducked from beneath on arm, and limped over to the ottoman. She threw her weight back on it and buried her face in her hands. 

Rhys’ heart clenched. He wanted to lay the baby down and rush over to her, enfold Feyre in his arms and hug and kiss and massage every inch of her until she felt just the least bit better.

But Nyx cried, and now he had to come first. 

Rhys sighed, setting one problem aside to focus on another. He cuddled the baby close against his bare chest and made soft shushing noises. Nyx began to calm after a few minutes, where he bounced on the balls of his feet and gently rocked from foot to foot. 

“There we go.. there we go. That’s my boy.” He said softly as the baby settled. Rhys couldn’t help but smile as the infant stared up at him with his wide, sparkling blue eyes. Then, Rhys grimaced when he caught a whiff of why the boy might have gotten worked up. 

“Ew, you little poopy butt. No wonder Momma’s crying. I’d cry too if I’d been trying to sleep and someone dropped that.” He told the baby with a smile, kissing Nya’s forehead.

Rhys carried his son to the changing table a few feet away and laid him down. He summoned a few warm, wet cloths and a clean diaper before getting to work. Changing diapers wasn’t the most pleasant task he’d had as a father, but secretly, he enjoyed it. For a few minutes no one else wanted the baby, wanted to hold him, coo at him- nothing. Rhys was allowed just a few minutes where he could talk to the little one, kiss his belly, fuss over him- whatever, and no one else would come close, just because of the poop.

In a few moments, the baby was clean and quiet, starting to doze again. Rhys buttoned up the last few snaps of his sleeper, and picked up the little bundle.

“There we go, my little monster. All better now. Clean and tidy and now we can go back to sleep.” He cooed.

Nyx blinked heavily, the corners of his tiny pink mouth curving up in a smile. 

Rhys felt his heart swell at the sight, tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “That’s my boy. Now, let’s go back to sleep. I’ll see you soon, ok?” One last time, Rhys kissed the baby on the forehead and laid him in his crib. 

For a long moment, Rhys placed his hand on the baby’s belly and chest. He was utterly fascinated by watching his son’s chest right and fall under his gentle touch. Leaning down one more time, he kissed the tip of Nyx’s nose before turning back to Feyre. 

Her face was still buried in her hands. Blood from the cuts on her foot had soaked the carpet, and he prayed that they weren’t as bad as they looked- only heavy bleeders. 

In a few steps he was beside her, “Now, for my favorite girl that still needs to be loved and doted on,” he whispered in her ear. He placed a kiss on the tip of her pointed ear and gently scooped her into his arms. 

Rhys winnowed himself and Feyre back to their room. He spared a glance at the lock on the door, making sure no one would barge in before carrying her to the bathroom. A hot bath was waiting, the tub steaming lazily on top of it’s cream colored marble dais. 

Carefully, making sure not to miss one of the three steps, Rhys sat Feyre down on the edge of the tub. She folded in on herself again, looking at the floor between her feet. 

“Look at me,” he said softly. 

Feyre sniffed and shook her head. 

Rhys clenched his jaw, the corners of his eyes pricking. Gently, he placed a finger under Feyre’s chin. 

“Look at me,” he said again. His voice so soft and filled with night it was closer to a purr. 

When Feyre didn’t lift her head, Rhys did. He tilted her chin up until she looked him in the eye. 

He smiled softly, bending to place a soft kiss on her lips. They were chapped, and tasted of salt. From the texture and blemishes on them, Rhys could tell she was chewing her bottom lip again. A habit she hadn’t had since… she first joined the court. 

“Feyre darling… what’s the matter?” He purred. 

She tried to pull her face away, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears leaked from the outer corners and ran over the tops of her cheeks. Rhys gently pulled her chin back to look at him.

“I showed you- you saw,” she choked.

Rhys nodded. “You did, you showed me your memories. But I want to hear from your lips the story of what’s tormenting you.” 

“It doesn’t-“ 

“Don’t say it doesn’t matter,” he growled. “It does. Anything bothering my mate needs to be dealt with. Now.” 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead this time. 

Feyre reached up and took the hand that was under her chin, lacing the fingers in her own. Rhys gave her his other hand and knelt before her. His eyes were wide, earnest. Their irises were the quiet violet of morning glory blooms. 

“What’s wrong Feyre? Let’s work through this together.” He whispered. A gentle wave of night kissed serenity washed up against her mental shields. 

Feyre drew a shaky breath and smiled weakly at her mate. 

“I- I feel like I’ve failed,” she said meekly, staring again at the floor between her feet. 

Rhys wanted to scream. Rush to the roof in the form of a true beast and shout from the rooftops that she was anything but a failure. She was the best thing that had ever existed- and would exist again. Then, he’d hunt down anything or anyone who dared make her feel this way.

Instead, he schooled his face into a mask of sympathy and made a noise in his throat. 

“Why darling? Why do you feel like you’ve failed? I thought everything was fine?” 

Feyre was quiet for a moment. 

“I almost died, Rhys,” she said, finally. Her voice was so quiet that he doubted human ears would have picked it up. “I almost died having Nyx, really I should have. I’ve cheated death again, and now I have this son and… he deserves more than me.” Her voice tightened on the last words. 

Rhys squeezed her hands but gave her the space she needed to consider all the things he could feel reeling through her mind on the other end of the bond. 

“Sometimes… I just hate him,” she said finally. “But not really, I love him so much I feel like I’m on fire when I look at him. But… it’s the pressure. He cries and I’m just supposed to know what to do and… I don’t. Not always. How do I know that he’s getting enough when he nurses? What if I miss something when I change him or hurt him or… or anything. It’s just so much all at once and then I look in the mirror and.. I hate that woman. I should never feel frustrated with the baby. He’s my baby..” Feyre trailed off.

Rhys struggled for a moment, searching for the right words to say. He gave up after a moment though and carefully let go of her hands. Instead, he rose just enough to wrap his arms around his mate, burying her face in his shoulder and began rocking her back in forth while he kissed the top of her ear. 

“Feyre darling, I might not be a female, but I know that you are doing everything right. Everything you feel is normal. So much has changed so quickly, it’s scary. We knew bringing him into the world wouldn’t be easy, but it turned out to be so much worse than we thought it would be. I’m so, so proud of you, and I know it’s hard right now darling, but we will get through it. You know I’m here every step of the way, and I will go to the ends of the earth to get you the help you need.” 

Feyre nodded into his shoulder. Rhys held her for a few minutes, watching curls of steam rise into the air from the tub, dancing until they faded to nothing. He thought about how she was when they’d first met. How the first time he called her to the night court through their deal, she was too much like that steam. She’d been there, risen from nothing in the mortal world. Then she’d come into the world of the fae, loving, dancing, enchanting and fighting. At the time she could’ve easily just disappeared into nothing, like steam in the winter air. He felt her close to that edge again, closer than she’d been since coming out from beneath the mountain. And he’d never let her get there again.

He pulled away enough to catch her mouth on his. Rhys kissed his mate softly, massaging her lips, pulling passion out from where it was hidden behind her heart. Gently deepening the kiss until the scent of her arousal floated in the air. 

Rhys growled, hooking his thumbs under the hem of her shirt. He would show her just how much he worshipped her. Show her how wonderful, perfect she was. Show her until she’d never again forget. 

[milgrammaintenance]

12/1/24 2:49pm

Daniel: . . .

Zareth: mmm...

Daniel: . . .

Geraud: Look he started it.

Daniel: *sigh* Alright sure...

Geraud: What he did! What sort of person fights someone so much smaller than them anyway?

Zareth: ...

Daniel: Does seniority and size difference only matter when it's convenient to you?

Geraud: Tch...

Daniel: Neither of you are seriously injured... So at least you have some common sense but seriously- Lay off it. I'm in a bad mood.

Geraud: ... Jeez, sorry.

Zareth: Um is everything-

Daniel: What? Do you want something else?

Zareth: Ha-a no...

Daniel: Then let's just sit here and be quiet. They only stuck you with me because you guys can't stop causing trouble. Learn to sit still before I have to give you both a reason to learn.

Zareth: Soooo cool-

Daniel: Huh- shut up!

Geraud: God you're a weirdo...

Zareth: Say it again!

Daniel: Geh- I said be quiet! I'm in a bad mood stop fooling around- Hey; don't touch me!

Persons of Interest

Sunday March 10, 2024

It was stupid to be thinking about any of that now.

I deleted everything. There was nothing to look back on. No matter how much I wanted to. I deleted things regularly. I didn’t like leaving traces of myself. Because when I did it felt…

Haunting.

It loomed over me. Every mistake, every held back word. It was easier to look away then to face the person I consistently was. It was stagnating to look back on myself having the same old issues.

So, I ran.

I ran in every way I could but… I always ended up heading back. A part of me thought it was funny. Most of me saw it as unfair. I never got a lock on my bedroom door either. A good bit of me was more pissed about that than anything. Maybe I should just pick one up next time I’m out at school then install it when my dads on one of his trips.

Nah, waste of time he’d just take it out when he got back.

Seriously what a pain… I sighed as I looked down at the sidewalk for what felt like the thousandth time. I’d only just taken a break to look up. Should I really be thinking about locks right now… Well better to think about that then-

“Ugh.” I groaned as I kicked at the concrete.

This is his fault…  Accepting my cruelty, being patient with me, and always… It was all so disgusting. Why am I even going here? Should I go? Am I even needed there? Or am I…  

Monday March 13, 2023

“What’s the issue? He does anything you want him to, right? So, just ask him to quit the team.” Devin waved off my concerns like they were nothing.

Did he only hear what he wanted to? He wouldn’t listen even if I told him I didn’t want Daniel to quit the team. He wouldn’t care. He just knew Daniel was better at this than the rest of us.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, “Yeah, he does what I ask him to sometimes but he wouldn’t just drop football entirely just because I asked. Have you completely lost it? Nobody has that much say in someone else’s life. It’s not like he’s-” Like me who just does whatever his betters tell him to do, “Look, he’s not going to drop a sport he likes just because I tell him to. Plus, his entire scholarship is riding on it. What else could he do?”

He swiped up on his phone mindlessly as he leaned against the table, “Don’t give me that crap- He still has the grades to stay on scholarship if he quits. It’s not like there’s nothing else he can do. Isn’t the dude more into science anyway?”

Of course, as soon as he bothered to look at me I was shrugging and hoping my annoyance wasn’t showing on my face. He just had to look up then. How annoying. What did he mean Daniel liked science? Talking like he knew him more than me.

He’s probably just throwing ideas at the wall to see what sticks. I mean they share a lot of classes together though. Unlike me he practically sees him all the time…

I brushed away the thought, “I don’t know he hasn’t talked about liking any of his classes. School has always been kind of like work to him.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of like that for everyone. I mean who gets excited about going to school?”

“Ha, true… But Daniel’s different, you’ve seen it, right?” I looked over at him and it was his turn to roll his eyes, “We both know how it is. We show up, do our work, leave. But we can still have some fun in between with him… It’s not meant to be fun or anything.” I said as I failed to hold back a yawn.

He groaned, “Ahn, yeah he is like that… I tend to have a good bit of fun at school.”

Yeah, I bet you do.

“Bu- Hey, what’s that look supposed to mean?” he stopped mid-sentence and sent a glare my way.

“It means that doesn’t surprise me, Devin. Of course you have fun at school.” I said with a laugh.

He let out a sigh while waving me off, “Whatever, what I’m getting at is Daniel is weird but you are too. It doesn’t look like you’re having much fun either but you spend all your time out. Like you’d rather be anywhere than at home but be honest you hate this place just as much?”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at… But try not to project your issues on me. I’m having a great time.”

“Psh sure you are. Well you’re better off than Daniel at least” I looked out the window as he spoke certain he’d start bad mouthing him again, “Daniel doesn’t seem like he likes being anywhere.”

Was that concern in his tone? Does he know something that I don’t? Daniel’s room flashed back to mind as I clenched my teeth. There’s no way, right? The things only meant to be between us… He wouldn’t no… Devin is just assuming things again. Yeah, there’s no way.

No way in hell Daniel would tell him something he hasn’t even told me.

I laughed lightly, “He likes being at home.” I managed to get the words out then he laughed too.

“Really at home with his mommy and daddy? I didn’t peg him as the sheltered and clingy type.”

Tch, see he doesn’t know anything I was getting worked up over nothing.

“He’s definitely not that. His parents have never really been home that often since we were kids. Unlike our helicopter parents his work.” I said and he laughed.

“Alright fair… So, wait like is he always alone at home?”

“Usually, he sees his parents in like the morning, but they don’t get back until like way after he goes to bed.”

“Dang that must be nice. I might have to hang out with him more.” Devin was typing something into his phone.

“You and him hanging out more, really?” I was forcing myself not to grind my teeth after I spoke.

“Yeah, I’m texting him right now-”

When did he get Daniel’s number? What the hell is going on here... He can’t be serious. I couldn’t see his phone from across the table. This is what I get for always wanting space.

“Gonna see if I can go over and hang out with him Thursday hear some of his strategies.”

Wait no he’s serious- “You’re serious.” He’s dead serious.

He gave me a grin, “I mean well since he’s gonna be a part of the team” he dragged out the word team, “I should learn to get along with him, right?”

“I told you I can’t get him to quit.” I grumbled and he rolled his eyes.

Now it was Devin’s turn to shrug.

“Mm-hm you did… I can’t change how you feel Vance. If you think nothing you say will have an impact, I guess it won’t.” he put his phone down and began to gaze out the cafeteria window. “But you may not know him well enough to say for sure he wouldn’t do it if you asked.”

Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out right now actually.

He looked at me as though waiting for a response but I just held in the words that were trying to rush out my mouth. Daniel would never quit. You’re being stupid. Just making shit up! You don’t know him well at all! You especially don’t know him well enough to say what I don’t know.

“Maybe you’re right Devin. I don’t know what you seem to think you know at least.”

He gave me a disinterested look, “Vance man I like you- You’re cool but you’re dense as hell. Ya know that?”

“I doubt you actually like me. This whole thing we got going on is a matter of necessity, isn’t it?”

“Yep, dense as hell like I said.”

“Whatever.” I said while leaning down to grab my backpack from under the table. I flung it onto the tabletop more aggressively than I had meant to before pulling my work from the weekend out.

“If we only play chummy because our dads are friends then why hangout with me in your own free time?” he asked.

I took a deep breath through my nose before pushing it out, “It’s exactly because our dads know each other.  Look I don’t particularly dislike you Devin but I’m not putting emotional energy into things I had no choice in. I chose Daniel to be my friend my dad decided we’d be friends. Knowing my dad approves of you makes me wary- I think you can understand that at least.”

“Ah, seriously what a pain…” he said as he leaned his head in his arms and sighed. He pushed himself back up with a weak sigh, “I get it- You can’t ask him because you’re afraid he wouldn’t listen huh? What you guys not as close as you used to be? Is that why you’ve been hanging out with me during the mornings instead?”

He’s making a lot of annoying assumptions again.

“You and I both know Daniel doesn’t come to school for breakfast.” I muttered and he laughed.

“Yeah, it seems we both know about the same amount when it comes to him. Maybe I know more than you.”

“Maybe you do.” I said while flipping through my work to see if it was all there. Doing another once over wouldn’t hurt. Plus, it was a good excuse to ignore him.

Devin chuckled, “What a mean glare. Does the idea really upset you that much?”

“It doesn’t upset me at all.” I assured him.

Why would I be upset? Daniel hated Devin… He thought the dude was obnoxious. He told me himself. Why would Devin’s words mean more to me than what Daniel said. Exactly they wouldn’t I was fine.

“You know he and I have talked about you a lot in class.”

My body went rigid at that, “More like you’re trying to pit everyone against each other for the quarterback position, right?” I gave a dismissive shrug, “I shudder to think what you’ve been telling him about me. Probably all nasty stuff about how I’m gunning to ruin his chances. How I’ll do anything to be on top. Huh, just like you’ve been saying about him?”

“Well yeah- gotta see what works ya know.” he said with a laugh.

Really, I couldn’t believe he was admitting it so easily.

“What don’t look at me like that- You know what sort of guy I am already Vance. What would I need to hide?” I tapped my pencil against the cafeteria table.

I really didn’t think he’d just come out and say it like that. The natural thing would be to deny it… Something is going on here.

“I told him you know Vance only cares about looking good for coaches and getting ahead- That you were just using him to make yourself look better. And know what he said?” there was an airy chuckle that came from him that sounded way to genuine for my liking, “He said so what.”

What…

“He said what does that matter as long as you’re doing good he doesn’t mind getting used. So you see you should just ask him to quit if you really need that position. And given your dad you really do don’t you?”

“Shut up. I gotta check over my assignments before turning them in if you’re not going to go over the work with me you can leave now.” So, what… he just said so what. Is that really what he thinks I’m like? Someone that would do anything even use him to get ahead. Is that how I came off to him?

What a jackass…

“What I thought you’d be happy about this. You’re the one that’s been worried about what’d happen to you if you didn’t make quarter back this year.”

I continued looking over my work silently hoping he'd catch the hint.

Sunday March 10, 2024

Am I just a burden he's carrying? A nuisance... Would he even want me going to his house? What if he left to get as far away from me as possible. Become unburdened... What if I was the only one ever having any fun and all he ever did was humor me? What if I'm the reason he's like that?

Do I even deserve to go I never checked on him when he was there...

[saetiate]

this is a beautiful brilliantly written fic. haunting and funny and poetic. your characterization of dottore is incredible, he feels truly multidimensional, especially w the way you bring in his discipline. i love the way you explore the dark feelings of both reader and dottore, and the dialogue w scaramouche. the constant references to religion and the questions it poses in this context are so so well done, i love the way you explore this so much

i love your writing very much so i will leave my comments under a cut because they are very long HAHA i went insane reading this and also so i don't spoil other people

"lost in a paradox without a clear path" ohmygod we are starting of so strong i'm already going insane THE SUMMARY IS ALR SO GOOD GOSH IS THIS A BOOK "He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie" oh i can feel the manipulation alr this is so crazy /aff it's like religious (tho ik that's alr in ur tags!) but i love the comparisons/implications to religions alr "They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be" beautifully written my god "he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later" the way he uses us oh lord i love this. i feel like it's haunting from the start. like a sort of worship. very brilliant i am eating up every word "his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world" THE WAY you seep the affection in too ohhhh i love this so so much

"the sensitivity implant he’d put in you." WHAT HOLY SHIT is this foreshadowing omg the way reader reacts to him and makes sure not to make him more irritated, really gives off and shows that kind of abusive relationshp that they have. it's really giving show not tell and i think ur a really brilliant writer for that "Does he not trust you after all this time? (After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)" -> their power play is so so good

the perspective of a god that's explored with scaramouche is fascinating AND THEN IT FLITS TO DOTTORE'S POV OF YOU OMGG HIS POSSESSIVENESS OVER US HOLY CRAP oh man the yandere... i love it i love your characterization of dottore, the way he sees art and science. i love the way you get into his head and peel him open for us like an onion and watching him slowly possibly fall in love with us too, in his own little wicked way, and his slow realization to it as well. it's just so so brilliantly done OOH HIS JEALOUSY TOWARDS SCARA??? AAA oh i LOVEE that for him and us hehe

"today the heavens have taken the victory" what a line. god that's stunning the line between love and divinity and the way you explore it... wow the tension that builds as you describe when he has his way w us LORDD I NEED TO BE HELD DOWN JESUS oh to be his pet... i love that there is like a clear flit in pov. i personally really value that kind of clear cutness in writing as i feel like it's hard to do (maybe those are just my feelings) and u do it very well in a way that still feels cohesive i already love reader and scaramouche's dynamic HAHA their dialogue is so funny to me

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.” -> HAHAHA STOP I LOVE THIS something about dottore saying "poor thing" to us has me wanting to collapse on the floor aughhhhhafsdlfdjs i love dottore's control over his own reactions. i think that's very very interesting in a way i can't place right now. i just love the exploration of his discipline, it's giving psychopathic (i mean this clinically and with the acknowledgement of personality disorders, not as a buzzword like it's sometimes incorrectly used as in the media) and i think really adds dimension to his character "you don't need a god. you need me" HOLYYYYY scaramouche putting seeds of doubt in reader's mind omg it's driving me crazy

i love watching reader tear her own mind apart with the questions they're posed oh gosh the ending iS EQUALLY HAUNTING. WE WENT ALL THE WAY BACK AROUND TO HAUNTING OMG. hurt my heart in ways to see dottore forsake them, to see the way he brands them, to see the shame and guilt he forces onto them...

fic eats. thank you for sharing his

Can You Tell Me Who I Am?

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him. Then what are you supposed to be?

PAIRING: Dottore x Reader, minor Scaramouche & Reader

CONTENT: yandere Dottore | gender-neutral reader | human experimentation, unhealthy relationships, master/pet, emotional/psychological manipulation, conditioning, religious themes, implied sexual content, dom/sub undertones, canon divergent but spoilers for sumeru archon quest! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. ( ~10k words )

NOTES: finally, after nearly two months, I can finally share what I've been brainrotting over :')))) is there a plot?? not really tbh the demons just won. this is disgustingly self-indulgent but I'd still like to dedicate this to @eanul-rambul and @hiperacid2 for sitting through my madman ramblings and making this story possible!! this can be read by itself, but if you'd like, the prequel/first part can be found here! much love, enjoy :3c // @houseofsolisoccasum

DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT | READ ON AO3

The people of Sumeru do not dream.

The Akasha terminals harvest it all from them to create a singular massive brain for the collective to take knowledge from. That was what the Doctor told you on your journey from Snezhnaya to the land of wisdom. As expected of him, he figures everything out without batting an eye. He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie.

A walk through the Akademiya confirms his initial findings as well. The people of Sumeru do not dream. They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be. It’s not your first time meeting such personalities. The longer you work with the Doctor, the more people you meet, including some of the Harbingers he doesn’t seem too particularly fond of. He seems to have a fondness for relying on your ability to judge a person. From their strengths to their weaknesses, he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later.

Even if you don’t understand why he wants your insight (human emotions aren’t your area of expertise—very far from it, in fact), you have no reason not to trust him. It will become useful in the future, he said. You can do that for me, can’t you?

You can, and you will.

They say that dreaming is when the human mind becomes the most vivid. It’s where Sumeru’s knowledge all stems from: a collective mind of sorts, bountiful sciences for the academic mind to pursue. The Doctor was particularly interested in this system, so he’d taken the Akasha terminal you were given to study more closely. It wasn’t a request.

It also wasn’t something you were going to decline. It wouldn’t have made a difference regardless. With or without the terminal, just like the people of Sumeru, you do not dream. Your day ends with a period of nothingness before the new one begins and gives you a mission to complete, as per routine.

Still, you believe it is quite inconsistent with typical human behaviours you’ve observed. Every person has a dream, don’t they? Some dream of travelling the world and getting to adventure much like the golden-haired traveller and their flying companion. Some dream of a happy life for their families, and some dream of exacting revenge on certain people.

But you don’t. You don’t have a dream, though you suppose if you were ever asked about it, you’d say that it’s to serve the Doctor. It’s what you’re made for. You kill anyone he tells you to kill. You guard him from the shadows, ready to slit the throat of whoever dares lie to him. You follow every order and every whim because it is your duty—your ‘happiness,’ you think—to do so.

You always have, and you always will.

Your gaze flits over to the Doctor who stands before the giant automaton, the Shouki no Kami, that looms over him. Thanks to his insistence, the project has been progressing just as he’d like. You remember his crazed words when the idea came to him, his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world. It’s a sight that’s familiar to you, a constant in each day you spend with him.

How strange, you think. This must be the sensitivity implant he’d put in you. Not too long ago, he had expressed his interest in your responses to foreign stimuli. You weren’t made aware of when he would put it into motion, so this is entirely new. Is this what people refer to as fondness? To feel nothing but a semblance of joy when you watch someone close to you?

You try not to dwell on it and return to the task at hand. The Doctor had stationed you by the entrance to the workshop, close enough to reach when needed and not too close to disturb him. Ready to be at his beck and call, just where he likes you.

It’s quiet in the workshop save for the dull whirring of the cogs and wheels overhead. It almost fascinates you how such dreariness can exist in a lush and vibrant place like Sumeru City. The workshop, despite its hollow grandness, doesn’t seem like an optimal place to be productive. You find that it’s not that different from his laboratory back at Zapolyarny Palace. There, the windows show you nothing but snow and frost. Here, all you see is metal on every corner, drab and colourless unlike the city and its lush outskirts.

You suppose the Doctor is simply not like other people. He doesn’t need to feel the sunlight to have a change of mood. He doesn’t share their composition, either; this much you know thanks to the nights where he’d lay himself bare for your recalibration. It’s one of many secrets you keep for him.

Something hits the floor with a loud clang, making you snap out of your reverie. Right, you have a job to do. He hates it when people zone out. His patience has been running thin to begin with thanks to the ‘tedious and menial’ conversations he’s had to have with other researchers. Aggravating him further is nowhere near the decision you must choose to make.

While you always do as he says without question, doing nothing proves to be possibly the most arduous task you’ve done. You don’t feel anxious or afraid—you can hardly feel anything at all, but you’re lost, so to speak. It’s out of routine and order to only be on standby.

“—Why don’t you escort the grand sage to safety?” His voice breaks the silence and echoes in the chamber, bringing you back to the present. “I unfortunately have my hands full and can’t see to it myself. Could you do that for me?”

There’s a lighthearted tone to his words. He must be excited to finally make use of the puppet he’s been working so hard on. In just a matter of a few seconds, the long-awaited plan is going to come to fruition and as always, you will be there to witness it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

(Anything.)

“Come back to me when you’re done. I’d like you to stay close in case any… complications occur.”

When you return, a couple of mechanics are tinkering away at the automaton. Finishing touches, you assume. You’re not entirely sure what the process entails. The Doctor hasn’t told you much about this project. All you’ve had so far is bits and pieces of information, namely how this is meant to be all for who the Doctor and his fellow Harbingers refer to as Scaramouche.

They’re a total anomaly, nonexistent in your memory, never seen and never known. You wonder if there’s a reason why you’ve never come face-to-face with it. He tends to tell you whatever’s on his mind, not seeking for you to be a conversationalist, but as an echo chamber. Maybe it’s his segments that know of this Scaramouche character.

While it’s not unusual for the Doctor to keep certain things from you, it raises questions that will go unanswered. Trust has always been an unspoken agreement between you and him. As his servant and his guard, his creation, there is nothing you won’t do for him. You’ll figure out a way to cut down every Archon alive if he so wishes it. But does he not share the same sentiment? Are you, ultimately, just another one of his disposables? Does he not trust you after all this time?

(After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)

“I’ve called for the subject,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll be arriving any moment now—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” comes a new voice you don’t recognise.

“Heh. You’re right on time.”

When you turn, you see a young man dressed in Inazuman clothes and a large hat adorned with gold and red threads. His face is twisted into a scowl that contradicts the softness of his features. His brows are furrowed as he glares at the Doctor in visible disdain. Nevertheless, he reminds you of ice and porcelain statues in Snezhnaya, carved for everlasting beauty and grandeur.

It is now that you realise that he is here—the new god himself in the flesh.

The missing puzzle piece, the sign of a new beginning. If that is who he’s meant to be, you believe that he will be fully revered without fail. If this is the one to worship at the altar, sacred offerings and prayers would be made day and night, pleading for their god’s wisdom.

With your constitution, your priorities do not lie in faith, but elsewhere: in recalibration and maintenance, in servitude and protection. There is much you don’t understand about religion, but is he not the very image of a being worthy of worship? An inexplicably beautiful, powerful being who holds the honour of succeeding their Greater Lord Rukkhadevata? A replacement for the Lesser Lord Kusanali, who is deemed beyond lesser in researchers’ eyes?

Scaramouche is cold and callous, but is that not how gods should be? Domineering, easily able to strike fear into their subjects? The fact holds as he stops beside you and gives you an irritated glance. Already is he regarding you, a stranger, with so much disdain, or something more malicious. You’re suddenly overly aware of your talons—sleek, black metallic, lethal—and the alarms ringing in your head. Accordingly, you deem him a threat to be kept under surveillance.

“This is your new pet project?” Scaramouche scoffs. “You’re declining, Dottore.”

As if he can feel you ready to act, the Doctor dissuades you by blocking you with his arm. A wordless warning. Despite finding it an unwise decision, you let your hands hang limply by your sides and return to your normal posture.

He’s right. He always is. Only he gets to decide who the enemy is. This Scaramouche is not an enemy, but evolution itself; something that transcends science and the mortal realm. You cannot ruin something he worked so hard for.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me to give you a command,” he says dryly. Though he appears to be smiling, you know better than to trust that his ire has fully dissipated. Clasping his hand on your shoulder, he nods at the other Harbinger. “This is my assistant, but let’s save the pleasantries for later, shall we? Go on, now.”

Steam rises from the surface as the metal plates of the automaton’s mask slide open. Although the automaton is only at half of its height, it encompasses nearly half of the room and casts a shadow in its wake. Scaramouche climbs into the cockpit with grace and agility, evidently familiar with the standard procedures.

You watch as the mask closes, sealing the sixth Harbinger inside. The Doctor patiently makes his way to the automaton with the Electro Gnosis held between his fingers. You hear chatter from the crowd behind you and murmurs that echo throughout the workshop, all in anticipation of what will take place soon. Not long after, he inserts the Gnosis in its rightful compartment and steps back.

Soon enough, Shouki no Kami comes to life. Electricity bursts in hues of amethyst and violet and sparks run across its surface. The insignia at its centre glows far brighter than anything you’d ever seen. You feel its strength with your eyes alone, as do your fellow witnesses. You realise now that you behold the birth of an almighty being, one ready to take fate into his own hands and overthrow the false god.

(You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

—

Dottore doesn’t play favourites, but if he were asked to pick a favourite thing about you, he would say without a doubt that it is your unquestioning compliance.

He’s fully aware that it’s how he encouraged you to be, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge it. Trust is not earned so easily, even if years pass and one hasn’t wronged the other yet. Despite having sworn loyalty to the Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro, there isn’t a single member of the Fatui he’d trust with his projects.

But you, the one he made, the one he changed; you stand above them all.

It’s an entertaining sight indeed to see you fall and get back up time and time again with a new life, a new memory and the same ever-present constant: him. No matter what he puts you through, on the operating table or on dangerous missions, you trust him with your being. Your faith and loyalty are in his hands, binding you to him for as long as he’ll need you. Perhaps, in some way, you see him as more than your master. Feelings are fickle things and unimportant to him. Inquisitiveness and uncovering the world’s secrets are all he needs, but you—

You are a different variable.

You put your fragile life in his hands and let him keep you in his possession. You guard him like a loyal hound to the leader of its pack. Even if he can simply use his segments or remake you, it’s quite hard to imagine a life without you behind him. You’ve become a long-withstanding presence he can continue to study and rely on under the guise of diagnostics. No longer are you the meek little thing shyly watching him from the sidelines. No longer are you his benefactor who naïvely believed his lies about medical research and evolution. You’re an entirely new person, but one fact remains true all the same.

You are his, before and after ‘death.’

With you constantly dutifully close by, it hadn’t taken long for some of his fellow Harbingers to take an interest in you. It infuriates him to remember the wicked smile on Pantalone’s lips as he mentioned how much he was willing to spend on you. It’s worse to remember how Childe would tell you anecdotes of his travels in an attempt to convince you to join him. The memory never fails to make him huff in irritation every time it comes up.

How absolutely imbecilic. Is it not clear enough that you cannot be taken from him?

Dottore wasn’t always one to make rash decisions. He’s meticulous and calculated, sharp and precise. But to hear those idiots imply their desire for you made his blood boil for reasons unclear to him. There was no other way he could have dealt with the inexplicable rage surging in his veins or the warmth that bloomed in his chest. As long as you need him to live, and as long as your heart is locked behind a code only he knows, no one can take you away from him.

Since then, he’d given you another strict order. It was admittedly a selfish and conceivably unreasonable one that he made clear. You are not to interact with any of the Harbingers unless he is also present. It seems to have worked well for the most part. They don’t ask about you as much as they used to, as much as they are dying to know of your whereabouts.

It’s satisfactory enough. He can’t have you falling into less-than-capable hands. After tearing you down and putting you back together, there is zero chance he’s letting it all slip away. You know it fully well, too, that there is no other place for you to go except with him.

Unlike the average person, you lack innate desires and greed. With or without an incentive, you’d never leave him in favour of something or someone else. What reason would there be for you to do such a thing?

None.

You have never failed him. You can’t fail him, regardless of if the probability of success is slightly above zero. If you somehow deviate from your chosen path and escape him, finding you won’t be difficult. He has the agents to subdue you if necessary and the concoction to keep you pliant. While he’d prefer not to have a single blemish on you, it may be just the right choice with the right intention.

But there won’t come a day when he’d have to make that decision. You won’t fail him. As long as he has you in his grasp, you will never leave him. As long as he stays the subject of your fealty and the cause of your existence, you will never leave him. The reassurance alone is enough to ground him once again, his anger dissipating out of his mind like smoke in the wind.

Bringing you along to Sumeru was just another part of his routine. As far as he knows, you’ve never stepped foot outside Snezhnaya both in your past and present. He could practically see the cogs and wheels in your mind turning as you observed the horizon for reconnaissance. He wasn’t very keen on letting you become too curious, but for once, he’ll consider allowing it. It was fascinating, he thought, to see you try to mask your awe with apathy.

For the first time in years, you were human, and just a naïve little thing eager for adventure.

Dottore isn’t quite one for the arts. He can appreciate beauty where it’s done, even if the words of an artist matter very little to him. It’s too abstract, he finds. There is freedom in knowledge, but there is also discipline—something that artists lack in his eyes. Yet he wonders if the poets were right to liken their subject to a warm summer day. If seeing the glimmer in your eyes and your parted lips is how his mind interprets art to be.

(Are those worshippers right, in the end, when they swear ‘til death do us part’ to their lovers?)

He saw that wondrous expression again in the Joururi Workshop.

There was a lot to behold in those chambers: Shouki no Kami lighting up to life, the purple lightning streaks running across the surface. In the midst of it, all he could focus on was not the result of his success, but you. The face of an awed spectator, the face he’d see in the devout. He didn’t think too long about it, however. A sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him and so he took his eyes off you and back to his creation. He didn’t care how long you were in that flabbergasted state. He didn’t care for trivial things, he thought, albeit more bitterly than he’d anticipated.

There are a lot of things he could (and has) stripped you of. Your innate curiosity is not one of them. It’s not as if he could’ve stopped the questions in your mind from rising. He didn’t tell you much about the collaboration with the Akademiya. It wasn’t necessarily his intention to leave you in the dark about it, but when he thinks of your reverie again, he decides it was for the best.

Scaramouche is considerably more… sentient than you are, and Dottore is a careful man. The way you stared at that puppet was telling enough. The fewer interactions you have with him, the better. You picking up his opinions and attitude certainly isn’t ideal. Of course, he has a plan in case something like that were to happen, though he’d prefer not to use it.

He’s grown fond of the current you, after all.

Though a natural sceptic of fate and divine intervention, today the heavens have taken the victory. They mock him and laugh in his face, at his expense, as his beloved pet project grows fascinated with something else before his very eyes. As much as he hated to think of it, it was inevitable that you’d meet Scaramouche one day. Despite the other Harbinger having acknowledged you once (just to insult you, he thought indignantly), the more pressing matter at hand isn’t Scaramouche.

It is you.

He figures he’ll have to get you under control soon, if not now. Yet at the same time, the scholar in him questions. What would you think of the new ‘god’ from what you already know of devotion? What would you pray for at the altar in the throes of desperation?

Would you still look at him with the same loyalty and—dare he say it—love if your ‘heart’ lies in someone else’s hands?

He’s never been one to let his emotions take the reins. He leads himself with rationality and logic. Reason is a bigger priority than sentiment, he finds. And yet, he fully resents the implication of you finding someone else to belong to other than him. It is irrational to think of it. Keeping you in his clutches comes as easy as breathing does. With your body inside and out under his control, it leaves little to no reason for you to need somebody else.

As fun as it is to nudge you back in the right direction, he isn’t always as cruel as he seems. You’ve always been an inquisitive thing, which is why he has you record all of his musings and disorganised thoughts. You care about his work and you guard his laboratory in his absence like the perfect guard dog. Letting you wander about is relatively harmless, but he’d prefer to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The snowy mountains and frosted ground of Snezhnaya are all you know. In Sumeru, there is fauna and flora that you’ve never seen. Scaramouche is one of them. With him being a deviation from what little you truly know, it definitely wouldn’t take very long for you to develop some sort of fascination for him.

Were it someone he knew who wasn’t at all a threat, Dottore would’ve let it slide. He doesn’t find Scaramouche a threat per se, but the situation raises concerns regardless. As apathetic as you are to most occurrences, you won’t stay that way for long. What he saw on the journey to Sumeru is proof enough. After so many years, you could feel once more the wind in your hair as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. You could feel the sun’s rays warming your skin in ways Snezhnayan skies never have.

Contrary to what he’d initially told you, he never ‘took away’ your sensitivity or implanted a new one. All it took was small doses of anaesthesia and a new command—subdue anyone who lets their touch linger on you for too long. It worked for a while, but he decided to slowly lessen and eventually stop those doses. That was for your benefit as well. A new research question, one could say. How would someone unfeeling handle new sensations all at once? How touch-starved would you become?

Would you seek him out just like you used to?

Unfamiliar sensations inadvertently affect your mind, and you’ll learn once again what you crave more or desire less. He remembers the night you fully became his, all in mind, body and soul. How pliant you were and how you never ran away even when things became too much. How the most featherlight of touches would have you caving in, melting in his hold. He knows you like the back of his hand. He made sure that he would be the sole one who gets to be this close.

Yet for reasons he just can’t fathom, his plans of keeping you all to himself had gone awry.

Months have passed since the incident, and he finds himself equally infuriated thinking about how flustered you were when Childe dared to touch you. It was a minuscule gesture, not one you were unfamiliar with—a hand on the small of your back gently urging you in the direction you were supposed to go. For some reason unknown to him, it managed to fluster you somehow. Your eyes widened and you stumbled over your words, much to the younger Harbinger’s delight.

Incredibly irksome was what it was.

Dottore never denies that he is a selfish man. He won’t deny that he missed seeing your expressions from torture to bliss, either. Your reactivity was what he liked most about you. Here, he contemplates whether to put you under that treatment again. He doesn’t want to do it so soon, not when he wants to see it all coming back to you. Robotic and unfeeling is what people expect you to be, but what he misses is the vividness of your emotions—your fear, anger, sorrow, and joy.

“Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

Yes, this is for your benefit and his. You’ll get to learn what it’s like to be a being of science, someone who dares to challenge the divine with pure knowledge. You’ll get to feel what you have lost, and he’ll get to watch as it changes you for the worse or the better. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is; you are ultimately his to own, his to toy with. This is just like any other experiment. It should be.

Regardless, it is hard to keep the annoyance at bay. It’s unclear how Scaramouche is going to interact with you. Between your endless patience (sometimes he wishes you’d just snap and show him what he’d missed these past years) and Scaramouche’s lack thereof, there is no clear vision of what will happen. It wouldn’t make sense to send you back to Snezhnaya so hastily, either. As far as he’s concerned, your presence is imperative, and who knows what’ll happen if he isn’t there to watch over you?

“Troublesome little pet,” he mutters. You’ve distracted him from his work again.

—

Pardis Dhyai tends to be a lively place. Scholars walk past each other at the plaza, some sit together on the grass and chat about what is on their minds. Crowds are hardly foreign to the Doctor, but he prefers to have his privacy. The more you visit here, the more you begin to think that you are the same way.

Today, however, the crowd is nowhere to be seen.

The indoor gardens are barren with only you as its visitor. No conversations can be heard in the background. Birds chirp a cheery tune beyond the forest and the running water flows in the fountain endlessly. You barely make a sound as you continue your exploration, observing the flowers you’ve never seen back in Snezhnaya. Hills of ice and snow hardly make a suitable environment for these florae, so it comes as no surprise that botany here surpasses home. It’s pleasing to the eyes, far more colourful than the glow of blue lights and drab walls you typically see.

The Doctor is busy in a meeting back at the Akademiya with the Grand Sage and a couple of other scholars. With the reasoning that it wasn’t something that required your attention, he’d given you permission to wander about as long as you returned before the meeting ended. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Some of his matters are confidential, even to you who tend to be a witness to most. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you don’t find it an abnormality.

Still, much like that day in the workshop, doing nothing proves to be a most difficult task.

Despite the idyllic scenery that surrounds you, you feel hollow. Quite the oddity—you’ve always presumed that this is what romantics seek and what artists hope to immortalise on their canvases. Yet with the unfamiliar things spread throughout the room, nothing particularly strikes your fascination. Flowers are delicate little things and your fingers are razor sharp—you can’t touch them if you wanted to. A part of you is curious about what soft touches to the skin would feel like, touches that aren’t inspection or painful.

You stop yourself before you can reach out for one of the roses. You’d prefer not to end a life without reason. You solely harm and kill those who try to harm the Doctor in one way or another. Sometimes you’d bring them to him yourself and give him a new subject to test on. It depends on what he asks of you.

The bells above the door chime. You rise on alert, razors extending from your fingertips and ready to strike. As you whip your head around, you find that it’s not an assassin, but a subject you had met days prior.

Scaramouche stares at you with an unimpressed look that borders on disgust. “What trash heap did he pick you out of?”

“He did not pick me out of a trash heap,” you reply, suddenly irrationally irked. “I don’t have memories of when we met. All I know is that he saved my life.”

“And you believe him?” His brows knit together in visible annoyance. “The second of the Harbingers, spending his valuable resources on you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I have no reason to doubt the Doctor.”

He scoffs. “You’re hopeless.”

After deciding that he doesn’t harbour any intention of hurting you, for now, your claws retract on their own. Not a word is spoken as you keep your gaze trained on him. He walks around the garden, seemingly deep in thought and regards you no more than a handful of times. He’s much different up close than he was back in the giant machine. Without the armour, he reminds you of the Doctor’s other segments; built flawlessly with a life to him that you can’t fathom yet.

“Dottore. Is he your god?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kissing the ground he walks on. Is that how he trained you?”

It’s not something you’ve questioned a lot in your years of servitude. A master is a master and you are his pawn. What is there to be curious about?

“It’s the least I can do for him,” you answer after a pause. “Forgive my rudeness. I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

His hostility raises your caution and you watch warily as he approaches you. You don’t break eye contact either, blankly staring at him until he speaks up again.

“Don’t you think?”

“I still fail to see why you’re asking me such trivialities.”

Though Scaramouche likely meant the question rhetorically, your curiosity is piqued nonetheless. You are capable of thought. You are capable of judgement, and you can see how someone is feeling just by observing them. What else could you possibly ‘think’ of?

You’ve always followed orders without hesitation. The Doctor’s time is valuable; if there’s anything you wish to know, you learn of it when you’re off duty. It isn’t a regular occurrence. He has you by his side at all times and gets irritable when you wander off. You aim to please him. You aim to be the best weapon in his arsenal, so you’ll follow him for as long as he’ll let you.

(Is that what ████ would have wanted?)

“Hey,” Scaramouche snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

You return the unimpressed look. “I was contemplating your question.”

“So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.”

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, dropping the issue. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his favourite pet?”

Pretending the jabs were never said, you decide that he’s at least harmless enough for you to be honest. “I’ve been dismissed for the time being.”

It’s hard to predict what he’s thinking. The expression on his features is unreadable and leaves a strange sensation trickling down the length of your spine. Heaviness tugs at where your heart should be. You remember now—this is what you felt when the Doctor expressed his disappointment in you. Scaramouche glowers at you for reasons unknown, arms crossed over his chest much like the petulant children you see on some journeys.

“Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.”

This is irregular. You’ve been trained to handle every situation possible, but for the first time in a while, you’re at a standstill. Thousands of possibilities can come from this encounter. Violence is a part of them, but considering Scaramouche’s status, it is the very last on the list.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, exasperated. |You have your own life ahead of you, but you choose to serve someone who doesn’t bat an eye at you. And you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“It’s my purpose.”

“Is it really?” He gives you a once-over head to toe then clicks his tongue, deciding that he’d gotten what he wanted out of you. “Whatever. Don’t tell him you saw me.”

Scaramouche’s words shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know you inside and out like the Doctor does. He hasn’t repaired you with his own hands. But his questioning continues to leave you unsettled, mind wandering in directions it hasn’t been before.

You’ve never thought much about life without the Doctor. Your soul already lies within him, found itself a home within his ribcage. Your subservience is voluntary. Even if the Doctor wasn’t your saviour, you would still see him as one. Even if you didn’t owe him your submission, you would still give it to him.

He is your saving grace, your maker, your one true companion. He’s all you have. For as long as he’ll allow it, you belong to him. You are his weapon. You are his subject. You are his toy. You are his, just as you’ve always been.

Scaramouche must be doing this to get under your skin, and you are but a fool who’s allowed it to happen. You keep your glare trained on him as he eventually fades into the distance, leaving you with more thoughts than ever.

Several hours pass before you’re back in the Akademiya. The hallways are crowded, much to your dismay, but you dutifully wait at the end for your Doctor to arrive. You’re unnoticed for the most part. Frantic mutterings and crazed discussions become white noise as you lean against the wall. Your eyelids flutter shut and a quiet sigh leaves your nose while restlessness slowly brews within your chest.

“Ah, there you are. Tired?”

You straighten up. “Doctor! I… I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing.” He smiles wryly. “Seems I’ve overworked you.”

“No, I’m alright, I was…”

“I jest,” he chuckles. “Well? Shall we go?”

The walk back to the laboratory is quiet. Your sharp glare scares off curious passers-by and scholars looking for small talk with the Doctor. Meetings with the sages always leave him in a sour mood; it’s for their benefit as much as it is for him, you think.

The lights turn on one by one and machines whir to life, filling the room with low buzzing sounds. You shift your weight from one foot to another, brows furrowing in thought. Your mind tells you to talk to him about Scaramouche, but is it the right time? It’s difficult to gauge his current mood. All you know is that the unease is similar to the last time he’d been in a meeting with the other Harbingers.

“I can hear you fidgeting,” he snaps. “Spit it out.”

As suspected, nothing ever gets past him. You heave out a sigh and regain your composure, not wanting to worsen his disposition. While he’s never had an explicit rule that forbade you from interacting with the other experiments, you wonder if your interaction with Scaramouche would be considered overstepping. The uncertainty of the consequences dawns on you, sending you into a state of inquietude.

“I met Scaramouche again today,” you admit, relenting. If this is forbidden, the Doctor may have mercy on you for the first offence you were unaware of.

Attempting to gauge his mood doesn’t yield much of a result, but there’s something in the air that borders on impatience and anger. His posture, however, is relaxed as he assesses the situation on his own. The atmosphere feels tense—as tense as those pesky Harbinger meetings he’s always complained about. You can’t read him like you can the others. He never lets any vulnerability show, not the smallest tell or twitch.

“I assume he had some things to say.”

You hesitate. “He asked if I had a god.”

The noises from whatever he’s tinkering with abruptly stop.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

He exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath. “I see. Don’t indulge him next time… I’d prefer it if you stayed close to me or in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“One last thing, my dearest hound. You don’t need a god.” He peers over his shoulder, glancing through you from the corner of his eye. “You need me.”

—

Is he your god?

The question echoes in your head for days. It demands an answer each time the mysterious Balladeer crosses your mind. The books you read in your leisure hold no answer for you, either. Theories upon theories and centuries’ worth of history could not prepare you for the inquiry. As much information as you’ve gained, not a sliver of it helps you. If anything, more questions are raised—those of the mind and soul.

You’re well cognisant of the fact that you’re no longer human by definition, with some of your organs being synthetic. Your arms are not flesh but obsidian and the rarest metals, sharper than blades crafted by the best smiths. Cybernetics have been implanted into your eyes and your ears, enhancing your abilities as a living weapon.

But are you truly living? You follow the Doctor and sing his praises, but do you do it because you want to, or because he trained you to?

Is he your god?

The breathtaking view of the Shouki no Kami flashes before your eyes again. Everything spoken and written by the Doctor about the upcoming project echoes in your mind. Then, the image changes to those with the Doctor—him in your view as you lay pliant on the operating table, him inspecting your hands with a relaxed expression. You hear voices of the past. Voices that belong to him as they say how you were on the brink of death when he’d graciously saved you. You don’t remember anything before your ‘reawakening,’ so you trust him—they must be true.

You think again of the grandeur that resonated as Shouki no Kami stood tall in the chambers of the workshop. The violet sparks and the overwhelming awe you felt upon seeing it. He who wields the Electro Gnosis shall become stronger than anyone, strong enough to replace the previous god, and you may very well understand what the choir sings of.

If this is what Scaramouche can become—the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom himself—he falls under the definition of a god. At the same time, so does your Doctor. His infinite knowledge, his ability to create life, and his outstanding achievements that put him on a pedestal higher than everyone else all make him perfect.

Archons and the Adepti have hymns and ceremonies dedicated to their sanctity. Statues built in their likeness stand tall throughout the lands of Teyvat. Art and literature are made of them and their legendary exploits. You believe Scaramouche will have poems and symphonies in his honour one day, but is the Doctor not worthy of the same? Is the man who bestowed upon you a new life, a new identity, not as great as the divines, if not better?

You stare ahead at the blueprints pinned on the corkboard. Scrawled notes and rough sketches of current and upcoming projects are scattered throughout the surface. If all goes well, he will allow you to witness their creation at his hands and his segments’. Anything he does is always a sight to behold.

You don’t need a god. You need me.

Your loyalty doesn’t lie with the Tsaritsa. It lies with the Doctor himself. Archons don’t have any meaning to you, and thus, they do not have your trust. The one altar you will offer yourself to is not any of theirs; it’s the table where the Doctor fixes you. You need me, he had said. He is right and he never lies—gods are nothing, but he is everything. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“Zoning out? Great job, you just got him killed.”

In a flash, your claws dig into the skin of Scaramouche’s throat as you move to pin him against your chest. He scoffs sarcastically but makes no move to wrangle free, going so far as to lay his head against your shoulder with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is stern, levelled. If this was any other person, their throat would already be slit without a second thought, but Scaramouche is important. An essential piece to the puzzle that will be the domination of Sumeru, living evidence that not only Archons can wield a Gnosis. Your jaw clenches. “The Doctor won’t be pleased about this. You need to leave.”

“There it is. The Doctor this, the Doctor that,” he sighs, “I can’t understand you at all.”

“You need to leave,” you repeat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand.”

“You won’t.” Scaramouche chuckles. “You can’t.”

Your hands are trembling and a burning sensation crawls up your neck, engulfing you in the flames of rage. You can feel it—the lightning and the storms, all brewing within the confines of your chest. Irritated, you loosen your grip and shove him away, making it a point to keep your blades unsheathed and pointed at his throat.

“Hm. Are you always this rude?”

“I almost believe you want me to hurt you,” you hiss.

He grins impishly. “Really?”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, hound, have you ever experienced betrayal?”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t see how this is important.”

He shrugs. The gesture, albeit minuscule, makes visions of violence run through your mind, visions of bloodshed and mercilessness. Your hand does not waver from where it points at his jugular. Unfazed, he continues, “Don’t you think he’ll betray you one day?”

“I trust him,” you cut in. “Without question.”

With a bored expression, one akin to an impatient teacher, he softly swats your hand away from him. You don’t push back, though you stand guarded—using force remains an option.

“Dottore doesn’t need you. He already has his segments,” he drawls, pretending to check the dirt under his nails. “You’re only there as a toy.”

As irritated as you feel, something in the back of your mind tells you to listen to him.

It’s not that you’re unaware that you are a test subject. Because of your enhanced durability and patience, he often seeks you out for his experiments. You’ve had plenty of substances and chemicals injected into your bloodstream. You’ve been pushed to your limits until he deems it satisfactory. You bear all the pain he inflicts on you and you melt under his touch when he repairs you himself.

Your existence revolves around him. Your body does not belong to you—it belongs to him, and he shall do whatever he pleases with it. This is the life you’ve accepted. This is your pride. This is your ‘dream.’

But it doesn’t explain the weight upon your shoulders. The anxiety lodged in your throat, the numbness spreading across your skin, the chill trickling down your spine. The sense that there is something wrong, very wrong, but nothing points to anything. All the paths ahead of you lead to him. Where are the ones without him?

No matter. You don’t exist to think.

“I’m doing my role,” you say with finality.

It’s a response you have said many times, whether to attempted assassins or lesser agents, yet somehow, the words don’t feel like they’re yours. They’re automated, rehearsed. You shake it off. Routines aren’t out of the ordinary. Following a pattern is merely a part of what you do.

He scoffs. “Fool. You just don’t get it.”

You feel like you should. You feel that there is more weight to his words than he’s letting on, but you simply can’t see this from a new perspective. What you’re doing—how you live now—is enough, and the fulfilment that comes after the Doctor’s praise is something you always aim for.

They can call you whatever they want. His pet, his guard dog, his toy, none of it matters. The only person you listen to is the Doctor. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, you have no purpose.

Then what will you do without him? When he inevitably decides that you are no longer needed, that a replacement would suffice? Every image that comes after is out of your control. The Doctor isn’t afraid of discarding things he deems useless. Would he dismantle you, hide you away until he needs you again? Would he throw you into the same pile as all of his broken segments? Would he decide to dispose of you entirely, shutting down all of your systems and turning your world into a void?

An invisible knot lodges within your throat and your mouth goes dry, uncomfortably so. Sweat beads at the crown of your head and the tremors in your hands are becoming harder to hide. The room spins and renders your vision distorted. You purse your lips, doing your best to keep the instabilities in check. You cannot show weakness. Anyone can turn against you in the blink of an eye.

“Is that all?” you speak up after a beat of silence. The shakiness in your words is more audible than you anticipated. “I will ask you one more time. Leave.”

Scaramouche watches you with an unreadable expression before he thankfully does as demanded without further argument. Your chest feels tight as you glare daggers at the door, keeping your ears trained to hear if the footsteps are going quiet as they should be. The razors on your fingertips retract. It is over.

Shaking your head, you return to the task at hand, unaware of the blinking light in the corner of the room monitoring your every move.

—

The laboratory becomes less of a frequent sight as you are given more tasks to do.

No longer are you needed to wait on the Doctor hand and foot outside the conference room. No longer are you needed to guard him in the workshop. Your time is spent lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He has you stay so close yet so far away, demanding your presence one moment then dismissing you the next.

The aberration in routine is too drastic to ignore. You’ve begun to analyse him the same way you do with your kill targets, mentally cataloguing his every action in an attempt to discover a common factor. You broke down everything he said, trying to find any hidden meanings behind them, to see if he speaks to you in riddles. Just like the attempt to search for who you were, you found nothing.

Naturally, you concluded that he is hiding something from you. He’s more adamant about being left alone while he works on a little project. His segments are the ones carrying out the tasks you are usually assigned to. When you’re not on reconnaissance, you’re left with the chores. It’s not entirely unusual for him to command you without further explanation. The tasks are simple enough, but the sudden shift brings forth unwanted anxieties.

You wonder if this is a gateway to something worse. The dismissals and growing lack of conversation remind you of someone no longer interested in what they used to love. With the Doctor’s eccentricities to begin with, nothing aids the formation of a relevant hypothesis or predicts a pattern. Some nights you’d find yourself trying to pick out past mistakes, any errors you might’ve missed, only to be met with nothing. You’d feel strangely heated—upset—being reminded of the possibility that he has simply tired of you.

You’ve always given your all in what he asks of you. If he needs someone killed, you do it clean, untraceable and unsuspecting. If he needs you to retrieve something, you make it seem like what you’ve stolen has never left. You lay yourself on the operating table when he demands it, let him inject toxin upon toxin into your vessels. You’ve been the perfect puppet for as long as you can remember, but is it not enough for him? Does he want more from you?

Maybe it’s his current collaboration with the sages of the Akademiya that is making him neglect you. Shouki no Kami is no small feat and the Doctor is meticulous. He could be devoting more of his time to perfecting the project. A burst of jealousy clouds your mind at the thought. Surely a project he’s had for centuries will be more interesting and resourceful than what you can offer him.

And yet, his demeanour every time you come across him contradicts everything you’ve suspected. He hasn’t been behaving particularly strangely. His mood is still quick to change and his temperance with the other scholars is as turbulent as ever. He still wordlessly watches you complete his orders, fingers drumming against his arm as he’s deep in contemplation. There shouldn’t be room for suspicions, but there is, and the lingering unease has started to hinder your progress.

You come to realise that perhaps this is what he’s called you here for.

The room is eerily quiet as the Doctor leers at you from where he leans against the workbench. You’re kneeling before him, eyes cast on the ground while you wait for him to speak. You don’t remember the last time you failed him, much less trigger a change in his temper. Your mind races with possible punishments he could inflict on you. Would he isolate you from the rest of the world? Would he shut you down for days on end, waking you when he decides you’ve learnt your lesson?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You don’t have to see it to know his features are marred with ire, his lips pressed in a taut frown. The impatient tapping of his foot seems to accelerate your train of thought, sending tremors to your frame. His glare burns into you and suddenly you feel all too exposed, vulnerable, and it is here that you realise that you are afraid.

But the scolding you were preparing yourself for never happens.

Instead, you feel a cold and heavy object wrapping around your neck and locking with an audible click. With a gloved hand, he takes hold of your chin with a disturbingly gentle touch, tilting your head up to meet his. You feel his breaths quickening against your cheeks, excitement bubbling in his blood at the confused expression on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he whispers, voice tinged in manic delight. “It suits you. But…”

Searing heat rushes around your neck and tears spring forth as you look up at him wide-eyed, lips parted in shock. Words die at the tip of your tongue, dissolving into nothing. Still, you don’t move or ask. You aren’t supposed to. Much like an obedient child, you sit and wait, even as you feel as though you’re going to collapse. The burn on your neck gradually wanes with time, the pain fading away but leaving behind a red trail in its wake.

He crouches down beside you and grazes his fingertips over the fresh wound, causing you to involuntarily wince. His glee is more than evident with how he holds your face in his hands and inspects you with pride.

“Why…”

“Why?” The mirth on his features immediately twists into a scowl. “Are you questioning me, pet?”

Your reply is instant and without a second thought, your mind unable to register the underlying threat in his question. “Is… Is that what I am, Doctor?”

“You are whatever I want you to be. Does that not suffice?” He presses against the wound, visibly overjoyed by the choked noise you let out. “Have you forgotten your place, pet?”

“No!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivulets. You don’t remember the last time you cried—you thought you couldn’t—but they flow on their own, uncontrollable and never-ending. “I’m sorry!”

It hurts. You feel as though you’re being torn apart by the neck, skin burnt and blistered at the Doctor’s will. Is this what he had wanted? Is this the foreign stimulus he needed to see your reaction to? Your pain tolerance was high and allowed you to withstand any trial he put you through. Did he take that away just to see you squirm? Just so he could hurt you himself?

For someone so unfamiliar with feelings now, everything comes back to you in full force. While you knew that the Doctor never saw anyone as his equal, the degrading act hits you harder than anything could ever do. You were proud of your duty of serving him, of being the subject he always looked for, but you are now lost in a void.

“I asked for one simple thing.” Whatever joy he previously had is all gone. The gentleness in his touch becomes harsh, fingers pressing against the collar again to rub your wound. “And my dearest little hound ignores it.”

“It hurts, Doctor, please—”

“Have I not been clear enough?” he continues, ignoring your cries. “Must I spell it out myself?”

The pedestal you put him on crumbles into pieces, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. The holy light is replaced with unbounded darkness and the marble flooring is splattered with blood and broken parts. In the destruction, you see your lifeless body lying among the faceless, and all he does is watch as you wither away with his old selves.

“You treat this as a punishment,” he says with disappointment, breaking you out of the dreamscape you’d found yourself in. “But I implore you to consider it a gift.”

Not waiting for your reply, he continues. “A reminder of sorts. For you and for anyone who looks at you. It was quite the hassle deciding between this or reworking you entirely.” He shoves you away and gets back on his feet, slowly pacing around the room as he speaks. “I’d have to start over from zero again.”

You don’t understand. You don’t know what reworking entails, and you don’t know what he means by starting over. All you can do is stare blankly at the tear-stained ground as your body becomes static and shuts out everything around you. Only he and you exist in this void. Only he is in control.

“I made you myself. Gave you a body when you had nothing.” He stops in his tracks, hands behind his back. “And you repay me with disloyalty.”

It’s been days since you last spoke to Scaramouche. You haven’t seen him since, and here the Doctor is, punishing you for something that was out of your control. A part of you screams at you to fight back, to tell him that he was the one who sought after you, but all you can do is tremble where you stand. You want to apologise, despite your instincts telling you not to. That the Doctor is lying to you, just as he likely did before.

“Please,” is all that leaves you in a broken whisper. Defiance brings nothing. You’ve learnt it the hard way, you know you have, even if you can’t remember what it was. Briefly, you question if he’s ever taken control of your memories, forming a faux story for you to remember. The dreadfulness is enough to answer the question.

He sighs, disinterested. “As thrilling as this is, you are wasting my time. I have duties to attend to.”

“Doctor…”

“Stay here and wait for my return. Do not leave our quarters. Am I clear?”

You feel as though you’ve been through this before. Visions come to mind, but none of the vignettes play; only a sense of familiarity and hurt remain. There is something about his effortless cruelty that hovers just out of your reach and keeps you in a perpetual state of insecurity. Are you not enough? Haven’t you done enough?

Hasn’t he had enough?

Numbly, you nod, your voice wavering as you finally manage to speak, “Yes, Doctor.”

—

As time passes, you come to realise that your punishment was only an interlude for something worse.

The Traveller’s arrival in Sumeru and the failure of the Sabzeruz festival had thrown a wrench into the Doctor’s plans. More disagreements between him and the sages occurred, none of which you knew of, but his mood grew more dour with each passing moment. You haven’t seen Scaramouche since he’d broken into the laboratory that night, and there’s a nagging thought telling you that you won’t see him again, either.

He’d been defeated at the hands of the Traveller with the aid of the Dendro Archon and disappeared, presumably under their custody. Years worth of work had fallen apart in a blink of an eye. The Grand Sage and his underlings were swift to surrender to the Mahamatra himself, forcing the operation to a halt. The people of Sumeru were freed from the influence of the corrupted Akasha terminals, and ‘the good’ began to rebuild what they had lost.

Meanwhile, the ones who had been on the verge of victory were left with the scraps.

The Doctor had returned from his negotiation with the Dendro Archon with more irritation than when he’d left. As per agreement with her, he’d destroyed his remaining segments stationed throughout Sumeru. In return, she gave him her Gnosis. Though it seemed like a fair deal, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He didn’t believe in wasted effort—how could he, when it’s in everything he does?—but there was not a moment of hesitation when he decided to abandon the project entirely.

It was a clear enough sign: he saw it as an utter failure.

A part of you is curious (or worried?) about what will become of Scaramouche now that he’s no longer needed. The Doctor either completely abandons his projects or destroys them. With Scaramouche missing, will he be hunted or presumed dead? Will you come across him again one day? He’d left behind only a husk of what he could’ve been, a being at heights you don’t know he can reach again.

And now, all that is left to do is to salvage what you can from the disaster.

What used to be filled with sounds of whirring cogs and wheels is now completely silent as the machines are no longer in motion. The metallic walls haven’t changed in their dreariness and the lights flicker on and off overhead. The centrepiece lies in ruins, smothered by dust and rubble as the last of its vibrancy begins to dull completely. You can see broken concrete and shards of glass everywhere, a visible mark of what had woefully transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s a stark difference from the first time you’d been here. The chambers are devoid of people and it’s daunting, more so with what remains of Shouki no Kami. The god has died before it can bless its people, leaving behind remnants of its power and godless land. What was meant to be a hall of worship had become a battlefield, a site of devastation and loss. Your gaze drifts back to the Doctor standing before the disaster.

If you had a heart, it would ache for him and weep.

You know he’d chide you for the sympathy you have for him. He’d make you remember that your ‘emotions’ are his, that he’s the sole person who gets to break you and build you back together. Still, you can’t help but feel sorrowful on his behalf. He’ll get back up and come up with a better plan; he’ll never crawl or bow in the face of an obstacle. He will move forward and you will continue to trail behind him, just like the loyal dog he wants you to be.

You’re reminded of the question Scaramouche had posed to you before—the question of whether the Doctor is your god. As it stands, you find that you still don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what a god is supposed to be. You don’t know how close you can be to a god. You don’t know what makes the perfect god, if it’s benevolence or evil that constitutes their power.

You’ve heard stories of cruel gods: the fall of Khaenri’ah, the Raiden Shogun’s tyranny; stories about Rex Lapis at the height of his time as a warrior and those punished by Celestia. You’ve heard of the kind ones, those who created life and allowed them happiness beyond the waters. The Archons are all worshipped for different reasons: the grant of freedom, the discipline of contracts, the pursuit of wisdom and the like.

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him.

Then what are you supposed to be?

Your existence relies on him. Your life belongs to him. Your purpose is to be at his beck and call, by his side, beneath him, anywhere he needs you. A life without him would lead to nothing—or would it? Would you break free and find a life of your own like Scaramouche has? Your heart sinks into your bowels at the fogged outcome. You don’t know if it’s fear or ‘love’ that holds you back from thinking of freedom. You don’t know if you need it or if you don’t.

Were you to ask him what you are, he’d let the question linger and let it go forgotten. Were you to ask him who you were, he’d tell you a different story from the last, and there’d be no way of finding out what is the truth.

(Do you need to?)

“It’s about time we returned.”

The Doctor stops just by your side and faintly tilts his head towards you. He seems to be staring at something on your face but says nothing. Without another word, he marches forward and you dutifully follow him until you reach the same port you’d first arrived in.

The ship was docked and already filled with the other agents who’d gotten it ready for the long voyage back to Snezhnaya. It softly bobs in the waves as the Doctor boards, ignoring the salutes and greetings he is given. With your head down, you take post on the deck of the ship.

You feel gazes burning on your back. Behind masks, the surrounding agents are undoubtedly staring at the burns around your neck and the collar that lays atop it. A sense of shame washes over you and you instinctively bring your hand up to cover it, your eyes cast on the wooden floors beneath. It makes you overly aware of the collar’s presence, bringing back the tingles on your skin and memories of the pain inflicted by the Doctor.

He may take the collar off of you when his whims call for it in the future, but the scar burnt into your skin will still be visible. Owning you alone wasn’t enough of a tangible claim over you. Keeping your heart locked away in his quarters wasn’t enough proof of his ownership. Breaking you apart and putting you back together wasn’t enough reassurance that he was in total control.

It should all hurt you—it does—but a voice in your head tells you that the Doctor is not an unreasonable man. It’s soft, timid, and nostalgic in a way that makes you think of summer days and toothy smiles. It’s doused in affection akin to a king’s loyal servant feeling for their master. The voice belongs to a person unknown, though you feel that they’re closer to you than you think. Conflicted, you shakily exhale, the sea breeze turning your skin cold and your eyes dry.

Is he your god?

The question sounds once more, and you find that you have an answer this time—the Doctor is not your god, but if he were, then he is one who has forsaken you.

[ohlovxr]

protective || matt murdock x fem!reader

you tried to distract yourself from the way you felt about your mom’s new boyfriend, you really did, but matt murdock just makes it so damn hard.

words: 3k

cw: fem!reader, mom’s boyfriend!matt x reader (so, tw stepcest to be safe), oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex, matt invading privacy using his senses as per usual lolol

masterlist

“Why were you being so weird the other night?” The question slips from you frustratingly despite your best efforts to approach him carefully and calmly.

Standing there in his office, you’re reminded of the night that had started the chain of events that led to this very moment.

The only thing that lit the room had been a weak lamp sitting on the corner of his desk, the rest of the space in the entirety of the office dark. Matt had sat behind his desk, on a phone call, when you’d walked in clutching a container of food your mother sent you to him with.

You remember how you’d thanked whatever God was up there that the man couldn’t see the way your eyes had widened and cheeks flushed when you’d watched his forearms flex, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, as he’d ended the phone call and put away documents. You remember how you’d done your best to stop your breath from hitching too loudly in the quiet room, mouth going dry as your grip on the tupperware tightened aggressively when he turned his head to you with a smile, hand loosening his tie as he had spoken, “Hey, sweetheart.”

You remember the way your legs had buckled against your will when his hand had brushed yours as you’d passed the container to him, warm and rough.

It would’ve been normal - harmless, even, despite the age gap - except it wasn’t. Not in your situation; not when the man you’d stood in front of then and stand in front of now was your mother’s boyfriend.

It wasn’t normal that everything from then on that Matt did had been cause for your frequent lewd fantasies and arousal soaked panties.

You’d made an effort, you really had.

After that night, you had found some head-over-heels boy from your school to distract you from your stupid, very inappropriate, crush on your mother’s boyfriend. Your mother’s very kind, very forthcoming and supporting, boyfriend… it really did sicken you to even have a need for the boy.

You’d made yourself conveniently scarce from the house whenever your mother had Matt over, opting for the backseat of the boy’s car and trying your damnedest not to imagine the lawyer in his place; trying not to imagine that it was Matt’s cock fucking up into you and his breath tickling your neck as he panted into it, his hands trailing all over your body. Although, if you were to be quite honest, it had been easy sometimes because you were sure that a man like him would’ve never let your head hit the car ceiling so often; you were sure a man like him would’ve rested a large hand on the back of your head to protect you or held you so much closer to him.

You’d made a mistake, though, the day you’d invited the boy over to your home, sick of the stuffiness that consisted of the backseat and wanting to be taken over the edge of your bed for the first time, craving a new sensation to distract yourself.

The house should’ve been empty that day. Your mother had spent the entire day before telling you about how she planned to take Matt out on a celebratory dinner, him having won a big trial. You hadn’t counted on walking into the house to find your mother and her boyfriend bustling about in the kitchen. You really did try your best to be quiet and sneak the boy out the second you’d heard their voices, but you found no such luck; neither of you had taken but a step before Matt and his bat-like hearing had heard you, calling your name with confusion laced into his tone.

Your mom had ended up inviting the two of you to dinner, the excitement from Matt’s recent win bleeding into the fact that she had been “so excited to meet the boy my daughter’s been spending so much time with! I feel like we barely see her anymore, isn’t that right, Matt?”

It had thrown you for a loop when Matt’s only response had been a hum, lips set into a flat line, displeasure written all over his face. It had left both a bad taste in your mouth and excitement between your thighs when he’d spent the rest of the night with his head edged towards you, but silent and only offering some kind of negative reaction - a little scowl, shifting in his seat angrily, furrowing his brows condescendingly - every time the boy had spoken up to answer one of your mother’s various questions.

You had asked your mother afterwards, when it was only the two of you cleaning the dishes, if she’d noticed anything off with the man during dinner. She’d told you, “Mhm,” her tone had been happy, as if a dream was coming true, “I’m sure it’s because he must be feeling protective over you already!”

The answer didn’t sit right with you. It wasn’t the logical part of you that said it to be too soon for him to feel such a way towards you that made your blood boil and head spin, but the emotional part of you that asked yourself where he got the nerve to be so unfair; where he got the nerve to be upset, protective, over a relationship you were in because of him.

Of course, he didn’t know how you felt; you never wanted him to. So, you cringe as you stand in front of him after the question leaves you in such an irritated manner.

You had only planned to confront him in order to prevent a repeat of that night - tell him calmly that it wasn’t his place so you wouldn’t gradually go crazy because of the situation - but you lost your composure.

Matt steps over, grabbing the container out of your hands and set it onto his desk before leaning against it, crossing his arms and shrugging, “Weird?”

You try your best, but you can’t stop yourself from darting your eyes down to those fucking forearms. You have to swallow hard and shift on your feet to regain your composure. “Rude.” You watch as his eyebrows shoot up before shrugging again, waiting for you to go on. “You didn’t talk to him. Didn’t even smile at him once. Why?”

Matt knows you aren’t looking for anything more than an innocent reason to justify his behaviour; that you aren’t holding out hope that he might feel the same way that you do about him because why else would you be with that boy when he doesn’t make your heart stutter and your pussy throbs with need the way Matt does? Why else, Matt thought, would you settle for that kid if you didn’t feel shame for the way he made you feel.

But he knows that he can’t just stand here and give you some reason as if you won’t see through it; he can’t even here and give you some reason as if he won’t just be lying to himself, acting as if the way you react to him doesn’t make his own heart pound and his cock swell in his pants. One thing, for certain, is that he cannot stand there and pretend like smelling that boy all over you doesn’t make him borderline homicidal.

Anyways, Matt lives with great amounts of shame and sin on his shoulders as it is, so, what’s a little more?

“I didn’t like him.”

He shrugs again. You pause to process his words before speaking disbelievingly, “You didn’t… like him?”

He nods his head once.

“Well,” you straighten as your voice turns angry, accusing even, taking what you’re sure is your chance at an innocent confrontation and leave it at that, “He’s not there for you to like him. I never even wanted you and mom to meet him in the first place, he’s just-”

“He’s just what?” Matt cuts you off, uncrossing his arms and pushing himself off where he leant on his desk, beginning to walk over to you slowly, “What is he?”

You unconsciously take a step back with every one that he takes forward, voice wavering as if you were unsure yourself when you told him that, “He’s a friend.”

His brows furrow, not out of confusion but out of smugness, when he asks knowingly, “A friend you let fuck you?” Your back hits the wall behind you with that, and you’re stuck trapped between it and him as he raises his arms and lets his hands rest beside either side of your head. Both trepidation floods your being and arousal floods your cunt.

“Y’know,” he sighs, hanging his head as if holding himself back from doing something he might regret before scoffing and leaning in even closer to you, crowding you against the wall, “I can tell he does nothing for you,” he brings his lips to your ear and whispers softly, “I can tell that no matter how many times you have him fuck you in the back of that car and fill your belly with cum that you’ll never be satisfied because he’s not me.”

He can feel you practically vibrating underneath him, hear the tears begin to prick at your eyes and your heart speed up, and can imagine what you must be thinking as you gasp; can imagine that you think you’ve been caught, that he’s the one confronting you and that he’ll send you off with disgust after this.

He shoves himself a little closer, letting his crotch brush up against yours to chase away the thoughts. He pulls his head back to give you the slightest bit of space and reassure you softly, his face every bit sincere even as red glasses block his eyes from your view, “I can take you home, sweetheart. Or we can stay here for a bi-”

He’s the one cut off this time when you bring your hands up to cup his face and pull him to your, bringing his lips down onto yours. His lips are chapped against yours, soft and eager, as they move together hungrily; he slips his tongue into your mouth when you moan into the kiss, knees buckling and hands slipping down to grasp onto his shoulders.

He breaks away, despite your little whine of protest, shushing you sweetly when you try to lean up into him. His mouth is still close enough to yours for your pants to hit one another’s lip when as he speaks, “C’mere.”

He urges your hands off his shoulders, pulling you off the wall and in front of him. He guides you towards his desk with firm hands gripping at your waist, his erection pressing against your ass, separated by the fabric of his slacks and your skirt; it takes everything in Matt to control himself when he feels your body heat up and your heartbeat thump even faster because of it.

It’s when your front nudges the very edge of it that he brings his lips to your ear once more, speaking softly, “Be good and bend over for me, alright?”

You whisper a little “‘kay” before you’re bending over the edge of the desk, chest and stomach resting on the cold wood and the couple of stray papers littering it. You let your hand trace one that was in front of you, written in braille, loosely in an attempt to calm yourself; distract yourself from the impending embarrassment you’ll succumb to when Matt flips up your skirt and finds your panties soaked against his fingers.

Your eyes close and a whimper escapes your lips when his fingers rub over your panties, wet with arousal. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp when he laughs.

“Hey,” his voice is filled with a mix of amusement, despite your dismay, and reassurance, free hand reaching up to rest soothingly against your lower back, “It’s okay to be excited. This,” his finger trails to your clit, rubbing it through your panties and drawing out a low moan from you, “is swe​et.”

Both his hands move to hook his fingers over the band of your panties, pulling them down and letting them fall around your ankles. He groans, drawing a finger through your folds, “There you are.”

“Matt,” you whine, pushing yourself back towards him, despite the embarrassment you’d been feeling earlier, trying to get him to just do something, “Please.”

“What?” His hand leaves your pussy, both going to grasp at the crease of where ass meets thigh and holding you open for him. You hear him shift behind you before his breath hits your exposed cunt, sending shivers down your spine. “D’you want something?”

Your lip wobbles as you whine again, “Matt, please, just- Oh.” Your voice gives out into a moan when his tongue flicks your clit, trailing up from there to dip into your hole. He pulls back, holding you as you were firmly to stop you from chasing him, and speaks, voice gravelly, “Fuck, you taste amazing, y’know that, honey?” He put his mouth back onto your pussy, letting his tongue dip in and out of your slick soaked hole, hands tightening around the fat they held onto as he listened to your mewls.

He pulls back for a moment, breathing heavily as he rests his head against his hand, as if he was taking a moment for something.

“Did he ever do this to you?”

“Hm?” Your eyes are glazed over and your mind’s so heavy that you barely process what he’s asked you, only able to focus on how open and exposed you are to him, waiting and wanting for him to make you cum on his mouth. He brings himself back to you, lapping his tongue through your folds once and prying another wanton moan out of you before he asks again, “Did he ever bother putting his mouth on you like this?”

“No, never,” your weak response earns you a scoff before he’s diving back in, eating you out messier than before and swirling his tongue over your swollen clit selfishly, basking in the way you twitch in his hands every time. You can’t stop yourself from babbling to him mindlessly, inhibitions gone in the pleasure he was giving you, “Fu-uck, never even wanted hi-him to. J-Just you.”

“Oh?” He pulls back after dipping his tongue into your spasming hole one last time and standing. You feel his hands leave your body only to listen to them start undoing his belt, the light clanging sound the metal part makes starting up alarms in your cloudy head. You jolt when he run the tip of his cock through your folds, spreading your slick and his saliva over it, as he asks, tone bordering teasing and jealous, “But you let him fuck you?”

You almost cry when his cock prods at your weeping hole, prolonging your torture for no other reason than the fact that he could, and offer him a confession, “Never let him cum in me,” you gasp when the head of his cock breaches your center, “Wanted you to be the only one, Matt.”

“Oh, well,” he scoffs a laugh, “that’s so kind of you, sweetheart.” His voice drips condescension as he sinks finally sinks into you, filling you up to the brim just as you’d always hoped.

He only manages to thrust into you a couple times before his hands are sliding from your waist to pull you up to him with a breathy, “get up here,” falling from his lips, deciding he wants you closer to him. With your back now against his chest, one arm wraps over your breasts to hold you to him while the other snakes down to play with your sensitive clit. He presses a kiss to your cheek, muffling the moan that escapes him when your pussy clenches around him, and pants a low, “good girl.”

Every drag of his cock fucking into your cunt emites wet, lewd, noises through the dim-lit room, only accompanied by the sounds of your broken moans and whimpers, getting closer and closer to cumming as his fingers rub soft circles into your clit.

“Matt,” you whine, pussy tightening around his cock and earning a hiss from the man before his pounding sped up. Your hands’ grip on his forearm holding you to his chest tightens as a cry escapes you when the tight coil in your belly snaps, sending you over the edge and your pussy to clamp down on his cock, spasming repeatedly.

Matt laughs breathlessly into your temple, lips pressing little pecks, as he continues to slide his cock in and out of your dripping pussy, fingers still working your clit loosely and guiding you through your climax. “That’s it, honey, good girl.”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch up, and soon you’re pleading with him to give you his cum, for him to, “stuff me full of it, please, Matt. Wanna feel you drip down my thighs when you walk me home tonight.” He buries himself deep in your pussy and cums soon after, a string of curses being uttered under his breath as he fills you up, balls twitching against your clit as it happens.

It’s after he finishes and tucks himself back into his slacks, helping you pull your panties back up, pressing a mindless kiss to the back of your thigh that makes your heart light up as he does it, that he turns you around to face him. You note how put together and unsuspicious he looks for someone who’s spent the last who-knows-how-long fucking his girlfriend’s daughter.

He gently grasps your jaw with one hand and leans down to press a short kiss to your lips, sighing after he pulls away, shaking his head a couple times before whispering contemplatively, “What am I gonna do with you?”

[supermarvelgirl15]

When We Drink Cold Water

Summary: You made yourself look up, locking eyes with Joel before you were suddenly plunged into a new world of cold and darkness. You tried to swim back up to the surface, but it was as if the ice-cold water didn't want you to leave. Something was pulling you back down, further away from the much needed air, further away from Joel.

Pairing: Joel Miller × f!reader

Word Count: 3,450

Warnings: Guns, blood, canon-typical violence, near death experiences, choking, almost drowning, angst, and possible hypothermia

A/N: The Last of Us has taken a hold of my life as you can see, so of course I had to write a fic for my grumpy old man! This is my first time writing for Joel, so I apologize if I don't capture him perfectly yet. I hope you all enjoy it!!

Main Masterlist

××××××

    It was cold.

    The air fogged in front of you with every breath you took, the frigid air filling your lungs. Snow crunching beneath your boots as the two of you walked was the only sound that you could hear in the isolated town that you were trekking through.

    You pulled your jacket closer to you as the wind picked up, huffing out a clear sound of annoyance. You didn't want to cut through the town to begin with, saying that it'd be safer to just go around and head straight into the woods.

    There was a lesser chance of running into... inconveniences that way.

    But Joel said it was quicker this way, and the both of you needed to loot up on supplies anyhow. He said you'd only stay long enough to gather what was needed and then find a place to crash for the night.

    So, you followed him–albeit reluctantly–into what used to be a little convenience store, gathering what you could find as quick and thorough as possible. The faster the two of you got out of there the better.

    “I used to love getting these,” you said aloud, using the toe of your boot to poke at what used to be an old slushie machine that laid broken on the ground. It was hard to believe that it been almost twenty years since the last time you tasted one.

    Joel looked over from where he had found some ammo hidden behind the counter, a huff of air that someone that didn't know him would mistake as a chuckle leaving his nose. “I preferred coffee.”

    You wrinkled your nose at the thought of the taste of a bland convenience store coffee. Before you could comment on his apparent addiction, a sound from outside made you stop in your tracks completely.

    Voices. Human ones.

    Your eyes immediately locked with Joel's as he signaled you to duck down. Whoever it was was just outside the window near you. If you were lucky, they were just fellow travelers just making their way through the town just like you.

    You were never that lucky.

    Slowly, you crept over to the window, barely peeking your head over to see what exactly you were up against.

    There were five men at the least, all of them holding a weapon of some kind as they scanned the streets. It looked as of they were looking for something, or maybe even somebody.

    “What do you see?” Joel whispered, staying in his crouched position behind the counter. He held his revolver in his right hand, his finger ready at the trigger.

    “At least five men, all armed,” you replied, freezing when the voices of the group outside suddenly go quiet.

    The only thing you could hear now was their boots in the snow until someone called out, “I got tracks!”

    Your eyes flashed over to Joel once again as you slowly reached for your shotgun that hung on your backpack. Joel raised his hand up to tell you to stop, his eyes flicking up to the window just above your head.

    “I think they're in here!” The same voice shouted as he jumped in through the window. Before the man could even react to almost landing on top of you, Joel's revolver shot out a bullet between his eyes.

    You were quick to sling your shotgun around then, jumping to hide behind the counter with Joel. All the other men started yelling now, as if the sound of Joel's gun was the signal to start a war.

    More shots rung out as the other men blindly fired into the store, their bullets tearing through what little was left on the shelves. You cocked your shotgun, quickly jumping up to fire a shot, just barely missing one of them as they ducked for cover. You swiftly squatted back down with your back to the counter.

    “I told you we should've went around,” you muttered annoyingly, tensing when a bullet hits an object off the counter just above you.

    “Save it.” Joel jumped up just like you did to shoot, but judging by the scream, he actually hit one. “I'm gonna go out the back and get behind ’em. Stay here and stay down.”

    You shake your head. “No, you should stay here and cover me–you've always been the better shot. I can take them down while you distract them.” It was the more logical thing to do, but Joel wouldn't hear it.

    “No. Stay here and stay down,” he repeated sternly. You open up your mouth to protest again, but he headed out the back before you could say anything.

    Cursing Joel under your breath, you give your attention back to the men outside. They stopped firing, the crunching of the snow giving themselves away. “We know you're in here,” one of them taunts in a singsong voice as he steps inside.

    Oh, screw Joel.

    You pop up with your shotgun aimed at him, a smirk plastered on your face. “Hey there, handsome.” The man doesn't even get the chance to raise his gun before you've pulled the trigger, flinging him out the door he came from.

    The action is enough to give away your position, the others shooting in your direction. You make a break for it and dive behind one of the rotten shelves just as a Molotov was thrown your way. If this wasn't enough distraction for Joel, then he really is getting old.

    Just then, you hear a bomb go off, the sound of nails hitting everything in radius, along with the screams of the men that happened to be standing just too close. Hopefully that was all of them.

    “You son of a bitch!” Never mind.

    You took the chance to look out the window, seeing Joel getting swung at with a bat covered in barbed wire as another man continued to shoot at him.

    Quickly, you reloaded and made a run for it out the door, sneaking up behind the man with the gun. “Hey!” You shouted just as you shot him in the chest. You looked up to see the other man using the bat to pin Joel against a wall, the wire cutting into his skin.

    Before you could make a move towards him, your body was slammed into the ground, the air escaping your lungs throwing you into a slight panic.

    Another man had tackled you into the snow, the momentum causing your shotgun to fly out of your hands. You didn't even get the chance to earn your breath back before his hands found their way around your neck and his knees pinned you down. The look that he held in his eyes was enough to give you nightmares on its own.

    Your nails started clawing at his face, desperately trying to get him to loosen his grip on your throat. Your vision was starting to spot and you thought you could hear Joel screaming your name, or was that just the lack of oxygen? You just prayed that he wouldn't die as well.

    Your thumbs were finally able to find his devilish eyes, and you shoved them in there as far as you could go. The man yelled then, letting go of your neck to grab your wrists. You took the moment to take a deep breath and used your legs to push him off you. You scrambled after your shotgun that laid just ahead of you in the snow, but paused when you heard a gun click.

    Slowly, you turned around on your back, facing him. There was blood dripping down from his eyes, the gun pointed at your face just as deadly as his stare.

    “You slut!”

    A shot rung out...but you weren't dead.

    The gun fell out of his hands, him following after it. You watched as the snow started to soak up the hunter's blood as it pooled around his head. He was dead.

    You grabbed your shotgun as you slowly stood back up, your hand reaching up to rub at your throat. You finally tore your eyes away from the body to look at where the shot came from, meeting Joel's eyes that held nothing but anger.

    “Than–”

    “I told you to stay down.”

    Your brows knitted together. “You're welcome? What was I supposed to do? Let ’em kill you?” You inquired, slinging your gun over your shoulder. He couldn't be serious. “Besides, if we had just done it my way, it would've been a whole lot smoother.”

    Joel scoffed. “If we had did your way, we both would've been dead.” He bent down to check the man's jacket for anything useful. You just stood there, watching him. He really couldn't be serious.

    The sounds of more gunfire interrupted the both of you. Joel picked up the bat that was just used against him moments earlier, the cuts on his hands proof of it. “Let's get a move on.”

    You wanted to protest, not wanting to drop the subject so quickly, but was stopped by inhuman screeches coming from the same direction of the gunfire. Runners.

    Without another word, the two of you jogged out of the town, heading down a trail through the woods. Neither of you did nothing to get rid of the thick atmosphere that surrounded you, even when the sun began to disappear into the familiar darkness.

    Tonight, the darkness brought a frigid cold to join it, the worst of it seeping through your layers. There was something poetic about winter during this new world. The harsh season ripping away what was left of the already decaying world. At least the trees and flowers were given a second chance once spring came. Not everyone was that fortunate.

    There was a time when you loved winter. The fluffiness of the snow that made you giddy like you were a kid and the redness that would spread across your cheeks when the wind hit them. Now the once cherished season brought nothing but dread and death. Much like the reality everyone now lived in.

    “Here.” Joel started towards a cabin that set up on a hill. The wood had seen better days, but so had you. All of the windows were boarded up from the inside. Someone had holed up here at one time. Hopefully they were no longer were.

    Joel opened the door up with a shiv, peeking his head in as he scanned the room. He nodded his head towards you, meaning it was clear.

    Once you stepped inside, you could still feel the ghosts of the ones that used to live here. Your feet stopping when your eyes landed on a discarded teddy bear. Maybe they were still alive somewhere.

    Maybe.

    Sitting down in one of the near rotted chairs, Joel dug through his backpack, pulling out his canteen of water. “Take this,” he said, holding it towards you.

    You sat down on the molded couch, your back to him. “I'm good,” you replied shortly. You bit the inside of your cheek as you dug through your bag for your own canteen. “I can actually take care of myself, believe it or not.”

    Joel ran his hand over his face, dropping his canteen back into his pack. “You're still on that shit?”

    You faced him then as you stood back up, your bag falling over. “Yes, Joel, I'm still on ‘that shit.’ I don't know where you got the idea that I'm totally helpless without you. I survived long before I met you, Miller.” You shoved a finger in his direction. “If it wasn't for me today, you would've been dead.”

    Joel stood up as well, taking a few steps towards you. “You were almost killed,” he seethed. “If you had listened to me none of that shit would've happened!” He shoved the chair behind him across the room, but you didn't flinch. You were too fired up to care.

    “I had it under control. We've had plenty of close calls before,” you pointed out.

    An incredulous laugh left Joel's lips. “Under control? Then explain that.” Joel gestured to your bruised neck, your fingers reaching up to ghost over it. “If I was just a second too late, you would've been good as dead.”

    If you weren't so blinded by your rage, you would've caught the catch in his throat as the words left him. “What are you saying, Joel?” You asked, your fists clenching at your sides.

    “If it wasn't for me, you would've been killed a long time ago.” His words struck you like a knife, the voice in your head reminding you of what you feared all along, pushing the knife even deeper. You wouldn't listen to him. You couldn't.

    You gathered yourself before you spoke again. “If I'm so useless to you, then why did you want me to go to Boston? The only reason I'm even out here is because of you. So tell me, Joel, why?” You asked through gritted teeth.

    Joel just stood there, not saying a word. You waited for what felt like an eternity for him to say anything, but he didn't. You nodded, taking his silence as an answer, and bent down to pick up your bag. “I'm done.”

    You headed back out the door, the wind burning into your face, but you didn't care. You needed to get of there. Now.

    You could hear Joel's boots as he came out behind you. “What the hell are you doing?” He called after you, but you continued on.

    “I don't need you to babysit me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” You called back, refusing to face him. You just needed to get out of here.

    “You are goin’ out in the middle of nowhere when it's freezing-cold. Smart!” Joel continued, staying just behind you.

    Your hands tightened around yourself as you kept your eyes forward. “Then quit following me!”

    When you heard his boots stop moving behind you, you thought for once that Joel finally listened to you. But again, you were never that lucky.

    “Come back here, now.” His voice was lower than it had been, but that didn't deter you.

    “No!”

    “Stop!”

    “I don't need to listen to a word that comes out of your fu–”

    You finally stopped when you heard something crack beneath you. Your eyes slowly casted down to see fractures of ice run in different directions under your feet. Joel was saying something to you, but it fell upon deaf ears, your mind racing with everything that led you to this very single moment.

    You made yourself look up, locking eyes with Joel before you were suddenly plunged into a new world of cold and darkness. You tried to swim back up to the surface, but it was as if the ice-cold water didn't want you to leave. Something was pulling you back down, further away from the much needed air, further away from Joel. Your backpack felt like you had nothing but hundreds of bricks in it, dragging you to the bottom. The coldness stiffened your body, making it harder and harder to move.

    Right when you started to give in to the icy darkness, something grabbed you by under your arms and pulled you up towards the surface. As soon as you broke free, you gasped for air, the remaining water in your mouth turning your lungs into icicles. The frigid air mixed with the freezing water that soaked into your clothes made it hard to do anything aside from violently shaking, your body working as much as it could to give you at least a little warmth. It wasn't working, especially with the cold air making it difficult to breathe.

    The arms that pulled you up now wrapped their selves around you, picking you up. “I gotcha. It's okay, I gotcha.” You heard a voice repeat the mantra several times, but you couldn't make out who it belonged to. You turned your face to bury yourself into their jacket, the familiar scent of gunpowder and wood flooding your senses.

    “J-J-Joel?”

    “Shhh, I got you, sweetheart,” Joel comforted you, using his foot to open the door to the cabin. “I'm gonna get you warmed up, okay? Here,” he gently set you down in front of the fireplace, “I'm gonna get some wood. Stay here.”

    You nodded the best you could, holding yourself as tightly as you could manage. Joel brought back a blanket he had found in the bedroom, wrapping it around your shoulders before promising he'd be right back.

    Your eyelids felt heavy, but you knew better than to close them. You knew if you closed them now, it was more than likely that you'd never open them again. It was easier to keep them open with the help of your teeth chattering non-stop.

    Just as promised, Joel came back in with some firewood, quickly throwing them into the fireplace. It took him a few tries to get the fire going with his lighter, the cold wood not wanting to give him what he so desperately needed. He cursed to himself, grabbing a pillow from the couch and used it to feed the fire.

    Joel let out a sigh of relief as he turned to look back at you, the short-lived relief immediately leaving him at the sight of your closed eyes. He grabbed your face, patting your cheeks firmly. “Hey, I need you to keep them eyes open for me, sweetheart. C'mon now,” he said to you gently, your eyes fluttering open. Apparently your chattering teeth did nothing to help.

    Biting his lip, Joel slowly pulled the blanket off you. “You need to get out of your wet clothes,” he told you as he took your backpack off. You tried to help him, but he shook his head. “Let me do it.”

    Layer by layer, Joel took your clothes off, throwing them to the other side of the room. You attempted to smile at him as he wrapped you back up in the blanket. “You're su-supposed to take, t-take me to dinner f-first,” you joked as your teeth grinded together.

    Joel tried to return something of a tired smile back to you. “Maybe next time,” he replied, shrugging his jacket off. Your eyes widened as he started to take the rest of his clothes off as well.

    “W-w-what are y-you–”

    “You need body heat,” Joel stated, taking the blanket to wrap around the both of you. He gently laid you both on the ground in front of the fire, holding you against him with your back to his chest.

    The two of you laid there in silence, waiting for your shaking to subside. You watched the fire dance in front of you, the flames performing a show before your very eyes. The firey performers couldn't hold your attention, however, your mind solely focusing on the arms that held you together.

    “I'm s-s-sorry,” you apologized, fighting against the tears that pricked your eyes. “Y-you were r-right.”

    You felt Joel shift behind you. “About what?”

    A shaky breath ran through your body. “I'd never m-make it without y-you,” you admitted. Joel remained quiet for a moment, leaving you to your tormented thoughts, before slowly turning you to face him.

    “You'd be a whole lot better off without me.”

    Your eyebrows furrowed together. “I almost fr-froze to death in a l-lake. I don't th-think so,” you scoffed.

    Joel took a deep breath. “If it wasn't for me, none of that shit today would have happened.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. “You're one hell of a survivor. I've just been too caught up to remember that.”

    You raised a brow. “C-caught up in what?”

    He just raked his eyes over your face, running a calloused thumb over your cheek. “We can save it for later. Let's just get you warmed up first.” Joel pulled the blanket over you more, snapping out of whatever trance he was just in.

    Slowly, you allowed yourself to lay your head on his chest, holding him closer to you. Your heart began to race as you overturned his words over and over in your head. You wondered if he knew how long you've prayed for a moment like this with him, aside from the possible hypothermia.

    “Joel?”

    “Hmm?”

    “I've b-been caught up, too.”

    You hoped your words meant the same to him, squirming slightly when he remained silent. Your head rose up with his chest as he let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening around you.

    Joel leaned down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

    The fire held no comparison to the warmth that filled you while you laid there with him.

××××××

[the-final-sif]

ohh my god ur AU is so cool im brainrotting so hard ?? i hope u dont mind me writing a little smth for it bc im !!! wowowow it's so epic -dr3amofagame on tumblr/twt

He'd been all but sure that the kid was going to die. 

Dream brushes his hand over the kid's head lightly, startling when Michael turns in his sleep to press his snout into his palm, tiny tusks digging into his skin. He's more at ease, now, though XD had warned him that he's still fragile - hence why he's in Dream's arms instead of sleeping on the cold ground. He doesn't really know what to, honestly. He didn't really expect to get this far. 

At least it looks like he's not hurting as much anymore.

That's...something, Dream thinks, brushing against the fine hairs at the base of the kid's skull as he thinks to himself. He'd been crying near-constantly before, which didn't bode well for either him or Dream, and hadn't been able to sleep nearly as soundly before waking up from the pain, even when Dream held him. Now, he almost looks content, burying his face into Dream's side and chuffing quietly in his sleep. It's the closest he's looked to peaceful as long as Dream's known him, at the least. 

Dream stares at the kid numbly, his breathing rattly but steady. His hands shake (they always shake, now) as he shifts him a little so he can sit more comfortably, grunting under his breath when Michael responds with a series of whines and irritated squeaks. His head tips back against the wall and he looks up, lips trembling around the sigh that leaves his lungs.

He can't take care of a kid.

Not for the first time, he wonders why Sam had brought this random kid with them in the first place. It's not like he doesn't already have Dream's total obedience as it is. Not that it seems like Sam cares about the kid much either - and whoever this kid is, he clearly came from somewhere, if his squeals and cries for what Dream figures must be his sounder from when they first ran away are of any indication. Dream huffs to himself, irritated - Sam's hatred for him is understandable enough, as much as the Warden is an asshole that tortures anyone that does as much as speak a word out of line. But dragging some random kid into their mess? For what? 

Probably 'cause he's a fucking coward, Dream snipes inside his head, and he snorts. That, of all things, has stayed constant. 

Still - he has no idea what he's fucking doing. Maybe it would've been better before shit went down, when things were the way they should be, but now? When he's barely able to take care of himself? When Sam is there looking over his shoulder, ready to make him "face the consequences" of every wrong step? Yeah, he's never been as ill-equipped to take care of a toddler and Dream thinks that the only reason why he's not had a breakdown over it all yet is that he's been too busy making sure that the kid won't fucking keel over and die on him. Then again, maybe he's just gotten used to the whole "constantly on the verge of completely falling apart at any given moment" and now it's just the status quo now - like, exposure therapy or something. That could be convenient. 

Besides, even if he was equipped for being any sort of - parent, or whatever, even if he wasn't half-starved and half-dead with Sam's proverbial hand on his neck, it's hardly like being around him in any capacity is safe. It took just about everything he had to hide Punz's involvement, all he can do is hope that he and Ranboo have made it out okay and not been discovered and consequently executed or some shit; he's long known that being allied with him is all but a death sentence. Being hunted down for eternity, your life in constant danger of being used as a bargaining chip because of someone else's mile-wide grudge? It's no life he could wish on anyone, never mind some kid. He's not an idiot - he's no saint - but he doesn't want some toddler to die for him. 

Still, there's no mistaking the swell of emotion that had risen at the sight of the kid, somewhat healed and relatively painless when XD had set him back into Dream's arms. There's no avoiding the recognition that sparks in Michael's eyes when he looks over at him, giggle-fits and begging to be held that are reserved for him and him only. Dream smooths his hand over the bumps of Michael's spine on his neck, careful to avoid the sensitive areas where bone is exposed to the air - pausing when Michael nudges forward in his sleep, nuzzling into the crook of his arm. 

He'll have to figure something out, later. Some way to get Michael safely secured away from Sam and away from himself, where he won't end up as potential collateral for when shit inevitably goes down. 

For now, though- 

Dream holds Michael a little closer to his chest, watching as the kid brushes up against him and presses his ear right up against his heart, and keeps his eyes fixed on the locked door of their room. Someone, after all, is going to have to keep watch.

---

Hello, so first and foremost, I love you and I would die for you. Second, you've taken my entire heart and it's yours now. Third, I'm going to cry about this all night. Fourth, just,,,, c!Dream not understanding why, being so disillusioned on how dangerous attachments are for him, and still being so helpless in his love for this toddler he's been tasked to watch over. :,) I'm crying about this tomorrow as well.

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part II) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist || Part One

Summary: Part two, read part one if you haven’t already! Sam & Bucky put reader in charge of looking after Zemo....again. Series loosely inspired by this song.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, mentions of sex, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: Wow! I was so shocked on the feedback I got on the first part of this story. It has nearly 800 notes. I’m not used to my writing getting that kind of attention so I really appreciate the love. I decided to make this into at least a 3-4 part series and there will be eventual smut, but I feel like there’s something sweet between these two that goes beyond an obvious physical attraction, so I do want to build that a bit before we get there. This weekend I rewatched TFATWS & Civil War because I’m officially obsessed with Zemo lol. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :) 

-----

“Keep an eye on him.”

Y/N watched Bucky and Sam split off again. That was now at least the third time she’d heard that phrase since she arrived in Riga. Little did they know, she was probably the worst person to be put in charge of Zemo. Truthfully, it was starting to be a little insulting.

It was unclear why she’d been brought along on this mission, when half the time Sam and Bucky were talking in hushed tones just out of her earshot. There was always more to the story than they told her, but this time, it felt like she was more out of the loop than ever.

She adjusted the neckline of the sweater she wore out of an abundance of caution, checking subconsciously to make sure it hadn’t exposed the mark Zemo had left on her from the day before. It was a discovery she’d made that morning, and persisted despite her efforts to cover it up with makeup.

“According to those two, I must be the best at babysitting you,” she muttered under her breath. It was petty, so she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to hear. But he did.

“Babysitting?” Zemo lifted an eyebrow. 

“You know, a nanny, a governess….whatever a Baron’s equivalent is,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time that day, which was a mistake. He looked so handsome in that long, fur-lined coat, tall and refined, hair styled perfectly. There had to be warrants out for his arrest since escaping prison, and in his current getup, he was hard to miss. 

It wasn’t easy to ignore the stifling tension between them. The Baron hadn’t left her thoughts since she’d closed the door on him the evening before. Now they were alone again. She couldn’t decide if that was thrilling or terrifying, so she decided on both.

“It’s nice of them to give us some alone time,” Zemo stepped close to her, one gloved hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Despite the cool temperature outside, it was the first thing today that had her shivering. 

“Walk with me,” he commanded sternly. She saw no opportunity to refuse as they started in the direction opposite of where Bucky and Sam had disappeared. 

“Zemo-”

“Helmut,” he corrected her. “But go on…”

“We have to focus on figuring out where Donya’s funeral will be,” she said, feeling his hand slide down to settle on the small of her back, trying to inch away, but he just pulled her closer. “We can’t waste time.”

“I know Riga inside and out, that won’t be as difficult as you and your friends think,” he murmured. His proximity was already suffocating. Or maybe comforting. It was hard to tell. “Tell me, what is your business with them? You aren’t an Avenger. This was my first time hearing your name.”

She snorted, finally finding the strength to pull away, and he dropped his hand. That was one thing that had confounded her. He was confident, took liberties with what others would allow, but knew when to stop pushing. There was something alluring to his nature. 

“I’m not,” she responded, wondering how much she was willing to share. When she stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes, his head was lowered, leaning in, listening intently for her response. She wondered if he really cared, or if he was good at pretending. It was easy to believe that he did.

“Bucky and I aren’t that different,” she continued. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m not a super soldier, but I was taught how to fight, how to kill. I followed orders for too long without questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. And at least now, I think I am.”

“You think,” he repeated, and corrected her again like he had the day before. As much as she wanted some kind of clever or quick quip back, she wore her heart on her sleeve for the moment and shrugged. There was nothing to defend when she still wasn’t sure what responsibilities she had in this world. 

Zemo halted, and she paused too, turning back to look at him. “So you were an assassin,” he murmured, reaching out. Nodding slightly, she lowered her eyes when his gloved thumb brushed across her face. The buttery, overpowering smell of leather took her over as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would’ve never guessed. Du bist so süß.”

Her knowledge of German was limited, but she could see a flash of what looked like affection in his eyes. He couldn’t be lying, could he? She wondered. She wanted to trust that he wasn’t, wanted to identify every good part of him she could, so she could justify the overwhelming attraction she felt towards him. Something in her just kept pulling forward against her will, like a magnet.

“You’d be surprised,” she answered, but didn’t pull away. The intensity of his gaze made her feel weak, but there was something strangely reassuring in his eyes. It was just the two of them, standing on a crowded sidewalk.

She rose her hand to clasp around his, frowning when she felt the hard loop of a ring on one of his gloved fingers. It had gone unnoticed by her, until now. He still wore a wedding band. 

It would have been easy to vocalize the observation, gauge his reaction, try to regain some upper hand and remind him who exactly he was dealing with. But, it would’ve been pointlessly cruel, as she knew what that felt like to answer that question. Those days were behind her, now. 

As if the universe was scolding her, a loud car horn broke through the perceived silence. His hand dropped from her face, and they began to walk again. 

“I had lots of time to think in prison,” he said after a heady pause in conversation. “About the things I’d done. Whatever intentions you have, to someone, you’re always the enemy. What I thought was important, trying to serve the greater good, it isn’t always worth the trouble. I was trying to protect what I had already lost, the places and people I’d taken for granted.”

Deciphering his words, she took a moment before responding. “That’s actually...very insightful,” she said, partly surprised by what he’d shared, appreciating that he felt her vulnerability, and matched it in his response.

“I know you’re stunned I’m not a brute,” he answered, increasing his pace to a determined strut rather than a lazy stroll. She was forced to keep up with him. “You’ve been told what to think about me by Sam and Bucky.”

She scoffed. “Not just them. The entire world. All the people you’ve hur-”

He halted and turned to face her so quickly, she collided with his chest and her breath caught in her throat. 

“I’m not that man anymore,” his voice was nearly a growl, disgust laced in his features as he looked down at her. 

But as soon as she recognized it, he became expressionless again, backing away. Falling back into step beside him, they continued to walk, a bit faster than they had been before. She followed him, at this point convinced that she might get lost without his guidance, but a little startled by his sudden change in behavior.

“What do you think of Riga?” he asked her as they cut through an alleyway. His voice held none of the venom that it had a few moments ago, so she wondered if she’d just hit a sore nerve.

“It’s beautiful,” she answered, admiring the old brick buildings and fine architecture. “But I think I haven’t had much of a chance to appreciate it.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

They ducked under an alcove, and she realized he’d carefully led her off the crowded streets. It was much quieter here. She suddenly didn’t feel as protected as she had been with him in the open. The temperature in the shaded space was much lower than expected. And he was standing over her, waiting for some response she didn’t know if she could give. 

“I haven’t forgotten about last night, liebling,” he continued. 

Of course she had been thinking of him. Nearly nonstop. What they’d shared, what it meant. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she relieved herself, fingers rubbing her clit and delving into her warmth, whimpering his name when she finally came. Still, it had done little to quell the ache inside her. 

It was a horrible thing, she’d decided. Objectively horrible, and unprofessional. There was the consideration of accessibility. What did he see in her beyond a means to an end? Was she really going to throw everything she’d worked for away to a man who was going to use her to scratch an itch?

Too much was at stake, Sam and Bucky’s trust, her reputation, her job, and she couldn’t allow it to go on. 

But oh, how much she wanted it to. 

“Yesterday was nice,” she straightened up, holding her own. “I won’t lie to you.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly in a self-satisfied smirk. 

“But I’m not foolish,” she continued. “Coming on to the first woman you see after you get out of jail? Seems pretty convenient.”

At first, the Baron tilted his head to the side, his brows pulled together at her words. But after a moment, the smile returned, and he chuckled. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“Don’t insult me, Helmut,” she said sternly, trying her best not to feel embarrassed. She was only being honest.

“Are you always so severe to yourself?” he asked, tutting lightly. 

It would have been better to say nothing. Why give him anything at all? 

She didn’t answer his question, just backed away from him and began walking in no particular direction, wanting only to increase the space between them and regain her common sense. That was impossible however, as she was jolted backwards before she even knew what was happening, a firm hand on her upper arm, and she was chest to chest with Zemo once more. 

“We were in Madripoor together. I could’ve had my way with many women there if I wanted. But I didn’t.”

“Please-” she rolled her eyes.

“If all I wanted to do was fuck someone, I could have done it by now,” he stalked forward, the air pressure around them dropping, weighed by the tension hanging thick between them. “But that’s not what I want. I want you.”

His words, spoken in a soft, low purr rattled away every bit of resolve she had left in her. Some last ditch effort found her stepping backwards, but her body met the brick wall behind them and she realized he had her cornered. 

In more ways than one, she thought.

Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up at his eyes, clouded with lust. “I know you want me,” he said, not a shred of doubt in his voice. But why should there have been? He was right. 

Her eyes darted around, like someone or something around them was going to jump out and save her from herself. It didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s no need to be scared, liebling. I feel it, too.”

With that, he closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet, like the candies he’d been eating back at his flat. Turkish delight. She was drowning in him again, his scent, his touch, everything about him enveloped and beguiled her. Her shirt had bunched up slightly somewhere along their walk and his gloved hands explored the exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

She surrendered, letting him tease open her mouth and claim her wholly. It was still bad, she knew. But there wasn’t any last bit of self-control left in her. 

The layers of clothing between them didn’t allow for the same proximity she’d had to him the evening before. Groaning in delight and frustration, she reached up to tangle and rake her fingers through his hair, as his fingers curled around the top of her sweater, revealing the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“Don’t hide this,” his lips left hers as his eyes focused on the stamp of affection he’d left behind the day before. “Let them see.”

“You know I can’t,” she responded, sheepishly pulling it back into place. Studying her with amiable consideration, his hand rose to brush tenderly across her cheekbone. 

“I thought you’d come to me last night,” she confessed, drawing away slightly, shocked by her own admission. But right now, she didn’t feel the need to put up as much of a facade. He looked positively virile; panting, his cheeks flushed and hair mussed, pupils blown out as he focused on her. To know she was the cause of his current state of disarray gave her an immense amount of satisfaction. A buried, salacious part of her wondered what else she could do to make him look even more unkempt.

“I considered it,” he said, sounding almost timid. “But I want to do this right.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “In private, so no one can disturb us,” he continued, lips moving down her neck. “We can take our time, you can be as loud as you’d like.”

The mental image he was currently painting for her was doing very little to strengthen her convictions, whatever those had been. The thought of her legs wrapped around his torso, naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of electricity through the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards. She wanted his lips on every inch of her skin. Aching at the possibility, the present tease of his teeth nibbling on her collarbone wasn’t helping.

“You know we can’t,” she didn’t try to stop the thought as it came out of her mouth.

“What is there to lose?”

Everything, she thought, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t really, as his gloved hand was trailing slowly under her jacket and sweater, against her bare skin, and cupping her breast through her bra. Whimpering, she couldn’t control the way her body arched against his.

Hooking her knee on his hip, she let him press forward, feeling the warmth of his excitement through his trousers and her jeans. He ground against her once, teasingly, and she moaned softly into his mouth. 

He was the one to pull away, and she was thankful he did. “Think about it, liebling,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “Du hast die Kontrolle.”

“We can’t,” she answered again, but even she didn’t believe herself. Raking her hands through her hair and adjusting her rumpled sweater, she straightened up. “We have a job to do.”

Brushing past him out of the alcove, each step she took away from him gave her the self control she desperately needed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reluctantly trudging behind. At this point, she wasn’t foolish. There were only two ways this could end.

----

Part III

Series Taglist: @juice-1981  @sapphiredreamer26  @tatooineisdry  @marvelsvision @spookycereal-s @trelaney @fireghost-x @booksarekindaneat  @thunderingbats  @felicityofbakerstreet @takacsgram @mischiefmanaged71 @fanfictionedagain @merelyhooper @gyllord @mundaytuesday @friday18eo  @lovegood7553  @adara-wolfhart @a-djarin @farawaywasteland @sky-writes-stuff @fuckinglittlekitten @katyasrussianaccent @agent-jbarnes  @neoarchipelago @pattispunk @kpopnena @purebloodwitch @spookyconsultingcriminal @msmarvelwrites @professorrw @lazyradeecal @captainrexstan @notyourfuckingbusinesss

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged, or if I forgot to tag you for some reason! :)

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Obbligato (Chapter Seven)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Off to the races with no time for nights gone wrong. Being at a wit's end deserves a reward, one of teasing breaths and words, adding to the stories the hallway could tell. Vulnerable words pinned to the wall and kissing it all better.

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 7187

***

The morning was awkward, to say the least. Y/n had woken up first and before she could even look at the man beside her, her phone started ringing, management was calling. So she was off to work. No time for the thoughts that were still running around in her mind. No time to process.

They didn’t get to talk, she and Damiano. Both of them were hurrying to get packed up and get the others woken up to then get to the airport. It seemed impossible to find a quiet minute with just the two of them, some privacy, some peace of mind. The call from that morning was their manager, who had already been up for two hours ranting about some of the changes that needed to be made. Today it was going from zero to one hundred with no end in sight.

She had hoped things would calm down as they reached the airport, but chaos seemed to follow wherever they went. It started with Victoria panicking because she couldn’t locate her jacket anymore - she made sure to let everyone in the greater vicinity know that it was her absolute favourite and she had worn it in Rotterdam and she could not go anywhere, much less fly to London, without it. Luckily this ended up being one of Y/n’s easiest tricks that day. After retracing their steps throughout the terminal the jacket was quickly reclaimed from a lovely barista at a café who had collected it for safekeeping.

Y/n was hoping to catch her breath for a moment, but then Chili was being an absolute nuisance. Contrary to her normally chill and relaxed state of being, she now insisted on being cuddled and petted and having all the attention on her. Unfortunately, no one’s but Y/n’s attention would do, so she was stuck with a wriggling fur ball in her arms for the foreseeable future. It didn’t help when Ethan ran up to her in a panic, having realised that his hairbrush was missing. She wanted to calm him down, explain that there were more than enough shops to get a new one in London, but apparently, there was no hairbrush quite like it as if it was the magical reason behind his shiny hair. So with a sigh and Chili pressed against her, she called the hotel in Amsterdam requesting for them to look for the missing item and please send it to London. Express. They would be there for three days and it better arrive during that time. The confused receptionist promised to do her best.

When Y/n heavily fell into her seat on the plane she was looking forward to either a quick nap or a chance to talk to Damiano, who she conveniently chose to sit next to, but all plans evaporated as soon as Thomas claimed the aisle seat, excitedly chattering away. She could tell he was looking forward to getting back to London and having some free time there on top of it, but she really didn’t need to hear the story of how they all lived there for a while yet again. Damiano sent her a pitiful look, but all she could do was shrug. Shrug, lean back, and let Thomas’ talk lure her into sleep, hopefully.

***

Luckily, the flight wasn’t as bad this time around. Y/n still held tightly to her coat on lift-off and landing, but that seemed to be the extent of her uncomfortableness. Damiano kept his eyes on her, on the bandage around her wrist, as if waiting for it to come undone and her right along with it. It didn’t happen. They touched down in London within less than an hour.

Heathrow airport was crowded with fans. For the first time on that tour, it had gotten really bad. Security managed to keep people at bay though as the band and crew made their exit, not stopping for photos and full of apologies for having to leave. The shouting, the reaching hands, and the flashing cameras seemingly did nothing to improve Y/n’s mood, Damiano thought. Her face remained neutral, but he could see the little signs underneath. A short cab ride later, and the usual busy atmosphere of arriving at a hotel for the first time engulfed them. People moving luggage, figuring out rooming arrangements, crowding the lobby. Damiano stayed out of it, smoking a quick cigarette with Thomas and Ethan outside, before heading inside as well.

Damiano didn’t notice that anything was wrong until Y/n started raising her voice. It wasn’t like her. In the past two weeks of working with her, he had encountered her in a number of stressful situations. Enough that would make him lose his mind, but she was calm and collected, the type to take a deep breath instead of shouting at someone. So the way she was currently staring down the receptionist at the hotel that they were checking into both intrigued and bothered him. Trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he got closer to the scene, fumbling with some of their luggage standing next to the desk, just to listen in more closely.

“Check again, please,” Y/n requested, politeness nothing but a necessary feature in this conversation. “I do not have the time or the patience to deal with this mistake at this current moment.”

Damiano could see she was at her wit’s end, yet the need to stay professional was obvious.

“Bloody hell... You’d think after all of today at least one thing would go well. But no, I am stuck dealing with a broken computer and missing rooms.”

The man behind the counter sent her a slightly panicky look, hands shuffling between papers and typing on the keyboard in front of him.

“I can only apologise, I will do my absolute best to rectify this mistake,” the receptionist stated, voice much less steady than Y/n’s. She shook her head slightly, pulling out her phone and starting to type something into it. Probably updating their manager on what is happening.

“I sincerely hope that this is the last of the mistakes your hotel will be committing. We’re paying good money for this hotel, but London is big and I don’t think anyone would hesitate to book us somewhere else next time if the service here doesn’t suffice.” The air around her felt like static electricity, everything was prickly and on fire. “Now, please check again and then either have the correct number of rooms waiting for us or figure out another way to solve this problem. I know this probably isn’t your fault, but this needs a solution.”

The man standing in front of them quickly understood what was being asked of him. Y/n's body had remained creepily still through this, her eyes never leaving the person in front of her.

It was over as soon as it hard started. The receptionist handed her the keys and quickly mumbled something about the rooms being on the fifth floor and to the left. Y/n nodded, not necessarily happy, but visibly glad it was over. Turning around she faced Dami with an indescribable look on her face. He couldn’t believe what just happened, and how it was handled by their assistant. Looking at her right now she was agitated, sure, but whatever power she had just possessed? Damiano wanted to see it again.

***

The band crowded into the lift, and with each ding passing a floor Damiano’s need to do something grew. Attention was an easy thing for the singer to come by. Most of the time it was freely given and even then tenfold due to - well, Damiano being Damiano. But wanting attention was different, and wanting her attention, in particular, was a relatively new concept.

“Fifth Floor,” the monotone voice announced. Y/n made quick work handing everyone their room keys until she was only hanging to her own and Damiano’s. He took his chance.

“Can I walk you to your room?”

“Sure,” she answered, but the look in her eyes told him she was a little suspicious of his actions.

As they got closer to the door Damiano saw his chance. Reassuring himself that the hallway was now deserted of his bandmates, he quickly grabbed her - healthy! - wrist, turning her around and pressing her against the wall next to the door. Her expression was one of shock and surprise as he moved in closer, keeping her wrist against the wall and trapping her between his arms as he leaned against his hand on the other side of her head. Her breathing quickened noticeably and he couldn’t suppress a grin as he watched her look into his eyes, before flickering down to his lips and back up again. There was very little doubt concerning what she was thinking about. He had her in the palm of his hand. Right where he wanted her.

“You know, seeing you getting all hot and bothered down there… Very sexy.” His voice was low and gravelly. He was doing his absolute best to get her to falter under him, not shying away from employing all the tricks in the book. He moved in even closer now, only breaking eye contact when the angle made it impossible. His mouth to her ear, not quite touching, but close enough that he was sure she could feel his breath on her skin. “I should thank you… for all the… hard work you do.”

He resisted the temptation of pushing into her, letting his body collide with hers, letting her know exactly what he was talking about. Not now, not yet, he told himself. Instead, his hand carefully let go of her wrist, travelling down her arm, her side, across her body, with the softest touch, until he reached her other hand, which was grasping tightly onto the remaining room key. In a flash, he had snatched it out of her palm, backed away from her, and with a wink and a smirk that hopefully told her all she needed to know, he turned around to make his way to his room.

“Damiano! We still need to talk!” Y/n whisper-shouted. One look at her face was enough. Her skin had turned that favorable shade of red that Damiano had grown to love so much. She was still leaning against the wall, apparently not trusting her feet to carry her just yet. As he made his way to his room he couldn’t help but notice the bubbling of pride in his chest. Whatever she wanted to talk about, he was convinced it was going to go his way.

***

There was one person in this entire world that would be able to help sort out the mess in Y/n’s head. Stepping out onto the balcony, she quickly clicked her best friend’s name. One, two rings, and the familiar face popped up on her screen with a wide smile.

“Hi, love! How- oh my god, what is wrong?” Y/n’s face had always been much too easy to read for her friends.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Y/n protested, but the way her friend raised her eyebrows let her know that she would not get away with it. “Fine, that was a lie. Couple of things have gone wrong actually. Starting with my wrist!”

Y/n held the offending body park up into view, speech getting quicker as she continued.

“Fell onto it trying to escape Damiano and a private conversation he had with Victoria that I probably shouldn’t have heard. But I did, and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it, and it’s bothering me quite a bit actually, which is silly, because all I’m supposed to do here is my job, right? But now I think that he doesn’t want to be in the same space as me, which is a problem, to say the least, but at the same time he does? He literally just got all up in my space actually, so I don’t know what’s happening?”

“Wow okay, take a breath and start from the beginning, please.”

And so Y/n did, catching her friend up on every single detail of the past days, every little look, every single word uttered, every movement made. She didn’t spare a single detail or blush-inducing moment.

“I don’t know what to do, or think, or say. I think I know what is happening, but then he turns around and does the opposite of what I’m expecting. It's infuriating.”

“Ah yes, let me guess. He’s constantly around, whatever you do? Checkin up on your, catching your eyes, always happens to sit next to you?”

“He does… Why do I feel like everyone here knows what is going on but me?”

"Y/n, listen. You're my best friend, but you're the dumbest human being I've ever encountered. It is so obvious that he likes you, it's almost painful to hear you talk about and not realise. Look at the way he is taking care of you, the way he tries to make you laugh, how he constantly wants your attention on him - why on earth do you think he's doing that? You need to talk to him, seriously."

“But I overheard-”

"You didn't hear shit! You don't even know the context of what he said! Now listen to me: You like him. He likes you. If I'm wrong about this, I'll personally allow you to come back home and beat me up ok?" A sigh came through the line, her friend's voice getting softer. "I know the past years have been hard on you. And I know you don't like letting people in. But you've got to take a chance every now and then and Damiano sounds like he'll be worth it. From what you've told me, it sounds like he sees you exactly for what you are: brilliant, clever, caring, beautiful. Don't let this go to waste, love."

"You know I hate it when you're right. But you probably are." Y/n felt much calmer already, even though the mere thought of having that talk with Damiano made her feel slightly queasy again. "I should talk to him. My head will never stop spinning otherwise."

"Well, I love it when I'm right! So I'm hanging up right now so you can go talk to him, bye love!"

Her face disappeared from the screen in an instant.

***

“She’s right, you know? You should talk to him.” Victoria watched as Y/n almost jumped at the sound of her voice. She had concentrated so hard on whoever she was video-calling that she hadn’t noticed her enter the balcony next door. Now, Vic hadn’t meant to listen, but privacy on tour was a fickle thing and as soon as she realised what - or who - the topic of conversation was, she couldn’t help herself.

“Oh! Hi, Vic. Sorry, what?” Y/n asked, quite obviously startled. “I’m assuming you heard most of that conversation then.”

“I did. But that’s okay, please don’t worry about it. You know, I’m saying this as your friend as well as Damiano’s friend: Talk this thing out, whatever it is. We’ve all been watching you dance around each other, but one of you needs to have the guts to make a move. I know Damiano seems like a cocky know-it-all sometimes, but if you get down to it, he’s just as insecure and shy. So I think this is on you. Invite him over, order some room service, have a talk. If it goes poorly, you can always text me and I’ll come over. And help you finish the food.”

Victoria was glad to see Y/n let out a small giggle. Over the course of the whole tour, she had never seen her quite this stressed out. Sooner or later it would impact her job performance - just as it was starting to affect Damiano’s. She’d long noticed how distracted he was. It didn’t even matter whether Y/n was in the room or not, his thoughts constantly seemed to be spinning around the same thing. The same person, rather. At this point, it was in everyone’s best interest to get these two to talk it out. She trusted them to be sensible enough about it not to let it affect their work if it went wrong. At least not the way their mutual obsession with each other was doing now.

Y/n nodded.

“Thanks, Vic. What do I have to lose, right? I mean, a lot, technically, but you know. Thanks.”

Victoria watched as Y/n shot her one more worried look, before turning and getting back to her room. She made sure to shout after her just before the door closed.

“Tell me how it goes!”

***

“It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be fine, this is going to go my way, I’m going to say my part and it will all be fine,” Y/n mumbled to herself as she paced back and forth in her hotel room. Time and time again, she found herself checking her phone, needing to convince herself she had actually sent the message to Damiano, inviting him to her room for a conversation. He hadn’t replied, but the little blue check marks told her he had read it.

Okay, keep calm. You're going to have a conversation about this, like the adults that you are. You ask to clarify what you overheard and you'll stay calm, whatever his answer is. At the end of the day, this is work. And if you need to cry, you can do it once he's left. Easy.

A knock on the door interrupted her thought process. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. Pretending like she wasn’t there. But that wasn’t going to work, was it? Not forever, anyway.

“Y/n, you said you wanted to talk?” Damiano’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Time to face the music, I guess, Y/n thought to herself. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped to the side to let him in. Damiano hesitated for a second, as if contemplating how to greet her, but then simply smiled at her before stepping in. The nervous energy engulfed both of them immediately and she caught him looking around the room for a moment before deciding to take a seat at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t even think about sitting down. Instead, she was pacing the room like a caged animal.

“Um, so, I called you here for a meeting.” Y/n picked at her nails looking anywhere in the room that wasn’t at Damiano.

“A meeting? Y/n, really?” He chuckled. “If these meetings involve me visiting your hotel room, feel free to invite me over for them more often.”

“Damiano! I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Sorry, sorry, go ahead.” He waved at her to continue as he leaned back on the bed. He looked delectable, and Y/n had to actively tear her eyes away to focus on what she had meant to talk about with him.

“I overheard you and Vic talking at the second-hand shop. Something about you not wanting me around? Before I overthink this even more than I already have, I should probably ask you what that was about.” She stopped pacing and quickly looked at Damiano waiting for a reaction.

“Wait, you heard that?” He suddenly sat up again, urgency visible in his face. “Did you hear the whole thing or… only me saying that?”

“Only that apparently ‘I'm everywhere you look’ and you can’t seem to get rid of me.” She forced a scoff, although she would rather cry at the memory if she was being honest. “I know I shouldn’t have heard that conversation, but I did. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. That's why I ran out of the shop.”

She watched as Damiano buried his head in his hands, making a sound that was something between a laugh and a groan. “Seems like you missed the important part.” A deep sigh rattled through his chest as he looked up at her. “What I said before that was that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About kissing you. That’s why it’s so hard to see you everywhere, to have you around so much.” He slowly stood up, walking over to her in tentative movements. “It’s because I want to kiss you all the time.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Anything to protect herself, to keep up some sort of composure. Letting her guard down too early was the worst thing she felt she could do. An expression that was both alarmed and confused flashed across her face. “You - wait … no, that's not - hold on.” She squinted her eyes at him trying to figure out if there was any hint of deception in him. “You wouldn’t lie to me… would you?”

He stood in front of her now, eyes staring her down with nothing but honesty. “I like to joke around but not with things like these, okay? I would never put you in that position. But when we accidentally kissed in Amsterdam? I wish it hadn’t been accidental at all.” His hand was reaching out to her, softly touching her arm, as if to test the waters. To see if she would pull away.

She stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity. Yet, she didn’t move away from him this time. “I’m sorry... for how I acted at the hospital. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with you most of the time it seems.” A small smile flickered on her lips, unable to keep it at bay. “I’m sorry, I’m… not all that good at being vulnerable. In case that hadn’t become obvious yet. But I agree, you know. Kissing you should be on purpose.”

“It’s fine, it was a rough day. Now that I know what you heard, even more so for you,” he smiled back at her. His hand was wandering up her arm now, softly resting on her shoulder, just inches away from the bare skin on her neck. She was sure she could feel his warmth there already. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah? Starting with an actual kiss? On purpose?”

She blinked at him, before looking down at his chest, slowly grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Playing the fabric between her fingers, anything to keep her nervousness under control. “Yeah, that would be good. Gotta test it out, right?” She looked back up at him, a pink tint growing across her cheeks.

“Yeah, just a test,” he mumbled, coming closer still. His hand wandered further upwards, tingling along her bare skin, before softly grabbing her neck to pull her into him. He was moving slowly, almost tormentingly so, as his breath fanned her face, eyes wandering back and forth between her own and her mouth. Her heart was beating impossibly fast now. If he wasn’t going to do anything soon, she would collapse, she was sure of it.

“Just kiss me already.”

And then his lips were on hers, soft and gentle, but with a force behind it that let her know he meant it. It was nothing like the kiss in Amsterdam. This was a kiss with purpose, long-lived desire finally being realised, feeling poured into every move they made. If this was a test, they were passing it with flying colours. Everything felt simply right. His lips against hers, his hand tangling in her hair, her arms wrapping themselves around him. Any doubt whether this was the right thing to do, whether this was what she wanted, ceased to exist. She couldn’t tell how long they were standing there, kissing, exploring, enjoying each other, but when they finally parted, she found herself catching her breath. Silly smiles painted on both of their faces. She buried her face in his chest, almost a little embarrassed now.

“That went well,” she giggled, unlike she did in Amsterdam. This high was different.

Damiano’s hand pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear, tender touch lasting on her face a little too long, but she wouldn’t complain. He quickly pressed another needy kiss against her lips, before pulling her to sit on the bed with him. “So, now what? Not that I wasn’t enjoying that, but we should probably talk about where we’re gonna go from here.”

She nodded. “Well, work comes first. Not that I wasn’t having fun either. But, both of us know that the most important thing is you performing the best you can. I guess we go with your plan. Figure it out together. I don’t want to force anything.” Always trying to ground herself back into reality - it was the way she was built. A moment of insanity, yes, but never more. “Though, on days off… if you...” Her mouth opened but no more words came.

“I like the sound of that,” Damiano grinned, seemingly unable to stop himself from stealing another kiss from her lips. “And on days off...? Say it, Y/n, no need for shyness here.”

“Ah!” Grabbing a pillow off the bed, she smacked him playfully. “I was trying to have a semi-serious conversation here, Dami!” Her face screwed into a pout, before transforming into a teasing smile. “If you’re gonna be like that, you won’t hear my idea at all.”

He immediately let go of her, hands in the air in surrender. “Fine, woman, no more teasing from me… for now.”

She leaned in closer. “Is that a threat? Or a promise? I was gonna say we could go out on a date. But,” she shrugged, “up to you.” Standing up she walked over to the phone on the desk, picking up the room service menu with her other hand. “Do you want anything? If we are gonna figure this out, we might as well have food.” It was no secret that she was trying to create space between the two of them. A little distance, a little chance to breathe, too afraid of a fire being set ablaze if they stayed any closer.

“Whatever pizza they have, please. It won’t quite be like home but even bad pizza is still pizza.” He watched as she picked up the phone, quickly muttering some words he didn’t understand down the line. “And then come back here. We should probably talk some more.”

She nodded, quickly finishing the conversation on the line, before sitting back down on the bed next to him, backs resting against the headboard. “Alright, so, talk about what? I know there are things to discuss but, what are you thinking right now?”

“How do you want to go on about this?” He asked, taking her hand and playing with it absentmindedly. “Do you want to tell the others anything?”

“We have to tell Vic, probably. She’ll never get off our case otherwise. Apart from that... I assumed that we would sort of make up for lost time. Be a bit more open, affection-wise. Or at least not feel like we have to hide it when I wanna kiss you. I don’t want to say we are dating. I don’t want to put a label on something that's this new. Rushing into something like this is just a recipe for hurt.” She found herself staring into the distance for a moment, thoughts running away with her, before turning back to him. “Do you want to tell people? I mean if you did that would be fine. I’d manage, you know.”

“No, actually. I’m quite fine with as few people knowing as possible. I just… There’s no need to get everyone involved in something that we’re literally still figuring out ourselves, right? And I definitely don’t need the fans to know. At least not yet. If that’s okay with you?”

“Dami, you do know that, if this becomes a long-term thing... They will hate me. It won’t be just your fans either. Management, event organisers, they won’t want me there, people will tell you to break up with me all the time. There will be a lot of rude comments. People will edit me out of pictures. Because that's how it is. Are you sure you’re okay with all that? This won’t be easy and I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your success. The band's success.” She wasn’t making eye contact now, nervously picking at her nails instead. This was his chance to step back, to change his mind, and she was more afraid of it than she let on.

“Well, first of all, they can all fuck off, okay? No one gets to talk about you like that, not in front of me. If they don’t see you the way that I see you - or at least respect it-, they’re no real fans anyway.” He reached out, softly holding onto her chin and turning her face towards him. “I don’t care about anyone but you in this, okay? If anything, you’re the one pushing me to go farther, work harder, be better. Yeah?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” Her hand went to the one holding her face, kissing his palm and then pressing it into her cheek. “I mean it though. It will be hard and confusing, and I am not that good at communicating my feelings. You could have anyone in the world and you picked me which I will never understand, but I’m thankful for it. Both of us are workaholics. It won’t just be you having a busy schedule. Are you absolutely positive? Because if not...”

Taking her face into both of his hands now, he made sure she was looking at him. “I am more than positive. I want this, I want you, I want it all. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes for you to believe that.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, warm and inviting, and she was sure she could feel every single one of his emotions in it. There was nothing but love. Coming up for air, they let their foreheads meet, a moment of unspoken agreement.

“We will do it together, yeah?” She whispered as she pressed a kiss onto his lips once again before her face broke out in a grin. “Fuckin hell… Sorry, I just realized that we can kiss and hug and everything all the time now and without it being weird.” Grabbing his hand and interlacing their fingers, she rested her head on his shoulder. Both of them simply content in the silence of the room and the company of each other. After a while, Y/n looked up at him again. “Do you have any concerns though?”

“No real worries. Just... I don’t know. I just want to stare at you for a bit. Do you even know how crazy you make me? Throughout this whole tour I have been losing my mind!” His eyes flickered over her face, down her body, and back up. He kissed the top of her head. “Y/n you have no clue what you do to me. You remember when you body checked that guy into the wall in Germany?” She nodded as he lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Cold showers did nothing for me that night.”

Giggles rattled her chest as she hid her face in her hand, feeling a slight blush coming on.

“Hey, no hiding that face from me!” Grabbing at her hands, he tried to pull them back down, but she resisted through her laughter. Desperately trying to pry her hands away, Damiano pinned her down onto the bed, back flush against the mattress, but he still wasn’t succeeding. In a last-ditch effort, he straddled her ample hips. The surprise of it all had her removing her hands on her own immediately, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Now, was that so hard?”

In one quick move, she locked her knees under his and flipped him over, making her sit on top of him. His body thudded into the mattress, jaw dropping, and a little hint of a blush appearing out of nowhere.

“Sorry love, won’t happen again,” she grinned, sending him another wink, before getting off of the stunned singer.

Y/n jumped up off the bed and started to rummage through the mini-fridge. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of Damiano’s phone vibrating. And again. And again.

“What’s going on with that thing?” She asked over her shoulder, unable to hide a grin. Damiano sighed heavily, reading through the messages that seemed to keep coming.

“It’s Vic.”

“What’s she saying?”

Another buzzing sound interrupted them.

“Asking if we’re making out yet. Letting us know that she can hear us laughing. Wanting to know if we’ve fucked yet. Complaining that I’m not answering her messages.”

Damiano’s speech was, in turn, interrupted by Y/n’s phone letting out a similar buzzing noise. With a frown on her face, she gathered it from the nightstand, only to erupt into giggles at the message displayed on her screen.

“What’s so funny?”

“Vic has written, and I quote: ‘As happy as I am that this seems to be going well, I was actually looking forward to indulging in room-service food with you’ with a lot of frowny emojis added.”

Forming a fist with his hand, Damiano roughly hit the wall behind him - the one he knew connected the room to Victoria’s.

“Go get your own room service!” He shouted, and the laughter on the other side, paired with a flurry of emojis reaching both of their phones shortly after let them know she had heard.

“Oh stop it, whatever will you do without a bassist if she starves!” Y/n laughed. “Wait, how’s this.” Y/n coughed, preparing to change her voice into the best impression of Victoria she could muster. “Dami, you bastardo! Give me food!”

A knock on the door - much too polite to be Victoria’s - caught their attention, and Y/n scrambled to open it. A little wagon full of silver plates adorned with various meals greeted her. Not even caring about the confused look on the waiter’s face, she made quick work of grabbing most of what was on the tray and carrying it over to the desk, until only a few things were left.

“Would you mind bringing the rest to the woman next door? Thank you very much.”

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, she caught Damiano’s gaze, wide smile on his face.

“Whatever it takes to make Vic happy, hm?”

Y/n grinned. “Whatever it takes to get Vic to leave us alone.”

***

Y/n had no idea where she was when she woke up the next morning. It only lasted for a moment though - until it all came crashing down on her, the talk with Damiano, the kisses they'd shared, how they had spent the rest of the evening watching trash tv and stuffing themselves with food, until he had left for his own room, placing one last lingering kiss on her lips. She couldn't contain a smile at the memories. For a minute, she allowed herself to lay in bed, reminiscing about the way his mouth felt on hers and how she was now allowed to do that all the time. But work called, and the usual routine caught up with her. Getting ready for the day, re-checking the busy plan for the day, waking up the band. It was only in front of Damiano's room that she faltered a bit, before shaking it off and entering.

Damiano looked peaceful, fast asleep, the blanket only coming up to his waist. With quiet footsteps, she walked over to the bed, taking the view in for as long as she allowed herself. Her usual wake-up tricks would include pulling back curtains, gently talking, stealing blankets, a little shake if necessary. But the turn of their relationship was now providing her with new possibilities. Leaning down, she blew a bit of air against his cheek, watching as his eyelids fluttered but not quite opened yet. A little kiss followed on his cheek, just barely touching his skin. Then a kiss on his inviting lips. She almost pulled back, when a strong hand held onto the back of her head, Damiano suddenly wide awake and kissing her back.

"I could get used to these wake-up calls."

“Well, be a good boy and get dressed and you might be getting them more often,” she grinned, already halfway out the door. She knew if she didn’t leave now she probably wouldn’t for a while, and they did not have time for any delays.

“That better be a promise!” Damiano shouted after her, and she giggled, all the way back to her room, never having looked forward to a day of work quite this much.

***

The day was one of their most hectic ones yet, jumping between the hotel, the venue for soundcheck, dinner, a radio station, and back to the venue. Yet, for once, Damiano didn’t mind in the slightest. Not with the way he was now allowed to stare at Y/n all the time. No more worries about having to hide it, no more being afraid of being caught in the way his eyes kept lingering on her whenever she was nearby. Never mind the fact that he enjoyed teasing her.

He was well aware of how important her professionalism was for her, and he’d be the last person to slack off work because he was smitten. But, in the little moments in between, the waiting to go on air, the walking along a hallway, the little breaks and breathers, he simply couldn’t help himself. Especially not with the way she kept blushing and scolding him.

It was the small things. Brushing past her when he walked by. Letting his hand rest on her waist a little too long, always threatening to move lower, but never making the jump. Winking at her with the meanest smirk when the radio host asked a particularly spicy question. Texting her with the suggestion to unbutton her blouse just slightly more to keep him motivated. The latter was met with a stern look and her hands buttoning up the blouse a little more instead. Yet, throughout the day Y/n seemed to be more relaxed, while keeping up the impression of ‘everything is normal’. Well, she did the best she could when Damiano wasn’t giving her a hard time.

Victoria seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world, constantly watching the two of them and snickering to herself. When Damiano told her to mind her own business - just for once - she only became more curious. Ethan and Thomas hadn’t caught on yet. Well, Thomas definitely hadn’t. Ethan had looked at Damiano a little strangely, eyebrows raised in question, when the singer had stared at Y/n a little too long, trying to catch her attention, but he hadn’t mentioned it.

Now it was less than an hour until showtime, everyone gathered backstage, and Damiano couldn’t remember the last time he had been quite this excited to play. London being their biggest gig on this tour certainly played a part, but the butterflies in his stomach every time he laid eyes on Y/n surely did the rest.

The dressing room was a mess, clothes everywhere, stylists and make-up artists scrambling to get their work done in time, which was proven increasingly difficult as Victoria and Thomas kept starting tickle fights. Damiano was sure the crew was ready to murder them at this point. Still waiting for his own turn to get dressed up, he let his gaze wander over to Y/n, who was sitting with Ethan, the drummer patiently painting her nails black.

“There,” he concluded. “You’re becoming more like us every single day.”

Damiano watched as she held up her hands, admiring the way the colour contrasted with her skin. Walking over to her, he let his hands rest on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

“And you’re barely even flinching anymore when one of us gets naked,” he grinned, shooting a glance at Victoria, who was running away from Thomas in a shirt and panties only. He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Unless that one of us is me, I hope.”

The smack on his arm landed harder than expected, Y/n once again a blushing mess, but Damiano couldn’t help but laugh. As long as he still had that kind of hold over her, he’d gladly make use of it.

***

Y/n took her usual seat, sending smiles to the crew and band as they readied up for the show. The crowd outside was deafening already, volume only increasing when the lights were slowly starting to dim. One by one, the band members came up to her, ready to get a last wish of good luck, but Damiano made quick work of shoving them away, giggling as he reached her first. Without a word of warning, he grabbed her head, planting a deft kiss on her lips, before letting go of her with the biggest grin on his face. Her eyes closed as soon as she felt his lips on hers, an involuntary reaction to the feeling of having him close.

“Are all of us gonna get some good-luck kisses like that now?” Victoria giggled from behind them, and Y/n couldn’t help landing yet another smack on Damiano’s arm that day.

“Nope,” he replied. “Singer privileges.”

With the proudest smile on his face he finally bounced on stage. The others quickly followed and Y/n was left in her seat, shaking her head. That man was going to be the death of her, she was sure of it. They hadn’t even gone official, and he was already clouding her mind every single second of the day. She watched him as he ran around on stage, energy higher yet than all of the other shows on that tour, thinking about how he never failed to amaze her, both as a performer and as a human being all in itself. She wasn’t quite sure what the future held for them, what the rest of this tour would bring them, but as she stared at him, she decided she was going to be fine with whatever it was. Despite her anxiety about the future, he would be there. As long as she could have a piece of him, a smile, a touch, a kiss, every now and then, she was going to be fine. Right? Watching him on stage was a blessing and a curse. She was so proud of him, of the band. As much as she loved them there still left a small voice of fear. How much was she willing to let them see? Let him see? The rest of the tour was still there, but she reminded herself of what he had told her the day before in her hotel room. They would figure it out together.

***

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[takuyakistall]

Don't get caught! | Riddle Rosehearts

Synopsis: While visiting Heartslabyul, you couldn't help but want to be a hedgehog after seeing the way Riddle is so fond of them and spoils them. But be careful for what you wish for! It might just come true.

Note: This was a request but the ask was too long so I just posted this on its own. I had fun writing this! It was a very cute idea and got carried away so this turned out longer than expected, I hope you enjoy it!

You weren’t sure if this was a good idea or not. You weren’t even sure if this plan would work but Trey and the other Heartslabyul first years insisted that it was going to work—or at least, they’ll try to make it a success. You had absentmindedly let out a random thought a few days about your hair, saying how curious you are about how you would look like in different hair colours and hairstyles. Trey’s unique magic immediately came into your mind, Doodle Suit, and you couldn’t help but comment on how convenient it would be if it could temporarily overwrite your appearance.

You felt bad for asking Trey a favour so suddenly but much to your surprise, he indulged you and said that it isn’t any problem. Of course, you knew nothing about the way his magic works and if it really isn’t a problem to him. Though you decided to trust his words and agreed to meet up with him in the Heartslabyul Dorm during the weekends. Grim, Ace and Deuce tagged along behind you as you entered the mirror to the dorm. Ace and Deuce wanted to be a little bit extra (or so you thought) and picked you up from your dorm.

The smell of freshly painted roses was in the air as your eyes adjusted to the sudden sunlight. You relished in the sight of the rose hedges lined up and the half-painted roses hanging from them, a few drops of red paint dripping to the green grass. The empty cans of red paint here and there as you walked through the stone path to the main building. You caught a few glimpses of a few students scrambling to their feet as they picked up a brush and started painting the roses.

Behind them, you could barely make out a familiar shade of red and a heart-shaped ahoge. You quickly turned to Ace, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Wait, where are we headed?” You asked them as Grim climbed up your shoulder.

“To the lounge, or Trey’s room. Whatever works.” Ace answered half-heartedly as he pushed the door open and scanned the room full of students for the green-haired vice dorm leader.

“Nevermind, we’re going to his room.”

Saying the hallways of Heartslabyul was confusing is a big understatement. The twists and turns of the halls more or less made you dizzy just from looking at it. The fact that you don’t know the actual way to Trey’s room made it harder for you to navigate where you were headed to. Deuce grabbed the hem of your sleeve when you were about to make a turn, whispering to you about how his room was still up ahead. Grim had long gotten off your shoulder once he realized that he might get lost with you.

“Good grief… I don’t even have any idea about what colour I should go with first.” You sighed as you spotted a window that gave you a view of the rose maze. The countless green hedges adorned with white roses. Have they not painted this part of the maze yet? You paid it little mind as your eyes wandered to the small cage placed outside and the tiny creatures inside.

Hedgehogs?

Green, pink, and blue ones were all scattered and rolling around in the cage. You couldn’t get a good view but it seemed like someone was giving them food right now. You stopped in your tracks when you realized it was none other than the dorm leader who was doing it. He dusted his hands and stared at the small blobs of colour inside the cage. You couldn’t see it clearly but you saw him open his mouth as a small smile appeared on his face. You found it a bit cute—cute how caring he seems to get when it comes to them.

It must be nice to be a spoiled hedgehog under Riddle’s care huh…

You shook your head, the tips of your ears growing hotter as you told yourself off about having such weird thoughts. Your head snapped back to where Ace and Deuce originally were but only to find them out of sight.

You felt panic rise in your throat as you looked left and right, your eyes searching for the familiar figures. You scolded yourself, regretting getting distracted by that redhead you seem to be so enchanted by. You wandered around the hallway, the knot in your throat growing tighter as you prayed that you won’t get lost.

“Geez! Just how big is this place?” You leaned against the window’s ledge as you let out a small pant. You’ve been walking around the dorm for what felt like hours now but you found yourself in the same place as before—by the window where you watched Riddle tend to the hedgehogs as you sighed.

“Um, excuse me…” The sudden voice behind your back made you jump in place a little. You quickly turned around and was met with a male student with brown hair. Your tense muscles visibly relaxed.

Finally! There was someone you could ask. You opened your mouth slightly to ask but before a single word could be formed—he asked you an unexpected question. He caught sight of the scene you were staring at before his involvement.

“Oh! Were you watching the Dorm Head?” Dense as a rock. The student didn’t think twice before asking this question, his eyes not registering the way your eyes widened slightly and your stance stiffened. You kept silent.

“Hehe, it seems like he’s taking care of the hedgehogs personally.” He mentioned, his voice laced with the faintest bit of admiration when he stared at the scene beside you. You tried to shrug it off but the curiosity inside you couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“...Is it anything special? Riddle taking care of them personally, I mean.”

“Eh? Well… no, not really. It’s just that he really likes them, so he tends to spoil them whenever he’s on duty.”

“Oh, is that so?” You tried looking the other way, trying to keep the nonchalant tone. But the moment you looked away—you could feel a small smile creeping up your face.

Cute.

You shook your head before you got carried away by any other thoughts and turned to the student. You need to do what you came here for!

“Oh, by the way, do you know how to get to Trey’s room?”

“Eh?”

“What the hell took you so long!?” Ace was the first one to greet you with his fist meeting your head without any warning. You winced a bit, clutching your head and fought back with your words.

“It was your fault for walking too fast!”

“Hah? Didn’t we warn you to keep close to us?”

“You said nothing about that!”

“Oh.” Ace fell silent. The corner of his lips suddenly curling up, as if a realization struck him.

“Haha! Don’t mind, everyone makes mistakes right?” There was nothing stronger than the feeling of wanting to slap the grin off his face right now. Had it not been for Deuce trying to keep the peace between you, you weren’t sure if you could've held yourself back.

“Moving on,” Deuce placed a hand over your shoulder. “Trey-senpai’s room is just up ahead. Don’t lose sight of us again, alright?”

It was hard to navigate yourself around the dorm. If there was one crucial thing they hadn’t told you about the dorm, it was the fact that if you weren’t a Heartslabyul student or school faculty, you were bound to get lost amidst the twists and turns. But in their defense, they didn’t expect you to get distracted so easily. You nodded as you followed behind the duo once again.

After a minute or two, you found yourself face-to-face with Trey in front of his dorm room. That’s when you realized you haven’t thought about what colour you’d like after getting lost but your thoughts were cut off when Trey suddenly spoke up.

“Oh, you guys are here. You were a bit late, did you run into some trouble?” He asked as he urged you three (four if you’re counting Grim) into his room.

“(Y/N) got lost~!” Ace chirped in a singsong voice as he threw his arms back behind his head.

“Eh, really? Be more careful next time, you’re lucky you were found quickly—otherwise, who knows how long you’d be stuck there.” The closed-eyed smile on his face made his terrifying words seem normal. You wondered if there were previous cases that went way worse than what you went through. You let out a relieved sigh inside your head, thanking the student that found you.

“Then, let’s make this quick.” Trey guided you to a chair, dragging you gently by the wrist and made you sit there as Ace, Deuce, and Grim stood beside you. Their growing curiosity couldn’t be masked.

His instructions were clear enough. He said that you should try to paint an image inside your head. Envision what you would like to look like while closing your eyes and then he’ll activate his unique magic. He also mentioned that it would only last 24 hours or shorter if interfered with stronger magic and that he can revert the spell after a certain period if time just in case you wanted to remove it quicker.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to paint an image of yourself you’d like to see.

“Ready? I’ll start now.”

You thought of your favourite colour, envisioning yourself with that certain hair colour. Wondering if Riddle would like it if he saw it. Oh, maybe if you were a (F/C) coloured hedgehog, he might find you cute!

“Doodle Suit!”

A small puff of smoke appeared just right after Trey finished his incantation. You felt a bit groggy and weird, was it supposed to feel like this? You opened your eyes, your vision adjusting to the sudden light until you realized the situation you were in. Everything seemed a hundred times bigger than they usually were and everyone inside the room seemed to have grown bigger. Everyone except you.

You felt so small.

“Eh!? Trey-senpai, where did they go?” The panic in Ace’s voice was unlike him. But Deuce was even more panicked than him, he thought that maybe they messed up and you disappeared for good. Grim was looking frantically everywhere.

You wanted to shout out. Tell them that you were still here but oddly enough, instead of a voice, a very weird sound came out of your mouth. The room froze when they heard it. Trey was the first one to spot you, a nervous chuckle slipping from his mouth as he held your small body up.

“It seems like your friend… turned into a hedgehog.”

Eh?

Eh!?

You messed up. Countless thoughts swirled rapidly at dangerous speeds as you thought about what could’ve gone wrong. You swore you did his instructions properly, you thought of what you wanted to look like and—

At the last minute, you thought about hedgehogs. That’s what went wrong. You wanted to bury your face into your hands but your new incredibly short four legs couldn’t even reach your face. This was a new level of embarrassment, you just wished that this was all a bad dream. You lied down flat on Trey’s palm, hiding your face from everyone as you heard Ace barely being able to contain his laughter.

“Pfft—” He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to tell himself not to laugh but the situation made it hard for him to follow his instructions. Deuce, on the other hand, was crouching down while clutching his stomach—trying to keep his laughter as silent as possible. Grim had an indifferent expression before he approached you. He scaled your size compared to him and that’s when he lost it.

If you could speak, you would’ve told them to cut it out but much to your misfortune, you were left to make weird noises hedgehogs made. And if you were to make sounds like that, you were pretty much sure that they would laugh harder at you.

“Oh man, this is gold! I can’t believe you turned into a hedgehog.” Ace let out, that stupid grin on his face wider than ever.

“Though that does make me wonder how you managed to think about hedgehogs.” Deuce crossed his arms and pondered, finally calming down. Before he could dive deeper into his thoughts, Trey interjected.

“That isn’t important right now. We better think of what to do with your friend.”

“Trey-senpai, can’t you just overwrite it with your unique magic?” Deuce asked him.

“Unfortunately, it’s going to take a while before I can use my magic on them again. We need to put them somewhere safe for a while, can one of you keep them with you or do you know a place we can leave them?”

“Well, how about…”

“Hup! Off you go!” You hopped off Ace’s hand into the small cage he pushed you into. You felt yourself tense up when you were surrounded by your fellow small creatures, wondering if it was alright for you to sneak in like this. Ace assured Deuce that no one would notice an extra hedgehog inside the cage and decided that it was alright for you to stay there.

You had your doubts and troubles about this course of action but what can you do except comply? Your fate was temporarily in their hands—you were completely helpless. You just stayed behind as you watched Ace, Deuce, and Grim fade into the distance as they walked further and further away.

You looked around, trying to find something you can entertain yourself with but only to be met with immeasurable disappointment when you found out there was absolutely nothing you could do except eat, drink, or sleep. What’s worse is that you don’t know how long you were going to be here. You lied down on your stomach as you stared into space, a sudden wave of tiredness came over you as you felt your eyelids close.

Perhaps a short nap wouldn’t hurt.

You woke up to the heavy weight that rested over your body, you felt like you were being squeezed as a surge of panic took over you. You looked up to see that a green hedgehog was sleeping over you, it looked so comfortable that you felt bad for suddenly moving from your place. You couldn’t stay like this—you wanted to get out! You wished that Ace and Deuce just brought you with them even if it meant that they would probably get told off by Riddle for bringing out a hedgehog outside croquet matches.

“Hm? How strange… did I count correctly?” The sudden voice made you jump in your place, eyes darting everywhere to find out where it came from.

Wine red hair and slate grey eyes. There was no mistaking it—the voice belonged to none other than Riddle Rosehearts, the Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul. Confused, you wondered why he was still here. Didn’t his duty end a while ago? There was no reason for him to check up on the hedgehogs again!

“There’s an extra one?” His eyes shifted to you and you felt your blood run cold. How in the world did he know it was you out of everyone in the cage? You needed to think of something, quick. Who knows what he might do to you? Throw you out? Certainly, he wouldn’t do that… right?

“Don’t be scared. I won’t harm you, I promise.” Riddle’s gentle voice as he reassured you made you feel safe. You stared at his outstretched arm as a small smile appeared on his face and you couldn’t help but willingly hop into his palm. He brought you closer until you were on eye level with him. His grey eyes staring at you so intensely, you almost let out a squeak.

“Now then, we just have to find out who put you here.” He placed you on his shoulder and you felt the sudden panic sink in. You were in for a lot of trouble! You hadn’t expected Riddle to notice the extra hedgehog and you didn’t even expect him to come over in the first place. You cursed Ace and Deuce inside your head for leaving you there and expecting everything to sail smoothly.

If Riddle found out what happened, you were screwed. The best course of action you chose was to do your best to act like a normal hedgehog. That should be easy enough, right? Wrong! You didn’t know anything about how they acted and that fact alone made you declare this operation a failure.

Riddle walked away from the gardens and into the dorm building, your grip on his clothes tight because you were afraid of falling. Riddle felt the sudden shift on his shoulder and barely felt your claws ghosting over his clothes. He thought it was a bit strange, were you afraid of heights? But he paid it little to no mind as he continued walking and pushed open the door.

The students sitting in the common room suddenly stiffened up—they were first years and it was only natural that they were afraid of the strict Riddle Rosehearts. They stood up and greeted Riddle almost immediately, like soldiers.

"D-Dorm Leader!"

“Calm down, I’m not here to reprimand you or anything.” Riddle was irked at the way they visibly relaxed after saying that but he didn’t bother bringing it up. He scooted closer to them as he showed them the hedgehog on his shoulder.

“Do you know where this came from?”

Of course, the students could barely understand his question. They didn’t know the hedgehog was an extra head inside the cage and assumed that it was a normal hedgehog, so they answered:

“That’s a hedgehog, Riddle-senpai. It came from the cage they’re being kept in.”

“Of course I know that, I meant for this one specifically! It wasn’t here before.”

“M-Maybe it came from the forest and got lost?”

“It’s likely but how would it get inside the cage? That means a human probably put it in there.”

“Well… we don’t know.”

Riddle let out a sigh, trying to keep it together. It was going to be hard for him to find the culprit so he thought, just for a second, that maybe he should just let it stay inside the dorm. It wasn’t as if the world would end if he did, after all. But something deep inside his guts told him that he shouldn’t let go of this so easily. He dismissed the students and went to his room as he picked you up from his shoulder and into his palms.

“Where in the world did you come from…?” He brought you closer to his face and you felt like your heart was about to stop. His eyes widened as he made a sudden discovery. Magic? He felt the faintest bit of magic coming from you and that was enough to tell him that he should get to the bottom of this. But first—he needed an afternoon snack inside his room. After all, a queen should never make do without tea and snacks.

There was nothing more relaxing than having his favourite blend of tea in the afternoon accompanied by little snacks and biscuits that were served in little platters and teacups adorned with rose designs. It was to be expected as he was stuck in a dorm that was founded by the Queen of Hearts, it wasn't as if Riddle minded though—in fact, he grew fond of it. Daintily, he picked up his fork and took a small piece of his strawberry tart before putting it inside his mouth. Relishing in the burst of flavours that bloomed inside his mouth before turning his gaze to the small creature crawling on the table.

If you were already nervous back then, you didn't know how much more nervous you are now. You felt bad for feeling like you're deceiving him but at the same time, it wasn't as if you had a choice at all! Pushed into this seemingly hopeless situation, you wondered what would happen if somehow you transformed back into your original body right now. You shook your head and made yourself stray away from those thoughts—they never tend to end well once you think about them.

You tried distracting yourself by looking around the table and a certain snack caught your eye. You slowly made your way to it, your little feet pitter-pattering against the wooden material. Strawberry shortcake. Surely you were a tiny bit hungry after everything that occurred and not once did you get the chance to sit down and eat since you refused to eat the same food the other hedgehogs in the cage ate. You couldn’t help but look longingly at the small platter.

Riddle stopped halfway when he was about to take another bite out of his tart as he caught sight of you. Now, he wasn’t well-versed in the language of hedgehogs but it didn’t take an idiot to realize that you were hungry. He was a sucker for the rules of the Queen of Hearts but he wasn’t heartless. There was no harm in feeding you a little bit of that cake, right?

“Hm,” he contemplated for a split second, “just one small piece, okay?”

He took a small piece with his fork and nudged it towards you, expecting you to eat it. It took you a few seconds to understand what’s going on. Riddle, of all people, was feeding you. You didn’t know if you should be happy or not since you were in your hedgehog form but once you thought about it—didn’t you say earlier that it must be nice being a hedgehog spoiled by Riddle? Did the Great Seven up above hear you and decided to grant your wish?

Nonetheless, you took this as an opportunity. Who knows when you’ll get this close to Riddle ever again. You tasted the cake, eyes lighting up as you felt the sweetness of the frosting spread inside your mouth. You quickly took another bite until you finished everything with a content look. Riddle propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on the center of his palm, looking at you with gentle eyes.

"...Somehow you remind me of a certain person." Riddle suddenly spoke up, his tone wary as he squinted at your figure. Your actions suddenly became more languid as you realized that perhaps the root of his suspicion was because of your erratic movements.

Surely he doesn't know it's me, right…!?

"(Y/N)," you froze up. "You remind me of them for some reason."

You went through the possible list of reasons how he came to that conclusion inside your head as you felt your heartbeat beat faster. For some reason, this whole scenario felt like it came straight out of a horror film. Out of all the names he could’ve said, he chose to say yours. The panic subsided as you suddenly grew curious about what exactly reminded him of you.

There was the slightest, smallest, unlikely chance that it was because he liked you but that was too far-fetched, right? Your imagination was going wild and unknowingly, you let out a small squeak. Riddle chuckled at the sudden sound, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smile. He stopped to think for a moment, he was alone, right? There was no one else in the room but the hedgehog and him, right? He took a deep breath.

“Speaking of them, something has been on my mind right lately… and it’s bothering me to no end.” He started, a downcast expression was on his face and you couldn’t help but worry. Did you perhaps do something to upset him? The thought itself made you panic inside. You couldn’t help but scoot away from him a little.

“I think I like them.”

What.

WHAT!?

You wondered if turning into a hedgehog made your hearing worsen or Riddle just made a mistake. There was no way what you heard was right, right? But, even then, Riddle had a slightest tint of pink spreading on his face as he looked down in slight embarrassment. It was hard to believe that he didn’t mean it or that he made a mistake in what he said. You felt your heart explode at the sudden realization and discovery.

“But the problem is that I think they’re avoiding me. I’m a bit afraid that they don’t like me,” Riddle sighed, “not a lot of people like me after all.”

“That’s not true!” is what you wanted to say had it not been for the fact that you can’t. But as they always say—actions speak louder than words. You scooted closer to his hand on the table and placed one of your front paws over his hand, hoping that he would take it as a form of reassurance. His eyes widened slightly at the sudden gesture, surprised that maybe the hedgehog understood his feelings and tried comforting him.

“Eh, you’re full of surprises aren’t you? Did you actually understand what I said?”

Without thinking it through, you nodded.

“Ah-! You really do… that’s strange. But anyway, thank you for your reassurance. Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to confess b-but that’s not important right now, I need to find out where you came from.” Riddle urged you to go to the palm of his hand and you complied with no complaints. He lifted you until you were at eye-level with him.

“Let’s continue looking, shall we?” Before he let you go, he placed a kiss on your head as a sign of endearment. You swore you were about to let out another squeak until a cloud of smoke suddenly appeared from nowhere and you felt your body get bigger as you closed your eyes shut.

You wrapped your arms around Riddle’s neck so as not to fall and you felt his arms go under your shoulders and knees as he let out a surprised noise—realizing he was carrying you when the smoke thinned out. His eyes widened in surprise and his face was as red as his face when he looked at the person he was carrying. There was no way. No absolute way this was happening to him.

You stared at him nervously, face red as you violently wondered why the spell suddenly went undone. Trey never mentioned anything about a kiss being able to undo it so why…!? Countless questions took over your mind but there was only one thing you could focus on right now.

What do I do now?

“Ahaha… Hi Riddle…” Nervously, you started.

“Y-Y-You…”

“It’s me, (Y/N)...!” You had the feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

“M-My confession…”

“Oh yeah, about that I—”

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!”

Extra:

"E-Eh!? That came from Riddle-senpai's room right now. Do you think he's okay?" A random student asked the person beside them, crossing their arms as a pensive expression took over their face.

"Hmm, do you think we should check? Or tell Trey-senpai?" The other suggested. But as soon as Trey's name was uttered, he emerged from the hall with a satisfied grin on his face—as if he accomplished something great.

"Don't worry about Riddle, he's just having a little bit of fun with someone right now." He chuckled, not doing well to ease the students' worries.

"Trey-senpai...? Oh, he's gone. What do you think he meant by that?"