#remember that things change and time moves forward nonetheless.

[captain-huggy-bear]

A Little Misunderstanding

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lil' angsty at points, but ends sweet, lots of mutual pining and two idiots not realising the other is also in love with the other, meddling mothers (for the best this time)

Summary: Your parents assume that Quinn, the man you mention over the phone all the time, is in fact your boyfriend. He's very much not, but Quinn thinks its funny to pretend he is...until it gets a little too real and maybe some truths are told and feelings are aired.

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested fake dating to lovers with Quinn, I had this idea which is a little different from the usual fake dating so I hope its okay and you still like it 😊

Tried to keep it ambiguous as to where the reader originated from so that us UK girlies can relate as well as anyone else not from Vancouver and/or Canada.

Reminder I typically use UK spellings because I'm English so...don't come at me if you wish I spelt it the US away. If I have to read US spellings all the time, you can handle the odd UK spelling

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"When does your flight get in?" You balance your phone between your shoulder and ear, picking up a stray sock that had fallen out of your laundry basket as you attempt to tidy your apartment.

"7am your time, sweetheart, remember?" Your mother's voice rings clear down the line, familiar and warm. It's been a while since you saw either of your parents. You having moved all the way to Vancouver, more miles than you could count from your birthplace and hometown around two years ago. You were excited to have them finally able to come out and stay with you for a week, they'd never been to see you, and it had been a while since you'd been able to see your parents, not having time to fly to see them. While you were glad for the move to Vancouver, living in a completely different place away from your family wasn't always the easiest thing in the world. You so often felt like you were having to fend for yourself without much of a support network. Luckily you'd made some good friends in the time you'd been in Van.

"Quinn offered to come with me to pick you and dad up, we'll be there waiting for you so don't worry about getting an Uber." You dropped Quinn's name casually because that's what it was, he was just another part of your existence. Your friend, who admittedly you had a small crush on, but just your friend nonetheless. Just because you thought he was beautiful and wanted to kiss him didn't mean you were allowed to kiss him or that he'd even want to kiss you. He was a friend who happened to be a man and you both happened to be single. This had not changed for two years and wasn't likely to any time soon.

"Oh, Quinn'll be there?" Your mother's voice was suddenly more upbeat, excited. She'd been eager to meet Quinn for months now, you're not sure why she finally took an interest in one of your friends but you can't help but be glad. Quinn had become a massive part of your life, a support network you very much needed when you'd first come to a strange new place all by yourself. He was part of the fabric of your life now, and you knew he'd charm your parents without even thinking about it. It shouldn't matter to you that your parents like your friend, its not like Quinn was your boyfriend, but it did matter to you. You wanted them to like him as much as you did because you wanted him around for the foreseeable future.

"Yeah, I mentioned you were coming to visit the other day and his car is bigger than mine, so he offered to come along, he has to get up early most days anyway so he's not too bothered by it." It helped that Quinn had a couple of days off, but still you were thankful. He could have spent his rare enough free time doing something much more enjoyable than helping you pick your parents up from the airport.

"Your father and I look forward to meeting him, we've heard so much about him, darling!"

There's something about your mother's tone that makes you stop for a second suddenly feeling a little awkward about the whole thing. Maybe it's just how eager she is or maybe it's something else, but there's a little red flag waving in the back of your mind with some small print on that you just can't quite read yet.

"Right...um, look I'll see you tomorrow morning then? I gotta get everything ready for you guys."

"Of course, of course! We love you!"

"Love you too, mum."

"You're sure you don't mind?" You look over at Quinn from the passenger seat, the two of you look exhausted, big bags under your eyes and even bigger hoodies to hide in because a 5am wake up to get to the airport in time was just a little much for both of you. This early in the morning it's still dark and the streetlights do something to Quinn's face that makes him even more handsome than usual, even as he looks like he might fall back asleep at any minute. It doesn't help that his scruff has grown out or that his hair is in those perfect waves he always seems to get even when he's just taken his bucket off.

"I wouldn't have offered if I did, besides the amount of time we spend together isn't it about time I met your parents? You've met mine." He smiles over at you, cheeky, the sort of Quinn most people didn't see. It's silly that it makes your cheeks feel warm, he's just your friend. You shouldn't be flustered by him.

"Your parents are at as many of your games as possible, of course I've met them."

"So are you. Sue me for wanting to meet the parents of one of my best friends."

"I'm your best friend?" You lean your head back on the headrest, tilting slightly to grin at him all silly. Quinn can see it from the corner of his eye and as much as it's ridiculous, that little grin makes you even more beautiful than normal.

"One of." He rolls his eyes at you, partly because of your silliness and partly rolling his eyes at himself. You're his friend. He shouldn't feel this way about you, men can have female friends...he just can't seem to have you as a female friend without wanting to kiss you at any given opportunity. It's becoming difficult, even more so in the early morning when the low light level puts your face in stark contrast and your hoodie, one of his, makes you look so cozy and sweet.

"That's just your way of avoiding admitting how much you love me and need me in your life."

Quinn's cheeks flush bright red, so bright that even the low light can't hide it nor hide the way he bites back a smile at you, eyes fixed on the road and the last few miles to the airport.

"...Shut up."

The silence that fills the car is comfortable, the sort that comes about from spending so much time together. You have friends that aren't Quinn, of course you do, but Quinn had been your first friend in Vancouver. He'd shown you around and made time for you in his incredibly busy schedule. You were often the first person he saw when he came off a roadie and the last person to see him before he left for one. There were nights when you stayed round Quinn's after a game or vice versa. You spent so much time together that you simply coexisted, being around Quinn was as easy as breathing. You rarely argued or disagreed and when you did it was always resolved properly. You simply worked. There wasn't ever much to think about with Quinn. You could just...shut off.

"Thank you, though...seriously." You take a moment, thinking how to word your next few thoughts, your warning as the signs for the airport come into full view, "Just, my mum seems really eager to meet you so...just brace yourself."

"Eager?"

"You know when your parents are excited to meet a new partner?" You think back to the few times you'd introduced a boyfriend to your mum, the excitement that she exuded...it was starting to concern you that she was that excited to just meet your friend. Because that's all Quinn was. Your friend. Not your boyfriend. Your friend, you remind yourself, even as he looks so good smiling over at you with his beard. He'd let it grow out just enough that he looked rugged and mature.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she's that sort of excited which is really weird...she normally doesn't' care that much about my friends. Just, sorry, if she's really weird about it?" It's awkward enough talking about, you and Quinn have always stayed firmly platonic, you didn't talk about the fact that people assumed you were dating or even the concept of it. Talking about it felt...it felt like you were opening the curtains up, letting him see in a little too far.

"You didn't tell her we were married or something, did you?"

"Quinn! Shut up!" He laughs so loud that you can't actually be that mad at him, not when he's grinning at you like that, not when he's been so stressed as of late about the performance of his team. Even if it's at your expense.

"What? Just checking! For all I know you could have told her we got married in Vegas during one of my games or something?"

"If I'm telling my mum I'm married to you, it'll be because I'm actually married to you, you idiot." You roll your eyes at him, arms crossing over your chest as you turn to look out the window.

"Oh, so you do want to marry me?" He's joking, but he's not...he's thought about it. There's not a day that Quinn hasn't thought about what it would be like to be yours and you be his, not since he met you...and then promptly managed to land himself so far into the friendzone that he was scared to crawl his way out lest he leave you behind in the process.

"...I hate you."

"No you don't." His voice is singsong in intonation and sweet and he's right because you love him and it hurts...god, it hurts how much you love someone you can't have. Someone you see every day, someone who is so deeply ingrained in your life that removing him would be like carving a hole into your own chest.

You just sit and glare at him, even as a heavy sort of sadness hits, as he pulls up into one of the parking bays for collecting passengers.

It's okay that he's just your friend, you remind yourself as you get out of the car. It's okay because he's the best friend you could ask for, he's here at 6.45 am in the morning to collect your parents from the airport, not because he was asked or because he had to, but because he wanted to. You can live with loving him in silence, so long as you always have him around.

"I think they're over this way, probably, near gate 1?" You're just getting your bearings, trying to figure out roughly where your parents will come out at after they find their things from baggage claim when you hear it.

"My baby!" The squeal of a middle aged woman who hasn't seen her daughter in far too long pierces the air. You barely have time to brace yourself for impact before your mother is wrapping you up in a gigantic hug and pressing as many kisses to your face as possible, you know without a doubt her signature mauve lipstick is smudged all across your skin.

Your father stands behind her, rolling his eyes in amusement but the smile he gives you is no less warm, "Hey there, princess."

"Hi, mum, hi, dad," You pull yourself free from your mother just long enough to get a long awaited hug from your father, big and warm and so familiar that you almost feel like crying. How long has it been since you last hugged your dad? Half a year? Nine months? Longer? You sometimes don't realise how much you miss something until you get it back.

When you turn back around your mother is already pulling Quinn into a hug that he accepts, if a tad awkwardly, his hands patting her on the back like he's not quite sure how hugs work.

She has his face in her hands before you can intervene, overly familiar and friendly as she grins up at him like he's made her day just by existing. "You must be Quinn, Y/N's boyfriend..."

"Oh, he's n-" You're pretty sure your eyes bug out of your head, startled by the suggestion because at no point in the last few years of living in Vancouver had you ever called Quinn your boyfriend. Ever.

You're cut off by Quinn who's grinning at you wickedly over the top of your mother's head like he's just been giving the greatest Christmas present he could ever ask for and in that moment you know...you know that he is going to make your life very difficult with this tiny piece of information.

"Yeah, hi, nice to meet, the boyfriend, that's me." God, he wishes it was true. There's nothing more he wants in that moment than to be able to say to your mom that you are 100% his girlfriend, but he can't...he can, however, enjoy the roleplaying while it lasts. He can't really stop himself, not when you look so aghast at your mother calling him your boyfriend, not when he can use this to tease you for at least the next 30 years. He grew up with 2 brothers, sue him for taking advantage of the situation.

"Quinn!"

"What? Am I not allowed to call myself your boyfriend anymore?" He sidles up to you, slipping out from your mother's grip to pull you into his side. His arm rests naturally over your shoulder, yours finding his waist, and it is natural...because you've done this a million times before. The kiss he presses to your hair is new though, different and as much as your mum clearly believes the ruse, you can see your father just looks amused. Something tells you he knows this is all an act, but he finds it enjoyable to watch. Typical. No support from him when you need it most. Dads.

"Oh, she's just grouchy in the mornings, has been ever since she was a baby!" Your mother looks at the two of you with such pride that you're certain her heart actually might break when she finds out Quinn isn't actually your boyfriend. You've never seen her look so happy with your choice in a man before and you're certain she won't be able to cope when you have to inevitably tell her that it was either a) a lie or b) that Quinn just wasn't the guy for you (another lie just to make your life more complicated).

"Mum!"

"Oh don't worry, I know just how grouchy my baby can be in the mornings." This time he presses a kiss to your cheek and when he does, you hiss lowly in his ear, 'I'm going to kill you.' and Quinn can't help but laugh at you, biting his lip at how much fun he's having riling you up.

"Here let me take your bags, Mrs Y/L/N," Quinn's bending down before your mother can even begin to protest, her carry on backpack being slung over his shoulder and pulling up the handle of her suitcase to wheel it behind him.

"Oh, you don't have to, Quinn!"

"I insist." He knows he's making it harder on you, can see the look you give him because he's just going to make your mother fall in love with him. But, even as he enjoys riling you up, he was also raised right and he's not letting your mother carry her own bags.

Your mother hangs back with you while your father and Quinn start walking ahead with the suitcases. She slips her arm through yours walking with you to keep up, as she does so she does a very bad attempt at whispering. The sort of whispering that means you know Quinn can hear every word and is probably enjoying it immensely.

"He's such a gentleman..."

"Yeah, a real gentleman." You mutter sarcastically, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall in a silent laugh that he's no doubt doing his best to swallow down.

"Don't be grumpy, he's just being sweet on you. You should be glad for such a loving boyfriend..." Your mother scolds you before raising her voice back to normal, Quinn and your father slowing down slightly to help keep the four of you together, "So, Quinn, my daughter tells me you're a hockey player?"

"Yeah, you talk about me, baby?" Quinn's grin is wide, and you can't help the warmth that fills your entire face because you can't actually deny it. You talk about Quinn all the time, he's your best friend and whenever your mother phones, you inevitably talk about him. Whether it was a game of his you went to or a coffee place you'd visited together or gala he'd invited you to. Maybe, you talked about him too much? Maybe, it was obvious in the way you talked about him that you loved him? Maybe that's why your mother had made such a large assumption about your relationship status. Maybe this was your fault, why wouldn't she assume you were dating?

"She talks about you all the time. Quinn this, Quinn that...did you know that Quinn did this today and broke this record?"

"Mum..." You groan out, looking to your dad for help but all he does is shrug his shoulders at you, amusement bright in his eyes. Even if he could do something you know he wouldn't because he's clearly enjoying your torture.

Quinn can't help it, the tables seem to reverse. You're embarrassed still, but now he is too, bright red in the face, ears flushed the colour of a fire engine and a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. All because you talk about him to your parents...you talk about him when he's not around...he feels like a twelve year old, giddy because his crush smiled at him for the first time.

"I play for the NHL."

"Vancouver Canucks, wasn't it?" Your mother asks as the four of you step out into the cold Canadian air, her attention making Quinn squirm and you smile, enjoying the discomfort being swapped around for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm the captain of the team." He smiles at your mother awkwardly as he opens the boot of the car and starts to pile in the suitcases, organising them in just the right way that they fit without hassle.

Your father chimes in as he lifts his own suitcase into the back, Quinn helping him shove it back further, "That's impressive, I used to play field hockey myself, never got out of the amateur league but got a few bruises in my time. You had an injury recently right?"

You still remember phoning your mum to talk about it, at first worried and then over time growing more and more frustrated with how sullen Quinn was being. He'd grown restless from not being able to play hockey and you'd been his distraction, a distraction that had grown fed up with his moping no matter how much you loved him.

"I've had a few this year, most recently my hand." He raises his braced hand, the brace a point of annoyance to him at this point in time. He was itching to be done with it, but put up with it because it meant he could still play hockey at the moment.

"Oh, you shouldn't have been carrying my bag then, Quinn!" Your mother fusses over him, flapping about as if she might have a miracle cure for his hand injury.

"Honestly, it's fine! It looks worse than it is, I promise. I wouldn't get away with it otherwise, this one would kill me." He nods his head at you as he closes the boot, opening one of the backdoors for your mother to slide inside.

"Damn right I'd kill you, I cannot take more days of you moping that you can't play hockey and that you're bored despite my amazing company."

"You know I enjoyed spending time with you, sweetheart...but..."

"But, you can't live without hockey, yeah, I know..."

He follows you round to the passenger side door, opening it for you like a gentleman and letting you slide inside. You find yourself enjoying the attention even as you catch your mother's eye in the rear view mirror, a little smirk reaching her lips as she watches Quinn buckle you in. Something he does from time to time when he's feeling particularly sweet...because he was a good friend.

"So, Quinn, how did you meet our daughter? I'm not sure she ever mentioned it?"

The entire ride home is filled with your mother peppering Quinn with questions, encouraging him to talk more and more about your 'relationship'. Everything from when you first met to the first date you went on (which Quinn told her was the first time he took you ice skating, you were under the impression that that was a friendly family skate event and most certainly not a date).

The conversation lulls while you set your parents up in your spare bedroom, helping them settle themselves and showing them around your apartment. They hadn't ever seen it in person and they spent half the time cooing over your choices, the photos of family and friends on the wall, the ones of you and Quinn, as well as your mother checking your fridge and telling you to buy more vegetables.

It's as you're sitting down to a breakfast of pre-bought croissants and pain au chocolat that your mother restarts her question. This time even more invasive than the first.

"So Quinn, when did you know?"

"Mm? Know what?" Your best friend looks at your mother with furrowed brows, taking a sip of his orange juice and almost choking on it when she proceeds to clarify her question.

"When you loved my daughter."

There's a long beat of silence where your eyes stay fixated on your plate, watching your own hands intently as you spread Nutella inside your croissant, far too focused on that to be anything casual or calm. You're certain you're going to be sick because he doesn't love you but you love him and your poor mother is so oblivious and this...this is going too far, it feels like it's gone too far.

"Expected answer or honest answer?"

"Honest answer."

"The second week I knew her." Your head snaps up with a start only to find Quinn looking directly at you, green eyes crinkling softly at the corners. "She heard that I had been hurt on the ice the night before and she stormed round my apartment with a bunch of food, medicine and a blanket. Spent the whole day looking after me and making me watch 90s movies I hadn't watched growing up. No one outside my family had ever done that for me before...it made me realise that if I wasn't already in love, I would be pretty quick." You almost believe him, the way he looks at you, the way he speaks so softly. Almost.

You look down at your plate, tears welling in your eyes because you know he doesn't mean it. He's spinning a yarn for your mother and it hurts that he would go that far when you both know this is all some ruse he's decided to pull. You swallow hard and take a bite of your croissant, refusing to look at him for the rest of breakfast.

You won't meet his eyes until he goes to leave after breakfast, your parents hanging back so you can say goodbye to your 'boyfriend'.

"Mind if I come over after dinner? We could watch a movie with your parents?"

"Quinn..." You go to challenge him on his behaviour today, but the words won't come out.

"What?"

"Nothing...uh, sure, after dinner?"

"After dinner, baby."

You want to tell him off as he says it, as he presses a kiss to your cheek so your parents can see because you aren't his baby and he's hurting you. He's hurting you without realising it because you so desperately want to be his baby. But, you don't. You just watch him walk away down the corridor of your apartment building and out of sight before getting ready to show your parents around Vancouver for the day.

You try to put the whole thing out of your mind throughout the day, showing your parents the sights of Vancouver, including the arena...but it's hard when they keep bringing Quinn back up and asking about your feelings. They probe you for half the day and it's emotionally exhausting balancing the truth with the half-truth, even more so knowing that they're going to be just as disappointed as you are when they realise your relationship with Quinn is just a sham, a charade, a fake.

Eventually they seem to grow bored of talking about the topic, however, and dinner goes relatively smoothly, you taking them to a nice restaurant Quinn had shown you back in your first couple of months in Vancouver. Even that feels bittersweet though, filled with memories of the two of you dining together. You can't help but feel like the whole issue needs addressing as you get them back home and pop a film on ready for Quinn's arrival.

When he arrives he continues the act as if it isn't one, greeting you at the door with a kiss to the cheek and pulling you down onto the loveseat opposite your parents, curling one arm around your shoulders and urging you to lay against him, your cheek pressed into his chest. In some ways it's familiar, not an act, because you cuddle for movies all time, completely platonically of course, but both of you are touchy feely and it's always been part of your dynamic. In others though? The way he talks to you, the pet names, kisses to your hair, that is all new, all a way to show your parents he's the 'doting boyfriend', even though he's not your boyfriend at all.

Your parents lap it up, every now and then you catch them smiling at each other and then over to the two of you and you can't help but feel heavy with it. With this feeling of unrequited affection. You love Quinn, you've known that for a while now, but it was easy to be around him because you didn't need to address it. You could love him in silence and from afar...you had never considered how hard it would become when what you wanted most was being dangled in front of you like a carrot on a string.

Quinn has a similar dilemma going on in his own head. He's always known he loved you more than a friend, even when you barely knew each other...had he been braver he would have asked for your number for a date that first day, not so that he could show you around a new city as a 'friend'. But, he'd been a coward and since then he'd continued to be. He enjoyed every ounce of affection he got from you, every hug, every cuddle, ever time you held his arm at an event, all while feeling like that had to be enough...now he's had more? He's not sure it'll ever be enough, he's greedy for you. Greedy for your affection, your attention, greedy in the way he wants to keep kissing you, keeping calling you sweet names and greedy for the way you grow bashful. Greedy for more than just being your friend...he's given himself a taste of what life could be like and now he can't forget it.

It's halfway through the movie, your legs slung over Quinn's lap and his fingers carding through the ends of your hair when your parents stand with a groan from the other couch.

"Princess?" You lift your head to look at your father, who's stretching out his back after sitting for so long.

"Yeah, dad?"

"Your mother and I are getting a little tired...we're going to go to bed, if that's alright with you two?"

"Of course, don't let us keep you up." Quinn confirms your own thoughts as well, telling your parents it's not problem at all. It's all so...so domestic.

Your dad presses a kiss to the top of your head, as does your mother, before yourself and Quinn wish them goodnight. You wait until you see the door to the spare room start to close, not waiting for it to do so fully, before turning to Quinn. You pull out of his arms, the missing warmth of you an immediate loss to him, but it has him sitting up straight and taking you seriously.

Your face is sullen, sad, eyebrows pinched, mouth turned down into a frown and he's alarmed to see that your eyes are glassy like you might cry.

"Why on earth would you let my parents think we're dating? Why would you tell my mother you're in love with me?" You're certain you're going to cry, angry, frustrated and sad all in one. Lovesick because it hurts to hear him tell your mother he was in love with you when you know he's not.

"Why not?" He frowns at you, hands reaching out but you keep just out of reach as if touching him is the last thing you want. You've never shied away from Quinn's touch and he recoils, breathing a little heavier out of anxious worry that he's upset you, that he's fucked this up. Maybe you've been uncomfortable with his touch all day? Has he been making you uncomfortable all day? Is he one of those guys?

"Because we're not dating and you're not in love with me, Quinn. My mother is certain we're going to get married and I'll stop being an old spinster! You're getting her hopes up." The unspoken words lay heavy on your tongue, 'you're getting my hopes up', you want to say.

"Who said I didn't love you? Who said I didn't want to marry you?" The look he gives you isn't the cheeky one he's had all day, it's not joking or silly, it's dead serious. He scoots closer to you, but doesn't reach out for you this time. But, Quinn can't help but want to be close to you, to be drawn into your orbit, into your gravity.

"Quinn..."

"What?"

"You're being mean..." Your voice is filled with tears, wet, pathetic sounding and you choke back a sob as a tear falls down your cheek because he's being so mean...he can't dangle that in front of you, everything you've ever wanted, not when he doesn't actually mean it.

He realises in that moment that you don't believe him. You believe he's spent the entire morning and evening telling lies, saying that he loves you when he doesn't, that you're that important to him when you aren't. You believe he's being mean because you don't believe him, that the tears are because you think he's holding this thing, this idea out in front of you, only to snatch it away.

"Look, I said a lot today...but none of it was a lie." He can't help himself this time, hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away that pesky tear that shouldn't have been there in the first place. It's the way you lean into his touch that brings him a sense of confidence, of relief, you wouldn't do that if you didn't want him touching you.

"I know our first date wasn't a date, just a stupid family skate I was too scared to ask you out to as more than just a friend. I wish it had been a date and I wish I had been brave enough from the start to tell you I didn't just want to be your friend."

"Quinn..."

"And I was telling the truth...when your mother asked me when I fell in love with you." He tugs you closer, until your legs are back over his lap and your practically sitting on top of him, arms wrapping around your lower back and pulling you closer. The way he stares up at you is nothing short of reverent.

"Q..."

"The second week we knew each other you came to look after me when no one else did...and I knew...I knew that I was going to love you and that I was stupid for not asking you out in the first place...but I was...I was too scared to say anything. I didn't want to lose my new friend...I thought..." He hesitates, tongue coming out to nervously brush against his bottom lip, capturing your attention like a magpie with a shiny button.

"You thought?" You're whispering, quiet as if to speak any louder might scare him, might disrupt this little bubble you've found yourself in.

"I thought having a tiny bit of you...any bit, was better than having none of you at all." Quinn confesses, shifting you on his lap as your legs fall either side of his hips until you're so close your noses brush.

"Is it?"

"It was...for a bit..." It's self-deprecating, sardonic, like he finds himself ridiculous, foolish.

"And now?"

"And now I've had a taste of what it's like to love you, to be able to kiss you and hold you...call you mine...and now I'm greedy and it's not enough...Baby, it'll never be enough."

"You...you love me?" It's like even after all of this, everything he's said, every tender touch, you still don't quite believe him. It's hard to believe that everything you've ever wanted is sat in the palm of your hand just waiting for you to capture it, to take it. That your feelings, the ones you believed were unrequited for two years, were actually returned all along.

"I love you...and...um, if...if you'll have me, maybe I could be your real boyfriend this time?" His face is bright red, so warm to the touch when you're fingers reach out to trace his cheeks that you're surprised he doesn't combust.

"I'd like that...I...I love you too,"

"So...I'm your boyfriend?" He says it like he doesn't quite believe it, the beauty mark on his cheek moving as he grins up at you giddy like a little kid getting his first bag of sweets.

"You're my boyfriend." You press a kiss to that beauty mark without overthinking it...because you can now, because now it's not a lie when you tell your parents he's your boyfriend, because now you're allowed to kiss him and hold him and tell him how much you love him.

"Fuck...that sounds good."

He can't help but just stare up at you from where you're straddling his lap. The healthy glow to your skin, the soft smile directed down at him, the way you seem to curl into him like you're not close enough even now. God, you're beautiful and you're his...you're finally his and he's yours and...and he can't comprehend that the thing he wanted to happen for so long has finally happened. What had he been scared of all this time? He could have been with you for two years, instead he'd squandered it out of fear...

"Quinn?" Your voice is soft, melodic, so so sweet that almost closes his eyes at the sound.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Kiss me?" You whisper as if it's shameful to ask, as if you've asked for something more sordid than a simple kiss...your first kiss together at that.

"Anything for my girl."

He's gentle in the way he cups your neck and jaw with one large hand, thumb pressing just below your jaw bone as he pulls you in. There's nothing rushed about the way Quinn presses your lips together, the smooth glide of his bottom lip against your top. Even the way his tongue brushes against your lip until you open up for him is slow, steady, adoring. You can't help the way you sigh into him, fingers gliding through dark chocolate strands, eyes closing shut with the sense of home, sense of relief that you find in him.

The two of you lose yourselves in each other, slow kisses, wandering hands, nothing too extreme, but a new found intimacy that you're finally allowed to indulge in before you curl back up together to watch the remainder of the movie. Watch being a loose term for what you're really doing.

"Did you know?" Your father turns his eyes away from the scene outside the spare bedroom, the way you're curled up in Quinn's arms like you were always supposed to be there. Neither of you realising that the spare bedroom door had never fully closed, both your parents eavesdropping like Samwise Gamgee.

"That they weren't actually together, dear?" Your mother looks sly and devious as she looks over at her husband. The face of the woman he loves, but also fears in equal measure.

"Yes."

"Of course I knew...but I figured they could both use a shove in the right direction, I mean, look at them?" Your parents both turn to watch the two of you, the way you curl up together on the couch is the epitome of young love. There's no real watching of a movie happening, instead Quinn's fingers are rubbing circles into your shoulder, while you look up at him lovingly from where you're curled against his chest. Every now and then he dips his head down to press a kiss against your forehead, and each time you giggle, face pressing briefly into his neck. The giddy feeling of a new, fresh love, making film watching the least of your interests.

"They just needed a little push." Both your parents smile at each other even as your father playfully scolds his wife, "You're a meddlesome woman."

"And you love me for it."

"Yes, yes I do."

Perhaps it took a bit of meddling, a fake misunderstanding, but that would be their little secret...at least for now. Your mother was rather looking forward to seeing you squirm in the future as you reveal the truth, that you hadn't actually been dating Quinn as long as you said. Yes, she certainly was happy to help, but she also was still your mother and lying to your mother was certainly not the done thing. A little squirming was good for you sometimes, but first, she'd let you enjoy the fresh bloom of love...and she'd go easy on you.

[glitches-and-bugs]

There is a tree in my head. Not visibly, though. I feel it when I wake, in my thoughts it grows. It blossoms when I help, and burn when I am cruel. It hurts, when it burns. When I fall in slumber, I am the tree. I feel timeless, ageless. Powerful, yet helpless of all that happens. It is an old tree, though I am still young, and soon it will be gone. I don't know what will happen. When it's first branch breaks, so does a piece of me. Again, not visibly. It can't blossom anymore. Awake is just as bad as asleep, if not worse. Asleep i can help mend it. Fix it. Awake all I can do is suffer and hope.

Error: That's rough, buddy. Try Watering it.

[authorhjk1]

A car ride

(Baek Jiheon X Male Reader)

( @mechaknight-98 this is my part of the Jiheon challenge. I first thought of writing your fic's honeymoon as a continuation, but decided on something else in the end)

"Stop."

Your heart aches as you say that word. You were really hoping she would pass this time. You really did. But she made a mistake once again.

"What? No please."

"Jiheon, the traffic light was red."

"I-I didn't see it. Please?"

"I can't get you your driver's license, if you can't stop when you should be stopping."

"Just one last chance. I'm the only one of my friends who doesn't have one. And my parents will kill me if they hear I failed.... again."

You curse internally. Jiheon looks absolutely devastated. You obviously get, why she wants to pass this test. But you can't just give it to her. If she has an accident after you let her pass, who's fault is that gonna be?

"I can't do anything for you. You'll have to take the test again."

Jiheon seems like she's about to cry. But her demeanor suddenly changes, when she looks at you. Her face becomes a little colder as she gives you a stare. You're totally not prepared when she leans over. Too surprised, you don't attempt to stop her, when her soft lips meet yours. Instinctively closing your eyes, you remember that you sat in this exact seat before. At that time it was Hayoung.... But now you feel Jiheon's lips on yours. Nothing with tongue. But still incredible nonetheless.

When shee pulls away, you realize her eyes were closed too as you open yours.

"I-I hear what Hayoung unnie said and... I was hoping we could work something out too?"

You knew that that one mistake would probably put you into more bad situations. You were afraid to get caught, afraid that something would happen while she drives, because you let her pass, afraid that she might even blackmail you or something. But you didn't expect her to tell Jiheon. Who is now sitting in the driver's seat, her eyes on you, silently begging you to not let her fail.

"I don't know, Jiheon. Hayoung was a one time thing. And I'm still regretting it."

"I won't make you regret it. Actually..."

Jiheon hesitates, before she reaches over and places her hand on your lap.

"I want to make this the best day of your life."

You're stunned at Jiheon's sudden increase in confidence. Too stunned. Because when you look down, she already opened your zipper and is about to reach inside your jeans.

"Wait-"

She doesn't. You groan, when you feel her warm hand wrap around your cock as she fishes it out of your pants. Jiheon starts to slowly stroke your cock, while looking at you. You always adored her cute eyes smile, but now it looks a little mischievous. She must've caught you glancing at her lips, because she is now leaning forward again, capturing yours with hers. This time, you do feel her tongue graze your teeth, before you let her inside. The two of you share a heated kiss as the pace of Jiheon's handjob increases.

You realize you can't get enough of her as your hand lands on the back of her head, pulling her a little further towards you. You stroke her dark hair, while her tongue roams your mouth.

Soon Jiheon moves back a little, showing off that smile once more. The two of you look into each other's eyes. You both come to a silent understanding. Slowly, you start to push her head down, your hand still in her hair. Jiheon keeps eye contact, until she reaches your cock. Opening her mouth, she lets her lips wrap themselves around your tip.

With her hand on the lower half of your cock, Jiheon blows you right here in the car. At least Hayoung had the decency to suggest a private place. But you're unable to stop her now, the sounds she is making makes your eyes roll back. Her tongue plays around with your cock, just like it did earlier with your own tongue. Her soft lips are tightly sealed around your length and you can see her cheeks hollow, whenever she sucks particularly hard.

You can't help but reach out to put your free hand on her ass. You have to admit, when she got into the car earlier, you already checked out her shorts from behind. Now you get to feel her cheeks through the denim as her mouth warms your cock.

"You can pull them off, if you want."

Jiheon momentarily peaked her head up, before you push it down again. While she still sucks you off, you reach underneath her to unbutton her shorts. Pulling them off her, your greeted by a set of simple black panties. You let your hand roam her cheeks again, before it dives underneath the fabric.

"God...."

You groan as you feel Jiheon moan around your dick at your touch. Her pussy welcomes you as you push a finger inside. As she she keeps moving her lips up and down your shaft, you add another one. You start to finger Jiheon, while she gives you head. Your head rolls back against the headrest.

"Thee condom is in my right cheek pocket."

As you hear those words, it dawns on you that Jiheon came prepared. Did she fail on purpose? Or was she just expecting to fail again?

You fumble for her shorts, which you let carelessly drop to the floor earlier. Taking out the condom, you rip open the packaging. Jiheon reaches for it and puts in your cock. She lowers her head one last time, giving you a couple of sucks, before she sits back up again. But not for long. She climbs onto your lap and you reach upwards, making sure your hand is in between her head and the car roof.

Jiheon lowers herself onto your cock and you feel how her lips part around it. With a cute moan, she takes all of you inside, her eyes shut. You lean forward to kiss her neck, your hands now on her waist. Jiheon slowly begins to lift herself again, before sliding down on your shaft once more. She sets a slow pace at first, enabling you to take your time to enjoy the taste of her skin. You give her cheek a kiss. And then, you muffle her moans by kissing her. Both of your tongues dance tango in each other's mouth, while Jiheon keeps a steady pace.

Eventually, she starts to go faster though. You can feel how her moans into your mouth become stronger, louder. She starts to not just move up and down, but grind against you as well, making sure that your cock hits every single spot inside her. Her own hands are all over your shoulders and hair, trying to hold onto something.

The car is filled with moans and panting. And the sounds of Jiheon's hips meeting yours. Soon, the both of you can't keep your climaxes in check. The first to fall is Jiheon. Her legs shake and her pussy pulsates around you, before you feel her orgasm on top of you. She falls onto your chest with a satisfied cry. With her gorgeous face now buried in your chest, you move your hands to her ass. You make her move up and down once more. Her tight pussy now about to push you over the edge as well.

"Jiheon..."

You groan her name as you finally orgasm. The two of you stay locked together, enjoying each other's company.

"I have to tell you a secret."

Jiheon lifts her head and you look down at her.

"I passed the test a week ago."

Her eyes form half moons and her wide smile makes you unconsciously smile too.

[jellxzy]

I was wondering if you could do a hyunju x fem!reader where the reader is pregnant and reader sees that Hyunju is alone in the second game so reader approaches her and they start a friendship and as time goes by they both fall in love ^^

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐁𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧! -𝐇𝐜

|| 𝐂𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

|| 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬!: 𝐂𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.

|| 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

|| 𝐀/𝐧: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬! 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲! Thank 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

Here you were, competing in deadly children games for the sake of your own child. You never excepted your life to go down this path, you were a heir to a wealthy company. Going to collage abroad, studying medicine.

And yet, you're stuck here. Fearing your life every second of the day. Luckily, you were only two months pregnant unlike Junhee, so you didn't show like she did. So, you acted just like another normal girl competing at the games.

Though you were eating for two, so the food definitely didn't keep you calm and the one thing you waited for the whole day. Instead you laid in the uncomfortable bed, staring up. You laid there with a hand on your stomach, thinking of what to do with the money you received.

You'll get a little house in the provinces, probably build a farm, and take care of your baby. Even if it's only you taking care of her/him. Then a soft yet deep voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "Hi, uhm. We were teammates during the game earlier, remember?"

She was your teammate during the game, and you remember it so vividly, she was brave and strong, had good leadership skills, moving back to the 'strong' she is very strong, you had accidentally slipped on blood whilst moving, but with ease she lifted you up to continue on walking forward.

"Yeah." You nod your head with a smile as you sat up. "Well, we're all gathering there if you'd like to be with us. Just so nobody's alone. " She smiled while explaining. "Oh, yeah sure." You reluctantly agree standing up and walking with her towards the group.

You couldn't help but notice her lingering hand on your shoulder, a small smile on her lips as her eyes glance at you. A soft pink hue appearing on your cheeks as you notice that.

Upon reaching the group, the hand on your shoulder gets removed while she goes up the stairs. The group welcomes you in, the atmosphere easy and has no awkwardness whatsoever. But when the topic changes to you, the topic asking on why they entered the games.

"I-uhm." You shudder before saying in a quiet and soft tone; "I'm pregnant." The weight on your shoulder finally gets lifted as the secret finally comes out. "How many months are you in?" Geum-ja asks, her eyes filled with worry.

"I'm only two months in, so me being pregnant won't bring us down." You tell them with a smile. "Hopefully." You mutter under your breath. During the whole conversation, you could feel Hyun-ju's eyes watching your every move.

So, when the a voice announced that it was gonna be lights out in thirty minutes, the conversations was forced to stop. "Hey." Hyun-ju's voice called out to you from behind. "I think it's best if you sleep in my bed tonight. Don't worry I don't sleep."

She left no other options as her hand gripped your wrist in a firm yet soft grip, stopping you from moving. "Okay." You accepted nonetheless, walking with her towards her bed. "You don't have to do this, y'know."

"I know. But I have too. No one knows what they could do. Especially to you." You turn around in your bed, now facing her while she sits on the floor next to the bed. "You can lay down here..." You trail off, feeling a bit shy.

"With me." Her eyes slightly widen at that before glancing at your blushing state. "Are you sure?" She asks turning to look at you. "Mhm." You hum with a soft nod, moving your body so she can have space, patting the space in front of you.

She slowly moved to lay down next to you, carefully as to not accidentally hurt you or cause you discomfort. "Am I hurting you? Are you okay?" She asked with a worried tone, which only caused you to laugh.

"You're only laying you're head on my arm, I'll be fine." You lightly chuckle to ease the atmosphere between you. Instead of sleeping you could only admire how beautiful she looked underneath the dim lights, and how she still had a protective hold over you by her arm draped over your waist. Even if it's a small thing, you somehow still felt more protected than you did on the outside world.

And when you were already sleeping that's when she woke up, due to her military training she's gotten used to waking up very early in the morning. She didn't notice at first, how your hand lightly gripped her bicep, scared that she'll leave you. And that how her arm was still draped on your waist that you didn't bother to move or brush off. She only continued to look at you, not wanting to move at all, brushing a hair off your face to pulling up the blanket to cover you.

And that's how she fell for you, as for you? You knew the moment you first saw her. You knew she was the one, the one who will help you raise your child. And that's what the both of you are doing right know, you carried your baby in your arms while she prepared her milk.

Yes, it's a girl.

The both of you won, alongside with your close friends. And luckily Junhee gave birth successfully, it scared you a little that you're gonna be next to go through that but, after was amazing. Spending months miserable to birth something so beautiful, it was poetic.

three months in, and a little baby bump was finally showing. Though, you couldn't be more confused, is it because you just ate or is it because of the baby.

and that's the month she demanded you to stop working. Now, she was the one working outside your shared apartment. Yet, she was still the same sweet and gentle person you know. Four months in, your baby bump got a little bigger. So, now she holds it in her hands every chance she gets. Hugging you from behind whilst you cook, cuddling with you in bed, and sitting on the sofa, all of those moments, she had her hand on your baby bump, that's also the month you told everyone else that you were pregnant, so now you get free kimchi every week from Geum-ja.

Five months in, and that's when your baby starts to kick. And every time, she does, you call Hyun-ju. And yes, it's a baby girl. And when the first time she feels her kicking, she sobbed into you shoulder for a straight hour, like she's the pregnant one. Geum-ja and Junhee decoded it was best to spend their mornings and evenings with you, so they'll be there if you need anything. Considering they've gone through it already, Junhee more recently.

Six months in, the baby's kicks become more frequent, and you start to crave more weirder foods. You suggested for Hyun-ju to just stay with you all day and quit her job, but she said she's saving up for her collage. That's when you sobbed into her shoulder, whispering-yelling thank you's and words of praise to her.

Seven months in, that's when your emotions took a sharp turn, your hormones kicking in every minute. She gets tired of it sure, but she loves you more than anything. And that includes waking up in the midnight just to go out and buy your craving. Only to return to you, already fast asleep.

Eight months passed by like a breeze, your baby bump was definitely showing more than ever, and you looked so cute, despite your hair and clothes being disheveled most of the time. She starts talking to the baby bump, while your fast asleep, talking about how beautiful her mother is, and how great she is.

Nine months in, and that's the month you waited for, the whole time. It was near your due-date, and she's already got everything packed, baby blanket, yours and her clothes, baby clothes that were sent by Junhee, and most importantly her strength.

the due-date day, was the hardest fight Hyun-ju ever fought, hands were gripped tightly, curses spilled from your mouth, and a birth was witnessed. So, when it was your turn to give birth, everyone who survived came to support you and Hyun-ju, so, now you're living in Thailand, peacefully with your soon-to-be wife. And a four-year old daughter. You're life was complete.

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

[unlovablelover]

End : Mr Chopped 2

(Gah! Me surprise!)

Why couldn't they be together?

Ever since he returned to his shared room with Silvair, that was all he could think of. Did they not enjoy the time they've spent together as much as he did? Sure, he probably ordered them around a lot, but it's not like they can't understand why - he couldn't move on his own, after all!

With every memory that came to mind, his expression changes to match them. Remembering how they rubbed his head to comfort him after a nightmare, his lips curled upwards in a wide, giddy grin. Remembering how they left him without looking back, his grin shifts into an angry scowl. Then, when the possibility that they may never return comes to mind - his expression turns blank, then his eyebrows knotted. It was no possibility. They really weren't coming back. His scowl turned into a sad pout.

"What you do?" Silvair's voice as he emerges from his research room catches him off guard, causing him to let out a noise of shock, mouth agape.

"Me worry they..." He answers truthfully, voice low. His eyes closed as he tried to drift off into sleep, hoping the thoughts would stop on their own. Silvair makes no move to continue the conversation, turning around to enter his research room again, leaving the door halfway closed.

Then, the click of the door to their shared room could be heard.

Heavy, forced steps rang in the silence, alerting the researcher. He remained where he was, watching from the gap, his research tool (or more precisely, axe) secured in his grip, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"Mr. Chopped!"

That voice - almost instantly, he awoke from his short moment of slumber, eyes looking up at the figure standing in front of him. Still in a daze with a blurred gaze, he failed to recognize who it was.

"Well, um...." The figure struggled to speak - they struggled in everything, ever since they left his side. Their thoughts, their movements, all limited. Sensing the opportunity, Silvair rushes out to land a hit on them, aiming for their legs to render them immobilized. Surprisingly, they didn't let out any noise, nor did they fight back. They only fell forward with a loud thud.

"...Er...mm..." The chopped head just stares at them, unsure what to say - he doesn't recognize who it was at all. Another monster? He thought, confusion etched on his face. "Mr. Chopped..." They call again, who is it they're calling for? His dazed mind worked hard to bring up any memories that could help him figure out whatever, whoever it was laying limp in front of him. Then, realization hits him. There was only one person who would call him that!

"You...You return come?!" He exclaimed in disbelief, eyes widened. They came back! Relief washes over him but not entirely. They came back, but... "Your look different, me surprise!" Their appearance was a mess, monster-like even. Just what did they go through to come back to him? Nonetheless, they were back and that was all that mattered, he tried to convince himself.

"Me, you, they." He starts, smiling as his mind began to work on thinking up of all the things they could do together. Now that they were back, he'll have someone who can hold him all the time again! Oh, how he loved being in their hold - their soft warm skin pressing securely against his own cold one, hands holding him with utmost care.

"Desire together around."

He repeats his request from earlier, and this time they nod. Unbeknownst to him, they would really remain together with him - until the very end, until their very end.

"You carry me, me grateful."

Their vision started to blur, dark spots filling up their sight. With one last tilt of their head, they look up at him, hoping he would realize their misery - hoping that he could somehow help them like how they helped him. It was useless, it was stupid to depend on a chopped head, but he was the only thing that managed to keep them sane the last time. This time though? Not so much.

"Me desire together."

He didn't stop talking. It was his greatest feat and flaw at the same time. Why? Because whenever he started talking, he'd fail to notice the things happening around him - like how his friend Silvair stood beside him, looking down pitifully at the dying human, or like how the human tried so hard to reach out to him, hand held out shakily.

Their hand lands on his head for one last pat, gentle and weak, and it snaps him out of his rambling spree. His eyes were wide as he stares at them, only now realizing what was happening. He waits until they pull away, but they never did and never will.

"...You?" He calls out in hopes that they'll respond. When they didn't, he begins to fear for the worst. They just came back - they couldn't leave him again! Not now, not ever, not again! There wasn't a thing he could do except repetitively call for them until Silvair took him in his hold, bringing him away from the corpse. Even then, he didn't stop calling. He didn't want to leave them.

Just why couldn't they be together?

[vanfleeter]

My Love: Chapter 2

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Sara, Josh Kiszka, Sam Kiszka, Daniel Wagner, Chris Turpin. Warnings: 18+ || Language. Gore. Mentions of murder. Vampires. Blood drinking. Angst. Anger. Frustration. Crying. Drinking. Jealousy. Smut. Sexual intentions. Cockblocking.

The book shelves only feel like they’re caving in on me as I pace around the room. The anger still boils in my veins. I look down at my hand and remember the way it looked curled around her neck. Then I remember the fear in her eyes. Shaking my hands, I walk over to the desk and slump down in the chair.

She hasn’t left the bedroom. I can hear crying–muffled mostly by a pillow, but nonetheless–crying. I did that to her, I made her cry. I’ve never made her cry and I’ve never gotten angry with her. At least, not like that.

Suddenly I hear her feet touch the floor as she walks across the room and towards the door. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. She descends the stairs, walking past the study. Her heart rate is elevated, the rush of her blood making my mouth salivate. But that changes when I hear the front door open. Standing from the desk chair, I walk over to the window and watch her as she gets in her car and pulls out of the driveway.

Yanking the curtains closed, I let the anger finally consume me. Swiping my arms across the desk, I send everything flying off the top. Grabbing my keys, I run out to my car and take off.

Not after her.

I won’t chase after her.

The bass of the music beats through my body as I slip around people in the crowded hallway. Making it out and into the open space, my eyes immediately land on her. Her eyes lock with mine and a sinister smile spreads across her face as she leans against the bar counter.

“Well well well, what brings you around here, Mr. Kiszka?”

I chuckle and lean against the bar beside her. “Such formality, Kate. I thought we were friends?”

“Friends keep in contact,” She sips on her drink and moves to stand in front of me. “I haven’t heard from you in months.. So tell me, what brings you around here?” She eyes me suspiciously as she finishes off her drink. “Do you need a fix?”

“I shouldn’t..”

“What happened?” She says, cocking her head. “Does your little human not satisfy you?”

“I don’t want to talk about her..”

“Ope.. Trouble in paradise, I see..”

I sigh. “She’s angry..”

“What did you do?”

“It’s what I won’t do..” I say as I take on the now empty bar stool beside me.

“I don’t get why you won’t.. She won’t live forever and I will definitely not be there to mend your broken heart when she dies..”

“Wow, you sure do know how to cheer someone up.” I grumble while resting my chin in the palm of my hand.

Katherine Wilks. Quite an old friend of mine. We met nearly a hundred years ago. She was quite the beauty then, still is even now. Never once though have I thought of her as more than a friend, even though she used to be the one I would turn to when I needed someone to talk to or even someone I could bury myself into when I needed the relief.

Kate smiles and sets her empty glass on the counter. “She loves you, Jacob. I saw it in her eyes all that time ago when you first introduced her.”

I shake my head. “No, Kate. I won’t do it.”

“But why not? Why are you so afraid of doing this one thing?”

“She deserves better..”

“Jacob..”

“I don’t want her to be like me–like my brothers–a fucking monster..”

I turn around to fully face the bar and wave down the bartender to give him my drink. The nagging urge to want to sink my teeth into somebody is unbearable.

“You’re not a monster,” Kate groans. “Despite what the legends say, we are not monsters. We choose to be them, but we aren’t them.”

The bartender comes back with my drink and I down it all in one gulp before setting it back down on the counter top and ordering another one. He comes back with another and I grab it before turning back to face Kate.

“I could’ve killed her tonight..” I admit aloud. “All I wanted to do was squeeze her neck inside the palm of my hand until she couldn’t breathe.. I wanted to snap her neck.”

“But you didn’t.. I’m assuming..”

I roll my eyes and take a drink. “You would’ve known if I did..”

“Probably find you upstairs having a threesome..” Kate scoffs with a smile. “Where is she now?”

I shrug my shoulders and sip my drink. “She left..”

“Woah, woah.. She left? And you have no idea where she went?”

“Nope..” I take another sip. “And I don’t care..”

“Oh don’t you dare do this, Jacob.” Kate says as she grabs the glass out of my hand. “Yes you do care.”

“She fucking left, Kate, because I won’t give her what she wants. So fine, she wants to be a cry baby about it and leave, then so be it.” I try to reach for the glass but she simply holds out of my reach. I huff and slide off the bar stool. “Fine,” I say as I straighten out my jacket. “I’ll find something or someone else to satisfy me..”

Walking away from the bar, I weave my way through the now crowded dance floor. The sudden smell of vanilla fills my nose and I pause.

Vanilla.

Fuck.

Turning around I’m faced with a woman, smiling wickedly. She wraps her hand around my biceps and nods her head towards the stairs. Looking up, I find another one standing at the top. She wiggles her fingers and winks before disappearing. I allow the first one to lead me to the stairs. Her blonde hair is cascading down her back, nearly touching her ass, which seems to be barely covered by the dress she wears.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she stops and turns to face me. “You know the rules, Mr. Kiszka.. Turn it off..”

I haven’t turned off my emotions since… Since before I met Sara..

Sara.

Her face flashes through my mind. The face full of fear as I grip her neck in my hand.

The delicate feeling of this woman’s hand as she slides it beneath the fabric of my shirt, pulls me away from that image. I look her in the eyes and she smiles.

“Just for a little while.. Take her off your mind..”

Her vanilla scent still clouds my head and I find myself giving in. The mental switch flipping and the overwhelming feeling of guilt washes away.

“There you are..”

Pulling me into the nearest room, she closes the door. Inside rests a bed resting underneath the window, allowing the moonlight to wash over it. I can feel myself growing hard inside my pants as her hands find my body again. Suddenly the second one shows up and she’s already undoing my belt and unbuttoning my pants.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been here, Jacob..” She softly speaks as she kisses my neck. “I see you found yourself a human..”

She barely made it down my exposed chest when the door flew open. “Found him!” I hear Sam’s voice. “Sorry ladies, time’s up,” He says, clapping his hands together.

His hands come down my shoulders and he’s guiding me out of the room. “Fix yourself,” He demands.

“Get your hands off of me..” I say as I try to shove him off.

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck happened tonight, but Sara is at our place all upset. And those bruises..” He scoffs and shoves me down the stairs. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I do not..”

Waiting at the bottom of the stairs is Danny. I roll my eyes when ours meet and I straighten out my clothes. “Tell Josh that I do not need you goons to escort me.”

“My my, someone really is in a mood tonight.” Danny chuckles.

I shoot him a glare before I turn away, only to catch Sam motioning his hands in a way to signal to Danny that I have indeed turned off my emotions. Danny nods his head and starts to walk ahead of me, weaving his way through the crowd and back down the now crowded hallway and outside where a black SUV is parked on the side of the road.

The ride to my brother’s home was silent. The staring unbearable as the two of them watch my every move. The car finally comes to a stop in the driveway and the three of us exit and make our way inside.

“We have secured the package!” Sam calls, his voice echoing along the vaulted ceiling and marble walls.

“The package?” Danny groans. “Shut up..”

“She’s upstairs..” I hear behind me.

Turning on my heels, I find Josh standing beside me with his arms crossed over his chest. “And?” I say. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Gee, I don’t know.. Talk to her?!” Josh says. “Fix this!”

“Fix what? She’s only upset because I won’t turn her.”

“For what reason?” Josh says. “And don’t give me the same bullshit excuse of not wanting to turn her into a monster.. Need I remind you that we are the most well behaved so-called monsters, that you think we are, in the whole south.. So knock it off..”

“And if I don’t?”

Josh’s nostrils flare and his arms drop to his sides. Next he’s shoving me towards the stairs. “Switch your flip and go talk to her.”

“You never answered my question..”

“I have a nice, shiny dagger with your name carved in it,” He growls. “Do not make me have to use it.. I’ll keep you limbo for another hundred years if I have to.”

“You dare to threaten me with that?” I scoff. “How original brother.”

“Just go..” He says, shoving me up the stairs.

Begrudgingly, I make my way up the stairs. I can already smell her. Her scent is unmistakable and undeniable. When I turn the corner I spy her in the hallway coming out of one of the rooms, and when she sees me, she darks back in and slamming the door shut. The click of the lock echoing in the massive hall. Taking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and switch that mental flip. Soon all of it comes rushing back. Even the guilt of nearly sleeping with another woman.

Knocking on the door, I wait for her to answer. When she doesn’t, I try again. “Sara, may we-”

“No..”

Oh.. Stern.

“Sara, we need-”

“Go away, Jake..”

Her voice is softer this time. I can almost hear it wavering as the sadness slowly consumes her. How can one simple argument ruin everything? How could I have been so rough with her? I have never laid my hands on her like that. Not unless she had asked me to do it. Which she has.

Kinky.

Fuck.

Now is not the time.

Taking matters into my own hands, I grip the handle and turn the knob. The spike in her pulse is evident as I shove the door open. My eyes meet hers and they aren’t filled with fear after I just broke into the room, but they’re filled with anger. Not the sadness that I had heard in her voice. Pure, white anger. Can I blame her? Not in the slightest. Seeing her angry like that makes me want her. I crave her. I need her.

“Why can’t you listen?” She says. “I said to go away.”

“You should know by now that I don’t listen very well.”

She scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. “Clearly..”

“We need to talk..”

“There’s nothing to talk about.. You made yourself very clear.. So don’t waste your time with me, I’m sure that blonde bimbo would love to continue where you left off.”

Blonde bimbo.

She’s jealous.

A pillow slams into my face, taking me by surprise and making me stumble. “Wipe that smirk off your face..”

“I’m sorry-”

“You’re disgusting..”

“Sara-”

“Leave.”

“Are you ordering me?”

“So what if I am?” She says. “You’re not the only one that’s in charge.”

In a second I’m in her face, her scent heavy and intoxicating. My nose nearly touches hers as I lean down to kiss her. When our lips connect, I pull her body close to mine.

“I could never love another,” I whisper against her lips. “You know that.”

“So dramatic..” She says as she pushes me away.

A light chuckle leaves me and I draw her near again, walking her backwards towards the bed. “In all of my five hundred years, I have never met someone quite like you. Someone who can love so fiercely yet be so damn jealous at the same time.”

“Stop doing that..”

“Stop doing what?”

She tries to shove me away but I only hold her closer. “Stop talking like that..”

“Why? I thought you loved it..” I press my lips to her neck and suck on the soft skin. “And I’m not dramatic, love, I’m romantic. A poet if you will.”

Feeling the fabric of her nightgown, I look down and tsk as I take in her look.

“You dare show up to my brother’s home dressed like this?”

Bending down, just the slightest, I hook my hands around her thighs and lift her up onto my hips.

“Now who’s the jealous one?”

I smile and squeeze her thighs. “So you were jealous..” I lay her down on the bed, hovering over top of her as I use a hand to push up her nightgown to her hips, exposing her glorious center. She makes fast work on undoing my belt and my pants and pushes them down my hips. I reach my hand down from her hip and guide myself to her entrance.

I start to slowly push in when a knock comes on the door. “Sorry to interrupt,” Follows a voice.

Both of us look over. I groan aloud and pull away before standing straight and shoving myself back into my pants. Sara’s moving to sit up, pulling her nightgown back down.

“Christopher..” I mutter.

“What? Not excited to see me?”

“Considering what you just broke up? No..”

He chuckles and leans against the threshold. “I’m here for business.. It’s important..”

I glance over at Sara and nod my head towards the door. I reach for her hand as she walks by and I pull her back. “Do not come upstairs until I tell you to, understand?” I say into her ear. “Stay away.” She meekly nods her head and I let her go.

I clear my throat when I catch him watching her as she leaves. He rolls his eyes and steps into the room. “Just one little nip..” He says.

“Touch her and I will kill you.”

“Exactly why I’m here,” Chris says as he walks over to the bed and sits down. “Well partially..”

“Alright,” I lean against the bedpost. “Why are you here then?”

“I have been sent here from London to investigate the recent murders along the eastern seaboard,” Chris says as he stands back to his feet.

“Well I can certainly tell you that it’s not me committing these murders, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

Chris chuckles but shakes his head. “I fully believe that you are not responsible for them,” He says. “You seem rather…occupied.” He says, directing his eyes towards the door that Sara left through. “I still don’t understand why you waste your time with a human..”

“Chris..”

“No, truly, Jacob.. What if you turn her and she becomes like one of the newborns? The newborn that happens to be terrorizing the East Coast as we speak.”

“I’m not turning her..” I say. “For that exact reason.. We are monsters, whether my brothers choose to believe the myths or not, that is what we are. How can I trust that she won’t be the same?”

Chris nods his head. “At least that we can agree on..” He runs a hand through his hair. “You are the most experienced dealing with newborns.. You know how they operate..”

“Considering we all were one once?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “And I assume that you are requesting my assistance in tracking down this newborn?”

“Yes.”

“Where do you need me then?”

Chris starts for the door. “The latest one was in Boston, I expect to see you there tomorrow morning.. I would suggest now, but seeing what I interrupted,” He smirks. “I suggest you get some use out of her because you will be gone for a while.”

He turns back around and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Rolling my eyes, I go back to sit on the bed. The collar of my shirt suddenly felt tighter around my neck. Grabbing at the fabric, I pull it apart and undo the cuffs of my sleeves.

A soft knock comes on the door and I turn my head to see Sara peeking her head in. I wave her over and she slips back into the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

“Chris is..” She clears her throat. “Interesting..”

“He is indeed,” I chuckle. I pull her onto my lap, my hands gripping her hips. “And didn’t I tell you not to come back up until I called you?”

“You should know by now, Jake,” She says. “That I do not listen very well.”

“Hmm..” I smiled at her. “I do know..”

“So what did he want?” She asks. “If I am allowed to know?”

I inhale and cock my head to the side. “There is a newborn killing up and down the East Coast. Chris has requested my help in catching this newborn.”

“Oh.. So you must be leaving soon?”

I nod my head. “He wants me in Boston by tomorrow morning.”

“That does not give us much time then,” She says.

“To do what?” I ask as I run my hands underneath her nightgown. “To make up?” She nods her head and I smile. “It’s plenty of time.. And besides, he’ll survive if I show up a little late.. A newborn can’t survive in the sun until they have the proper means to do so.”

“And what would that be?”

I bring my hand up to her face and rest my index finger against her lips. “You ask too many questions.. Stop wasting the limited time we have before I leave.”

“I’m only curious.”

“And I am only craving you.”

“Not worried your brothers might hear us?”

“They wouldn’t have to hear us if we’d been at our own home..” I say and she smiles. “Next time you decide to leave home, do not come here.”

“Afraid that Josh might try something?”

I chuckle. “No, I am not afraid that Josh will try something.. It’s Sam that I am afraid of.” I pinch her thighs and she gasps. “Now stop talking…”

if i have missed you and you would like to added to the taglist for this, please do not hesitate to comment or message me!

@losfacedevil @writingcold @edgingthedarkness @i-love-gvf @katuschka @josh-iamyour-mama (more tags in comments)

[pelibirdie]

"A brand new year to remember"

Relationship: Kuras x (GN) reader

A/N: squint and you will see some yearning and pining between the two. Burn so slow the meat is still raw.

That being said happy late birthday to my fucked up biblically accurate guilt ridden husband

Summary: it's Kuras's birthday. Though he is not a man of celebrations, you decide to still do a small gesture for him and keep him company for his birthday.

You lounged on the sides of the clinic. The harsh smell of ointment hung in the air as Kuras treated a burn mark left from a…rather explosive celebration from the night before. By no means was it a pretty sight, but you expected such a focused face from the doctor that stitched your arms back on. His pristine white coat laid on the chair he sat on when there was too many paperwork. His hair was tied back. You could hear nothing but the sharp breaths of the patient and the light chime of his earrings. 

Kuras was a strange man. Something about him stood out like the last star on a night sky. The cruel world you knew so far seemed to not have rubbed off on the man before you. To give out free treatments and walk the streets like nothing could ever harm him… was far too strange. But it brought you comfort and made you feel safer so you decided to spend your days in Eridia helping out in his clinic. Whatever small thing you could do to take your mind off of your curse. 

“Run the water please.” 

You nodded at Kuras and made your way to the small sink of the clinic, cleaning out the bowl of ointment and the scissors. Soon enough, Kuras also came by you to wash his hands off. 

“Something on your mind?’’ 

“Well,” 

“Goodbye, doctor! Happy birthday!” The bloodhound shouted as he left. 

“It’s your birthday?!” You stared at Kuras, eyes wide with interest. He seemed to avoid your gaze, golden eyes fixating on anything but you. “Yes. I’m afraid Leander is once again making a deal out of it.” He sighed as he sat down, letting his locks fall down his tall frame. “I do not have anything against my birthday, but I’m sure you are aware of my distaste towards all the cheap drinking and the Wet Wick. You need not make a big deal out of it. Please. Big celebrations get messy often.” 

You approached him slowly, standing before where he sat. “Alright, I’m not going to ‘make a big deal out of it’. However,’’ You placed a hand on his shoulder, gently swiping away one of the strands of hair off his collarbone. “I am still your friend. And I do think it’ll be nice to step out of the clinic for one night.”  A ghost of a smile crept up its way to the renowned doctors' lips. Kuras slowly took your hand, not removing it from his shoulder. Simply holding it as he stared into your eyes. 

You must look somewhat sheepish and nervous. Because the doctors’ face went cat-ish to your reaction. Eyes turning sharp with amusement. He always had eyes that stood out, bright, golden, unnatural but captivating nonetheless. “I’d be up for that. But only for the evening.” He leaned forward onto his desk resting his right elbow on the hard wood, still holding your hand without breaking eye contact. “You can leave if you please, I doubt the amount of people who made bad decisions when drunk last night is going to lessen in the coming hour or two.” You took a step towards the desk, slowly sitting on it to remain at a higher eye level than him. “Or the third, or the fourth,” you joked.

“So much for the yearly celebrations. I suppose Eridians know how to have fun every once in a while, no?”  

Kuras shook his head “Let them have it, people barely have a good time nowadays.” His eyes fell down again. A small silence followed his words. Only then you notice small changes in his frame, his messier hair, hands dyed in some herbs he used for the ointment, and eyes more tired than usual. “And I will be there to aid them whenever they do make bad desicions.” 

You slowly moved your hand to his arm, giving small caresses to his shoulder with your thumb. Your hands were covered with the bandages, but you also had the gloves you wore around the clinic on. You were used to giving fleeting touches, but these gloves were making you bolder. You cursed in your head, paranoia slowly creeping back into your head. You took your hand off of Kuras, getting up to grab your coat for the cold winter day waiting for you outside the clinics' doors. You smiled as you opened the door, feeling the wind on your skin.

“I’ll see you tonight, doctor.”

“Stay safe, (Y/N).”

The day went by concerningly fast as you went through the market, looking through herbs, scarves, trinkets…anything to get the doctor for his birthday. At least whatever you could afford for now. You looked at the pouch you got while walking back. Staring at the gift to ensure it is safe. You quickly made your way to the Wet Wick, asking Leander for a pen and paper. Soon, you are up in your room writing away. It doesn't occur to you that the sun has set until the Wet Wick starts getting unbearably loud. You run down with your jacket and your gift, dodging the crowd around the bar. “Hey (Y/N)! Have you seen Kuras?’ Leander called from the other side of the Wick, “No sorry!” was all you could shout before making it out of the Wet Wick. 

You sped through the streets. Though it was not safe to wander at night, you had hoped at least your pace and the lit-up streets would make getting to the clinic easier for you. But all thought came to a halt as you heard a wet, crunching noise. A noise of bones being broken and flesh being torn. A noise too familiar. Suddenly you were sprinting, checking behind you every once in a while until you ran face-first to someone. “I didn’t expect you to be this excited.” You breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his tall frame. Sensing you are shaken up, Kuras held you by your shoulders. “Be not afraid, I am here. Let’s walk towards more light.” 

“Ah, sorry about the scare Kuras. I heard something then-” 

“It is alright, (Y/N). What matters is you are safe.”

Conversation takes over the two of you as you walk and wander through Eridia. Seeing the Amaryllis District's colorful decorations from the celebrations before, sensing the strong smell of fried dough and hearing the shouts of vendors from the stalls, tasting some swirly eridian desert with cinnamon in it (though Kuras seemed to lose the pastry the moment he hold it, leaving you confused as you did not even see him take a bite) the night came to a calm point. 

So far you had discussed about Eridia, how you had somewhat adapted to the city, the celebration yesterday, and certain interesting things you noticed in Kuras’s practice. The conversation gave itself away to peaceful silence as you stood on the bridge between Hightown and Lowtown. Somewhere far in Hightown, you could hear the faint sound of a lute being played. The nights were much less chaotic here. 

“So, how old are you now?”

“Old.” 

“Oh come on, I know that already-”

“Oh are you saying I look old?”

“Kuras!” 

He chuckles to himself as he leans on one of the statues. The night is clear, the stars are bright, and the wind is gentler than it was that afternoon. You take out the pouch and the letter, holding them out to Kuras.

“Happy birthday, Kuras. I hope this year is better than the previous ones.” 

Kuras’s gaze meets your own, his golden eyes and jewelry contrasting the bright moonlight, his hair ticking his face and neck. Kuras looks almost glowing as he takes the items from your hands. “You didn’t need to.” “It was about wanting to. And I did. But please read that letter when I’m not around.” you scratched your neck and looked back at the sky. Kuras blinked, once looking at his full hands and then at you. Suddenly choosing to move much closer to you, until his white coat is touching the warm wool of the cloak he got you when you first came to Eridia. 

“Thank you. (Y/N). I have lost track of my many birthdays, but your presence makes this celebration one to remember.” 

…It felt quite warm all of a sudden. 

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

The Dragon's Gem (Malleus x GN!Reader)

Note: This banner will change in the future. I haven't had time to create a Halloween one yet. I meant to publish a Lilia fic today, but due to unforseen circumstances this week I was not able to complete it in time. I'm very sorry I've been slow lately - work has been something else. I hope to get the energy back sometime soon. My main goal is to finish the Beach Episode series, then move onto a mix of the Masquerade and Halloween events. Very late, I know, and I'm sorry. Please bare with me (I am very tired). Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this drabble in the meantime. Happy Halloween!!

“Is it real?”

“Hm?”

Malleus turned to face his beloved Child of Man. His pupils dilated at the mere sight of them, their glorious visage rivaling the most fantastic wonders of the world. To see that beautiful person staring down at his tail in their own wonderment made his heart swell all the more.

“Your tail,” they said, pointing to the appendage in question. “It doesn’t move like a fake one would, nor does it look like it’s made of plastic or something. So, is it real?”

“Yes, it is.” Malleus confirmed. “It is a part of my true form; I rarely reveal it, as it could be quite troublesome to others.”

“How so?”

Their genuine curiosity was adorable. Malleus could not help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Well, sitting at a desk would be a trifle. They are often closely packed together. Unlike, say, Kingscholar’s tail, it would be hard to tuck mine somewhere it wouldn’t get in the way.” Malleus’s smile then wavered as he continued. “That, and I am already greatly feared by most of the student body. I suppose I want to make myself appear less…monstrous around them.”

[Name]’s gaze softened, their lips down-turning along with their eyebrows. Malleus’s heart skipped a beat; he did not mean to make them sad! Before he could apologize, however, his Child of Man spoke again - softly, tenderly.

“I can’t say much for others, but you’re not a monster, Malleus.” Their hand came to rest upon his arm. The look in their eyes was sincere - the emotion so prominent it practically swept Malleus off his feet. “Tail or no tail, you’re just like the rest of us.” Finally, a smile graced their features once more. “Your features don’t make me love you any less.”

Love…could that be…? No - no, certainly not. The proclamation was far too casual to be a confession. That, and if they were to do such a thing, would it not be with some sort of gift in tow? It was the proper thing to do - at least that’s what Malleus had been taught. Could [Name]’s courting rituals be different in their world? Malleus would have to pry at a later date…but how to do so without being too forward?

“Malleus?” [Name] called softly, head tilted to the side. “Are you there?”

Malleus snapped out of his thoughts with a silent gasp. He quickly composed himself and smiled down at them. “Yes, I am alright - more than alright, actually. Your words have touched my very soul. Thank you for your kind words; I will try to remember them from now on.”

[Name] seemed relieved with his answer. They smiled and nodded, then retracted their hand from his arm. Malleus missed the contact immediately, but did not reach out for them. He would do so later, when the act would not seem to forward - too desperate. Oh, if only Lilia were here now; perhaps he could bestow upon Malleus some more wisdom if he were. Without him, however, Malleus would make due for the time being.

Malleus noticed [Name]’s eyes were back on his tail, a look of curiosity within them. The man’s smile widened a tad, eyes narrowed in amusement. He nudged his tail forward - he chuckled when [Name] flinched in surprise. How adorable they were.

“You are welcome to touch it, if you like.” Malleus’s next words were spoken with a mild teasing lilt. “I should warn you though: it could easily send you flying if you’re not careful.”

The Child of Man showed no hesitation in their smile or movements. Their eyes lit up with joy; their hands quickly found the scales of the tail, tracing each with their fingertips. It took all of Malleus’s being not to explode in a red flush at that moment - especially with the words that left his dear one’s lips.

“I’m not too worried; I know you won’t hurt me.”

No - Malleus could never even dream of it.

Perhaps Halloween outside of Briar Valley was just as enjoyable. Hopefully, in the near future, the prince could bring a precious gem back with him - if they would have him.

[sunsblaze]

Cont. || @gilded-sunrays

The flow of time would stop for no one, not for the virtuous, not for kings, nor those touched my the divine, time was a cruel mistress, something many tried to cling to only to rear back with blistering palms as it is ripped violently from tender hands.

A truth they had both come to learn through similar tales of not only love and loss, but betrayal. They had both been born with this curse- blessing and yet with such a gift they had still been unable to protect what truly mattered to them, they had been too late every single time. The contents of the future evaded her. Evaded them.

Her own days had been spent much the same, each day passing was filled an ebbing restlessness as her life began to stall leaving little for her to do in these day of involuntary retirement, though it wasn’t always like this, there had been a time where her days had been filled with warmth, shrouded in domestic bliss as she stood hand in hand with her husband.

They had been expecting, she spent their final days together nesting, preparing for the birth of their first child- a daughter, though as the moons leading up to labor came to pass everything she held dear would be ripped from her grasp. As her husband prepared for the morning journey he had to make to fetch a midwife, something made its move, striking the small family down, all she remembered was waking the next day, her hand clutching tightly onto her husband’s and intense pains wracking through her body.

Alone, she would give birth to a child that was destined to not breathe a single breath.

The coming days were a blur, she would not move from her husband’s side, instead she would lay there, the infant laying against her chest until a man she would soon know as Rengoku came to her, he had been in search of the creature that had snuffed her the lives of her family, he would help her back to her feet, help her put her loved ones to rest. Shortly after she made a decision, a vow to never have another suffer as she had, she would become a slayer and fight the shadows away with the burning determination of the sun itself.

For a handful of years she had kept busy, pushing forward as she fought tirelessly, following a path she had never truly wished to step foot on, but it seemed fate had other plans, this- being a demon slayer, it had been her destiny, she had found her purpose in that time and yet she seemed to lose it all the same.

Her own failure to cut down the demon lord, her allowing a demon to escape, and the betrayal of her own twin, it ended her time as a pillar and almost costed her life, many believed she should have atoned by committing sepukku, though both the young master and the flame pillar would not allow it, she would be given the mercy of exile- though was losing everything yet again really a mercy?

Nonetheless, she would take each day one at a time, hunting demons that lurked nearby, visiting the few loved ones she had left as her determination, her passions flickered and faded from a blazing inferno to a flickering candlelight. She often found herself doing the bare minimum for her survival, she would eat, drink, bathe, and tend to the repairs of her home.

That was until things would change around her…literally.

The sound of the teapot shattering was deafening in the still night and it was only accentuated by the seconds of silence that followed, the sounds of the woman’s gentle breaths filling the space between them. Though it was a rare occurrence, she was a bit shaken, she had almost killed this man, if she had been just seconds slower then his head would been sent rolling across the wooden boards beneath them.

While she awaited his answer she would just stare down at the man, her eyes the same shade of maroon as his, both like deep glasses of red wine- a finely aged vintage. For a second she had a thought that he might be a demon or that this was some kind of mirage, but it would only take her one glance to tell that not only was this real, it that he was just as human as she. Not only that, but he was her mirror image other than his more masculine features, she felt as if she were staring into a pool and on the other side laid a world so similar, yet different.

It made one wonder just how different things were on the other side.

As the man’s lips parted to speak a name- one that was all too familiar the woman would blink- she wasn’t exactly sure what to think at the moment, other than the fact that this man was her? Or was she him? It was all a bit complicated.

“…As am I.”

Her response was soft, her voice just as hushed as his own, as if this exact moment was so delicate that one word spoked too loud would shatter the world around them into a million pieces. She would make the first move, her hand. Bracing against his chest as she pushed herself to her feet before stepping to the side, a slender, yet calloused hand outstretched to him.

“I apologize for the disturbance, please, allow me to take care of the mess I have caused.”

[starrysnowdrop]

I know this is a little late, but here’s my New Year’s post where I’ll discuss what my plans are for 2025 and some of my thoughts heading into this new year. I’m assuming that I might be a little long winded, so I’ll put the rest under the cut. Have a happy 2025 everyone!!

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone who reached out to me after the attack in my hometown of New Orleans. As I mentioned before, no one I personally knew was there on Bourbon Street when it happened, but it nonetheless left me feeling extremely distressed, and everyone here in Nola is grieving together, so we are taking it one day at a time.

Because of the attack, I wasn’t in the right mindset to write out this post, but I’m finally alright enough mentally to get these thoughts out.

Next, spurned on by my new profile picture, I decided that I wanted to change up the look of my blog a bit. There’s lighter, brighter colors used, and along with the new colors, I decided to make some new banners for my pinned post. The new banners are already being used in my pinned post, but I’ll attach them below in case you haven’t seen them yet. The background is a painting of snowdrop flowers! Don’t worry, the starry banners that were there previously will still be used interchangeably with the new ones when I answer asks.

Speaking of Hali and her ships, I have plenty of things that I want to gpose and write for Hali, and at the moment I’m still going forward with Hali having two ships in separate universes, but I’m not going to lie: I’m extremely inspired to write for Hali x Themis at the moment.

So does that mean that I’ll drop the Aymeric ship in the future? Well, I don’t know that yet. I’m still very happy with what I’ve done for the Hali x Aymeric ship, and even in the Themisverse, Aymeric is her first love. The only difference is that Aymeric pushes Hali away so that she doesn’t have to be stuck in Ishgard with him when she’s an adventurer, so they never get together in the Themisverse. So Aymeric would still be a very important person who plays a very important role in Hali’s story regardless if they are in a relationship or not.

However, my mind just will not leave me alone when it comes to Themis. I currently want to explore Hali’s experiences with seeing Themis in her dreams and not knowing who he is or why she can’t stop dreaming of him, and also having a Deja vu feeling whenever she encounters Elidibus but neither of them recognizing each other nor remembering their past love for each other. And of course, there’s much to write about Hali’s personal story during the events of Pandaemonium when they start falling in love with each other.

On the gpose front, I already have made some great strides with getting back to doing some more complex posing and using some shaders and presets that broke in the DT graphics update that I FINALLY got around to fixing! So once my son is back in school and I have more free time to practice, I’ll be getting back to do more gposes and especially more Hali x Themis shippy stuff!! So please look forward to it!!!

Alright, so let’s move onto Yume and Zenos (her side blog is @firelightmuse). I’m going to continue housing Yume’s stuff on the separate side blog even though all of my other OCs will be on the main blog, and that’s because Yume’s story has some darker content and themes from her backstory and her relationship with Zenos that is very different from Hali’s story and what I’m planning on for Sohna’s story.

There’s already several WIPs on the Yume x Zenos front, and I will be going forward with what I’ve wanted to explore with Yume for a long time: Yume will be heading home to Hingashi and facing what’s happened to her home since she left over a decade ago. It’s a storyline that I’ve been planning for a few years now but I finally feel confident enough in where she’s at that I’m going forward with it finally. So there’s much more that will be coming out from Yume’s story this year, so once again, please look forward to it!!

And lastly but certainly not least, I’m still going to be exploring Sohna’s story and developing her relationship with Alphinaud, but that’s going to be slow going, because Sohna is from Tural, and her story is so tied up in Dawntrail’s MSQ that I don’t know how much of a role she will play in the events going forward. I do know that down the road I want her to join the Scions and obviously she will grow closer to Alphi, but I’m not sure how I want to approach all of that just yet. Just know that I still love them greatly and I’m excited to see how things progress this year!!

And with that, those are currently my plans for 2025, and I have so much on my plate that I want to accomplish, but I’m really motivated right now and I’m excited to start working on it all. If you’ve read this far, thank you so much for your time, and feel free to ask me anything that I didn’t cover here or if you want more details on something. Once again, thank you, and here’s to a Happy 2025!!!

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | wolfstar x reader

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 6 K Warnings: none Prompt: What will happen when you face a boggart on DADA? On top of that, it's finally the long awaited day, the quidditch trials, will you make it into the team? This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Chapter 7: "Peaceful Easy Feeling"

A week had flown by while at Hogwarts. You were becoming closer and closer to your Gryffindor classmates, and you couldn’t be happier. This morning James reminded you like four times that the quidditch trials would be later that day. He’d given you a list of the things you’d need and made sure you were aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be the only person to choose who made it to the team, so you had to fly as gracefully as you always did, and better. 

“You sure you’ve got everything ready?” He asked, yet another time as you walked towards the Great Hall after divination. 

“Yes James,” you replied exasperated “I’ve got my broom, and my goggles, and the cape you gave me, and Remus’ sweater from the other day –because he said it would be cold–, and Sirius’ goddamned lucky hair tie too.” 

“Excellent, At what time will I see you?” 

“4 pm,” he was about to say another thing “Seriously Potter, one more quidditch-related question and I won’t even show up,” you warned.  

He nodded “I was actually gonna ask you If I could copy your DADA homework?” He said with a guilty smile “I totally forgot with all the quidditch stuff and Moony is pissed at me because he reminded me of it every night but I forgot anyway.” 

You rolled your eyes but took out your parchment and handed it over. “You better change it a bit so Nightshade doesn’t find out, remember she’s really good at spotting stuff.” He nodded profusely. 

Your DADA teacher was very strict, absolutely charming, and elegant, but strict nonetheless. Last time she discovered someone had been copying someone else’s homework –Tom copying Beth’s– she took 10 points from each of them and gave them detention until they did the entire thing again. Thankfully Lily had been very participative in that class and the points she won almost balanced out the ones they’d lost. 

From your table, Remus was the first one to spot the two of you. He was sitting besides Sirius, and he waved as soon as he saw you, you smiled, and went to take a seat. 

“Where’s my hair tie?” Sirius asked as soon as he saw you. 

“Nice to see you too Sirius,” You said as you raised your arm and pulled the sleeve of Remus’ sweater back, waving your hand in the air to make its position obvious.

“No, no, no. You need to have it on your hair for it to work,” He said, you raised your eyebrows at him. “Here, I can do it for you.” He grabbed your hand, pulling his hair tie from your wrist and placing it on his, standing up behind you. He then started toying with your hair, brushing it back with his fingers. 

“What the hell is that wanker doing to your hair love?” Beth said, pointing at Sirius as she took a seat in front of you.

“Infusing luck into my hairstyle or something,” you shrugged and leaned in to grab a slice of pie from the table, but you were abruptly pulled back by Sirius' hand in your hair “Ouch!” you exclaimed, furrowing your brow in discomfort. You tried to turn your head towards Sirius to glare at him but he firmly grasped your head with both hands and guided it back to face forward “Sirius, stop pulling on my hair!”

“Why? Don’t you like it?” He teased in a flirty tone, fucking Sirius Black. 

“Oh course not, goddamnit!” 

“Well then! Stop moving until I’m done, Would ya?” 

You took a deep breath and attempted to nod, causing your hair to be pulled yet again, you winced. Deciding it was best to remain still, you shifted your gaze toward Beth, who offered you a sympathetic smile. When you finally stopped moving you used your wand to skillfully levitate the food towards your plate and gave a satisfying bite to a piece of fudge. Meanwhile, Sirius gently tugged at the left side of your head, and surprisingly, you found yourself relishing the sensation of his fingers playfully caressing your scalp. 

“Hey Potter,” You heard someone shout from the entrance, “See if you can catch this!” the person said before launching a quaffle towards your friend, who swiftly dodged the ball, leaving you in its way instead. You turned your head, feeling another pull from Sirius’ hands on your head but managed to kinda catch the ball as it hit you sharp on the stomach, pushing you back into Remus’ chest, who’d turned to hold you from falling further.  

It took you half a minute to get your breath back, and then you turned to the place the ball had come from, Sirius and James were angrily walking towards the person that threw the ball, it was the unhinged boy you saw sitting next to Regulus on the train. 

“What the hell Crouch?” Sirius seethed, “You could’ve hurt someone!” 

“Hey Volkov,” You heard James shout to a tall boy in Slytherin robes “Keep your dog on a leash, would you?” 

Barty just laughed in response “You cowards, you dodged the ball!” He said in between maniacal chuckles. 

Feeling a mix of frustration and exhaustion from the hit, You let your head fall on Remus’ shoulder -who was still holding you– and took a deep breath to compose yourself. Finally deciding to intervene, you stood up and strode towards the confrontation. As you glared at the Slytherin boy who had thrown the ball, his laughter started to cease, being replaced by an uncomfortable expression. In hindsight, it might have been a reckless move, you could’ve easily gotten caught for it, but there were no teachers around at that particular moment. 

“What the fuck?!” He said after the ball fell on the floor, thick red liquid dripping from his nose “You b*tch!” He roared before he launched himself towards you, being stopped by the towering Volkov boy and Regulus, who’d just arrived at the scene. 

“Oops, I guess I threw it the wrong way,” you taunted sarcastically. “Maybe if you were as good at dogging as my boy Potter here,” you said pointing at James “you wouldn’t have ended up in that pathetic situation.” With a dismissive flick of your hair, you turned on your heel and walked back to your table, Sirius’ made ponytail swaying behind you. 

Volkov and Regulus practically dragged Crouch out of the Great Hall before James and Sirius finally returned to their seats beside you. You looked at your food with a frown, the hit of the quaffle right in your stomach had taken your appetite away, so you just grabbed your goblet and drank some of the apple juice you’d served yourself earlier. 

“You alright?” Remus asked, concerned. 

You nodded, Sirius walked back, looking guilty, and sat down beside you “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“For what?” you frowned, confused.

“I could’ve tried to stop the ball, and all I did was yank your head for you to see it.” 

“Aww… Sirius is worried about me,” you teased, trying to lighten up the mood “I’m good tho, you do remember I’m a quidditch girl, right? I’m used to getting hit by quaffles.” Sirius shook his head with a little smile forming, “Besides, it was Potter who left me in the line of action,” you emphasised "Potter" so that he would hear you. He turned to you mortified. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned to you frantically “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t calculate you were behind me, I’m a seeker, dodging is almost all I do.” 

You looked at him with a frown and then laughed, letting your head fall back. James looked completely distraught. “It’s fine James, I was only teasing you.” 

Lily gave James a look of disdain “But you should’ve caught it,” she said before pulling a list from her bag “Now, changing the subject, these are going to be the extra-curriculars for this year.” She placed the list in the centre of the table. 

You leaned in to take a look, “Apparition?” You asked, “On 6th?” 

Beth nodded “I’ve been waiting for this course since 1st, they say Dumbledore is the teacher sometimes.” 

“I’m up for that one,” you said, and Lily wrote your name next to apparition. 

“You can still choose something else since apparition is only a 12-week course.” 

“Uh… Magical Theory?” You asked, looking through the list. 

“It’s for creating spells,” said James. 

“We’ve been taking it since 3rd,” Remus chimed.

“You’d probably like it,” concluded Sirius. 

“I’ll take that one too, then.” You told Lily, who wrote your name on it, “Though Ghoul studies sounds good too.” 

“Oh, well, the times clash, but if you want you can come to the Tuesday class with me?” She offered with a smile. You nodded, and then she continued asking the rest of your classmates about their selection for the year. 

Once she was done, everyone stood up and you all walked together to your Defence Against the Dark Arts Class. The teacher had moved all the chairs and tables to the back of the room, leaving a large empty space in the middle of the room. 

Professor Nightshade was leaning on her desk, looking as graceful as ever, with a little smirk as everyone walked in. “Today, we will be learning how to deal with Boggarts.” The atmosphere in the room quickly became tense. “Mr. Pettigrew, please step forward.” 

Peter gulped and walked towards Seraphina, who whispered something in his ear. He nodded, still with a worried look and the professor walked towards a large chest she’d placed at the front, opening it. Some mist came out and it started to transform into a giant rat trap. 

You heard Sirius burst out into a laugh from behind you, James jabbed him with his elbow and gave him a warning look. Sirius nodded, giving James an apologetic look. 

“Riddikulus!” Said Peter from the front, and the cheese on the trap started growing and growing until it ripped through the cage and caused it to break down. Everyone laughed, causing the boggart to sink back into his chest.

“Excellent work Mr. Pettigrew!” She said and called Beth to the front. When the boggart came out it turned into a huge piece of magical chess, a knight with a giant sword, lunging at her.

She looked to the side, placing her hand over her hand in instinct, “Riddikulus!” She half screamed, the sword became an air balloon and the horse had turned into a cute Merry Go Round one instead. Everyone laughed at it. 

 Seraphina urged everyone to make a line, and soon enough everyone was facing their own boggart. Sirius dressed his mother in a childish way, with ponytails and everything, Remus made the moon blow up into hundreds of sparkly confetti. Lily turned a Death Eater into a clown. And then it was your turn.

Lily gave you a thumbs up as you walked closer to your teacher, “What do you expect to see?” She asked you calmly. 

“I… I don’t know, not sure how a boggart would represent loneliness,” you said, trying to add a bit of humour to the situation. She nodded and walked towards the chest, asking with a rise of her eyebrows if you were ready, you nodded. Soon the dark mist turned into the creature from your nightmares. You stared at it in shock, it looked as imposing and dangerous as it did in your dreams, and then it growled. 

From the back of the room, Remus gave a worried look to his friends. “How can she–“ started Sirius. 

“–be scared of Moony?” finished James with a frown. 

“We haven’t even had a full moon since she got to the castle. There’s no way she’s seen him.” Whispered Peter. 

You took a while to react, Seraphina was about to intervene but you raised your wand and whispered “Riddikulus!”. As you steadied your breaths the giant creature started becoming smaller, turning into a small little chihuahua dog, causing the entire class to burst into a laugh. 

Tom walked from the side and placed an arm over your shoulder, still laughing “That was brilliant (Y/L/N). Didn’t expect you to be scared of werewolves, tho.” 

You turned your head back to the place where the boggart had stood earlier “That- That was a werewolf?” 

Tom nodded “We saw them last year on DADA, it's a short chapter, but that’s exactly what they look like.” 

You frowned, trying to acknowledge the information. You took a deep breath and went to take a seat, Lily walked towards you then, “You ok?” She asked. She already knew about Remus’ condition and wanted to ask if he was alright too, but he was already having a hushed talk with the boys. 

“That was it.” You said, “It’s the creature from my nightmares!” 

Lily stayed next to you, rubbing circles on your back, taking quick glances at Remus every couple of minutes. So far, Remus and you had hit it off well, in fact, you’d gotten closer to the boys in a week than most people had in the 5 years they’d been together. 

Meanwhile, Remus’ head was in a whirlwind. While James, Peter and Sirius discussed how it was possible that your boggart had been Moony he couldn’t stop himself from going down a self-destructing hole. His new friend was scared of him because he was nothing more than the scary monster Witches told their children about at night. He was the boogie man of the wizarding world. 

When the class was over, Remus excused himself and went straight into the common room, you’d had enough time to relax along with Lily and decided to approach the boys, pulling out your quidditch gear from your backpack. You frowned when you noticed someone was missing “Where did Remus go? I thought he was going to come see the try-outs.” 

“He said he was feeling a bit shaken,” said Peter and started walking, being quick to change the topic “You feeling ready?” 

“I was born ready,” you answered cockily, tightening the ponytail Sirius had made for you earlier. As if cue he walked closer to you and grabbed a stray hair from the braid he’d done on the side of your head and set it back in its place. You were still getting used to Sirius’ touchiness, so you cleared your throat “James, you took my broom to the pitch earlier, right?” you asked, he nodded in response. 

As you arrived at the imposing field, you saw a long table placed close to the bleachers, Potter and Sirius walked towards the table taking a seat next to Marlene, and a tall curly-haired boy who you identified as the Gryffindor Head Boy. 

“Gather 'round everyone!” Shouted Marlene, all the kids that aspired made a line in front of the table. 

Both older and younger kids stood next to you, all looked eager to show off their flying skills to the Gryffindor team. 

James stood up, and everyone became quiet, he smiled “All right lads, first we’re testing speed.” He said with a smile “Grab your brooms, and do three laps around the castle.” 

You nodded, hovering over the air in a line, along with the rest of the students trying out. Marlene and Sirius went up in the air towards key spots before James gave you the sign to go. You took off and went straight towards the first mark line. James and Teddy had charmed golden light hoops in the air that you had to pass through if you wanted your laps to count. As you were flying you saw Sirius marking the speed of the players with a chronometer and Marlene making sure everyone was following the rules. You were the first one to get back to the pitch, followed by a brunette girl with an athletic build. 

“(Y/LN), Davis! Excellent job,” said Teddy when he saw the two of you arrive. 

The rest of the kids arrived one by one afterwards. James smiled, as Sirius and Teddy talked in the back, writing notes on the parchments. “Excellent job everyone, now it’s time for the next exercise. You will be playing a tag game.” He said as Teddy came forward and handed each of you a handkerchief. “The game is simple, you will place the handkerchief on your belt. And the rest of the players will try to take it from you. If you lose your handkerchief, you’re out. You will be evaluated on how much you last, and how many handkerchieves you get in the end. The court is the limit, like in a quidditch game. If you fly off limits, you’re out of the game. Any questions?” 

A smaller boy raised his hand “What if someone pushes us?” 

James nodded “Great question! Same rules as quidditch will apply for this game. Sirius and Marlene will make sure you’re not committing any fouls. Your game starts in 3…2…1… Go!” 

You were in the air in an instant. Far higher than everyone else, to get a good view of everyone. You spotted the boy who’d asked the question earlier and you dived straight towards him, passing by him, swiftly taking his handkerchief in your hands before he even noticed he was out, you took a break right before hitting the ground and continued speeding in the lower parts of the court, passing over the table where Teddy and James were sitting, causing some of his parchments to fly around, Sirius laughed when he noticed. 

“Show Off!” James shouted at you as he adjusted his glasses and rearranged the parchments with a wave of his wand. 

As you flew off, you turned back to give him a small wink and located your next target, a red-haired boy that looked about your age, you assumed he was a seventh year since you hadn’t seen him in your classes. You propelled yourself forward and shot up like an arrow in his direction, dodging the Davis girl as she attempted to claim your handkerchief. You took the redhead’s handkerchief in the blink of an eye and continued flying in circles like a hawk, placing yourself in the highest spot. 

You saw Davis turn to you, a smirk on her face as she shot upwards, thinking you hadn’t noticed. But you dived down straight towards her, like a game of chicken. Neither of you broke off the path until you were almost touching each other. Everyone was staring in awe and worry at the two when you turned your whole broom upside down, passing right beneath her and taking her handkerchief. She landed shortly after, still stunned by your manoeuvre, sitting along the Redheaded boy and establishing a chat. 

By now, most players had been taken out by the few that were left on the field. A younger-looking boy, who flew gracefully to avoid being taken out. A heavier girl with blonde hair that was looking around trying to find someone to catch and Tim, a boy from your class whom you weren’t particularly close with. You dove for him as the younger boy flew towards the blonde girl. You got Tim’s handkerchief, but the smaller younger boy had been faster to take the girl’s cloth and went straight for you, too fast for you to notice. Taking it seconds after you’d outed Tim. You saw him swiftly pass in front of you and waved with a smile and your handkerchief in his hand, before he flew towards James and the rest of the team, you followed behind him, shaking your head as you admired the boy’s skill. 

By the time you got down, everyone was taking their handkerchiefs out. You had taken a total of 4, and tied with Davis, who also had gotten four. The smaller boy, who’d taken yours, had 6 handkerchiefs, counting his own. 

“Gale! That was brilliant!” Marlene praised him. He smiled at that, meanwhile Teddy and James were busy talking to each other. 

After a couple of minutes James stepped forward “Now we’re testing for keepers’ abilities,” he said motioning towards the hoops, One by one you’ll take turns, Teddy, someone chosen randomly and I will be trying to score, while Mckinnon and Black will be doing their job and trying to throw you off your brooms with the bludgers. It’ll be like a quidditch game, except, you will only have yourself to defend the goals, and maybe a little help from beaters, who will also attempt to throw the bludgers at us… Questions?” No one said anything “Fantastic! (Y/LN), you’ll be scoring with me and Teddy in the first couple of rounds, Davis, you’re defending.” 

As you flew into the air you saw James throw the ball towards the left hoop, Davis saw it coming and he blocked it with his broom, you dived for the ball and once you had it you saw a bludger coming in your direction, you flew downwards and threw the ball to Teddy, who scored. You turned towards Sirius, who had batted the bludger towards you with a reproaching expression. “Sorry love,” he mouthed before flying towards the other bludger, shooting it at Davis, who managed to dodge it but left an opening for James, who had the quaffle, to score. By the end of his time, the girl had successfully blocked around 70% of the shots. 

Next up, was the redhead boy you’d taken the handkerchief from. You were still playing as a chaser, but Teddy was switched by Davis, so now the two of you were working as a team, and damn did you make a mean team. Davis passed the ball when she saw an opening and you scored several times, so did she. James was impressed by your coordination, especially after the chicken game you’d played in your brooms in the tag exercise. The redhead stopped around 50% of your shorts. 

With the next person they kept the same player set, and Tim managed to stop around 70% of your shots. The more you and Davis played together, the better the two became at guessing each other's shots. You already knew James well enough, so the three of you as chasers made an amazing team. Eventually, James switched with Teddy, and the three of you were almost unstoppable, leaving everyone with a 50% or less block rate. Gale, the boy who’d taken the handkerchief from you, was up, and he was good, he stopped almost 90% of the shots. When it was your turn, James made you switch places with Gale. 

He was a great chaser too, probably as good as he was as a keeper. Coordinating fantastically well with Teddy and Davis. As you stood your guard, you saw a bludger coming straight towards you, propelled by Marlene’s skillful shot, you instantly knew Gale would attempt to seize the opportunity and score, just like James had done earlier. So locked your gaze on him and as the bludger closed in on you, you swiftly manoeuvred your broom backwards, gaining the necessary traction to execute a handstand atop the handle, allowing the bludger to whizz through the narrow space between your head and the broom while your suspended legs propelled the quaffle aside, successfully blocking Gale's shot.  

The strain on your arms intensified, and gravity tugged at your legs, urging you downward. Acting swiftly, you yanked your broom, executing a seamless 180 until it was once again nestled between your legs. You heard some of the spectators from the bleachers gasp and cheer when they saw your manoeuvre. Shifting your focus back to the chasers, their impressed expressions fueled your determination. Gale, in particular, was so stunned he momentarily froze, until Teddy hurled the quaffle towards him jolting him back into action.

He grabbed the quaffle and attempted to score again, you blocked the shot with the back end of your broom. By the end of your time, you started getting a bit more tired, the sky was getting dark and the cold was kicking in. You started feeling sluggish, your hands were so cold you cursed yourself for not bringing gloves, and they hurt from gripping your broom so tightly. 

With all of the factors combined, you became slower, you had been flying for at least 4 hours at this point and you hadn’t flown that much since the past June or something. Eventually, the chasers managed to score like 3 times. One after you got a cramp on your left hand, and tried to shake it off, the other one when Teddy did a sick feint, making you think he would score and shoot the ball to Gale, who scored from the other side. In a real game, that goal would’ve been disqualified since the two of them were in the zone, but today, it counted because it was practice. The last one was because Sirius shot a bludger to your face and you ducked, flying towards the left hoop where Davis had shot the quaffle, but even as you stretched your arm, it didn’t reach on time. You blocked a few more shots made by the three of them and James called the end of your turn, letting everyone come down towards the grass. In the end, you had managed to block about 95% of the shots, according to the redhead boy, who was animatedly talking with Tim. 

You were so tired that you decided to lean onto your broom, using it as support as James spoke “All right, if you hear your name, please step forward,” he said before adjusting his glasses and grabbing onto a list “Tim Klum, Lucas Platanis, Anne Davis, Gale Thomas and (Y/N)(Y/LN).” You all took a step forward. “Tim, Lucas, you’re gonna be on reserve, mainly as chasers, but McKinnon and Black will train you as beaters in case any of them can’t make it to the match.” 

“Davis,” he said looking at the blonde girl “You’ll be a chaser.” She nodded and jumped excitedly. “And finally, Gale and (Y/N), you’re as good as each other, you were both excellent chasers and keepers, Gale you proved to have more resistance, especially towards the end when (Y/N) looked a lot more tired, but she had a better block to shot ratio than you did on the keeper test, which is why, she’ll get to decide which position she’d like to play.” 

You looked at him with your eyes opened wide, and he nodded in reassurance, a soft, ecourging smile accompanying his nod “I- um…” you stammered. “I think I’ll be a keeper?” 

James nodded “It’s settled then. You may go rest.” 

“Hey (Y/LN),” called Teddy “You’d make a really mean seeker, you know that right?” 

You smiled “I was a seeker in my older school,” you told him politely “And I can totally cover for James should he need it, but I’m pretty thrilled with the idea of being the keeper for the team. I like a good challenge.” 

“All the keepers from the other teams are boys,” he informed “You will need to perfect your resistance and be extremely careful when we play Slytherin, they won’t hold their shots just because you’re a girl.” 

You were taken aback “I sure hope they don’t!” You responded, “It’d be too boring.” 

He smiled at that and gave you a pat on the shoulder “I’m excited to have you on our team.” 

Once Teddy left you to go talk to Gale, Marlene approached you, with a huge grin on her face “You made it!” She said as she grabbed your shoulders, “And you’re so fast too!” She praised. 

“Thanks,” you said with a blush creeping up your cheeks, yeah, you may be able to be cocky on the playing field, but when someone you admire praises you like that, you will get shy, it’s how the world works. 

“Oh,” she grabbed onto your arm and linked it with hers “I’ll be so refreshing to have you on the team, although you’ll see Potter can sometimes get a bit in the control maniac mood, especially when we’re close to a game.” 

“Don’t talk shit about others behind their back, Marlene!” You hear James shout from the table, as he was packing up the stuff. 

“He heard that?” You asked with a frown. 

 She shook her head “He just knows me well.” 

As you continued walking Peter, Lily and Mary joined you, “It was brilliant, that backflip? I’d never seen someone do it in school!” Peter mused as he walked beside you. 

“I– thanks!” you mustered.

You frowned as you looked through the field “Remus didn’t make it?” You asked, Peter and Lily exchanged an awkward glance between the two of them “Is he still feeling off?”

Lily was quick to nod “he said it might have been the food.” 

You frowned, neither you, nor Remus had eaten that much, and you were pretty sure you’d both had only a couple of bites of the same Shepard pie, so whatever he had, wasn’t because of the food. But you decided to push the thought to the back of your mind. You arrived at the great hall shortly after, with Peter going over the highlights of the tryouts, praising you over and over, and mentioning how excited he was for the first game with the new line-up. 

When you arrived he started telling Beth about it, who hadn’t been able to go because she was still in detention with Professor Nightshade. “And then she did this freaking amazing handstand-backflip, dodging the bludger Marlene had shot at her, AND–“ he paused dramatically “blocking the god damned quaffle Gale had shot. It was brilliant Beth, you should’ve seen it.” 

“Oi, wormy, stop talking about her like she’s a freaking superhero, it’s gonna get on her head,” said Sirius as he placed his arm over your shoulders “She’s already pretty haughty as it is.” 

You turned to him with a fake offended expression “Haughty? But look who’s talking?” 

“I’m not haughty!” 

“Sirius, you might be the cockiest person I know.” 

“Well, then, we’ll make quite a pair,” he said with an air of disdain. 

Once sitting at the dinner table you grabbed a couple of desserts and placed them on your plate. James raised his eyebrows as he motioned towards it “Only sweet stuff?” 

“I’m knackered,” you complained “I need this, urgently.” 

He raised his hands in surrender. “Just curious.” 

You nodded and gave a bite to your scone. Moaning from how freaking good it was. “The elves outdid themselves today.” 

“Or you’re just hungry,” said Sirius, you pulled another scone and shoved it in front of his face, and he gave it a small bite. He moaned too, taking the scone from your hands and eating it by himself. 

“You were saying?” He rolled his eyes with a little smile in response, nudging you with his shoulder. 

While that exchange was happening Mary leaned down to whisper something at Lily “They’re even feeding each other now!” She said in a half excited tone. 

Lily turned to her “Stop it! They’re gonna hear you.” 

Once you were done eating, and realised Remus hadn’t made it down for dinner,  you grabbed a couple of scones and toast. Since you didn’t know what Remus liked on his toast with, you grabbed all the spreads and put them on different sections of the toast, making a very funny-looking and colourful piece of bread. You placed a piece of bread on top and then put everything on a cloth napkin. 

James had gone to talk to Teddy and everyone was still eating, so you excused yourself, “Imma head back now,” you said to Lily, “kinda tired.” She nodded in acknowledgment and waved you goodbye. It took you a couple of minutes to get to the fat lady’s portrait but once there you whispered the passwords and walked into the common room. You spotted Remus sitting in front of the fireplace with a blanket over him, his legs bent and his arms wrapped around them, staring at the fire as if it were the most interesting thing.

“Hey!” You said with a smile “Lily told us you were feeling off.” 

He looked up at you, and nodded “How did you do?” 

You walked over, sitting almost beside him “I made it to the team,” you smiled “Peter can’t stop talking about it. I think I surprised him with a little trick I did.” 

“Congrats!” 

“I brought you this,” you said raising your hand with the napkin on top, “they said it might have been your stomach, some sweets could make you feel better.” 

He smiled “Thank you,” he said “I was a bit shaken by the boggart, I guess.” 

You nodded “I can relate.” He winced but you didn’t notice as you were looking at the fire. “The scones are out of this world,” you said as you handed the napkin over to him. He unwrapped the knot at the top and grabbed one of them, giving it a bite and smiling. 

“Mhmmm…” 

You smiled “Told ya,” you took a deep breath and let yourself fall on top of the rug. Placing your hands under your head for support. “Sometimes when I’m feeling bad, I like looking at the sky.” 

He chuckled, “I’m not such a big fan.” 

“You don’t like stargazing?” You asked, frowning and turning your head back to look at him. 

“No, I- do like stars,” he corrected “but I sometimes find all the other stuff, a little anxiety-inducing.”

“Only stars then,” you said, smiling as an idea popped in your head. You pulled your wand and started launching bright balls of light to the ceiling, recreating the night sky as best as you remembered. 

Eventually, he let himself fall on the rug beside you, “What are you doing?” He asked. 

You smiled mischievously and pointed at the candles that surrounded the room “Nox,” you whispered, suddenly the lights at the top of the ceiling were the only visible thing, making it look like a clear night sky “There you go, only stars.” 

Remus laughed, “You know, they’ve got a similar thing on the Ravenclaw tower.” 

“Do they? Is it as pretty as mine?” 

He laughed, “Theirs was cast by Rowena Ravenclaw.” 

You chuckled “Well, theirs might be prettier, but this one?” you pointed at the ceiling “this one is ours.” You had replicated the night sky as best as you remembered, but you’d also added several stars that didn’t really exist, one for each one of your friends, and they were the brightest.

“That’s yours,” you said pointing at one of them “That one is Peter’s, next to James’, obviusly. Sirius is on Canis Major,” you said, drawing the lines in between the stars with your wand. “But he’s brighter than the rest,” you said, since you hadn’t added an extra star for him, just made his brighter. 

Remus chuckled “He is indeed.” There was a comfortable silence and Remus spoke again “And you?” 

“Me? I guess I didn’t make myself one.” 

He then grabbed his wand and threw a small but bright light towards the ceiling. 

“A comet?” You asked as you realised the trail of light trailing behind the star he’d created.  

“I’ve always found them intriguing. They appear suddenly, blazing across the sky,” He said, “kind of like the way you showed up, out of nowhere.” 

You laughed “Well, at least they’re pretty, even if fleeting.”

“But you won’t be,” he said pointing at the comet he’s created, “It’ll circle through the rest of the stars you made, forever.” 

You took a deep breath, realising how fast you’d been accepted by Hogwarts and your new friends. They had all been so kind, guiding and welcoming. Never leaving you out, even inviting you to clubs and other reunions they had created long ago. You knew the fact that you’d met Sirius before was of great help, but in this moment, you realised, that even without meeting him, Remus, and James and Lily and Marlene and everyone would’ve been just as welcoming. You remembered a line from a book you’d read long ago “Profound connections can be formed in the briefest of encounters.” 

It happened with Sirius during your vacation, and now it was happening here in Hogwarts too. And you smiled, looking at the sky you’d created. Moving to England might have been one of the best things to ever happen to you. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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Raead more Marauders Fiction

A/N: My sweet boy Remus deserves the world. Barty is a little deranged, but thet's why we love him, I'm sure he'll hold a grudge for what happened, though. Little sneak peak: next episode is gonna be spicy, so stay tuned <3

[lorelune]

part o - part iii

|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 16.2k  || ao3 || masterlist || NEXT →

You return to Mondstadt after many years away, sick, with an feeling that's all-too familiar and unwelcome.

❁ my heart, your song - @firein-thesky ❁

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: AH!! here it is :'^) the diluc fic!!!! thank you so much to @itoshisoup for beta reading (along with my non-tumblr pals han & ennis as well!!) this section contains four chapters, separated by partitions. if you'd prefer to read this fic with the chapters/parts separated, it will be posted as such on ao3!

this fic is a collab with the lovely cielo (@firein-thesky)!! our fics share a mostly canon compliant universe :3c give it a read!! it's linked above!!!

...

tags: alcohol use, descriptions of vomiting, reader with chronic injury, reader is referred to as 'little sister' by kaeya (not related), unreliable narrator/reader, soggy soggy SOGGY diluc, protective diluc, diluc and reader were childhood friends to lovers, reader is a healer

PART o: kismet

Once, on one of your several trips to Sumeru, you visited the Akademiya. You only went to poke at dusty books and sit in on a few lectures as a wanderer who liked a good story and a bit of learning. There, you met a scholar whose name didn’t stick with you, from the Rtawahist darshan.

They had the far-off look in their eye of someone who had seen a bit too much, for who they were. You knew that some scholars went mad in their pursuit of knowledge. Saw things that they couldn’t cope with even if they tried. Your new friend looked to be close to such a threshold.

Perhaps, in an act of pity, you took this scholar out for a drink. Or two. Or seven. The exact number of cups and goblets escapes you now. But what you do remember, as you sat together on a terrace high above Yazaha pool, legs swinging, was their ramblings. 

“There’s a map of everything, up there.” They gestured wildly to the sky, twinkling and bright, with the moon as company. “Deciphering it... Well. That’s another thing. But it’s there. And if we figure it out, fate will be in our hands to know.”

They continued, stretching their hands to the cosmos above them, as if their fingertips could decipher the orchestration of the Gods with nothing but passion, wine, and will. It was admirable, in your drunken state. Perhaps foolish to your sober mind. 

Nonetheless, such an idea stuck with you. Even after you departed from your bygone friend, and continue your wanderings, you think about it. You laid on your bedroll more than once, staring upward, and wondering—

Why did the gods mosaic the sky? 

You are just a mortal, how are you to know? You tried not to dwell on that specific thought. The one you find yourself coming back to, in your worst nights—

(If I could read the stars, and foresee a tragedy, is there any way for a calamity to be stopped? If you knew fate’s charted course, the crest of its fortune and the wake of its tragedies— could you circumvent them?)

(Could you have stopped your calamity?)

It was a self-deprecating thought, and it dragged you back to a place and time that was both unpleasant and unnecessary to recall. 

There’s no way to change the past, you reminded yourself. You could only move forward. Never back. You only balked at the stars in your weakest moments and pondered such ideas like fate and destiny. You could live in the illusion of carving your own destiny as you traversed Teyvat. One where you wrapped gauze around wounds after the disaster had passed. Heal sullied ground. You could do everything you could to help people. That was enough, you decided early on in your travels. 

You’d help people (and avoid the nation Mondstadt). Simple enough.

One foot in front of the other.

PART i: there’s a puzzle we crafted

You’re tired. 

So tired. 

It’s a merciless type of exhaustion that you rarely, if ever, let yourself slip into. To wander Liyue’s peak and narrow paths in such a condition is dangerous, even if the Millelith and Guild did a decent job keeping settlements of Hilichurls suppressed. In general, you can take down slimes on your own— except when you find yourself this deliriously tired. 

Normally, you don’t even bother traveling in this state. You would drag yourself to the nearest village, throw some mora at a layperson and set up shop wherever they had space. Be that an inn, back room, or stable— you aren’t picky. As long as you could rest for a few days, perhaps help out the village in your spare time. 

Your most recent wanderings, however, took you far onto the Yaoguang Shoals for several days, and by the time you returned to solid, proper earth, you were desperately low on essentials. Your nearest respite was an old village crawling with Hilichurls. Your next best option would be a miniature expedition onto the shores of Dragonspine and hope the cold wouldn’t kill you before you could find shelter and stoke a fire.

So, you keep going.  

All the way past Stonegate and the quarries beyond it. You’re only half-lucid as you wander into Mondstadt for the first time in years. 

You roost in an abandoned cottage some ways down the road. Finally resting for the first time in days. Never mind your still-damp bedroll or the structural unsoundness of the ruin. You practically fall to your knees and pass out, given your state.

(Running has made you tired, hasn’t it?)

When you awaken, you ache. (Familiar). You nibble on the last of your rations and it hits you—

You’re back in Mond, aren’t you?

Archons.

You should leave, really. It’s your first thought when you realize where you are. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not even near the city proper, but a panic unfurls in your chest like you’ve been struck. You immediately begin to pack up your things—

Two things hit you then:

One: You’re far lower on supplies than you had thought. 

This isn’t a new development, however. It’s just far worse than you thought. You paw at the contents of your bag, realizing that the dried zaytun peaches and jerky you had for breakfast were the last of your rations. The weather had been poor across Liyue in the past weeks, and many of the normal markets you would’ve run into were shuttered because of it. Regardless, you didn’t think you were on your last fucking morsels. 

Deep in your bag, all you have is a torn, unusable tarp and a pitiful handful of the crystalline shards you used to purify water. 

You don’t even need to look at your medicine kit to know the paltry state it’s in. Far too many empties. 

Two:  A burning sensation that splits you wide open and threatens to eat you alive. 

You barely twist your foot the wrong way. Hardly at all. Regardless, something like liquid electro shoots from the twisted (broken, mutilated—) parts of your right foot, up your thigh, and shakes you down to your bones. 

You stumble, using the wall for support and keeping your weight off the injury. It shouldn’t be aggravated this early in the day. You shake it off from your ankle, lowering yourself to the dirt floor to massage out any of the tension and subsequent pain that you can. You’ll be able to walk, surely, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny that the old injury isn’t worsening over time. 

You remember, vaguely, hearing tell that there was a skilled healer in Mond once again. Younger, a Vision-bearer in the Church, maybe? 

You know enough about the Church of Favonius that they would at least look at your injury, if this half-remembered healer really does exist and is affiliated with them. 

You hate that Mondstadt seemed like the best option. 

(Later, you’ll realize it’s all a bit like fate, pushing you toward that stupid city.)

You find yourself at a loss, shake your head, and sigh, “... I guess it wouldn’t... really be so bad to visit.”

You’ll just stay for a day or two.

...

Mondstadt’s front gate is so familiar it nearly hurts. The guards have different faces than the ones you remember from your youth. Their demeanor is the same— kind, open, like how people from Mond tend to be. They don’t hound you too much as you pass, and you enter the city without issue. 

Midday sun lights Mondstadt proper when you arrive (your journey from the quarries took a bit longer than necessary, considering your route went wide around a particular plot of land that you refused to go near.)

The city bustles with noise and activity. Merchants line the streets, carts and stalls overflowing. Seafoam banners and floral wreaths hang along the stone arches and walls, while garlands of fresh flowers stretch from building to building. The scent of fresh flowers, baking bread, and sweet wine envelopes you.

Windblume, you remember. It is spring, after all.

You hope the crowds of the festival will help you blend in as you meander through the city. You keep your head down, counting cobblestones and being quick with your purchases. Better to get in and out, probably. If you can snag a new tarp and bedroll, you could set up across the bridge for the night, and be gone by morning if you could track down that healer within the afternoon too. 

As you walk up the main run of Mond proper, toward the fountain and the smell of warm spiced meat, someone, archons, gasps from behind you and says your name.

(Later, you’ll recall this moment. Perhaps kismet turned on its axis for you to still and—)

You freeze, going stiff. You’d know that voice anywhere. Sweet and teasing, curling down your spine in a way that feels both ambiently flirtatious and horribly familiar. 

Part of you screams to ignore her. Let her think she has the wrong person and continue your journey in Mond unimpeded by an old specter. You could be out the gates in a number of hours, if not minutes if you really need to (run, run, run).

But, there’s a temptation. It breathes itself alive, from the back of your mind to the front, entirely unavoidable. 

(How long has it been since you’ve seen a familiar face? One that you know instead of just recognizing?)

You turn slowly. “... Hi, Lisa.”

...

And, somehow, you end up in the Knight’s of Favonius headquarters, with a perfectly warm cup of tea in your hands, nestled in a library you hadn’t been inside for nearly a decade. It smells of old parchment and leather. Steam rises from your cup, fragrant with Sumeru rose and Guili cinnamon stick with black tea leaves. You recall the scholars of the Spantamad darshan favored this blend; you shared more than a cup or two during your visits to the Akademiya. 

Lisa settles in the seat across from you, with a small box of pastries that look sticky and sweet. Your mouth waters. 

“How have you been, dear?” Lisa gives you a soft look. “It’s been so long.”

So long, you add to yourself. Sitting across from Lisa is giving you a gut-twisting sense of deja vu that has your palms sweating.

“I’ve been well,” you say, gently. “Travelling, still.”

“Oh, how exciting.” Lisa smiles and lays her cheek on her palm. “What was your most recent destination?”

You hummed. “I recently went to Natlan’s capital, just for a few months. I ended up staying with a smith who gave me odd jobs in exchange for housing.”

“Oh, wow,” Lisa preens for you. “And before that? I apologize, dear, I’m not caught up with your journeys.”

Ah, the lack of letters.

“I apologize.” You rub your forehead. “I haven’t been writing lately. It’s been... hard to keep track of things, though it’s not an excuse.”

“I would disagree.” She flashes you a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been crisscrossing Teyvat; it makes perfect sense why you would struggle to keep in touch with folks. I’m sure you’ve met plenty of friends on your travels, too. I imagine you have lots to juggle.”

Lisa is partially correct, you suppose.

“You continue to give me so much amnesty— too kind,” you laugh, and lean back in your chair. 

Lisa looks a bit wistful as she puts down her cup in exchange for one of the pastries. You recognize the expression on her. You’ve only seen her wear it once before.

“How long are you staying in Mond?” Lisa asks, nodding down to the box. You leave the treats untouched.

“Not long.” You refuse to look at her as you answer, “Just for the day. I needed some supplies and Mondstadt was the most convenient.”

It’s a clinical answer. One you say intentionally, perfectly, so she can’t poke holes in your logic. You hope, pray, she doesn’t push back on your short visit. Any longer, and you might accidentally run into more faces you don’t wish to see. Lisa was tangentially related to... everything, but she was the least obtrusive person you could have run into. Still, you’re in the lion’s den, in the Ordo’s HQ, for a cup of tea, praying that you can slip in and out undetected outside of Lisa.

(It’s easier like this, you tell yourself. You can’t get twisted up in this place again.)

Lisa examines you, tracing you up and down with her gaze in a way that’s horribly disarming. If it was from anyone else, you’d think they were checking you out, especially with the sweet, upward quirk of her lips. But, this is Lisa, and you had forgotten how astute she is.

“Only a day? That’s a shame.” She sighs, sitting back and stirring the tiny spoon perched in her teacup. “It's Windblume. You should stay.”

“I could,” you muse and give her a sympathetic smile. “But, I don’t think it would be wise. It would be better if I got on my way quickly.”

She raises an eyebrow. “How far back would a few days in Mondstadt put you on your travel plans?” 

‘Plans’. 

You nearly bark out a laugh, but you keep it lodged in your throat. 

“Not terribly far, but I... I don’t want to stay, Lisa.” You reach across the table and squeeze her free hand. “It isn’t good for me to linger here.”

The look she gives you breaks your heart. Her brows wilt, her eyes get a little sadder, and she grips your hand unyieldingly. “... Are you sure, sweetheart? I’m sure the Knights could put together some lodging for you—”

She presses, and you hate the feeling of it. You know her kindness is not misplaced, but it makes you roll around in your skin regardless. Archons. You interrupt her with a tight smile, “Truly, Lisa, I am grateful for the offer, but I will be on my way come tomorrow morning. Perhaps another year.”

“Perhaps.”

You sip your tea in silence for a moment. You stew, barely, not at her specifically but circumstance. It boils just underneath your skin, just as it has been since you entered Mond’s border. Speaking to Lisa has only made the feeling grow and burn. 

You can’t meet her gaze— you can’t. You can feel it on you regardless. You know you’ll see more pity and maybe that familiar bite of anger she wields so well. 

“Why don’t you tell me when and how you got that Vision then?” She nods low, down to your waist. Your dendro Vision hums there, tied to you with a fraying, braided string that desperately needs replacing. 

There isn’t a problem with indulging a bit of... this, is there? You’re only sitting to chat. Drinking some tea. You can hunt for that healer and duck out of Mond’s walls by sundown. Easy. You pluck one of the buttery-looking pastries from the box and plop it on your plate. 

“Sure, but only if I can get a refill on this tea.” You smile and raise your cup.

...

You lose track of time, talking to Lisa. 

You do tell her how you obtained your Vision, and of your subsequent journey through Snezhnaya to its port following your graduation. She tells you some of the new gossip of Ordo Favonius, and that she’s been thinking about picking out a ring to give to Jean (though, she has a hunch the other already has one in mind. Lisa thinks it'll be fun to meddle with whatever precise plan the Acting Grand Master (nice) has in place.)

She continues to pour you tea and push more baked goods onto your plate. You enjoy them, and her company. It’s a rare treat to sit down for so long with nothing more than chatting on your mind. 

“How was studying in Snezhnaya?” Lisa asked, eyeing your various bags. “Cold, I imagine?”

“Very.” You grimace, fishing around in your satchel. “But, worth it.” 

You pull forth a palm-sized metal insignia. You keep it tucked away, most of the time, only flashing the thing when necessary. You only need legitimacy every so often.

“Oh, wow.” Lisa gawks a bit. “May I see?”

You hand it to her. “Be my guest.”

She studies the metal, running her fingertips along the edges where the different colors meet. Vibrant blues meet greens and whites, with pink and purple flowers cast around the bottom edge. The shape resembles something between a shield and wheel, with each one of its seven portions having some meaning for the institution. They escape you now. 

“I’ve heard that the Tselostnyy School is quite the place,” Lisa says. “No one at the Akademiya seemed fond of them, but I imagine it was out of some sort of insecurity.”

You snort. “Probably. Folks at Tselostnyy actually teach healing— not just study the human body for the sake of some academic pursuit. The two schools have opposing goals.”

It was one of the main reasons you declined to apply to the Akademiya at all. 

“I’m glad you found a place to study— I know it was hard, after Teacher passed away.” Lisa reaches out as she speaks, going for your hand. 

You withdrew your own from the tabletop, hiding it in your lap. “It was. But I managed.”

‘Managed.’

Lisa gives you a look that drips pity. She looks as though she’s going to reply, just as the door to enter the library clicks open. 

Your gut drops to the floor and your shoulders stiffen. 

“Lisa? Could you proofread this draft for me? I’m afraid I sound too formal again—” It’s Jean, it’s Jean.

It’s her voice, the distantly familiar click of her hard heels against the wood flooring. You bunch the fabric of your trousers in your fist, forcibly reminding yourself to breathe. Jean walks from behind you, rounds the table, stops at Lisa’s side and looks at you. 

Jean’s eyes widen.

“Oh, sorry sweetheart— I’m a bit busy with a friend right now,” Lisa says easily, oblivious (seemingly, probably not.) She gestures to you and winks. “I can take a look after lunch, if you can take a break with me.” 

Jean says your name— gasping it more or less, tightening her grip on the document in her hands. 

“... Hi, Jean.” You give her a little wave. “How have you been?”

It’s bittersweet, the feeling that curls and grows in your chest as she brightens and pulls up a chair next to Lisa. It’s familiar and rotten, all the same.

...

The commotion in the library brings other visitors.

Lisa wears a smitten smile as other knights make their way into the library. Aramia and Flyn— they look older, long grown out of their adolescence and more into their skin. Hertha has crinkles around her eyes that grow tight when she recognizes who you are. 

The Spark Knight barrels in the room being lazily chased by—

Kaeya.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— 

He scoops up the little knight and turns to the tea table, now surrounded by familiar faces, and you can see he has his lips pursed for some sort of teasing quip. Probably at the expense of the Ordo’s acting Grand Master and Librarian.

Then, Kaeya sees you. 

You watch his jaw snap shut. Whatever clever thing he had to say dies on his tongue and you watch it. It’s a little satisfying after all this time. You’ll cherish this moment, you think. The split second of confusion, the realization, the shock and— the guilt.

He wipes the expression off his face easily, as if it were never there to begin with. But you’ll revel in his discomfort. Your own little revenge, several years too late.

“Oh, wow—” Kaeya whistles, clicking closer and settling Klee on his hip with a bounce. He says your name almost breathlessly. “Little sister, it’s been quite some time. We’ve missed you.”

“Did you?” You tilt your head. “That’s surprising.”

You hold your tongue. You dig your teeth into the sides of it, forcing yourself quiet. The feeling that’s boiling in your chest won’t be extinguished by verbally thrashing Kaeya in the middle of the Knight’s HQ— but, Archons—

It’s tempting.

“‘Sister’?” The little knight’s nose scrunches. “Mister Kaeya, you said you only had Diluc, who’s only kinda your brother. No sisters!”

“He’s teasing me,” you placate her, voice sweetening. The little knight looks at you with wide eyes, a little awed. “‘Mister Kaeya’ is an old friend of mine, we played together lots when we were little like you.”

An oversimplification, of course. Little Klee doesn’t need to know what happened after the sun-swept days of sword fighting and house ended at the winery. Kaeya’s air quickly fades as Klee squirms down and asks kindly for a hug. You don’t think she can remember you— you only held her once, when she was so small— but you know her kind age and remember so differently from your own.

“Why are you in town?” Kaeya asks. “I thought I’d never seen you within city limits again. Color me surprised.”

You lock your jaw, as Klee bounds away from you and wrestles her way onto Jean’s lap, “Passing through, is all. I’ll be gone by morning.”

“... So, you’re not staying for Windblume?” Kaeya sits, pouring himself a cup of tea. You think you might hate him. “That’s a shame.” 

“I’m not,” you clarify and roll your eyes. “Though everyone is insisting that I do.”

“You really should.” Lisa takes the opening and insists, “It would be lovely to have you.”

Of the group that has congested in the library, you only hear agreement. Jean has a bright look in her eye that makes you shy away. 

“I... I really shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” Kaeya grins, foxlike. You think he just likes making you squirm.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Jean inquires, setting her chin on her fist.

“Well, no—” There’s always somewhere for you to be. You can’t stay. You shouldn’t even be here now. 

“Then, stay.” Eula leans against the doorframe, entered at some point. 

You’re being thoroughly peer-pressured, it seems. 

“...I’m being bullied into staying for Windblume, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps.” Jean gives you a sheepish grin. “You’re missed, Windblume is just an excuse.”

You ache. 

“Stay in the city, enjoy some wine,” Lisa insists. “Catch up with folks. I’d love to see more of you while you’re here. I’m sure you have stories to share of your travels.”’

You barter, “... If I do stay, I need to find a healer. I heard that there’s a skilled one, living in Mond. A Vision holder.”

Jean opens her mouth, but Kaeya speaks first. “Done.”

You consider. 

You’re fully aware that your arm is being horribly twisted into staying for Windblume. You know this is unwise. But—

(There’s something to it. Something you can’t admit it to, not aloud, not yet— but being in a room full of people who do not see you as a stranger, but rather an old friend. They know your name, and you know theirs. There’s something to knowing the streets you will walk if you stay. Familiarity is a wretched comfort.)

“If you need lodging, the knights could easily put you up in the dormitories,” Jean offers.

“No, I—” You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your cheeks. “I appreciate the gesture, but if I do stay I’ll camp outside the city.”

“So you’re staying?” Klee’s eyes shine. 

“I—”

“In that case, come out for drinks tonight,” Kaeya insists with a sly smile that makes you want to eat glass. “I’ll buy a round.”

“Wait—”

“Angel’s Share does bring out its Windblume vintage tonight—” Lisa says enticingly. 

“Absolutely not.” You smack your hand on the table, far louder than you intend. 

Kaeya cocks his head, amused. Lisa and Jean share a look, and the rest of the knights look a bit bewildered. You hate to raise your voice, but Archons, this crowd can be pushy.

“I’ll stay. But I’m not going to Angel’s Share.” Never ever again.

Lisa does seem to notice her error in suggesting it and gives you an apologetic smile. She reaches for your hand and squeezes. You feel a bit lighter.

“Diluc won’t be there,” Kaeya states. On the nose. “He doesn’t bartend on weeknights, even during Windblume.”

“... Really?”

“He doesn’t,” Eula corroborates. “I have knowledge as well that he is in the middle of merchant deals with a group from Natlan. There is no reason to think he’d be at Angel’s Share this evening, if that’s your concern.”

You pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I’ll think about it.”

(You agree, by the time you leave Ordo HQ. After many other promises of free wine and dancing, you find it hard to refuse. It doesn’t hurt that you confirm with multiple others that Diluc doesn’t bartend on weeknights. That he’s been caught up in business, and hasn’t been in the city much at all.)

...

You had enough mora for a few nights of lodging. You figured that Goth may have even given you a discount, as an old friend of his. Archons know how many times you worked odd jobs for him and his sons, patching up walls and the occasion twisted ankle or jammed finger. 

After some searching, you find Goth in one of the many gardens of Mond proper. As happy as he is to see you, he regretfully informs you that he has no free lodging. 

“Windblume has booked out all of my short-term properties,” Goth sighs. “Unless you’re looking for a minimum six-month lease, I don’t have any rooms available.”

(Goth explains to you that the goddamn Fatui has rented out the entirety of his hotel... indefinitely? Upfront? Hence the lack of a room.)

You tell him it’s no trouble, wave off his concern. You don’t mind a few more nights of camping. The only allure of an inn or hotel was the possibility of consistently bathing and a soft mattress. 

You pick a spot outside of Mondstadt proper to set up your camp. There are many tents already set up— travelers, like yourself, here for the festival. You recognize colors and fabrics from all over Teyvat. It warms something in you, that you aren’t alone in being an outsider here.

(Such a thought feels wrong, because it is, isn’t it? You aren’t an outsider at all. This is your home. The only place you’re not an outsider.) 

You struggle to set up your tent, and decide to leave it for later. Wandering around Mond for the afternoon aggravated your injury, and you instead take the time to poke around in your medicine kit for a quick tincture. Something to settle the—

(Burning, screeching pain that tracks up your leg. You’re grateful the other travelers aren’t watching how you collapse against a pile of discarded crates, barely holding back a hiss of pain.)

(It’s getting worse, isn’t it?)

Teacher always said that nothing was harder on sickness and wounds than stress. It was a wisdom you remembered but barely heeded.

You use the dropper and place the tincture under your tongue. It tastes bitter and coats your throat as you swallow. 

...

The sun rains gold on Mond as you meander toward the Angel’s Share. Liquid amber that coats the buildings and cobblestones. It’s nostalgic in too many ways, and it makes something behind your ribs ache.

(You’re hit with the distinct urge to run. To turn tail and leave Mondstadt forever, again.)

You shove it down, swallow it whole, and bear it. Bear it. Not forever, just for a few days. You can catch up with some old friends, leave any old scores unsettled and untouched (undisturbed, unthought about—), and depart. Maybe even fix up your foot in the process.

You hesitate outside of Angel’s share.

It looks different than you remember. The door and its frame have been replaced, the door and its frame hardly ached. There’s a message board outside that you can’t recall being there previously. A wreath hangs on the door, woven with blue and white flowers for Windblume.

You want it to be different. You do. Because if things are different, walking into Angel’s Share wouldn’t feel so daunting. You could pretend that this horribly familiar tavern was someplace else entirely. Maybe even delude yourself into thinking that this little building was its own, unique, carved-out square during one of your travels. A fantasy where you’ve never been here before.

(The warmth under your disgust wouldn’t feel so misplaced then.)

You enter.

It’s lively, bustling with patrons of all types with the festival beginning so soon. You recognize clothes and people from all corners of Teyvat, and it comforts you once more. You blend in easily, lingering near the door, and peek at the bar.

Diluc is nowhere to be seen. Another barkeep mans the kegs, barrels, and bottles. You don’t recognize him— which brings you some relief. 

It would be easy. To be delusional about this whole thing. That Angel’s Share could be just a tavern in the middle of nowhere and the faces that are around you have no chance of being familiar. You’re in a sea of folks who are travelers, just like, or mostly unfamiliar. You could, couldn’t you? Tell yourself that this isn’t a place where—

(You had your first drink. Learned how to mix cocktails with Crepus. Play fought Diluc and Kaeya in the rafters on the third floor. Where you last saw Diluc—)

You clutch a hand to your chest. Who knew that emotional pain could be so violently physical? 

Jean calls your name from across the room, pulling you from your stupor. You meet her eyes, and the smile you force to meet your eyes feels a little more genuine.

With the call of your name, several other patrons look up and gawk for a moment. You get a few more ‘oh hello!’s and ‘I didn’t know you were in town!’ thrown your way and you give them all sheepish smiles. Faces you can’t place very well. Features and familiar expressions mutilated by time and a botched memory. It makes you feel sick to your stomach— archons, and you haven’t even sampled this year’s selection of thousand-wind’s wine, have you? 

Jean flashes you a sympathetic look when you finally make it to their table. The table is flushed full— intimidatingly so. The knights have come out tonight. Lisa and Jean cozy up on the same bench seat, while Kaeya (die) and Albedo sit across from the two. You offer the alchemist a timid wave, which he returns in kind. Some of the other knights have spilled out to the tables around you, chattering away with wine-stained lips.

And the night’s still young.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show,” Kaeya practically purrs (choke) and leans closer to you on an elbow. “Were you able to find some lodging for the festival?”

“Yeah, I found something that will work.” It’s not technically a lie. Besides, they don’t need to know where you’re sleeping.

Kaeya raises an eyebrow and Albedo elbows him politely in the ribs. You make a note to buy him a drink later.

“I’ll get this round,” Lisa says, standing and grabbing you by the arm. “My treat. A welcome home present.”

You let her tug you through the crowd.

You end up seated properly at a barstool while Lisa orders. She wove her way through the crowd and up to the bar so easily, like liquid. You hardly have to wait at all before a drink is passed to you across the bar top.

You gulp half the glass down, greedily.

You, notably, have chosen not to cessate from dandelion wine in your absence. It was a rare treat to come across outside of Mond and Liyue, so when you could get your hands on glass, you let yourself partake. Whatever melancholy it brought with it could be tempered with more of it anyways.

It goes down easy— it always does. Thicker than other wines, sweet but bodied, with some type of nutty and berry note to it. You never understood the process of winemaking, despite so many years spent at the winery. When Crepus or Diluc or one of the staff attempted to explain, it all easily went over your head. 

The tannins sour your cheeks. You swallow down another mouthful, greedy, and slam down your empty goblet. Lisa looks at you wide-eyed.

“I don’t recall that you were ever much of a drinker,” Lisa remarks as she flags down another glass for you. She sips her own, mischief in her eyes. 

You shrug, nodding to the barkeep who fills your cup. “I indulge, occasionally. Forgive me for needing a drink in this environment.”

You gesture to the carousing around you. A lyre and fiddle play in the corner, and you distinctly hear two different bard songs. One is significantly better than the other, and you may have even enjoyed it if you could hear it fully. 

Being near the bar forces you to see changes. They’re hard to not notice. The signage behind the bar has changed. An old menu and drink list have been changed out for something sleeker. Paintings and their frames replaced. The glass you’re drinking out must be new, along with the tankards that the barkeep washes whenever he has a free moment.

There are still ghosts in the corners.

“Gods, you look like a wet towel.” Kaeya’s shouts, nearly in your goddamn ear, as he slips into the empty seat next to you. He drapes an arm over your shoulders like you’re old friends and not the byproducts of a dissolved relationship. You think about shrugging his arm off, but decide against it. 

You throw back the rest of whatever is in your glass and shout for another.

Kaeya catches your eye for a moment with a nearly unreadable expression. You recognize it (and concur that you need to be far more drunk than you currently are in order to survive the evening.) His brow lays smooth, lips in a not-quite smile, and his posture is a bit too rigid. You know he’s picking you apart, albeit quietly.

The expression disappears a moment later, and he has a new bottle of wine in his hands (“For you, little sister.”) Your cup fills yet again, and you drink.

The world begins to feel fuzzier, easier, and the pain in your foot and leg dulls. God, you try not to indulge in drinking too often (it’s simply a recipe for reliance, given your condition. Regardless, you're a physician who knows better than to turn to the bottle rather than medicine), but you feel the temptation of it occasionally. 

It’s an easy friend to indulge in under these circumstances.

One of the bards, the one with loose braids, strikes up a conversation with Kaeya, looping you in with an exchange of introduction. Your cheeks warm when you notice the slur of your words, sipping your cup to disguise any embarrassment. The bard must be drunk, with how much sweet wine he drinks, but he hardly acts it. Poised.

Lisa pats you on your back after your fourth glass, seemingly pitying you in your stupor. 

The good bard, at some point, leaves Kaeya’s side. Kaeya’s back to leaning into yours, the furs of his outfit prickling your nose. If you were sober, you’d be spewing curses at him. But in your drunken mind... it was fine. Fine. Maybe the warmth of him against your side wasn’t entirely unwelcome either.

You loosen up, whether you want to or not. 

Lisa drags you out of your stool after your fifth drink, to take pulls off a pipe a traveler offers and to dance with her in the main room of the tavern. The bards play a duet now, in tune, though the good bard from earlier carries the performance.

You laugh as she twirls you, dipping you near the floor. Some of the patrons cheer and whistle at the move, and you let loose a giggle that never would’ve left you in your right mind. Her face swims before you. Your insides are warm. Things are okay, maybe. For now.

So, you dance.

You dance with Jean and Kaeya, even dragging Hertha in for a round. Eula refuses, though apologetically. She’s a bit too drunk herself, and Amber insists on staying by her side to nurse her with water and pyro-warmed pets to the back of her neck.

(Do you envy them? Maybe. The skinship of it seems nice. They’re so familiar with each other, even from a distance. So lax and tender with each other even within such a setting. You cannot imagine receiving such treatment.)

Kaeya spins you back to the bar and buys you another glass.

“You dance better than you used to,” he croons in your ear. “even with that dreadful limp of yours.”

You bark out a laugh and punch him in the arm with hardly any force (you’ll regret not making it hurt more, later). “Wow, and here I thought wine curbed your silver tongue.”

“Unlike some, I can hold my liquor just fine.” He shrugs and sips.

You, on the other hand, turn the corner from ‘tipsy’ to ‘blasted’ as you hit the bottom of your goblet. Your stomach churns, spelling a hangover that will rot your stomach and the space between your eyes come the morning. The room doesn’t spin, not quite yet. 

You lay your forehead on the bartop. 

“Aw, had a bit too much?” Kaeya tsks. “How unfortunate of you, to not know your limits, even after all this time.”

You grumble something unintelligible. 

He sets a cold hand on the nape of your neck and your ground yourself on it.

(You can regret it in the morning.)

You have absolutely no idea what time it is, though the tavern is still rowdy. You imagine late, at least near the high moon if not into the early morning. Windblume was a celebration of drinking after all. Angel’s Share stays lively, despite the hour, though the drone of voices and folk songs becomes lost on you as your eyes slip shut.

Amongst the din, there’s a firm thud— the sound of wood on wood. Another sounds just after, though much closer and more shallow. You only make out the sound because of its old familiarity. The sound of the counter flap falling and straining its hinges. It must be one of the only pieces of original hardware from the old Angel’s share— the sound is identical to the one in your memory (maybe, you’re drunk, you may just be nostalgic—)

The barkeep (Charles, he told you his name though you didn’t give him yours) shuffles away, maybe, based on the thump of feet amongst the roar of the tavern. A shift change.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d show.” Kaeya’s hand leaves you. You can hear the grin in his voice.

There’s a huff from behind the bar. The clink of a glass. A squeak as it’s dried and shined with a rag.

“Do you think I’m unreliable?” 

Your eyes stretch open, wide, in a flash. Horrible, wretched familiarity (with the way a voice can bring you so much anguish and warmth in tandem.) You don’t look up. You stare down at the floorboards, count the grains and notches in the wood. Steady your breathing. 

You know that voice.

You look up, slowly, against all better judgment. If you were sober (Archons, if you were fucking sober—) you would’ve turned, held your eyes shut and ran out of the bar without looking back. You would’ve never dared to peak and pull the thread that dangled in front of you.

He’s blurry, but he’s there. A trim waist that leads up to broad shoulders, arms that bulge more than you remember, scarlet hair that falls in waves from a high-tied ribbon. Scarlet eyes, cut and polished like rubies. 

It’s Diluc, who meets your gaze for the first time in almost a decade. Just as shocked and wide-eyed as you are. 

The glass slips from his hands and shatters.

PART iii: the World (born)

You met Diluc Ragnvindr when you were just children, doing what children do best— playing while the adults talked.

Your parents— traveling merchants— and Crepus Ragnvindr sat down for wine and sweet rum after a lavish supper. Your parents shooed you off. They didn’t need you clinging to their legs while trying to discuss the intricacies of a potential (and lucrative) contract with Dawn Winery and its splendid dandelion wine.

Crepus takes you under his wing a bit, showing your parents to a fine vintage and you to his two boys.

“They like to play in the vineyard this time of day,” Crepus says, a bit wistful. He leads you by the hand. “The crystalflies soar lower when the sun dips beyond the hills, and the fireflies come out.”

You like fireflies.

He shows you out to the courtyard, and you catch sight of two boys scampering around amongst the greenery. Crepus calls them and they both dutifully bound over, the way young boys do, enthusiastic and fast. The one with the pretty blue hair follows the one with the pretty red hair.

Crepus introduces you. Kaeya. Diluc.

Diluc has round cheeks and a soft jaw. He carries baby fat still, pudgy in his arms and legs and round in his belly. His cheeks are flushed with the late summer’s heat and a day of play. He has a brush of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His hair is shorter than it will become, but long enough that you think your mother would envy him.

His eyes widen when he sees you. You’ll never be sure why.

(Kismet turned for him earlier, maybe. All it took was you.)

You spend the evening with your side wedged into Diluc's, watching the lazy flight of anemo crystalflies by the water. You tell the boys about the constellations you know, and make up a few that you don’t. You trace them in the sky with the tip of your pointer finger. You ask to braid Diluc’s hair and he lets you. 

Crepus finds you all, just after dusk, dozing as the fireflies begin to dance.

...

Your family visits the winery several times each year. You enjoy the visits immensely. You’ve grown quite close to the Ragnvindr’s, and Kaeya too. You always barrel off your family’s wagon, running ahead of them to greet the boys, who are always waiting for you too.

You play swords with them, though you aren’t any good at it. You always bring them trinkets from wherever you and your family have been. You like to gift Crepus a book or two as well, though you don’t know what they’re about. You choose them based on the covers.

Diluc lights up when you hand him a little shell from Liyue’s shore. You tell him about the cliffs where you found it, and how you’ll go there together some day. You’ll show him the geometric columns of stone that seem to climb all the way to Celestia. You will show him where the sand bars become one with the sea, and how to dig for crabs and shells with your bare hands. 

Diluc likes you, you think. He always lets you slip into his room after the manor has fallen asleep. You sit across from one another on the velvet window bench. You hug a pillow while he tells you about how he’ll start training as a knight soon. He holds a vision now— he pats it with pride. 

(He tells you how he obtained his vision in your absence. The first time he picked up a sword against an adversary, it appeared to him. It’s a grand thing, brave. He was protecting one of his favorite stray winery kittens from a boar near the edge of the property. He raised his rubber training sword and he was granted Celestia’s blessing.)

You think he’s lovely.

...

The boys start training with Ordo Favonius. They practice with the Gunnhildr girl, the older one, who wears a ribbon in her hair and has eyes like midday sky. She’s a few years older than you, and intimidates you with her maturity, but she’s kind. 

The older knights let you watch their training when your family visits. You post up during their drills, watch their forms, their blunders, and their successes. A knight named Varka always takes Diluc aside to teach him how to best wield his vision with his weapon of choice. 

(A greatsword. A claymore. It’s almost your size, probably. The one Diluc uses during training is Favonius issued, smithed with their crest near the base of the blade. You know the one he’ll really use. A family relic that Crepus brought up from storage for him— a rectangular blade, metal cast in black and red, with an elaborate furl stretching from the hilt. Crepus asks Diluc to wield it when he’s ready.)

Kaeya offers you his sword, one day, at the end of training. The junior knights soak in their own sweat as you take the blade from Kaeya. The knights make it look so effortless to wield such weaponry. They carry it at the hip like it's an accessory and not carved metal. When you wrap your hand around it, the weight shocks you. You barely heft it up, struggling with the balance of it. The trainees rib you a bit for it, and it makes you blush hot and hard.

Diluc scolds Kaeya, taking the blade from you when it's clear that brandishing it one-handed as intended is close to impossible for you. You feel some relief when Kaeya takes it back and shrugs. 

“You won’t have to worry about wielding a weapon like that— ever.” Diluc says on your way home (home, home, home, it’s becoming your home—) that day. “Especially a sword.”

“Why?” You ask.

“I’ll make sure you never have to.”

“Hm... what if I want to?” You try to be cheeky with him.

He gives you a playful shove and you bump into Kaeya. The latter groans and makes a choking sound.

“You don’t,” Diluc replies, flashing you a smile. “If you did, you would’ve played swords with Kaeya and I more when we were little. You always liked to watch.”

“It’s more fun that way!” You hip check him. “It’s interesting to see all of it, rather than participate.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kaeya chimes in. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how weak your arms are.” 

He squeezes your bicep and you shriek at him, chasing him ahead down the path. You squabble all the way home (home, home, home), rolling down the hills back into the Winery’s valley. You belly laugh together, tears in your eyes. It’s good. 

You only go silent when you notice your family’s wagon, packed and ready for departure, idling in front of the winery. 

...

You don’t travel well, you never have. 

Your parents had informed Crepus of this during your first visit (“Never well, even when my wife my pregnant— the little thing gave her the hardest time on the road.”) Despite this, you had always meandered with your family on their circuit from Liyue to Mond. 

One of your visits to the winery, just around the turn of your childhood to adolescence, you fall ill.

Your parents brush off your complaints upon arrival. Chills, aches, and a cough— “It’s from the rain. Your clothes are still damp.”. Your usually lively arrival was dulled. You barely touched the dinner Crepus provided before retiring to your favored room.

You hate being sick. You hate how your gut churns and you feel so cold, despite the fire one of the maid’s stoked in the big fireplace. You sniffle and snot over the back of your hand, fighting tears. You fall ill so frequently, but it doesn’t make it easier. Even your softest clothes feel scratchy against your tender skin— you feel horribly breakable. 

There’s a gentle knock on your door before it opens. Diluc joins you by your bedside, kneeling, watching you with wide ruby eyes.

“My father told me you’re sick,” he says gently. “You don’t look well.”

You give him a wilted look. “It happens.”

“... It shouldn’t,” Diluc says with a conviction that your fever forces you to miss. “He says that you get sick often.”

“I don’t travel well.” You parrot what you heard your parents say a thousand times, to innkeepers and merchant-folk alike. “It’s alright, Diluc. I’ll be well in a few days.”

Your teeth chatter. You bury yourself deeper in the covers.

Diluc looks unconvinced. He disrobes as much as is proper, and asks quietly if he can join you. He’s warm, from his pyro vision, he tells you. He can see how cold you feel.

Whether he had such a vision or not, you would’ve said yes.

You pull away the duvet, inviting Diluc closer. It’s innocent, a sharing of heat. You press your forehead to his chest and he lets his arms fall naturally to your waist. It cages you. It feels safe and warm, and you don’t think you’ve felt that before.

You give him the smallest ‘thank you’, voice burnt and charred with fever. Diluc chases off the chill and embers alike, replaces them with the hearth that he will become to you, and you think that kismet might’ve shifted for you then, too. 

...

You leave, a few days later, still sick. 

You return, several months later, still sick.

Whatever cold you had during your last visit had metastasized— or so your parents say. They seem moderately unconcerned as they sort through the inventory they’ll be taking for their run.

Crepus doesn’t look convinced. 

Diluc helps you inside. You barely hold yourself on two feet, and need to stop and catch your breath several times. Kaeya loops his arm over your neck and Diluc hoists you by the waist, and the two nearly drag you to your room. 

A doctor is called, a healer from Mond that knows the Ragnvindr’s well. Diluc and Kaeya stay by your side as the healer draws up tincture and grinds down herbs and oils into a soft balm to slather on your chest. 

Diluc lays with you in bed again that night, over the covers, not daring to touch you. You seem so fragile, only half-there in the room with him. He resents your parents horribly for allowing you to carelessly decline in such a state. It shows in the way his expression twists into a scowl whenever they’re within his vicinity.

...

Crepus offers his home to you— no, rather he insists.

You’re still ill, lungs gunky and fever hardly waned, by the time your family deigns it time to leave. They plan to cart you along, never mind your condition. Diluc, if he had less restraint, would’ve cursed them out in the winery’s foyer. 

(The wet sound of your breathing. The little whimpers when your fever spiked, signaling that it was time for more of the tincture the healer left behind. The way you balled your fist in his nightshirt during the worst of it.)

Crepus says it’ll be no trouble to house you, for however long you need. You’ve always taken to the winery easily, and clearly need a stable place to recover from your illness. He enjoys taking in a stray or two. One more, especially one he thinks so fondly of and that he knows his boys adore, is simply a blessing, not a burden.

...

Diluc ascends to cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius just around the time that you make a full recovery. 

It takes months— for both of you. Diluc patrols and trains with the knights when he’s not by your side. He’s incredibly well-regarded by Mond, beloved by his fellow knights and the townsfolk as well. He has ample support from all around, and his father glows with pride. 

(Diluc bears the weight of his father’s expectations well. You don’t even notice Diluc squirm under the pressure of it. It all seems to come naturally to him— being a hero.)

You see your healer every few days, drink your teas and diligently rest while you recover. The illness sticks in your lungs and you take to reading up on medicinal plants and potential treatments. It gives you some understanding of the remedies that your healer makes for you. Your healer finds you promising, despite your sickly state, and offers you an apprenticeship, if you choose to pursue such a profession.

It’s success after success, a time bathed in thick gold sun that feels as warm as it tastes.

You and Diluc dance at his ascension celebration. He holds you by the waist, clumsy like the young man he is, but you don’t mind. You loop your arms over his shoulders, memorizing the blush that paints his cheeks, and the dimples that carve them. You twirl him under your arm and laugh up to the sun and moon alike. You pull the ribbon from his hair so it unfurls over his shoulder. You run your hands through it without a care.

(Diluc looks at you, when you’re not looking at him, with such a reverence. You can’t see it yet, but it’s a burgeoning thing. Love and devotion caramelized by innocence, by want and need intertwined. He doesn’t know how to say how he feels, not yet; the feelings are still loose and undefined. But smoldering kindling he is.)

...

Crepus offers his home to you, permanently. You have taken to it so well, and his boys— his boys adore you. The staff does. You have so much growing for you in Mond, it seems silly to pack up your belongings small and tight so you can ride out on merchants circuit once more. Only to return sick once more.

You accept, hesitant at first. It’s a scary thing to give up the life you’ve known, even if the one Crepus extends to you is far more comfortable. Your parents have no qualms. You think they enjoyed your absence too much. They seem content to leave you at Dawn Winery, promising to continue their circuit, so you’d see them a few times a year.

It makes something in your ache and cry, but there’s many things to balm it in the manor. A warm fire and Adelinde’s recipes, along with whatever new tarts and sweets Crepus brings home from Mondstadt proper— they all make it easier. Good company too. Kaeya always has new ideas for schemes and little adventures. Crepus brings you gifts and makes sure you’re settling in well to your new space. Diluc is ever-dutifully at your side, whatever the circumstance, and you at his. 

You still sneak into Diluc’s room in the late night. You nestle up, side by side, on his plush window bench. You link pinkies and talk about everything.

...

“I thought this one was a bit boring.” You look up to Diluc, backwards, craning your neck. “The love interest was a bit shallow for me.”

“I agree,” Diluc answers from above you. He shuts the book deftly with one hand. “This author’s pieces usually have a bit more depth to them. This one was a bit flat.”

You tend to come to the same conclusion on the stories you share.

The Small Study (ow, ow, ow, ow) is a room most near Crepus’ wing of the manor. It’s exactly as it sounds— a small study. Something Diluc’s mother made sure was constructed for him, prior to her leaving. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line the walls, with a long table slicing the room in two. When you were young, very young, you, Diluc, and Kaeya would sit at the table and write your own stories. Color with paints that Crepus bought for you from Snezhnaya on recycled receipts and old ledgers. 

These days, the table is mostly bare and a bit dusty. You use it more than Diluc, though most of your studying with your teacher happens at their cottage, in Mond proper. Diluc and Kaeya have a training room a few doors down, one that Crepus constructed, with mats and straw targets, and more armaments than Ordo Favonius probably knows about. 

Most of your time in the Small Study is spent in the corner, tucked close to each other. You have amassed an impressive number of spare sheets, pillows, and blankets, and have constructed what could only be called a nest. You and Diluc take to lounging on it in the mornings and evenings, when you both have the time. You read together. Sometimes you aloud to him, and sometimes him aloud to you.  

Diluc’s voice has taken to breaking lately. You find it adorable and can’t help teasing him about it.

“I’ll have to hunt for a new novel at the markets today.” You sigh. The sun is rising above the cliffs, bathing the shelves and columns of dust ichor gold. You throw your hand up, watching the beam soak your skin warm.

Diluc catches your wrist and brings the back of your hand to his lips. 

Little things, skinship, he likes. He never says anything much about it, only asks quietly if it's alright that he keeps such proximity to you. You eat it up, his heat, his presence— you want all of it. You’re gluttonous in your youth (you have yet to know starvation.)

“Be careful on patrol today, okay? I’m helping Adelinde make that sweet bread you like before I visit Teacher.” You huff, maneuvering to you’re at his eye level. You tug his cheek, still soft with baby fat. “You better not have any extra bruises when I pick you up today.”

“I’ll try.” He rolls his eyes. “Even if I do, you’ll patch me up, won’t you?” 

“I could have Teacher do it,” you huff. “I know you don’t like how rough they can get with you.”

Diluc scoffs, “They don’t like me—”

“They like you plenty—” 

You squabble, soft in your chests, because it's all easy and slow. The romance novel gets tucked away into an overflowing shelf, bulging with others that you’ve already finished. 

Kaeya is shining his blade in the armory, and you collect him before heading to Mondstadt proper. It’s a routine, each day, one that you enjoy and cling to. You enjoy your training and you feel only pride seeing your boys bud and grow in their strength. You fight, like young ones of your age do, but it's all in jest. Simple. Your squabbles get settled with wrestling by the river or when Crepus intervenes and fathers the three of you.

It’s good and you never want it to end.

...

Diluc grows into himself. He’s gangly in his teen years— long arms and bulging shoulder blades he’s yet to grow into. The pudge he’d had around his belly has disappeared, sucked away by a growth spurt or two. He grows a bit more into his frame, each year closer to adulthood that he gets. Muscle building on muscle. 

Teacher says you’re doing well with your studies. You pour over books on medicinal herbs and medical techniques during the day, and watch Teacher heal when patients are around. You become adept enough to see patients on your own, for small injuries. 

You fix up Diluc whenever he comes home to you. Cuts. Bruises. The odd fracture or two. He’s the person you ever stitch a wound together for. He doesn’t flinch. So trusting.

...

Crepus gets odd, at some point. You’re almost old enough to be considered an adult. He starts asking you questions you know the answer to, but it seems like he’s seeking something other than the truth. Sentiments that he wants to squeeze out of you, to satiate something in him that you can clearly see, but don’t know how to name.

(He’s a businessman— is it in his nature to be greedy—?)

(Forget. Forget. Forget.)

...

You wish it had stayed so kind and good for longer. You wish you appreciated it more, but you didn’t fully understand the goodness laid before you until it was so brutally ripped away from you. 

The night Diluc turns eighteen, your world shatters. Burns. Immolates while you lay drunkenly dozing in a friend's warm bed. You don’t greet the wreckage until you awaken. Alone, drowning and with a new pang in your stomach.

PART iii: the stitch the wound the burning

You instantly slam your hands on the bartop. You whip your head around to Kaeya. He wears a wide, awful grin. So fucking smitten with himself.

You hate him. 

“Fuck you,”  you snap. 

You push up, knocking the bar stool over with a bang. You turn on a heel and run from the tavern. Wordless.

(You run. You should’ve run. You should’ve never come back. Ever.)

You know the display caused enough of a ruckus that Angel’s Share fell nearly silent as you left. You know that your vision shuddered out of your control, sending dendro to liven the flowers around the tavern. It felt sick. To know that the blooms would be wider and more beautiful while you ran. Running, running, running. 

Lisa and Jean, maybe, shout your name as you sprint away. You ignore them— you have to. The temptation to turn back and face them drowns in the wine that churns in your stomach. Your breath feels too hot and heavy in your lungs, like lead and steam. You feel like you might die.

(Diluc in the same room as you. Diluc in front of you.  Not a ghost, a breathing body. Flesh. He would’ve been a bit too warm, to the touch. You know him to be. He’d grown so much— how much had you missed? Archons, you miss him—)

You barely get out of Mondstadt proper before you bracing yourself on one its outer walls, forcing your finger down your throat, and heaving your guts out onto the high grass. All of the splendid wine you sampled color the ground blood red, surely staining your lips. Tears drip from your lash line. You feel sticky as you draw your fingers from your throat, spit and dribble sliding down your wrist. 

You curse and shake. 

You wipe your hands down on your trousers and scrub at your lips with the edge of your sleeve. You spit pretty scarlet and nearly hurl again.

The sun has set, and the dark is a comfort. It cloaks you, allowing you to duck easily between shadows and firelight that other travelers warm themselves by. No one looks at you twice. You’re sure you seem like a drunkard, not— Not whatever you are. You drag yourself back to your campsite.

You fall to the ground, drawing up your good leg by the knee and press your forehead to it.

Fuck.

Fuck the healer. Fuck Windblume. Fuck seeing any friends or familiar faces. You discard the plans, crushing them down until you decide they’re not worth it. None of this was worth it. If you’d only ducked in and out of Mondstadt’s market, you wouldn’t have met Lisa. Gotten twisted up with Kaeya. Dared to enter Angel’s Share. Seen Diluc.

You knew the mere sight of him would send you. You knew. You feel foolish. Stupid. If you were a fraction more sober, you would’ve dragged yourself out of self pity and set up camp for the night. Instead you stew. You swallow back dread and bile and clutch your shoulders.

(You always knew this was a risk, coming back here, didn’t you? That’s why you never dared to even get near Mondstadt’s borders. Now you’ve done it.)

You certainly have.

You rub your eyes again, grimacing at the taste in your mouth. Forcing yourself up is a task, especially trying to keep weight off of your (now very) bad foot. You struggle to balance, propping yourself up on a pile of discarded crates and get to work setting up your campsite for the night. You resolve to sleep until dawn, pack up, and be on your way. You’ll head back to Liyue and catch a boat out of the harbor. You’ll go anywhere. Do anything. 

(To be far away from here.)

You struggle with your tent and tarp. It’s infinitely harder to set up your sleeping arrangements when you’re hobbling around on one leg. Emptying your stomach of its content has made you lightheaded (or, it's the panic that is thick and porous in your blood. Burrowing into your flesh. Will you even be able to sleep tonight?) You fight to keep your breath steady as you struggle to stake the tarp into the dirt.

Someone says your name from behind you. Breathes it like it's lighter than air, weighted like a gospel.

You turn, for the second time, against better judgment.

Diluc stands above you, wearing the same shocked expression he had in Angel’s Share. 

Your lips twist, your brow falls. You feel yourself sink. It’s the same feeling you get in your stomach when you’re put toe-to-toe with an adversary out in the wilderness. It’s the feeling you get when you get a patient a little too late and can’t be sure if you’ll be able to drag them back from the brink.

You breathe his name right back.

“... You’re here,” he says. His voice has evened out. Deeper than you remember, and rougher, but barely.

“I am,” you answer as neutrally as you can. You school your expression and turn back to your tarp. “Please leave.”

Diluc doesn’t answer. He’s frozen above you, so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of him. 

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Diluc says, like a demand and not a request.

You bristle.

“I’m setting up my camp for the night,” you state plainly. “Then I will be sleeping. I will be gone by dawn tomorrow. I apologize for any disruption I caused at... at Angel’s Share.”

You press your hands over the top of a nail. The iron digs into your palms. You shove at it anyway, until it’s snug against the earth.

“I don’t care about that,” Diluc replies with an edge to his voice that’s unfamiliar. “That’s not of consequence.”

“... Then why are you here?” You crawl across the ground, brace yourself on a crate, and stand. Your weak foot hovers just off the ground. “Why follow me, Diluc? I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You say his name like it's a curse and face him.

(And it’s like coming home.)

(If you had any less of yourself, you would’ve sank into the earth and wept.)

“I don’t,” he says. Arms crossed. Shoulders square. You see him struggle with his words, chewing on the inside of his cheek, just like he used to. “You left so quickly, and Kaeya—”

“Bastard,” you spit. 

Diluc muffles a laugh (a full sound so lovely— you used to do anything to hear it). “He didn’t tell you I would be bartending, I’m assuming?”

“He told me, expressly, that you would not be bartending.” 

“... It is my tavern. Windblume is the busiest time of the year.” He looks a bit wounded. You can’t tell if you’re imagining it. “Kaeya sent word that Ordo would be at Angel’s Share in full force this evening. My presence was called.”

You scowl, “I realize that now.”

Diluc sighs, deep and hard and full, “You left so quickly, and Kaeya told me you were most likely staying outside of the city. I was... worried.”

You let out a breath through your teeth, maybe a laugh, some unholy thing and you shake your head. You can’t bear to look at him for too long, “Well, I’m fine. Promise. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Clearly.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see me?”

“No.” Diluc sighs. “I... No. I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what else to say to him. 

“Go.” You shoo him off. “I need to finish setting up and get some sleep. Sorry again for causing any trouble.”

You turn away, going to reach for your tent—

Diluc grabs your upper arm. He keeps you steady and upright.

“You didn’t.”

The contact burns. Sears through you like you’re just gossamer and old silk. You tense with it. When did his heat become unfamiliar?

You open your mouth, part your lips just barely, but nothing comes out. Your mind empties.

“Come back to the winery.”

His words cut you from any of your reverie. Your grief forces itself up in plumes, from the base of your spine to the corners of your damp eyes.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You tear away from him. 

He lets you go. (You suffocate the part of you that mourns the loss.) 

“It’s not safe outside the walls.” He takes a step back. Breathing room. “There’s no lodging available in the city, I’m sure you found.”

“I did, and I’m fine out here, Diluc. I can protect myself just fine.” You pat the dendro Vision on your hip. Your weapon remains unsummoned and out of sight.

“It’s going to rain.” Diluc frowns. “And, your tent is torn.”

He gestures behind you, and sure enough, a massive tear runs through an entire side of your tent. You hadn’t noticed. 

(If you will not go where you are supposed to be, perhaps fate will push you there? Align the stars and cosmos just right—)

“I recall that you never enjoyed camping,” Diluc says and it's like a knife to the chest. The idea that he remembers anything about you. “You’ll have a bed for as long as you’d like.”

“Diluc—” You’re near to cursing him out, let the Archons, Celestia and the damn Stars hear it—

“I’m sure Adelinde would love you to see you too.”

Oh.

Oh— Adelinde. When was the last time you sent her a letter? Or read one of hers? You have a stack of them, sealed with purple wax and bound in twine, shoved in your bag. Among your most prized possessions. You’ve hardly let the ink smudge, despite time and condition.

“... She still works for you?”

“Of course.” Diluc’s voice sounds strained. 

“Elzer too?” You ask.

“Yes, he’s been at my side since—”

“Since you came back to Mondstadt,” you answer for him. “Since you returned to the winery.”

Elzer had been at your side too, when you were running the winery in Diluc’s absence. Same with Adelinde.

Archons, you miss them. 

“I’ll stay at the winery,” you say after a beat. “So I can see them.”

Diluc lets out a sigh, shaky and short. He flexes his hands, open and closed. Relieved. The moment of vulnerability passes.

“Will you be able to walk there with—” He gestures to your foot.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” You put weight on it, swallowing down any pain. You can bear it. 

Diluc offers his arm, and you refuse it, striding past him. 

You walk side by side back to Dawn Winery.

...

It does begin to drizzle, eventually. Nothing close to proper rain, but a thick mist that dampens your hair and clothes. The chill of it sinks into you, unpleasant but not unbearable. You cling to the discomfort of it. You and Diluc do not speak to each on the way back, other than the time or two you announce you need a short rest for your foot.

Fatigue hits you as you stumble down the valley paths leading into the winery’s main grounds. 

You blame the wine. 

The front door looks almost the same, perhaps the wood refinished. Diluc pulls forth a shining brass key (different, than the one that you had during your tenure as ‘master’ of Dawn Winery. That key was thick, old iron. Rusting at its corners. It always felt cold and heavy. An entire year it was tied to you. Tethered to your waist on the very same belt that now holds your vision.)

The lock was replaced.

The interior of the winery is different too, you find. It makes stepping inside less jarring— the floors, once dark, long-planked hardwood, has been redone to intricate patterns of lighter, warm-toned wood. Less candles, more electro-powered fixtures set into the walls and ceiling. The couches look different, brighter and fluffier with fresh cushions. Even the grand carpet that covers the main room, bearing the Ragnvindr crest, appears to have been freshened. Maybe even re-tuffed. It’s generally brighter.

“You’ve... updated things.” Your voice trails off as you shrug off your cloak and hang it on your arm. 

Diluc follows your line of sight to a new tapestry on the east-wall. Not of the family crest, but the vineyard. It’s far more ornate than any you remember; you can see the metallic gold weavings shine, even in the lowlight. The tapestry is ringed by paintings, portraits and some landscapes. You recall Crepus commissioning many of them, or creating them himself. There’s a number of new photographs as well.

“I have over the years,” Diluc replies. “It was necessary.”

You hum, pausing. “... I like it. It’s nice.”

It’s nice because it doesn’t feel quite as much like you’re walking into a still-breathing cadaver. You expected to be greeted with an interior you had seared in your memory. Corners you’d still see ghosts in, picture frames that were askew that you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to fix. You know which floorboards were creaky and which windows had the worst draft. 

This version of Dawn Winery from your memory doesn’t exist anymore, in any way or facet. What’s left certainly isn’t blank or void, but it’s more unfamiliar than you expected. It smells like rose oil and beeswax rather than cedar and tobacco. 

“Master Diluc? You’re back earlier than expected.”

Adelinde breaks you from your stupor. 

She looks much the same— the same uniform, though perhaps her hair’s a bit shorter? There’s new wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, sun spots around her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are still kind. They go wide when she sees you, and the mug she’s holding nearly slips from her grip.

Your chest tightens.

She says your name and it’s like you’ve been cut through. Flesh parting around a sharp blade. 

“Hi.” Your voice sounds soft and so much more broken than you can accept it is. 

“Welcome home.” She smiles, all the way up to her eyes.

If you were a little more weak, perhaps a few months more weathered— you would’ve broken then. You would’ve fallen apart in the foyer of Dawn Winery, drowning and hungry and soaked to the bone in something colder than rain water. You hold yourself together, barely, thin threads wound around you to the point of constricting keep you upright. Sure-footed. Almost-whole.

But, Adelinde knows... doesn’t she? She must. She has an uncanny ability for these things. It’s because she watched you grow, watched your toils and supported you. Mothered you when needed. You counseled and consoled each other, during the worst of it.

It makes you feel less guilty, less ashamed, when you nearly throw yourself at her. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and smother your face in her shoulder.

Adelinde hugs you in kind. She still smells like pine-cleaner and that jasmine perfume she imports. She wraps you, in herself, squeezing so hard you’re afraid she’ll undo the strings binding your heart together. 

“H-How have you been?” you ask. Tears sting your eyes.

She strokes the back of your head, through your hair. “I’ve been well. And you?”

You smush your face into her shoulder. You don’t know what to say to her. Instinctual honesty climbs up in your throat— you suppress it. 

“I’ve been better,” you say, softly. You hope only she can hear. “Excited to sleep in a real bed. Take a bath.”

Adelinde goes still, slack— then she almost crushes you. You feel her heartbeat and your lip wobbles.

“I’m glad you’re home, then. Let me fetch you a cup of tea. I’ll make sweet bread in the morning.”

“T-That sounds nice. Thank you.”

Diluc, who has been silent and watchful, clears his throat. “They can take whichever room they like.”

“I’ll prepare the west wing guest room.” (Far from your old bedroom.) She whispers to you. “There was a Fontainisian merchant we were hosting— she left all of her luxury skincare and bath supplies here.”

You pull away, narrowing your eyes, “Are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” She gives you a good-natured smile. “They’re yours. Let’s get you settled.”

You nod and she guides you with a hand on your lower back, up the stairs, to the west wing. Diluc has made himself scarce, seemingly disappearing into thin air to the northern wing of the manor. You only half notice.

Archons, you’re tired.

Adelinde helps you settle in. She sets your bag on a vanity stool, shows you a newly renovated bathroom with a tub that could easily fit you and a Rishboland tiger in it. The rest of the details of the room fade. Something stickier and older than fatigue works its way up through your bone marrow, leaving your body as a yawn.

Adelinde gives you a sympathetic smile when she brings you a cup of lavender and chamomile tea. 

The world is blurry when you crash into the pillows. They smell like the herbal detergent you suckered Crepus into buying during your teen years. Diluc liked it. Whatever potential revulsion you could have has wilted with your exhaustion. Instead, something warm brews in you. You shove your nose into the silken case. The feeling is good. You don’t mind it. 

(Fuck, maybe you even need it.)  

...

You sleep for three days. 

You don’t mean to, and it’s not continuous. You rise for your promised sweet bread, tea, and a much-need, thorough bath. You’ve spent the past few months using communal bath houses or washing in rivers and lakes, quick and rarely relaxing. You indulge in the massive, stone tub for a private soak that leaves you pruney and smelling like rose oil and Natlani bright grass. 

The position of the sun feels arbitrary. You just sleep. Like the fucking dead. No dreams, thank the gods. Thick curtains keep your room dark and you relish every moment. You hadn’t realized how deeply fatigue had woven itself into you. You’d become so acclimated to exhaustion, it only hit you when you finally had a (safe and) quiet place to sleep with no end date. 

Adelinde brings an armful of clothes at some point. (“We put these in storage, when you left. I’m sure some still fit.”) Some do, thankfully, and you’re grateful to have more than four garments, especially when they go together. It’s nostalgic to slip into skirts and trousers you haven’t worn in so long, and you decide they’ll suffice. Unideal, but comfortable. 

The tiredness is an odd blessing. You feel too blurry and foggy to really pick apart your feelings. All of them. You’re aware of the knot that’s formed somewhere between your ribs and gut (or rather, revealed itself), and you ignore it for as long as you are able to. No one comes to you except Adelinde, who never presses you. 

(You don’t know what you would do if she did. Adelinde knows discretion, she knows wounds and scrapes and bruises, and knew yours once. Well and thoroughly. You think she can see all of your ills now too.)

(You’re glad she doesn't pry at you. In your moments between wakefulness and sleep, you tend to dream more loosely. You imagine what you might say to Diluc, had you... the opportunity without damage. What would you say to him? The you that’s mostly a dream screams at him sometimes. Enraged. Sometimes you cry, asking questions that neither your sleeping or waking mind has answers for. They’re not... unfamiliar dreams, but they’re unwelcome. They’re more vivid now that you’re staying in the Winery.)

They feel more real. Diluc is only rooms away at any given time.

(He’s not a specter.)

On the third day, you awake midday to a frantic knock on your door. Adelinde, you assume. Stumbling from bed, and pull on a dressing gown and nothing more, and pull open the heavy oak door—

It’s Diluc. Of course it is. In working trousers and a loose, white top. Dirt stains his knees and the tips of his fingers. Pretty red hair spills from its loose tie, bouncy with a fresh wash. He tenses, when he sees you. Fists balling at his sides and shoulders going rigid.

Your jaw locks and the air in your lungs suddenly feels heavy and too hot. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you gather up the satin of your robe before it has a chance to slip down to the crook of your elbow. 

(Just seeing him sends you. Into a rage. Into a fit of grief. The visage of him forces you to reckon with something more awful and sticky and molten than you know what to do with.)

(You wish it was more avoidable.)

You freeze.

Your several days of rest afforded you the time to... ignore Diluc. Hide from him, and the knot that you desperately don’t want to unravel. Despite sleeping in one of his beds and eating his food, you need distance. It feels like you’ll explode if you don’t have it.

“The child of one of the vineyard workers is injured,” Diluc says, maybe a little out of breath. “Can you take a look?”

“Of course,” you reply without hesitation. A hurt child takes precedence over most things.

The child and his mother sit in Diluc’s foyer, you can hear them as you approach. The girl sniffles and clings to her mothers sleeve with one hand, the other limp in her lap. One of her legs splays the wrong way, equally limp. 

You approach easily, introducing yourself. The air has an edge of crisis to it, but you wade through it easily. If anything, it’s comfortingly familiar. To be calm and confident in the face of serious injury or illness is often medicine in and of itself. 

You set your large, leather-bound caboodle beside you and take to the floor. Your Tselostnyy insignia is pinned to the outside. The mother’s eyes dart to it as she pets over her daughter’s hair, and she relaxes at the sight of it. A qualified stranger, you are.

The mother is younger, someone before your time as the Winery’s temporary master which is a relief. Diluc lingers behind you, watching you work, probably.  You attempt not to care.

You scooch forward, on your knees, knitting your fingers together and hover them over your patient. You focus on the spiral of dendro through muscle and bone, reading the injury:

Two clean breaks. Closed fracture of the left ulna. Closed fracture of the left femur.

It’s a miracle that the child isn’t shrieking in her mother’s lap. 

“How did you get hurt?” you ask the child directly. 

She sniffles. “I f-fell outta’ the big tree by the water. I was trying to climb it.”

Her mother almost scolds her, but you beat her to speaking. “That’s a hard tree to climb. The oaks by the stables are much easier.”

It’s just a slip of the tongue, to be so familiar.

You turn to the child and school a smile on your lips. “I’ll be able to heal your injuries with my Vision. You’ll get some medicine as well, and it needs to be stirred into juice. Do you have a favorite kind?”

The child looks unsure, and her mother answers for her: “She likes apple best.”

“Apple, master of the house.” You wave a hand behind you. “Can you fetch some?”

“Of course,” Diluc answers without missing a beat and you hasten him away.

Knitting your fingers together once more, you begin to work on her injuries. The child is holding up quite well, despite the immense pain she must be in. You work quickly regardless, but keep in mind you do have the luxury of time. There’s no one more broken or more sick just beyond her who needs to be treated as well.

Dendro sews together her bones. Encourages new flesh and muscle to grow where it is needed. 

When Diluc returns, you instruct him further, gaze never straying from the knitting bones, “Take the third vial from the right on the top row of oils, will you? Stir half a dropper into the juice and stir for a minute. If you see oil on the top, keep going.”

“What’s the medicine for?” The girl asks. 

“Relaxation and sleep,” You reply softly. “This type of healing is very effective, but it takes a lot of energy out of the person who is being healed. You’ll be tired once I’m all done, but you may have trouble resting since your body is still reacting to the shock of your injuries.”

The mother lets out a sigh of relief. Perhaps too wordy of an explanation for a child, but her mother seems grateful for it. 

When the child’s healed into proper pieces again, you unknit your fingers and fall back on your heels. Diluc wordlessly passes the goblet of well-mixed apple juice to the child, who shakily gulps it town. The medicine doesn’t have much of a taste, more of an oily texture to it that requires it to be drunk quickly after being mixed. The juice must be from one of Diluc’s best stashes because the child beams after chugging it.

“... That’s it?” She asks. 

You nod and crack your knuckles, now stiff. “That’s it.”

“... Nothing else?” 

“Nope.” You crack your neck. “Other than the fatigue, but a few extra hours of sleep should remedy that. She’ll be back to normal after a nap.”

“Thank you,” The mother says and your chest feels sticky and warm. “I know that Barbara from the Church has similar skills with her Vision, but I’ve never seen healing like yours. Mondstadt could use a physician like you, you know.”

The feeling goes cold, but you keep your smile. Bear it.

“I’m sure they do.” Teacher’s shoes hadn’t been filled, apparently. And you’d departed to the Tselostnyy School and never returned. 

The mother and her child give more thanks before leaving and you keep your facade up until they’re out the door. The girl’s no doubt ruffled still, even with the light sedative. The mother frazzled. The last thing you’d want to do is burden them with your own misplaced ire. They can’t know. They wouldn’t know.

Diluc, however—

He’s been the silent spectator to this whole affair. He idles by the couches and the hearth, arms crossed, still-dirtied from whatever vineyard work he’d been doing prior to fetching you. You’re sure he was working in the fields, heard the child shriek, and rushed to their aid. Typical.

Diluc stares at you like he could immolate you alive.

“You’re incredible.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like the sentence doesn’t implode something in you. 

Your fists shake at your sides. “Hardly. It’s just my profession.”

Diluc works his jaw and considers his words. You note the way he looks stumped and lost. It’s not intentional, if you’re being honest— so there’s no harm in enjoying the way he stumbles to speak around you, is there?

(It’s only fair. Diluc had always been so sure-footed and sturdy with his words. To see him flounder now reminds you that he’s changed too. Something in him has paled and been mutilated, just like you. Two wounded. His suffering isn’t what you revel in, but the knowledge that he’s affected. Neither of you came out unscathed and you’ve spent the last years refusing to imagine how Diluc might’ve coped.)

“Will you have tea with me?” Diluc asks, the words ringing off the glass chandelier in minor key. “You don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“I will.” 

...

Adelinde kindly brings you both tea, by the hearth and its embers. It’s served with a few small cakes and rounds of steaming sweet bread. Diluc takes his tea just as he did when he was young— a heavy dash of cream and a spoon and a half of sugar (“the half is very important” he had always said). Adeline leaves you a carafe of coffee and shoots you a gentle smile before leaving the two of you be.

You rest on one of the couches, leg pulled up beneath you and blow over the rim of your mug.

Diluc sits adjacent from you, in a resplendent mid-morning sun beam. The chair is high-backed, upholstered with the red and gold pattern of the Ragnvindr clan. He looks regal, like a king from the stories you used to read together. Sunlight halos the frizz in his hair and the dust that shifts around him.

He sits with one heel propped up on the opposite knee, cupping the tea cup from the bottom, unbothered by its heat.

(He’s pretty, just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe more so.)

It makes something in you feel rotten. You pick at your nails and curl over your core. 

He glances at you and you look away into the hearth, into the small flames that eat at the last of a birch log. 

Having Diluc in front of you is uncomfortable. Maybe worse than uncomfortable, as discomfort is bearable and the sensation crawling up from the back of your throat isn’t. It makes your skin itch and feel too tight. Your palms sweat. Maybe you want to puke.

(It’s dread, or something like it. Like just seeing him put you on a precipice you had convinced yourself didn’t exist.)

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Diluc asks, breaking you from your spiral. “If I recall correctly, you hated it. Too bitter for your palate, or something like that.”

Ah—

“In your absence. In the year I stayed here, when you left.” It’s the truth. “ Lots of paperwork. I got used to the flavor after a while.”

(You used to prefer tea, favoring some black variety that Crepus painstakingly imported from Natlan’s volcanic cliffs. The first time you tried to drink it following his passing, you retched it back into your cup.)

You both shift uncomfortably. 

“I see.” 

You pretend not to notice the way Diluc’s grip goes white-knuckled for a moment. Your chest feels tight, too tight, and you squirm under your skin. 

“I don’t know how to face you,” you blurt out. 

(You never thought you would have to.) 

Diluc looks away from you, into the fire. “If you don’t wish to ‘face me’, then you don’t have to.”

“Are you suggesting I simply ignore you?”

“If that’s what you would wish to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.” You frown, something burning between your ribs. 

Diluc chews on his words for a moment. “Allow me to clarify. I have no expectations of you while you’re staying within the Winery.”

“So, if I simply ate your food and slept in one of your beds, ignoring you, you’d be alright with that?”

“If that’s what you wish, then yes.”

(The answer hurts to hear. You refuse to think about why.)

“Alright.” You take a long sip of your coffee. You’re not sure when your stomach began to ache.

“You’re unsatisfied with that answer,” Diluc guesses.

“Entirely,” you reply. “You’re basing your wants off of mine. It’s bothersome.”

“It’s the truth. As I said—“

“You ‘have no expectations of me’,” you parrot. “Would you truly be satisfied if I didn’t speak to you at all while I’m here?”

Diluc chews the inside of his cheek (a new habit you don’t recognize). “My satisfaction isn’t of consequence.”

“Idiot,” You snap— you don’t mean to. “Of course it is. I don’t want to make this any more unbearable than it already is.”

“Do you think this is unbearable for me?” 

“… Yes?” You feel yourself shaking. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

(It’s worse than unbearable. The feeling in your chest is blooming, radiating out into your arms and legs, down to your hands. There’s a buzzing in the base of your skull.)

“I understand that it’s difficult for you to be here,” Diluc grits out. “I do not want to make that any worse by some expectation or assumption you think that I carry. If you wish to enjoy the festival and ignore me, that’s more than fine. If it would be easier for you to stay here and think of me as only some type of… concierge, I wouldn’t resent you for it.”

(You hate it. You hate him. You hate Diluc Ragnvindr endlessly, perhaps. You want to burn Dawn Winery to the ground.)

“Do you really think I could ever think of you as anything other than yourself?” You spit, intending to. “It’s insulting— a fucking affront to think that I could view you in such a way.”

“I don’t know how you view me.” Diluc’s voice wavers with what you can only assume to be anger. “I’m trying to make this easier for you.”

“In what way?!” You stand. “Do you think ignoring you would be easier for me?”

“I am making a well-intended inference based on the fact that you haven’t returned to Mondstadt for years.” Diluc stares at you like he wants to— “I am assuming you’d like to continue to ignore me, given that you’ve never given any indication otherwise.”

“… You’re the one who left first.” You spit the words, like how a sword cuts through air. “You’re the one who left and gave no ‘ indication’ of returning.”

Diluc swallows, thick and hard with a bob of his throat and he rises to his feet. You instinctively take a step back. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a snap of his teeth. The fire cracks and a log loses its structure, tumbling in the hearth with a flurry of embers.

He looks lost for words. You let loose a laugh, something awful and torn that you wish you could stuff back down your throat.

“Nothing to say?”

“It was a long time ago—“

“Ah, it’s irrelevant to you. I see.” Archons, you don’t want this. You should’ve never come back. It can’t be worth it, can it? It feels like your ribs are being broken, one by one. 

(How wretched it is, for him to have such a power over you.)

“Don’t twist my words.” Diluc rises, taking a step toward you. “I only meant to say—“

“I am well-aware of what you meant to say.” You want to vomit, maybe. “It was so long ago, so it’s easier, right? If I view you as nothing more than a doorman with a familiar face, and if you view me as a guest to be treated with pleasantries.”

(Let’s forget all the history. Etch a lie onto a slate that’s already been shattered beyond repair.)

Diluc’s expression twists. Your hands shake and you cross them over yourself, wrapping your arms over your own shoulders and squeezing. He looks… hurt. Gutted. 

“Do you think me cruel enough to ever think of you in such a way?”

“Yes, actually.” You laugh with a shake of your head. “Not even a letter, Diluc? Couldn’t even spare me a thought, could you?”

(Meanwhile, you clung to the hope that he’d arrive home through the front door of the Winery for months. How many did you sit in front of this very same hearth, wrapped in his old blankets and left-behind clothes and pray to any God who’d listen that Diluc would return?)

The admission guts Diluc. You can see it in his face, the way his expression tears open and he balls his fist and he almost seems to shake with it.

(Despite everything, it hurts to see him hurt.)

You step away, almost toppling into the couch. Diluc catches you by the arm with a lurch and keeps you upright. The contact burns like you’re too close to a roaring fire. You feel singed. 

“I can’t forget, Diluc.” You laugh, shudder in his grip and you feel the bits of you fray even further. “I— I don’t know. I’m sorry. I resent you. I hate you. I look at you and I’m struck by the feeling that I’m looking at a ghost.”

You watch Diluc’s jaw lock. “Pot, kettle.”

“Pardon?”

“You left Mond as well, dear.” Diluc says the pet name and then flushes. An old habit, unearthed by sparring. You maybe would swoon if you weren’t feeling light-headed. “You’re a ghost to me as well. Maybe something worse.”

“... Am I? ” you spit, writhing in your skin. 

His expression tightens and you see the hurt. A crack. His lip twitches and he stands. He has to look down at you and you feel the height. 

“Do you think I haven’t been haunted by you?”

Oh, it’s like being punched in the gut. You’re being flayed, surely, on his great room floor. If you’re not careful, your entrails will spill and you’ll die here. You’re sure. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“You’re impossible,” Diluc says, grip almost bruising. “Do you truly think I’m lying?”

(You don’t.)

You swallow and step away from him. The moment you pull against him, Diluc lets you go, and you stumble back. 

(You’re too frayed for this. Burnt. Cinders at a masquerade.)

“I need some time,” you say, fire in your voice is gone. You burn down so easily. “I’m sorry.”

Diluc stays silent for a moment. You can’t be sure what he’s thinking.

“Take all the time you need,” he says, before striding past you to his office. You hear the door nearly slam. 

[telleroftime]

Takuma x Reader where originally they're roommates. Takuma needed a new place to live. Either his previous lodging kicked him out or something else happened, but he was looking for a new place and staying at the school was not really an option. So, with you having a spare room ready for rent and Nanami being one of your good friends (or with you being a good friend of one of his friends), he sets the two of you up.

Originally, living with Takuma seems normal. Normal enough for living with a Jujutsu Sorcerer. The two of you are awkward but his optimism is a pleasant change. He leaves for work often and you for yours, and for the most part the two of you stay out of eachother's hair.

The first spark forward is when you notice he had a shopping list but was too busy to buy anything. Takuma's side of the fridge was empty too, so when you needed to do your own shopping you shop for him too. It's subtle, but the domesticity makes him more bubbly.

The two of you start to interact more. You prepare him dinner when he gets home after you. He buys you pastries from the bakery on the way home. You put on the music he likes when cleaning the kitchen. He buys a flower you like for the living room. Small things that add up.

There's conversations the two of you have. The reasons why you're not involved in the Jujutsu society anymore. The reasons why he insists on remaining a grade two.

Then, one day, you return home after him.

(Warning for blood and fresh wounds)

You had stayed at work for a little bit longer and came home later than Takuma after taking care of groceries. You've barely crossed the threshold of the front door when you smell the scent on blood. Naturally, you're unnerved. You don't lock the door behind you in case of an emergency, and you cautiously follow the splotches of red and footprints of mud that lead you to the bathroom.

Takuma is equally as surprised to see you as you are to see him. He's sitting on the floor, cut up and bleeding from multiple gashes, whilst doing his best to patch himself up.

He does little to resist you joining him on your knees, shaky hands pulling his away from the blood of his wounds. You try to ignore it, the smell and the sight, as you call Nanami and put him on speaker. You don't know what else to do. You clean what you can, use your reverse cursed technique how you can, and shakily explain what's going on to Nanami who tells you to keep doing your best. He stays on the call though, grounding you.

The blood loss is very much kicking in by that point. Takuma's words are muddy, slurred together but confident nonetheless. He flirts, to your shock. He calls your eyes pretty, your hands beautiful and face handsome. In the whole situation he finds the time to focus on you. Within the delirium all he sees is you.

You manage to stabilise him long enough for help to arrive.

You had moved him to his room and cleaned what dried blood you could. You didn’t want to change his clothes so he had to remain in the torn ones. You didn't want him to be uncomfortable. You'd just wash the sheets later. The bathroom was already clean by the time Takuma woke up.

After a few blinks, it was your name he called first. Not Nanami who was sitting on a chair and watching over him. Not Shoko who has taken the time to rush over and heal him. You. Nanami explained the situation before you walked in and then left the two of you to talk.

He vaguely remembered the things he said. Not much of the fight with the curse, only the fact you had found him in the bathroom. And you talk about that. You hold his hand as you talk, and kiss his forehead when you leave the room to make him food.

And then you both go on dates and get married and have a happily ever after because I said so.

[ratmonky]

Kısmet

warnings: cannibalism, death, vomit, mind control, dub-don, gore

word count: 1.8k

AO3 link

The smell of wet concrete was the first thing you noticed, you then felt the cold. Although you still hadn’t opened your eyes, you could tell that your pants were slick with the moisture from the ground.

There was a wet sound, the kind of sound you had never heard before. It was like something filled with liquid got squashed. It was mushy and there was a splat before a hiss filled your ears.

You finally found the energy to open your eyes, the place was darker than dark, you couldn’t see anything but the metallic scent of blood hung in the air, making your nose twitch in disgust.  You tried sitting up but your head was spinning, disoriented. You didn’t remember how you got here, it was like your memory had been wiped.

Eyes adjusting to the dark, you eventually got on all fours and pushed your upper body up using your hands in an attempt to stand on your feet. It worked, you stumbled a bit.

Something was off.

You could sense it, the hairs all over your body started rising, then you saw it. Two yellow orbs, far away from you. They glowed and at first glance, you thought those were a pair of eyes. Hah! As if eyes glow in the dark.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, like a hundred pairs of eyes were on you.

Taking a step forward, you heard a squeak of a small animal. You lifted your foot up and from the sounds alone, you thought it was a mouse or a rat. You hoped you didn’t step on its tail. This time, more carefully, you took another step, hands reaching out to feel if there was anything out there you might run into. A wall, a light switch, or even a person.

From the smell, you could guess this place to be a basement or an abandoned building. There was that signature smell of dust, mold, and -blood?

You looked ahead, sweat droplets forming on your forehead. The two yellow orbs were still there but closer.

“H-hello?” you called out, voice shaky.

It was quiet.

You took another step and to your luck, your foot ended up in a puddle, your face grimaced. You proceeded only to lose your balance, there was something beneath your feet. You reached out for something to steady yourself but there was nothing there. You fell on top of a solid thing. It was firm but soft, you realized it might be a person.

Absently touching the person on the ground you spoke, “Hello? Are you okay? Hello?” You found their chest and immediately pressed your ear to check for a heartbeat. Ahh. They were alive. You let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully, you could find a way out to find help for this person. You were about to get up when your body lost all control for a second. Everything started spinning.

“Walk away from the corpse.”

The voice was cold and monotone. It pierced the air, you looked around in fear as if the voice surrounded you from every corner of the dark. It was a woman’s voice, at least that was somewhat comforting, men were capable of the worst things.

“What?” you asked, not understanding what she meant. The person was alive. As you tried to get up, the person you landed on top of changed shape, you felt their flesh twist from under your hand, like they never had bones, to begin with. Your hand pulsated with the flesh as it abruptly exploded into your face. Warm liquid splashed across your face and torso, filling your open mouth. The scent of blood overfilled all of your senses and you vomited onto yourself. A scream tore out of you and you fell on your ass, organs of the person were in your lap or whatever was left of them. You kicked at the ground, getting ready to run but she was faster.

“Stop,” she said and your body disobeyed you. Your legs denied your orders, your entire body became unfamiliar to you. Your thoughts were there and you were still you but your body… Someone else was moving you, like a puppet. “Come to me.”

Her voice was soft, trying to lull you into a sense of false hope. Completely opposite of the voice in your head, screaming in horror. She had to be the one doing this.

Eyes wide, you watched as the yellow orbs stared right into your soul. A hot breath hit your face, your mouth contorted into a horrified frown and you tried to speak. Only moans came out of you.

“Well, isn’t that cute?” she said, you didn’t even know what she looked like. Why was she doing this? Something warm and wet pressed against your cheek before sliding across your lips. It was a tongue, you could only tell when it let itself push into your mouth. A hand grabbed the back of your neck as another pressed onto the small of your back. Your mouth soon filled with the taste of something sweet. As if you had been instructed to do it, you kissed the woman with hunger, sloppy and wet. Her lips were soft, involuntarily you bit her bottom lip. She made a sound of pleasure, your tummy coiled at that, pussy clenching around nothing. Smiling into the kiss, she kissed you hard, biting your bottom lip until the skin broke and your mouth filled with the taste of your own blood. Or maybe it was from that person?

Throb.

Not knowing whose blood you could be tasting excited you. Your cunt was pulsating, needy and wet. Sick. How could you enjoy something like that?

“It’s irritating,” she said, sighing as she rested her forehead against yours. “I always have to clean after your Devil.”

What?

Her hand groped your ass, caressing the soft mound of flesh over your pants before she roughly pulled you closer, her nails digging into your flesh through the fabric of your pants. You felt her pressing her plump lips on yours one last time before she moved to your neck, planting small kisses on your skin until she reached your shoulder. Using her free hand, she pulled at the collar of your shirt with enough force to pop all of the buttons. You heard them fall on the ground in a wet splat. Some rodents scattered around at the sudden sound.

You gulped as she put her hand on your chest and trailed up to your collar, removing your shirt from one shoulder. She quickly pressed her lips against your skin, your could feel her teeth grazing your shoulder. She playfully took a bite, chuckling while doing so before she chomped on the flesh.

A scream tore out of you but you didn’t move an inch. Your body refused to let you do anything. You felt blood pour out of you as the woman bit and bit until she took an actual bite out of your shoulder. You felt her teeth graze the muscle and tissue, eyes widening as she chewed. You could hear your own flesh being chewed in someone else’s mouth.

She swallowed. A violent silence filled the dark. Your blood was still wildly pouring out of you but your body wouldn’t move and you couldn’t speak, your lips didn’t move anymore. You weren’t allowed to control your body.

“I forgot how good meat tastes.” One of her hands went to the front of your pants, moving her forefingers along your slit like she knew exactly where it was. Your breath hitched. “Especially a scared little lamb’s meat.”

She let out a chuckle when you squeaked like a little toy duck.

“My little lamb,” she whispered. Her fingers were now rubbing you over your pants, making you buck into her hand, chasing your pleasure. It was like she knew you better than yourself. “Stay innocent.” Your eyebrows creased in confusion but she caressed your cheek to bring your attention back to her. “Don’t let the Memory Devil’s contract steal you away from me.”

Memory Devil?

“What?” you asked, finally able to speak.

“Remember your contract.”

It was an order, it was like all of your senses started overflowing all at once. Your mind exploded with a specific set of memories about a woman. Red hair and yellow orbs. Makima. Your boss. She introduced you to the Memory Devil, who took everything from you in exchange for restoring your body.

Your family, friends, and… you didn’t remember.

Was she taking your memories from the present now? Since you had nothing left to give? But then why wouldn’t she take away your memories of Makima?

“Your partner was killed, I guess I might as well stay beside you until you get another one.” Makima’s voice was soft like usual. Your shoulder was sizzling in pain but you didn’t seem to remember why. You pressed your hand hard against the flesh and Makima moved away her hands from you. There was nothing on your shoulder, the skin was smooth and wet. Possibly from sweat.

“Yes, Miss Makima,” you said, fixing your shirt. It always ended up like this; your partner dead, your memories wiped clean, and with Miss Makima there to save the day. It had to be fate. No, the things that reoccurred more than once couldn’t be called fate… right? “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Always devoted like a dog too, aren’t you?” She walked ahead of you, leading you to the exit with a smile on her face. “I don’t know which one I like the most.”

“Lambs?” you asked, confused even as to why you said it. There was light, the two of you were walking toward it slowly. “Excuse me, I’m a little tired.” You slapped a hand on your face and dragged it down, you were embarrassing yourself in front of your superior. Sighing, you checked your pants and found your cigarettes. Putting a cigarette between your lips, you lit the tip with a lighter. A slow inhale was enough to cleanse every trace of stress from your body.

She chuckled, “Hmm, I think I like lost little lambs the most.”

You raised a brow, “What does that suppose to mean?”

Makima shrugged, “What do you think?” When you didn’t say anything she gave a sigh and glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes stared deep into your soul. She looked terrifying like that, the front of her dress shirt was covered in blood. “Lambs are easier to control.”

“Didn’t take you for a sheep herder, Miss Makima,” you joked, laughing as you shook your head, the smoke from your cigarette left your mouth in weird singular clouds.

She turned around fully to face you and snatch the cigarette from between your lips. She deeply inhaled before turning around to walk ahead of you again. “Me neither.”

[bokutosbiceps]

somewhere beyond the sea

usopp x gn!reader | fluff | 1.9k words

warnings: none!

a/n:  i wrote this for you, coco ( @usoppsstar ). i hope i did your boy justice! i love usopp + hope he isn't too ooc but also i find him so cute in this, so hopefully you will too 😁 as always, pls lemme know what you think !!

usopp fidgeted with his fingers as he stood in front of your door. it had been a while since he last saw you, since he was last in dressrosa. he stared up at the threshold of your cottage, the wooden doorframe he had helped to lift, the strong stone walls that he'd helped repair after the battle in dressrosa all those months ago.

his mind was going a million miles a minute, wondering how you'd changed, if you'd even changed, if you still liked him, if you'd even liked him in the first place. what if you didn't even remember him?

swallowing the doubt that was bubbling up within him, he pushed the heavy wooden door to your cottage open.

“y-y/n?” he said cautiously and quietly before clearing his throat and willing his voice to go a few octaves deeper. “y/n!” he called, more confident. “your–the great usopp has returned!” he grinned proudly as he stood in the doorway, hands on his hips and chest puffed out.

the only thing that met him was silence. your single roomed cottage was empty, save for a few birds that had perched on your open window in front of your workbench. 

he frowns and steps forward into your cottage, despite the fact that you're not home, eyes set on your workbench.

he finds a gadget in the center of the bench, no doubt what you'd been working on most recently, and picks it up gently, turning it over in his hands as he inspects it. he lets out a chuckle through his nose, recognizing the gadget as a brand new slingshot that allows the user for quick reload. 

this brings him back to how he met you, how he'd gone into town looking for stronger weapons for himself, and how you'd found him in town after luffy had brought doflamingo down.

he had been skeptical, at first, when you had told him you could upgrade his current weapons, but he followed you back to your cottage out of sheer curiosity. working together, you repaired and upgraded his weapons, and he found himself returning to your cottage every day until the straw hats had to move on to the next adventure.

and, of course, he remembers the almost kisses you two almost shared. whenever working on a gadget together and your hands touch when reaching for the same thing, turning to stare deeply into each other’s eyes. then you or usopp would pull away, a spluttering, blushing mess.

now here he was, coming back after all this time just to see you. and you weren't here. just my luck, he chuckles to himself, pulling the rubber of the slingshot and aiming at nowhere in particular. 

the door to your cottage opens, startling usopp and causing him to let go of the rubber, yelping in pain as the band slaps against his fingers. 

“that's why you don't mess with things that aren't yours…” usopp turns toward the person who spoke these teasing words and his eyes land on you. he feels every single muscle in his body tense upon looking at you, immediately noticing how you've changed.

how is it possible that they’ve gotten even more perfect since the last time i saw them? usopp stares in disbelief, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes wide. you tilt your head to the side, raising an eyebrow at his behavior, but a teasing smile on your lips nonetheless.

usopp suddenly becomes self aware and clears his throat, relaxing (mostly) and offering you a cool smile. 

“well, you shouldn't keep defective slingshots for master snipers like me to hurt themselves with. i see a weapon, i use it, you know! it should work properly!” usopp huffs proudly, crossing his arms over his chest and pointing his noise in the air. a slow, silly smile spreads from the corner of his mouth as he peers down at you. 

you let the same goofy smile spread across your lips as you approach usopp, first walking and then running into his arms. you finally reach him and press your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and sighing happily. 

“how have you been, y/n?” usopp hugs you back tightly before bringing you out of the embrace and holding you away from him so he can look at you.

you immediately set off, talking at the speed of light as you rush around your cottage, showing usopp all of your different inventions and gadgets and smiling as he ooh’s and aah’s at all of them.

“you were gone for a really long time so…i was able to make a lot of new things!” you say with a half hearted smile, trying your best to make your voice sound completely normal. like you didn't at all mind that usopp just came into your life, made you smitten, and then simply left. 

you know he doesn't live in dressrosa, you know he technically didn't have an obligation to come back, so you should be grateful he's here now…right?  

but the truth was, you had missed him while he was gone. missed him like an ember of your twin flame had fallen into the ash and fizzled out, afraid it’d never reignite again. until now. you weren't going to waste this opportunity.

usopp notices the slight, not very well hidden frown on your face and he mirrors it, moving over to where you're refilling the little water dish that you set out on your window sill for the birds. he hesitates before reaching out to lightly touch your shoulder.

“listen…y/n…” usopp starts, trying to come up with an excuse to his prolonged absence. but he finds none. his life as a pirate grants a sense of freedom, adventures last for as long as you stretch them, and the nomad lifestyle is a given. but it means that sometimes he has to leave the people he loves behind.

so usopp decides an apology is in order. he's not sure what he’s apologizing for, but he'd apologize for anything and everything under the sun if it meant you'd stop frowning. 

“i’m sorry i was gone for so long. we've visited so many places and, oh, listen to this! we went to a country with samurai and i fought this giant–” you stop usopp with a smile and a gentle touch on his cheek. 

oh, how you missed his stories.

“there’s nothing to apologize for, usopp. the only thing that matters is how you're here now!” you will your frown to dissipate and replace it with a bright grin.

usopp feels himself relax, moving to turn around and lean on the window sill so he can look at you.

“so how long are you strawhats staying this time?” you ask, finding yourself worried for the answer.

usopp hums, arching his eyebrow and grinning down at you. “you said ‘you strawhats’?” 

you nod slowly, a confused expression painted onto your face. usopp just continues to grin.

“luffy is very gracious at times, you know. he tells me ‘usopp, you're the one in charge of this ship, so tell us where we should go next!’ so i tell him ‘drop me off at dressrosa! i have someone to see!’ then he says–”

“usopp, can you please just answer my question?” you interrupt with a giggle, making him smile sheepishly. 

“for a longer time, two months, maybe.” usopp says finally, his sheepish smile still brushed across his lips. the truth is, the strawhats had to stop back at dressrosa because luffy had heard a new lead on the one piece here, and robin had said it would take her a while to find the clue. perhaps two months? is what she had said.

“two months isn't that long, you know.” you can't help but smile, because two months is still more time than you'd had with him before. 

“not long enough for you, huh?” usopp resumes his proud facade, laughing with hearty vigor at your response. “you want to spend more time basking in god usopp’s glory, right?”

you just smile and listen to him, feeling how your heart was wrenching itself from your chest, missing listening to usopp’s stories and in disbelief that he was really standing before you now. you could not waste this chance.

you step forward and wrap your arms around him again, feeling your face heat up and your heart race. “there's no amount of time that would be long enough with you, usopp.” you say quietly, muffled, keeping your face buried in his chest.

usopp stares down at the top of your head in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream. she's touching me, she's touching me again! what do i do? do i hug her back? does she want that? should i make a move? what if she doesn't–

usopp fights furiously against these feelings, no longer wanting his cowardice to stop himself from getting the things he so badly craves. so badly desires. 

he steps back slightly, causing you to let go of him and look up at him in embarrassment. 

you open your mouth to apologize for hugging him so suddenly but are left speechless when usopp takes your chin between his thumb and index finger. he looks serious. you gulp.

“y/n, i was going to ask you…would you join me on the sunny?”

“like right now? lemme grab a couple of things–” you turn to collect some things from your work bench but usopp places his other hand on the small of your back, stopping you firmly.

“no…” usopp takes a deep breath, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “when we leave dressrosa, will you come with us? with me?” his eyes finally land back on you, and there it is again. seriousness.

a beat of silence ensues as you let his proposal sink in. suddenly, it seeps into your brain and dissipates and your eyes widen.

“me? live on a ship?” you chuckle nervously, wringing your hands and bouncing your gaze around the four walls of your cottage. “i wouldn't even–how would i–why?”

usopp doesn't recognize himself right now, but he's grateful for that. he's needed to do this since he spent all that time with you before. he leans in slowly, cautiously, and brushes his lips against yours, arms pulling you to his chest and holding you close. he decides he’s never going to let you go again.

“because i've left too many people behind, people i love. and i'm tired of doing that. we deserve to be happy, right?” usopp says, pulling away from the embrace and molding his lips into a calm smile. for some reason he's not internally screaming, he's not spontaneously combusting, yet he just kissed the girl of his dreams.

maybe that's how it's supposed to feel when it's right.

you stand there, dumbly, only able to look at usopp’s face, still searching for any semblance of joking, teasing, story telling. you could find none. only the seriousness remained. so you wrap your arms back around his neck and tug him back down to seal your lips onto his for a second time. you hoped your kiss would convey the resounding yes that was bursting from within your heart.

taglist: coco but she's already tagged | @bowsa-jr | @pileofmush just bc you said you had a crush on jacob this morning LOL