#mad angst to fluff

[system-to-the-madness]

The Traitor - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 3 089 Warnings: mentions of torture, war, injuries, betrayl Summary: When Zuko attempts to break out the Avatar from Zhao’s prison, he is forced to bring someone else along as well A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part One of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

“We are the sons and daughters of fire, the superior element! Until today only one thing stood in our path to victory, the Avatar. I am here to tell you that he is now my prisoner!”

Admiral Zhao’s voice was booming over the crowd before him, and as tempted as Zuko was to roll his eyes underneath the blue mask he was wearing, he held back, rather focusing on sneaking past the guards.

He had one chance, this chance, to steal the Avatar right from underneath Zhao’s nose, and keep that boy as a prisoner himself. Then all he would have to do was make his way back to the Fire Nation, and present the Avatar to his father, and he would have restored his honour. Everything would be the way it was supposed to be. He by his father’s side, the Avatar in the deepest, securest cell the Fire Nation had to offer, and soon the world under the Fire Lord’s command.

His steps were quick, and almost inaudible, as he ran along the high walls, climbed down a rope and crossed a yard. Even when he had lifted aside the lid to the sewage, and jumped down into the underground tunnels, the water around his boots barely made a sound as if it was siding with him. He had to be quick, quiet and leave no trace. He had to be like a ghost.

The first guard that crossed his way was taken out faster than the poor guy was able to comprehend. The second guard, alarmed by the helmet Zuko had kicked out from behind a corner, followed suit as he tied him up and bound him, so he was hanging from the ceiling. As two more guards came to check, what the commotion was about, he attacked them from where he had hidden between some pipes on the ceiling. The last guard was taken out by a bucket full of water.

A moment later, he was able to slip into the cell, in which the Avatar was held. Pathetic, really, Zuko thought to himself. All this trouble just for a small boy dressed in oranges and yellows. Had that child really been able to put him through so much trouble? Swiftly he pulled his swords, ignoring the fearful screams of the Avatar at the action, and severed the chains holding him up. Surprised brown eyes looked up at him, as the Avatar was rubbing his uninjured wrists. Two more swings with his swords and the shackles around the boy’s wrists and ankles fell to the floor uselessly.

“Who are you?” The Avatar’s voice sounded so young, Zuko thought to himself, already turning to make his way out of the cell again. There was no time to lose; they had to leave immediately. “What’s going on? Are you here to rescue us?”

Instead of answering, Zuko simply pushed the door open and motioned for the Avatar to follow him.

“I'll take that as a yes."

Zuko quickly walked past the tied-up guards, when he heard the light footsteps of the boy catch up to him.

“We need to find my friend,” the Avatar said, urgency thick in his voice. “(Y/n) was captured along with me! I can’t leave without her- My frogs!”

The Avatar’s even footsteps halted, and when Zuko turned around, he found the boy kneeling on the floor, trying to catch some half-frozen frogs that desperately tried escaping his grabby hands.

“Come back! And stop thawing out!”

This time Zuko did not suppress the urge to roll his eyes, and instead walked back to the Avatar, grabbing him by the collar, and dragging him along.

“Wait! My friends need to suck on those frogs! And we need to find (y/n)! Hey, put me down!”

Zuko was hit by a gust of wind, knocking him forwards a step and making him drop the Avatar.

“I said: We need to find (y/n)!”

By all the spirits, this kid was annoying.

Zuko shot him a glance, as if to say ‘then where is she?’, and sure enough the Avatar turned and raced down another corridor, Zuko following him, while he tried to remember if he knew your name. He had run into the Avatar and his little team of run-aways before. There were the boy and the girl from the Water Tribe, and of course that Sky Bison. But there was another girl, too. Zuko had never paid any attention to her, and her clothes didn’t give away where she came from. Maybe the Earth Kingdom, or a remote region of the Fire Nation even.

Traitor.

If she was Fire Nation, why was she helping the Avatar? And if she was a traitor, why should he free her? It was only another risk, one that would put his whole mission in jeopardy. But he needed the Avatar to follow him out of the base without making a fuzz. And for that, apparently, he needed to free this girl. He would simply knock her out after they had made it past the walls. Then he’d grab the Avatar and he’d be back on track with his plan.

The Avatar led him to another block of cells, these unguarded, but behind every door, there was the groaning and complaining of hungry and beaten men. Behind every door except for one. While the Avatar had kept walking, Zuko stopped in front of the only door behind which it was quiet. Maybe the cell was empty, but his instincts told him differently. Getting on his tiptoes, he spied through the bars in the door into the cell, and sure enough he saw the small, curled-up form of a girl laying on the ground.

Not hesitating for a moment, he pulled his swords and hurled them against the locks keeping the door closed. The clash of metal against metal alarmed the Avatar, who came running back to his side, but by the time he reached the door, Zuko had already stepped into the cell.

You were slowly sitting up, clearly irritated at the sudden noise, and even in the twilight Zuko could make out the bruises on your face and arms. The soldiers had beaten you. Cowards, honourless cowards. You were no bender, you barely seemed to pose any threat as it was, otherwise he’d remember you better from his previous run-ins with the Avatar, but they still had beaten you.

“What-”

Before you could ask what was going on, or protest, he had grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. From up close, he could tell you were about his age, maybe even a little younger, and if it hadn’t been for the bruises on your face, and the dirt crusting your hair, you would have even been beautiful.

Then he saw the emblem of the Fire Nation dangling on the thin leather necklace you wore, and any sense of attraction vanished as quickly as it had flickered to life. You were Fire Nation, and you betrayed your country by helping the Avatar. He should knock you out on the spot and let you rot in this stinking cell. Who cared what the guards did to you?

In that moment a strangled cry of joy sounded from behind him, and like a lightning of orange and yellow the Avatar shot past him, practically wrapping himself around you.

“I found you,” the Avatar yelped, quickly letting go of you when you began swaying under the sudden impact of your friend. “This nice, masked man here is saving us! He’s just not very talkative.”

You were clearly dazed, from pain, a lack of water or food, Zuko wasn’t sure. But still you made him squirm in his boots as you stood up as straight as possible and took in his appearance for a moment. You weren’t as tall as him, but something in your eyes made him realize that maybe you weren’t as harmless as he had believed.

“Nice, masked stranger, hm,” you questioned, your voice raspy, and you swayed again.

Damn traitor. Who did you think you were, judging him like this?

Ignoring the racing thoughts in his mind, Zuko turned back to the door, leaving the cell without another word.

“We need to go,” the Avatar told you, and behind him, Zuko could hear two sets of footsteps following him, the light steps of the Avatar and your heavier, almost shuffling steps. You really were in bad shape. He knew it had been a bad idea to go save you. You’d only slow them down.

Together you were creeping through the corridors, back into the canalization system. As Zuko climbed out, he didn’t look back to see whether you were following. He could only hope the Avatar had enough sense of self-preservation to leave you behind, should you not even be able to climb out of a shaft like this. But a moment later, as he was standing pressed against a wall, spying around the corner, you came to a halt next to him, followed by the Avatar. Your movements were still not as fluid as his own, but you seemed not as sluggish anymore as when he had found you in the cell. Maybe the movement and the fear that was doubtlessly cursing through your veins gave you the energy to keep going.

Zuko motioned to the wall, where he had left behind the rope which he had used to lower himself into the yard, and following on his heels, you and the Avatar ran after him towards it.

“(Y/n), go first,” the Avatar encouraged, making Zuko want to shake him. Didn’t he see? You were unimportant, a traitor at that, and the slowest of the group. If anything, you should go last, so it was easiest to leave you behind.

But before even a sound of protest was leaving Zuko’s lips, you had already grabbed the rope, and pulled yourself into the air with surprising speed, immediately followed by the Avatar. He wasn’t going to get rid of you so easily, was he?

You had made it almost half-way up the wall, when suddenly an alarm rang and just a moment later a guard appeared over the edge of the wall, cutting the rope. For a moment Zuko was in free fall, having just enough time to realise that a fall from this hight would mean a few broken bones at best, when a gust of wind caught him, you and the Avatar, before you fell the last inches to the ground.

Quickly looking around, trying not to let the sudden plummet towards the ground get into his head, Zuko pointed towards the still open gates, immediately taking off with you and the Avatar close on his heels.

“Stay close to me,” the Avatar instructed and overtook Zuko and you, continuing the sprint towards the gate that was slowly closing.

A group of soldiers who had tried blocking your way simply got blasted aside by the Avatar, and Zuko couldn’t help but shoot you a glance to see your reaction. But your eyes were only focused on the gate, following the Avatar, as if you had seen him blast people out of the way a hundred times. You probably had.

That was the moment two soldiers got Zuko from the side, and even the Avatar had to grab a weapon, swinging it around, using it to create air blasts. For a moment, and with a reasoning Zuko couldn’t even explain to himself, he searched for you, fully prepared to jump to your aid, should you need it.

Instead, he found you standing over the crumbled bodies of three guards, who were groaning on the ground. In your hands, you were holding two swords, and Zuko couldn’t help but freeze. A blast of air picked up your hair, gently playing around it, as you stood proudly over your defeated enemies. Nothing seemed to be left of the sluggishness from just a few minutes ago, when Zuko had pulled you to your feet in that cell. Now, you seemed to be on high alert, perfectly aware of what you were doing, and ready for a fight. There was a light glimmering in your eyes that made Zuko wonder how he hadn’t taken notice of you before; after all he had run into you several times already. But something about the way you stood now, both feet securely anchored to the ground, this spark of defiance and determination in your eyes, fingers closed around weapons you clearly knew how to handle… for a moment Zuko couldn’t help but think how perfect you looked. The thought disappeared as quickly as it had come to him. You were a traitor to the Fire Nation, despicable, cowardly, disloyal. Before he could continue the list of negative attributes he associated with you, he picked up on the group of soldiers that were moving in from the side: Fire Benders.

Quickly pushing himself between them and you, he began attacking them with his own flames, only noticing from the corner of his by the mask limited vision, that you had picked the fight back up again. He was right in the process of firing a blast at a couple of soldiers, when suddenly a wave of fire was rolling towards him. No, not towards him, towards his left side- where you stood. Reacting faster than he would have thought possible himself, he grabbed your arm, his fingers closing around your biceps underneath that flimsical shirt you had been made to dress into as a prisoner, and quickly he pulled you aside, using his other hand to send a quick interval of fire balls back towards the attackers.

The chocked cry that suddenly reached his ears made his heart freeze over and the short shaven hair in his neck stand up. Had he been too slow? Had you been hit by the blast anyway? When he swivelled around, the smell of burnt flesh reached his nose, making sour stomach acid burn in the back of his throat. Small flames were licking at the fabric of your shirt, and when he pulled his hand away as if he had been the one who had been burnt, a fresh burn wound in the shape of his hand was wrapped around your arm. He had been in the middle of a blast when he had reached for you, burning you while trying to save you from being hit by the fire of the soldiers.

Quickly he drew in the flames on your shirt, extinguishing them, but the damage to your skin was done. He had tried to save you and instead he had burnt you. What a laughable metaphor for his whole life. But still something inside his chest tightened up, wound so tight he wasn’t sure it would ever come undone again. He shouldn’t care, he told himself as his eyes flickered to your pain distorted face. You were a traitor, a means to an end, you would be left behind the moment he and the Avatar had made it past the walls.

But still- he couldn’t help but wonder how you held yourself together. Burn-wounds were some of the most painful wounds there were, he knew that, and yours wasn’t exactly small. Still, no more sound slipped over your lips, and even though you had dropped the sword in your left hand, you were ready to keep fighting with the sword in your right.

But before it came to that, your attackers were blast away by an air current, and the Avatar came running.

“(Y/n), are you hurt,” he asked, his voice filled with worry. Envy spread in Zuko’s stomach. Nobody ever worried about him like that.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, quickly covering up your wound, hiding it from the Avatar.

But now your luck had finally run out, it seemed. You were with your backs to the closed gate, Zuko and you the last barrier between the approaching soldiers and the Avatar.

“Hold your fire!” The voice belonged to Zhao, who came stepping past the Fire Benders, that were ready for the final attack. “The Avatar must be captured alive!”

Quickly assessing the situation, Zuko grabbed the Avatar, pulling the boy so his back was to Zuko’s front, the blade of one of his swords dangerously close to cutting into the thin skin of this neck. At his side, he could tell you were moving to attack him, no hesitation in your movements when you realized he was threatening your friend’s life, but before you had even fully pointed your sword at him, Zuko had dropped one of his own, and held his open palm right into your face. One wrong move on your end, and he could blast your head away in a ball of flame. He wouldn’t, but you didn’t know that.

It seemed like the wordless demand Zuko was uttering as he stared over to Zhao was understood, because after a moment of internal debating, the Admiral pressed out: “Open the gate.”

Behind them, the gate opened, heavy metal running against the earthy ground, and Zuko dragged the Avatar backwards, motioning you to come with them. The expression on your face was one of pure disgust and hatred as you stared at the mask that was covering his face, but followed his instruction. Why was he even taking you along? He could just leave you behind now, then he wouldn’t have to deal with you later. But then again, the Admiral would start getting suspicious if he only took the Avatar and not also his friend. It would make it too obvious that he was after the Avatar. If he also took you, it would seem like one of your allies had come to your rescue. So, all in all, it would be better to take both of you.

At least that was what Zuko told himself as he was guiding the Avatar backwards, away from the slowly closing gate. You were watching each of his movements, as if you were looking for an opening to attack him. He had already hurt you; you knew what his flames were capable of, and still you were ready to take him on in a fight, just to defend your friend. It seemed as if while you were a traitor, perhaps you were not a coward after all.

That was his last proper thought before something silver shot through the night, and hit him in the head, knocking him out on the spot.

Next Chapter (04. Oct. 2024) | Masterlist

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...): @ghoststookourlifes @ashcal99 @4acoffee @pxrplewalnxt @toomuchboredd @banished--prince @oddobsessionbutotay @makik0 @joysflower @hamdehlesmis @mitski9328373 @angstylittleb1tch @lovecalll

[lucabyte]

"So what's the weirdest possible first (second) impression Loop could make on the party in postcanon?" "Yeah, that, probably."

+ Bonus

theyre just standing there in direct party order while this happens. normal tuesday.

[niningtori]

mad about you | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you, delusions of kang taehyun x you

summary: beomgyu is not only a spoiled, rich asshole whose whole life has been served to him on a silver platter, but he's also your student council vice president. things finally come to a head on your final trip as college students, but not in the way you would expect. or, beomgyu catches you, the student council president, smoking weed and tries to blackmail you for it

genre: romance, angst (only a tiny bit...? shocking i know), fluff (kinda...? shocking i know), SMUT (MDNI!!!), sub!idol, beomgyu enemies to lovers

warnings: bad writing, not proofread at all, smut (MDNI!!!), sub!gyu LMAOOOO, marijuana, dirty talk, praise, handjobs, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 7.1k

notes: please... this took MONTHS for me to write i fear i am the worst request taker on moablr. this was really difficult for me to complete but alas... it is done. if you hate it, my fault! just please don't bully me i've got enough shit going on in my life rn 💀 i hate it too but that's okay!

being a straight-a student is hard. being the student government president? even harder. being both? hell on earth. but now, in your senior year of college, you’ve finally managed to get it down to a science. things run relatively smoothly, which is due in no small part to the blood, sweat, and tears you’ve put in to make the student body happy, never mind the lengths you've gone to for the faculty. you can confidently say you can cope with nearly every trial and tribulation that comes your way with a smile on your face. well, except for one recurring disaster: beomgyu.

at first, he was nothing more to you than a pest buzzing around for no real purpose other than to mildly annoy you. it was strange because he seemed normal at first, but then he would pick on your looks, every time you made a mistake in class, and even how you happened to wear your hair that day. this was annoying and, well, hurtful. still, it was of no real consequence, so you were able to ignore him when that was the case, but now you know better than to underestimate just how disastrous beomgyu’s presence can be. as the student government vice president, he should be your first and most trusted ally, but he’s nothing short of, for lack of a better term, a major asshole deadset on making your life even more difficult than it already is for reasons unknown to you.

you think it may be because you would have probably beaten him for the actual president’s chair, which led him to run for vice president, instead. you don’t know why he minds this, though, because he couldn’t seem to care less about the council, not to mention school in general. it’s not that he gets bad grades, because he doesn’t. in fact, when he gets called on in class, he always gets the answer right even when he clearly wasn’t paying any attention. still, you work twice as hard as anyone else and yet your grades are only rivaled by his own. even taehyun, your (probably unrequited) crush, can’t help but be beaten by beomgyu as if the hand of god itself smacks down on everyone else every time you all take a test. 

getting good grades should be an admirable thing, right? it helps with potential internships and jobs and all that, but the thing is: beomgyu doesn't need any of it. even if he fails all of his classes, he's set for life as the son of a formidable CEO of a company whose profits are more than you could ever dream of attaining. there is absolutely no doubt that beomgyu will succeed him, and there is even less doubt that he'll undeniably be very, very good at it. what’s worse is that even if he failed to meet expectations, he’d still get the position, anyway. 

that, in comparison with your family’s laughable financial circumstances, would be enough to make you secretly hate the boy just on principle; but jealousy is ugly, no doubt, so you’ve kept your feelings to yourself. you would have fallen into a pit of self-loathing and guilt had beomgyu actually been kind, and you may have even grown to like him if that were the case, but no. beomgyu is not kind. he’s a total prick. you see it in his smug little smile when the test papers get handed back and he annihilates everyone — other than you — in class, especially taehyun. you see it in the smirks he sends you when you catch him making out with whoever his new girlfriend of the week happens to be, and in the way he openly mocks you by calling you a prude in front of the entire student population. and most importantly, you see it in the way he watches you struggle to stay afloat while he cruises on by without a care in the world.

-

honestly? beomgyu knows better than to bully the girl he has a crush on just because he wants her attention, but who told you to make it so damn hard on him? it’s not like he didn’t consider being nice at first, but your aloofness to his charms only caused him to believe that he was nearly invisible to you, and he simply wouldn't stand for that. naturally, the best course of action was to get you to hate him — at least that means you’re actually paying attention to him. that’s what he tells himself as he’s sticking one of his spindly legs out as you walk past him, effectively tripping you in the process and making the entire class erupt into laughter. your nostrils flare as your head whips up to meet his condescending gaze. once again, your eyes are completely on him. check and mate.

that's what it feels like, at least, until you’re hurriedly pulled up by a concerned taehyun and he’s frantically asking if you’re alright while fixing up your (now) fucked up hair. your eyes, which were just brimming with anger and contempt for him, are now overflowing with lovesickness and infatuation for the other boy. well, never mind about the whole “checkmate” thing, it’s like beomgyu doesn’t even exist in the same world as you anymore.

-

“you need to relax,” taehyun says, gently closing the notebook in front of you and sliding over a few of your favorite snacks. 

“th-thank you, tyun,” you reply, shyly. he grins when he sees he’s succeeded in distracting you.

“no problem, we wouldn’t want that pretty little head of yours to break from thinking too much, now would we?” he teases. you feel heat rushing to your cheeks at his words. he doesn’t really mean them, he never does, but that doesn’t stop your heart from racing when he says things like this to you. 

having a crush on taehyun is only natural. that’s what you tell yourself, but the way you have a shrine dedicated to notes he’s passed you and polaroids you’ve taken together sitting prettily in your room is most definitely unnatural. he doesn’t need to know about that, though.

“my head’s not going to break,” you huff with a playful roll of your eyes. “i just need to finish outlining the major stops on the trip and i’ll be done, i promise.” 

it’s true that all you have to do is outline where you’re going to stop on the council’s senior trip, which doesn’t sound like a big deal in theory, but in actuality, you have to clear each stop with the faculty and make sure you stay within the budget in spite of beomgyu’s insufferable attempts to exceed it. he’s made light of the finances and talked up special events to the rest of the council members, even taehyun. you tried to snuff out these suggestions with realistic arguments about how expensive it will be, but his response was to call you a killjoy. simple and straightforward, but effective, nonetheless. everyone, even taehyun, was so excited to try everything he hyped up, so how could you say no when taehyun turned to you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and practically begged you to relent? you, unfortunately, didn’t and don’t have the heart to deny him, so you caved, and now you’re stuck trying to figure it all out. 

“you promise?” taehyun asks, snapping you out of your spiral, with his cute cat-like fangs showing ever so slightly.

“i promise,” you nod and he cheers triumphantly. again, you can’t help but feel your cheeks warm, and you’d bask in the moment if your gaze didn’t happen to catch beomgyu’s scrutinizing one at this very moment. he looks at you like he’s watching a monkey putting on a show, and your happiness is instantly replaced with a sense of embarrassment. you’ve never told a single soul about your feelings for taehyun, but eerily enough, beomgyu seems to know something the rest of the world does not. he seems well aware of your deepest secret. why he doesn’t just expose you in order to humiliate you, you have no idea, but you do know you don't like how much he knows.

-

you really, really shouldn’t be doing this. and certainly not here, of all places, but you just can’t help it. smoking weed is terrible for you, and you of all people should know, seeing as how you led a presentation on its ill effects in front of the entire student body in your freshman year. but it’s hard to truly care when you’re wound so tightly you feel like you’re about to burst. 

beomgyu is getting his way again, as always, and you’re worried about having to make yet another last minute change to your trip’s itinerary for tomorrow because he called today’s stop boring, which led to the rest of the council silently agreeing. so here you sit on the top of the hotel building as the rest of the group are out sightseeing, taking a long, lung-scorching drag from the blunt in between your fingers. 

“didn’t take you for the smoking type, madame president,” a voice cuts in from out of nowhere. beomgyu. fuck. 

you try to keep your cool, but you end up choking on the smoke as you hurriedly go to flick the blunt away, but beomgyu’s hand grabs your wrist before you can quite make it there. his touch feels like a brand searing itself into your skin, but you’re too overstimulated to notice. 

“i didn’t tell you you had to stop,” he muses condescendingly as you rip your wrist away from his grasp. he winces. you don't catch it. instead, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the presumption that he has the power to tell you to do anything.

“i’m not one of your little minions,” you snap in spite of yourself. “quit acting like you can boss me around.” 

“is that so?” he questions, not without an air of smugness. alarm bells blare in your ears as you try to sniff out where his confidence is coming from. sure, he caught you smoking, but it’s your word against his. that’s right, there’s no need to be scared. if he says anything at all, you can just feign innocence and say you were the one who caught him sneaking out to smoke.

“yep,” you answer with a grin at your new plan, popping the “p” with the same obnoxiousness he usually terrorizes you with. you’re no match for him in terms of popularity, but you will never lose to him when it comes to credibility.

“you’re not afraid that i’ll snitch on you? you’re not scared of me telling everyone how little-miss-perfect spends her alone time?” 

“you can try,” you reply with a shrug. he’s silent for a few moments, as if he’s in deep thought. 

“you know what? you’re right,” he concedes with a sigh, and shockingly so. the beomgyu you know and loathe would never give up that easily. “you don’t have to listen to what i say. nobody would believe me over you, right?” 

you eye him suspiciously before giving a slight nod.

“and most times, you would be absolutely right. like, just imagine if i told them you faked being sick and flaking on everyone else just so you could get high. nobody would believe me. i wouldn’t even believe me,” he continues. you have no idea why he’s going on and on about this, but you don’t like it. 

“what the hell are you playing at?” you ask through clenched teeth. 

“i mean, i’m just saying that nobody would believe me. not unless i showed them something like, i don’t know, this?” he says with a grin, holding up his phone and showing you an alarmingly high resolution photo of you taking a hit of your blunt. your eyes widen in sheer horror and you immediately jump to try to retrieve his phone from his hands, but beomgyu is quicker. he tauntingly holds it up in the air with one arm and stops you from coming any closer with the other. you try to jump to reach it, but you’re no match for his stature and long limbs. damn him for being so fucking tall.

“delete it!” you shriek, but all he does is click his tongue and shake his head like the insufferable asshole he is. 

“oh, sure,” he says nonchalantly. your eyes widen even further as he lowers his phone and fiddles with the screen, still keeping you at arm’s length so you’re helpless to grab it for yourself.

“r-really?” you ask incredulously, sincerely taken aback by his compliance. stupid, stupid you. he tuts in response.

“you don’t really think i’ll make it that easy, do you?”

“fine,” you relent, jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed in an almost comically exaggerated way. “what the hell do you want from me?”

“nothing much, just lemme smoke with you,” he answers with a lopsided grin, showcasing a dimple in his cheek you had never noticed until now.

“w-what?” you ask dazedly. 

“god, you’re slow,” he tells you with a roll of his eyes. “smoke with me and i’ll delete the picture. i won’t even mention it again.” 

“are you being serious?” you whisper. 

“dead serious,” he smirks. 

“... fine,” you find yourself relenting, yet again. you don’t know if you necessarily trust him to actually follow through with his words, but what choice do you have? why he wants to smoke with you, you have no idea, but if it gets him to keep his mouth shut, then you really can’t ask for much more than that.

you sigh and take a seat, walking over near the entrance of the rooftop and propping yourself up against the concrete wall behind you. surprisingly, he stays planted in the same spot as if he didn’t hear you. you pat the ground next to you impatiently in light of his hesitation. he snaps out of his daze as he sits next to you so tentatively it’s like you’re a stray cat he’s afraid to scare off. well, good. it’s best for him not to get too comfortable around you. you hate the guy, after all.

you take another deep inhale and he watches you with a gaze that can only be described as lovesick, but you’re too preoccupied to pick up on it. when you exhale, you find yourself starting to pass the blunt over to beomgyu before thinking better of it. 

“wait,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can grip the blunt. 

“what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“am i gonna catch something from you if we share this?” 

“oh, fuck you,” he grunts, effectively snatching the blunt back and putting it to his lips.

“it’s a real question! i’ve seen the girls you mess around with, and i’m not trying to catch anything from you!” 

“i’m careful,” he argues with a roll of his eyes. “a lot more careful than you think.” you pout at his reaction, but for some reason, you believe his words. 

“if i catch anything, it's on you,” you reply, hackles still raised. shockingly, he doesn't press the matter any more than that. 

“... so,” he says after exhaling a deep drag. 

“so what?” you ask. 

“so why are you out here smoking instead of going out with everyone else?”

“do you seriously think you have the right to ask me that?” you scoff. there’s no way in hell beomgyu is trying to get you to be vulnerable right now.

on beomgyu’s end, he can’t help but feel slighted, even though your reaction is definitely his fault on account of how he essentially antagonizes you at every given opportunity. 

“i’m just saying that it’s weird how you’re here instead of, you know, actually enjoying the trip.” 

“oh, please. as if there was gonna be any possible way for me to have fun on this fucking thing,” you bitterly reply. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks without any malice, but with genuine curiosity.

truly, honestly, sincerely, you do not know why you say your next words. maybe it’s because you’re high, or maybe it’s because you need to tell someone — anyone — how you really feel, for once. all you really know is: you can’t stop yourself.

“i mean, how could i possibly enjoy myself when i’m left to figure everything out on my own? everyone only cares about having fun with no actual idea how we’ll do it while realistically staying within the budget and our timeline, and my vice president is deadweight, so it’s not like he’ll help,” you complain, taking a jab at beomgyu in light of your waning self control. you’re prepared to verbally spar with him after that last comment, but he surprises you.

“is that how you really feel?” he asks.

“yeah, it is,” you tell him. “that’s how i always feel,” you can’t help but add, more to yourself and less to him, but he hears you, anyway. 

“i’m sorry.” you whip your head around to make sure you’re not having some sort of auditory hallucination. did beomgyu just apologize to you? it can’t be. there’s no earthly way.

“i’m sorry. i really am,” he repeats. your whole world feels like it’s thrown off of its axis when you see how somber and genuinely apologetic he looks. 

“it’s… it’s fine,” is all you can really muster up the words to say. 

“no, it’s not. i’ll help you as much as i can, i swear,” he earnestly insists. you nod in bewilderment at his earnestness — feeling too awkward to do much else.

things are quiet for the next few minutes while you two are passing the blunt back and forth. beomgyu can feel the high finally hitting him in full force, and it takes every brain cell within his clouded mind (as well as every ounce of his courage) to finally get out his next sentence. 

“why him?” he mumbles so lowly, you don’t quite catch his words. 

“what?” you lazily ask. 

“why taehyun?” once again, you find yourself choking on the smoke. god, you’ve really got to get a grip and stop letting beomgyu surprise you — your lungs would thank you for it.

“w-what do you mean?” well, you always knew that beomgyu knows about your feelings for taehyun, but hearing him directly ask about them is enough to throw you off.

“i mean, why do you like him?” he asks, devoid of all the confidence he usually oozes. 

“what’s not to like?” you say offhandedly. if you cared enough to pay attention to his reaction, you’d see how he withers at your words. even more so when you continue.

“he’s really, really funny. plus, he’s handsome. not to mention smart and —” 

“so what? i’m all of those things,” beomgyu interrupts, irritation bitterly lacing every edge of his words. “and if you call him smart, anybody can be.” oh hell no. you’re so indignant at him calling taehyun stupid, you don’t even catch beomgyu’s childlike envy towards him, let alone why he feels it.

“just because his grades don’t compare to yours, doesn’t mean he’s stupid,” you argue.

“then what does it mean?” he asks with a roll of his eyes at your obvious bias for the other boy.

“it… it just means that he’s —” 

“a real genius. yeah, i’m sure you think so,” he snarks.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” you snap, despite your better judgment to just let it roll off of your back. if he were talking about you, you may very well have done so, but this is taehyun he’s talking about. your taehyun. 

“it means he can’t compare to me,” he says, more as means to convince himself rather than convince you, but you’re so angry, you don’t even notice.

“and what makes you think you’re so goddamn special?” you ask, sarcasm absolutely dripping out of your voice. 

“i’m funnier, hotter, smarter, richer. how can he compare to me?” he snorts. if someone were to ask you why you feel so defensive at this moment, you would be unable to say why, but if you had to guess, you’d say it’s because taehyun is so good it’s impossible to see him any other way. your frustration builds up, hotter and hotter in your chest until you’re on the brink of exploding.

“you say that, but he will always be something you’re not,” you spit.

“and what, pray tell, might that be?” he cockily challenges.

“nice,” you say with conviction, and it may be cheesy, but you mean it. “he is really, really fucking nice and considerate. that’s why i like him.” well, that one went straight to his gut.

“i can be nice!” he exclaims. “i tried to be nice, but you just didn’t care! it was like i was invisible to you!” all you can do is stare, but he’s not finished. “you act like you’re some fucking angel, but i saw the way you looked at me like i’m some stupid, rich asshole who isn’t worth a damn.” 

finally, you realize that something is wrong. 

“beomgyu, why do you even care about what i think about you?” he doesn’t give a fuck about what you have to say in any other context, today’s example being only the latest in the litany of times where he’s shown you that exact sentiment. 

at this, he’s silent, which you truly did not anticipate in lieu of his tirade mere moments ago. you take a good look at the boy, and you finally register that the tips of his ears are a bright red under the fluorescence of the lone light shining next to the doorway. 

“i just… i always care about what you think,” he mumbles, face growing redder and redder under your scrutinizing stare as he breaks eye contact with you.

“you could’ve fooled me,” you snort. “you’re always undermining everything i say and do. it’s almost like you’re doing it on… purpose…” you trail off, puzzle pieces finally fitting together in a way you would never suspect. 

“beomgyu?” you ask.

“mm?” he murmurs, still refusing to make eye contact. 

“do you… do you like me?” and the question sounds so silly you can’t believe you even asked it. this guy fucking hates you, you’re sure of it, but you grow less and less sure of this sentiment with every moment he hesitates to answer.

“... yeah. yeah, i do. but so what? you don’t even care,” he mopes, and just like that, everything makes sense. his teasing, his contrarian nature, and his obnoxiousness are just part of his ruse. he’s just like a child begging for attention by acting out, but to what end? just so you’ll pay attention to him? well, he was on the money when he said you didn’t like him even when he tried to be kind, so maybe, in his own sick little way, he was right. 

but that doesn’t mean you don't feel completely blindsided by this revelation. 

“what the hell?” is all you can manage to say.

“shut up!” he demands with no real heat to it, just embarrassment. 

“i… i can’t believe your solution was to be an asshole,” you say incredulously. “if you had just been nice, or even just normal, i would have warmed up to you. i know i was being childish, but goddamn, you’re worse.” 

if he was blushing before, and he was, he’s absolutely blood red now. 

“i-it’s your fault for being so judgmental!” he sputters, but even you know he’s just grasping at straws. it all makes the worst kind of sense to you now, and you’re very much shocked at how oblivious you were mere moments ago.

“i can't believe this,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to your temples in an effort to straighten everything out in your muddled head. “you hate me.” 

“you’re so dramatic,” he huffs with a roll of his eyes, which would convincingly come across as disdainful, if only his words weren’t so shaky and unsure.

you take a good look at him now, and he can feel it. he’s a very handsome guy, and he knows it, but he can’t help but feel vulnerable. he clears his throat and straightens up his posture when he thinks that you may be comparing him to taehyun... you are not.

none of his actions escape you, which is a far cry from what usually happens, but now that you've discovered his true feelings, it’s almost impossible not to catch his tells; you even wonder how you missed them. his awkward handling of the situation is endearing, in a way. you like watching him squirm, which you realize must be the way he felt about you all those times he teased you. it just makes you wanna push him more.

you’re not exactly known for your impulsivity. in fact, you’re known for the exact opposite. you take things slowly, steadily. you plan every minute detail in consideration of every possible outcome, but as for right now? right now, as you sit and watch beomgyu pout, you just want to let go and do what you really want, and what you really want is to watch him break.

you grab his face with your hands and turn it towards you, and he scowls for just a moment before blinking his big, reddened eyes in curiosity at your unreadable gaze.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks, too exhilarated by your touch to think about batting you away.

this is a bad idea — a horrible one, even — but that does nothing to deter you. how can it when his skin on your palms makes it feel like there's pure electricity thrumming through your bones? fuck it, might as well.

you don’t realize it yourself, but you look incredibly focused as you pull him in, his lips meeting yours. you’d think with the shock he must feel that he’d be taken aback for a second, but beomgyu, as always,   does not abide by your rules. he immediately grabs your face and presses his lips even harder against yours. you’re surprised at how much heat is behind it — how much frustration.

it’s incredibly interesting to watch his reactions as you kiss him, which would be weird, but he’s far too engrossed in this newfound pleasure to notice your stare. his eyes are shut, but they tremble with every passing second, making his long eyelashes quiver. you never noticed how long they are before now. you chalk up the swiping of your tongue against his chapped lips to sheerly wanting to study his reaction, and oh man, it does not disappoint. he whines against your mouth, eyebrows furrowed like he’s pleading for something. you want to find out what that something is. cruelly, you take his bottom lip between your teeth and lightly bite. he whines even louder, his eyes fluttering open, and he pulls away and says his next words in a tinny voice.

“c-can i touch you?” he pants, forehead pressed against yours, lips cherry red.

“no,” you say with a smile against his mouth. he would whine again if he could, but he can’t quite do it at the moment, not when your hands have moved from his cheeks in order to explore the rest of him. you curiously run your fingers through his long, silky hair, and he can’t help but moan when you experimentally tug at it. it’s breathy and light, and you’re intrigued, to say the very least. 

you don’t have the most experience in the world when it comes to the, uh, matters between men and women, but you are a fast learner by nature, so it takes no time at all to figure out where he likes to be touched. his lips, obviously, and his hair. his ears, so flushed and pink and cute, must be particularly sensitive, and you test this hypothesis by dragging your teeth along his earlobe. he lets out a loud, broken moan when you do, and anyone else in the world would have been embarrassed by making such a noise, but not beomgyu. he’s so pretty and pliable underneath your touch, which feels so tantalizing that all shame escapes him.

“do you like that, beomie?” you whisper teasingly, employing a nickname you’ve heard from a few of his ex-flings, and another strangled cry leaves his pouty lips when he feels your breath touch his ear. 

“mhmm, i like it! like it so much, princess,” he babbles, eyes screwed shut as you trail your lips from his ear to his unblemished neck. 

“princess?” you can’t help but question. “where’d that come from?” 

“think about calling you that all the time,” he moans as you suck on a previously unmarred patch of skin on his neck. “think about you all the time.” 

“and what do you think, beomie?” you whisper encouragingly, as if he’s a stupid boy squirming under your thumb.

“th-think about how much i wanna fuck you,” he admits. “h-how much i want to fill you up, make you m-mine.” honest to god, your panties were already feeling a little sticky just from teasing him alone, but his words make your core heat up tenfold. you shift your legs while trying to make yourself more comfortable, but you fail miserably.

“you’re delusional,” you snort, as you pull away from him, but his lips try to chase yours before you lightly push him away.

“i’m not! i-i jus’ wanna make you feel good,” he slurs, and oh god, you simply can’t be saved.

“well, wanna make your delusions reality?” you can’t help but ask before you can think better of it, but when you see how his eyes light up in hope and pure, primal lust, you realize you don’t regret it.

-

the walk to his hotel room is silent, so unbearably silent that you can’t help but second-guess yourself. are you really gonna do this with beomgyu of all people? but it’s been so long since you’ve let go, who will it hurt just to have fun for once? maybe you, probably you, but who cares? it can't be any worse than it is now. besides, you're graduating soon. if things go as badly as you’re pretty sure they will, you’ll never have to see beomgyu again after the fact. plus, things really can’t seem to get any more embarrassing than the humiliation ritual you put yourself through every day that you spend pining after taehyun.

and so, you enter his hotel room, which is easily double the size of yours (sans a roommate, no less) with a look of determination. beomgyu completely misses it, though, as he shuts the door behind you and immediately tugs you towards his bed, quick to rekindle the atmosphere you two had on the rooftop. surprisingly, it’s not hard to do so when he’s back to kissing you so desperately it’s like you’re his lifeline.

he impatiently swipes his tongue across your lips, mirroring what you did earlier, silently asking for entry. you oblige. he groans at the feeling of your warm tongue brushing against his own, savoring the way you taste, which yes, does have notes of weed, but there’s something sweet in there, too. something he’s only ever fantasized about with his hand down his pants.

one of your hands is currently tangled in his hair, just the way he likes it, while the other one exploratorily finds its way down his lithe body. you’ve never done what you do next before, but he seems so incredibly sensitive, it feels like a matter of course to put your hand up his shirt and tweak one of his hardened nipples. he lets out a strangled cry, which only makes you certain that you’ve done the right thing. 

“is it good, beomie? is it everything you wanted it to be?” you tease. he nods like an idiot.

“y-yes, even better,” he moans. “feels s-so good.” 

in the dim lighting of his hotel room, you can see that he means it as the tent in his pants gets harder and harder to ignore. the poor thing is so wound up by your caresses that he may just cum untouched, anyway, but what fun would that be? so, before you can think too much about it, you palm him through his jeans. 

“ah!” he cries, eyebrows furrowed. you palm him again, rougher this time, and just like clockwork, he cries even louder.

“want me to keep going?” you ask, studying and soaking up every reaction of his. all he can do is nod.

he unzips his pants and he’s all too willing to help you slide them off of him, tossing them on the floor before hurriedly grabbing one of your hands to meet his barely clothed bulge. it’s big, because it’s beomgyu and of fucking course it is. as if he needed another reason to be conceited. 

it doesn’t seem like he’s very conceited, though, as he moans like a whore at you hooking your fingers under his waistband and tugging his boxers off of him. his cock is very obviously leaking, and it’s as bright red as his ears were earlier, completely flushed with beads of precum drooling off of it. there are angry veins running up the sides of it, which sounds gross, in theory, but you can’t help but feel like they make it even prettier. you gulp when you imagine how they’ll feel when they’re dragging in and out of your pussy.

“don’t stare!” he says, breaking you out of your reverie. honestly? he knows it’s pretty, just like every other part of him, but he feels incredibly scrutinized under your gaze. you don’t listen, still very much staring as you take your thumb and experimentally swipe it over his thick, reddened tip. then again. then again.

“s-stop teasing me, please,” he whimpers, but you’re so enamored with his reactions you can’t help yourself. you spit on your hand and grab the base of his cock, which is no small feat considering how thick it is, and you give it a harsh tug. he bites his bottom lip to try to stifle his moans as you start to jerk him off, applying pressure exactly where he needs it most, but he quickly gives up on being quiet when you bend over and lick his tip. he tastes salty, but not unbearably so, and in a way, he’s almost sweet. that could just be your imagination, though.

beomgyu is no longer trying to bite back his moans, but he's stuck in another dilemma: he can't seem to unscrew his eyes for long enough to fully appreciate the sight before him. one of your hands is gripping the muscle of his thigh as leverage while the other aids in squeezing and pulling the parts of him you can’t quite fit in your mouth. you’re not looking at him, which would normally be disappointing, but it’s impossible to be anything less than satisfied when you’re hollowing out your cheeks to suck on him even harder. you take your hand from his dick and ghost your fingers over his balls, and he has to push you off of him so he doesn’t blow his load right then and there.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, wiping some spit and precum off of your lips. he’s enchanted by the way your lips are swollen from sucking on him, so much so that he almost forgets to answer.

“‘m gonna c-cum,” he says shyly.

“and?” 

“i don’t want to yet. i wanna make you feel good, too,” he argues petulantly.

“oh? is that what you do in your dreams? you make me feel good? i’m surprised, i figured you’d like me to do all the work and —” 

“shut up!” he hisses, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“let me eat you out,” he offers, trying to distract you from his evident embarrassment. it’s tempting, very tempting, indeed, but you’re so hot and bothered that you kind of just want to get to the main event. especially since you just know it’ll feel good to finally have him inside of you. it’s been so long since you’ve been with somebody, after all. 

“no, thanks. do you have a condom?” you ask, ignoring his suggestion, and he’d be humiliated if only your question weren't so damn exciting.

“n-no…” he stammers. your face falls for a second before he rushes to get out his next words. “b-but i can pull out!” 

“sorry, this was fun and all, but i’m not letting you fuck me without protection.”

“please?” he begs. “i’m clean, i swear! i told you i’m more careful than you think. i really don’t sleep around that much, honestly,” he admits. 

“what?” you ask, genuinely bewildered before calling his bluff. “bullshit. i see you with a new girl all the fucking time. quit lying.” 

“i’m not! i promise — i promise — i don’t sleep around a lot. i only act like i do ‘cause of you!” 

“because of me?” and it actually makes sense when you think about it. he acts out, bullies you, and pretends he’s involved with a lot more girls than he actually is just to try to get you to look his way. oh man, what are you gonna do with him? 

“you’re so pathetic,” you sneer before hiking up your skirt and mounting him. 

“w-what are you —” 

“shut up before i change my mind,” you spit. and just like magic, his mouth is snapped shut.

you start by rubbing your clothed pussy against his bare cock. your slick has already ruined the fabric beyond salvation, so you don’t really mind ruining it some more. beomgyu is absolutely in awe at your actions, rutting against you feverishly. he’s greedy, if nothing else, so he impatiently moves your soaked panties to the side and tries to seek relief in your warm hole. you let him grab your hips as he tries to ease himself into you, but he’s stunned at the resistance he’s met with as he tries to push himself in. 

“s-so tight,” he groans as his fat cock breaches the tight rim of your pussy. the muscles contract as they stretch to accommodate his widened tip. 

you were right about how good you anticipated the feeling of his veins scraping against your insides would be, and you revel in the feeling as you sink down inch by scorching inch. beomgyu, on his end, looks absolutely devastated as you slowly take him in. his mouth is twisted open in a silent scream, and his eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill over at any moment. when your ass finally meets his hips, you can feel his length pulsating all the way up to your cervix. it’s a snug fit, too, and it takes everything in him not to hump you like a fucking dog. 

slowly, you raise yourself up again, almost completely off of him, before slamming yourself back down. then again. then again. he whimpers when you do it, grabbing your hips to help steady you as you ride him for everything that he’s worth. he’s enraptured as your breasts bounce with each movement, and he can’t help himself now — he begins to thrust into you wildly, matching your rhythm and making you cry out. if you were in your right state of mind, you’d feel sorry for the poor souls who are on the same floor as him. 

“pussy so f-fucking good,” he grunts as he feels you squeezing around him, and you’re about to smirk before he pushes you onto the bed then turns you on your side so you’re facing away from him. he tries to slide back into your needy cunt, but the new position makes you feel even tighter. still, with the combination of his slick and yours, he’s able to push himself in again before rutting into you. he presses one of his big hands against your stomach while the other one hastily grabs one of your tits, and suddenly he's back to fucking you like a wild animal. 

you've never in your life felt so wanted, so needed, but beomgyu needs you in a way so carnal it makes you feel even more turned on. he nips your ear, mimicking your actions from earlier, and begs for your praise. 

“a-are you feeling good? you’re feeling good, right?” he chokes out as he hits a particularly deep part of your pussy. 

“so good, beomie,” you moan. “you’re fucking me so good.” those words would normally never leave your lips, but he seems desperate for your validation, and you know he’s too far gone to mock you.

“oh god, this is w-what i dreamed about,” he babbles as he takes the hand that was pressing on your stomach and uses it to massage your clit, earning a strangled scream from you. “th-this is what i’ve always wanted.” and if you could see his face, you’d notice how his eyes roll backwards in sheer ecstasy. 

“i’m gonna cum!” you cry, all self-restraint gone.

“m-me too, princess,” he moans. “c-can i cum inside?” it’s a pipe dream if he’s ever had one, and you can believe that he’s had one, but your response floors him.

“yes, yes, yes! do it inside, i want it!” and that’s enough. he spits out a curse as he hammers himself into you, making you almost sob as you come undone with him inside of you. the feeling of your pussy sucking him in even more as it wildly contracts around him pulls him over the edge, so he paints your walls with his seed and fucks you through both of your highs. 

he stays there until he goes soft, slowly pulling out and watching in awe as the cum spills out of your hole. he pulls you flush against his body and sighs as he tenderly fixes up your hair. 

“i really, really like you,” he earnestly whispers into your hair. 

“i —” 

“it’s okay if you don’t like me yet,” he interrupts. “i can wait.” you’re glad you’re not facing him, because you actually feel a little awkward at his sincere words, but you can’t deny that it makes your heart flutter to hear them.

“okay,” you say.

“okay?” he asks, just to be sure he heard you correctly.

“yes, i-it’s okay. you can wait.” he’s so excited that he throws himself on top of you and turns you to face him, lips greedily meeting yours, putting every ounce of yearning into the kiss. 

honestly? with the way things are going right now, he probably won’t have to wait very long at all. 

notes pt. 2: yeah... i'm so sorry that this is bad i'm just used to writing angst angst angst and this def veered more into cute territory but whatever just don't bully me

permanent taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @midwinterblizzard @everythingvirgoes @sooberryworld @20-cms @inkigayocamman @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @blossommi @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @binniebakery @notevenheretbh1 @shymexican @milkandoranges @that1sadgrl @archoive @paegesoobin @buttercreamerie @ifwtxt @softesyoongi @serenityism00

mad about you taglist: @m00gyu @bambammtori @yelsuki @denleave1088 @hyewka

join my taglist here!

[sheikfangirl]

Gloom nightmares...

Link is totally sleep-deprived on his Tears of the Kingdom quest.

He NEVER rests. But despite all his efforts, it is inevitable: Link collapses and sleep wins over him... and when that happens, Link has the most vile and repulsive nightmares!! Puppet Zelda and her cruelty is always there, ready to mock and torture him.

PS. Nintendo could've gone waaaaaaaay worse with Puppet Zelda if you ask me

PS 2 If you are wondering, yeah, this is a shameless homage to that iconic Evil Dead 2 scene. Groovy! 😊

[calummss]

Mads Mikkelsen Headcanon: Dating A Younger Woman Would Include

masterlist

the age gap i'm thinking of is 20-35 years, so if it makes you uncomfortable do not read!

you would probably meet randomly at a park, both of you walking alone and bumping into each other

let’s add the cliché where one of you is holding a cup of coffee and it goes everywhere, staining the two of you

instead of glares or words of anger, you both chuckle at each other and laugh, apologising with grins on your face

he offers you some money for new clothes but you deny

you start to talk and realise similar interest and it all kind of comes naturally

both of you had intentions of frienly acquaintances but slowly evolved into friends that went out for dinner or drink every couple of months

i feel like you would be the first to fall for him

you knew that he was significantly older than you but your heart saw right past that

mads never brought up the topic because he thought it would be weird and didn’t want to destroy the newly friendship

but one day you were bold enough to ask him if he thought of you more as a friend

he stumbled over his words a few times but ultimately admitted his affection for you

you kissed him to let him know you felt the same way

secretly knowing that mads was an actor, you approached the relationship carefully, always making sure that you were alone or not as seen to avoid paparazzi

which did not work because 5 months into the relationship a famous paparazzi released the pictures because he knew the age difference would cause a scandal

and you were right

newsites, twitter, every social media app was talking about it; his fans especially where halved. some backing up the relationship, others not

the two of you pulled away even more and stayed in his home in denmark

your parents contacted you after seeing you on the internet

they were weirded out who am i kidding?

they met him and talked

realised that you are in love and couldn’t really disagree because you’re both consenting adults but it took them a while to get adjusted

you spent the next couple of months doings various things:

baking (your mother’s blueberry and raspberry chocolate muffins)

walks in the park

snuggling up on the couch watching throwback movies

dancing to songs

your favourite being i wanna be yours by arctic monkey

and your favourite activity was mads bringing you breakfast to bed…

when everything died around your dating scandal, you slowly started to go out into the world again

mads bringing you as a date to an award show where he mentioned you in his winning speech

your relationship faces ups and downs but you know that it was meant to be

[msmk11]

Maybe

Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

WC: 1.3k

CW: Pregnancy, giving birth, Coryo being absent, some fluff, ANGST

Summary: You love your husband, but his growing inattentiveness becomes harder and harder to handle, especially with the arrival of your baby.

A/n: I don’t think I’ll ever have it it in me to write Coryo as perfect and sweet cuz he SUCKS. So you get a little fluff here, but a lot of angst still.

Day 8 of mk’s mad dash

The last certainty your husband offered you was on your wedding day when he said “I do.”

That was a year ago.

You knew he was busy. Coriolanus was rising through the ranks so rapidly you wouldn’t be surprised if he assumed the presidency within the next five years. Of course, you were proud of him. Not only was it your duty as his wife to wholeheartedly support him, you also truly, genuinely cared about his happiness and success. But as with everything, there was a cost. In your courtship, Coryo was so very attentive, loving, and dedicated to you. He made you feel special, and you had no trouble falling in love with him. But once he slipped that ring on your finger, all of it came to a halt. It’s not that he entirely ignored you- no, sometimes you saw the glimpses of your old Coryo when he was on top of you at night, or when you went to socialite parties- but you had often been left to fend for yourself this past year.

You absolutely tried to be understanding when your husband would remind you how busy he was, and how he was doing all this hard work for your happiness, but frankly, you missed him. And was it really so wrong for a wife to miss her husband?

Your loneliness and desire for your husband only worsened tenfold when you learned that you were with child. Coryo, of course, was thrilled that you sired an heir. But with him gone all day, and often at outings at night, you saw less and less of him as your pregnancy moved along. You went through your morning sickness alone, felt the first kick alone, learned the baby’s sex alone, and picked out the baby’s room decorations alone. You were desperately hopeful that the birth of your child, your son, would bring Coriolanus back into your arms, a paternal instinct drawing him into the realm of the domestic.

So when the day came that your water broke and contractions started, though you were overcome with anxiety about giving birth, the hope that fluttered in your chest for the return of your husband far superseded it.

You were out tending to the rose garden when it happened, your long, white flowy dress suddenly soaked. You calmly rushed inside to the phone and dialed Coriolanus’ office.

“Office of Coriolanus Snow, this is Lilith. How can I help you today?” A perky, feminine voice asked.

“Hi Lilith, this is Coriolanus’ wife. Can I please speak to him?” You said kindly as you rubbed soothing circles over your swollen stomach.

“Mr. Snow is very busy right now,” Lilith told you calmly, “can I take a message?”

“Lilith, please,” you answered a little more desperately, “this is an urgent call.”

You heard the clacking of her nails against the computer, “one moment.”

The line goes silent, and you know she’s stepped away to speak to your husband. Every second you had to wait to hear Coryo’s deep voice on the other end, the more anxious you began to feel. It was really starting to kick in- you were about to have a baby.

The line crackled and then, “Darling?”

“Coriolanus” you sighed, relieved.

“What’s wrong? I’m very busy here,” he told you seriously.

“The baby. He’s coming. My water just broke.”

Your husband inhaled sharply on the other side of the phone, “Oh, okay. Okay. Well, are you alright? How’re you feeling?”

You cupped your bump gently, “I’m okay right now, sweetheart. But I imagine contractions will start to kick in soon. Can you come home?”

And then, your voice slightly broke, “Please. I need you Coryo.”

“Yes, of course, darling. I’ll be home as soon as I call the doctor.”

“Okay, thank you,” you said, voice shaky.

You hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

*****

Pain. White hot, blinding pain consumed your body and you couldn’t stop the screams that were leaving your body. The doctor was saying something to you but you didn’t care. You just wanted it all to stop.

Tears were streaming down your face and you kept shaking your head, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Suddenly, like an angel, Coriolanus was in your view, white light shining down on his blonde curls creating a halo. Your sobs quieted at his face.

“Coryo,” you hiccupped, “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

He placed his hand on your forehead, stroking your sweaty baby hairs away from your face, and your eyes fluttered shut at his touch.

“Darling, you can. I promise. You know why?”

You opened your eyes again and stared intently into his bright blue ones, “why?”

“Because you’re a Snow now. And Snows can do anything.”

“Snows can do anything,” you murmured.

Can. Coriolanus said can. The first firm answer from him in a year. If he could give you that, you could do this.

Your husband nodded at you, a soft smile on his face, “Good girl.”

He moved his hand from your forehead down to your hand and clasped it tightly. His encouragement is what allowed you to start pushing again.

As you pushed, your screams returned. But instead of hopeless, frail screams, they were determined and strong. Soon enough, smaller, whiny screams filled the air- your baby’s.

The doctor swooped the baby out from between your legs, “it’s a boy.”

Tears began to stream down your face again, but they were happy tears.

“Coryo, we have a baby,” you sobbed.

Your husband bent down and kissed your forehead tenderly, “well done, darling. Our very own baby boy.”

“Mr. Snow, the umbilical cord.”

Coriolanus stood and gave your hand one more squeeze before walking over to your baby. With slightly shaking hands he cut the cord, and then your baby boy was placed gently into his arms. He walked over to you, the softest look on his face.

“He’s here,” Coriolanus said, placing the baby into your arms.

Your son was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and your heart swelled as you quickly noticed some of Coryo’s features and your own on the face of your son.

“He’s perfect.”

*****

After everything had settled and the doctor left, it was just you and your perfect little family cradled together in the master bedroom of your home. Your baby boy sat cooing in your arms, swaddled in a soft blue blanket, while Coriolanus sat behind you, arm around your shoulders and head peering over you to stare at him.

“We make a pretty good baby, Coryo,” you told your husband softly.

“Mhmm, that we do.”

You leaned into his touch as your husband began to run soothing strokes up and down your side. If everything could stay just like this, you would be perfectly happy. You’d never ask for anything else in your life.

“Sweetheart,” you implore softly.

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to take some time off work, to be with me and the baby?”

His hand on your side stilled and he inhaled sharply, “darling.”

You turned to look at him, big eyes soft and pleading, “Coryo, please. The baby needs his father.”

You paused.

“And I need my husband.”

Coriolanus hesitated, and you wished you could tell what was going on in that always-running brain of his.

“Maybe, darling.”

Maybe.

The death and birth of hope.

It wasn’t a no- the word so ingrained in your brain that you saw it seared on the back of your eyelids. And in that, there was hope. Hope that you’d get your husband back. That you’d get to be a mother alongside him as a father. That everything could be the way it used to.

But maybe wasn’t a yes either. One too many times now you’d gotten your hopes up when Coryo responded to one of your requests with a maybe.

Well maybe you didn’t like his answer.

Maybe you didn’t like feeling abandoned or alone.

Maybe.

But instead, all you said was, “okay.”

[dootznbootz]

Penelope playing on the floor with Telemachus with his toys, (maybe even wooden ones made by his dad)

Telemachus being tucked into bed by Penelope and being told stories about anything and everything.

Her and Athena keeping progress of what he's learning and how well he's doing.

Naiadborn!Pen teaching him how to catch fish and how to swim. Cheering for him like crazy when he catches his first one.

Penelope giving her son a piggy back ride while he's still small.

"I saw a deer today, mama!" "You did?! :D While you were on a walk with grandpa?" "Yeah! It was big and then it snorted and ran away!"

Penelope making Sandcastles on the beach shore with Telemachus so he's a bit distracted from constantly looking at the horizon for Odysseus.

Penelope and Telemachus playing games like knucklebones together.

Telemachus hiding and giggling behind something as Penelope pretends like she doesn't know where he is.

Penelope being a kickass, loving, and playful mother while still being able to worry for her husband. She was crying so much during the Odyssey because her ruse had just been found out and she is scared for herself and her son and her husband. Yes, she most likely cried on her own when she needed to. Of course she did, and it's an important part of her that she did worry about and miss Odysseus deeply, they both deeply missed each other.

But she would play with her son, she'd love him and the stories he'd come up with. She'd watch him grow and kiss his cheeks and tease him like every loving mom does. She'd discuss with Athena about him and how he's doing, Athena would check in on Penelope to see how she's doing. He's growing angry and hurt from the suitors and them destroying things. They comfort one another.

Like, I really love Mom!Penelope and Son!Telemachus moments and while I love them helping and comforting each other during the suitors. They would've still had so much fun together all his life too. Ups and Downs, you know?

[sturnsmadl]

mute 1.

contains- no use of y/n, cursing, trauma mentions, mentions of drug dealing, light agnst.

pairing- grumpy!chris x mute!reader

you've been completely mute for a while after something happened at a party. you used to the popular social butterfly but now? nothing. a new student walk into your art class and you look up, you immediately notice he's quite attractive and grumpy looking, with your observation skills from being so quiet you can already assume he's going to be popular in no time.

the teacher sat him right next to you obviously hoping he'll 'rub off on you' he drops his backpack inbetween your stools and sits down with a grunt. you look at him and see him already staring straight at you but you cant read his expression at all. he glares before he finally says.

"name?" he speaks with almost no emotion whatsoever

you point to the name on ur book and he looks at it before looking back at you

"you gonna speak or what?" he looks you up and down. he has the respect to not point it out but he noticed the baggy clothes and old backpack and the way you were completely alone in the corner while everyone sat with their friends.

you shrug and look back to the teacher as they talk. you notice chris doesnt drop his stare on you so you look back at him to see hes specifically looking at the sleeves on your shirt, he notices you caught him and looks you up and down once again before turning away and scribbling on his book.

the bell for lunch rings and all students rush out as usual trying to avoid the long queues, you pack your backpack up and chris stays sat which causes you to look at him curiously. hes on his phone and you obviously dont support snooping but this time your curiousity got the best of you and you look at his phone, the most you can make out is the contact name. slim? you've definitely heard the name before when your brother was dealing which only confuses you more on why the hell chris was texting him. so much you dont even realise your staring, but chris did.

"the fuck you staring at?" he stares right back at you, u quickly snap out of it before throwing your bag over your shoulder and leaving chris alone in the classroom. he watches you leave but by the time he gets to the hallway you're already out of sight.

taglist!! @bellaonthelow @muchloveforhacker @sturnclouds @ellizzyy @christophersgf @fratbrochrisgf @moonk1ss3d @phoenix062 @conspiracy-ash @pixxiies @blahbel668 @monroesturnns @gwennybenny @sturnobsessedwh0re @pixie-sticks-are-good @wurlibydominicfike @anitahunt @imtheprett

a/n: i know this is very boring but i swear itll be more interesting this is just to lay down part 1 :)

[softieekayy]

In the dark of the Night

Hannibal x vampire!reader

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: the reader is characterized with having a mole under her left/right eye and brown/black hair. (She also comes from greek origins and I sincerely hope I don’t offend anyone.) reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🧸

Biologically, vampires were impossible. Their immortality and survival on blood didn’t make any sense, in the scientific and medical sense. At least that’s what Hannibal Lecter believed for the majority of his life. Until he stumbled upon one, in the dark of the night where in an alley there stood a creature of the night, blood thirsty, sucking on the neck of a lifeless man.

Hannibal paused, he didn’t know if it was in shock or intrigue, perhaps it was a mix of both. But at this moment, he didn’t care what it was. He was taken so dearly by this bewitching creature. Oftentimes, he wondered what vampires looked like, in his head, they were ugly beings with protruding teeth and rotten grayish flesh from the lack of sun. Not once in his life did Hannibal ever think that they’d be so beautiful. This woman who stood in front of him was bewitching with hair that cascaded beautifully down her back in perfectly done curls and makeup done with perfection and down to the outfit she wore. She was perfection.

“I wonder if I should let you live or die.” The woman in front of Hannibal smirked, snapping him out of his momentarily trace while discarding the corpse as though he was nothing. To her, he was nothing more than a blood bag. Hannibal noticed her fangs, sharp canines that looked nothing out of the normal.

“I believe my death will bring you peace for your secret.” Hannibal responded breathlessly, stil so taken by the beauty in front of him. He watched as she moved fluidly, quick and fast, he observed how the moonlight beamed on her skin making her look ethereal. In a quick moment, she was in front of him, gripping his chin between her fingers as she observed. Hannibal didn’t know why nor did he care why but his breath hitched, not allowing air flow to get to his lungs. He couldn’t breathe but he didn’t care to, if he could die in this moment, he’d die a happy man. Death at the hands of a death Angel.

“I can hear your heart, are you scared?” The woman whispered in his ear, giving a slight lick on the shell of his ear as she huffed out a small laugh.

She pulled back, watching him curiously.

Something about him drew her to him. She didn’t want to kill him. However, her soul was drawn to his, something that she could tell was as old as she was. Older than life itself.

“Do as you please.” Hannibal whispered, closing his eyes, awaiting his death. Upon feeling nothing, Hannibal was confused, he wondered why she didn’t kill him. He opened his eyes, eyes that were the colour of rum and a slight tinge of maroon, eyes that held warmth hurried deep within. The woman in front of him was observing him, similar to a cat observing its prey, her blood stained mouth pulled into a slight frown.

She took one step forward, sauntering like a cat and in a moment, before Hannibal had known what happened, she stood next to his ear, whispering “Find me when you have time, we need to have a long chat.” Before leaving a small kiss on his jaw, leaving behind a red lipstick print, the only thing he’d have to hold on to for a long while.

Time passed quickly and before Hannibal knew, it had been decades since he’d seen the beautiful beast in that dark alley. He was a young boy then but a grown man now and somewhere deep in his soul, he missed her. He didn’t understand why and he won’t for a while, fate has decided to play a cruel game on him. He still remembers the inquisitive look that she held in her eyes and the way the moonlight made her look like an angel from the highest of heavens.

Even as he stood now, in the dark street, his face being lit by the moon, he thought of her.

His eyes were closed and his head tilted up, as if he was long awaiting death. She thought he looked like a fallen angel, craving for the touch of heaven again. Unbeknownst to him, the immortal beauty had been keeping up on him. She watched him grow from a 20 year old boy in medical school to the man he was now. A beautiful man with the appetite for something so dark.

“Hmm, you look as delectable as the night I met you.” She hummed, voicing her thoughts. Hannibal snapped his eyes open, looking towards her direction, bewilderment coating his face. Calling her a young woman would be quite the irony for she was as old as time itself.

She sauntered forward like a fox, her black lace skirt flowing down her legs seamlessly, lips stretching into a foxy smile with fangs protruding onto wine red lips. Even at night she dressed like a beauty and Hannibal could not stop staring at her, his soul wanted her, no, it craved her.

“You’ve developed quite the palette, love. A very interesting one at that.” She told him, leaning against the wall, a respectable distance still between them.

“You told me that we’d talk when I find you, it seems that you’ve found me instead.” Hannibal mused, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It seems that I did.” She smiled up at Hannibal and he smiled in return. He may not know her in this lifetime, but their souls are well versed, knowing every inch of one another. The two walked forward to each other, two hunters coming together for the hunt of a lifetime.

“I believe we can have that talk now.” She told Hannibal, her lips almost brushing his own as their noses touched. Hannibal hummed in slight agreement.

“I believe that we can do the talking later.” He told her before kissing her, his lips twisting with hers in a passion that cannot be recreated. His hand gripping the back of her neck as her hands gripped Hannibal’s shirt, in an almost desperate manner.

She pulled back, giving Hannibal the chance to catch his breath, she didn’t need to breathe.

“Oh my dearest heart, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” The young woman told him, laughing a little when Hannibal pulled her close to his chest, resting his cheek on her head laughing a bit as well.

“So tell me now, why is it that you never killed me back then.” Hannibal asked her, leading her into his home and looking back at her. Despite the way her beautiful eyes glimmered in the warm light, they held a deep sadness within them.

“I’ve lived a long long life, my love.” She told Hannibal, caressing his cheek as she smiled. Hannibal leaned into her touch, wanting more.

“I’m here to listen to your pain.” He told her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Her body wasn’t warm, it hasn’t been for over a thousand years. It was cold, like a dead one.

“I was born in 487, in Ancient Greece, during the Hellenistic period, I was a priestess of the great goddess Artemis, a goddess of the hunt. A young woman who was to spend the rest of her days living in the temple of the goddess. Of course, back then I hadn’t known what life would hold for me. I was young and naive, wanting to help anyone who came to the Goddess’ temple.” She told Hannibal, her eyes closed and head tilted back as she reminisced the days of her early youth. Even though it had been over 2,400 years ago, she remembered it clearly.

Hannibal observed her closely, her hair that was once up nearly now lay in curls down her back as one hand held a glass of red wine he had kindly poured for them. Her nails were long and sharp, like claws but nothing out of fashion. She truly looked like a temptress, and maybe, just maybe, many stories of vampires being beautiful stemmed from her.

“There was this one night, it was cold and rainy all day, an indication that a storm was about to come. Many thought that the great god Zeus was upset hence why everyone stayed home that day. Women that came to pray for their daughters didn’t come, pregnant ladies hoping for a safe birth didn’t come and men who prayed for a good hunt did not come.” The old vampire told Hannibal and to him, it seemed like a myth. Her life, her humanity was so long ago that it seemed impossible to Hannibal yet it was. She was living proof of it.

“Yet there was this man who came, seeking shelter in the temple.” Hannibal listened to his companion continue her story.

“A young man in his 30’s I assumed. But he was beautiful, more beautiful than any creature I had ever seen. His hair was long and blonde and he was dressed in the richest of robes. I, being the young lady I was, allowed him in. I trusted him, fed him and gave him shelter from the rain. And he betrayed me.” She told Hannibal, the glass that she had been now shattered as broken shards embedded themselves into her skin.

Quickly Hannibal took her hand, eyeing for any injuries yet finding none.

“Are you hurt, my dear.” He asked her and she simply pulled her hand away before shaking her head no.

“What happened? What did this man do to you?” The older man asked her, running his hands through his slowly graying hair, worried about what she might say next.

“He betrayed me. That night, after feeding him and giving him a place to sleep, I went to pray to the goddess, to pray for the safety of my community and the children and for the families to never starve. I was just setting up her altar after praying when he attacked me. A growling creature with teeth as sharp as a sword and glowing red eyes, he turned to me and smiled and said “you’re a stupid little lamb aren’t you. Letting strangers you don’t know into your sanctuary.” Those words were the last I heard before searing pain and finally, darkness.” She sighed deeply, as if she had just breathed out the pain she held in her heart.

Hannibal felt pain for her and the way her life ended. She may be alive but she’s a walking corpse, she doesn’t breathe nor does she sleep. She’s not warm and she’s not alive. There’s no beating heart in her body.

“What about your family?” Hannibal asked her, making her smile slightly and look up at him, she stood up and walked over to him, running her hand through his hair and Hannibal leaned into her touch like a cat.

“I believe they simply thought I died in the storm, and I believed that it was best for them to believe that. My sister went on to have kids and so did my brother. However, my mother and father never really moved on from losing me.” The old vampire told Hannibal, and he nodded, understanding her reasoning for not going back.

“Come my love, you have work tomorrow and I have things to do.” The brunette told him, leading Hannibal up the stairs to his room and he followed behind her as if in a trance. Once reaching his room, he took out his nightwear and sat it on the dresser as the young woman watched.

“Are you going to leave again?” He asked her, not recognizing the voice that came out of him. He sounded like a small boy asking for someone to stay. He sounded pathetic to himself.

“Only to get my stuff. Unless you’d like me to leave.” The young woman winked towards the end of the sentence and laughed. Hannibal laughed when he came up to her and leaning down to her level, he placed a kiss on her lips and she returned it with just as much passion.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She told him after pulling back from the kiss, and kissed his cheek.

Their one morning turned into another and another and sooner than later, they moved in momentum. One could not function without the other, a flowing river.

Hanniabl proposing to her wasn’t very secretive, he did it in their kitchen, while she marked work of her students, the pair had decided to settle in Baltimore, Maryland where Hannibal worked as a psychiatrist and his wife as a teacher. She always had a thing for children and teaching. Unfortunately due to her being physically dead, she could not have any children of her own.

“What are your thoughts on marriage?” Hannibal asked her one day, not bothering to look up from the veggies he was cutting. His lover smiled at him, putting her hand under her chin in faux thought, fangs poking her cherry lips.

“I have never really thought of it. I’ve had lovers, yes, I’ve been a mistress and everything in between yet I have never thought of marriage. Why do you ask?” The smile never left her face as her attention was fully directed towards Hannibal. She sat up straight, dark hair cascading down her back in Hollywood curls as she crossed her legs one over the other before pulling up the sleeves of her sweater.

“If you’ve had lovers, you never thought of marriage?” Hannibal questioned, a small hint of laughter in his voice. He looked up at her, hair disheveled from the long day he’d spent with patients.

“They were lovers, not someone I’d consider spending the rest of my life with.” She told Hannibal in a nonchalant tone. Her eyes held warmth when she looked at Hannibal, he noticed the way her body lost its rigid posture around him and the way she let herself become more loose.

“Would you marry me?” Hannibal dropped the question, his breath hitching in his throat while he anticipated her answer. Anything other than a yes would kill him, physically and emotionally.

“Without a doubt.” The dark haired woman told him as she hopped down from her place at the kitchen bar and made her way towards Hannibal. He looked over his shoulder at her, smiling at her.

“If you’d said anything other than a no, I think I would’ve died.” Hannibal told her, standing up to his full height, towering over his lover. He pulled her into his embrace as she rested her hands on his chest, looking up at Hannibal with a love drunk look on her face.

“When should we start planning?” She asked him, elated beyond means yet not letting an ounce of it slip through her voice. Hannibal let out a laugh before bending down to kiss her passionately.

“You can do the planning, I can assure you that money will be no issue.” Hannibal informed her as he went back to continuing their dinner.

“Sweetheart, I've more than enough money to last us for generations. I’ve been alive for so long and many of my lovers have transferred their assets to me as well. So yes, I agree, money will be no issue.” She laughed and Hannibal laughed with her.

It was not long after this dinner that the wedding planning began.

(Y/n) had a famous dressmaker that she had turned into her kind to forever make her dresses. A polish woman by the name of Olg, a fiesty woman. No matter how grumpy she may seem, the older woman had always thought of the brunette as her own daughter ever since she lost her own.

“Olga! It’s good to see you!” The young woman greeted the older lady with a tight hug and a kiss to the cheek. The older one returned the hug before pushing her back to take her in.

“Still the mournful colours you wear. Reds and blacks and grays. I see that nothing has changed.” Olga told (Y/n) with a distasteful tone. The younger one never listened to Olga when she told her to wear more colourful clothes. The only colours she had in her pallet were blue and red.

(Y/n) laughed fondly before hugging the old lady again and dragging her to the car. The ride home was filled with chatter about everything and nothing. Olga pestered the brunette about Hannibal and to know more about him. She was excited, her daughter, not by blood, finally found love within her life. Someone whose eyes light up when she enters the room and the one person who looks at her as if she hung the stars specifically for him.

“Have you thought about wedding dress fabrics?” (Y/n) hummed in thoughts the question. When she was born, it was a plain white fabric wrapped around you. Although she was very fond of the dresses that were worn in the 1800’s. The puffy dress with off the shoulder sleeves, ugh, (y/n) loved them so much. She liked to think that they were the height of fashion, Olga liked to disagree.

The ride home went by faster than the two ladies expected yet they were not disappointed. Olga was happy to be here to judge the groom in person.

“Do you smell that?” (Y/n) sniffed the air, smiling as she straightened out her dress and fixed her hair before bending down to pet Lucius, a fluffy black cat that wandered the grounds of the Lecter home. Olga indeed did smell that, she smelt meat with a tinge of blood and she was absolutely starving.

While the young brunette cooed at the cat who was now spread out on his back, Olga examined her surroundings. The home was nice and modern, it was a large home with a glass front.

“Do you like it?” (Y/n) asked Olga before guiding her into the home. It was just as beautiful on the inside with a blue coded interior.

“Hm, it’s quite nice. However it compares nothing to the estate that one Lord gave you. Madly in love, he was.” Olga reminisced, pointing her finger at the younger woman who laughed boisterously. The younger woman led Olga into the kitchen where Hannibal was just finishing up the dinner.

“Oh hello, my love.” Hannibal perked up at the greeting before turning around to greet his wife to be. (Y/n) kissed him on the jaw and hugged him and he returned the hug.

“Hello Angel.” Hannibal smiled, caressing her cheek before kissing it in greeting. (Y/n) pulled back before walking back to Olga and introducing her.

“Hans, this is Olga, my mother in all but blood.” (Y/n) enthusiastically introduced the older woman who was busy sizing up the tall man. He had charm and was good looking. He could also cook. However, all that mattered was that he loved her daughter and that she loved him.

“It's a great pleasure to finally meet you, (y/n) has spoken greatly of you.” Hannibal smiles at the woman who nods slightly at him in acknowledgement. He gestured for all of them to take a seat and they did, Hannibal sitting at the head of the table with his fiancee on the right and Olga on his left. Dinner was a silent deal, Olga didn’t know how to feel. There were many times in the past where (y/n) had come close to marrying yet never did. She only hoped that this couple would last for eternity and beyond. Olga knew deep down that it will, she could see it in the way they both looked at each other. Hannibal looked at her as if she was the breath of fresh air he’d been looking for his entire life while (Y/n) looked at him as if he was the only thing that she lived for.

Dinner was a silent affair and Hannibal was an excellent cook. After dinner, (y/n) wandered off into her study to mark the remaining work of her students as Olga cornered Hannibal in the kitchen.

“She’s loved men greater than you, many Kings and Lords who were willing to lay their lives down for her beauty.” Olga informed Hannibal who listened intently, trying to ignore the clenching feeling in his heart. He knew that his lover had many before him yet he never felt insecure, not until this moment that is, the words from Olga’s mouth put that into perspective. If great kings and lords were willing to die for her, then who was he to deserve her love?

“Yet she never married any of them.” Hannibal retorted looking up at Olga, maintaining eye contact as some form of dominance.

“No, she almost did though. A man, a lord really. A widowed man, he was. His wife had succumbed to the chills and (Y/n) was new at court, quickly catching the eye of the young lord.

Their love was pure and young, like a freshly bloomed flower. However it did not last unfortunately, the young lord succumbed to a strange illness that (Y/n) would never die from.” Olga told Hannibal who listened closely to a piece of his fiancée’s history. Olga stood leaning against the counter, watching Hannibal, waiting for a reaction.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. However, she has me and I have her, I am not succumbing to any illness soon.” Hannibal smiled at Olga in a sarcastic manner who just smiled back at him, glad that he hadn’t let the jealousy overcome his conscious mind.

“You, my boy, will do just fine.” Olga pat Hannibal on the back and wandered off, leaving the older man to his own thoughts. Hannibal himself wasn’t less than royalty, he was the Count of Castle Lecter in Lithuania, his mother was a descendent of a family that ruled over Milan for 290 years.

He was on par with any king or lord that would die for his wife to be. She was beautiful, perhaps even the most beautiful creature to walk this earth.

Lost in thought while doing the dishes, he didn’t notice his lover walking in. The slight touch of her hand on his back caught Hannibal off guard as he let out a sigh of relief once he saw it was only his lover.

“Are you alright?” She questioned him, a worrisome look on her face as her eyebrows furrowed together, wondering what made him so panicky. Her hand travelled from rubbing his shoulder to caressing his face. Hannibal sighed gently before allowing himself to lean into her touch, cherishing every moment.

“I’m quite alright, dear.” Hannibal told the young brunette in a soft yet tired voice. She muttered a quiet “oh Hannibal,” before encasing him in a hug. Hannibal hugged her tightly, afraid that she was just a dream that his mind had conjured up before burying his face in her neck, allowing himself to breathe in her scent.

(Y/n) pulled back from the hug, bending her neck down to look at Hannibal as a frown overtook her beautiful face. She carded her hands through his hair before they settled on his face.

“How will you tell me what’s wrong?” She asked him gently and Hannibal, just for a brief moment, lost control over himself.

“Olga told me about your past.” Hannibal barely whispered out in a bitter tone. “She told me about the man who you nearly married and the kings and lords who were willing to lay their life down for you.”

“Oh my dear heart, that man was someone I loved years ago. But you, my dear, you are my love now. My star and my moon.” Hannibal relaxed at her words of reassurance, fully pulling away from their embrace.

“Let’s head up to bed now, I’ll start a fresh bath for you. It’ll help you relax.” She smiled at him and patted his cheek before heading upstairs.

Hannibal stole a quick kiss from his girlfriend before going back to doing the dishes. Once he finished, he wiped his wet hands on a towel and removed his apron and hung it on the hook before heading upstairs. Halfway up and he can already smell the scent of jasmine and sandalwood beginning to drift through the air. Hannibal tilts his head up and takes in a deep breath, already feeling a bit relaxed.

“There you are my star.” (Y/n) called out to Hannibal as she got up from the bed. “I’ve been waiting patiently for you, truly had half a mind to go and grab you myself.” She tells him, Hannibal laughs as he makes his way to their bathroom.

Even at the end of the day she looks like an Angel. His beautiful angel, crafted by god just for him. He removes his clothes, putting them in the hamper and then getting into the bath. Sandalwood and Jasmine, the scent that comforted him the most simply because it belonged to his wife. He remembers the first time he saw her, in that alley way, smelling like freshly bloomed jasmine with a hint of sandalwood.

“Take your relaxing bath, I’ll see you in bed.” The young woman told her lover before kissing him on the corner of his lips and strutting into the room. Hannibal relaxed fully now, lowering himself into the extremely hot water. It felt nice to have someone care for him like this. Sometimes he let his mind wander and wonder if this is the type of love Mischa felt when she was being cared for by her elder brother. He missed his sister, his little star in the sky. Now she truly was a part of the sky. Shaking his head, Hannibal closed his eyes and drifted off a short sleep.

Once he woke up, 35 minutes had passed and his body had already pruned. Quickly getting out, he moisturized and put his night suit on. His wife, although they weren’t married legally, was on the bed, reading a book that was centuries old. She was there when it was written, hence her copy is an original.

“I thought you weren’t coming out of that bath today.” She joked, smiling up at him.

“It seems like you made it too relaxing.” Hannibal joked back, poking her side making her laugh. Sweet laughter that sounded like wind chimes. She set her book aside, arranging the pillows so that she laid down properly on them.

“Ready to sleep?” Hannibal asked her, moulding himself around the shape of her body.

“With you? Always.” She tells her husband, moving closer to rest her head on his beating heart, allowing it to lull her to sleep. Hannibal moved his cheek atop her head, breathing in that familiar scent of metallic blood and jasmine, allowing the scents to send him to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning was usual, Hannibal woke up first, made breakfast, woke up his wife and Olga, ate breakfast and then got dressed and headed off to work, he was now consulting with the FBI.

(Y/n)’s routine was the same as well. She ate, came up, got dressed for her teaching job, grabbed her papers and headed off to school.

Olga, well, she didn’t exactly have a job however, she had decided to get a head start on the wedding fabric. She knew that (Y/n) wanted something that was classic and elegant yet also wanted lace. She headed to multiple fabric stores and picked up multiple fabrics, allowing her surrogate daughter to pick one she liked the most. She wouldn’t admit it but Olga was excited, her daughter had happiness once, yet it was snatched straight out of her hands and now, she has a second chance at it with a great man.

The day came and went, by the time she reached home, it was 3pm and two hours later, (Y/n) returned home.

“Olga! What is all of this?” She asked surprised, shutting the door and taking off her gloves and coat, (y/n) put them on the couch and sat beside Olga.

“I brought fabric. The sooner you choose the type, the sooner I can begin the design.” Olga told her. The younger girl looked at Olga for a moment before hugging her tightly and kissing her cheek.

“You shouldn’t have!” She told her once, pulling away from the hug.

“Nonsense child. Now choose your favorite fabric.” And with those words, (y/n) began to finger the fabric and examined them closely. Some were beautiful crème coloured fabrics with a pearl sheen and others were decorated with gold threads and white coloured flowers embroidered. It was simply beautiful. However, the one that truly caught the young woman’s attention was a beautiful ivory coloured fabric with beautiful lace detailing and the fabric was woven with silver, causing it to have a beautiful shine in the sun and light.

“That one is it.” Hannibal called out from the door making his wife jump. She glared at him for a moment before running her hands through her hair. He laughed and shed his coat jacket, sitting next to his wife.

“It's beautiful, isn’t it.” She told him and Hannibal nodded. The fabric truly was one of a kind, however, his wife was more beautiful than any fabric or creature.

“I agree but I think that you’ll make it shine even more.” He tells her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and kissing her. (Y/n) raised his hand to his cheek, deepening the kiss a bit more.

“So that’s the fabric I assume.” Olga guessed.

“Well then, I’ll get started on the dress.” Olga kissed (y/n) on the cheek and headed to the sun room that was converted into her studio.

4 months passed by and their routine continued. Hannibal and (Y/n) headed off work while Olga worked on the dress, keeping it a secret from the bride. A month later, the dress was ready.

“The flower arrangements are beautiful, aren’t they.” The brunette gushed over the flowers, clutching onto Hannibal’s arm as he agreed. They truly were beautiful. Baby’s breath paired with lilac coloured flowers.

“Have you sent the invitations?” Hannibal asked the wedding planner who nodded. Hannibal nodded in acknowledgement and placed his hand over his wife’s.

“Everything will be perfect, my love.” Hannibal tells her normally, kissing her forehead before muttering a soft “And anyone who messes it up will be our dinner.” (Y/n) smiled at that. They weren’t innocent, Hannibal supplied her blood and the rest ate with her.

Their wedding date was in a week and good lord did that week come fast. At work Hannibal had made good friends with Will Graham and that man was his best man. Hannibal had friends, many friends, yet Will Graham was surprisingly his closest.

“Are you ready?” Will asked Hannibal who looked at him through the mirror.

“To marry her? Any day.” Hannibal replied in confidence, making Will laugh.

“I just went to see her, she looks like a vision come true. Now I see why you call her angel.” Will laughed, running his hands through his unruly curls. Will hadn’t only become friends with Hannibal, he also became friends with his wife. Will reminded (y/n) of her brother, one that she never got to see grow.

“Are you ready?” Maya asked (y/n), straightening her veil before grabbing ahold of her hands.

“Maya, I’ve been waiting over 9 centuries for this, I am ready as I'll ever be.” (Y/n) tells her long time friend, squeezing her hands in confirmation.

“Alright then, let’s get you married.” Maya said, linking their arms together.

Will was right, his wife to be was a beautiful vision. Olga did so wonderfully designing the dress, it was reminiscent of fashion during the Tudor period, with a beautiful ivory bodice decorated with the most beautiful blue and gold birds and flowers, the skirt was simple and trimmed with lace as well as the arms. It was a heavy skirt with multiple layers of fabric. A true Tudor wedding dress. Her hair was done up and a few loose curls framed her face, the makeup suited her well, dark eyes with a dark lip and the finishing touch was a dark blue lace choker, with a pendant depicting the goddess that she once served.

“You are stunning.” Hannibal sighed out in disbelief, still looking at his wife and took her hands in his bigger ones.

The priest officiated the wedding and they said their vows, sealing the ceremony with a kiss.

Maya cried at the Vows while Will teared up a little, praying to whatever god there was to find a love like theirs.

“I’ve waited a thousand years for you, Hannibal. I’ll wait another thousand if it means to have you in my arms.” She tells him, placing her hand on his cheek as he leans into it.

“I’d wait a thousand years to feel your touch and your love again, my beautiful, beautiful wife.” Hannibal tells her, tilting her chin up before kissing her again. They are finally married now, after centuries (Y/n) found someone to love for centuries to come and Hannibal found someone to love.

Tagging my beauties: @chchchcheni @shawty-writes-a-little @jake-g-lockley @dimitrisebastian

[voxmortuus]

Yooo! Lol I’m here to make a small request maybe just to see how you think Hannibal would handle a situation lol like literally just a Drabble would be fine 🫶🏼

Alright, what would he say if his S/O (male pref) asked him “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Bonus points if his S/O asks stupid questions like this all the time so he’s used to it, LMAO poor Hannibal

►PAIRING: Hannibal X Male!Reader ►UNIVERSE: Hannibal ►WORDS: 1.6k ►SUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above. ►TRIGGER WARNINGS: No warnings | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list. ►NOTE: Hannibal and Hannibal Character requests are closed. All other requests are open. Sorry if this isn't what you expected, or had envisioned yourself, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed my vision. ►DIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa

"No. I gotta know! If I was a worm, would you still love me?" you ask.

Shaking his head with a chuckle he thinks a moment. "But what if I was a bird, I'd eat the worm."

"That's not the question nor a valid answer."

"Oh but it is, what if I was the bird that ate the worm."

"You're no fun." you pout a moment.

He chuckles and he watches you a moment. Putting some thought into it he tilts his head. "Well I'd make sure you'd have a nice little compost pile... only the best foods."

"That's better. So, how do you think you'd handle me if I was a puddle of putty?" you ask.

He tilts his head and shakes it again with a slight chuckle. "Where are these questions coming from?" he asked you.

With a rather proud smile. "They came from my brain place. Now. Back to the putty question."

[redhead-batgal]

Type: One-Shot (First part- Drabble) {If you want things to make sense you probably should read it, the first part, 😁😁😁}

Pairing: Fem! Student! and Soulmate! Reader x Damian Wayne/Robin

AU: Soulmate! Reader

Content: Swearing, angst, teenage stupidity, aged up kiddos 16/17, technical talk about soulmates, lowkey frustrations, some much angst yall, some fluff, mythology, toxic parents, and soul crushing

Word Count: 7,233

(P.S: Okay so this is going to be continuing from the I Feel a Sin Coming On drabble, I've been getting a few comments on it asking for a part two and someone sent in a request for a Shy and Smart Student! Reader with Damian and let's just say the gears in my head started turning. Anyways this could go on if you guys want it to, but it could also end like this! It will break you. I hope you all enjoy! :D)

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While, unfortunately, it's true the somewhat cruel existence of soul mates was around and kicking, love- true love was still there. Or at least it was believed to be there. It supposedly thrived even more for some reason. Some speculated that it was because there was a standing of everyone deserving love. Whether they were good or bad or in-between, they got someone who would love them for the rest of their life regardless of all the mistakes they made or continue to make. Others said it was because the universe deemed people good enough to have someone for the rest of their lives. Which seems a little close minded for a society in which everyone has a soulmate. But maybe that was because of the belief that if things didn’t work out with your soulmate- if you didn’t love them as you should or didn’t get the love you thought you deserved- it was because you weren’t good enough. Weren’t good enough to get the right kind of love. But in the end soulmates do exist. They exist and are for everyone. For each person you pass on the road, there is someone out there for them. Just as there's someone out there for you.

But the daunting notion that you have to be the right kind of good to get your perfect love chilled you to the bone. After all, if it wasn’t perfect what did that say about you? Because in the end weren’t they made for you? Maybe that’s why some still believed in true love, that it was real. Both because of and not because of soulmates. Rather because of the concept. Someone made just for you. Even if that person was flawed-if you are flawed, just as they were made for you, you were made for them. But sometimes, what is made for you can harm you a lot more than what’s not. 

It was why you believed that the reason true love might still exist was actually because some people fell for their soulmate before they realized they were fated to be. Before that dreaded bond-that agonizing pull kicked, of their own free will they fell in love. Because they didn't have to suffer through the pull of a bond they never wanted, these people were blissfully ignorant of what forced love was like. They did not know the horrors of those forced to stay with someone their heart loved but mind did not. And despite all your animosity towards soulmates, despite your fear and hatred, what made this all the worse-all the more ironic-was that you were technically one of those people. 

Before you even knew what a soulmate was to you-before you were old enough to recognize the pull, to feel, it’s dark and fervent demand for attention-you fell for him. For his laugh: in the way he tilted his chin back as if trying to suppress its joyous sound and his smile: in the way the corners of his would curve showing a slight dimple in his left cheek and revealing the softness his eyes could have. For his kindness: in the way he disregarded what others said and lived his life freely as himself despite the demand of society for him to be like the rest-to be normal. For his mortality: in the way he would never allow bullies to pick on others around him, even if he thought they needed to toughen up. But most importantly for the way he tried each and every single day to learn more and be better even if you’re the only one who noticed. For the way he seemed to be all what you dreamed, something that should have caused you suspicion but instead drew you in. 

That is until your 13th birthday and, much like many before you, you felt the tug of that dreaded bond.

You were six when you decided to loathe soulmates. Six when you swore on your very soul- your existence that you would never love your soulmate. You swore to live in misery of your own making rather than fates. No matter who they were, you would hate them.

But fate... well fate hated to be tested. So, fate did the worst thing it could. It made you fall for the one person you swore never to.

Your soulmate.

Your very own soulmate who seemed like the only light in the dark and suddenly you began questioning whether or not these feelings- these emotions you had thought were your own and genuine- were actually yours. Or if they were just fate pulling its strings and making you dance and dance and dance.

To say you were upset was an understatement and... well let's just say fate might be prideful, but you were twice as petty.

At age thirteen you shoved the emotions you had so dearly cherished so deep in your chest they seemed like nothing more than echoes of naive mind. You distanced yourself from him and only let yourself feel in your loneliest of moments.

Four years, it had nearly been four years since you had begun your battle against fate. And- and and fate was getting stronger... as you have been told. The older you get- the closer you are to your soulmate, the stronger the bond is.

Those moments... those lonely moments happened more often, and those stupid annoying emotions rose up with the beating of your traitorous heart.

Which is exactly how you ended up in the last place you ever wanted to be. Face to face with your soulmate... with them recognizing you and what you were to them.

"I'm your soulmate." Damian Fucking Wayne said his eyes locked on you as you felt your heart jump to your throat and all the color drain from your face.

"Fucking shit, " You whispered, unable to break his gaze.

Shaking-hand shaking and heart pounding at your rib cage demanding you acknowledge him-that you give in and tell him he’s right. That you are soulmates and let fate drive you. But there was something fate and your treasonous heart seemed to forget. You were one petty bitch. 

Weakly smiling you let out a nervous laugh and turned, avoiding eye contact. Eyes darting around they finally settled on your bare wrist as your other hand scrambled to gather your things against your trembling chest.  

"Oh- my,” Your voice cracked as you shoved your things into your bag, “would you look at the time! I need to get going." 

Fingers racing over the items in your bag you went to zip it close and make your escape when your eyes rested on your final item. The book you were reading earlier. Which just so happened (damn you fate) to be right in front of Damian. Eyes raising to him, gazes latching for just a moment you did the one thing you should not. You looked down, down and back at your book before making the stupidly impulsive decision to lunge for it. Your fingers brushed the cover, nails barely scraping lines into it when a hand-warm and firm clasped around your wrist. Pulling you back towards the table in a quick tug that caused your stomach to slam against the tables side. Wincing you stabbed your nails into your palm, not daring to look up. You had fallen for his trap, the oh so obvious trap you could have avoided had you just not looked at him. 

"I'm your soulmate," He said again, his voice clear and stanch as he gently pulled on your arm, clearly trying to get you to meet his eyes, "and you are mine."

Soulmate- God why did you have to care about him. Why- why-did it have to be him? Why-

why couldn’t fate just leave you alone?

Something about the tone of his voice made your heart shatter. It was almost desperate, but you couldn’t-you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. After all, you would not let fate win. Petty- you were so violently petty and prideful- oh even fate knew this yet- it still tried... this- you wouldn't let this stand. You could-no would not allow fate to get away with even attempting this. Taking a breath in-a deep breath- you raised your chin. Steadying your mind with the thoughts of your parents, of how you needed to be around them. Calm, poised, emotionless. Ignoring the well of tears in your throat and the pressure behind your eyes you finally met his gaze. 

Green. All you could see was those beautiful green eyes, wide and desperate. Yearning-yearning for you to give a reply. But the one you were about to give would only hurt those eyes, regardless, it needed to be done. One pain- one moment or time of pain and sorrow was far better than a life of them. 

Slowly letting out the breaths you previously let in you tilted your head, feeling his grip on your wrist lightening. 

“I do not have a soulmate," You began instantly seeing the surprise on his face-the confusion, so you continued, “I won’t have one. Not you. Not anyone. You see, I don't believe in soulmates. So, I do believe you are mistaken.” 

His grip dropped but seeing the broken look on his face made your facade crumble in an instant as your heart screamed to stop. To comfort him. To take back your words and press yourself into his arms. But you were smarter than that, even if you weren’t strong enough to hide the tears anymore. Throat bobbing, you felt your mouth tremble as your eyes stung and something warm began spilling down your cheeks. 

Pulling yourself away from him, you smiled a bitter smile, not even daring to acknowledge the tears you were shedding. Head high, you turned. 

Voice cracking, you bid farewell, “Now, if you excuse me, I have to get going.”

Feet scrambling you nearly dashed out the door, leaving the book that got you into this mess behind. After all, it was now only going to hold harish and painful memories. 

As soon as your feet touched the gravel, you ran. Tears freely spilled down your cheeks and you sobbed and panted. Mind trying it’s best to soothe the heart that had just torn itself into pieces. But there was nothing it could do. There was nothing you could do but cry and run. Run away from him. From all the pain you had and were going to feel. It was hell, yes. But at least it was yours. At least you knew how and why it had happened, at least you knew what was to come. At least you were still you right?

By the time you had finally calmed your tears-though your heart was still howling, you had made it home. Wiping your tears you took a deep breath in and held it, hoping it would steady your mind and breathing enough to face what was about to come. You hesitated for a moment, then let the breath out wiped your face again and walked up to the door. It was then you heard the shouting. The rage filled voices cursing at each other, dishes and shoes flying, shattering and knocking things about. 

Hand trembling you pushed down the doorknob and walked in. The barrage of insults and dissonance of things being thrown slammed into you. Your feet shuffled across the floor as you saw the shadows in the kitchen, too caught up in their most recent argument to even acknowledge your existence-that is until they came into view. 

“God you never listen!” Your father roared

“Better than sitting on my ass doing nothing all day!” Your mother countered

Quivering you slowly moved towards the staircase as their fight pushed into the living room. Your father’s hands waved as your mother rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed. 

“Really that’s how you’re gonna be?”

“Yeah it is.”

“Fine then, I’ll just take this lazy ass of mine and leave!”

“GOOD!”

With that your father turned and stormed past you straight out the door, slamming it behind him. You flinched and turned to see your mother staring at you. 

“Ugh! I can’t believe him,” She hissed before she shook her head, scowling, “absentee father, sitting on his ass all day while I make the money and take care of the needless kid. God, pregnant at 18- now married to that loser! My life went down the drain. If only it weren't for you...”

Those words stabbed at your heart, sinking in their little daggers in the spots they knew best. You knew she didn’t mean for you to hear them, but you always did.  It wasn’t the first time you had heard things like this, but it did seem to hurt all the more due to what happened earlier this afternoon. Sniffing slightly, you lowered your head and your voice cracking as you had to fight off more tears whimpered,

“I’m sorry mom.”

As if a flip switched your mom’s brown furrowed and scowl dropped. She looked you over, concern in her eyes and she took a step forward. 

“Are you okay honey? You don’t sound too good.”

Raising your head you tightly smiled and nodded, “Of course, just stressed cuz of school. I’ve got some exams coming up and it’s causing my emotions to be all over the place.”

She nodded eyes raving over you, resentment heavy in them as she plopped onto the couch with sigh, “Okay, you better be doing good in school alright? Don't want you to end up like that louse of man your father is.”

You nodded again, “Of course! Actually I was about to go and study.”

“Good, you do that.” She replied as she picked up the remote and flipped on the T.V.

You paused, for just a moment watching her as the resentment began to slide from her eyes, her face softening. She was so pretty, yet harsh lines from constant scowls and frowns bore their way onto her cheeks. Line surrounded her eyes from the tears and sleepless nights. And it was all because of you. Turning, your hands tight on your bag, you raced up the stairs, dashing towards your room where you collapsed onto the ground the second the door was closed. Hand against your face you pressed your head against the door and bit your lip. You did not have the luxury of more tears.  

Turning you found yourself looking at your own reflection. The combination of your mother and father. The perfect combination. It made you wonder what they saw when they looked at you. Did they see a reflection of themselves? Or just an echo of the person they loathed to love. You knew for a fact they never saw you, just you. It was always tied with one or the other. You could tell because today your mother avoided your eyes, that was because you had your father’s eyes. So today, she must have seen him in you. At least until your hair covered your face-her hair- and she saw herself. Maybe that’s why she softened; you didn’t truly know. They loved you, yes. But only because they saw themselves in you. Because on the good days, they saw each other. Because in a way you were them. What hurt the most though, was not when they saw each other or themselves in you. But the fact that they would never see you. And if your parents, the people who were supposed to love you the most, the people who brought you into this world could never see you, who could? 

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It had nearly been a week since you last saw and denied being soulmates with Damian Wayne. In said period you spent your free time dodging Damian and all his friends as well as digging your nose into every soulmate lore, history or origin you could find. While you didn’t want a soulmate, that didn’t mean Da- you soulmate should suffer because of it. So, you had made it your mission to discover if there was any way you could break the bond now. Research had told you that if one party ignored the bond for long enough it would fade for the other. But you didn’t know how long that would take and merely telling Damian you weren’t soulmates tore you up so badly that the mere sight of him sends you into tears. Therefore, you needed to find a way to break the bond. Both for yourself and for Damian. 

But as far as you could tell it was impossible. Every single myth, origin and lore of soulmates explained them as the other half of each other, inseparable even incomplete without the other. Part of you hated that thought. That you were incomplete without your soulmate. Because weren’t you a person, able to function live, laugh and love all on your own? Without a soulmate? Only Greek mythology even considers you as whole without your soulmate. Though it does say that they are meant to be together and once they meet they will not want to part. Which did not read well for your plans. In Chinese mythology there was the Red String or Red Thread of Fate 

A tangible string, perhaps it was something that could be broken. But from what you read it could not, at least you could not cut it or tear it with your hands. It cannot be broken. It cannot be broken. It can-

Taking a deep breath in, you rubbed your brow. It didn’t really make sense to you that the string or thread or whatever it was couldn’t be broken. It also didn’t make sense that a soulmate was to be bound to you for life. Logically speaking there had to be a loophole. Afterall no one feels their bond until they are thirteen. If you were truly bound for life, you would always feel it. Therefore, there must be a workaround. A way to break the bond or someone- or someone to break it- to remove it. 

Since it is not there from the beginning it cannot be like in the Greek, Jewish or Hindu myths. But it might be connected to that string of fate theory. And there was one person who you could think of that might be able to remove or break the bond. The very person who put it there. And if the Chinese myth is right it’s Yuè Xià Lăorén or Yuè Lăo. But as far as you could tell no one was meeting old men at night right before their thirteenth birthday. 

It felt like a lost cause. You doubted anyone actually ever seriously tried to break their soulmate bond. No one ever seemed to have your determination or rather stubbornness. Most people would have surely given up by now, but you desperately needed a way. Because despite how much you hated it, how much it made you hate yourself. You couldn’t help but love him. And it terrified you. 

Your parents started out in love and now they were-... it’d be difficult to say what they had was anything other than torture. Day in day out fighting. Yelling and screaming. Shouting. Such anger at someone they were supposed to love. It made you wonder, were they really in love? Were they really supposed to be each other's happy ever after? Each other's eternity? If so, what did that mean for you? Did that mean you were doomed to be stuck in the same cycle of love turning to hate? Did that mean that you were going to lose a love you always told you had? Did that mean that you were going to die unloved? It was a fear- your biggest if you were being honest. That the person who was supposed to love you forever, doesn’t really love you. And you could take the chance. Not with what you knew- what you’d seen. There was no way in hell you were ever going to let that happen.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was truly unfortunate that you just so happened to have a mother deeply involved in her job. One that resulted in her dragging you to a gala because she needed to show she had the perfect little family. What a joke. A cosmic joke as said gala was happening at none other than Wayne manor. And its host? You guessed it,  Bruce Wayne himself with his gaggle of children all in attendance. How did you know this? Well, your eye caught one of the many children. The one you were trying your hardest to avoid. 

Damian Mother Fucking Waye.

And it seems you caught his eye as well, because the second he looked in your direction his face lit up. That is until you turned away from him, the next you saw the color drained from his face and he practically stormed out of the room. Though any random bystander would have thought he calmly exited, you knew better. Which was valid considering you had basically spit in his face and said he wasn’t good enough. But it still hurts. Nowadays it seems that everything hurts. Though it was all probably due to the bond you were so determined to reject. 

So, to dull the pain you clung to the walls of the ballroom. Heavily nursing the glass of champagne you snagged from an unassuming waiter. It had been probably close to two hours since you arrived and you hadn’t even gotten halfway through it, however you most definitely did not want your parents to see. You were underaged and they wanted to keep their ‘perfect’ image intact. Which is partially the reason why when the people began to make their rounds around the ballroom, you decided to slip out. Though you abandon your drink, you thought wandering around the manor’s halls might help you relax even if it was only a little bit. 

Wandering down the darkened corridors you listened to the faint music that trailed after you as you got further and further away from the ballroom. Night encompassing each hallway you turned down it wasn’t long till the sounds of the strings playing was nothing more than a faint humming like the buzz of a fly. Darkness and silence swallowed the area-well near silence. The creaking and settling of the manor seemed to be the only sound. That is until you hear a clattering and an all too familiar voice cursing in another language. 

Maybe, it was due to the slight buzz those sips of champagne gave you-maybe it was the exhaustion from the days of fighting off your feelings-or maybe it was because the pull was just too strong; you walked towards the sound and pushed a door open to find a disheveled Damian Wayne sitting in on a couch, a bottle of whisky clutched in his hands, a crystal glass at his feet with half melted ice cubes surrounding it. 

He did not seem to notice your presence, so you slowly began to venture closer. Noticing his messy hair, unbuttoned shirt and missing tie. Why did he have to look so damn beautiful? Better hearing his mutterings which were half in English, you pause to listen. 

“Seems like Todd was correct,” He mumbled as a hiccup stalled his sentence, “this does improve everything… or perhaps not.” 

His body shifted as he hiccuped again, and had you not seen it yourself you would not have believed that the high pitched sound came from him. It almost made you laugh, but you were able to restrain yourself and move closer. This time, it seems Damian heard you as his head snapped in your direction. He blinked a few times almost as if he was trying to get water from his eyes. Head tilting he narrowed his gaze, voice slurring as he asked, “Y/N?”

Sighing you nodded and walked even closer until you stood in front of him. Smiling slightly you waved and took a deep breath in before replying, “Hi Damian.”

He blinked more, brow furrowing as he muttered something you could not catch. Sinking deeper into the couch he gave you a blank look. 

“So have you come to inform me of our ‘non-existent bond’? Because I assure you if you do not wish to discuss it with me I will leave it alone.”

You raised an eyebrow and crouched so you could be eye level with him. Meeting his eyes you found yourself once again admiring their beauty.

“Really? Then thank you. I appreciate that.” You paused concern stirring so strongly in your chest you couldn’t help but let the worry take hold, “ But I’m not here for that.” 

Damian sat up glaring at you and you did not move, swallowing as he got a bit closer. 

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m worried about you.”

As if it was instinctual, he replied, “And who's fault is that.”

Though he winced afterwards despite you merely sighing at his comment. Resting your chin on your knees you gave him a sad smile and nodded. 

“You’re right… I owe you an explanation.”

Heart in your throat you met his eyes again and asked, “Would you let me give you one?”

Silence thrummed between the two of you for a lot longer than you would have liked. His gaze not leaving your face as you took a deep breath in and let it out. You should have done this from the start and at the very least if things go awry he probably won't remember any of this. 

His hand gesturing to the place next to him he said, “Sit.”

You snorted and rose to your feet. Then the seat next to him shifted a bit awkwardly before you turned to him. He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes as he took another swig from the bottle. It stung far more than you would ever admit seeing him like this. But- but it would fade. It will fade. He won’t be like this forever. He won’t. 

“So… I should probably tell you why I don’t believe in soulmates.”

He grunted in reply, and you weakly laughed, “I-hmm… this is rather hard to explain. You see my parents are soulmates and they-”

You stopped yourself, watching as he stared across the room. Realizing that telling him about this was letting him in. And you could not let him in. Biting your lip you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut as you once again fought off tears. 

“I really don’t like their relationship. I hate it. And and to me it seems everyone with a soulmate is miserable. They aren’t happy. Shouting, arguing, fighting. I will not risk the chance of being like my parents. I refuse.”

He was looking at you now. Brow furrowed and the bottle slipped between his fingers. Your voice cracked and you winced, swallowing as you shrugged. 

“I- i am a coward. I refuse to take any chances because I don’t want to get hurt.”

The unspoken ever again hung on your lips as your parents' rage flashed through your mind. Fingers picking at one another you looked down. Unable to keep eye contact without crying. 

“I’m scared and- and worried and and I- I’m so sorry. You deserve better and i-”

His hand was over your mouth and you blinked in confusion looking up to see him pinching his nose, bottle still in hand. 

“Please silence your excuses.” Damian snapped, “I will not hear anyone talk about you that way.”

Something jolted in you and you froze, tears springing to your eyes, you nodded and he removed his hand. Fingers darting to wipe away tears you began to turn from him. His hand batted your fingers away and cupped one of your cheeks. The other still clutching the whiskey bottle half cupped the other. Damian pressed his forehead against yours and looked you in the eyes. 

“I care not that you are a coward. I care not that you are running away. I understand your unease, I understand your logic. But I disagree. I can do no better than you, my soulmate. My other half. I will be here for you and will ease your fears, I will drive your worries away and treat your scars. Emotional or otherwise. I am here for you. I do not know what I have to do for you to understand I am yours. Whole and solely yours. As you are mine. Please- I beg you. Tell me what I must do for you to allow me to love you to my fullest capacity.” 

Unable to look away, your heart taking control as that bitter bond turned soft and sweet you began to cry. Tears spilling down your face, you pressed your forehead more against his, words slipping from you before you could even think. 

“Be forever mine and let me be forever yours,” You whispered. 

Something softened in his eyes, a warmth in them you desperately wanted to see but hoped you never did. He began to lean in a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his hands shifted, the bottle falling from his grasps as he muttered,

“Was that ever in doubt?”

You tilted your head and his lips pressed against yours. He tasted of bitterness, a darkness that burned so sharply it had you clinging to him. Hands bunched in the cloth of his shirt you found yourself leaning in. His arm wrapped around your waist and as he pulled you in tighter, body shifting as he couldn’t get you close enough. As if there wasn’t a way to hold you where he was near enough. It was as if he wanted to shift-sinking-melting completely and totally into you. 

Air, you had no air left, but who needed air? He was here. His touch gentle and constant, reassuring as he pressed against you, gripping you as if he was terrified the second he let you go, you would disappear. And he was right. 

You broke apart both gasping for air and his grip loosened. Foreheads pressed against each other he smiled, a smile that sent your already raging heart racing. His hand rested against your cheek, fingers playing with your hair. Squeezing his eyes shut he muttered,

“I love you.” 

Your heart skittered and-

Tug, there was a tug a mother fucking tug that made your whole-body ache. One that stole the air you had just barely regained. One that sent shivers up your spine and knocked some sense into you. 

You couldn’t breathe. Standing up suddenly, your head spun. Blinking a few times as tears sprang into your eyes you shook your head. 

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “I'm sorry, I’m sorry.” 

And with that, you bolted from the room. Faintly hearing Damian calling after you, you rush down the hall brushing past a butler whose name you think is Alfred. He gives you a soft smile and you nod, quickly wiping away the tears. He paused but you kept moving. You had to get out of here. You had to get out of here now. No matter what it took. 

Feet nearly tripping over the other you stumbled back into the ballroom. There would be hell to pay later, you knew it. But if you stayed any longer you could get hurt beyond repair. Allowing the feeling of everything that had just occurred loose, you promptly burst into tears as you stumbled towards your stunned parents. Your mother frantically moved to you as your father’s eyes widened and he began speaking to the people before them. 

“Y/N, Y/N honey we’re in front of a lot of people. Can this wait?” Your mother whispered as she got closer.

Sniffling you collapsed into your mother’s arms, feeling her embrace again for the first time in nearly a decade. Trembling as sobs escaped you, you were able to get out. 

“I want to go home. Please. Please. Let me go home.” 

At first, she didn’t reply, then she began moving you towards the door. 

“Alright. Alright. Let’s get you home.”

She did not even turn in your father’s direction. After all, they had done what they always do, taken separate cars. Unable to quell the tears, you let your mother guide you out the door before he came to pull you back into fate’s vicious plot.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Two days, you hadn’t left your room in two days. Not that your parents had noticed, not that anyone really did. You doubted anyone noticed your absences from class. You hoped no one would notice truthfully. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his face again. It was driving you crazy. So you locked yourself in your room and hoped-prayed-that these growing feelings would just die. Or maybe you could just die. That sounded like a solid solution as well. It was part of the reason why despite the late hour, despite living in Gotham you had unlocked and opened your window. 

There was a sound that awoke you, yanking you from the nightmares that never seemed to cease. And as you opened your eyes to the familiar shapes and silhouettes in your room you found one that did not belong there. 

"Who are you?" You whispered to the woman hiding in the shadows, not really caring if acknowledging her would lead her to strike. 

After all, who would lurk in the shadows of someone's room while they were sleeping unless you planned to kill them. It was a relief of sorts, that you were more than likely going to die soon. It would help you feel less guilt about Damian, about the situation that occurred a few nights before and the feelings that refused to listen to reason. 

Stepping into the moonlight the woman towered before you. Half her face tilted towards the light and you blinked twice almost recognizing it- but- but that couldn't be possible. There was no way you knew this woman. You hardly knew anyone, let alone an murder or assassin who would sneak into sleeping peoples rooms. 

"You don't have to worry about that.” She replied in a soft voice, her accent reminding you of something-something…something! 

You just couldn’t quite place your finger on what though. It nagged and nipped at your mind, tugging and swirling in faint recognition you could not connect. 

The woman took a step forward, her black hair swaying as she crossed her arms, her tone sharp and barbed, “I think who you are is a more important question.”

Her gaze did not leave you and you adjusted your blanket before glancing towards the open window almost blankly saying, 

"Nobody special I can assure you."

This caused the woman’s posture to relax a little. She hummed slightly as you crossed your legs and set your elbows on your knees. 

"Hmm, really?"

Nodding you rested your face in your hands as you looked at her shadowy figure. She seemed kind, in a way. She was at least talking to you before killing you. That was something was it not? 

"Just the byproduct of fate's meddling and destructive hands."

"Ah, your parents are soulmates?' Her stance relaxed even more and you noted how from what you could see her outfit was nothing like the things the Gotham vigilantes wore. 

"Unwilling but yes, soulmates." 

It was more of a snort than a reply, but it didn’t seem to phase the woman as she rested herself on your desk the moon light allowing you to see the curve of her jaw and shape of her nose. Familiar features that made your gut churn. 

"Oh, oh. I see. They did not choose-"

"To have me?” You interrupted with a sigh, shrugging you nodded, “I guess you could say that."

Silence followed and you saw the woman’s eyes narrow. She crossed her arms again, stance tightening. 

"... you do not seem the type to share your innermost troubles with a stranger, why are you talking to me?"

Pulling your face from your hands you gave her a shrug as a yawn slipped from your lips, "Well, for one I think you're here to kill me and two... I've needed to tell someone for a while. Why not a perfect stranger?"

"Your parent's fate troubles you that much?" Her voice seemed to begin carrying concern, which only troubled you because it made you think there would be a possibility she wouldn’t kill you. 

"They are living proof- hell I am living proof that soulmates shouldn't be forced together…” You paused crossing your arms with a scowl, “and because fate is cruel, I have a soulmate too. Despite how awful they are."

"Your soulmate is awful?"

Something in her tone said she did not believe what she was asking in the slightest. Which was true, yet it still caused that buzzing familiarity to ring just a bit louder. 

"n-no, he's not.”

Squeezing your eyes shut you sighed deeply, running your hands along your face, “ He's kind and- and all I could ask for but- but... how do I know he's all I want? How do I know any of this- any of my feelings are mine? How do I know that it isn't fate pulling my strings and wanting me to dance? How do I know he won’t leave? That the bond will only become apparent when we fight and won’t exist otherwise? When the love is gone and only the bond remains? How will I know that I won’t be abandoned again? That I won't be hurt again? That I will gain a love that will last? I won’t.  Not to mention even if I didn't like him... I would have to be with him."

"No,” The woman scoffed, “you wouldn't, dear."

"Yes, I would. My parents- they tried and now- now I live in the shambles of a home. They are together because of that damned bond even though they hate each other." You were crying now, of course you were, "fate does not like to be ignored and I don't like to be told what to do."

Angrily grabbing a tissue you blew your nose, faintly hearing the woman laugh. From what you could see, she had a look in her eyes that seemed soft- understanding. One you most certainly did not expect your killer to have. 

"Oh my, really?" She mumbled head turned towards the window. 

"Yes! I'd rather live in a hell I have control of, a hell I made rather than one fate forced upon me. If- if I ignore it enough... I heard it will fade for him, I- I will still feel it but- but because he tried, he will be spared. He'll have a chance- one I never had. And though- though I can't truly tell if these feelings are mine, it's all I want. I love him. I love him”

You stopped yourself trembling as you said it yet again, “I love him.”

Nodding you continued on, “and… I want him to be happy without me. Because- because I won't give way to fate, not even for him."

"Hmmm. I have a question for you.” 

“Yes?” You pulled the tissue box closer to you sure more tears would come. 

“Do you really want to die?”

“Excuse me?”

The woman shrugged, waving a hand, “It’s just, it hardly seems to me that you want to die. Rather it seems like you want to live.”

"What- I, I’m sorry I-." You were at a loss for words. 

She was smiling as she replied with a shrug, “You have told me of a cause you wish to live for, no? To fight against the soulmate bond. While I personally disagree with your choice, I hardly think dying will do anything other than let the bond win.”

“Wha-... I-,” You sputtered, mainly because what she said made sense. 

It made an insane amount of sense. So much so that it had your head spinning. Why exactly did you think dying was the best option? You may not have the best life, but it was yours right? 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” The whisper escaped not entirely directed at the woman but rather just as a declaration in general. 

The tears on your face felt silly and you blew your nose again as the woman sighed. Causing silence to spin about the room until she remarked,

"I believe I should be the one apologizing."

You laughed, wiping the tears from your face, "Why?"

"Because I'm not here to kill you."

Something in you skipped a beat and you shook your head. Of course she isn’t. Who would want you dead after all. You hadn’t done anything that would cause a reason to be killed.

"Oh darn." You snorted, rubbing the back of your hand across your face, "Here I am looking like a fool asking for something I don’t even want from someone who can’t even give it to me. Fate is cruel… Though life does seem crueler."

"Yes," She muttered looking over her shoulder at the window, "indeed it is."

A figure loomed where she looked, a familiar figure in green, yellow and red. The woman smiled at you again and she moved towards him patting him on the shoulder before climbing out the window. 

“It was nice to meet you Y/N.” 

Blinking in confusion you latched onto the vigilante who was now looming in between your room and the outside, "Robin? What are you doing here?"

He sighed, the woman disappearing as he rested on the window frame, "I am afraid it is quite difficult for me to explain at the moment."

"Wha-.... wait-wait."

In the silence of the night, with the slight breeze trailing in from the window where Robin was perched, you felt a tug. A heart wrenching tug you had felt just the other night. A tug that sent aches all over and made your throat tighten.

"...you're-oh."

Biting, you lip you fought off tears as he slowly entered your room. Breathing deeply, you began picking at your fingers before you finally found the courage to look him in the eyes.

He was right in front of you as tears spilled down your cheeks and through sharp stabs of pain you tightly smiled remarking,

"...hi Damian."

He was silent and you bit down harder, weakly you took in a breath. His voice was soft in reply,

"Y/N... are you- are you alright?"

You didn't know what to say. After all, he must have heard something... then again, he might not have but-

"How-" Your voice cracked as you avoided looking at him despite him being so close, but it was hard as you could feel the heat from his body, "how much... How much did you hear?"

His was quiet and you squeezed your eyes shut, heart dropping as you tasted blood. Pain dancing across your lips and air fighting to leave you. A tiny sob escaped you and you took a ragged breath in as you opened your eyes facing him. Rob-no Damian raised a hand and brushed it against your face before he leaned in. His lips almost pressed against your ear he said,

"I heard everything."

Tag List: @andromedaj2003 @thomasbeloved @instabull @zvtanna @daemonnix96 @neon-scenery @ssak-i @achromaticerebus @1lellykins @hyperfixiation-station @legendarylearner18

[suugarbabe]

L.B

Works marked with (*) contain mature content. This content is either smut or smut adjacent, it is 18+, MDNI

works that are in italics are continuous series

headcannons

affection headcannons (with Theo)

mirror headcannons*

comfort headcannons

jealous headcannons

love headcannons

dance; crush headcannons

comfort head cannons

yule ball head cannons

mafia!enzo head cannons

respect the family*

flirt

kiss and run

dark side

enemies to lovers*

enzo x mattheo in paris*

giving enzo top*

BFB

letters

not really

wolfstar!reader

enzo comforts you on a bad body day

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic is a bodyswap au and I have been WAITING for this one

(630 words.)

As it turns out, it's really bloody hard to pretend to be Sirius. Remus just isn't laid back enough. He can't hold on to that bouncy, bright energy the way Sirius does.

"Padfoot?"

A few seconds pass before Remus remembers that he's Padfoot, turning quickly and shooting James a smile. Oh, it's weird being the same height as James.

"Hey!" He cringes a little at himself. That was way too enthusiastic, he has to find a balance. James catches it too, frowning a little at him.

"Are you okay?" He asks carefully. "You're not thinking about Moony again, are you?"

"No, I'm-"

Wait.

Sorry?

"Moony? Why would I be thinking about Moony?" He tries instead, but James just looks at him like he's spontaneously started speaking a foreign language.

"Sirius, I know you said you'd try to put him out of your mind, move on, but I don't think you should. I really do think you have a chance!"

"...A chance," Remus says slowly, trying to play catch up, slow his heartrate a little.

"Yeah!" James seems happy that Remus, Sirius, is even entertaining the idea. "You should see the way he looks at you! I'm sure he likes you back, Sirius, he has to!"

Oh.

Oh.

"He likes me?" Remus asks, stunned.

"I really think he does," James says sincerely, but Remus' head is reeling. "Ask him out! You never know what could happen!"

At that moment, Remus promptly forgets that he's halfway through a conversation, opting for turning and practically booking it to the library. Sirius is hosting his study session, and Remus should feel a little guilty, but honestly? Nothing matters more than talking to Sirius.

With that decision made, he shoves the door open. Heads turn, and Sirius looks up. Lily, sitting beside him, shoots Remus a glare.

"Uh... sorry. S- Remus, could I, uh... talk to you?"

"Piss off, Black," Lily shoots back, which tells Remus that he never wants to be on Lily's bad side.

"No, it's alright. Yeah, 'course," Sirius says back. "I'll be back in a second, guys."

He's much better at being Remus than Remus is at being him.

The moment they get outside of the library, Remus grabs Sirius' wrist and pulls him into a dark, empty hallway.

"Moony, what-"

"You like me," He states simply, stunned, watching as his own eyes widen. "As in, romantically. You like me."

"How did you-" he starts, cutting himself off as his eyes sink shut. "Prongs," He groans. Remus just nods. "Listen, Moony, I'm so sorry-"

Remus has no clue what motivates him to do this, not when Sirius is literally him right now, but he can't stop himself from leaning in and kissing him.

For a moment, it's really... weird. He's never really fancied kissing himself, to be perfectly honest.

Until time seems to freeze for a moment, and he's himself again. Suddenly, Sirius is gasping into his mouth, lips soft against his, and Remus wraps his arms around his waist, finally, finally lifting one hand and sliding it into Sirius' hair.

He's rewarded with a muffled whimper, as Sirius throws himself into the kiss with an enthusiasm so staggering it makes Remus' head swim. Still, who is he to complain when Sirius tastes like mint and Merlin Remus is in heaven.

It finally seems to click that they're in public, both of them regrettably pulling away. Their eyes meet, and Sirius huffs a gentle laugh.

"So..." He starts, and Sirius grins at him.

"If I'd known that was all it took, I would have kissed you a long time ago. Avoided this whole mess altogether," Sirius says simply, decisively, drawing a laugh out of Remus.

Okay, he's not going to the study group. Not now.

[toomuchracket]

blood-red lips (birthday party!matty x reader angst/fluff)

the year is 2022. bfiafl release is imminent. you and matty are clearly in love but nervy to admit it. he brings a date to a house party you're at. things go tits up. promptober! enjoy <3

(p.s. if ur name is mabel i am so sorry lol)

“... oh yes, we went last week, i thought it was just so incredible. we just loved it - didn't we, matty?”

“hmm?” matty's snapped out of his reverie at the mention of his name; he's not really got a clue what his date's on about, but he nods anyway. “decent way to spend an evening.”

she touches his face in a weird approximation of tenderness, and he has to fight the urge to recoil. “god, you're so funny. isn't he just, like, so funny?”

“oh, yeah, hilarious,” nick deadpans from across the living room. he nods at matty. “fancy a smoke?”

a reprieve. thank fuck. “absolutely,” he stands, flashing a quick smile that doesn't meet his eyes to the girl beside him. “be back in a bit, yeah?”

“miss you already!”

he doesn't answer, already out of the living room and making a beeline towards the front door. when he follows nick outside, the cold air chills him to the bone, but he doesn't make a move to go back inside for his jacket - that would mean going back in to her.

“so,” nick busies himself with rolling a cig, while matty lights his own one from the pack perpetually in his pocket. “your date seems… nice. if a bit, well, overly affectionate.”

“you can say ‘clingy’, mate, it's alright.”

his friend laughs. “just trying to be polite.”

matty shrugs. “fair. but why lie?” he takes a long drag of the cigarette. “so. when's everyone else getting here?”

“you mean when's the best writer in the friend group getting here?”

“stabbing me would hurt less, nicholas,” he glares, face quickly shifting into a grin. “nah, you're right, she is,” he does his best to look nonchalant, which is an impossible task for him when you're concerned. “seriously, though, is she coming?”

“yeah.”

“definitely?”

nick smirks, nodding to the street. “i'd say it's a possibility. look.”

matty turns his head so quickly he's surprised he doesn't get whiplash, and he feels a massive smile spread itself across his face as he takes in the sight of you speedwalking down the street towards him, laden with tote bags; as you get closer, the bottle-clanking within them is apparent, as is the gorgeous red lipstick you're wearing. by the time you reach the front gate, he sees it's a slightly darker red than he first thought, more akin to fresh blood than fire engines and postboxes, a colour he'd happily let you leave all over his body if it meant he got to be kissed by you. combined with the familiar rosy scent that constantly surrounds you and wafts up the steps to the front door before you do, the thought of you leaving lipstick kisses on him has matty nothing short of dazed, and he's thankful when nick does his host duties and takes the lead on greetings - matty does manage to snap himself out of delusion before he's socially required to say hello, though, which he does through a longer-than-probably-appropriate hug and a soft “hi, darling”.

you eagerly reciprocate the welcome, squeezing matty so tight he goes a bit floaty. well, more than he already is around you. “hi, lovely. been a while, hasn't it?”

like he needs reminding. part of the only reason there's someone new sitting on the sofa indoors is because you weren't free to hang out. “i know,” he pulls back, heart fluttering at how beautiful you look and how sparkly your eyes are. “where have you been?”

“farringdon.”

matty frowns. “i thought you were in glasgow?”

“yesterday, yeah. but today,” you sigh, smiling tiredly. “negotiations with faber & faber.”

“they giving you a fuckload of money?”

you nod, smirking. “oh, yeah. cleared them out,” the boys laugh, and you join in before nudging matty. “and where have you been, lately, healy?”

matty opens his mouth to answer, but nick beats him to it. “oh, with his new lady friend,” the man takes a drag of his rollie, holding it to you; you shake your head, stealing matty's cigarette instead and taking a puff, which he reprimands you for by gently nudging you indignantly. “constantly out and about, the pair of them. she's in the living room, actually.”

“oh,” you blink, and matty swears he sees your face fall slightly. wishful thinking, perhaps. but you recover quickly, turning to him with a smile that his brain tries to tell him is fake. “you brought a date?”

“i did,” matty replies, guilt beginning to gnaw at his stomach. he rushes to clarify, practically tripping over his own words to reassure you. “but it's not, like, serious or anything, me and her.”

nick raises a thick eyebrow. “does mabel know that?”

“well-”

“hold on,” you take a long drag of matty's cigarette. fuck, your lips. “her name is mabel? is she eighty?”

nick cackles, and matty has to bite back a laugh of his own. “she's your age, actually.”

“fucking hell. poor girl,” a smirk appears on your gorgeous face, and matty braces himself. “and poor you, having to moan that during sex. jesus.”

he shrugs, while nick practically cries laughing in the background; someone - probably frankie, his girlfriend - calls him from the living room, and he heads inside, leaving matty and you alone. “i've worked around it.”

by closing his eyes and imagining it's you he's fucking instead, thinking about your name and face and body and voice instead of hers, forcing his words into moans before he says them because he knows he'll end up calling her by your name if he doesn't… yeah. 

matty reaches for the cigarette in your hand, which you pass over politely as you muse. “well, i s'pose you'd have to. fuck, i'm not even in the party yet and i'm already being a bitch,” you shake your head. “m'sorry.”

“nah,” matty slings an arm around you, giddiness fizzing in his veins at the contact. “you know i like it when you get feisty.”

you don't quite know how much, but that's a secret between him and his right hand only.

humming out a little laugh, you turn to look him in the eye. there's something dancing in yours that he can't quite name - if he was any more delusional than he currently is, he would say it's attraction, flirtiness. “yeah?”

the breathiness of your voice has him reeling. “yeah.”

“maybe i'll keep it up, then. just for you,” the words are paired with a wink, and it takes everything in matty not to actually pop a boner. “can i have another drag of the cig?”

“magic word?”

you smile, saccharine. “please?”

he rolls his eyes. “they're bad for you, you know,” still, he holds the cig out for you to take. instead of holding it, though, you duck down and take it between your lips from his fingers, cheeks hollowing almost obscenely as you inhale; you stand up to exhale, winking as you do.

yeah, he's getting rid of his date as soon as possible.

someone - definitely frankie - calls your name. you start, grabbing your bags and moving to go inside, turning back to matty. “coming?”

he wishes. god, what is wrong with him tonight? “i'll finish this first, darling. you go ahead.”

“okay,” you smile. “miss you already.”

so does he, melancholy washing over him as soon as you disappear into the house. sighing, matty takes a final draw of the cig, stubbing it out in the ashtray on the garden wall; once he's sure it's done, he slides the lipstick stained butt back into the pack, keeping it safely in his pocket. which, admittedly, is a bit insane of him, but it feels like the right thing to do, to keep this definite evidence of the moment the two of you just shared.

when he reenters the house, he makes a beeline for the kitchen - partially to get some liquid courage for dealing with mabel again, but mostly because he knows that's your first (and last, and most frequent) port of call at any party. sure enough, you've already perched yourself on the counter, sandwiched between frankie and alexa with what looks like a vodka cranberry in your hand, and now that you've shed your jacket matty sees your dress for the first time; navy mesh, tastefully sheer, undeniably doing wonders for both your chest and legs without going too far… not an outfit he'll forget in a hurry.

speaking of things to be forgotten in a hurry - “matty, baby, where were you?” mabel stumbles into him out of seemingly nowhere, teetering on her louboutin-dupe stilettos; he steadies her as he best he can while trying to avoid touching her, leaning away from her prosecco breath and the way she's trying to cling to him possessively. “you were gone for so long i finished a whole bottle!”

jesus. what on earth was he thinking, getting mixed up with her? charity work? still, matty does his best to stay polite, conscious of the fact the conversations in the room - yours included - have halted somewhat. “i was just having a smoke. no big deal.”

“mmmkay,” she leans in for a kiss, which ends up on his cheek when he turns his head, and blinks her way around the room. when she sees you, her unfocused eyes suddenly sharpen, and her overly-plumped lips draw into a pout. “who are you?”

oh, fuck.

matty's whole body tenses. alexa's eyes widen. you, however, do nothing but insouciantly sip your drink, cocking your head as you swallow. “et toi?”

behind matty, nick snorts a quiet laugh, and matty has to hold one in of his own. mabel's frown deepens, confused. “what?”

“sorry. mabel, right?” you smile, genuine, before introducing yourself. “nice to meet you.”

she doesn't reciprocate the statement, drunkenness making her direct. “matty talks about you a lot,” there's an edge to the way mabel slurs her words that makes matty deeply, deeply uncomfortable. she sniffs. “i used to be worried about that, but you're actually not even that pretty, so…”

there's a beat of dead silence, before several jaws - including frankie's, and yours, and matty's himself - all but fall to the tiled floor. he jerks his hand away from mabel, a cocktail of embarrassment and disgust and utter fury coursing through him. “what the fuck, mabel? why would you even say that?”

she shrugs, and he gets even angrier. “it's true.”

“you're fucking ridiculous, you know that?” frankie's making her way over now, storming straight past mabel to hold the kitchen door open. “get out of my house. no fucking way you're getting away with saying something like that to my friend. matty,” her face softens a smidge when she looks at him. “i'm sorry, but she has to go.”

“way ahead of you, fran,” he's already got his phone out, tapping furiously. shoving the device savagely back in his pocket, he glares at mabel, who has the gall to look surprised. “an uber will be outside for you in three minutes. consider it a parting gift.”

the words take a second to compute, and then mabel's face twists into one of affront. “you cannot be serious. you're choosing her over me?”

“always,” matty spits back. and as an afterthought, so as to not seem suspicious - “i’d defend any of them before you, if you had the fucking cheek to be rude about them like that. we might've had fun, mabel, but this,” he shakes his head. “nah. we're done.”

mabel rears back, and he braces himself, but the slap never comes. instead, she looks around the room, shaking her head before storming out. “bunch of cunts.”

the door slams, and all the girls in the room flock to you as if they've been trained to do so. matty doesn't dare even look at you, the guilt from earlier turning to nausea and threatening to creep up his throat; he gently rests his head on the cool marble of the kitchen island, taking deep shaky breaths and doing his best to calm down.

that is, until your voice cuts through the hubbub of the kitchen, as soft and warm as he's ever heard it - he must be tuning it subconsciously to make himself feel better. “matty? can you come here, please?”

he looks up tentatively to find you standing by the door, heart slowing down to an almost regular pace when he sees you don't look angry, or upset. you beckon him over with a manicured index finger, and his legs seem to move of their own accord until he's standing right in front of you. the tiniest smile finds its way onto your lips, and you hold out your hand. “shall we go for a chat?”

matty nods, grasping your open hand and letting you pull him into the hall and upstairs. part of him wants to be ecstatic about the fact you're finally leading him by the hand away from a party so you can be alone - in a bedroom, no less, it turns out - but the context in which it's taking place is impossible to ignore, as is the sadness and guilt he feels about it. still, he can't stop his heart skipping a beat when you sit on the edge of the bed, and pat the space beside you for him to sit in, and reach out to hold his hand when he does.

“so,” your voice cuts through, again, but this time matty looks up to see your eyes are trained on the floor. “that was… something.”

“darling, i-” matty shakes his head, a lump in his throat. “i'm so, so incredibly sorry about that. never for a second did i think she would ever,” he shakes his head, tears pricking at his eyes.

you squeeze his hand. “matty - matthew, look at me, please,” he obliges, and the tiniest flicker of a smile crosses your face. it breaks his heart. “you weren't to know she would say that, yeah? please don't beat yourself up about it.”

“but-”

“no, seriously, it's okay. i'll get over it,” you try to smile again, but it falls off your face almost as fast as it appears; then, horribly, your voice cracks. “and here was me thinking i looked nice after i got ready tonight.”

matty's heart shatters, and all he can do in the moment is just tug you onto his lap and wrap his arms around you as tightly as possible. you're crying, he's crying, you're both clutching at each other like you're drowning… fuck, what a pair the two of you are. “don't you dare let her convince you you didn't,” matty croaks into your hair. “you're fucking beautiful, darling. always. it's fact. scientific fact.”

you laugh, and his heart lifts a bit. “even now?” you sniffle, pulling back, eyes slightly bloodshot and cheeks on the verge of being streaked by running mascara.

he nods. “i meant it when i said ‘always,’” he kisses your cheek affectionately, enjoying the way it lifts under his lips as you smile. “really like your lipstick, by the way.”

“thanks. thought it was chic.”

“it is. you've got great taste.”

“yeah, you haven't,” you nudge him playfully. “in women, that is. in most other things, i think you're good.”

oh, if only you knew what his taste in women was really like. matty grins. “shall we go back downstairs and put that statement to the test with the tequila i brought?”

“absolutely we shall,” you climb off him (and he does his best not to be upset about that), holding your hand out and squeezing his when he joins the two. “you know i love you, yeah?”

matty smiles, only slightly sadly. “i love you, too.”

[fandoms--fluff]

Caught

Flufftober, October 24th

Older Mikaelson sister reader x Hope Mikaelson

Summary: You catch your little sister in a dangerous lie and confront her about it

Warnings: swearing? Reader going off. More of an angst to fluff fic.

A/n: writing fics of big sis reader and little sis Hope make me happy in ways I can't explain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know Hope lied to you. On the phone last night on your guys' daily calls, she sounded different, suspiciously different. At first you figured she was tired, but after you kept on the conversation, it was clear that she wasn't telling you something.

When you tried questioning her about it, she would immediately change the subject. Hence the suspicion. So, you do what any older tribrid sister who's dad, uncle, and 'step mom' died last year does and packs a suitcase and drives the 20 somewhat hour drive (but let's be real you may or may not have been speeding the whole time) to Mystic Falls.

Hayley wasn't your biological mother, but she treated you like her own even though you've been alive for 800 years, give or take a few and turned when you were 19. And your thankful to her for that. You've had to live in secret for a long time, a plan your father and you made so Mikael would never find out about you.

You've been there for Hope since she was born. You looked after her and raised her the first almost year of her life while your dad and family was dealing with the problem in New Orleans.

Hope called you while you were in the car for the nightly calls and you could still tell she's keeping something from you and when you asked what has her so stressed, she said exams. And you one hundred percent know that exams aren't for another three months. She lied again. But for all she knew, you were just driving back to the abboiter from having dinner at a restaurant out of town.

Now you're in the entrance of the Salvatore boarding school. The school that Hope attends. She should be in classes right now, which means you have some time to kill before she gets out of them.

Instead of going into town, you go up to Hope's room. You unlock the door with a wave of your hand and close it once you step inside.

You take a look around and unsurprising her bed isn't made, but what does surprise you is there's a box on top of the unmade bed. Now you know you shouldn't snoop through your fifteen year old sister's things, but you couldn't help but have a feeling that this is part of the reason why she lied to you the other night.

You move in on the box laying innocently on her bed and when you try to pull the top off it won't budge. This is definitely it. You then mumble a few words and if pops right off. Hope may be a strong witch, but you're stronger. You place the lid to the side, and look in the box.

Whats inside the box makes you pause. It's all old spells. Dark magic spells. And not just that, they're old ones. From the dark ages of magic when you first turned. Now that you think about it, they look familiar, too familiar.

You sigh in realization and get your hands to move again, picking up the old spell pages. "Hope, what did you do" you talk to yourself. This is not good.

What's even worse, you hadn't even noticed these were missing. You thought they were locked up with the rest of your old dark age magic accomplices from so long ago. But obviously Hope had gotten into your old trunk. It explains why she kept dodging your questions about what spells she's been working on.

You must of left the trunk open when Hope visited last time and she got a glimpse at it then took the pages. You hate yourself right now, how could you leave this stuff out in the open for Hope to get her hands on. This magic is from dark times, when all the witches wars were going on. You need to lock all this stuff up right away. But not until you confront Hope and talk to her about it.

You're not abandoning her when she obviously needs someone right now. This magic isn't used unless extreme measure. She has to at least know that if she's had these pages for this long and haven't used them yet.

That's a good thing at least. You would've known if she used them since it would send a wave of electricity through you because all the spells from your grimoires from those times are connected to you. They're written in your blood.

You sit on Hope's bed, texting Marcel back from when you were driving earlier as you wait for Hope to come up after her classes.

And before you know it, you hear her outside the door, a couple steps away. You put your phone back in your purse next to you and wait for her to come in. You have a disgruntled look on your face resembling disappointment, not realizing before she's already there.

After Hope opens the door, she freezes. Somethings wrong-she knows, she thinks. She kicks the do closed before dropping her school bag to the floor beside her desk. When she turns back around, her breath hitches.

You're standing and holding the grimoire pages up for her to see. "You went through my things?" She defends herself before you can say anything, trying to catch you off guard.

"More like you went through my things, babe" you cross your arms with the pages folded over in your hand still, anger evident in your voice. Hope casts her look down, knowing she's busted. She's never got in any big trouble with you before, haven't even heard the tone of voice your using on her before at that. She's nervous at what's gonna come.

"Look, I'm mad, I'll make that clear. But I'm more worried, Hope. Why did you take these from my chest?" You sigh, trying to keep the anger out of your voice, but the disappointment still stands.

She looks back up at you with glossed over eyes. You raise you eyebrow in question. You feel bad, you do, but you need to get to the bottom of this before you can comfort her. "Um, I thought they would help" she murmers, but you can hear her crystal clear.

"Help with what?" You lean your weight on one leg, making your hip jut out. She just stares at you with widened eyes and her lips pursed together. "Hope, you're worrying me. Help with what?" You ask again.

But she still doesn't answer. "You know what? Fine. Don't talk. I will." You huff out in exasperation. "Do you have any idea how dangerous any of the things, including these spells, are? I kept them locked away for a reason, and I know that it was unlocked, but you know that that chest has always been locked. I wrote these, yes, and I used them. But it was a different time, during the dark ages of witchcraft. I mean there were wars for almost a century and so much blood was shed between every, and I mean every, coven around. It was a cold and dangerous time for witches. Worse than the burnings kind of dangerous. What the fuck were you even thinking when you took these? Do you have any sense whatsoever? I wrote these spells in my blood to make them stronger than any other witches and it worked. But it also means they're still connected to me, which I would know if you were to ever use on of them becuase it's a link of my darkest magic to me. So I'm going to ask you one more time. Help with what?" You lash out, not holding back your thoughts, too angry to censor anything.

By the end there are a couple tear drops running down Hope's cheeks. She sniffles before opening her mouth after a couple seconds.

She gulps. "Uh, um, I wanted to bring M-Mom and Dad and Uncle Elijah back. I thought the spells would help. I'm sorry, I-I didn't know about the w-wars" she sniffles again, mumbling, but she knows you can hear her perfectly. She casts her eyes down again as you digest the information.

You sigh before tossing the old pages next to your purse and run your hands through your hair as you look up at the ceiling. Leveling your head and bringing your arms back down, you face your crying sister again.

"You wanted to bring them back?" You asked gently. "Mhm" she nods her head, not wanting to make you any madder than you already are.

You nod to yourself a couple times before opening your arms slowly. "Come here" you tell her, mustering up a small smile. Her eyes widen at your niceness, she was expecting you to yell more. You notice her hesitancy, "I promise I won't bite."

Hope walks over and holds tightly onto you. You wrap your arms slowly around her shoulders as she cries into your chest. "Let it out, good girl" you tell her as you sway side to side slowly in a calming motion.

After a couple minutes, Hope pulls away sheepishly, still nervous about what's to come. "Now this isn't me forgetting about you doing this, but why didn't you just ask me instead of taking these? You could have really hurt yourself and others if you did even just one thing wrong or these fell into the wrong hands." You ask her.

"I thought you'd be mad at me. But I guess you're mad anyways. I'm so stupid and I really am sorry" her lip quivers against her will. You let out a long breath of air.

"You're not stupid. Reckless, but not stupid, at least for wanting your parents and uncle back. For taking the pages, yeah that was pretty stupid of you. You need to promise me you'll ask before taking something, especially something like those. Yes, I'm disappointed and mad at you, but I am worried as well. I care for you so much, you don't even know. I've known you since the day you were born and I never want anything bad to happen to you. You're my baby sister" you tell her. "And I'm on my way to forgiving you. You just need to promise me you'll come to me first before going to dark magic" you walk over to her and place your hands on her cheeks and wipe her tears away.

"I promise. I'm so, so sorry" she tells you, her voice pitching at the end. "I know, it's going to be okay." You give her a smile.

"Are you going to leave now? I mean you just came for the pages right?" She asks, failing at hiding her disappointedness.

"I didn't just come for the pages. I came for you. I knew there was something wrong and I came rushing here. I'm not leaving quite yet. How does a sleepover with your big sister sound?" You tell her and before you know it, you have your arms full with Hope again. "Yes! Please, I'll never do anything like that again. I felt so bad for lying to you. Never again" her worst are muffled into your shirt, but you understand. She looks up at you again.

"I love you" she says, realizing she hasn't told you that yet with all her rambling. "And I'm more sorry than you'll ever know."

"I know, and you're forgiven, mostly. How would you like me to teach you about the dark ages of witches and all the wars so you'll know why I'm so serious about this. You better say yes because you don't have a choice anyways. I think it's time for you to learn about it. You're older now." You ruffle her hair.

"Yeah, I want to know all about it and your past...wait except for the yucky kissing parts" she tells you, making you chuckle. "Of course. Let the learning begin. And Hope." "Yeah?"

"I love you too, Baby sister." You pull her back into the hug.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Sanemi didn’t cry. Not after his mother died, not after Genya’s screams began to echo in his head, not after he checked his sibling’s pulses, finding them colder than snow. He didn’t cry.

He fought the strange inhumane things that his mother had become. Day by night. He worked in a trance, almost. It was all he could do. But when Masachika found him, explained about demons, things began to change.

They were gradual changes. But it felt all so sudden for Sanemi. One moment he was alone, alone and aching, and so, so lonely. Next thing he knew, he had a friend. Someone who guided him through the steps of training so gently despite their circumstances. Who smiled at him and helped him make food and bought him new clothes. Someone who would let him be quiet when he wanted to, talk when Sanemi couldn’t. Someone who understood him, despite how little Sanemi conveyed at first.

Then Masachika told Sanemi, one day, that if he ever needed to cry, or rant, or just let out everything, that he was always there for him, Sanemi told him he didn’t cry. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He hadn’t since he had begun to take charge of his family. When they were alive.

But Masachika was worried about him. Not crying? Worrisome? How? It just meant you were stronger than the others. Because crying didn’t help. It never did.

That wasn’t true, Masachika said. Crying was good. It let out your feelings. It could feel as if you were lifting a small weight. And no matter how trivial the thing, it could always help. Even if just by a little.

Sanemi didn’t understand him. He said, maybe he wasn’t human anymore. Maybe Sanemi had gone through too much to the point he lost his own humanity. Like the demons.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

But Sanemi thought about it. He did. He took everything Masachika said and held it close to his heart, afraid that if he didn’t it would all disappear.

He didn’t need to cry. That was it. He didn’t want to.

Or, did he?

He didn’t know what he wanted. What he needed. He barely knew himself anymore. He had lost sight of his own body months ago.

It wasn’t until Genya’s birthday. Sanemi was walking with Masachika, wincing as the chill of the snow seeped through his clothing. He asked what day it was, hoping spring would come soon. It was January still. What day? The 7th.

And then — Oh, I should buy Genya som-

Oh.

No.

They stopped. Masachika looked at him, confused. He hadn’t heard.

No, no, no, no, no. No, this wasn’t- He hadn’t meant-

But there was a lump growing in his throat. He was gasping for air. Why was it so hard to breathe? Why was the air so cold?

He shook his head, trembling now. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t crying, he wasn’t crying. Good memories didn’t provoke crying, they didn’t- This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to cry. He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t let himself.

But Masachika’s hand was on his shoulder, another pulling him into an embrace. He was hugging him, patting him, not telling him he was weird, not telling him he shouldn’t be doing this. Not telling him that he should stop, that he should grow up, that crying was weak, that crying was—

God, he was crying. He was sobbing, shaking, clinging onto Masachika like a baby. They were on the ground—when had that happened?—the snow no longer bothering them. Sanemi was in Masachika’s arms, being held, being cradled.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. You can cry. Don’t fight it, Sanemi, don’t fight it.

He didn’t. He let it happen.

And when it stopped, he couldn’t tell if he felt better. The snow had melted, soaking their clothes. His eyes were puffy and hurt from rubbing them, from crying. But Masachika smiled softly at him, rubbing his back.

Good job. I’m proud of you, Sanemi.

Why?

They walked home slowly. Taking in the sharp air, Sanemi found himself feeling almost lighter. He didn’t know why. He didn’t understand why. He might not even cry again in a while. But he felt better. Now, at least.

He thought he did.

Masachika said it would help. Crying.

Maybe it did.