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[secondpersonpoetry]

“September”, Jennifer Michael Hecht

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (3/?)

Chapter summary: Wanda finds you again after months of estrangement.

Chapter word count: 5.5k

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Decided to post this early in celebration of Love & Death's final episode.

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next Chapter: Four

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r - let me know if I missed anyone

-

Three

At two in the morning, Wanda’s insomnia is at its worst.

Sleep doesn’t come despite doubling her usual dosage of sleeping pills, and she considers taking another, just so she can stop thinking about what Pietro said–about you moving on with someone new. Because despite her confidence in your love for her, her faith is waning with each passing day that you continue to leave her messages seen and her calls unanswered. 

She wonders how love–a resilient but tainted one–can survive in the dark. If it can survive at all. 

Wanda remembers reading somewhere on the internet that the human epidermis continually makes new cells every second, so that in just 30 days, one’s skin is entirely new. In months of being apart, it meant that there’s no longer an inch of her that has ever touched you. All that remains of her in you are memories. And what a fragile thing they are, when people are always forgetting. 

Wanda doesn’t want to be forgotten. Least of all by you.

She knows it’s within your rights to fall in love again, and she’s adamant for it to be with her. Her stubborn nature makes her cling to your wedding vow: that if you don’t end up with her, then you end up with no one. Maybe she’s delirious to still believe that you’d fulfill those promises, especially with how hard it is to reconcile those promises with dead silence.

Nevertheless, Wanda tries. She continues to send you mundane messages like a restaurant discovery or what she had for lunch, or a comment on the weather, telling you how nice it’d be to go outside for a walk. 

Tonight, she sends you a text about Sparky’s visit to the vet, hoping it provokes a reaction from you. It immediately gets read. Wanda’s breath hitches when she sees three dots appear right after her message. However, they soon disappear, leaving Wanda to stare at another unanswered text.

Tomorrow, then. And if not, the day after. Wanda won’t let you forget about her.

-

Agatha helps her with the finishing touches on her café, which happens to be unsold paintings donated by her colleagues from the gallery itself that Agatha manages. She’s informed Wanda that she’s considering early retirement to find something else to do, and when Wanda mentioned that she’s opening up a business, Agatha suggested she’d volunteer to help out on weekends in exchange for free coffee and dessert any day of the week. Wanda didn’t think twice to accept the proposal, and they shook on it.

“You have an eye for design, Wanda. You can make a career out of it once your cafe takes off and can hire someone to manage instead of doing it all by yourself.” Agatha says, dusting the final frame they hanged on the wall.

“Thanks. It’s just not me though. I had a lot of help from friends in NYU.” Wanda says, going behind the counter to make sure everything’s set for the big day, two days from now.

“Are you worried about the opening?” Agatha asks.

“A bit, yes.” Wanda admits with a sigh.

“Don’t be. Your pastries alone will keep this adorable thing afloat.” Agatha assures her, admiring the aforementioned pastries currently cooking in the oven.

Wanda smiles graciously, a little unsure if she’d take it as a compliment. With her former boss, it’s hard to tell sometimes. Agatha has the tendency to toe the line between maternal and condescending.

“That’s what I keep telling her.” Pietro, who Wanda didn’t notice entering the shop just now, chimes in. Her brother taps Agatha on the shoulder, making the older woman turn her head in an unnecessarily coquettish manner. Wanda lifts an eyebrow as she observes the two.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Pietro says, before running a hand through his hair and letting his textured, angular fringe fall dramatically back over his bleached eyebrows. “I’m Pietro, Wanda’s twin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Agatha says evenly with a smile, turning around to face him fully.

Pietro stands unnecessarily closer to her and says, “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

Wanda’s never heard Agatha giggle like a schoolgirl, and shoots him a murderous look. Her oblivious brother merely carries on staring at Agatha like he could see through her clothes. 

Squeezing into the narrow space between the two, she starts pushing her brother away from his prey. She can already sense him scheming, and she’s not going to let him potentially ward off the free help she’s gonna get on weekends.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wanda hisses at him under her breath as soon as she’s positive Agatha’s no longer within earshot.

He raises his hands in front of him in defense. “I was being friendly.”

“No, you weren’t. You were literally eyefucking my ex-boss back there.”

Pietro shrugs. “Maybe she was eyefucking me.”

“I swear, you’re going to–”

“Excuse me?” Agatha interrupts, and they both whip their head towards her–Wanda with a stricken look, and Pietro with a cheshire grin. Agatha can’t help but think how they’re both very attractive.

She addresses Wanda first. “I’m sorry but I have to go. Call me if you need anything, sweetie.” 

“Thanks again, Agatha.” Wanda says.

And then she turns to Pietro and winks at him. “I’ll see you around, handsome.”

“Oh, you will.” Pietro answers in a sultry voice that has Wanda harshly digging her nails into his forearm.

He only reacts to the pain after Agatha stepped outside. “Ow! Let go of me!”

“She’s off limits you pig.” Wanda chastises, landing some weak strikes on his arm. 

“Fine!” Pietro throws his hands up in surrender.

Wanda lets him go with a triumphant smile. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought I’d see you on Monday.” she says.

“My friend invited me to this club tonight, and I want you to come with.” Pietro says. 

“I’m not really in the mood to party.”

“You really have changed since you’ve been married to Y/N.”

“Thanks.” Wanda says curtly, and it’s not even sarcastic. If there were changes about her that were of your influence, then they could only mean the good kind. Wanda has long ago learned that she likes herself best when she’s with you.

“Don’t you at least feel like celebrating this?” Pietro gestures at the tiny confines of the cafe. 

“My idea of celebration is just steaks and wine,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. “Lots of wine.”

“Wands, you can’t keep punishing yourself. You deserve to have a good time once in a while.”

Wanda scoffs. “Punishing myself? Believe me, I haven’t started.”

“Wanda, come on,” Pietro pleads earnestly. “The thing is, I’m planning to bump into this real estate dude, and having my sister to make me look like a decent guy is going to help my chances in my investment pitch, okay?”

Wanda considers the new information. “Why didn’t you start with that in the first place?”

“Because I didn’t want to flat-out ask my heartbroken sister for help. Cause I know you’re… You’re half the person you used to be. You’re not whole, and here I am, needing your help when there’s nothing I can do to help you back.” 

It’s the most vulnerable she’s seen her brother, and it makes Wanda want to gather him in his arms and be children again. 

“Piet..”

Pietro assumes back a sturdy posture. “I’m sorry. I just need you. But if–”

“I’ll be there. Just text me where and what time you need me.” Wanda assures him. 

“I’ll owe you one, sis.”

“Try twenty.”

-

Pietro deserts her as soon as she serves her purpose, and he gets invited to the VIP floor of his prospective investor. Wanda doesn’t hold it against him, seeing how important this deal is to him. Besides, thirty minutes of blaring techno (it’s a crime to call it music, Wanda muses) and seizure-inducing lights are too much for Wanda to bear. She just happens to have four drinks in front of her (bought by different strangers), and there’s just no way she can let perfectly crafted Negronis go to waste. Really, she’s left with no choice but to stay and savor her prized cocktails. 

At least two men–and one woman–have taken up the courage to approach her by the bar, and Wanda only has to show them the ring she still wears on her left hand for them to leave her alone with a polite apology. 

On her own (and despite you being unaware of it) she wants the world to know she’s still yours.

Heaving a deep sigh, Wanda finishes her drink. One down, three to go. She’s already swimming in a pleasant buzz, and when her eyes drift to the center of the dance floor, she sees the last person she thought of seeing tonight.

It’s true what they say about experiencing everything around you slowing down to a stop when your life flashes through your eyes. It’s closest to how she’d describe seeing you in the flesh after a long stretch of only seeing you in her dreams. For a split second, she thinks she might be mistaken, but it’s definitely you when you start doing that dorky mannequin move that never fails to send her into fits of laughter. And that’s exactly what Wanda does; she half-laughs and half-sobs into her drink as you stiffly move your limbs, wearing a blissful smile of your own. 

You seem…okay. Happy, even. Against her will, a deep sense of insecurity settles heavily on her chest. 

And then, as if on cue, a blonde girl mirrors your dance moves, stepping into your space too close for Wanda’s liking. She looks much younger than you and Wanda are, and she recognizes the captivated look on her face. It’s the same look Wanda is giving you right now, the same look you used to give her everyday for more than ten years. Wanda helplessly watches you take her hand and spin her around goofily. And when the girl stops and loses her balance, she leans on your side for support. You let her, putting an arm around her shoulder as both of you continue to laugh at the silliness of it all.

Wanda feels her heart fall and crash into pieces. And the guilt of falling apart at seeing you happy like you deserve to be, comes to her in rolling waves.

She downs the rest of her drink–all three of them–and then weaves through the crowded club, bumping against sweaty bodies to find her way out.  

-

Wanda ends up waiting for you from across the street. She wraps her jacket tighter around her body and fights off the cold by blowing her breath into her hands and rubbing them together. It does little to keep her warm, but she’s too enthralled to see your face again to care. She couldn’t simply walk away and wait for another opportunity like this to come. 

Eventually–after nearly two hours of waiting–you come out of the building. You’re not accompanied by anyone, and you’re peering down at your phone. In the distance, she can clearly see how unfocused your movements are, which makes her wonder why you’re all by yourself.

She’s about to cross the empty street, when you unexpectedly look up and Wanda’s eyes lock with yours.

Her eyes glisten at the sight of you: somber eyes and flushed cheeks and the beginnings of a dazed smile at the corner of your lips. You were always a doe when there’s alcohol in your system, and Wanda could take advantage of that.

She could. But she won’t, even as you seem transfixed as she is.

Wanda tests the waters by taking a small step in your direction. You don’t move an inch from where you’re standing, but Wanda still holds her breath with each step. She keeps her eyes trained on your figure in case this is a hallucination–in case this is all just a result of standing for hours in the cold. But you gaze back at her, equally awestruck, and she thinks perhaps you’re also figuring out the same thing: if all of this is real. 

Wanda takes another careful step while you shift your weight, working out the best way to keep your balance. And then another, until you’re within reach and she can hear your shallow breaths, can smell your scent mixed with your favorite perfume, can see your baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Until she can look into those eyes that always held kindness she doesn’t deserve. 

Until finally, she’s standing right in front of you.

It’s been too long, the words keep repeating itself in her head.   

Without thinking, Wanda stretches out her arm to cup your face, but–despite your semi-drunken state–you backpedal on instinct. Dispirited, she drops her hand to her side and chews on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. You must have sensed her dismay, because you force a smile, before her name falls from your lips.

“Wanda.”

There's no doubt that you can break her if you want to just by saying her name. 

“Y/N,” she whispers your name back, greedily drinking you in an openly brazen manner. 

“H-Hi…”

“You… uh,” you fumble with your sentence, trying to come up with something to say, before settling on what you really just wanted to know. “What are you doing here?” 

Wanda actually considers lying, until she remembers that it’s what destroyed everything in the first place. 

“I was at the same bar and I saw you. I thought about going home, but I couldn’t leave knowing you were just there.” she says.

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply as you assess how you feel about your ex-wife waiting for you outside and possibly catching a cold in the process. Inclined to blame it on the alcohol later, you don’t think you hate the idea that she stood there for hours just to talk to you. It’s so disparate from the time when you two were together, and you were often the one to wait. 

But the truth is, it mostly just hurts. After all this time, it’s the same wound that just refuses to heal. Only now there’s more guilt on your part for ignoring her for months even though you know you shouldn’t feel bad for trying to move on the way you have to. 

“It’s good to see you.” Wanda says after a beat. “I’ve missed y–”

Suddenly, your head is filled with images going down on a stranger at the gym. You shake your head harshly in a feeble attempt to shake off the memory. 

Wanda is quick to assume that you don’t want to hear any semblance of how much she aches for you. 

“I don’t feel–” 

You feel violently sick, but you fail to say that out loud because the next second, you hear Wanda shriek in shock and you find yourself bent over your stomach, emptying its contents next to her stilettos. Wanda hovers above you as she gently pulls back your hair on one hand and rubs soothing circles on your back with the other. 

Your throat burns and you grimace as you stagger back on your feet. 

“Wanda, I’m so–” 

“Shhh… you need to sober up,” Wanda explains softly. You don’t know you’ve been leaning onto her for support until you saw her left hand wrapped tightly around your arm. 

Her left hand, that is anything but bare. 

“Why are you still wearing it?” The question abruptly falls out of your mouth, losing the ability to filter the thoughts that you would rather stay in your head if you weren’t in such an inebriated state. 

Wanda tenses up at the question, surprised that you still noticed. 

“You know why.” she mumbles, struggling to keep you upright. She doesn’t say more, just silently directs you to the pavement where you both sit next to each other.

“Your hair. It’s too brown.” you speak in a slow drawl, still having enough cognitive function to change the topic. Wanda grimaces at the comment, despising her new hairdo more than usual. 

For a while you and Wanda just sit there, basking in awkward silence. 

“I need to call an Uber but my phone is dead.” you whisper into your knees, talking to no one in particular. You look and sound so small, so far from when you were dancing earlier. Wanda tries not to think that maybe she’s the reason for it. She worries at her lip, contemplating if she should call a ride for you. But with your current state, she’d be on the edge all night wondering if you got home safe. And knowing you probably won’t update her, she’s probably going to lose her mind over it.

Rising to her feet, Wanda makes a decision and offers a hand for you to take. 

“Hey. I’ve got an idea.” 

-

Wanda watches you dip a fry into a plain sundae and pop it into your mouth. Her cheeks redden a little when you moan in appreciation, eyes closed as if you were sampling a gourmet dish. She’d never understand your weird taste for putting together two of the things that should never be put together.

“Feel better?” she asks, disinterestedly picking at her nuggets. 

“Much.” you say, licking your thumb with gusto. At this point, Wanda makes the right decision to look away before her thoughts become anything but innocent. You’re starting to recover from your intoxication, and she’s careful not to make you feel the slightest discomfort.

“How’s Sparky?” you ask all of a sudden, remembering Wanda’s text the other night about a visit to the vet. 

Wanda takes a sip of her coffee, then says, “Something about a low platelet count. They just prescribed him some meds. He’s doing better, I think.”

“That’s good to hear.” you say. 

Both of you fall back into another period of quiet.

Wanda’s head is sifting through the many topics that she had mentally filed in advance for this moment, but all she wants is to ask about you and your dance partner. The way she fell into you and the way you caught her with ease wasn’t at all friendly. The girl was obviously smitten, and Wanda can’t blame her. She can’t blame anyone but herself.

She peeks at you through her lashes, taking in your solemn expression as you suck on the plastic spoon.

Are you dating her? 

Have you already slept together?

Has she been replaced?

Instead, Wanda says, “He misses you though”, because she couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing. 

“I miss him too.” you say, and Wanda detects a hint of softness in your tone for the first time tonight.

It’s pathetic how she’s internally begging for you to say the same thing about her. 

(How she’s envious of her own dog for it.)

“You should see him some time.” Wanda says, and at the skeptical look in your eye, she adds, “I don’t mean you visit him at my place. I can bring him to you. Maybe he can stay at yours for a weekend.” 

You nod like you understand what she’s trying to do– what information she’s trying to get out of you. She expects you to dismiss the idea, but you surprise her by saying, “That can be arranged.”

“Great! We’ll–”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Right.”

The stillness and lack of words return for the third time. Not that Wanda is counting. But it doesn’t last as long as the other two, when you surprise her again by offering her what’s left of your sundae. “Want some?”

Wanda smiles at the gesture and scoops some with her own spoon. She misses the little things, like sharing food and killing time in a place as mundane as Mcdonald’s. 

“Are you still using your old number?” Wanda asks, a subtle tremor in her voice. 

You wince, aware of what she’s actually asking. You let it slip that your old number is active when you asked about Sparky. 

“Not as much as my current one.”

“Oh, that explains it.”

Something about her reply rubs you off the wrong way.

“Explain what?”

Wanda is taken aback by your snippy tone. She used to be able to read you so easily, and now she can’t pinpoint exactly what set you off. 

“What I mean is,” Wanda starts as gently as she could. “I’ve been trying to reach you for months. And you weren’t entertaining any of my attempts to communicate.”

“Well. Imagine that.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Wanda asks, voice thick with unshed tears. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

You heave a sigh, and Wanda frowns at that. In such a short time, she’s managed to exasperate you without even trying. 

You pause to gather your thoughts, and then regard her with an apologetic look.

“Sorry…For being a bitch to you, not for avoiding you.” you say.

Wanda wipes a single tear that has escaped her eye with a finger. “You did say goodbye. I’m just too delusional to accept it.”

“You’re not.”

Wanda lets out a hollow chuckle in response.

“I’m delusional for thinking that I can erase you if I pretend long enough you don’t exist.” you say.

She knows it’s what you’ve been doing, but it still hurts for you to lay it out in the open.

“Did it work?” she asks, picking at the skin around her nail until it bleeds.

“No,” you answer truthfully. You don’t elaborate on it and give her the satisfaction of knowing that you’re still miserable without her. 

For Wanda, those two letters give her first, real taste of hope since the night you confronted her about Vision. She knows better than to jump at the earliest sign that things may start turning around, but she couldn’t help herself from speaking the words that are most important for you to hear.

“I love you,” she feels every syllable of them in her tongue, and she cries further when you shake your head.

“We can think we’re in love, when we’re really just in pain.” you say to her with a mournful smile. 

“I don’t believe that. Sometimes they go together, because it’s just how it is. Love’s supposed to hurt.”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you. This is something we have to resolve individually, exclusive of each other.”

A look of resignation registers on Wanda’s face. It’s the most meaningful conversation you’ve had since separating, and she’ll willingly let go of the things you don’t want to discuss any further.

“What happens now?” she asks, placing the decision in your hands once again.

“I don’t know,” you say more with your shoulders than anything else. You steer the topic away from Wanda’s persevering feelings for you, and continue with, “I just want to enjoy this meal with… a friend.”

Wanda’s breath hitches at the apparent rejection. 

“You want us to be friends?”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet.”

“Friends....” Wanda trails off. It’s better than nothing, right? Being friends again is a good start. Friends fall in love all the time, don't they?

“I can do ‘friends’.” she says with newfound determination.

“I need to think about it.” you say because in spite of everything, you’re never one to make promises you can’t keep.

Wanda nods meekly. You stare at each other for a few moments, having reached an impasse, before Wanda remembers a major detail in her life she hasn’t shared with you over a text. 

“I have news. I’m opening a café in Queens on Monday. It’s, uh, where most of the alimony went.” 

Your face considerably brightens, as if the past several minutes didn’t happen at all. Wanda falls in love with you just a little harder at your organic reaction to her accomplishment.

“That’s amazing, Wanda. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” she says and blushes at the way you look so proud of her. 

“Wanda Maximoff, Cafe Owner.” you state her new title wistfully. “You make the best coffee though, so I’m not surprised by that…”

Wanda is no longer listening as a sense of déjà vu creeps underneath her skin, recalling how you had said something similar when she accepted a teaching position at Westview Institute.

Wanda Maximoff, Professor.

And when she got that job at the gallery.

Wanda Maximoff, Art Curator.

And after sharing your first kiss as wife and wife.

Wanda Maximoff, my wife.

Wanda comes to, just before you’re done speaking.

“…Is there anything you can’t do?” you say, good-naturedly.

Love you properly. Wanda broods over her regrets. 

She gathers all her verve, only to come up with a paper-thin smile. “You forget I’m a terrible dancer.”

You laugh. “Oh, yeah, that.”

“And I’m also terrible at self-control because,” Wanda admits before she loses the courage for what she’s about to say next. “Because I want to invite you to come to my opening.”

The laughter dies in your throat but the corner of your lips stay upturned.

“I haven’t even gotten my head around ‘friends’ yet.” you remind her softly. “But… I’ll make sure to drop by.”

Wanda exhales in relief. At least she knows when she’ll get to see you again.

“Now, about that Uber?” you say.

“I got it.”

-

Today’s forecast promised clear, blue skies–and yet, the feeling of dread wouldn’t leave Wanda.

She’s never been a fan of boats (and all sorts of transportation for bodies of water), but she couldn’t come up with any other meeting spot where she wouldn’t accidentally run into you. It’s ironic because for weeks, she’s scoured the places you’d normally be for a chance encounter.

Not this time. 

Not when she’s with this person.

Wanda boarded the ferry from Astoria, and it made a quick stop in Roosevelt where Vision was waiting to board the same vessel.

“Thanks for meeting me.” he says as he approaches Wanda who’s standing in the rear viewing deck. The amount of people onboard and the noises of the drafty wind should give them both enough privacy. Wanda doesn’t look up to acknowledge him. She merely continues to observe how the water churns and foams as the ferry picks up speed to leave its dock.

“Threatening to put Y/N in jail if I don’t, didn’t exactly leave me a choice.” Wanda says after a long time. 

“You didn’t leave me a choice either. It’s the only way you’d see me,” he argues, and not for the first time, Wanda sees him for what he really is; a mere school boy whom she dragged into her bed, and indirectly scarred for life. “Plus, you know I wouldn’t do that to her. Not because she doesn’t deserve it, but because I made a promise to you.”

Wanda finally forces herself to look at him. His appearance isn’t that of a healthy person. His gaunt cheeks clearly signifies how much weight he’s lost. There’s an ugly scar that runs from the left side of where his hairline starts, all the way down to his nape. And because of the wound, his previously vibrant blonde is all gone, leaving a dull, sandy color of a shaved head.

“What do you want, Vision?” Wanda whispers, feeling more sorry for him than anything. 

“You.” Vision states obviously. “I know you’re no longer married.”

“I told you it’s over,” Wanda says mutely. “Back when I was still married. Nothing has changed.”

“When this thing between us started, you knew the worst that could happen. You took the risk. That can’t be for nothing.” Vision’s impassioned plea makes her want to throw up. Wanda wants to deny each of his points, but she’d only be fooling herself. 

She did know that there’s a chance you’d discover the affair on your own, and yet she did it anyway. And that’s something she’ll never forgive herself for.

Wanda studies Vision for a moment. She can’t fathom how she ever made the mistake of using him to fill a gap that she couldn’t put a name to–a gap that is deeper and larger in the aftermath of her extramarital affair. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for doing this to you. I’m the worst thing to happen to you and Y/N. I’m sorry for this,” Wanda allows herself to lightly trace the wound on his head as a gesture of sympathy. “Don’t blame her, please. I put her through unimaginable pain for her to have done this.”

Wanda allows him to remove her hand from his face and clasps them in his. It’s the one last thing she can do for him.

“You’re so beautiful.” Vision murmurs, trying to keep his emotions at bay. “I don’t mind having my skull smashed a thousand times if it means I could have you all over again.”

Wanda gasps and promptly backs away, effectively freeing her hand from Vision’s hold.

“Don’t say that. You could’ve died!” 

Vision smirks and Wanda sees a flash of arrogance he held when he was still her student.

“It’s not so different from what you’re doing to me right now.” he says, and Wanda resists the urge to purse her lips.

“You don’t want me, Vision. You’re young and you have so much to offer–”

“–so much potential, so much capable of great things. Yes, Wanda, I know because you made me see it. You believed in me when no one else would. You saved me from being… worthless.” Vision slides down to the deck, leaning against the railing. He groans in pain, massaging his temples, as if rubbing it hard enough would make all of his problems go away.

Wanda crouches beside him, and then says, “I didn’t save you. I used you. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Vision keeps his eyes closed in an effort to avoid the tears threatening to spill. “Are you… are you back together?”

“No.”

A flicker of hope flashes in his eyes. It glows brighter than the sun as he asks, “Did you ever love me?”

Wanda dares to meet his gaze, and there’s no hesitation in the way she says, “No.”

Vision swallows hard and firms his jaw; a showcase of blind resolution that Wanda doesn’t know how to extinguish. 

“I don’t believe you.”

Wanda says nothing. She merely stands up and puts more distance between them.

“You don’t fuck someone like you’ve fucked me and not have feelings.” Vision insists, clinging to the memories of intimately knowing the woman in front of him.

It’s then that Wanda loses her patience.

“You’re a kid,” Wanda snaps, her fingers tightening around the metal rod she’s holding onto. “People lie all the time: with their words, their actions, their bodies. You’re naive to assume you know anything just because you had the best fuck of your life.”

Vision is drawing heavy breaths the second she’s done speaking, as if the weight of Wanda’s words were enough to sink him to the bottom of the sea, desperate for air. Wanda, on the other hand, is equally shocked and simultaneously disgusted at her cruelty towards someone who’s begging for love–begging like she is for yours. What she did to you warranted a punishment that’s ten times greater than he had gotten, and yet you never spoke ill of her, never tried to hurt her as sharply as she did Vision. 

Vision–this charming, brilliant, handsome young man who didn’t do anything wrong but succumbed to his boyish desires. Who she just maimed with her words. 

The ferry arrives in Long Island. People start gathering their belongings before they head towards the exit. Wanda glances at her wristwatch. She’s late for her first staff session with Agatha. 

“Vis,” Wanda croaks. “I wish I could give you what you want, but I can’t. I just can’t, okay? She’s everything to me.”

Vision is quiet, gazing at the sea with a faraway expression.

“It’s more than presumptuous of me to ask you this, but I’m going to ask anyway: forgive Y/N. Please don’t come after her for what happened. I’ll… I’ll pay for the damages.”

Vision lets out a humorless laugh, and then, without looking at her, says, “Just go, Ms. Maximoff.”

-

Monday

It’s nine-thirty in the evening, and Wanda ushers out the last of the customers to grace her opening day. 

You didn’t show up.

“Thank you so much, please come again!” she brightly exclaims with just a hint of tiredness from being all over the place for hours. It wasn’t a blockbuster where the lines would reach the next block, but it didn’t fall flat either. Her pastries were all sold out, and she hadn’t expected the need to place orders to her suppliers so soon.

For all that, as she flips the door sign from ‘Hi, We’re Open’ to ‘Sorry, We’re Closed’, the rush of today’s triumphs also leaves her. 

And then she sits alone in one of the barstools facing the window and patiently waits.

The gap widens some more.

[cosmos-dot-semicolon]

(⭐fanfic writers' commentary)

@plutosoda hi

Ooh, time to reread my old writing, huh? Always a fun trip, especially given I'd totally forgotten like half of it including that repetition trick you'd mentioned…

fair warning, i only got like 3 asks for this thing so I'm gonna commentate on pretty much the entire fic here. This post never ends.

Here's an entire director's commentary on All-Nighter! Enjoy!

"The covers were warm… But at least it'd get something done before passing out again."

I'm still fond of this intro. I'm terrible with being succinct, but this is somewhere where my rambling writing style really works; this section is written from experience of many a 'stayed up too anxious now you can't sleep' nights, and someone who has read a lot of the techniques to fix that problem, then didn't (ADHD lol). That is in fact what my internal monologue tends to be like at night - a mix between recalling every single way you've ever learnt to pass out, worrying about what happens tomorrow, 'why is life like that. what did i do,' and just a pinch of 3am self loathing.

I never really thought of it until an AO3 commenter pointed it out, but it was a fairly natural way of worldbuilding/expositing/characterisation all in one go. Establish the premise of the fic, Robot only bothering to process things when it's on the brink of exhaustion, the way it's kinda obsessed with productivity and efficiency and self-improvement.

I'm proud of it!

Also I like to think Lady Luck only does the weird scheduling thing for Robot. She'd be the type of person to try and make the Dungeons a personalised hell for everybody.

“Hey, could I get a coffee, do you think? …I’ve been sleeping so badly down here.”

I'm quite happy with the intro to the next bit too. My goal going into most fanworks (still) is to emulate what drew me to the original story. In this case, that's Dicey's tone and dialogue, with a bit more direct focus on the characterisation of everyone. So this is sort of a meta plot device that signals all that to the reader. I love how efficient that is. also I just like throwbacks and references okay

"The canteen was a dense jumble of kichen counters…"

I could've been a little faster with this scene and Robot subsequently making the coffee. One of my weaknesses as a writer is that I hallucinate some of the scenes in my head, and try to write down everything in that instead of just drawing a comic (cough that one unpublished Ninjago fic). I'm a sucker for describing scenery for days on end.

That said, I'm really glad I got the vibe of 'light-blue-grey' morning over to you in your fanart. It was exactly what I was imagining as I was writing this.

"Pre-ground. …But this was just evil."

I think I'm funny. Anxiety cube can put up with a lot, but terrible coffee isn't it.

"They taste horrible compared to freshly ground beans. It’s not worth the convenience."

haha. because you see. that's its heart's desire *gets turned into a dice*

"Pouring a generous portion for its new friend, Robot masked its complaints with a long sigh." "…But thanks to the innovations of modern day life-” An overhead swig downed half the mug."

A commenter pointed out that some of my lines have really good flow in them between actions and characterisation. I didn't notice that until then, but I'm inclined to agree. Some of these drive in the point really well.

"At least its fellow patron was enjoying themselves – not even flinching at the concoction and savouring the coffee raw. It was tempted to start a commentary on how dark roasts were overrated, but soon became a little more concerned about them drinking through the 100 centigrade burns. This place had quite the collection of creatures, it seemed."

I like to think Robot's a little snobby about the things it enjoys. I like to think Lady Luck tries to throw people off as much as possible.

"So, how’s the self-improvement going?" they started. "I only want top quality minions in my dungeons."

Very fun fact is that I was worried about spoiling the twist in this fic because of this line being so blatant, but I wanted to put it in anyway because it's a good character-establishing moment, and a good… re-interpretation of the line in another context? I love recontextualising canon in a slightly different way that still works for the characters in question. it's so fun

Anyways. Turns out I didn't need to worry about that because at least one reader totally missed this too so got hit with the full twist anyways. Isn't writing great?

"So, what’s keeping you up this late?” they asked. “Nightmares? A looming sense of regret and existential dread? Unfinished essays due tomorrow morning?"

essays due tomorrow morning. haha so true. i'm glad I don't take much coursework nowadays.

"You know, as useless as it looks, sleep’s rather important for you folks. It’s how you deal with all the terrible things that happen during the day, since your brain can just wipe the slate clean and try again. But funnily enough, it’s always the first thing that’s left behind whenever someone wants to better themself." "Life’s painful enough as it is. Why not change things up if your current routines aren’t working?" "Nobody ever plays the cards they’re dealt perfectly, dear… Time always slips you by when you’re not paying attention. And nobody ever knows what’s coming next. You’ve just got to learn when to raise and fold them." "Well, part of being human is never being a hundred-and-one percent efficient. If you folks still count yourself as that. I’d apologise but I remember you were quite nonchalant about your little transformation anyways."

One of the main points of this fic was that while Lady Luck is blatantly on the offensive and absolutely insulting Robot to its core, she's not technically… wrong?

It's not bad advice. Lady Luck, in-game, seems very perceptive of the various insecurities mortals go through. And I like to think she does start this conversation just for genuine fun, to pick someone apart. See if they bounce back against it or just crumble. It's just a bonus that the recipient finds it harder to refute her offers afterwards.

"It might!" it snapped back, getting them to at least try and contain their mockery under a silent, wavering smirk. "You know what? I think it will be, I can feel it!"

Robot sort of does both. It's definitely very very anxious. But it's stubborn. I really like that about its character: how there's a contrast between its organised and disorganised sides? How robots are usually associated with hard numbers and calculations, but Robot's mechanic is blackjack. also it's SO autism/adhd coded. listen. in this

I don't know if there's a trope to call either of these, but they're my favourite things about both characters, and they're surprisingly introspective for a game so short on story. (I will write more about that in another post. lol).

It's a bit indulgent in how long it goes on in some areas, but eh. It works for the fic's pacing.

"The figure leaned forward to highlight its obvious obliviousness…" "I thought you were supposed to be the overly organisational optimist."

I love alliteration. yippee!

"A gentle chuckle filled the air, restrained from its usual projecting echo. "You wound me, Robot. Games are always more fun when your players at least get the chance to try and fight back."

I like to think Lady Luck's main motivation is entertainment. Which mostly involves watching people suffer. But I think it's in the spirit of luck to have it so that someone's downfall was their choice. Determinism versus free will and whatever.

The chance that somebody could escape makes things spicier. And makes it sting all the more for all those that didn't. Hooray!!

Also given Lady Luck's usual loud persona, I planned (plan) on giving her quite a few more subtle but equally threatening moments in this series. It's a thing that wouldn't really work well in the actual game, but it does in a slower medium like writing, and I fucking love that trope.

"Statistically unlikely, but I’ll humour it," she commented to an invisible aside."

You should picture this scene as her directly staring at you through the fourth wall. Like in a sitcom.

"But it’s not so bad, being a minion… I’ve heard that’s about as stable as a job as you can get these days." "…though surprisingly she was not the worst boss it had had to deal with."

I always thought this line, used on Thief in-game, would've been an absolute killer on Robot. The job market is pretty fucking shit these days under capitalism and you would be lying if you said there aren't at least some parts of the Dungeons that seem better work-wise. Inclusivity, stable employment, accommodation.

Yeah, you have no freedom, but that's also the goal of capitalism up here as well. At least in Dicey it's ridculous and ironic. And you'd get to use your degree in maths/statistics/acounting etc to its full extent! Can you fucking imagine the paperwork for a game-show/dungeon hybrid business.

"But then again, I think you’re plenty used to the grind."

I believe this was an unintentional-turned-intentional coffee pun. Boooooo

"Funny how they think that’ll discourage anybody. …Folks hear that the house always wins and immediately think they’ll be the exception."

She would be the one to know that. This was intended as a followup to Robot's entire argument before. I'm very happy that at least one person picked up on that :D

"So whatever you pick, it'll be a decision from Robot alone, no matter what your mind or body drags you into afterward.”

I believe this was also supposed to be a callback, but the wording got changed slightly. I think it was the "It feels like my mind and body won’t stop working against me" bit.

"Normally, Robot would’ve stayed to socialise and make new friends, and in all likelihood, skipping breakfast would leave it starving later on in the day. But right now, it needed some time to itself: to think and recover and remember where it was going with this."

This was another callback (that actually made it into the story). Robot immediately making another bad decision after the first, with the exact same words echoing it coming.

"Just another day in the dungeons. It could handle this."

I wanted the ending to be very short and open-ended, in that it was up to you to interpret whether Robot took the offer or not, and when. But regardless I wanted it to be like a regular intro to an episode, but with the hint something definitely fucking changed that the audience can only speculate on.

…oof. 80 minutes on this essay. My poor neck. I think that's it for now, though.

Overall I'm really happy with this piece - hence why it's one of the few things I actually put online. It's three years old, and I could've fixed the flow in some bits (there's one part where I think Robot answers a different question than was asked).

But I achieved pretty much everything I wanted to say in this piece of fanwork, it pushed me to think about characterisation a lot and my writing and editing techniques. There's a lot of neat little things I put into it, and it really got me to grips with what I liked about my inspiration in the first place.

I think that's an exercise worth trying for every fan-work creator. Stretches you brain. Almost lets you re-experience what you loved about a thing years later. Points you towards your possible future diagnoses. It's a fun time!

[nightcall99]

Dreams from 19.9.24

Dream 1: There was a gathering happening at my house, a party I think. Just a small group of people. He was there. We sat close together. After awhile my body seemed to inch closer to his and then our bodies were touching, like our sides. It felt so natura land normal but I felt a bit weird about it like should I disconnect our bodies. I should do so for propriety's sake. But I didn’t do anything. I let our bodies continue touching, it felt nice. And then something happened, I dunno how he did it because he hadn't moved and neither had I but within a split second my bra was not on my body anymore. I didn't know where it was but I realised he'd hidden it under the bed, hanging on a hanger. I was a joke I suppose but I didn't find it vey funny. We were in front of company. A girl from work noticed and she did a smile of shock but continued talking to her friend. She saw that on my top half I had only a cardigan. I buttoned it up and tried to hide myself. AL was there. I wanted her to help me, like cause a distraction so I could go get my brad. And she did. Then I left the room and went tried to find somewhere private so I could fix myself. I tried to find a separate room but the entire house was empty and kinda dark and it felt like for some reason there was no privacy. Like I was being watched no mater what. I just fixed myself in the spot not caring if there were cameras or people watching or whatever.

Dream 2: I was at a party in Northcote, some gathering. I was just sitting there and then AL had just arrived. She sat next to me. I don't think I was expecting her to get here like this. I said, I thought you were working? How'd you get here so fast? She said something, I dunno what, kinda dismissing me. She was working in Northcote too, the sister store) and her shift would have finished at 9pm and even if this place was closer by, only a few minutes, how she lock up and get here at like 9:02pm? Well I was very glad she was here anyhow. I wondered who was working tonight that they wouldn’t be able of make this party/meeting. I thought of the male student, JZ. For a second, I wondered if SM would be here. I assumed that the three boys (SM, JZ and JL the usual team) were on tonight.

Dream 3: I went into the group chat there was like 200 messages . I assumed it was because of the session that had just been released.

Dream 4: I forgot. I had a trip planned. I had known about it and forgotten completely. I had had 3 weeks of annual leave arranged in the roster for ages. In fact, I only had a day or two of work left, well in fact it was one more day, today and then I was leaving. This all crept up me on out of nowhere. But really, I should have known because I'd been staring at the blank weeks in the roster against my name and thought nothing of it. I thought I was just going to stay home the whole time but it turns out I had a Europe holiday planned. I was going with an influencer from Instagram. I didn’t know her very well but I liked her, it’s as though we had just met and I knew we got along and the opportunity just presented itself. I think she was the one to remind me that we were going.

I had to pack. I had started packing an age ago, so I guess more proof that I had always known I was going but I had never finished packing. The suitcase was tucked away at the bottom of my closet. I had inside some toiletries and first aid items, and some other stuff and now I just had to pack my clothes. I have to admit I was a little panicked but I knew it would be fine. The flight felt like it was tonight? Like I had one more shift where I would finish at 5pm and then maybe the flight was at 9pm or some time after it. Was that right? I hope so. I wondered if my original shift was 1-9pm which would mean I'd have to seriously rush to get to the airport afterward. I was worried I hadn't swapped my shift yet with someone but I had. Then I thought, well I think it’s actually tomorrow, the flight. I confirmed this with the girl. I also thought I had 2 more days of work left but it was only 1, or even not at all. For a second, I worried about letting MN know that I was going to up and leave with no notice but I realised I had already prepared that and didn’t need to worry. Obviously I had, because the roster reflect this.

I just had to pack. I wondered what shoes to bring. It would be hot. There were these platform sandals but they looked humongous. I realised it's because they'd come from the factory and hadn't been split from their mold yet. I cracked them in half and tried them on. They did fit but then some of the heel crumbled but I seemed to not really care. I didn't have a bathing suit and I knew we should be swimming at beaches and whatnot. There was no time to run to the store and buy one, but I could just buy one while we were in Italy or Paris. The bathing suits, while probably more expensive, would be more stylish. Then I wondered about the girl I was going with. We barely knew each other. I’m a weird person. And as if she knew what I was thinking, she looked at me and smiled and said, You know I realised you’re a quite a crabby person. I said, Well yeah, I am. I’m temperamental, my emotions change suddenly because I’m always in tune, or at the mercy of my emotional environment, it's so tiring. She understood. Well, at least she seemed to accept it. I knew this was a good sign she didn’t dismiss me. I also felt that she was intimidatingly beautiful, why was she hanging out with me? Then I realised I was just as beautiful as her. In the end, I felt that we would be good travel companions. I imagined us taking photos together and sightseeing. But then I thought about cancelling the trip. It felt like a lot of effort, to pack, to get along with this person I hardly knew, not to mention the immediacy of it all. I only thought like this for a few seconds. I had made up my mind that I was going to go. I knew I would have a good time, it would all work out.

[ambersky0319]

You wanna hear people ramble? Well, I'm having a bit of a rough night, so let's talk fond memories!

For the Random Questions Collection: 10. If you own/owned plushies, which is your oldest and what's 1 fond memory you have with it?

I do still have a few plushies left from my childhood (most of the others are now in the care of my nephews). This guy is the oldest!

His name is Isak and he's a polar bear. Actually, let me rephrase that. His name is Isak because he is a polar bear. That's just the rules. Because in swedish both "Isak" and "polar bear" (isbjörn) have the word "ice" (is) in it. He used to be a lot more white and fluffy, but he's an old man now lol. I've had him my entire life. Literally! I got him the day I was born. Pretty sure there's some photos somewhere of him lying next to me at the hospital.

Anyway. When I think of my memories of him, one very fond and very random one comes to mind. Although, technically he wasn't even in it, it was still about him, so I'm gonna share that one.

If I remember correctly, it was either late november or early december 2008. At least I'm pretty sure it was that year? Which means I was 10 and it was only about 2 months after my mom had passed away. Me and my older sister were spending a few days? weeks? at our older brother's place. I can't remember exactly why, but I think it was because Dad lived outside the city and we were still trying to figure out how to get to school by bus and make the transition to that and such stuff more smoothly.

So. One night, my sister was helping me with my reading homework (I think it was?) and we ended up looking at this calendar (because she had to sign the homework?). Where my sister saw that it was Isak's name day on december 19th. (I don't know how common name days are in other countries. But basically it means that on almost every day in a calendar there are one or a few names written. If your name is on a day then that day is your name day. Which may or may not be celebrated, like people might wish you a happy name day and you might get a little money from your parents/grandparents/family).

Okay. Where were we? Right. My sister saw Isak's name day and straight up shouted out into the room "Isak! It's your name day on the 19th!!" Then there was a beat of silence, after which she continued (still low-key shouting) "...if you're even here??"

And the thing is, he wasn't. I had left and/or forgotten him at home. Meaning my sister was shouting for a plushie that was like 15-20 km away. Which I found hilarious.

Idk. It's just one of those stupid, funny and fond memories that has stuck with me over the years. And me and my sister still joke about it regularly. Especially every december XD

Anyway. Rambling over. Hope you're having a great day! <3

First of all- so sorry you've been having a rough night!! It seems like if the weekend wasn't rough then today has been (a friend of mine had an atrocious morning). Hopefully the night gets better/tomorrow is a better day! <3

Second. I'd die for Isak. He's adorable and has aged beautifully (at least definitely better than my first plushie that I still have as well! 😅) The name day story was so cute!! I think that's a really fun thing to have, honestly, and it's really funny that your sister continued shouting despite him not being there 😂

We love the stupid fond memories the most <3 that's what makes them so special!

[cuttoothed]

Happy Anniversary! (I'm very late, I know). If you're still taking prompts, can I request Jon and Martin one year after they land somewhere else? Thank you so much <3

(Anniversary Prompts)

I am basically always taking prompts, honestly! I still have quite a few to get through, but this one jumped the queue because I was looking for an excuse to write something for the anniversary of the finale. So thank you for the excuse! :3

*

For weeks leading up to it, Martin debates whether to say anything. Jon hasn't mentioned anything about it, and he would have if he remembered, no question, so maybe it's better not to remind him. It's not exactly a nice anniversary, even if it gave them a whole new start; there was an awful lot of blood and pain and world-shattering horror involved, and for Jon, the terrible guilty grief of visiting the Fears on a multitude of worlds. That guilt and grief still keep him up some nights (it's getting better, but Martin doesn't think it'll ever leave him entirely) so maybe it's for the best if he's forgotten.

On the other hand, if Jon does remember will he be annoyed that Martin didn't tell him? He hates to feel as if he's being coddled, and "keeping something from him for his own good" would almost certainly fall under that category. But it's not as if he'd have any proof that Martin knew. He could just claim he forgot. It would be a lie, but only a white lie—practically not a lie at all, really. (Martin knows that justification wouldn't make him feel any better in the slightest about lying to Jon.)

Really though, it is for his own good, and one of them has to be thinking about that. Jon would chop his finger off if he thought it would do someone some good (and for anyone else that would be a colorful exaggeration, but not for Jonathan Sims) but he never thinks of his own wellbeing. So Martin sometimes has to do it for him.

Anyway, he doesn't have to decide right now—it's not for weeks yet! So he puts it off, and then it's not for days, and then it's the day after tomorrow, and finally he wakes up Friday morning and he still hasn't decided. Jon's asleep when he leaves for work (the café opens at seven and much as Martin loves Jon, he's not an early riser at the best of times) so he rationalizes that he still has all day to decide.

Martin doesn't actually need to have a job, if he didn't want to. In this world, with the Beholding back on the outskirts of reality, Jon doesn't know everything anymore, but he can know almost anything if he puts his mind to it. And that includes knowing exactly where in a reel of scratch cards the winners are located. He's discreet about it, of course: never wins too big—a few hundred pounds at a time—and spreads his wins out carefully around the plethora of corner shops and petrol stations and supermarkets in London.

This leaves Jon with a lot of free time, which he spends mostly trawling paranormal web forums, looking for people he can help. He's admitted to Martin that is also serves to feed the Eye, but in a way that's not directly harmful to the other person; he's not appearing in anyone's nightmares. So far he's restricted himself to just giving advice—which often comes down to "burn that book" or "seal that object in concrete and throw it in a river, no I don't care how expensive it was"—but Martin knows he really wants to meet some of these people in person, try to offer them more tangible help. What's holding Jon back is the fear that, face to face with someone who he knows has a statement, he wouldn't be able to resist taking it. The thought makes Martin afraid for him too. So for now, Jon does his work as a pro bono paranormal consultant online.

Martin's not sure it's exactly a sustainable lifestyle, but he's not going to pressure Jon back into a regular workplace, not when he spent most of their first six months here re-learning how to be a person after being an all-powerful avatar of fear. He'll take the next steps—whatever those are for Jon—when he's ready.

In the meantime, Martin has his job at the café so at least they'll have an income if the Beholding someday suddenly decides to stop cooperating with Jon's scheme. He likes the café. It's straightforward, and the most stressful thing that ever happens is if they run out of ciabatta during the lunch rush, and by now he's pretty friendly with the other people who work there. They've even started doing a pub quiz once a week.

Besides, Martin's never been comfortable feeling as if he's dependent on someone else. Thinking back on it, that was probably the cause of at least some of his less than spectacular behavior during the apocalypse—combined with the stress of it being the end of the bloody world, of course. Not that it's an excuse, only a reason, but the fact that he's now aware of it is a good thing, he thinks. Personal growth.

But he still hasn't decided whether to say anything to Jon.

He debates it all day in his head, with such intensity that he keeps having to ask people to repeat orders and Justine asks if he's feeling all right. Then he debates it on the walk home to their cozy little flat, and right as he walks in the front door he decides, firmly, that he won't say anything.

He goes into the living room and Jon is sitting on the sofa, peering at his laptop screen over the frames of his glasses, and with his favorite mug (the one with the penguins) on the coffee table beside him. He looks up as Martin enters, his frown of concentration transforming into a smile that lights up his face.

"Hi love," he greets, his voice pure affection. "How was work?"

In that instant, Martin is filled with so much love and admiration for this man, for all he's survived and still retained his warmth and kindness, that he knows he can't lie to him. Not even by omission.

"It's the anniversary of the day we arrived here," he blurts out. Jon blinks at him. "I—I mean the day it all...you know—"

"Oh," says Jon, his expression going serious. He nods. "Yes, I know. I didn't say anything, because...well, everything's been so good here, you've been so happy, with the café and—and everything. I didn't think you'd want to be reminded."

"Oh," it's Martin's turn to say, and he feels a sheepish smile spread across his face. "Umm, same? I thought...if you'd forgotten about it, that was probably a good sign? That you weren't actively thinking about it, I mean."

Jon gives a soft chuckle and stands up, coming across the room and resting his hands on Martin's shoulders. "So we were each trying to protect the other and shoulder the burden alone, eh?"

"Sounds about right for us," Martin says, his own hands coming to rest on Jon's lower back, pulling him into a hug. "We really should work on that."

They hold each other tightly for a long time, and then pull apart just far enough that Martin can look at Jon's expression.

"Do you want to tell me how you're feeling?" he asks, because Jon doesn't always want to, and sometimes he wants to but can't, and framing it this way puts less pressure on him, lets him know that Martin is there to listen without expectation. It's something they've learned together; they've been learning a lot of things, this past year, about how to communicate and compromise and be together.

Jon frowns a bit. "Not good, all day," he admits. "I've been thinking about it a lot. Sick to my stomach, if I'm honest. It's better with you here, though—when it's us dealing with it together."

"How about we go for a walk?" Martin suggests. His feet are tired from rushing around all day, but he knows Jon won't have been out yet and some fresh air might do him good.

"That would be nice," says Jon gratefully.

They walk to the local park and sit on a bench near the duck pond, watching the ducks dabble and dive and preen. A pair of women pass them, pushing prams and chatting, and a jogger loops the pond a couple of times before heading off down another path. An elderly man sits on the next bench over, tossing sunflower seeds to a group of strutting, cooing pigeons. Martin reaches over and takes Jon's hand in his.

"I'm glad we have this," he says. It's been a year. Martin still feels guilt for some of his choices, and grief for others, but it's a beautiful afternoon and he's here, with the man he loves, and he refuses to be sorry about that. Jon smiles at him, and squeezes his hand for emphasis.

"So am I," he says, and despite everything, Martin knows he means it.

[cyborg-franky]

hello franky <3 first of all congrats on the milestone, you deserve all the love and support for the amount of content you provide ! you know exactly why i'm here, and it's for drum rolls asking for you to kindly bless me with some more marco. ahem, i was going to leave the choosing to you but i know damn right with my luck this would end up very badly.

so could i have number 11 (right place at the right time) from the lucky list for marco if no one has requested it yet?

hohoho Thank you my dear! and thank you for blessing me with an off anon request! and yess I will provide you some Marco! Marco x GN reader SFW Modern AU Prompt: Right place at the right time Word Count: 507

The day had been long and all you wanted to do was get a hot drink, get home, change and just be dead to the world, that didn’t seem like too much to ask for, did it? Your bus was late, you had to stay an extra hour at work to compensate, someone got you in trouble. All of it was building up, you stood there staring open mouthed like goldfish as the cashier waited for you to find your wallet, which you didn’t have, which you thought about sitting on your desk at work.

You were this close to crying in front of a line of people. The woman behind the counter was getting increasingly annoyed at your delay in response, having just watched you pat every pocket on your being, looking inside your back, nothing.

“I…”

“Add a vanilla latte to that, large, I’ll pay” came a voice from behind you, a very tall blond man with thick red glasses and a lop-sided grin. He reached past you and pressed his card to the payment machine.

For a moment you couldn’t process the situation, just staring at the very handsome man. He was dressed in a purple shirt, jeans, could see the top of a large tattoo where he hadn’t done the buttons up the entire way. He gave you a smile, eyes half lidded, he looked friendly. You went to stand at the end of the counter with him.

“Thanks, I.. well.. it’s been..” You tried to think of the words as he chuckled, shaking his head and raising a hand.

“Don’t mention it, I don’t mind yoi” the friendly stranger said, you both got your drink and he offered you to sit with him, giving you the option to refuse, that you didn’t owe him anything. Truth was you wanted to, you wanted to get to know this man more.

“Marco by the way” He introduced himself, bringing his coffee to his lips, he had nice lips, very full, kissable you thought.

Shut up you told yourself, making yourself look away from Marco’s mouth, paying attention to your own drink, sighing, happy, this was one of those small wonderful comforts you just neededto feel more at ease in the whirlwind that had been your day.

You both talked, learned about one another, it was nice, he even bought you another drink, suddenly you’d forgotten your quest to return home and sit and eat a bag of chips in your underwear on the sofa.

“Well, I need to get going but, can I have your number? That’s if you didn’t also forget your phone somewhere yoi” The look on his face, the little shit eating grin.

“Oh, funny man huh?” You laughed, pulling your phone out and exchanging numbers.

You waved goodbye and headed home, a drink to go in your hands as you walked. You glanced at your phone, seeing a new message, you felt your face light up just as the screen had. Marco invited you out for dinner tomorrow night.

TAG LIST: @undercoverweeeb @slut4animedilfs @acesmarigold @sanjithesimp @fire-fist-ann @secretsnailor @dxvilmanlev @aifozu @useless-potatho @aSTRASARIA

[from-the-dark-past]

Interview with Anders Ohlin in The Black Metal Murders: English translation

Translator’s note: Black metal-morden (English: The Black Metal Murders) is a radio documentary from 2017 produced by Radio Sweden (download). It’s about Mayhem and the Norwegian black metal scene in the ‘90s and contains interviews with Jørn “Necrobutcher” Stubberud, Kjetil Manheim, Eirik “Messiah” Norheim and Anders Ohlin (Pelle Ohlin’s younger brother). 

Here, I’ve translated the parts where Anders Ohlin speaks into English (from Swedish). I’ve added time-stamps and short descriptions for the different sections of the interview. 

I am working on translating the interviews with Necrobutcher, Manheim and Messiah and will post them soon. 

1:51 - 6:35 [Talking about him and Pelle getting into extreme metal]

Anders: We’d started listening to hard rock and it was… We’d, like, worked through all of those… Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. 

Narrator: It’s the mid-1980s in Västerhaninge, a suburb of Stockholm. Pelle Ohlin lives here. He plays in the extreme metal band Morbid and his stage name is Dead. Pelle has introduced his five-years-younger brother to hard rock. Together, they’ve worked through all of the main bands. 

Anders: And you, like, hungered for this… This Other. 

Narrator: The ‘Other’ that younger brother Anders is talking about is extreme metal; music that is faster, darker and harder. A progression of hard rock. Music that isn’t easy to get your hands on at this time. Anders is in his early teens and has gotten his first girlfriend. 

Anders: It was my first relationship and it was super-exciting, and I was at her house, she lived in Jordbro, which is, like, the neighbouring suburb. 

Narrator: Anders’ girlfriend’s older sister has an LP that Anders simply must show his older brother Pelle. 

Anders: It was, like, you knew it was good music, and it was that Destruction record. 

Narrator: Anders sees the German death metal band Destruction’s cover and it’s enough for him to understand that this must be good music. [...] 

Anders: This. This here isn’t Judas Priest and it isn’t Iron Maiden; it’s something else. I’ve got show this fucking record to Pelle. 

Narrator: Anders nags [his girlfriend’s older sister] to borrow the LP. He’s allowed to, but only for the day, so he bikes home in the rain from Jordbro to Västerhaninge as quickly as he can. 

Anders: And it was like [excited noise], like a cartoon; the evil wolf, their eyes bulge out and we both ran -- because we hadn’t heard the LP, only seen the cover -- ran to the record player och then Mom walks up and is like: ‘Stop! You’re forbidden from using the gramophone.’ And it was like, fucking hell, is it going to die here and then we explained to Mom -- ‘This is an extreme record and we’ve borrowed it for the day and it’s going back tomorrow,’ -- and Mom was super-harsh and was like: ‘It doesn’t matter. [...]’ And then we started negotiating and agreed that we could record the LP onto cassette [because you don’t need volume for that]. So, it was on full-blast the entire night and we recorded it and stood bent over the record scratches and were like,‘Shit, this is good stuff’. 

Narrator: Pelles hard rock style stands out against the usual sweatpant-Bagheera-jacket [style], not least the music. 

Anders: The ideals that existed at that time were that you were supposed to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, which neither he nor I did [laughs]. You were supposed to be handsome and cool and have some fucking helipad on your head. 

Translator’s note: Anders is talking about a flat-top haircut commonly referred to as a ‘helikopterplattafrisyr’ -- helipad haircut -- in Sweden. Think H.R. Haldeman. I’m not sure what the English term for this haircut is. 

Narrator: Anders and Pelle are apart of a small subculture; extreme metal, with subgenres such as trash metal, death metal and black metal, which provokes with its satanic and morbid symbols. Pelle’s band Morbid pushes the limits of what music can sound like. With his stage-name Dead, Pelle sings on the demo December Moon. The new subculture is not embraced by the adult world. 

Anders: Like, we faced this fucking cultural oppression as hardrockers. It was that time-period… And especially if you wanted to do something that was worse than hard rock; it was completely judged. 

14:52 - 15:53 [Talking about Pelle being bullied] 

Anders: He was beaten at school and to such an extent that he actually died for a while, or however you put it. 

Narrator: There’s an explanation to Pelle’s obsession with death. At 13, he was bullied at school and once, he was beaten so badly that his spleen burst. Pelle’s brother Anders Ohlin tells the story.

Anders: He was beaten to death and had some near-death experience as he was laying in the hospital and he kept coming back to that all the time, and I think you can see that as some sort of theme in his songs too. Like, it’s always about the fact that he was actually there and touched something that he doesn’t know what it is, and that was the engine in all that. He was definitely [at the bottom of the pecking order] at school, precisely because he was a bit… He had his special... his special style and was, like, uncompromising, and that was what singled him out, I’d say, markedly from other teenagers. 

18:07 - 18:30 [Talking about Pelle’s depression]

Anders: He would neglect to eat, just to get a cassette tape out or arrange a gig somewhere. 

Narrator: Anders Ohlin, Pelle’s brother. 

Anders: To be a bit harsh, I think that the others gave up at some point. And that’s my personal interpretation. That he suddenly turns around and notices that he hasn’t got the gang with him. And I think that destroyed him. 

21:50 - 22:30 [Talking about Pelle’s suicide] 

Anders: At first, I was actually really pissed at him… Or, like, angry, enraged. I thought that he’d abandoned us -- which he has. That it was so shitty of him; to just take off and leave this big fucking abscess to the rest of us that just kept growing and growing as the years passed. 

Narrator: Christmases become especially painful for the Ohlin family, because that was the time Pelle usually came home. 

Anders: No one felt good on Christmas Eve. It was like a fucking ghost all Christmas. Brutal. So, I remember that I couldn’t celebrate Christmas at all for a very long time. 

1:06:39 - 1:09:31 [Talking about how he and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him and his life today]

Anders: All of his Swedish friends see him as this exuberantly happy guy that spews ideas and is funny and has a sense of humor and stuff. Then, it’s like a line is drawn when he goes to Norway and they see him as introverted and mysterious and, like, difficult. And that’s two opposite images. 

Narrator: The Pelle Myth is associated with a lot of darkness and death but that’s not how his brother Anders and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him.  

Anders: I think that’s been the devastating part, but it, like, helped him build… strengthen that myth. It’s hard being that funny dude and saying that you’re, like, Satan. It’s hard, it becomes, like, silly. 

Narrator: Anders is often reminded of Pelle. Usually because of happy memories but also because of that image that he is fighting to remove; the image that Øystein took of Pelle’s corpse which spread because it became the album cover of a Mayhem bootleg, Dawn of the Black Hearts. The image lives its own life on the internet. 

Anders: It’s difficult. It’s very difficult. 

Narrator: Pelle’s fans often want to become Facebook friends with Anders; he receives 3-5 friend requests per day. Sometimes, the people sending the friend requests have themselves shared the image on their social channels. 

Anders: You say you want to be my friend yet you have an image of my brother from when he’s just killed himself and like… body parts all over the wall. Would you think it was okay if I had an image of your brother like that? ‘What,’ they excuse themselves. ‘Oh, fuck, I’d forgotten that I had that image, that’s… Of course, I’ll remove it and I’m ashamed.’ 

Narrator: When Anders asks people to remove the image, most do. 

Anders: I’m terrified for when my children will start to Google those images… Øystein’s parents inherited the rights after Øystein died and [Øystein’s dad] has destroyed the images and I’ve received the rights, gotten to take over the rights from Øystein’s dad, so if anyone uses them in any form is printed media, I can sue the shit out of them. 

Narrator: It’s a small comfort every time one of Pelle’s fans tells Anders how much Pelle means. 

Anders: Most often, they have some story. They tell me how they’ve had a tough period in life and how they’ve, like, really been at a crossroads or something and feel that they received guidance from Pelle’s music. That warms -- That makes you happy. That really warms your heart. 

Narrator: Pelle’s grave is well-visited and every now and then, there’s a handwritten letter or a box of snus by it. 

[sneezefiction]

answers

oikawa x reader

desc: oikawa changes some lyrics in taylor swift’s song “love story”

a/n: please keep in mind that most of this is just humorous & there’s no serious characterization in this particular story. i laughed a lot while writing it :,,) for @cutiekawa because you gave me the idea; thank you for that! and also for @seroto-rin because this is very similar to your husband’s lyric changing habits lol – i still laugh whenever i think about it <3 warnings: language, mentions drinking/being drunk

wc: 3k

— It’s 2 am when you hear Oikawa pattering down the hallway and past your room. From the gentle footsteps and the occasional whisper of “shit” when the floor creaks, it's obvious that he’s trying to stay quiet.

But his attempts are in vain because, one, you’re wide awake and, two, he’s just knocked over an empty beer can from earlier. It was probably the one he’d left on the hall table – you’d told him to throw it away but he’d refused saying that he’d “throw it away in the morning when his arms weren’t so tired.” 

This is just karma.

The clatter of the aluminum on wooden floors echoes throughout the dorm. A much louder, especially frustrated, “fuck” follows right after it.

The word, though crass, sounds deceptively attractive on his tongue. But most things Oikawa-related just happen to be attractive. 

You muffle your laughter with a blanket. He’s probably disoriented from the alcohol – it’s only been an hour and 5 drinks each since you both called it a night. You’d headed straight to bed but he’d fallen asleep on the couch where you left him, hair a-mess and lips parted.

But, for someone who used to stay out till daybreak on weekends, he’s spent most Fridays hanging out with you instead.

This weekend was no different.

Oikawa ordered Thai takeout, you found a mindless Netflix series to binge, both of you had a little too much to drink, laughter ensued, the doe-eyed boy found his head in your lap, and…

You pull a face – one that goes unseen because of the dark, but you make it anyway.

Okay, that last part was a little different.

He’d had his head in your lap.

His head… in your… lap.

And, if you’re not mistaken (or delirious), you’d had your hands in his hair, twirling strands and tracing circles at the base of his neck. A foggy image of him gazing up at you with softened eyes, deep chocolate in color, begins to solidify. 

That lazy smile, a hand on your thigh, tresses tickling your skin...

You turn over in your bed, bunching up your sheets and holding them close to you like a shield of fabric — a flimsy, make-shift defense against tipsy mind-wandering. It isn’t very effective.

Your brain is not wandering but racing around this hand-in-hair realization.

Like an iron rod poking at hot embers, these prodding memories make your cheeks grow hotter by the millisecond. You bury your face in your pillow, embarrassment tight in your throat. 

Somehow you’d forgotten that he’d practically climbed into your lap. You’re not in the clear quite yet, but your brain is functioning well enough that it wishes you’d had a little more to drink – just enough to forget about it entirely. You starfish out on your bed, arms and legs dramatically splayed across the mattress.

Do (hot, charming, charismatic, windswept) flatmates usually get this... cuddly? Is that normal?

Does Iwaizumi wrap his arms around his roomies after a long day and a few bottles? How about Mattsun? Makki…?

Okay, no, none of them really seem like the type to get up close and personal with their roommates without good reason. Well, maybe Makki, but he’d do it to be a pain in the ass – not to charm the living-hell out of someone.

You try to take in a deep breath and wrap your head around what this means for you… but end up inhaling a feather from your pillow instead. As you hack and cough, you try to smother the noise in more cloth material – you really didn’t need him coming into your room, much less leaning over your bed to check on you.

Oikawa is messing with your head. 

If you knew any better, you’d have run away screaming the moment he’d asked you to room with him. No one that pretty and charismatic is good news. At least, not when it comes to shared housing.

But, here you are, writhing under the covers and hot like a fever all because he couldn’t keep to himself. Screw him and his charming smile for putting you in this position.

He either knows you’re crushing like he’s the last man on earth or he’s blissfully unaware and way too physically affectionate for his own good. 

You don’t dare consider that he likes you back though. Only deer and Olympic athletes made leaps like that. Oikawa had too many admirers… an irritating amount.

The blankets scrunch even tighter between your fists, likely thanking their maker that they don’t have nerve endings.

Every fiber of your being is begging to know if these feelings are reciprocated. You’d hate to live out the rest of this semester knowing the boy down the hall may not like you back. Worse, that he finds out you think he’s hot shit and doesn’t like you back – that would be unrequited love at its finest.

But, with a degree and your mental health on the line, why should you care about such minor, itty bitty, pointless details. 

This isn’t that big a deal.

And even if he did like you back? Well, Oikawa isn’t someone you can simply “pin down.” He comes with a distinctive, dramatic personality and a meddling side. Not to mention, he’s already the embodiment of chaos – he’s proven this to be true over the past 4 months he’s lived with you.

There’s a familiar squeak of the shower faucet handle and the hiss of hot water. You jump at the sound.

Maybe he’d forgotten, but your bedroom shares a very thin wall with the bathroom. Though you recall him saying he wanted to take a shower earlier, so you guess that he’s only just remembered.

You pick up your phone, blue light casting a less-than angelic glow on your sleepy face. You pray that TikTok will have some sort of life-changing “I’m in love with my hot, crazy flatmate” advice. Or that it will distract you from your inner turmoil. Either would be appreciated but the latter seems more likely.

Scrolling slowly, you get through about 3 videos before something else catches your attention.

There’s a deep reverberation buzzing through your wall. A gentle hum, much like a shower-concert lullaby.

But the noise is getting louder. And the humming? A lot more lyrical.

You shift into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your hands. With your side sunken into a pillow, you press your ear against the cool drywall. Your ears tune into the sound.

Oikawa, voice confident and free, is… singing.

“...But you were everything to me, I was begging you ‘please don’t go’…”

But he’s not just singing.

“And I said…”

He’s belting Taylor Swift with the enthusiasm of an 11-year-old Swiftie super-fan. Like the world would end if he didn’t put enough passion into this performance. Like the showerhead is his microphone and the surrounding tiles are his adoring audience.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run...”

Most people would be pissed if their friend were singing in the shower at 2 am… but you can’t find it in yourself to be anything but enamored.

God, you hate him for doing this right now. Hate that he’s inadvertently endearing you to him. Hate that, no matter what you do, he’s somehow always there.

Pressed up against you on the couch, meeting you for dinner at his favorite restaurant, fussing at each other over a shitty cup of coffee in your even shittier kitchen, calling you when he needs somebody to keep him company at the library… 

“You'll be the prince & I'll be the princess…”

And now he’s accidentally serenading you with Taylor’s “Fearless” album. In the shower.

You facepalm, sinking into your hands, exasperated and just so… done.

You sink back down into the bedsheets, wishing your earbuds were nearby to drown out the regrettably adorable performance. 

“It's a love story y/n, just say ‘Yes.’”

And your heart drops, panic setting in like the touch down of a whirling tornado. A fire tornado. A fire tornado with frogs and lizards and sharp objects spinning around inside of it.

What… did he just say?

The lyrics… they were muffled. You definitely heard them incorrectly. You… you just need to get your ears checked. Yes, that’s it. That’s all there is to it. You’ll schedule an appointment first thing tomorrow morning.

Because who the fuck sings like that at 2 am in a shared dorm? And who the fuck puts someone else’s name into a song like that? No one? Yes, no one.

Especially not the Oikawa Tooru.

And especially not with your name.

Because that’s just... weird.

The grip on your phone is mighty – thank God for durable glass because any other material would’ve splintered or shattered in your hold. 

But what the hell.

“Y/n, save me, I've been feeling so alone,” he sings as though he were Beyoncé’s son.

This time it’s clear as day. Oikawa is definitely still out of it and he’s undoubtedly singing your name.

No, no, no.

“I keep waiting for you but you never come…”

You bolt out of bed, feet hitting the floor at lightning-strike speed.

“Is this in my head? I don't know what to think,”

In one swift movement, you fling the bedroom door open and rush down the hall. You shouldn’t be listening to this. 

“He knelt to the ground & pulled out a ring, and said...”

And before you can stop your hand, it’s knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.

There’s a gasp, what you assume to a bar of soap hitting the shower floor, and an abrupt silence that follows.

You’d only wanted to stop him from singing.

However, you hadn’t thought through what you were going to say to him about this whole... lyrical mess. Your face feels like the surface of the sun, burning and flaring and flushing. What are you supposed to do now?

Oikawa speaks up, voice quiet, “Hello?”

Shit.

Maybe if you’re careful you can get yourself out of this. Just act like you didn’t hear anything and bring it up tomorrow when you’re both thinking straight. A thorough and sober discussion would be needed.

You had questions. Questions that needed answers.

Why did he have his head in your lap? Had you said anything to him that you’d regret later? Does he like you? Where should you two place your boundaries if he doesn’t like you back? And why Taylor Swift?

“Y/n, is that you?” He asks, nonchalantly.

Who else would it be?

The handle squeaks and, with that, the water stops. Only the gentle swirl of the drain and the occasional drips and drops from the showerhead are audible.

It’s too late. You’re already there. You’ve knocked and, in doing so, you’ve sealed your fate.

“...Yes,” is your whisper of a reply.

“What’s up? Was I too loud for you?”

You’ve got the entire building on high-alert singing that loudly.

...is what you would say if you weren’t currently imploding. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And nothing you ever want to experience again.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” You look down at your shuffling feet.

The hallway is pitch black, hardly allowing for even a mere shadow. Rushing out of your room, you’d forgotten to turn on even a single light.

You hear him step onto the tile floor and the rustle of a tower from the bathroom closet.

“Wait, can we talk?” He asks as though it weren’t the question of the fucking year. “I mean, preferably after I get out of the bathroom.” There’s a lack of tact to his words.

This isn’t the charming Oikawa you’re used to. This is a blunt… confusingly straightforward Oikawa.

His tone wavers like maybe he’d had a little more to drink than you’d last remembered. Your memory was proving to be disappointingly unreliable tonight.

You swallow thickly, “Sure.”

Because what else can you say?

“Can I stop by your room in a minute?”

You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

And you patter back to your no-longer very safe haven. Oikawa is about to infiltrate your space… with your permission. And the weapons he’ll bring will either harpoon you or leave you emotionally paralyzed – whether that emotional paralysis is a good or bad thing will be decided in the near future.

Your bed, though soft and blanket-covered, looks far less appealing now. It may as well be a bed of nails because you would rather hide beneath it than sit atop it.

But you sit anyway, letting the mattress dip and the springs twang.

The bathroom door cries as it opens, putting you on edge. Your heart is pounding like a drum at a summer festival – hotter and louder with every beat.

The trod of footsteps tells you he’s approaching and, sure enough, the open door reveals Oikawa.

With only a lamp to brighten the space, he’s more contoured than usual. His hair is wet and heavy against his head, taking on an even darker brown than before. You’ve seen him fresh out of the shower before, but this… is different. Oikawa’s shirt sticks to his chest slightly – he must’ve thrown it on without drying off fully to get to you faster.

He takes a few steps into your room, choosing to lean his back against a wall next to your work desk. Oikawa brings his hands behind his back, pressing his weight into them. Brown eyes flicker from you to the wall behind you and back again.

Naturally, tension lays thick as a fog in the air space. 

“Hey, I’m…”

You cut him off, “You don’t have to say sorry! It’s… it’s okay.” 

Oops, you’d said that a little too loud. Not that it mattered much after Oikawa’s passionate performance.

An eyebrow raises and confusion sparks across his face. Your body freezes.

He brings a hand behind his neck. “Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m still kinda drunk.”

You knew that much. Though you really thought he’d say something other than that. Preferably something about the, uh, devoted love-song?

Why is he acting so casual right now? Is this even Tooru? Had he read too many alien conspiracies and been abducted for learning too much about extraterrestrials? 

Maybe he doesn’t realize you’d even heard him say your name in the shower.

“Oh... right.” You say slowly, lips staying parted at the end of your sentence.

“Which… probably isn’t good for either of us,” Different words drawl out and there’s a soft slur to some syllables, but at least he’s easy to understand, “me drinking too much, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you mutter.

“I think we should both just go to bed then.”

Your chest tightens. Of course, you want answers.

They’re likely embarrassing, face-reddening, Taylor Swift-centric answers. But you want them, nonetheless.

Although, it’s probably for the best that you don’t bring this up tonight. It was all probably a joke or a harmless accident – and, anyway, he admitted to being drunk.

“Right.”

“But I think you should know that I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah,” you respond again, automatically.

There’s another heavy silence. The pretty boy just stares at you, cherry colors tinting his cheeks but showing no expression of fear or embarrassment. You stare back, processing his words at turtle-like speeds.

The words tumble out, “Wait, say that again?” You double back, your own face reheating to its earlier temperature.

“I’m gonna be mad at myself in the morning if I don’t leave right now. And I really need to stop listening to that stupid song,” Oikawa says to himself. 

“But I wanted to see how you would respond if I changed the lyrics,” the words are pointed back at you again.

He stands up, feet moving slowly toward the doorway. Did he just… completely ignore your question?

Your jaw drops, “Did…” you can hardly speak.

Clearing your throat, you try again, focusing intently on your words, “...did you mean for me to hear you?”

“...Maybe.” He draws out the “e,” looking back at you.

That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind. You’re going to strangle him. 

No TikTok advice could have prepared you for the monstrosity that is Oikawa Tooru. How Iwaizumi put up with that... that child for all these years, you have no idea.

You have to make a note of sending him a “get well” card, because nobody could be mentally okay after dealing with him for that long.

“B- but… why? What?” You stammer out, back stiff as a board.

“You like me don’t you?” He tilts his head, hair flopping cutely with it.

You gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing.

And it’s not that you don’t want to respond.

It’s that you can’t. You have no words. You vocal chords are on a panic-induced lockdown.

Because he knew.

He knew this entire time. Which you thought he might, but that doesn’t make the situation any less infuriating.

“And I like you back.”

You’re dumbfounded. You can’t think. This is ridiculous.

You open your mouth once more but he has no intention of continuing this conversation.

“Sleep well!” Without further comment, Oikawa flashes you a sleepy smile and begins scampering back to his room after having wreaked havoc on your poor heart.

Your voice comes back just in time for you to wake up the entire building once more,

“No, you get your ass back here and explain yourself!”

[necros-writing-stuff]

But what if PC did manage to save Bailey, Eden, and Whitney? (Maybe they found his gun/knife/etc or somethin) How would he feel waking up in the hospital to them sleeping in a chair nearby? I simp for these 3 and seeing them hurt, hurts me.

Writing angst hurts so bad man, I love when the LI hurts the PC, but when the LI gets hurt or others are added to the equation I want to cry.

Under cut for mentions of violence and length

Bailey

Was working hard all day, half asleep as they make some soup before bed. They take a quick toilet break, not being there to notice someone sneaking in and drugging it.

They're sat in their office, reviewing what they've been up to when you waltz in, pyjamas covering your body.

Let's you come sit in their lap while they finish up, knowing you'll want to stay in their bed due to nightmares you've been having.

They really shouldn't indulge you so much, but they can't really help it.

When your stomach rumbles they let you taste the soup, only for you to spit it straight out.

"That's drugged. Someone tried to give me that when I worked at the stripclub, Bailey, I promise," you turn to them, alert and panicked but they can only smile a little, the haze settling in properly.

Cursing, you run to their bedroom, pulling the handgun out from under the pillow and sitting back in their lap, grabbing for their phone and asking them to unlock it.

Constantly checking their temperature and lucidity as you do so.

It takes a little, but you manage to get it open and go straight to a contact you'd heard them speaking to regularly, asking them to send someone over to guard them and that there was a possibility people might try to break in.

The next morning, Bailey finds you still awake, sat next to their bed with the gun in hand, eyes trained on the door until their shuffling draws you eyes. Looking over Baikey is a private doctor they trust.

"Oh thank fuck, you okay?" You sit next to them, placing the gun down and grasping their cheeks, much to the annoyance of the Doc, who steps back a little.

Confused they'll ask what happened, immediately getting angry and jumping out of bed despite both of you telling them to lay down.

You'll have to convince them to slow down as they spends the rest of the day ordering their people to start asking questions, but ultimately they just let you follow them around worrying all day.

Needs to be working immediately because they don't want to show weakness.

Starts painting the windows shut in the orphanage so it's harder for people to sneak in.

Never ever leaves their food alone again.

Is very impressed you managed to remember the name of the person who works for them, thankful that you were so quick thinking.

Theres no telling who could have drugged them, hospital staff, police, Quinn. Good job on sticking to the inner circle.

When you come home the next day, you find a box on your bed. It's full of new, expensive clothes and you know it's from Bailey. A thank you for looking out for them.

Eden

Panic starts to encompass them as they fall to the ground, surrounded by hunters they'd threatened weeks ago.

Where were you, were you safe? They can hurt them, but not you.

Drifting out of consciousness a little as they hear a gunshot and a scream.

You stand at the door, Eden's forgotten rifle in hand after shooting one of the intruders in the foot. You shoot again, aiming for another when they start to scatter, not anticipating another person to be here, let alone armed.

You're silently thanking Eden for teaching you how to shoot, as you advance down the stairs, shooting into the trees hoping you hit another one of the fuckers you'd seen beating your spouse.

You can still hear them yelling as you run over to Eden's collapsed body, seeing them struggling to open their eyes.

You grab the water bottle they strap to their belt, dripping it over them and lightly slapping at their cheek, looking up and around every few seconds to check noone was sneaking up on you.

It takes a few minutes, but Eden starts being cohesive again, working with you as you get them up and bring them inside, locking the door behind you after ensuring you fetch anything that could be used as a weapon from outside.

You get the salve you made and start treating wounds, gently talking the entire time to remind Eden that it was you, they're safe, it's all okay.

Eden is just glad you aren't hurt, wrapping their arms around your waist and pressing their face into your chest, breathing in your scent.

So clingy for the next little while.

"I shouldn't have let my guard down, what if they'd been here to hurt you-"

"Eden for gods sake I'm alright, let me help you now okay? What if you have a concussion?"

Let's you fiddle with them to help calm you down. They feel fine, just come here.

Wants to cuddle, kissing you every so often.

"We should start building a perimeter tomorrow," they'll suggest, and you agree, eager to give them something that'll bring back their sense of control.

You can tell its hard for Eden, to have been beaten like that. You let them be more controlling for a little while so they can get their confidence back.

"And I'm proud of you. You can really shoot well," they'll mumble into your neck as they drift off, a little unsure of themselves. They aren't really sure how to praise others, how to show affection that isn't physical.

Makes you breakfast and gives you a massage the next day, a silent thank you for saving them.

Might also use their wood-carving skills to carve you a little figurine of you holding the rifle, letting you put it above the hearth to remember your brave moment.

Whitney

The good mood is interrupted, when the teens in tracksuits grab at you, separating you from Whitney and trying to subdue both of you.

You're not sure how many times you see Whitney get hit before you manage to rip your mouth free of whatever keeps it covered, drawing in a full breath as you scream "FIRE!" at the top of your lungs.

You'd read somewhere it was more affective than 'help' or 'rape', and sure enough, some adults run over to the alley and begin yelling at and chasing after the delinquents who run.

You fall to your knees and hold Whitney close as someone calls an ambulance, asking if anyone knows their parents so they can go tell them what happened. No one does, and you can't unlock their phone, so you just stay with them when the ambulance comes, trying to cover them with your body so people couldn't see how badly hurt they were.

With no way to contact the family, you're asked to accompany Whitney to the hospital, staying over night so the police can take a statement about what happened and so that Whit can have someone take them home the next day.

When they wake up, you're resting with your head on the hospital bed, right next to their hand, which they use to pet you till you wake up.

Whitney tries not to cry when you throw yourself over them and tell them how thankful you are that they're okay.

It's been a long time since anyones been so openly concerned. Since anyone has given a shit about how Whitney was doing. Most of the time people just wanted to be friends with them for the social perks.

Leans on you when they walk, limping along. This is after they've spent half an hour stumbling alone on their own, finally giving in and letting you hold them up.

At school, Whitney is a little quieter while they recover. River glances over to them in class, seeing them rest their head on the desk while you play with their hair. They're being quiet, and everyone can see the wounds, so they let you be.

Feels a little lost without you around for a bit, using you as a safety blanket. Walks home alone one night and end up flinching at every shadow.

Never actually says "Thank you." Just gets more and more kind, stops tieing you up on Mer Street, pulls you away from dogs trying to get at you, is slightly more gentle when you fuck.

Might get you a personalised lighter one day. Just in case noone believes you next time you need to yell fire.

[fallin-4-ya]

Precautionary Purposes

cedric diggory x reader

summary: you and cedric have been best friends for years; but ever since ginny suggested you dip your toes in the dating world, you find your dates becoming more and more horrible with no explaination.

request: please write a fic about a fem hufflepuff reader who’s best friends with Cedric, they both are in love w each other but can’t work up the courage to confess bc they don’t think it’s mutual and it might ruin their friendship. So maybe Ginny tells her she should start going on dates, so George, Dean and other guys ask her on different dates, and Cedric can’t stand it so he finds ways to sabotage their dates.

warnings: mentions vomit once but besides that none!

You finally sat in the Hufflepuff common room after a long day of classes. Excited to catch up on your favorite book, you took a seat on the yellow velvet couch closest to the fireplace. As soon as you were cozy and began reading, a certain distraction entered the common room. Cedric Diggory. The boy you had basically been head over heels in love with since third year. Cedric was everything you could dream about in a guy; he was tall, devilishly handsome, incredibly kind and loyal. On paper he was nothing short of perfect, but there was an itty-bitty problem. He was your absolute best friend and he had no romantic feelings for you whatsoever. So rather than admitting anything, you saved your friendship the trouble and buried your feelings for him deep, deep down. Although they did have a nasty habit of making their way to the surface every once in a while.

‘Hello, Earth to Y/N.’ Said Cedric and pulled you out of your trance.

‘Oh! Hey, Ced. How’s your day been?’ you questioned into his dreamy eyes.

‘Not bad, the Weasley twins played a great prank in-‘ he started, but you lost him somewhere after the Weasley Twins. You couldn’t help yourself but to get distracted by every sense of his being. This boy was going to be the absolute death of you. You had it bad. Really bad.

The next day you headed over to Ginny at breakfast. You slammed your books onto the Gryffindor table and took a seat beside her. She looked you up and down and smiled.

‘Wow, Y/N. You look terrible.’ Ginny said jokingly, ‘Got a case of the Diggory’s do you?’

‘Very funny, Ginny.’ Sarcasm dripping from your tongue.

‘I just don’t understand what you two are waiting for. I mean, he clearly likes you, and you clearly like him, so I’m not seeing the problem.’ She remarked back.

‘Well,’ you said getting frustrated, ‘what do you suppose I do about it, Gin.’

‘If I were you,’ offered Ginny, ‘I’d probably go on a date or two. You know, distract myself, keep my options open.’

‘Keep my options open…’ you pondered aloud, ‘Thanks, Ginny!’

The day following breakfast was very uneventful. Well, at least before Ginny told her brothers about the conversation you two had at breakfast. The next thing you knew after charms, you had a very attractive younger Weasley Twin approach you in the corridors, asking you to accompany him to Hogsmeade tomorrow. You blushed furiously and nodded your head yes.

(‘Like, um, on a date?’ ‘Yes, Y/N, like a date.’)

When you headed to the common room later that evening you were stopped by a rather stern looking Cedric. ‘Hey, Ced. Are you alright?’ you questioned, raising your brow.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going on a date with George Weasley?!’ he said.

‘Oh, um, I don’t know. I just didn’t think it was that important. Plus I just assumed you didn’t want to know and-‘

‘What makes you think I didn’t want to know?’ Cedric asked deadpanned. But before you could think of an answer he brushed off, ‘You know what, never mind. I’m sorry I said anything. You two will have a great time. Good night, Y/N.’ And with that he was off, leaving you stood absolutely bewildered in the Hufflepuff common room, wondering why Cedric was so concerned about a silly little date.

The very next day next day you were sitting across from George Weasley in The Three Broomsticks. You had to admit, the afternoon was going so smoothly. George was a wonderful date: he was sweet, funny and kind; but there was one problem, he wasn’t Cedric. And although as much as you wished the cute ginger in front of you could distract you, it was of no use.

However, a loud crash pulled you out of your thoughts; and before you had any time to react, you and George were covered in sticky butterbeer. Madame Rosmerta apologized profusely, ‘Oh my goodness, it's like I tripped on thin air. I’m sorry, my darlings!’

Suddenly you saw a hand reach out and give you a towel, ‘You alright there, Y//N?’ Cedric said revealing himself, ‘We were sitting over there and watched the whole thing happen. Rotten luck, Weasley.’

‘No problem, Diggory. Me and Y/N were just finishing up anyways.’ He smiled sweetly at you and glared at Cedric, ’Why don’t we head back to the castle and get you cleaned up?’

And with that you and George Weasley headed back up to Hogwarts. After much chatter, you both agreed you had a wonderful time but enjoyed each other’s company better as friends. You definitely weren’t upset at the notion, especially considering the very next day Dean Thomas asked you out. Shocked but slightly satisfied, you agreed to take a walk with him by the black lake. You two were really enjoying your time together; Dean was respectful and genuine, which made your heart slightly a flutter. Not the way Cedric did of course, but enough to distract you from the Diggory’s, as Ginny liked to call it.

 Things were going well, and Dean reached out for your hand. However, as soon as he grabbed a hold of your fingertips, dung bombs erupted from his robes filling your nose with the foulest smell. 

‘I’m so sorry, Y/N!  I have no idea how those got there!’ said Dean, rushing back towards the castle. Leaving you with the second failed date of the week.

‘What’s the matter, Y/N?’ Cedric greeted you at  dinner, ‘Dean Thomas didn’t stand you up did he?’

‘Nope, even worse.’ You chuckled, ‘Dung bombs went off in his robes. You know, I’d forgotten how bloody horrible those smelt.’

 Your eyes met his and both of you bust out into hysterical laughter. With tears of joy, and tummies pain stricken from the laughs; you forgot, just for a moment, how easy it was to get lost in him.

Over the next few weeks, Lee Jordan, Ernie MacMillan and Zacharias Smith had all asked you out, each one ending more disastrous than the next. You became quickly frustrated at the pattern emerging. Someone would as you out, something would go horribly wrong and Cedric (out of all people) would be there to comfort you. It was like the whole world was out to get you, and you have had enough.

You huffed your way in the common room one evening, and plopped your way onto the couch. You felt a soft hand on your shoulder. Cedric, you sighed to yourself as he took the seat next to you.

‘Rough day?’ you nodded at him, ‘Want to talk about it?’

You exhaled softly, ‘I don’t even know anymore, Ced. I just feel like the entire world is against me when it comes to the love department. First George and the butterbeer, then Ernie and the swamp in his four poster, then Lee and the rouge bludger, then Zacharias throwing up! And do I even have to mention Dean?! It’s like everything I’m doing is wrong, Cedric. And I can’t help but to feel like it’s all my fault’ You said in all of your frustration.

‘Y/N, darling. Don’t say that, you deserve the absolute world and you know that. Besides, how could it be your fault the Zacharias ate those acid pops-‘ he stopped mid-sentence, catching himself. Your heart dropped and you turned your head slowly. 

‘Cedric, I didn’t mention anything about acid pops.’ You stated bewildered. Cedric stared at the floor, unable to meet his eyes with yours. 

‘How did you know that acid pops made Zacharias sick?’ you questioned him again, but suddenly the pieces clicked together. ‘Cedric, Madam Rosmerta didn’t trip on her own that day at The Three Broomsticks. And the dung bombs weren’t put in Dean’s robes on accident, were they? Oh my God! Cedric Diggory, have you been the one sabotaging my dates!?’

There was so much going through your mind. Why on Earth would Cedric do such a thing, you questioned to yourself. You looked up at his face searching for answers, looking for anything.

‘I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t even fathom the idea of you being with someone else because-‘ he hesitated, ‘because I love you.’

You stared at him, in shock; because the boy you have been head over heels for has just told you that he loved you. You had absolutely nothing to say, so instead of saying anything at all you crashed your lips onto his. Cedric melted into you, wrapping is hands onto your waist. You pulled away from him.

‘You know, Cedric, If you would have asked me I would have said yes.’ You smiled at him.

‘This was just for precautionary purposes, you know?’ Cedric laughed.

‘Precautionary purposes?’ you giggled back, ‘Of course, of course.’

He then pulled you into a soft kiss, and with that your case of the Diggory’s was cured.

(‘You should probably apologize to those poor boys.’ ‘Yeah I probably should’)

Author’s note: oh my goodness! i had such a wonderful time writting this! i hope you enjoy it! thank you nonnie for the request! <3

[propshophannah]

umm i think ppl are over reacting,, az was not being toxic or possesive, he's been pining for elain for 3 years and he now knows she feels the same way for him,, and to the ppl that said that him being turned on was creepy,, wait till we see elains pov bc im pretty sure she was thinking the same. pls it's okay to not like scenes and characters and ships but cmon,, some eluciens are butchering him

Hi Nonnie! I heard that the fandom was getting crazy so I’ve been avoiding looking at posts and stuff. If Az came off creepy it wasn’t because he was turned on. LMFAO. Elain was turned on, too. SHE ALSO INITIATED THE ENTIRE SCENE! We don’t even need her POV to tell us what she wanted either—Maas straight up tells us this in that scene. LOL to everyone who skipped that part and those lines. I mean… it wasn’t even subtext. It was literally written on the page. (I’m writing an analysis of that scene, stay tuned!)

If he came off creepy, it was because he articulated a sense in entitlement—which given the situation wasn’t entirely out of line! Sorry, it just wasn’t. 

And here’s why: We’ve all had moments where we are so fucking mad—and everything around us seemed to be going in everyone else’s favor BUT ours—so we got angry. And vengeful. And we got a little lost in those feelings, some of us drowned in them, and we did things and said things and we came off like a fucking asshole. FACTS.

If some people think that’s never happened to them, then they’re either lying to themselves or not paying attention to themselves. It’s as simple as that, Nonnie. 

We all do dumb, potentially toxic things when we’re mad or upset. That’s the law of the land and not one single person in the fandom, or the world, is above that. Not. One. 

And LETS. BE. REAL. Elain is NOT above reproach for the role she *actively* plays in this cluster fuck. She is just as guilty of stringing Lucien and Az along in that she hasn’t made a decision on whether to accept or reject the mating bond. Or in just saying “Look, Lucy, babe, I don’t like this. It’s stressing me out. Please leave me alone for the next 2.5 years or until I say ‘when’ before you come around again. Thanks!” She doesn’t even need to say it to Lucien. THAT’S THE KICKER. She could tell Feyre. Tell one of the Shadows to tell Feyre or Rhys or Mor and Nesta OR ANYONE with the power to say “Hey, we can’t invite Lucy to Solstice because Elain doesn’t want it.” This is a situation where getting other people to play the bad guy for you, is 100% socially acceptable. 

Hell, LUCIEN could be the one to initiate this. To pick up on what Elain IS NOT THROWING OUT and say, “Hey, Rhys, babe. Thanks for the Solstice invite, but I don’t think Elain appreciates my presence, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. How about I send you her gift from me, then I, like, check in every now and then and you can find a way to let her know I’m in town and if you invite me to dinner, I’ll take that as a sign that she’s okay with me being there for dinner and nothing more. No expectations.” It’s not hard. 

(We could argue that Lucien continuing to come around IS JUST AS WEIRD/CREEPY. READ THE ROOM DUDE.)

Now I WILL say that there is an argument to be made that Elain *may* not grasp the gravity of a mating bond because she was born in a different culture. That’s totally fair. BUT she’s had plenty of time to learn what that means having spent so much time around Feyre and Rhys and the others. 

So the idea that Azriel is the only one who deserves to be vilified is nonsensical. 

ALSO, and this is something I will be including in the analysis I’m working on and will hopefully finish tomorrow (I’m going to break that Az POV down so that everyone and their third cousin, twice removed, can understand), is that AZRIEL’S WHOLE SHTICK IS WAITING.  He looooves to wait. Fucking LOVES it. It’s his whole job y’all. It’s weird, and related to his daddy issues when you apply it to females, but it’s his life. He LITERALLY tells us this in ACOSF. Remember at the end when Cassian is complaining about how he HATES spying because he has no patience? 

Az is like “It seems you’ve forgotten how much of spying is waiting for the right moment. People don’t engage in their evil deeds when it’s convenient to you.” 

Cassian explains why he stopped spying because it “...bored him to death. I don’t know how you put up with this all the time.” 

Az says, “It suits me.”

 BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

MF BOOOOOM.

Az likes to play the long game. Not saying it’s healthy, but that suits him. He’s good at waiting. He HAD TO BE. HE WAS LOCKED AWAY FOR YEARS AND HAD TO WAIT FOR THE CHANCE TO SEE HIS MOTHER. And the sun. And his hateful brothers. He doesn’t know any better/how else to be. And there is a lot of trauma and conflicting feelings tangled in this. 

It’s only creepy when you fail to grasp the nuance. But if you stand too close to a painting, you can’t see the whole thing. Back up, people. Back up.

Az has spent his whole life waiting. It’s how he learned to be. And now that his brothers are all happily mated he’s looking back on all his waiting—on his entire life—and he’s having a crisis. Or a crisis is looming. What has his waiting gotten him? Why has his patience not been rewarded? Why not him?

You combine that thinking with anger and you’ve got a recipe for momentary entitlement. For rage so thick and consuming that you want to punch a wall and work yourself to death because at least when you’re working you can compartmentalize and not deal with the reality that YOUR ENTIRE LIFE MODEL hasn’t worked for you. That you got left behind somewhere and it was your fault.

Az is headed for a mid-life crisis or an emotional breakdown—or some big horrific moment where he realizes he can’t keep doing what he’s been doing, that his entire world is built on a foundation that’s crumbling. And if you’ve never ever had that happen to you, then I’m jealous. And I’m happy for you. Because it’s terrifying. Bloody awful fucking terrifying.

[lindyloosims]

So I’m going to enter a writing competition, it’s in the romance category and I’ve been given a list of words and/or phrases to shoehorn into the short story(it said use 3 minimum so I used them all because I’m a plonker). I’ve written one, but again my doubts have set in. I don’t know if it’s any good so I am going to post it under the cut if anyone would like to read it and tell me what they think. You’d be doing me a massive favour, if it’s crap then I’d be saving myself the embarrassment of entering something that’s way over my head.

The words/phrases are in bold btw:

Moving On

It was supposed to be a happy occasion, and it was, for everyone else around me at least. I didn’t have to come, it wasn’t compulsory, I could have just tossed the invitation in the bin and forgotten about it. I didn’t though, instead I bought a dress and high heels and I made a conscious decision to RSVP.

I sat through a myriad of speeches, each one even more boring than the last, I didn’t dare look up for fear of showing the melancholy that was painted all over my face. I couldn’t watch the object of my desire gazing lovingly at his new bride, like he used to gaze at me. I hated her, she was everything I wasn’t, she was blonde, she was beautiful, and she was now married to him! My one that got away, well that would imply that I let him go, which was not the case. As his father droned on, his entire speech drenched in nostalgia, reminiscing about a little boy who no longer existed, I thought back to our childhood and how we had promised to be together forever. Kids promise all kinds of things, when you’re young you think that life is so simple, there is no grey, only black and white. You love someone, they love you back, you’ll be together forever! Simple as that! You don’t allow for a tiny Goddess to come between you when you least expect it, a delicate little flower who appeared to be harmless that brought out the hunter/gatherer instincts in this man who was no longer my boy. Yes, I hated her, for something that was out of her control. Could you make someone fall in love with you? If so, how? Was there a manual somewhere that I wasn’t aware of? How did she do it? Was it the way she batted those crystal blue eyes, or was it the way she laughed and effortlessly tossed her long hair back? I really wanted to know!

The time had finally come, I had had too much champagne, the bubbles were wreaking havoc with my nose as I resisted the urge to rub it completely off my face. He stood up, I looked at him then and it was like staring at the sun for too long, he burned my eyes with his toothy smile. Like the cat that got the cream, he’d tossed me aside like curdled milk, he had upgraded! “I’d just like to say a few words…that I wrote…” His voice, after everything why did it still give me tingles? I closed my eyes and listened, pretending that we were the only two people in the room and he was talking to me, but when he said her name, I was back in reality. “To my wife, Rebecca! Man, I’ll never tire of hearing that, my wife!” To see him look down at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, that little chuckle that escaped his lips, it was like a dagger to my heart. “Okay here goes; I told the stars about you, my twin soul. I asked them to bring you to me, and they answered!” I wanted to gag, I was no longer heartbroken, I was angry. His twin soul? Who was this person? I didn’t know this version of him, he was never this romantic! At least not with me! He rambled on and on about love and destiny, I zoned in and out, “Like I said in our vows, I promise to cherish you, and I do! You complete me, each day I love you more, today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow, always know that I am forever yours. Rebecca, I love you!” I felt like heaving as a massive applause erupted and the bride and groom kissed passionately to the delight of the cheering wedding party, I slid my chair back noisily and pushed myself up. I staggered towards the exit of the church hall, trying so very hard not to fall flat on my face in these ridiculously high heels that I’d insisted on wearing to prove a point that was completely non-existent, there was no upstaging that bride.

Outside in the fresh air, I felt like I could breathe again. Underneath the chatter and chinking of champagne glasses, I could hear birds chirping in the distance and the trees rustling in the gentle breeze. “Not a wedding person I take it?” This masculine voice that came out of nowhere made my breath catch in my throat. I turned in the direction of the voice and leaning against the brick wall was a tall, slender young man with sandy blond hair. He was wearing a white shirt that had never seen an iron, black trousers and smart shoes that were slightly scuffed at each toe. It didn’t look like he knew how to put on a tie properly bless him, it just hung there with a giant loose knot, one long end tucked under his belt and a very short end poking into a gap in his shirt. His hands were jammed in each pocket and his legs were crossed as he continued to lean with the greatest of ease, tilting his head towards me.

“It’s complicated!” I replied weakly as he nodded an understanding.

“Personally, I hate weddings, which isn’t ideal when you’re in a band that plays mostly at weddings!” A little smirk formed around his mouth, it was cute, “Trust me, the irony is not lost on me!” He chuckled and shook his head, his messy blond hair swaying in unison. I wasn’t expecting his hand in front of me, letting out a small gasp which he found highly amusing. “I’m Brendan by the way!” I shook the hand he had offered me, feeling the callouses on his fingers, he was a guitar player.

“Natalie!”

“So, Natalie, bride or groom?” I must have looked just as confused as I felt when he smiled and reworded his question, “Are you friends with the bride or the groom?”

“Oh, neither!” I lied, but was it really a lie? We hadn’t been friends in a very long time, back when I was still in pigtails, and he still collected Pokémon cards.

“That does sound complicated.” He nodded down at the ground, hands back in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, “Are you sure you’re at the right wedding?” The laugh that burst from my throat surprised even me, a couple of hours ago I wasn’t at the right wedding, that song was reverberating around my head, It Should’ve Been Me, but now? I didn’t really know how I felt.

“The truth is…” I started to confess to this stranger, stopping myself to reassess the situation. He was in the wedding band, he didn’t know anyone, where was the harm? “Well, the truth is that the groom is my ex!” I heard him groan and suck his teeth, when I said it out loud, it did sound really messed up.

“So, what’s this? Closure?”

“Not exactly, I don’t really know what it is. I don’t even know why I’m here! He broke my heart and I just wanted to know why! Why her? I thought what we had was magical, a real fairy tale!” I closed my eyes, feeling extremely vulnerable all of a sudden, “I suppose the magic I felt was totally one-sided!”

 “Well…” He sighed slightly, as if he was carefully choosing his next words, “I believe that magic comes in pieces, like a love story, if you meet someone and it’s truly meant to be, then the pieces all come together like a beautiful mosaic!” He glanced at my face for a moment, and I caught a sparkle in his eyes, they were an emerald green and they brought out the sparse freckles on his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I must sound like a complete weirdo!” He breathed out a small laugh and looked down at his shoes, it was then that I noticed the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled.

“No, no you’re making a lot more sense than some of those speeches!”

“I-I write songs, I’m a hopeless romantic, it’s my kryptonite! I understand break-ups and feeling devastated when your ex moves on with someone else, but that’s the whole point, he’s moved on. You should too, because it’s all we have left, moving on? The only other thing to do is to dwell in the past and that would be a shame!” He kicked the ground with the toe of his shoe, now those scuffs made sense. A wave of cheers exploded from inside and a dark-haired man popped his head out of the doors.

“Brendan! We’re up!” He nodded to the man and headed inside, but not before stopping in the doorway and turning to me once more.

“Listen, we finish here at ten so…well if you’d like…” He was blushing, I studied his face while he was looking anywhere but at me, he was handsome. He had a boyish charm to him, he ran his hand through his hair as he let out a breathy laugh, “I may seem like I talk a lot, I do, but I’m also a good listener. I’m just offering you a friendly ear if…well I also enjoy your company so…”

“Yes!” I talked over him as his face lit up, maybe it was the redness of his cheeks, but I could’ve sworn he was glowing.

“Well okay then, I’ll see you later?”

“You will!” He waved at me, with a goofy smile as he entered the hall backwards, almost tripping over as he went. I no longer felt bitter, I no longer felt like there was no me without him! I wasn’t invisible, someone had noticed me, a cute boy who wrote songs and gave rather good advice. Brendan, with his freckles and his dimples and his inability to dress properly at a formal function. Everything he was not, complete opposites in fact! Who knew if this would go anywhere, but I had to at least try!

Moving on? I could give it a go.

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

I like your writing so much !!

Can you please write something where Harry is sick and Draco takes care of him?

45. There's no me without you

Prompt- feeling their temperature | Thank you so much for requesting this, I tried to give my very best, however I'm pretty sure the ending didn't turn up that great.

| Harry is diagnosed with a terminal disease | ANGST | HURT COMFORT |

" you called for us ?" Draco asked as he sat down with harry in the chairs in front of the desk.

" how is my favourite couple doing ?" The healer asked with a gracious smile

" mind me, but it's sound's a bit- well- like there's some bad news " harry pointedly almost slightly worried.

The healer's head bowed, in disgrace of not being able to conceal " before I tell you this, please don't be mad. You know I'd do anything to help you as much as I can "

" you're scaring us Ms. Carnballer " draco's fingers automatically held Harry's hand in a tight grip unknowingly

She sighed, pushing the files towards the couple " after the accident of last week, you had required a full body scan and the results came in today "

" wh- what's does it say then ?" Draco's voice quivered, not even being able to read the words on the parchment

" it's my regret to inform you, harry suffers from a terminal disease, plaganeisis. It's somewhat very familiar to muggle..."

But harry was already falling. All the voices were fading and all his vision fading. He knew something was ought to go wrong sometime, but this soon, he didn't expect. His mind rapidly rushed to all the promises he would break, all the promises of spending his forever with draco, only his forever was now limited.

" Mr. Potter, are you listening ?"

" harry, honey " draco violently shook Harry's body on the chair which has gone into unconscious paralysis.

"huh?" Harry voiced

" I said, you're not so severe. But the disease is ought to spread. I- maybe you should take some time and relax yourself. Why don't I just talk to Mr. Malfoy right now ?" She asked sympathetically. Normally harry would've denied and requested to stay but his mind was spiralling into fading into consciousness to unconsciousness, so harry nodded and slowly left the room and waited outside with his thoughts.

Harry didn't talk to anyone properly for an entire week after that, even to his friends who stopped by his place to console him. It was as if the death seemed nearer than it already was. All he thought for days was about his numbered days and leaving draco so broken beyond his comprehension. If harry cared only Little about himself, he would sneak a peek at draco and stare at him looking out of the window, sadly until he'd turn to harry with a smile. It broke his heart to even think about draco after him. They'd only been together for 3 years, in which they had hurriedly married last year, but they had never regretted that decision until very this moment, harry wondered how would it be to let him go.

" I think you should break up with me and find yourself Someone who isn't dying " harry had said one day on the dinner table

Draco only looked at harry strangely, not responding or eating. Harry only remembered hearing draco's cries late in the night when he assumed harry was asleep. He wanted to make his pain stop, but how could he.

This was until harry met with the healer once again.

" harry, I need you to understand that your death would only be nearer if you're thinking it's near. Keeping yourself motivated right now would seem very hard right now but you have to understand that you're hurting other people around you with forcing them to leave you because you think it'd hurt less. I've told you this before and I'll tell you this again, you can prolong your life for as long as your body wants. If you're forcing yourself to surrender yourself to death, you'd be dead very soon but if you don't, you'd Maybe live another 10 years "

" it will hurt, I know. Leaving everything broken. But make the most of it right now,as much as you can. Draco needs you right now and so do you and you have to remember that " Ms. Carnballer softly smiled at harry from the opposite side. It was then when harry realised, he's not dead, not yet. He's still alive. He still is.

And that very night, harry entered the house with a cake, called over his close friends and spent his time, relished it, till he could. It was an improvement and his friends were very happy to see that but that didn't stop them from giving him a sympathies, pity hugs, hugs for longer than usual. For once harry didn't mind, even if it was somewhere Breaking him inside.

" what was all this ?" Draco furiously asked after everyone had left

" what ?"harry asked confused.

" what was the point of all this ? A reminder that you're dying soon ? " Draco's eyes glimmered with sad tears or anger, that was yet to be figured.

" draco-"

" no- you can't Just barge into the house with a damn cake and call over your friends and spend the night as if nothing has happened. Or tell me I should find someone new. do you even realise how horrid I felt when you told me to leave you and find someone who would never be anywhere equal to you and-" but then he broke down onto the chair behind him, heaving violently as he covered his mouth to not release the screams, the sound of pain.

Harry's heart broke to see Draco like that. In the process of turning on the switch, he forgot that if there was anyone in the world who would be most effected by Harry's death, it would be him. And harry had never understand, nor probably will understand how draco must be feeling.

Harry kneeled down in front of draco, his eyes swimming with tears leaking with water to pour. He took the hand that covered draco's lips and kissed them softly, leaving a droplet of tear over his fist.

" everything is not fine draco, it would probably not even be and we can't change that but now more than ever I need you and you need me. You more than me, this will probably be the last moments I spend with you and I don't want to spend that time fighting with you. I want us to fight together. You're right, I didn't realise how I was imposing on you to find Someone new without even thinking because I assumed it would be easier for both of us and now I clearly know it's not. I can't change what's about to happen love, but we can spend each and every moment making memories that will never leave you. I don't want to see you in pain, ever.. I love today and I will love you tomorrow and I will love you from my grave but we both need to understand that. Will you spend my numbered days with me ?" Harry's voice was soft as honey,as if he wanted to conceal both of them from the already bitterness of the situation but again that Infact what they should be doing.

Draco nodded sobbing, kissing harry for the first time in a while because harry allowed to.

" let's make it count, yeah ?" Draco sighed, theirs forehead against another

" yes " harry replied with closed eyes. Maybe it made it all better.

The next few months, harry's condition only became worse. He started losing weight like heavy bricks, his face sucking in, his fingers shaking even to pick up a cup, his eyes becoming home to sunken eyes with dark circles. Harry had lost that innocence on his face and metaphorically his eyes were losing their lively look and if even so they pretended everything was fine, they both sobbed when the other one wasn't around, draco crying more mostly because he felt helpless.

" you have to help me Ms. Carnballer, I can't- I don't want to lose him. I'd much rather die than lose harry. He's the only thing in my life that makes sense. Please- please I beg you " draco sobbed harshly, pleading, begging.

" it's my immense regret-"

" I don't need sympathies. I need to help harry. I don't want him to die. There must be something, anything we can do to save him. please, I'm literally begging " draco cried.

Ms. Carnballer leaned into her chair, sighing. It was painful to see draco like this, even for her even though she saw people like that everyday but none so desperate like him. Draco looked like he hadn't slept for days, he hadn't, he hadn't eaten properly. In taking care of harry, he had forgotten to take care of his own self. That wasn't his priority.

" I will tell you truth draco, the researches are in progress. There's no cure as for now but if I must say, there must be cure. Nature would never create that It can't find a cure to. I can't promise how Long it will take to find a cure, I hope soon but all I can give you right now is hope. I can prescribe stronger medicines but that's the most I can help "

And with that Draco's helplessly and angrily went home, finding harry out of the bed.

" harry, you're not supposed to get up" draco signed as he put his bags on table, roaming around to find harry. And he did find harry sitting by the window.

" how are you feeling ?" Draco asked as he went closer to harry

" do you want me to tell you the truth or the same lie I tell you each day " harry had been crying and draco knew this by his rough voice.

Draco sighed " let's get you back into the bed. I'll make the dinner-"

" no. Draco. I'm tired. I'm tired of seeing you tiredly coming home each day, making dinner for me, telling me everything will be fine one day when you and I both know it won't be. Stop wasting your time on me. I'm meant to die and I will die " harry told Draco nonchalantly

" wh- I thought we had this conversation and we were done with this Absurdity " draco furiously threw his hands in the air.

Harry turned to Draco, stepping down from the window, standing still.

" you are wasting your life draco. I can't see that. In taking care of me look what have you done to your own self. When was even the last time you shaved or ate a proper dinner or went out with friends or just watched a movie and fell asleep on the couch without a care in the world. You think I don't watch you. I watch you like a hawk draco and I can't let you do this to yourself. This is brutal, harsh, painful to even watch " harry threw

" painful?" Draco scoffed " what do you know about pain harry. You tell me you don't want to hurt me, that you can't see me in pain but everyday you reach new heights of hurting me. It's hurts me everyday to watch you lose yourself little by little. It's brutal and harsh that after everything you will leave me alone to spend the rest of my life alone. I miss being myself but now all I think of is how can i take your pain away. It physically hurts me that I can't do anything to save you. It's cruel and brutal of the world to take you away from me when you're the Only thing that makes me want to live another day and when you're gone, how would I even possibly survive. I cry nights away because I can't stop your pain. After everything you've been through in your life, this isn't what you deserve and it's hurts me to every single core of my soul, my body and my heart. I'd much rather prefer death right now " draco yelled crying.

" If I am such a burden draco, please for the love of Merlin leav-" but harry had started coughing harshly. His body doubled over and in instincts, draco helped him to the couch and fetched water, calming his throat immediately.

Draco started crying rapidly, it was as if large crystal balls were dripping down his eyes and they didn't cease at all " I don't want to fight you. I don't- but I'm so hurt. I'm in pian harry, Maybe less than you but it's just- I can't lose you" draco took Harry's hands in how own, drawing circles over his hand.

" I know draco, I know. I wanted to-"

" no harry. It should be me consoling you yet everytime its you consoling me. There is so much wrong with this, but I don't want to console you because I can't stand losing you. I won't survive a day without you harry. I can't. I don't want to " draco sobbed. Harry gave Draco a sad smile, engulfing draco into a hug and kissing the top of his head.

" well I am Always the better one so " and draco finally chuckled, for the first time in months.

It occurred him that night when harry had fallen asleep, after checking his temperature for any signs that if nobody is going to help save harry, draco will do it himself.

And that very night he apparated to Hermione's place.

" I need help "

" about time " Hermione smirked as she led him into her study and they discussed all night about Harry's condition, anatomically the part of his body affected the worst and how can the spread possibly be stopped. Until Draco disapparated for the first time relieved before harry woke up.

It was another 1 month of brainstorming when one night, Hermione found it.

" it's the bone marrow "

" what ?" Draco confusedly asked

" the spread is only through his blood, right ? And bone marrow is the major manufacturer of helper stem cells in the body that would bring up his immunity. It's not the problem with the cells draco, its the bone marrow. Because harry is sickening, the strength of the production of-"

" the helper cells is reducing and if we just know how to fix that then the leukocytes and his platelets count would increase, thereby his body can fight itself "

" yes "

They both remained silent for a long time, until Hermione finally called Madame pomfrey from ages ago knowing she was the Only one who still performed old school magic for treatment of some very vital disease.

" Hermione, remember in second year when harry broke his arm ?" Draco asked suddenly

" what ? Of course "

" remember gilderoy instead of fixing Harry's arm, basically vanished his bone ?"

" of course. If we could reintroduce finer bone marrow-"

" without the aftermath of graft, harry would become healthy because his body will not reject it "

" call ms. Carnballer immediately "

And Ms. Carnballer agreed .

" of course, it was the muggle theory we failed to apply " ms. Carnballer said In a bit suspicious voice

" but ?" Both of them asked

" it seems too easy. I mean no wonder it might be the solution to it but if just seems so simple. If it were that simple, why couldn't wizards had thought of it before? It just seems as if this will have some drawback "

And then it hit them, it was a little too easy. After discussing, draco headed home with Ms. Carnballer telling him to wait for until she was sure of it.

Only time ran out. Draco was half an hour late than usual today and harry hadn't even woken up, even though he would've normally woken up..

Draco kneeled down next to harry, trying to wake him but harry gave no response. He was still breathing but his heartbeat was falling down little by little. In between panic attack, draco immediately dialled up Ron and Hermione.

" we need to immediately go to st. Mungo's"

And they didn't need more notice. They immediate disapparated to their place with Ron warming up the car and Hermione helping carry harry to the car.

" it will be fine. Everything will be fine " Hermione reassured him but draco had lost every shred of his sanity and was dripping all wet with tears.

" I can't lose him Hermione " draco cried as he held harry closely to himself with Ron almost flying the car

" you won't draco. He's a fighter " Ron assured.

Nodding, draco held harry more firmly to himself, whispering " I love you " and " please don't leave me " In Harry's ear. Ron and Hermione only shared looks.

______________________________

" would you at least try ? " Draco begged Ms. Carnballer

" I-"

" please. It have. 88% chances of Saving harry. Please Ms. Carnballer " Hermione countered.

Ms. Carnballer sighed " the hospital won't be responsible for anything that could go wrong, you must know that "

Draco froze. Anything that could go wrong. Those word's screamed in his head but then there was the faint memory running alongside in his head " it's us against the world. We will try till the end "

" do it " draco confirmed. Hermione looked at him for any hesitation. Met with none, she agreed.

He will not lose harry. He will not.. he can't ?

2 hours in the ward, Ms.carnballer finally came out..

" so ?" Draco asked worried out of his mind

" I- regret- harry is suffering from amnesia as of now " she told sighing heavily

" what do you mean amnesia ? It can't be possible" draco wanted to pound on her but ron held him back.

" it's anterograde. He knows everyone, mostly , but some memories might be lost " she weakly replied

Draco almost fell into Ron's grasp, his tears forming instantly

" can I meet him?"

" you can but don't try to pressurise him or anything. I request you "

Draco heavily nodded, biting off his lip in order to release the horrendous scream boiling inside him.

They all followed into the ward was in. Harry was staring out of the window when Draco approached him a little closer.

" harry ?" Draco asked softly, controlling his tears.

" malfoy ?" Harry turned his head with a frown to draco. It was all it took for draco to understand, he didn't remember them..but he wanted to try.

" you don't remember us?" He asked

" what do you mean ?" Harry asked.

Draco immediately turned around to ron and Hermione, who consoled him.

" he doesn't remember us" draco weeped.

" oh goodness I didn't expect you'd cry like a baby " harry chuckled

Frowning In tears draco turned around " what ?" He sniffed

" I could forget you, like you'd let me " harry raises an eyebrow at Draco comically

" what do you mean? She just told me you got amnesia- I don't believe you "

" alright. I got married to you last year on 31st October, at Malfoy manor. Ring a bell " harry quipped

" but she just- you told her to lie? Didn't you ?" Draco narrowed his eyes at harry

" of course. It was fun " harry laughed softly

" you fucking arsehole. You almost gave me heart attack " draco sneered

" but it didn't happen, so we're all good " harry shrugged

" tell me I can break his face " draco looked at Ron

" I'd agree with you unless he looked like this and unless I knew about this " Ron shrugged

" Ron!!! I wanted to say that " Hermione hit him on the shoulder

" you were in on this ?" Draco looked back and forth between both.

" you'd think otherwise. Of course we were in on it. Harry I'd give you a 2.5 for acting. That was shit " Ron raised an eyebrow at harry

" you tell me that when your wife cries like a damn baby " harry rolled his eyes

" I don't understand?" Draco's face filled with confusion after confusion.

Ron and Hermione shared a look before Hermione spoke up " let harry explain, we'll wait outside until your little war would be over "

And they walked out.

" come and sit " harry patted next to him, making some space for him.

In all anger draco narrowed his eyes at harry but at the same time he couldn't be more glad to be with this harry again "you better have a nice explanation " and sat down next to harry on the bed.

" so this happened last week. I woke up in the middle of night and I wanted to look for you but I couldn't find you, I assumed you must've gotten busy with something but when the next night same thing happened, I talked with Ron and Hermione about that. I was really worried for you and I just wanted to know if you were okay. I initially went to them to talk to them about taking care of you, looking after you mostly when I'm gone and told them the whole disappearance thing. It was then Hermione told me that you were trying to look for a cure. I can't tell you how proud I was and am of you. I really am. But you were doing it secretly and I wanted to maintain that until last night, Hermione, rang me and told me that you've got it. And you fell asleep outside for a while, great thing to do while you're husband is in a ward fighting death. They came in and asked for my approval on whatever it was that you guys came up with, of course it would have some drawbacks as Ms. Carnballer said but I wanted to go through with it just as much as you-"

" you did ?"

Harry frowned, taking draco's hands in his own " draco, it's not my choice to die. But if i were given one, I'd never want to die and leave you. There no you without me, nor me without you. Of course the amnesia idea was Mine to scare you. Hermione called it dumb "

" it was dumb " Draco chuckled softly

" look at me draco " and he did

" I've never regretted anything in my life than these last few months because of the pain you've suffered because of me. Even if I were to die Draco, I- I don't know what Would've happened. I'm really sorry for everything-"

" hey, you don't have to apologise. Remember I promised to take you in sicknesses and in health. It doesn't matter harry whatever happens, I'd always take care of you. I just can't lose you. These last few months had been terrible and I never want to go through something like that ever again " draco smiled shyly as he kissed Harry's hands in his own.

" and he won't" a voice interjected behind them..

" ms. Carnballer ?" Draco turned slightly to get a good look of her

" you've fought valiantly harry. The cure that your husband and miss Granger came up with had Little to no side effects, which probably won't show up until very late in life "

" what sort of side effects ?" Draco asked

" you don't have to worry about the disease falling back in again. Side effects however may include slight pain for over a couple of months in the bones and probably anemia, tiredness. You'll have a bit of fitness problem at some point in your life harry. You will have to look out for any illness for the next two years very carefully though. And that's about it "

Harry and Draco looked at each other in relief..

" we did it then ?" Draco smiled

" you did it " harry diligently said

" you've officially fought death, hm, let me see my record, 6 times. That should go in the Guinness world book record " Ron joked as they walked in after that

And the room again filled with laughter.

In the end some fights are worth fighting for.

It is my immense regret for being so incredibly late at delivering the request this late for the inability to probably provide what you expected. Also regretful for not being able to do a stand alone prompt. (Also plaganeisis is no disease). Happy reading. I tried my best.

Requests open

Day 44- how to get away with murder| Day 46- old habits

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | four

view pinned post for masterlist / links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut (with plot), this part is just suggestive, mostly plot

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader / ???yunho x fem!reader 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: a bit of blood drinking, not much else in this part tbh

Synopsis: A new boy from your class steals your attention, but something about it seems too good to be true. 

A/N: The plot thickens! I know most of you are here for the smut but this chapter is very important for later parts! Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always! <3

The familiar alleyway. Why did you come back here? It went on endlessly, you couldn’t see the street from either side. You were running, but you weren’t sure why. Was someone chasing you?

A glimmer of crimson caught your eye from the shadow, a familiar flash of fangs sparkling in the thinly veiled moonlight. A bloodthirsty snarl painted his face. The demon from before? He stepped into the light, and his piercings glimmered in the flickering glow of the rusty street light. You swiveled to run, but the brick wall stopped your path. That wasn’t there before... 

You turned to meet his eyes, hungry with bloodlust, like a lion stalking its prey. He had you cornered. His proverbial lamb.

San. 

He lurched forward, his speed unmatched, pinning you up against the wall with a disturbing thud. You gasped as the wind knocked from your body. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out, not even your breaths. His hands viced around your neck. Why was he doing this? Why? Tears poured from your eyes as he squeezed mercilessly. You couldn’t understand why. You thought he was supposed to protect you.

You heard him speak, but his words didn’t make any sense. His voice was a venomous hiss, poison dripping from his fangs as he trained his eyes over you, to the hands squeezing the life out of you. Why was he hurting you? What did you do wrong?  

Your body went cold as you writhed, unable to run, unable to scream, unable to breathe. Piercing black eyes watched you as you sobbed helplessly, searching for any remnant of life left in your lungs, clawing at his hands, silently begging him to stop. 

And then black.

The next thing you saw was the dizzyingly bright white of your ceiling. The sheets were drenched under you from sweat, blankets thrown everywhere from tossing and turning in your bed. 

Your hand came to your neck, tracing the faint scars from San’s teeth, remembering the grip of his hands around your neck. He could have killed you, back then, if he hadn’t snapped out of it. You would be dead. 

You were falling for him. But somewhere inside of you, somewhere deep in your subconscious, he terrified you.

Your next semester had been, so far, incredibly overwhelming—and it was still only the first day. You weren’t used to such a hectic schedule, usually opting to take most of your courses online, but your schedule this time was booked entirely on campus. 

Your last class of the day: Advanced Human Religion. Fitting, for your current entanglement with a particular demon. Admittedly, that was the reason you took the class. Maybe it’d give you a better picture of what you were dealing with. But probably not. 

You just wanted the day to be over—time felt endless in the constant drawl of class after class, boring lecture after boring lecture. 

Until you saw him.

Time seemed to stop as he rounded the corner through the doorway, like a slow-motion movie scene. 

He wasn’t your usual type, you were usually exclusively drawn to the “tall, dark and handsome” trope. He ticked only two of those boxes. One, he was incredibly tall. He towered over you, and most of the people in the classroom, a perfectly proportioned giant. Lean, limber, and absolutely stunning. Two, he was unbelievably handsome. 

But dark? He was exactly the opposite. He was a glowing ray of light, you imagined if this was a cartoon there would be golden glitter sparkling around him as he walked. His cotton-candy blue hair was styled neatly on his head, tousled gently in a way that looked purposeful. He was effortlessly gorgeous, almost ethereal. 

Part of you wanted him to take the empty seat next to you, so badly. The other part wanted him as far away as possible—not only because the butterflies fluttering in your stomach were making you too nervous to breathe, but because he was so pure he could probably detect the sin permeating from your aura. You didn’t deserve to even be in the room with someone so sparkly and bright. You’d been fucking a bloodthirsty demon, after all. And you had the scars to prove it.

He was walking in your direction. Fuck. What do you do? Look at him, look away? Look at your phone? His eyes trained on the seat next to you. As he walked behind you, your heart stopped completely, breath frozen in your chest. Why were you so nervous? Why?

He took a gentle seat next to you as you fumbled uselessly on your phone, trying to pretend you didn’t even notice him. 

Your eyes wouldn’t listen. You glanced over at him, and he met your eyes warmly. He flashed you the most heavenly smile you’d ever seen, his eyes forming into soft crescents. He looked like the embodiment of sunshine. “Hi, I’m Yunho.” 

You felt yourself shrinking as the heat rose in your cheeks, unable to keep calm as you tried not to stare too obviously at him. “I-I’m Y/N,” you stuttered, shifting in your chair as you tried to stay upright. 

Other than his ray-of-sunlight aura, he smelled incredible. Like warm, freshly baked bread wafting in the air on a summer day. He smelled like a nostalgia, like a distant memory you’d forgotten, but desperately wanted to remember. 

You didn’t have a chance to make too much conversation with him, as your lecture was about to start any second. You had a hard time focusing for the rest of the class—it seemed like both the longest and shortest hour of your entire life. The tightness in your chest was overwhelming, heart beating ruthlessly fast in your chest. You weren’t sure if he could tell from beside you how much you were struggling to focus, but if he even saw half of the nervousness you felt, he’d probably think you were crazy. 

The minute your professor dismissed the class, you practically sprang up out of your seat, too anxious to face him again, but his voice immediately stopped you, deep and smooth, from your side. “See you tomorrow.” 

A blush rose to your cheeks. You didn’t even consider that you’d have to go through this again. How were you going to handle these feelings every day? You smiled kindly, concealing your nerves the best you could. “Right, see you tomorrow. It was nice meeting you.”

You beelined your way out the door, practically gasping for air as you made it out of the classroom. 

You made your way to the bus stop, putting in your headphones, searching desperately for a song to calm your nerves. Your head was filled with images of him, ethereal and glowing. The first time your mind wasn’t filled with thoughts of San in a while. You didn’t exactly know what it was, but something about Yunho drew you in, had you completely flustered like you’d never experienced. Dare you say, even with San. What was it?

A shadow obstructed your vision for a moment, drawing your gaze up. And farther up. Yunho. He smiled warmly above you, his figure illuminated by light washing up behind him. You tugged out your earbud frantically as he opened his mouth to speak.

“You take the 5 too?” he asked, gesturing to your bus stop. “What a coincidence, huh?” 

You thought you’d gotten off easy today. You had no idea what to say, mind fumbling for words as his smile pulled you farther and farther into nervousness. Butterflies enveloped your stomach, creeping up into your chest. You were surprised when you managed to reply semi-coherently. “Long time no see,” you jested lightly, eliciting a cute chuckle from him. “Yeah, I take the 5. I could take the 11, but the 5 comes more often.” God, what were you saying? “Anyway, I meant to ask… are you new here?”

“Yeah, I just transferred here this semester,” he explained. Makes sense why you hadn’t seen him before. You heard the screeching of the bus’ wheels coming to a halt by your side, but you were entirely focused on him. He was so tall you nearly had to tip your head ninety degrees to meet his gaze with him standing in front of you, unlike when he was sitting next to you in class. “I don’t know many people yet.”

You boarded the bus with him, and he took a seat next to you. His heavenly smell was overwhelming, you wanted to bury your head in his fuzzy sweater and never let go. It was a weird thought, but you couldn’t help but think he would give really good hugs. Like a fluffy cloud in the shape of a human. You chatted lightly, mostly about the classes you were taking, your professors. It went all too fast, and when he got off at his stop, you almost wanted to follow him. But that would be really creepy. Despite trying to avoid him before, now that you were talking, you didn’t want to stop. 

You didn’t summon San that night. 

You wondered if he was watching you flirt with Yunho on the bus. He told you he’d stop watching you when you expressed your displeasure at him being so intrusive, but you wouldn’t call anything about San trustworthy. You almost wondered if he could read your thoughts sometimes. Would he be mad that you had such an undeniable crush on another guy? It’s not like you and San were dating, but you definitely had a relationship of some sort, however unusual it was. You recalled the bitterness in San’s voice when he mentioned you getting the handsome man’s number from the bar. You couldn’t imagine how he’d feel about you crushing on your new classmate. 

The highlight of your day quickly grew from summoning San to getting to talk to Yunho for a few moments before and after class and on the bus. You had undeniable chemistry with Yunho, and he was like a walking shot of pure serotonin, a bright ray of happiness in your otherwise dull days. 

You still summoned San at night every so often. He hadn’t mentioned anything about Yunho at all, not even a fleeting sarcastic comment. Maybe, just maybe, he was finally following through with his promise of not spying on you. 

The nights with San were nice, but you stayed away from anything explicitly sexual for a while. Your contracts became purely professional—well, as professional as an unprofessional demon boy cleaning your bathroom for you in exchange for your virgin blood could get.  It felt entirely wrong to lust after him so desperately while your mind was filled with thoughts of your new crush. You almost felt dirty when San was around, like a cheater, though you didn’t know who exactly you were cheating on. You and Yunho were mere acquaintances still, and yet being in the presence of your demon felt wrong. Sinful—and not in the good way. 

You rejected San’s flirting, shying from his soft kisses, ducking away when he pinned you like prey against your wall, pulling away from him when his hands explored your waist a little too closely. You craved him entirely, but it felt so wrong. You did, however, let him feed from you still—his lust for your blood was still insatiable, and you felt cruel not even letting him get a taste—but your newest condition was that he couldn’t use your neck. 

You couldn’t help but cry out when his fangs sunk into your skin, pain mixing with pleasure as San’s fangs pierced just above your hip bone. The scars were starting to compound, and with each bite, they seemed to heal less and less cleany. You definitely started to look like a vampire’s chew toy in a way you couldn’t just explain away anymore. 

His tongue against your skin had you squirming—the neck felt intimate, but your hips were even more so. You imagined his tongue dancing across your skin, his hand sneaking down below the waistband of your pants, his fangs pulling your panties off with his teeth. The fantasy dissolved in your mind when he pulled up from your skin, pushing the hem of your shirt back down while he swiped his other hand over his fangs, smearing the blood with a satisfied moan.

He kept his hand on your waist as he came up, finger tracing your chin, hungry for you after a long night of contracted housework. You could tell he wanted you, more than just your blood, he wanted you. He was begging for you with his eyes, lustful and intense. You wanted him too. You wanted your lips against his, pressed up against yours passionately, the feeling of his cold metal lip ring scraping your bottom lip. You wanted his hands all over you, you wanted to hear his sweet praises in your ear. 

But you also couldn’t get the image Yunho out of your head. The things you wanted him to do to you, even more so. The guilt wouldn’t let you go.

You shied away from San, breaking eye contact. “San—I—I’m tired. I just want to sleep.”

He sighed, clicking his tongue against his teeth in annoyance. Your constant rejections of him were probably suspicious, but you didn’t know how to tell him about Yunho. 

“Fine. But you know, something’s off with you.” He narrowed his eyes, his scrutinizing crimson gaze making you incredibly self-conscious. Like you were under investigation. 

“I’m just overloaded with school right now.” Were you really lying to him? That was a dangerous game.

“Are you lying to me? That pretty little face doesn’t hide very much, you know.” Fuck. “Whatever. I’m not obligated to stay here. Our contract is up anyway.”

“San, wait—” 

But he was gone. 

The empty space on your bed where he just was stung just as much as the still-fresh bite mark on your hip. You lifted your hand to meet your cheek, wet with saltwater. Why were you crying?

“Who knew a class about religion was going to have such a crazy workload?” 

You shoved your notebooks into your school back as you packed up at the end of class. The only class you looked forward to in the day also happened to be the hardest one—your professor turned out to be especially harsh with his tests, and assigned so much work you could hardly keep up. 

“Right? I thought this was going to be an easy one. Maybe I should have been tipped off by the ‘Advanced’ part of the class description,” you responded with a smile, eliciting one of his intoxicating laughs. You couldn’t help but smile when he smiled.

“Maybe we could study together?”

Your heart stopped in your chest, and you paused for a moment to weigh his proposal. It wasn’t a difficult decision. “That would be nice,” you said with a flirtatious smile. You hadn’t had a chance to hang out with him outside of the setting of school yet. Although it was just an invitation to study, it almost felt like he was asking you on a date. “I know a cafe we could go to. It’s open pretty late. We could go tonight if you wanted,” you added. 

A night free of demon drama would be nice for once. The guilt when you looked at San was practically eating you alive. You couldn’t lie to him anymore, but you also couldn’t face him enough to tell him the truth. You would jump on any reason to avoid having to have that conversation one more day.

“I’m not doing anything now, actually. We could go right now?”

You nodded with a soft smile. “Sounds great.”

The time flew way too fast as you studied at the cafe with him. You’d gone relatively early, but you somehow managed to still be there when they started ushering the customers out at closing. You were studying, but it also felt like a date of sorts. You were being particularly flirty, and if you weren’t imagining things, he was too. He bought you a coffee, held the chair out for you as you sat down, even brushed up against you a few times while you sat next to each other.

“Is it just me or did that feel like it went by way too fast?” Yunho asked with a laugh, holding open the door for you as you stepped outside.

You were met immediately with the cold night air, coughing you to shiver a bit from the chill of the wind against your skin. Yunho’s arm came down suddenly to wrap around your shoulders, his thick fuzzy sweater warming you in the cold, though he had to lower himself down a bit to get a proper angle on your shoulders. You melted into his touch immediately, heat rising in your face. It felt… right. You never wanted to leave this moment. 

“Would you like to come back to my apartment?” you asked hesitantly, not wanting to seem too forward. “To finish studying, I mean. We still have a bit left to go over.” 

Studying. Funny. That’s definitely not what you wanted to do with him right now. 

He squeezed his arm around you tighter. “I’d love to.”

You settled down at your apartment with him. You hadn’t had a guy in your apartment other than San in months. Actually, come to think of it, you hadn’t had anyone in your apartment other than San in that time. At least it was already sparkling clean, thanks to your demon maid. 

You settled on your loveseat couch—it was all you had room for in your small apartment. Yunho nestled up next to you, scooting up next to you until his hips were touching yours. You did your best to focus on the work in front of you, but you couldn’t help but feel distracted by what his touch was doing to you. It was so minimal it was almost non-existent, but even the faintest brush of him against you had you blushing and flustered. 

Yunho glanced over at you. “So, for this question, I think we need to—”  

But you couldn’t let him finish. You were leaning into him before you even had a chance to ask yourself what you were doing. Your lips met his softly. He tasted like sunshine, like heaven itself. He rocked back against you, hands lacing in your hair, moaning against your lips. You pushed back into him, savoring every taste of him. Your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his hands moving to—

“Sorry to interrupt your fun.”

You nearly jumped a foot in the air at the sudden voice, echoing loudly off the walls.

San. He was standing in front of the kitchen, leaning against the counter top. His eyes glared darkly in your direction. 

“San, holy fuck. What are you doing?” you hissed, eyes flitting over to Yunho. He couldn’t just appear like that, he was going to get himself in massive trouble. 

He ignored you entirely, his eyes almost black as he drew his gaze over to your guest. “Yunho. Surprised to see you here. What business do you have with my human, exactly?

Did he just call him by his name? How did San—

“San. Always a displeasure,” Yunho responded at your side. 

What the fuck was going on here? You watched in shock as their eyes met, both seemingly as displeased as the other to see each other. 

“I’m sorry, explain to me what’s going on?” you asked with wide eyes, voice rising as your confusion compounded. 

San took a few threatening steps forward, like an animal protecting its territory. “Your little lover boy right here… is a former colleague of mine. Care to tell her, Yunho? Or are you just gonna lead her on, hmm?”

Yunho glanced at you, his big eyes filled with what looked like regret, then back at San vengefully. Anger didn’t look right on him. “You don’t have to do this, San.” 

San flashed his fangs in a sinister snarl. “If you don’t tell her, I will.” 

Yunho glanced at you for a moment, then back at San, hesitating. “San, really, you don’t have to do this,” he pleaded again, eyes wide as he glanced back at you. He shuffled closer to you, putting a hand on your leg protectively.  

“I warned you,” he growled. “So you’re going around kissing humans now, hmm? Is there some sort of new angel code I missed somewhere?”

I’m sorry, did he say angel? 

“You really aren’t the same San I remember,” Yunho said through his teeth, ruffling his free hand through his cotton-candy hair in annoyance. The other gripped tighter on your leg. “What did you think you’d accomplish by coming here, anyway?”

“I’m trying to find out what business you have with Y/N. She’s not even your assignment. You thought you’d just have a little fun with her, huh? Didn’t know you were the type to play with your humans.”

Yunho sighed. “I’ve been reassigned.”

“So she is your assignment now, is that it?”

“Yes.” Yunho dropped his gaze from San’s for a moment, locking it with yours for a moment. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he whispered softly.

Ugh. Why did every guy you fell for have to be not human? You knew a boy like Yunho was too good to be true, anyway. You were sensing a pattern. 

“You go around kissing all your assignments then?”

A blush rose to Yunho’s cheeks, staining them a gorgeous shade of rose. Even now, he glowed ethereally, fittingly angelic for an angel. Guess that explained why he was always sparkling. And why he smelled like the actual embodiment of heaven. “Not usually, no. I got caught up in the moment. It was unprofessional.” San rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue against his teeth mockingly, but Yunho continued. “I’ve been assigned to protect her.”

“From what?” San asked, relaxing his hostile stance back a bit. 

Yunho glanced at you, then back at San, uneasiness coming through in his gaze. 

“From you.”

[haledamage]

Silent fury for whoever you want :3

(Jester Sending voice) GUESS WHO IT IS~

it's Nadia/Kurt again 😅 shocking, I know. I let them actively flirt this time! though they still aren't in a relationship yet...

spoilers for Kurt's 3rd companion quest and the story stuff that precedes it

---

“I’m going to get us some drinks,” Kurt announced as soon as they stepped into the Coin Tavern in San Matheus, eyeing the evening crowd suspiciously. “You think you can stay out of trouble until I get back?”

“No promises,” Nadia said with an impish grin.

He glowered at her. She winked in response.

He walked away with a shake of his head, and she found them an open table in a corner, sliding into a chair that left her back to the wall and let her see most of the room. She saved Kurt his preferred seat, the one directly in the corner that would best let him see the door.

Trouble inevitably found her only minutes later, in the form of a young Guardsman wearing the regalia of the Red Sun regiment. He saluted her nervously, looking over his shoulder at the tavern’s crowd before asking, “Are you the Legate de Sardet?”

“I am.” She gave him her most charming smile, trying not to look like the last thing she wanted right now was to work. “Do you need something?”

Without any more preamble, the soldier pulled a knife and lunged at her. She dove backwards to avoid it, knocking her chair over with a clatter. When he swung at her again, she caught his wrist, using his momentum to twist his arm behind his back and slam him face first into the table.

The knife slipped out of his numb fingers and Nadia grabbed it before it could fall, pressing it to his throat. “Is this the fabled honor of the Coin Guard?” she hissed, any hint of kindness in her voice frozen over. “Attacking an unarmed woman in a bar?”

His eyes were very green and very wide as panic and the realization that he lost started to set in. “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! I was only following orders.”

She inspected the boy’s face. He was quite young to be sent after someone of Nadia’s reputation; if he was over sixteen, she’d eat her hat. He was also clearly terrified, but it didn’t seem to be her he was afraid of--at least, not entirely. Though the knife she held likely made a compelling argument in her favor. “Who sent you?”

“They said that you’re responsible for the fall of the Guard,” he blurted out. “They’ve given orders to attack on sight.”

Even with her compelling argument at his throat he still wasn't telling her any names. That meant one of two things: either he didn't know their names, or he was blindly obedient to the point of suicide. A remnant of the ghost company, she’d wager; if she was wrong, she’d eat her gloves too.

She seethed in silent fury at the people responsible. The ones that had taken children like this one, like Wilhelm and Reiner and even Kurt, once upon a time, and tried to turn them into puppets and monsters.

Nadia pushed it away, swallowing it down until it wouldn’t show. He would take her reaction for pity rather than sympathy; they always did. She bottled it up so she could turn it into action later, when she finally met the infamous Major Hermann.

She let the boy go, but stood in a way that he wouldn’t be able to run without going through her. “Hmm. I did it all on my own, did I? Not much of a coup if it could be foiled by one woman acting alone. But I suppose they know better than to send you directly after Kurt, or Sieglinde, or Manfred, or any of the other honorable members of the Guard, and so they sent you to me.” She felt a presence at her back, solid and warm and familiar enough that she knew who it was without looking. “Hello, Kurt.”

Somehow, the boy’s eyes got wider. “Captain!” He fumbled an attempted salute.

“At ease, cadet.” Kurt almost sounded casual enough to hide his anger. “What’s this?”

“You know me,” Nadia said, false cheer taking the edge off the lingering chill in her voice. “Making new friends wherever I go.”

“He tried to kill you, didn’t he?” She couldn’t see his face, but whatever was there was frightening enough that the cadet tried to step back, practically climbing onto the table in his haste to escape.

She hummed in affirmation, presenting him the knife. He took from her and inspected it wordlessly. “Likely on Hermann’s command. Or his lackeys. Lad doesn’t know any better. Just following orders.” She was starting to hate those three words. The things men would try to justify under the guise of ‘following orders’ enraged her.

“You’re damn lucky she was alone when you staged your little attempt. Her Excellency is much more polite than I.” Kurt grabbed the young soldier by the front of his doublet and dragged him close, voice dropping into a growl, low and dangerous. “You ever try to touch her again and you had better start swimming, because there’s nowhere on this island you can hide from me.” He released the boy abruptly enough that he stumbled. “Go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He ran out of the tavern without looking back.

Kurt immediately turned to Nadia, all his anger forgotten and replaced by a concerned frown. “Are you hurt?”

She tried not to appear too flustered, but her heart always skipped a beat when he got all growly and protective like that. There was something very attractive about watching him lose his cool on her behalf. His sudden proximity wasn’t helping matters, his hands gently skimming her sides, her stomach, down her arms, touching her face, searching for any sign of injury or distress.

She caught them and forced them still. They came to rest on her waist, and he finally looked up at her again. “I’m fine, Kurt. He didn’t even get close. You taught me better than that.”

His shoulders dropped with relief. “I should’ve known better than to leave you alone.”

“At least we know we’re in the right place.” She rested her hands on his arms, just above the elbow, in an attempt to offer comfort. She could only imagine how hard all of this was for him, especially on top of… well, everything else. It had been a rough week for them both. “If Hermann is sending terrified child assassins after me this quickly, he must be somewhere in the city.”

“I think you’re right.” His expression went distant, calculating, already planning two steps ahead. Then he shook it off, and his attention returned to her once more. “Be that as it may, Green Blood, I’m not leaving your side until he’s dealt with. Not for anything.”

Her eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing under the brim of her hat. “Then I guess it's a good thing my bed’s big enough for two.”

Kurt’s ears and the back of his neck flushed red at the obvious suggestion in her words, but at the same time his gray eyes went storm dark, dangerous in a new and exciting way. His hands clenched on her waist, drawing her just the slightest bit closer. "Yes, well..." he cleared his throat, but his voice still came out a touch raspier than normal, “we should… concentrate on the job at hand. For now.”

Despite his words, however, he made no move to release her, or even to put any distance between them.

It was tempting to see what happened if she pushed the subject, but Nadia decided against it. He was right. This was important, and it needed to be done before someone got hurt. For now would have to keep her warm until then.

Reluctantly, she stepped back, putting a little space between them, her hands slowly sliding down his arms until they fell away. She set aside the spark that had been kindling there in the same place she put her anger - not extinguished, just banked, and waiting for a chance to reignite.

With one last deep, fortifying breath, she turned her back on Kurt and picked up her fallen chair, dropping into it and sliding one of the mugs on the table closer. She hadn’t even noticed him setting them down, wasn’t entirely sure when he’d found time between threatening her would-be assassin and fretting over her well-being, but she let it go.

After a few seconds, he sat down next to her. His arm draped over the back of her chair in a motion that probably looked relaxed to anyone who wasn’t close enough to feel the tension rolling off of him. She leaned into it anyway, letting him pretend it was an affectionate gesture instead of a protective one, that he wasn’t scanning the room like everyone else had also been sent to assassinate her.

“So why are we here?” she attempted to clear the strained atmosphere. “Waiting for someone?”

“Letting ourselves be seen.” Kurt took a long drink from his ale. “I want him to know we’re here. Men like Hermann get stupid when they get scared.”

She was starting to catch up with his thinking. This tavern was owned by the Coin Guard. A once-respected and decorated Major like their quarry would still bend a few sympathetic ears in a place like this. Their presence here was an open taunt. "And do things like send children to kill diplomats in a bar full of witnesses? Especially a diplomat known to travel with a Captain of the Guard as her personal bodyguard?"

He grunted in agreement. “Exactly. He sent that poor boy here to be killed. To make us draw first blood. Now he’ll run straight back to his masters and tell them what happened.” His voice was as dark and bitter as smoke, but when he turned to face Nadia, he wore a soft, if small, smile. He lifted his mug as if in a toast. “So tonight, I get to have a few drinks in a decent tavern with a beautiful woman. And tomorrow, the work begins.”

She tapped her cup against his. “You’re enjoying this. Scaring the ghosts.”

“So are you.”

“I did learn from the best.” She meant it. Nadia would have been a very different person without him in her life all these years; she liked to think he felt the same way.

But whether he did or not, he clearly still didn’t know how to take a compliment. “Flattery,” he said dryly, looking more amused than anything else. “And where do you expect that to get you, Your Excellency?”

“Most likely, alone in my large, very comfortable bed.”

Kurt chuckled, and the sound was like warm brandy on a cold day, sending heat curling through her. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”