#the glasses are eerily familiar but I just don’t know??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

haztory · 5 months ago

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a matter of principles

— diluc ragnvindr x f!reader; arranged marriages, best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, miscommunication trope, unrequited/requited love, lots of angst, fluff ending, she/her pronouns

— word count: 24k

— photo source: freminent hearth’s screenshot from hoyolab

— summary: Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Monstadt originated belief, but a sure one, he thinks. He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?” “No… but advice would be welcome.” You say. “Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”

Prologue:

The number of friends Diluc has is often a point of teasing by many a drunkard who enter into Angel's Share. And while the banter would usually earn a simple glare and a cutting off of the drink, its lack of an answer has caused quite the festering of gossip in the tavern. Everynight it seems, whether the man is there or not, Diluc's social life becomes a topic of conversation.

Pestered and prodded upon with surgical precision, both in day and night. Names are thrown out, each person wondering if said individual would be considered a friend to Diluc, or even an acquaintance. And while Diluc would never outwardly venture forth to call a Knight of Favonius a friend, his lack of denial does little more than stir the flames higher.

Jean must be a friend, right? A reliable confidant, at least.

One did see Diluc conversing rather animatedly with Barbara at the Springvale Seasonal Gathering.

What about Kaeya? someone asks only to meet the unanimous and vehement shake of heads.

It isn't until Venti pries just enough that the answer is revealed.

"One," Diluc says with a sigh, wiping a glass down with a white rag and beyond tired of being the subject of this routine conversation. "I have one friend."

The whole tavern is suspended in silence, each member looking at one another with unsatisfied curiosity, silently nudging the other forward. All begging for the one question to be asked.

Until Venti takes the bait, "Who?!"

—

Diluc knows of you, in parts.

Remembers the separate fragments that make up the great whole of you— each moment stained in the wonderful tint of happiness, fitting together like a masterful mosaic that he pedestalizes in his head. Yellows, and pinks, and warmth spreading across his mind, all from you.

He remembers you in childhood, in the middle years, in the now; He reminisces on the happy parts of you and him, wistfully smiles at the sad ones, finds himself lost in thought at the great constellation of scattered fragments.

A child in the customary Mondstadtian colors of white and black, and another in the Liyue garments of dark reds and oranges, fretting across the span of closed eyelids and reliving the joyous memories.

He would never outwardly admit that you take up the great measure of his thoughts, but when he finds his gaze fixated on the flames of the dancing fire in his study, business ledgers strewn on his desk and exhaustion nigh, the colors ring eerily familiar and he swears, swears, that in the crackle of the wood that Adelinde has started, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, does it disappear. Embers crackling and images fading in the instant and it is then that he does come to terms with the circumstances at hand.

A friend he still considers you to be. One of the greatest to him. He isn't sure if the sentiment is reciprocated much these days as fall turns to winter; Oranges turn to white, liveliness turns to barren and with it, the fate of your treasured friendship.

His one and only.

Interlude: Fall

The friendship began before Diluc’s impeccable memory began to serve him.

An introduction through family, as all friendships are at such a tender age. Your father, one of the biggest exporting merchants in Liyue struck a good enough agreement with Diluc’s own about wine exporting to warrant a warm and frequent visit between the two businessmen, the children tagging along as all children do.

It wasn’t an immediate kindling, but one in the making, as the more he saw of you the more he grew to you and you to him. Friends, eventually; Playing in between the vineyards of Dawn Winery or exploring the cabins of your father’s ships while your respective handmaidens shouted and begged for your return. While his brother, a shadow of blue, followed close on your tails.

To no avail; Wherever it was that you wished to run to, it was hard to get Diluc to change his mind and do anything but follow you�� stubborn, he is and was to a fault.

Even as the working relationship between your fathers’ came to an end with the death of Diluc’s, there were always the brief moments facilitated by the strength of the surviving bond itself. Letters and gifts, planned visits, ears attuned and pressed to the ground for rumors holding each of your names that crossed nations. The most entertaining of which being a whisper he heard during his time as a Favonius Knight as he patrolled the pathways right before Wuwang Hill, two elder women in their travels whispering of the esteemed Liyue merchant’s daughter finally receiving a vision!

Diluc, in that tender age in which he had hardly learned that the best way to learn details was to listen without looking, all but stared at these women— awaiting their tales. He soon discovered, just before being reprimanded by the two traveling passerbys, that you were suddenly granted the gift from the gods in the form of the Vision of Hydro.

A neatly written letter from you arrived in no less that one week after his hurried and hastily written one to you that would reveal that falsity behind the rumor. That you weren’t by any means gifted with such a vision, nor would you be granted one soon. It wasn’t in your nature, you wrote.

‘And how terribly offensive of you to think that the grannies of Liyue would soon learn of my gifts before you! For that transgression alone I will heartily withhold the details of my recent mythical learnings from my visit to Mount Hulao. That will certainly teach you.’

(The shame he felt was unlike anything he’s ever felt before, shame in being so invasive, but a subsequent visit from you a few months later would quickly quell such feelings. The sight of your smile and the sweet fragrance of you being more than enough to tame that which runs rampant within the flames of Diluc.)

There has never been a moment in which you weren’t at the forefront of his consideration; Of his time.

A friend, Diluc considers you to be— one of his most trusted.

You’ve arrived at his home today, the second week of the Fall season and the height of the vineyard sales, in what seems to be the finest carriage in all of Liyue— no spared expense for the only daughter of a wealthy Liyue merchant.

Diluc meets you at the end of the path trailing to his manor, a small smile on his face as he opens the door to your cabin and holds a hand out for you to step down with. Tendril of his red hair swaying with the breeze that has suddenly been brought forth on this day, no doubt by your arrival.

Elzer and Hartman are already at the back of the carriage, unloading your bags with smiles on their faces.

You take his hand, white silk gloves in his black leather ones, grip tight as his own and he feels the reflection of his own longing and deep yearning become electrified in the meeting of your palms. A feeling he swears must also plague you, one he only feels more compelled upon when you step down with the warmest of grips of your hand in his and the warmest of glints in your eyes.

An enchanting one, a sight Diluc can hardly tear his own practiced measured gaze from.

“Diluc,” You breathe out, grin erupting into a toothy one, voice airy and light and horribly, horribly, wonderful to hear after so long. The both of you are older now, clearly, in the way that he is no longer part of the Knights of Favonius, but the owner of Dawn Winery and you are no longer just learning the ropes to your father’s business but the actualized Ambassador to his overseas ventures. Seasoned and traveled, twenty-eight and twenty-five, adults still smiling at one another like children.

He says your name just as breathily as you have uttered his, followed with a gentle bow of his head.

“I hope you didn’t mind the late notice of arrival. This is all incredibly sudden and I’m terribly sorry for that. ” Your smile is overly apologetic, and Diluc scoffs. Come rain or shine, planned or otherwise, Diluc could never mind an appearance from you and you should know as much. Would be horribly blind if you didn’t. Diluc had less than a day of preparation for your arrival and yet Dawn Winery was ushered upright and ready for you by the pull of one thread by its master.

“Of course not,” He says. Mind, he never does, yet with his measured and calm tone, he cannot deny the fact that the abruptness of your visit and short notice itches within him. Something that, try as he might, he cannot scratch.

That nagging detail is quickly quieted by the latent realization that your hand has yet to let go of his, and, he begins to note, the danger of the creeping truth in the fact that he doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he relishes it.

“Dawn Winery is always delighted to welcome you home, Ambassador.”

You smile brighter at both the sentiment and the title, if such a task was even possible. Warmth of the grin rivaling the rivulets of the sun, more blinding than the dazzling glow of cor lapis. The exact stone that sits on the corner of his desk after all these years and often finds itself the object of his fixation many an afternoon.

“I am glad to be home.” You respond in kind, a gem of amber brilliantly shining through the words and it takes every ounce of Diluc to return his attention away from your smile to the task at hand of guiding you into the home. His home.

Your home.

But he does, with the lightest of curls on his lips that he doesn’t even realize has made permanent residence upon his face now.

—

It is always a reunion when you manage to grace Dawn Winery with your appearance.

Adelinde shines with a smile that seems endless as she steps towards you in a warm embrace, a dramatic turn around from her very pointed sighs that are usually targeted towards the master of the house. Elzer is much the same, the older man alight with a jovial sparkle as he greets you, taking your bags in his hands without a second thought, and eagerly engages in conversations of matters other than business with you— a renowned feat that even the most skilled of conversationalists find hard to accomplish with the graying businessman.

Diluc, the master of the house and employer to his affable attendants, is all but pushed to the side the minute you’ve stepped foot into the threshold of the door, the congenial and loving welcoming imparted upon you in great Mondstadtian manner.

“Welcome back, dearest!” Adelinde exclaims, propriety thrown out in favor of obvious affection as she throws her arms around your shoulders and squeezes. “It is so wonderful to have you back. It’s been too long!”

“I have missed you greatly, Adelinde.” You say in kind, the same excitement and candor laced in the breathless laugh you exhale as the older woman smothers you in her embrace, swaying from side to side.

The head mistress all but shakes you vigorously when she pulls away from you, holding your shoulders in her hands as she addresses you. Mother henning instilled in the widening of her eyes.

“Have you eaten? Surely you must be hungry after such a journey to us. Come! I’ll prepare something for you. A Northern Apple Stew, perhaps? Or Sweet Madame! You were quite fond of that one last time!”

“Adelinde, please.” Elzer cuts in before either you or the neglected Diluc are able to intervene, a quiet scolding in his tone, “Let our guest breathe the air of nostalgia for just a moment rather than drown in the overwhelming one you are no doubt suffocating her in.”

He turns to you, bags in hand and a crooked elbow held out for you to grab. Gently smiling, “Come, my dear. We shall unpack and get you settled before Adelinde stuffs you to the brim with food and endless questions.”

Scoffing, Adelinde all but throws her hands down, slapping her palms against her apron-cladded thighs. “Oh, Elzer, how can you send a guest to their room on an empty stomach? After such a long journey, too! Liyue is a whole nation away and yet you would rather enslave her to the schemes of chores than a proper meal. Have you no shame?”

“I ask only for a moment, my dear Adelinde. If you can not even spare to be parted for one, then I must beg you to reconsider who should be shamed.”

And so begins the low clamor of a bickered argument, the two keepers of the manor diverting their devotions towards each other as they nip and poke at the other on the best way to treat you, their beloved guest. A frequent occurrence— exhausting, nonetheless. A look is shared between you and Diluc, one of annoyance from him and only pure amusement from you, that of which, turns Diluc’s own sour look into one of less acidity.

“Actually,” Diluc clears his throat, silencing the boiling argument. Your own delighted gaze darts to him in captured attention alongside the two head attendants of the house. Diluc folds his arms behind his back and gazes at his onlookers with little more than happy indignation— a feat only manageable by the likes of him. “Dinner preparations for our esteemed guest will be handled by me. I will also be seeing to the arrangements of the Ambassador's room, for old times sake. You both are dismissed for the evening.”

If life were a comedy, you were sure that this moment would be met with a thunderous roar of laughter. Elzer and Adelinde stare owlishly at Diluc, mouths open in stunned stupor as they stand almost a hair’s width apart, their fueled arguments replaced with something else entirely. Something more… bewildered.

“You… sir?” Elzer asks after a beat— a long, awaiting beat.

“Cook?” Adelinde follows, her voice raising in octaves as she takes in the master of the house, the boy she has raised.

Diluc rolls his eyes, “I manage a tavern, Adelinde. I can cook.”

“But can you cook… well?” Elzer questions after sparing a side glance to the graying woman.

“In all my years,” Adelinde mutters, more to herself than anyone, “I have never seen you cook, much less know where the kitchen even is—”

“Yes, that’s quite enough, thank you.” Diluc interrupts, eyes of garnet turned to slits, “You both have been of great help to us this afternoon, but I think it best we let our guest settle.”

“Well, if you’re interested in expelling yourself to such lengths for this arrival, maybe you would be interested in seeing to the manor’s gutters?” Elzer says with a knowing look and a teasing tone as Adelinde hides her laugh with a cough. “Now that you’re doing things you’ve never done before—”

Diluc’s eye twitches.

“You both are dismissed.” He hisses, but neither attendant takes much offense to it. Instead, they only let the playfulness of their smiles broaden on their faces. Their heads downward in acknowledgement to both you and the master of the house before exiting as prompted.

It isn’t until the sound of the door closing behind you two in the great entrance hall of the manor that the vibrant echoes of your laugh finally resound around the room. Diluc is quick on his heels to turn to you and point a finger in your face, a sternness to his voice and a furrow to his brow. Quick to halt the teasing before it begins.

“I will be pressed to remind you—”

And yet—

“Dinner?” You howl, and the sigh that escapes Diluc is enormous. Not that you could hear it, what with the volume of your fervent giggles masking it. He tuts, crossing his arms over his chest and watching with well-tempered amusement as you practically fold in half at the waist in laughter.

“Don’t flatter yourself. This is hardly out of the ordinary.”

“That is not what Adelinde says.”

“Adelinde does not know of my late night eating habits.”

“I would wager a guess to say that she knows more about you than either of us do.” As your laughter begins to peter out, you lift a finger to your eye to wipe a stray tear. “What is the occasion, my dearest Diluc?”

“Your arrival.”

You scoff, “I’ve arrived many times before and you’ve never demanded to cook for me.”

“I hardly demanded—”

“Insisted, then.”

“Then, there is no occasion. Only my wish to do so.” He says neutrally, hardly a rise or fall to his tone of voice as he says the words, but maybe that’s the tell all on its own. He doesn’t need the rhyme or reason in order to do as he’s never done before— no special date, no pertinent news needing to be shared.

Only ever really needs—

Your smile widens tenfold and you shake your head at the man before you. You're removing your gloves, finger by finger, then throwing them haphazardly onto the great dining room table that has been host to many of your great laughing fits. Hands of great elegance are revealed and soon placed onto your hips as you stand in the middle of his open foyer.

He should take offense to the gesture— should at least reprimand you for the lackadaisical way in which you make yourself at home. Prim and proper Diluc should not at all condone any kind of reckless behavior, especially in his own manor, but he hardly minds. Only huffs a breath through his nose at the sight of the gloves that now sit on the mahogany. The soft white of the fabric a stark, yet pleasant, contrast to the dark wood.

You stare at him, a slight shake to your head and the knowing smile on your face. “Well then, I shall insist that you allow me to be your sous-chef and assist you. Archons above know you Mondstadtians could benefit from some more spices in your life.”

You turn on your heel, leaving the great hall lined with the portraits of his family, of the great arts and literatures of Mondstadt, and enter into the kitchen held off to the right side of the manor.

The great entryway is one that he’s seen many times before, yet derives little comfort from. It’s a farce, of sorts. A living mausoleum of all that was and all that could have been, left to him to haunt the halls with. He’s confided this to you before, many years ago when it was too late to be called night yet too early for morning. Detailed it to you over the slow heat of a dying fire and the steady pace of a chess game, with your rook creeping eerily onto his knight, he confessed how much he hates the darkness of his home. How trapped he feels in it at times, how despite the many candles he lights, and the windows that Adelinde cracks open, it always feels cold.

Funny that, he had said, a pyro-user lying frigid in his own home.

Does it ever not feel cold? You had asked curiously, softly, genuinely vying for the answer. Orange hue of the fire lighting the side of your face as you studied him.

When you enter the dark manor with dark hardwood walls, and dark curtains this time, just as the many times before, you glow. Bring indescribable life to the empty home that only awakens upon notice of your incoming arrival— stays awake as you float from room to room, knowing the home as it is your own, and lay pieces of you across random surfaces.

Shining, effervescent cor lapis in the great abyss of this manor.

Sometimes, Diluc remembers responding quietly. Engrained even further, he remembers the gleam of the smile you gave him as it's the same smile he receives now. The one thrown over your shoulder as you prance forward into the kitchen, another tease rolling off of your tongue.

“I offer my home and my services to you, and get repaid in insults?” He finally speaks after willing his tongue to renew itself from sludge to form words, a false scoff in his tone. His feet follow behind you, spurred on by the geniality of a core memory as you pad across the tiled floor and wash your hands within the basin.

“A helpful tip!” You rejoice, “Seeing as you’ve suddenly decided that today was the day for cooking—”

“I have a penchant for burning things, you know.” It’s a thinly veiled threat, one that falls flat as you both meet eyes.

You smirk, “All the more reason to let me assist.”

“You are a great nuisance, Ambassador.” He says, discarding his coat to the side and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, left then right, almost missing the fixating of your eyes on his newly revealed skin, and how quickly you avert your eyes; Face contorting into a quiet scold. As though you were punishing yourself for indulging, for losing propriety in just glancing.

He should enjoy it, find delight that you find the muscles that have been earned through years of claymore wielding strength and battles to be admirable— but something mirs your tone immediately after. Something secret, solemn. A slight twinge that no one but him would catch, would understand to know that something was amiss.

Quickly, you grab a handful of vegetables from a box placed on the rack against the wall and bring them to the basin to wash. Potatoes and carrots galore.

You forcibly smile, “Oh, you love it.”

The itch flares tenfold.

—

Barbatos Ratatouille takes approximately four hours to make. It’s a slow cook, the lengthiest portion of its preparation being the time needed for it to remain covered on the stove on low heat. However, the most arduous part of the meal is the design of it. Not necessarily due to difficulty, but in the way that the carrots must be thinly sliced and laid in proximity to the cubed potatoes and strips—decorated to perfection. It’s halfway between a stew and a casserole, but alive with flavor as it simmers on a low boil.

A herculean dish, an amateur culinarian’s nightmare; Diluc’s personal choice for your arrival.

Truthfully, he should’ve begun the meal before you arrived—should’ve had it ready for when you entered the manor. But, with the dish on the stove and three hours to kill, the suggestion of a walk around the winery as a means of relaxation and much needed catching up is hardly punishment for his error. Even though you have already been chatting throughout the duration of your meal preparation, discussing nearly everything and anything that comes to mind.

But, you both reason, there is much he must show you.

The sun sits just above the horizon as you exit the manor, the great sky of orange and pinks lulling you both into a gradual and steady trot down the paths of the winery. Through the greens of growing grapes, he walks to the right of you, pointing to the items that have been updated since your last visit. Namely, the irrigation system to the vineyards. The slow and onerous move from a drip irrigation to one of a pumping unit handcrafted by Wagner located a few miles behind the manor. A hassle to craft, install, and maintain, he tells you with a tired smile, but a necessary venture for productivity.

It reminds you to recount the traditional manner of tempered inundation that you witnessed when you finally obtained traveling papers to Inazuma. Farmers cultivating their crops to the cycle of the rivers, relying solely on its seasonal rise and fall to serve as a means of irrigation.

“And what happens when the rivers eventually decide to break tradition and flood?” Diluc asks with dumb amusement as your conversation leads you down the path that turns to gravel, winding away from the vineyards and down towards the lake. He means it as a rhetorical question, knowing in both science and anecdotal evidence nature makes a great fool of prediction.

A large rock obstructs the pathway, and while it doesn’t take much effort to climb over it, he nevertheless holds his hand out in assistance. Nevermind the fact that this trail and this particular rock is one that you and he have taken many times before, one that you are fully aware that contains a rocky terrain as you walk nearer towards the body of water, and yet, ever the gentleman he is as he offers his assistance, you take his hand.

“Inazuma is the land of eternity.” You tell him succinctly, “They would be more pressed to believe that the world would end before the land and its dutiful Shogun would disrupt tradition and predictability.” You step over the large rock with great ease. Diluc makes sure of it.

“How archaic.” Diluc mutters once he knows your feet are on stable ground once more. You shake your head with a smile.

“That is only a matter of perspective. To Mondstadt, it is limited. To Inazuma, it is nature.”

Diluc only hums, his eyes narrow as carmine irises dart across your face. Any opinion of the idea, if you even had one, is imperceptible. Hidden carefully behind a neutral gaze and the generality of your statement. Trained, you are, to be as open and peaceful with any and all walks of life. Barbatos knows Diluc would hardly be able to bite his tongue with something he strictly disapproved of.

��Born and bred for the role of Ambassador. I would've offended a whole nation if I were in your shoes.”

“Nonsense,” You smile as you link your arm with his, hand holding onto his bicep as you both resume your trek to the waters, “I think you would make for a wonderful advocate for the people. You are tough and unmoving. The kind of person everyone would be lucky to have on their side.”

He says nothing more to that, content to let the conversation die and allow nature to become the fixation of your thoughts.

Compliments have never rendered well for the likes of Diluc. He knows too much about himself, of his nature, of his own beliefs, of all that he has done to ever be convinced by another that he is at all a good man. Especially on the basis of one’s words.

They never mean much anyway. Words are never strong enough to be binding; They are the buffer between hope and disappointment, and oftentimes find themselves leaning to one side more than the other. It is why he never makes promises he cannot keep, it is why he hardly believes in things that come from another’s mouth unless he himself has experienced it. The sting of old promises and their frosted bite are too ingrained within Diluc to compromise on.

Add that to one of many things Diluc knows to be true of himself.

He is too prideful, too stubborn, too controlling, too set in his ways to believe in anything other than what he knows to be true about himself and the world. He is the stark contrast to you, and, not for the first time, he wonders how a friendship of such strength could remain when he burns too bright and you—oh, you—

Where you are amenable and compromising, he is rigid and sure; Where you are appeasing and complimenting, he is static and blunt. He does not care for the pleasantries as you do when he doesn’t feel them warranted. He’s entirely sure, as sure as the sun that sets every day and as resolute as you are on the charm of cor lapis, that he would make for a horrible dignitary considering how opposite of you he is and how well you fit into the role.

But… the way that you say it. The way that the statement rolls of your tongue with hardly a second thought, the way that you seemed assured of his nature as though it were truth— the way that you seem to believe him an honorable man despite being worldly traveled and knowing many of many honorable people—

Gravel turns to sand and a quick glance your ways reveals the brightening of a smile as you both near the lake and all the tumultuous thoughts, the internal fight over the slightest of compliments and the need to extract the lies from the truth within them, silences as he looks to you.

Diluc burns, and he burns bright, and you extinguish the flames of him that itch and ache to hurt. This isn’t a new realization, but it is a staunch one as it hammers away at the walls of his mind and heart.

Everything about this is as it has always been, and yet, the habit of cynicism so ingrained in him makes it feel as though things are different. That behind these immortalized affections from he to you and you to him hides something of greater importance. As though something lies in wait behind the florals and flowerets of your arrival.

As his mind thrums with his well known truths and his heart sings with the surprise of your presence, he can’t help but wonder when the other shoe is to drop— he tries to never be doubtful of your words, but he trusts his intuition more.

And it tells him that whatever he is waiting for, is coming.

—

“To the water, Diluc!” You call to him, already throwing your shoes off of your feet and hiking the skirt of your dress up as you inch closer to the crystal blue waters.

He shakes his head, tendrils of red strands displacing themselves from his ponytail as the wind blows gently. While his face remains stern, contorted into the serious disposition many a Monstadtian recognizes, his hands are slowly removing layers of his clothing— the boots, first. Then his socks and cuffing the pants of his slacks. All the while, following behind your prancing figure.

“I find water to be rather disagreeable.” He calls out after you and you bark a laugh. One that echoes around the empty space of the open lake and high mountains. It dances on the wind, pirouetting its way back to him, sticking to him like honey— sweet, warm, sticky honey. Slowing his thoughts down in the sinewy constitution of it.

“What isn’t disagreeable to the great Duke of Mondstadt?” You tease as your toes brush against the edge of the chilled water. Though the blue certainly isn’t as warm as many of the lakes in Liyue tend to be, the change in climate isn’t an unwelcome one. Refreshing certainly, and as the chill jolts its way through your bare toes and travels up your spine, it’s an appreciated embrace when in the presence of such a ferocious source of heat like Diluc.

Diluc who sets things ablaze with his stoicism and piercing gaze, Diluc who uses such talents to stare at you from afar— the flames of something sparking in his irises— and the urge to drown yourself in the cool waters grows tenfold.

A determined reminder of things that you have shoved to the side for too long, truths that you were hoping to dismiss for just a moment.

Not an uncommon feeling to experience whenever you’re around him. Latently, you can hear the whispers of a wry voice belonging to a Favonius Captain comment on how he too wishes he could drown himself when in the presence of the tycoon, and you laugh quietly. Anything to distract yourself from the feeling of a heavy stare on you.

Your question, as redundant as it may have been to you, hangs in the air unanswered, but it doesn’t bother you much. Find your brain too swayed by the heat of his gaze and the chill of the water to think much of even trying to find an answer.

But he does. Silently, in the train of his thoughts that never end, the answer is abundantly clear.

You are entirely too agreeable to the Duke, he thinks, as you wade further into the water with a joyful yelp. The water halfway up your shins with your skirt bunched in your hands and your face furrowed as you will yourself to move further into the lake. You are entirely too agreeable, he thinks, as he finds himself approaching the edge of the same lake and following in after you—even though he knows it probably isn’t the wisest decision, safety reasons, all encompassing.

Should something emerge through the treeline, something he wasn’t particularly anticipating, and he were soaking wet— there would be a late reaction, late preparation in being able to protect the both of you. Or, if a Fatui officer were to find their way here to you both, with you being visionless and him impacted by the counteracting measures of water against his pyro, it would be a hassle to say the least. While he vigilantly patrols the acres of his land in strict routine, there is always the chance of those bastards infiltrating his lands. He would be remiss to put his guard down, especially when they’ve been establishing encampments only a couple hundred miles from his home, as of late.

Or, what if—

“Something touched me!” You squeal suddenly, running away from your place almost knee deep into the water and back onto the shore. It happens faster than he’s able to comprehend, but the sound of your yell is enough to have him propelling forward.

He’s rushing to you in fevered panic just as you rush into him. His left arm encircling around your waist and lifting, a flame already erupting in his right hand, aimed at whatever enemy has made an appearance. Your legs fold upward into his chest, your own arms tightening around his neck as your unintelligible squeals erupt from your mouth and into his ear.

“Where?!”

“I can’t—“

“Who goes there?!”

“Diluc—“

“Show yourself!”

“I think it was a fish!”

Chaos quiets in a second, Diluc’s burning fury splashes cool as his senses catch up to one another and the realization of your words corroborates his vision. He sees no enemies, clearly one couldn’t have slipped by in the few minutes since your entrance to the water. He does, however, see the speeding trail of a Medaka swimming away beneath the water.

The flame then extinguishes in his hand, “I loathe you.”

He feels your head rise from its burrow in his neck, “It scared me!”

“It’s a fish—“

“I didn’t know that! It could’ve been the tendrils of a slime!”

A bitter retort finds itself on the tip of his tongue, an item he is ready to unleash just as he turns his head to face you, only to feel it die at the sudden realization that—

—You are in his arms.

Held tightly to him, your body melding into his and your faces hardly more than an inch apart. Your eyes wide in residual panic, sparkling with the blend of humor. And then…he’s drowning.

Choking on the feeling of closeness, suffocating in the swarm of feelings in his lungs as he realizes that as abnormal as the occasion is to have you in his arms, it feels pointedly normal. He’s startled at how quickly he had thrown away the makings of a gentleman the moment your arms wound around his neck; Lost—completely, entirely, unabashedly—at how the weight of your gaze buoys him in the tides of a long lived affection.

An image of eternity finds him, then; A quick flash in the stagnation of thoughts, a future he had never allowed himself to fantasize of before— a cinder of hope to wake up tomorrow, two days, two years, two decades from now, and have this.

Knowing that it is something that he can never have, however, fills his lungs with a choking fluid.

“Enough of the water.” He mutters quickly, his cheeks tinting red in what you can only surmise is anger. “We should return for dinner.”

He’s lowering you back into the water then, making a short effort to remove your limbs from him and turn his back towards you, trekking towards the shore at a brisk pace.

It’s whiplash; A ferocious brand of rejection heats your body even as your feet are placed back into the cool lake. You stare at his retreating figure in dismay, but shock isn’t a feeling that registers. When he’s bitten by the bug of his own tumultuous thoughts, it doesn’t take long for Diluc to turn cold despite all of his heat. It’s a tell tale sign, one you can predict, but have never been able to fix. You can only pretend to understand what went through the mind of the Great Duke of Mondstadt.

Whatever it was that made him so cold, made the lick of heat that you’ve always associated with the man disappear in an instant, clearly is one he’s not ready to share. He has always been stubborn; An adult he may be, but a child he frequently can become. That, however, is always something you have been able to meet with equal measure. With a roll of your eyes, you follow after him.

“But Diluc!” You protest, rather immaturely, hand finding his and tugging him back to the water. “We just got here!”

He hardly budges. “I dislike the water and clearly, you dislike the fish that reside in it.”

“An overreaction on my part! I wasn’t mindful of my steps.”

“You haven’t brought any extra clothing. You’ll be walking home soaking and cold.”

“Then you can just snap your fingers and make me warm again!”

Diluc sighs heavily, “Ambassador—”

“So formal, Diluc. Let go, for a second. Come have fun with me!”

He yanks his hand away from yours, turning to face you in a ferocious manner. “Is that what you came all this way for? To have fun?”

All joy seems stripped from you in that moment as you halt in place, “Do you… not want me here?”

“Of course I do.” He says, and while the statement is true, his tone is stoic and cold—almost making you wonder about the validity of his claim.

He watches your brows furrow, watches as the skirts of your dress dampen as you no longer care to hold them upward but instead stare deeply at him. Watch as something clouds his mind that he cannot seem to shake off.

Shame, mostly, for his anger. “I just… am curious. You’re busy these days, my friend.” He says, eyes softening as he meets yours. You give him a gentle smile.

“As are you, dearest Diluc. I just wanted to see you.”

His heart should flutter and soar at this measly proclamation, but it doesn’t. Because in all the years that he has had the pleasure to know you, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That your arrival isn’t for any reason, that your touch is lingering, and that there is something you aren’t telling him.

He doesn’t confront you about it even though his mind races and wars and urges for him to. You will tell him in your own time, that much he trusts. If he confronts you now, when no initiative has been taken to show that anything is awry other than his own confidence in knowing you, then you will lie. Tell him that everything is alright, nothing is wrong.

Diluc doesn’t trust words, despises lies more— even if they do come from someone as agreeable as you. So, he says nothing. Only insists that you return home lest the food burn. And you do as he asks; Walking beside him in silence and climbing over obstructing rocks without his assistance. Feeling both of your skins burn despite no longer being close enough to touch the other.

—

“Well,” you say, peering over his shoulder and onto the food that he neatly plates onto two white porcelain dishes, “It looks edible.”

He huffs in laughter despite himself. A scolding tone far from his realm of view as he spares a sideways glance towards your face hovering above his shoulder.

“I can still arrange for it to be burnt.” He says, without any real threat.

“It was a compliment.” You meet his gaze in kind— soft over the warmth of his creation, diluted in the wake of previous tension.

“I recant all previous judgements of your character; You make a horrible foreign dignitary. I am terribly offended.” He says flatly.

“I hardly think my skills in flattery uphold our relationship.”

“You’re right. They destroy it.”

“The Great Duke, Mondstadt’s very own Darknight Hero, in need of reassurance?”

“Would you look at that?” Dilic begins boredly, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you, his index finger held upward in the air and a flame dancing atop it, “I suddenly have lost control of my motor functions.”

—

Dinner, even in the simmering of side glances and veiled suspense, is much like it has always been between you two. Easy and warm, seated beside one another despite the great length of the table; Him at the head of the hall table, and you to his left, finding one another and enjoying the closeness in company with a surprisingly well-made meal.

You tell him as much, with a shrug, a raise of your brow, and a disbelieving nod of your head. “It’s edible.”

He glares, you smile, and the ire of before dissipates into nonexistence. Neither of you able to remember what caused it.

The company at the table extends beyond dinner. Plates scraped clean of their respective meals, yet you remained seated. Weaving through the ebbs and flows of bountiful conversation and comfortable silences. Diluc listens with quiet interest as you recount the mining operations, the new additions to your family, friends and their gossip, books you’ve read and you, in turn, let him interject his dry responses that then turn into debates on trivial items. Most recently, the introduction of a new card game that you can’t understand the rules of no matter how many times it is explained, much to Diluc’s mild exhaustion.

It hardly lasts long, before you’re mentioning something and discussion is renewed. It is the most Diluc has spoken in months. A surprise to everyone but him. The night ticks on, a fire stoked and the familiar orange hue cast on your person and all is right once more.

It is in discussing ledgers and letters that it happens. The itch is finally revealed.

“Have you received any?” You ask, head tucked downward as you swirl your glass of wine, avoiding his eyes.

Diluc stares, and can only stare, startled upon the realization that he’s forgotten himself once again. Got lost in the intricate tethers of commonality and the sanctity of long-awaited reunions that he forgot that at the basis of he and you, lies a fundamental difference.

Between upbringing and duty, between values and expectations, between daydreams and reality. He knows exactly what you are asking, girl from the land of contracts.

“No.” He lies, easily. Diluc dons the farce of nonchalance that strains against the lines of his face at this very moment. He doesn’t need you to know of the large box that he tosses the offers in at the end of every day, the box that Adelinde insists he keep. The box piled with letter after letter that he hardly spares a second glance at. “Have you?”

He knows the answer. Maybe it’s hoping otherwise that has him asking anyway. Such is a stupid, stupid notion.

“Yes. A few.” You say, eyes still averted, neutrality in your words. No excitement or dismay, no begging or joy; Just fact. He nods, emptily. A motion without purpose.

“Have you accepted any?” He questions further, and it’s then that the mask slips. The air of coolness he so expertly concocts suddenly grows hot with invasive curiosity, with burning bitterness. His jaw pulses and his knuckles blanche beneath the table. Your eyes meet his, honest and open and he finally sees it.

The teachings of prim and properness fade and you crumble with the weight of emotion, too. Something, in your eyes. Slight and small, but noticeable to him— for he’s seen these eyes in every shade and situation. In childhood, in mourning, in light, in dark, in duty, and in dreams. Diluc knows your eyes better than his own; Sees them in every phase of the moon and every Spring.

He knows of longing well enough to be able to see it surface in the pools of your irises. He knows you, girl from the land of contracts. And the itch, that blasted thing, starts to be scratched.

“A decision is expected soon,” You say with a thick swallow, placing the napkin on the table yet never losing his heady gaze. The air shifts, the stale politeness gone and replaced with something more ignited.

You adjust in your seat and he watches. Shoulders stiffen, neck elongating, posture righting itself as if you’ve now realized the revelation that came to Diluc only a moment before, regarding the stiffness of the air; Regarding the mutuality in the suppression of all things inherent and true, burning and blazing alight.

“I wanted to speak with you before I gave an answer.”

He wants to yell, wants to throw the plates off the table, shout to the gods above about the cruel and cynical games they make him play, but instead he does as he has learned to do and stares. Looks at you, soft and comfortable, entirely at home in his manor. The manor he has made to be suitable for you.

Arranged marriages, Diluc finds, are the most atrocious of practices that Liyue has ever had the audacity to uphold in their commitment to contracts. Very much a Mondstadt originated belief— a city of freedom— but a sure one, he thinks.

He heaves a breath, one that shudders at the slow cracking of his ribs and heart. “Surely, you don’t want me to make the decision for you?”

“No… but advice would be welcome.”

“Fine.” He settles into his seat, noting with little amusement that he suddenly can’t get comfortable anymore, “Tell me.”

“There’s Liu Fuey’s son, an aspiring noctilucous jade merchant—”

He hums discontentedly and you pause in consideration of it. You look at him, and he places his index finger against his temple. “You couldn’t possibly think that an advantageous match, could you?”

You lift your cup to your lips speaking into the glass and shrugging lightly. “His son is quite nice. A bit too young, however.”

“Nice is one thing; Prosperous is another.”

You tease a gentle gasp, a coy smile curling onto your face as you ask, “Whatever do you mean?”

Diluc rolls his eyes. Sarcasm, unfortunately, a color you wear too well in times where it’s less than appropriate. You must know what he is going to say, wouldn’t be the inheriting child of one of the biggest exporting businesses in Liyue to not know— your father would all but roll over in his eventual grave before he ever let you exist without the capabilities to be exactly as you are now. And still, the fact that you're even contemplating a match of this nature turns him acetic.

The fact that this is happening at all turns him more bitter than the drinks he makes nightly.

“I hardly meddle with Liyue affairs and yet even I know one cannot derive a great fortune from the noctilucous jade market. Too much supply, little demand.” Diluc says after a gentle pause.

“Controversial opinion.” You smile at him and he must turn his gaze away before the cracks of an ill-tempered scowl breaks out onto his face.

“Yet, you agree with me.” He mutters.

Your smile—it’s too ill-fitting for something like this. He can hardly stomach it, much less fathom how you can even muster the curl of your lips when taking the businesslike approach to this. To think of your potential spouse as a transaction than what it actually is: the tying of life and body. It’s archaic; It’s depriving; It is the death to the bloom of life; It is not befitting for his beloved of Liyue that shines brighter than the most carefully extracted gems and blossoms with the incoming warmth of the replenishing seasons.

This is not you—but it’s not as though he could really say more than that.

He meets your amused gaze with little more than a stoic one, “Continue.”

You detail, with fine-lined trepidation and mirth, a number of other suitors that have been presented before you. Isamu from the Yashiro Commission, a match considered for the strengthening of national ties and Diluc grits his teeth because that’s hardly a bad option. Shabandar, the Navbed of Sumeru for merchant dealings and exports and while it certainly isn’t a creative choice, it’s a solid one.

“And—” You pause and Diluc raises his gaze. Hesitation flashes for the briefest second before you gather yourself, etiquette kicking in to disguise the weakness with mere coincidence. But he sees it, he sees all of it.

And he waits with a sip of his drink.

“The second son of Tsaverich, who will soon be taking over the overseas branch of his father’s merchant operations.” His glass of grape juice stays perched against his lips, halted at the words and weighted.

“Mikhail?” He repeats seriously, once the words have settled— albeit thickly— and you nod. “Mikhail, the one that engages surreptitiously with Fatui officers and embezzles from lowly merchants when he can. Namely, merchants here in Springvale; That, Mikhail?”

There’s a sharp edge to his tone that digs and pierces you at every syllable. Try as you might to not physically cringe at what he’s said, you can hardly suppress the waver in your voice as you speak.

“They’ve offered a grand sum for a marital union—”

“He’s a criminal.” Diluc spits and you sigh. Fingers place themselves onto the center of your forehead and press, attempting to soothe the beginning pulses of a tension headache.

While you hadn’t expected this conversation to be one of ease, you certainly hadn’t anticipated the extent of which this pit of turmoil would lie in your stomach. This surge of angst that causes your shoulders to tense and your heart to thrum with exertion. You’ve had far more heated negotiations with merchants and political officials that did less damage to your psyche than this.

You should’ve known better.

A conversation of this nature with Diluc would not only be painful, but would serve to have you aching and longing for a different fate altogether. One where he looked at you with less contempt, one where the conversation around marriage was less centered around other men and more around him, one where your hands were intertwined with his rather than clenched and white-knuckled.

You discard such a fantasy with the release of a heavy sigh, and begin once more. “The only reason you know that is because you interfere with Fatui business in an equally surreptitious manner. To everyone else, he’s just a wealthy young man. To my father, he’s a handsome prospect.”

Diluc scoffs, flaming and burning, aimed directly towards your heart. “And you would agree to a marriage and condone such immoral behavior? That is not you.”

“It’s not like I can make such a claim without evidence, Diluc. Tsaverich is funded by a number of businesses across Teyvat. They all have an interest in him and your preventative measures for some of his endeavors have caused quite the stir.” You explain, leaning forward in your seat if only to put yourself further into his blazing eyesight. If only to make him see.

“I’ve had a hard enough time convincing merchants to not pursue the Darknight Hero on their own volition, it would be even harder to convince them of Mikhail’s bad behavior with Fatui. Especially when he is the one fueling the hatred for your alter ego.”

Your words meet the side of his angular face as he finds his body slumping into the wooden dining chair. This is nothing he doesn’t already know, nothing you haven’t already transcribed in your monthly letters to him as he dons his nighttime persona and you wield the mantle as his political protector in the daytime. Nothing you haven’t discussed moments prior to this.

“Would you rather I expose your nightly endeavors in the presentation of proof and have the consequence be multiple nations come down against you and Dawn Winery for interference in business?”

His averted gaze meets yours once more, quickly. But he’s even quicker in his reply, “If it means you don’t marry him, yes.”

It is your turn to roll your eyes, as you throw yourself back into your chair, “Oh, please.”

“What I am hearing is that you would be okay with marrying a murderous, thieving, criminal—”

“I am not. I just don’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice—“

“The Tsaverichs have been the most enticing opportunity that’s been presented thus far and my father’s never been much for politics anyway. And… hypothetically, if I were to marry Mikhail…” Your voice trails off, as though the mere mention of marrying the man were enough to have bile pushing up your throat, “Hypothetically, I would have more political leverage and be able to wield it in favor of the Darknight Hero and—”

“Do not use me as your excuse. I would never ask this of you.” Diluc adds, missing only the liquid of venom for his statement to be rendered poisonous. It stings nonetheless.

You shrug, defeated, “Your consternation is just a matter of principles, but you mustn't forget that this is just what it must be. I am just trying to consider all the positives here.”

“No. You’re wrong.”

“A contract is a contract—”

“One you haven’t willingly entered into yet.”

“Only because I was able to barter for some time of contemplation with my father. My time is running out.”

Diluc breathes out a wry breath of amusement through his nose, “Hence why you are here.”

His tone is bitter and disapproving, but you can only nod in agreement for it is the truth. “Hence why I am here.” You repeat, and Diluc turns his head to the side with a heavy sigh.

“How long?” He asks, eyes finding the window, watching as the wind sways the orange trees and leaves descend to the fading green grass. Silence encompasses the room and drowns in the undercurrent of his ire and bitterness. Thick and unrelenting.

“Until Spring.” You supply lowly, and he scoffs. His head shakes, fingers finding his chin.

The food that once brought great warmth to you now churns unpleasantly within your stomach. Maybe it would’ve been better to have made a decision in private with your father and inform Diluc through an invitation to the ceremony— it certainly would’ve saved you the exhaustion of the debate you now found yourself glued to. But such a thing is a matter that you would never find it within yourself to do.

There is too much respect for Diluc, too much admiration, too much love to do something so cruel to him. Maybe, it is even crueler to make him privy and liable to the decision you make here, too.

You had prepared early on for the day requiring this commitment— knew in the depths of young childhood and the blossoming of your role as Ambassador and heir to your father’s business that this fate was inevitable. It was easy to separate yourself from it when understanding it to be a part of your duty. There were no tears, no despair, no tantrums thrown when your father presented the candidates he deemed most viable to a marriage. You had anticipated such a resignation of yourself throughout the duration of your choosing and eventual betrothed.

Here, sitting before Diluc in the home you know too well, in the space of memories that belong to him and you, and drowning in the heat of his anger, does such a resignation wilt and the weight of your repressed feelings come forward.

“Tsaverich does not fit with your name.” Diluc mutters after a moment.

There is one man you would choose without a moment’s hesitation, but he is not a candidate. Has not made himself to be one, no matter how often you wish he would. Unsure if he has ever thought about you as more than a beloved friend.

That is something you could live with—being his beloved friend for years and years, if only to have him close to you—but, you fear, as this conversation grows more sour and the figurative space between you seems to increase in size, that the berth has become too wide and a bridge of reconciliation is too weak to span such a distance. There are few things you dislike more than Diluc being upset with you.

But you try for remedy, nonetheless.

“I… knew,” You begin quietly after a moment, and Diluc finds his eyes drawn to you without much more of a reasonable request other than the sound of your voice, “I wouldn’t be able to get your blessing. But I figured I could at least get your advice. Or comfort… in your presence.”

He takes a moment’s pause, voice only finding grounding once he’s able to temper the severity of his feelings to little more than a dull ache in his chest. He’s monotonous when he says it.

“Is that what you want? My blessing?”

“I want to make a decision. And I want you to be happy with it.”

He scoffs once more, vicious and mean, and unafraid to be so because it’s you. You, who knows him in and out, through years of flaming moods and dark lows, who knows what he thinks and says before he even gets the chance to. He, who sits astounded because how could he ever say, in the gentlest ways possible, that his happiness on your betrothal to anyone other than him is something that would never be granted? And more importantly, how could you not know that?

“My happiness?” He responds, no longer trying to hide any disdain, “And pray tell, of what use could my happiness serve in making that kind of a decision?”

You tilt your head in soft dismay, “Diluc—”

“Would you like me to choose for you the best man I see fit, is that it? Lay the offers out on the table and have me select which seems to reap the most monetary benefits for you?”

You shake your head, “No, that isn’t what I—”

His tongue grows more ire, the toxin that resided in the depths of his soul is now unlocked, and seeping through him. Gasoline to the flame, and he burns, burns, burns. “Oh, I see. You’d like to make me equal, if not worse, to the role your father currently plays in this hell of a mess. You’d like me to select in accordance with familial values. What would make father happy, is that right?”

“You forget yourself.” You spit at him, equal in the anger that he has pushed you to. “Not all of us were born in the land of freedom. Some of us have duties that must be seen through.”

Diluc leans forward, elbow braced on the table as he pushes his finger into the hardwood for emphasis, “This isn’t duty, this is atrocity.”

(Diluc has only ever known duty to himself and the Dawn Winery. Diluc only expects that your own duty would be so aligned— duty to yourself and the business you hold dear. A voice speaks from the recesses of his mind, the parts not addled by fire and brimstone, reminding him that he has always had a duty to you, too.)

“Arranged marriages are common!” You speak with a broken laugh, in disbelief as the red-haired man stands from the table with a violent push of his chair back.

“A violation against the wants of the person, in favor of what?” Diluc paces around the table, feet taking him towards the walls decorated with paintings yet hardly sparing a glance. He turns back to you, hands placed on his hips and brows furrowed in desperate anger, “Connections? Land? Wealth?”

He looks to you in charged silence, awaiting an answer. You shake your head at him.

“It isn’t a simple answer, Diluc. You know that. It’s culture, and duty, and—and the need for security. I want to—”

“This isn’t what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?” You narrow your eyes and such a thing would be insulting we’re Diluc already not a few stops short of a blown fuse. “You’ve spent most of this conversation speaking over me to know what I want.”

“Because I know you.” He insists harshly. “This is your father’s doing.”

He takes a step forward, “And if it's money he wants then tell him I have more than enough that I know not what to do with. If it’s land, tell him I own acres of Mondstandt with the plans for expansion. Your children, your grandchildren, and their children will have land to their name, I will make it my life’s mission to make sure of it. Connections?” He holds his hands out, letting them drop to his thighs with a resounding clap.

“You bring more of that than I ever could.”

To anyone else, his words sound much like a proposal.

To you, it sounds like a proposal.

Your breath hitches, and the words are practically whispered. “...What are you saying?”

And the truth that you both know in your own respective manners, yet remains unknown to the other, comes forward on his tongue. It waits there, stagnated yet burning in his mouth.

He should just say it, make the feelings that survive deep within the depths of his soul actualized in this very moment— where you demand them to make their appearance. Tell you that he says these things for the sole purpose of making himself the contender for your hand in marriage. Tell you that he says these things not so that you could abide by duty, but so that you could have the freedom to choose.

So that you could choose him.

The words are desperate in their crawl up his throat, digging their nails into soft tissue and drawing blood. His mouth floods with the ichor, too stubborn to swallow and too scared to spit.

So, he does nothing but choke.

“Freedom… within the contract.” He says quietly, cowardly. “I will… sponsor whatever fee or promise may be necessary if only to give you what you want. The chance to choose whomever it may be that you wish to marry. This decision isn’t mine to make. Nor should you make it because of me. And to be frank, I don’t want to be a part of it.”

Silence encumbers the space.

A look of measured disbelief sits ill on your face, and in feats unlike him, he finds himself raging. At this, at you, at himself. His decision feels like brittled tar coming off his tongue, settles in the room like a death sentence, and yet the stubbornness within him threatens the burning flame of truth in his stomach like a hovering guillotine. The blade shining with the promise of an ill fate.

“...sponsor?” You murmur.

Behead the hope before it can take flight. The blade descends.

“Yes. Sponsor.” He bites, “Until you can rid yourself of that inane notion of duty.”

You stare at him, a heartbreaking silence filling the room as fragments of the friendship seem to crack and shatter in place. Baring your soul to him, open and honest, vulnerability displayed at the most monumental decision you could make, when you were desperate for comfort, and he spits at you. Treats you pedantically, insulting the very thing you care deeply enough about to ask for consultation on; Throws things as insignificant as money your way and tells you, more or less, to leave him alone.

This is a Diluc that you have heard of yet, seen on occasion, but have never met. Angry and distanced, cutting strings before they have the chance to vibrate against him. You don’t like it. It sparks something within you, something equally as vitriolic and vile.

“What is it about this situation that angers you, Diluc? Hm? Because I believe that you are misguided in directing your anger to me.” You return to him woefully digging for a futile truth that Diluc has already locked deep within him, key thrown into a fire and burned with no remorse. If only you knew how close you were to uncovering it, the root of his ire. How your hand almost brushed the cage of his heart, fingertips barely scraping along the bars of its confinement.

He yanks you away, “You sit there content with this, amiable as you always are. You always want to placate, you stand up for everything but yourself when you clearly must. Then, you bring this to me, seeking help in something I greatly disapprove of, something I do not wish to be involved in, and yet I am misguided for trying to save you—”

“I don’t need your money, Diluc. And I certainly don’t need saving.”

“Then what could you possibly be doing here, then?”

“I apologize for inconveniencing you with my need to seek the comfort of a friend. How burdensome of me, how juvenile. Because I forget that the great Master Diluc can handle these things on his own, so why should I do anything different!”

“I gave you my answer.” He says, eyes burning. An ashen field of the garden of your friendship reflected in his stare, “I suggest you take it.”

And for the second time today, you feel the hot brand of Diluc’s rejection.

He doesn’t need to spell it out, his words are as clear as day to you— the professional linguist in Diluc's veiled bluntness. He has no intention of respecting your decision, nor does he intend to be involved any further within it.

The room is silent once more, this time in a way that is entirely different from the other instances. This is a silence of heartbreak as Diluc embraces the characteristics of his nature that he knows well and fine to be true of himself. This is the silence of heartbreak that shatters your soul and clogs your throat as it comes to actualization that your long held resignation of this fate was not born out of duty, but of hope that maybe, Diluc had felt the same way about you as you did to him. That from this, maybe, survived the chance of an outcome unneeding of your intervention, but instead a mutual confession that would sweep you off your feet.

Such a thing will never happen.

He does not return your feelings, nor will he ever. He sees you only as a pitiful friend in need; A friend that he can help free from the shackles of inane duty like a good gentleman should. You aren’t sure what stings more— the unrequited feelings, or the insult against your capability.

Diluc may be a formidable blaze that anyone may stand intimated by, but it is equally remiss to take you as something not equal in that strength. As a damsel in distress, as a child, as someone in need of a savior. He, of all people, knows better than that.

This is the silence of a heartbreak at the realization that a dear friend has misunderstood you horribly— romantically or otherwise. And born from its stillness is a blade of your own.

You rise from your chair. Vermillion eyes follow you with focused intensity, titillating as you waver not. Steel becomes you, and it is in the few moments like this that Diluc is astounded that the gods did not grant you a vision.

“That is an honorable offer, but I will not subject you to a stipulation of pity. This is not a horrid fate, it is a duty I have and will continue to embrace.” There is no amiability in your words despite the cordiality of them. Your tone is the embodiment of the negotiator that you have assumed completely in your adulthood.

Surely, he could back down now— apologize, admit his foolishness, but that would mean accepting the circumstances of the arranged marriage and that is something he could never do. He holds his head high.

Optimism lies decapitated most cruelly on the floor between him and you, two blades now stained with the blood of a lost union.

“A duty that I accept without remorse. Something I thought you of all people would respect. I see now that I was wrong.” You bow your head curtly to the gentleman of the home. “Thank you for the enlightening dinner and your hospitality, but I believe there is nothing further to be discussed. Good night, Master Diluc.”

You return to your bedroom without a glance backward, the sound of the bedroom door slamming echoing loudly throughout the manor. The mansion is soon thereafter submerged in a freeze that etches away at his skin. He stands there, the last witness of the murder.

If there was something to do, if he had an idea about it, maybe he would’ve handled the next moment more appropriately. But he doesn’t; he returns to his room a few moments later, stopping only to briefly glance at your door. No light peeks from underneath the door sill and no noise sounds when he leans his ear against it.

Sleep doesn’t come. Dawn breaks and his eyes ache with the need to fall yet his mind roams. It ambles around in so many directions he hardly notices the sound of movement in the hallway as the sun breaks the night and pinks and oranges become the day.

It isn’t until he receives silence when he knocks on your door that the thought of doing something becomes a tasteful thought. He knows it’s too late. Your room and all of your belongings are vacant by the morning and he does nothing but stand there.

—

Your sudden departure with a written note of goodbye on your neatly made bed inspired all of a twelve-hour huff and puff from Adelinde and a stern shake of the head from Elzer, but the deep scowl on Diluc’s face stops any further questioning cold in its place. Diluc is more than aware that such a response, particularly a nonverbal one, leaves much to be desired, but truth be told, he has no desire to explain himself.

Whatever transpired between you two rests solely between he and you, no one else; No matter how strong third party affinities may lie. He will honor the privacy of your friendship by keeping your argument under wraps and, subsequently, his rather… brutish behavior unknown to further scrutiny.

(Let it be known that that was hardly the deciding factor in his secrecy. His shame pride. No, of course not. Rather, he believes it pertinent to only describe a story if both sides are there to present it, lest any details become muddied by perceived rights and wrongs, transgressions and righteousness, little he said, she said’s. It is best to act accordingly, with honor to the other even if they aren’t there to defend themselves. Which is why he pledges his silence to the issue.

Even as he spends minutes, hours, days mulling over his words, reliving the argument and the kind of temperament that was exalted from him in response. He can hardly be ashamed by the genuinity of his anger, it is a direct reflection of his morals and to be dismayed by those is to be deceptive of himself.

So, no. He does not tell Adelinde and Elzer the intricate details of your battle, unsure as to whether he would omit certain phrases he had uttered or not, in honor of keeping the situation between the war of morals and opinion between you and he.

Or so he says.)

“You needn’t be concerned.” He tells the vexed headmistress, keeping his breath and stare as neutral as one could possibly muster when one hardly believes the words they say. “It was a minor incident. It will be nothing in two weeks’ time.”

The words do not placate Adelinde. They only serve to make the older woman shake her head in agitation and return to the kitchen in a brisk walk as she prepares breakfast. She mutters something underneath her breath, but Diluc is too concerned with pretending to focus on ledgers to listen intently to the words. If he did, he’s sure there would be some vernacular strung together to express the sentiment of “foolish” and “idiotic”.

And he’s likely to agree with them.

Winter

Fall exits Mondstadt with haste and winter follows on its heels with great delight. Nipping at skin and verdure mercilessly, the wind gusts powerfully from Dragonspine, expelling its subzero climate onto Mondstadtians as though it had been waiting for lifetimes for the chance to taste skin once more.

It has sparked many an overheard conversation. The weather being the heated topic of discussion, irony of the statement notated with a hearty laugh— even within the Dawn Winery.

Adelaide remarked to Elzer one frigid morning how unfathomable it was to even try to adjust to the suddenness of the cold as she wrapped a third quilted cardigan around her shoulders. Much too vicious, she screeched. Elzer nodded with little more than a mumble, trying to play off the chattering of his teeth as purposeful, pondering what could have brought forth such a merciless chill so quickly; So violently.

The answer seems obvious to Diluc, but that is a truth he keeps held tightly to himself.

Punishment, he thinks. You took the warmth from the manor and all of Mondstadt when you left. Absence of heat has left an arctic presence in its retreat. He tries not to focus too much on it; But the days grow colder, the days fall shorter, and life is ever more bleaker. Trees are barren, snow builds on the veranda, and the lake you once pirouetted and danced in freezes over.

Even worse, Ernst exemplifies himself as Mondstadt’s greatest mail courier in his commitment to delivery despite the freeze and danger. Diluc sees him every mid-morning, the man trudging through the blockage of snow with a wagon in tow.

Diluc nods courteously to the man’s gloved wave. Sometimes a greeting is verbalized, other times the two men meet eyes and continue on with the day, and yet try as he might to deny it, carmine eyes linger on the postman in repressed desire. Hoping even as the man treks past the deciduous trees and his figure becomes smaller and smaller in Diluc’s line of sight, that maybe, just maybe, the man will stop in his place. Maybe, he’ll look into the wagon that holds the great number of tied mail, and turn around in surprise. Run back to Diluc with paper in his hand and a hearty laugh, forgot your mail, Master Diluc! The phrase caught on the wind and swirling its way back to him. Your script on the front of the letter.

It never happens.

Ernst fades into the white blanket of snow and Diluc finds great difficulty in trying to take his eyes off of his figure. It is only when the chill finally catches up to him and Adelinde screeches a scold to him that he returns inside. No letter in hand. He can't say that he’s surprised.

It’s been a little more than two weeks and the incident remains frigid. Only, no longer is it a crime scene of stained blood, but a coffin buried in the ground. A headstone hidden under two feet of snow.

Reading: Here lies the friendship I once knew.

—

"Ah, Master Diluc. What a pleasant surprise."

"Kaeya."

It isn’t a surprise to see the owner of the Angel’s Share doing as he usually does behind the counter, but both men know that. To find Diluc in the sanctity of the tavern, away from the emptiness of the manor and in the warmth of the hearth is almost traditional. But there is a certain stink that circulates throughout the tavern this morning; A pitiful one, sour and rancid. It emanates from the bartender in a choking waft that is even more pungent than usual. Kaeya almost coughs.

Sauntering over to the counter, Kaeya seats himself with the kind of confidence that exists uniquely to him, hesitation hardly a recognizable shade in the man when asking for his usual. The request is met with a visible eye roll, but other than that, the two remain silent.

Angel’s Share is empty this morning, save for the owner— understandably. Seven feet of snow lines the buildings within the walls of Mondstadt and were it not for the official weather advisory granted by the Knights of Favonius, business most likely would have come to a standstill on its own. Not Diluc, though. Never the honorable Master Diluc.

His business stays open despite sending all of his workers home for shelter during the cold. How noble, how sweet. What a kind capitalist he is, one that knows exactly how to make Death After Noon just as Kaeya likes it.

Kaeya sips from the glass before finally deciding to break the silence.

“Lovely weather we’re having, wouldn’t you agree?”

Diluc grunts disapprovingly. Kaeya takes another languid sip. Despite being appropriately dressed for it at all occasions and all hours of the day, Kaeya knows rather intimately Diluc’s averseness to freezing temperatures and strikes of chills.

“There is something so beautiful in the snow. Shame that our neighboring nations don’t get to see it too often. I’ve recently returned from an expedition to Liyue,” The corner of Kaeya’s mouth curls upward as he swirls his wine around in his glass. A knowing smile in the fact that even as Diluc maintains a focused gaze on the glass that he is drying, he has his complete attention. Caught at the mention of the nation, of what resides there. “Whispers of an outgroup seizing trading merchandise a little ways beyond Stone Gate led me there, and I must say I am quite envious at how un-winter-like Liyue can be.”

“Fascinating.” Diluc drolls, placing one glass down only to pick another up. Kaeya plows on, hardly bothered by the man.

“The snow practically stops at the edge, right before the marker of the two nations. Pretty impressive, if you ask me. Apparently they will see the rare bout of snow pull in from Dragonspine in a particularly cold season, or so I’ve heard. From a… friend.”

There is no room for insinuation, it couldn’t squeeze into the damn place even if it tried. Your name all but shouted throughout the emptiness of the tavern. Diluc grits his teeth, and try as Kaeya might to find some smugness in this—sadistic joy in the way that the man grows uncomfortable and fights the urge to run— he cannot. For, try as he might to deny, Kaeya is and always remains his brother’s keeper.

And Kaeya knows a man in longing when he sees one.

He figures he might earn some deductions on his ledger of sins for ending the other man’s suffering early. So he begins again.

“You know, I was told a story during my time there. One, in particular, that I think you would find great value in.” Kaeya places the cup down, the sweet liquor of Death After Noon blossoming on his tongue, “Of course, it is a tale told to the children of Liyue to teach them certain morals, so I think you will be rather challenged in this story. Would you like to hear it?”

“I can’t imagine that I have much of a choice.”

“You don’t. Do try to pay attention.” Diluc gives nothing more than a bored glare at the man across the counter. Kaeya plows on.

“This story began with a question: When roads converge, do we assume them as fate, or do we impose our will upon them?”

And so he weaves a familiar tale of the target of two gods, Morax and Guizhong. The brawn and brains, the seal of a contract and the cursive words it comprises of written by plume, stone and dust; The firm and the wise. An unlikely partnership formed throughout the centuries, the makers of the era.

A tale of Morax, who has always been much too hard-headed, incapable of seeing the path laid before them, and Guizhong— sweet Guizhong, whose smile settled ashes and her wrath decimated stone to particles— finding herself as Morax’s advisor. The growth of wisdom from shouldered burdens and friendship, an unexpected term that hardened stone accepted in time.

A tale of growing affections, hidden smiles, and intertwining fates, lingering in the coiling of their lives together yet never voiced. Always dancing beneath the grounds of sand and stone. Until war ravaged their land of prosperity and brought an end to their union—Guizhong laying stricken upon the Guili Plains, her ichor forming into the rivers of the land, her flesh becoming one with the grass. Dying, in his hands, bemoaning their fate of all that was left unspoken.

“And Morax looked down upon the fallen god with what one could only describe as deep sorrow and asked, ‘Why has this happened? Why could you not have waited for me?’. Guizhong, taking her last breath, said to the god of stone, ‘I would if you had asked me.’”

Kaeya draws a finger around the rim of his cup, his one revealed eye flicking up to Diluc, knowing stare boring into the red-haired man. “A tragic story of missed opportunities. But of course, it is just a fable.”

Diluc says nothing, but meets his brother’s stare with a stoic one of his own. Cold and void, as it always is, but swirling in the iris of flames lies the starting spark Kaeya was looking for. The twinge of reminiscence; The flint striking against stone in the flicker of realized parallels.

“Riveting.” The barkeep says, tearing the windows of his soul away from the man who rivals him in skill of knowing all. But, is it really in the silent ability to read the room or is it in knowing Diluc well beyond any shadow of a doubt that has Kaeya acting as lighter for the wicker of ignition?

"I heard our friend came into town."

“You heard correctly.”

“I heard she came with a question.”

Diluc stills and Kaeya hums. As though he had nary a worry in the world and all the time for this moment, he brings the cup to his lips and takes a slow sip of the wine. Long and obnoxious and captivating for all the wrong reasons. Diluc can’t help but watch as terse silence settles between the two of them, the fire of frustration licking at the nape of his neck just as Kaeya seems to grow colder in his seat.

If only arrogant Kaeya would stop playing his mind games.

Detached and quiet and entirely too pleased, Kaeya sits at the fact that as much as Diluc tries to deny it, they both know he is dying for Kaeya’s next words.

If only precious Diluc would stop being so stubborn and admit that he needs help.

The glass is placed on the counter with a gentle clack, and neither man can deny the weight that escalates at that moment. “The poor girl practically offered herself on a golden platter. Well, as much as a dignified noble woman could.”

“She asked for my opinion on her suitors—”

“And she was hoping you would make yourself one of them.”

“That—you do not know that.” Diluc seems affronted, almost scandalized.

Kaeya sighs this time, loud and obnoxious, “No, of course I don’t. It’s not like she and I remain friends outside of you.”

Gloved hands place an ivory piece of paper on the wooden bar surface. Beckoned forward by unfettered curiosity, Diluc wastes no time in picking the item up, hardly remorseful even if a smirk settles onto the tanned man’s face.

“If you do not make yourself known, someone else will. Sooner rather than later, it seems.”

The paper reads: Kaeya Alberich, you are cordially invited to the wedding of Mikhail Tsaverich and —

Diluc tears his eyes away before he can make out the neat script of your name on the paper.

“I know that you have a tendency to make a fool of yourself, but do try to not waste the opportunity that is presented before you.” Kaeya raises a brow, leaning his head on his closed fist. “The gods have made the mistakes so that we do not repeat them.”

Vermillion eyes meet crystalline ones, perfect fragments meeting together.

“I am, unfortunately, rooting for you. I quite like our girl.”

The words linger within Diluc far longer than he would like to admit. They swirl around him even as Kaeya makes his teasing departure—Until next time, he said. They echo in the emptiness of the tavern, they trail behind him as he rides horseback to the manor. His boots are caked with the frost, and his ears are bitten with the freeze, but all that he can feel is the steady pulse of his Kaeya’s words.

Do not waste the opportunity before you.

Night falls but sleep eludes him. He sits in his bed and ponders, before deciding that he must do what he does with all of Kaeya’s keen words of wisdom and ignore it.

Imagine his surprise when he finds that he just can’t.

—

Rage finds Diluc in the guest bedroom a month later. Your bedroom.

The snow is at its thickest, wet and cold, blanketing all of Mondstadt in its frosty embrace and daring them to try to escape. No one attempts to compete with the force of nature, even the valiant Ernst throwing in the towel as blizzards obscure the pathways and the days begin to blur together in the white wall of relentless snow.

The manor is kept warm by the fires that Adelinde stokes, but it does nothing to soothe the deep and aching chill that settles within Diluc. It grinds his teeth, has him pacing the rooms. Unable to sit with the unease now in being so cold all the time.

(He remembers a time like this once before. When the shadows of blue and red converged so violently, only to part in equal fierceness. The kind of wintry bitterness that stings from the hollowness of a severed bond. The immediate aftermath of his father’s death.

Quietly, he wonders what Kaeya is up to.)

Adelinde, for all her mother henning, seems to understand that the discomposure that runs through him isn’t something she can solve. So, she keeps the fires warm, lights the candles in corridors and arched niches of the home, and keeps her distance. Although, if Diluc didn’t know any better he would think she’s keeping him out of her way. Annoyance and ire from the woman has been kept well fed and loved by her hand if her continued scoffs and mumbles are anything to bear in mind. It leaves her just one hair's width away from lecturing him once more—not that he needs anymore of it. He’s at the receiving end of his own indignation plenty.

Tonight, however, that familiar bite of his own self hatred is sparked by the flames.

In the crackle of the wood, he hears a laugh oddly similar to yours ringing throughout the room; Sees your figure dancing in the swirling and heightening flames. As quick as he sees it, it disappears.

He had been attempting to write a letter—an unfortunate consequence of Kaeya’s lingering words. At the very least, an explanation behind his behavior, a request for an update on your life, and maybe even, hidden beneath the flowery description of a cold Mondstadt and the dull season of the wine business, a quiet apology; A plea to reconsider. Each attempt is more pitiful than the last, the words becoming less poised and more of a mad man’s ramble as ink scribbles across the surface; Looking more jagged and unsteady than the previous. Paper after paper is thrown into the inferno and with it, his patience.

Frustration leads to the rage. He has no clue as to what parasite of uncertainty has bitten him so deeply, and that pushes him further. Hating that he has no idea where this has come from, why it is happening now after so many months, why this blasted thing won’t go away. Macabrely, he wonders what limb he needs to cut off to finally rid himself of its unabated punishment. It burrows so profoundly within him that he’s willing to take a gamble and partake in self-mutilation of all visible skin until he is fixed. Hack away at each joint of meeting bone with his claymore until the solution is found.

Until his mind is rid of your violent eyes and your corrosive goodbye. Maybe then he will find some semblance of sweet relief.

Diluc is proud fire and acidic sulfur. He does not and should not doubt himself. It is unbecoming of him to be so dubious of his own actions. Were you to stand before him now and pose the same question that you did in the Fall, he would have largely the same response that he did then. He’s sure of it. He would still be unmoving in his confidence that an arranged marriage was a barbaric idea; He would continue to rage at your disposition in being so accepting of it; He would maintain his morality in asserting that you need not be bound by such a restricting design. There was no need, no purpose.

But…if he was to be largely the exact same now as he was before, why does he keep replaying the memory in his mind? Running every look, every sigh, every word that comes off your tongue over and over and over. Wondering what could have been said differently to make you see what he meant; Wondering what he could have posed more nicely and less igniting to have made you stay.

He quickly shakes away the thought. No— there is nothing he could have done or said that would not have been a compromisation of his own ethics. He himself is not only to blame. You were equally as acidic, as defamin of his meaning in the height of the argument.

Such is the truth and the truth is final. The truth cares not about feelings. He has grown accustomed to that notion.

(Then why are his so hurt?)

His feet find himself in the bedroom before he knows any better. In search of… something. An answer, maybe, in an item left behind. Any sign of you that he can conjure up seeing as three months have passed since that wretched argument and he has nothing to show for the fate of the friendship other than its ashes.

No letter and no lingering scent of you; No gifted cor lapis and certainly no mundane detailing of day to day life, and thoughts, and jests, and imparted wisdom that he knows to only come from you. That he only listens to if they come from you. There is nothing left but a raging mind and the burning lacerated wound of a scorned memory.

It’s a fool's game, he knows. Adelinde had gone in and cleaned the room after her long stew of anger upon your departure, so chances are if there was anything for Diluc to find, it is long gone now. Having been taken away by Adelinde’s hand. The thought of that fills him with a quiet seethe that he knows is beyond irrational. It’s his fault he hadn’t entered the room after you left, much like it is his fault that he hadn’t entered when you were still here. Even with the light off, he should’ve entered, admitted his faults and come to a truce. If only to still have you.

The room is dark upon his entrance, lit only by the dying fire previously mended by the headmistress. The bed is made neatly, royal ruby covers folded with expert precision and the curtained posts drawn back to reveal the array of pillows that decorate its surface.

This room has, more or less, always belonged to you. It is where his father hosted yours and when you tagged along on business ventures, where you stayed. That tradition remained. The room becoming less of a guest room and more of your own room, right between Diluc’s and Kaeya’s. Playing in one or the other when either brother decided they wanted your attention.

Toys and Guoba plushies left behind remained in there, sometimes summer clothing and bathing suits would remain stocked and stored in the dresser drawers for your future arrivals. Remnants of you have always decorated the room beside his which is what makes its neat barrenness so much more jarring.

The room is practically wiped of any memory of you, due in part to the natural passage of time— where plushies were replaced with whatever task you brought that is seen as the new fad taken up by young socialites, and summer clothes were outgrown and changed with wear that are appropriate for maturing young women, everything in this room has aged just as you and he—

This is the natural progression of things, yet he remains resistant. This is what would have naturally happened; You would soon marry, arranged or otherwise, and this room that belongs to you would slowly become empty. Disused, void of you, unless you were to occasionally visit alongside your husband, whoever he may be. and your… children; because that too would be the natural progression of things.

Then this room would become theirs, and he would make sure it was known that it was theirs.

And maybe that is what bothers him the most. It never came to mind that this room would be empty because he had always assumed, one way or another, a part of you would always be in it—married or not. Ideally, it would have been you married to him. Or neither of you married. Together in the infinite in the ways and routines that are so known to you both, content with each other.

He would have been elated, beyond happy were that the case. It speaks volumes to him that he hadn’t realized that sooner or later, you wouldn’t be.

He is sat on the edge of your bed, lost in the thought of possibility, when Adelinde enters.

“Would you like me to start a fire, Master Diluc?” She asks, quietly, head poking into the room.

Diluc’s gaze is too fixed, too comfortable staring into the void, so he remains there. He says, “No, thank you. No need.”

“You are not cold?”

“If I was, I could surely start one myself.”

Adelinde hums noncommittally. She lingers for a second in the doorway before moving forward to him, sitting beside him on the bed. She heaves a great breath and Diluc prepares for the lecture.

He will take it, as he always does. He just hopes she’ll cut it short this time.

Instead, she asks only a question. “Are you going to finally tell me what happened or would you rather continue looking into the void?”

Quiet settles, in the same way that it has existed in this house for eons. Sobering, stilting quiet that aches and etches into the depths of bones. Weaving into the fabric of skin, unspoken truths tearing at the seams, begging for their voice.

It is through great misery and effort that Diluc is able to clench his teeth together and finally utter the wretched words. “She is… getting married.”

Adelinde’s face betrays no thought, unfortunately. There would have been great catharsis in being able to see some kind of validation seep into her face, but alas, wrinkled lines of wisdom remain soft. She hums. “To a good man?”

Diluc is quick. “No.”

“Does she know that?”

He grits his teeth, skin splitting further as the coal ignited deep in him simmers a low broil. “It was made abundantly clear.”

“Well, you have always had a way with words.” Adelinde folds her hands on her thighs with a sigh. “How do you feel about it?”

“Fine.”

“Hush now, child. Do not lie in this house. Your father taught you better than that.”

Offense should be taken at the reduction of age, but he cannot muster strength nor energy to deny the truth of the matter. The angst within him reduces him, grinds him, wears away the tethers of tendon to bone and makes him feel like the rageful child he once was years ago. Violent at the spring of growth, harboring resentment for a world that demanded so much from his father, from his brother, from him—

He is eleven, again. Furious at the news of his mother’s death at sea, Adelinde whispering in his ear to voice the tense feelings of grief that he could not yet name, feelings that you smothered with the feel of your hug. He is eighteen, blade stained with the ichor of his father, readying it at the throat of another and willing to stain it once more with that of his brother, stuck in the aftermath of a solitude interrupted only by the delivery of your letters—letters he could not answer, yet. He is twenty, swallowing the thirst for revenge with the blood of fatui, traversing through Teyvat in search of answers that will forever be inadequate, writing to you (finally) from wherever he lands, detailing no more than his safety and a promise to return home.

He is all of those at once, a child again. Sitting on this bed, feeling the emotion that turmoiled in his youth bubble once more within him.

“...Angry.” He grits out, finally. The ability to voice that which festers within him is less of an achievement of emotional intelligence but instead the identification of the familiar taste of a fire that simmers on his tongue.

“And why is that?” Adelinde probes. Diluc rolls his eyes.

“Because she should not marry him.”

Adelinde blinks calmly. “Because she should not marry him or because you do not want her to marry him?”

A mirthless laugh tumbles out of his mouth. “Is that not the same thing?”

Adelinde knowingly hums and he can taste wrath that settles like burnt tar, charred pieces of skin that rolls around in his mouth before he finally decides to spit them out. “If you have something to say, Adelinde, speak it.”

She waits for a moment, a solid and silent beat that weighs in the air before she asks. “Why did you not offer?”

“Arranged marriages are barbaric. She should be free to choose whoever she wants to marry—”

“And she had her pick to choose from. Why did you not make yourself one?”

“Selecting from a batch of suitors is not a free choice. That is asking to pick the lesser of two evils, where is the freedom in that?”

“There is freedom in the choice.” She says, simply.

“It is a forced hand.”

“One that only you are unsettled by.”

Diluc’s head snaps towards the headmistress, his eyes narrowed in a venomous stare that she meets with fortified steel. “What is it that you trying to say?”

Adelinde shrugs elegantly, as though this were a mere discussion about the weather, or dinner options rather than a fated conversation about marriage, and love, and you. “You are attempting to rewrite rules to a game that has existed long before you. You clearly want something, and yet, you are unwilling to navigate the game to get it—”

“You believing marriage to be a game affirms that my position is correct.”

“Diluc—” Adelinde says, suddenly serious. “Did you not offer yourself because you are afraid she would not pick you?”

Diluc stares widely into the woman, stomach dropping at the utterance of his great fear. Coal stifled in its blaze, water dousing the flame as he is realized in the words of actuality.

He stares, eyes of vermillion boring into the motherly figure. Adelinde takes his silence for affirmation and speaks with a heaviness that should take to mean her conviction in the matter, or, the extent of her confusion. “Why ever would she not?”

Words unable to string together, he is a child again. Figuring out how to piece emotions together through crafted hand cards made by the headmistress for moments when he could not voice what he felt, but instead could point. His finger, made bloody with how often he picked at the skin, pointing to the card written in purple ink, stained with juices of grapes for emphasis.

Humiliated.

He finds himself muttering, “You did not see how she looked at me.”

“As though she were angry?” Adelinde raises a brow, a quiet admonish to the man beside her that looks just like the boy she used to wipe tears from, “People are allowed to be angry at you Diluc and it mean nothing more than the fact that they were angry with you. Just as you were angry with her. It is not a statement of your character.”

“You do not understand.” Diluc begins again, self-hatred and reproach ready to be released from the confines of the mind that it has swirled around so viciously in for all of these months. He is tired. He is weary. He wishes he could wake up and have this be the end of the nightmare. “I am not a good match for her.”

“A decade of friendship would speak otherwise.”

“We cannot return from where we came because of how I acted. I was mean and insulting, and yet I had never been more true to my feelings. I could not hide my nature even for the one I love the most, how could anyone ever be deserving of that?”

“Did you ever think that, maybe, the severity of your feelings intensified your anger?” “That does not make it acceptable.”

“You are right. You are long overdue in issuing an apology, but my dear, you spoke without filter in the heat of a moment. It is but a mistake.”

“She deserves better.”

“Archons above, Diluc, one would think with your manner of speaking that you have violated her innocence! She is not a girl, she is a woman. Give her more credit to understand and make her own decisions—with,” Adelinde emphasizes, holding a finger up before Diluc could even think to interrupt her with a string of excuses explaining how you have, in fact, made your decision to marry, “all of the facts of the situation. Namely, how you feel about her.”

Adelinde scoffs. Tickled at her train of thought. “Besides, if either of you cannot handle one disagreement, then maybe marriage should be a tabled conversation.”

“This was a fight.”

“One you will overcome. Diluc, here you sit looking into a darkness that promises you nothing because you believe that is what you deserve. But I am telling you that you are deserving of a happiness that you may think is well beyond your reach, but it is right there. You need only to apologize and speak to her.”

“What if it goes wrong?”

“You have sat in rage for years, my dearest. Why not let yourself find joy in what you know will bring it?” Adelinde smiles. She steps closer, her fingertips brushing aside the stray crimson hairs that fall onto his face. “You forget, my darling boy, that I raised all three of you. I know each of you better than you know yourselves.”

And for a moment, Adelinde’s heart aches with a pointed swell. She sees a young boy once more, eyes glassy, fear holding tightly onto a long-held hope.

“When you decide to stop looking through your own eyes, and start looking through another, maybe then you will see that they want it, too. So instead, ask yourself, what if it goes right?”

Equinox

The Tsaverichs are an ambitious bunch.

Your father makes note of this characteristic to you in a low murmur, watching with little enthusiasm as your future father-in-law booms and bellows with audacious designs for the impending wedding. Gathered in your family’s office in Feiyun Slope, the Tsaverich Family sits opposite of yours as details of the union slowly begin to be ironed out—emphasis on slowly.

Despite the eager receipt in which the Tsaverichs acknowledged your acceptance of the marriage arrangement, their propensity for grandeur is oftentimes contradicting and irritating to your father’s own demands.

(“Cranes are a sacred animal to Liyue. We will not be detaining five-hundred of them for release at the wedding.”

“You wish to invite… how many people?”

“Out of the question! My daughter will not declare herself allegiant to the fatui in her vows!”)

Your groom-to-be sits quiet beside his father, silent to his demands and hardly makes any effort to look you in the eyes. Ten meetings so far about wedding preparations and your groom has done little more than provide a quick nod of his head and offer a surprised gasp at his father’s mentioning of future children. (Another detail attempted to be negotiated into the preparations: the immediacy of an heir upon your union. Your father—your hero, really—is quick to strike that from the table altogether.)

You do well to hide your smile as your father huffs another sigh of annoyance underneath his breath, but it remains a difficult task. Especially as your future father-in-law preaches incessantly about how important the venue to the wedding is for the sixth time, about what it means for the union, and other details that you try to listen to but repeatedly find slipping between the threshold of reality and thought.

Consciousness caught between the dismayed feelings of your reality, of the eerie creep of the winter chill that seeps through the floorboards despite the fire blazing in the corner; Thoughts linger on the remaining tasks for the day, impending ledgers to sign, travels to prepare for; Memories springing to the forefront of your mind, how you wish you were ten again, running through fields of open grass without a care or an obligation to a man who can hardly look your way.

How you wish Diluc were around to keep you company. How unassuming he would find these negotiations to be, how you would make it your life purpose to get him to crack a smile at that very moment. How angry you are with him.

You sip at your tea, bitterly.

“--and that is why we demand that the union take place in the Schneznayan Mountains, as a respect for our culture and a formal introduction of the bride into her new home nation.”

Your father heaves a great breath, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes with two fingers. “As mentioned before, Tsaverich, we do not oppose a celebration within Snezhnaya. This is a union of two families, we will have two celebrations.”

Tsaverich guffaws, his rotund stomach jumping with the action. “I will take a firm stance that two celebrations are preposterous! We are already spending a fortune on the one alone, two is simply making a mockery of the whole affair. And it must be in Snezhnaya, where the bride will live and where her children will be born.”

“I take this as a grand offense to my daughter’s nationality, Tsaverich. Do you wish to erase Liyue entirely from my daughter and my future grandchildren? These were not terms we agreed to upon acceptance of your arrangement.”

“Of course not, my good sir, but you must consider this from our perspective.”

“I have heard of your perspective greatly.” Your father sighs before standing to address the whole table. “I propose a different solution altogether.”

An array of pensive gazes follow his movements, your own included. Your father is prone to his eccentricities, the many of which have become great friends of his during his time as an entrepreneur. It has made for moments like this, a simple gesture coupled with a phrase having the entirety of the room still in anticipation of his next movement. Your father, a monolith, in a room full of mortal men.

“They marry in neither of our nations.”

Said monolith states his solution with little qualm, even as the entourage of advisors and planners emit a low gasp at your father’s suggestion and your own head snaps to him in earnest—beyond curious. It’s not an unheard of solution, but certainly a drastic one considering the company currently kept.

Your father bypasses the general din of unease with little more than a wave of his hand.

“If we cannot come to an agreement about either location, we shall find another means of compromise. Hence the idea. I believe I have sourced an appropriate and fair opportunity for this and I hope—” In perfect timing, a knock resounds throughout the office. The door behind your father being the spotted culprit. He turns towards it with comical eagerness, practically dancing on his feet. “Ah, right on time!”

He approaches the door with a giddiness that is hardly seen within a negotiation room— as though his victory lies behind the wooden divide. His trump card ready for presentation, willing to wipe the room and render everyone speechless.

There is much to admire about your father, but his ability to forgo proprietary notions in business meetings will certainly always be a top quality. It never fails to pull the corners of your lips, much like it currently does. A small smile crossing your face despite the horrendous nature of the planning so far, particularly when your father’s hanfu sways with his flippant movements. It is hard to deny that your father’s own excitement functions as a social contagion, your own interest beyond piqued.

“I present the solution to our venue issue!” With his hand on the knob, your father delivers a grand smile to the room of waiting attendants and a pointed wink your way. Opening the door, he announces his winning deal with grandeur and delight.

“Master Diluc Ragnvindr!”

Said interest shatters at the mere mention.

There is great fortune in the fact that the name of the individual is equally as egregious to your Snezhnayan counterparts as it is to you— your startlement quickly concealed by the furious uproar of your future father-in-law and gasps of his entourage.

A vision of red and black steps into the room, hardened boots deafening a hollow sound on the wooden floor as his presence fills the empty spaces of the room not contained by the shrieks of shock.

You stare in angered amazement; Three months of stilted silence and lingering wounds have obscured the memory of his face into something more treacherous, vicious, and unkind. But, as he stands in the room affronted with the great upset that his arrival has caused, in a room filled with people, his eyes find yours in a split second. And they hold.

You remember this face, even as your heart has tampered with recollection to protect you from the hurt, made him into something jagged and meaner. But you know this face, know the softness of his skin and the sharpness of his jaw; Dream of the breadth of his shoulders and the hauntingly beautiful warmth of his smile.

You have gone a great deal of time without seeing him before—such is the nature of a long distance friendship. But, this time, Diluc Ragnvindr stands before you exactly as you remember him to be— eyes still the same burning shade, sharp and narrowed and able to pick apart a person with little more than a quick flick up and down. He is dressed as intimidatingly as he always does and the air that surrounds him is much the same as it always has been, and yet— there is something entirely different about him.

He is not the same man that stood in the dining room staunchly opposed to you, alight with anger and a furrowed brow that creases the delicacy of his even face. He is someone new altogether; A renewed vigor. A sense of determination.

Handsome. Frustratingly so.

You do not dare to take your eyes off him, even as anger simmers beneath you and the memories of your argument fill the silence. He does not move himself either; He lets himself be scrutinized and the object of ire. Not a new position for him to be in, but it is clear from the direction of his gaze that he lets himself be seen—unabashedly, unwaveringly by the entirety of the room—for you.

A familiar language seems to speak in the meeting of your gazes. The words natural and inherent even in the gliding fit of anger. Bad habits finding themselves once more.

It is your future father-in-law that shatters the charged gaze.

“My, this is absolutely preposterous! You have invited a traitor to our familial conversations. He is not welcome here and I find your behavior to be most insulting to us and our great nation!” The Tsaverich patriarch boasts a face as red as jueyun chilis, his head shaking from side to side in search of validation in his entourage’s gaze.

Your father placates, his hands held up in surrender. “Please, Tsaverich. Hear us, for just a moment. Master Diluc is not only one of Teyvat’s greatest businessmen, but he is an upstanding gentleman and friend. His late father was my dear companion, and Master Diluc has come to be his exact likeness. He has been a most trusted advisor and also a dear ally to my daughter. Let bygones be bygones in pursuit of our children’s future.”

Only then does Diluc tear his eyes from yours, meeting the gaze of Tsaverich and his son with a polite bow of his head that you imagine he swallowed a great amount of pride to do.

It is only then can you finally exhale the breath you had not realized you were holding.

“I come only to offer a solution.” He says, low and even. Steadied, as if practiced. Sure, as though he truly believed the words he had said. “In favor of a friend.”

“Unbelievable.” Tsaverich mutters, and you can’t help but agree.

You find it difficult to believe, relatively unfathomable. You were made acquainted with a man blistering in fury at the prospect of your marriage to a Tsaverich and here he stands offering a solution.

Insult to injury, practically. A machination of divine intervention, surely, for only the gods would be so interested in seeing the mortals squirm with discomfort.

“I offer a venue in Dawn Winery.” Diluc begins again, his hands folded behind his back and his stature erect and poised. Standing beside your father, he appears the very picture of an intimidating man. The spitting image of his father, with the same sense of honor. “The couple can hold the ceremony on our grounds with the full assistance of the manor’s staff and complimentary wine to celebrate the event.”

“No. The couple will be married in Snezhnaya and that is final!”

“I offer Mondstadt not as a means to usurp your desire, but to find a middle ground. Mondstadt is a friendly and fair nation, it holds allegiance to both families. The couple marries on neutral lands and the families avoid a generational war of resentment. It is a fair offer, Tsaverich.”

Whatever logic could be perceived at the suggestion at this moment is thoroughly clouded by the vindicating sulfur of rage. Tsaverich ignores Diluc entirely, his gaze and finger aimed directly at your father. “This is an insult to our very name. You could not be honorable enough to suggest it yourself, you had to be in cahoots with an enemy to our great nation—”

“Not an enemy. Just banned from entry.” Diluc clarifies stoically and, finally, you find reason to interject within the conversation. Albeit, involuntarily. A huff of laughter escapes your mouth, one that you quickly try to mask lest you fuel fires further. (Either, the branding fire of anger belonging to Tsaverich or the slow burning flame in the eyes of vermillion that are waiting, begging, for the catch of wind to breathe life into it. You wish to avoid both. A glance upward reveals that you’ve stoked one.

Familiar eyes flicker to yours again and a corner of his mouth is pulled upward. For only a second.)

“For heinous behavior!” Tsaverich bellows again, finger wagging in the air.

Your father begins again, tone soothing. “Once more, I beg you to let things remain in the past—”

Tsaverich points a finger accusingly at your father, “This is all very odd on your part, my good sir. Are you intending to sabotage this wedding?”

“Why don’t we defer to the couple for their opinions on the matter?” Your father says, quieting the murmurs of the room. Eyes fall quickly to Mikhail for answer but you feel the flaming burn of a particular pair land on you.

Mikhail seems startled that things have landed on him. A cold sweat seems to emerge upon his brow as his hands wring together. “Me?”

“Yes, you! Out with it, boy!”

Mikhail hesitates, his eyes bouncing from his father to the other members of his party. His mouth opens, his own thoughts and words coming to the forefront—the first to have ever graced the many convened sessions of wedding planning so far— before they disappear entirely at the closing of his mouth. His father bores a heinous glare into him and, briefly, you see the rest of your life in this moment.

Set forever to be sat at a table on the discussions of your marriage between three people. You, Mikhail, and his father. It is a desolate image and, not for the first time since this all began, do you feel the bile of dread push up your throat.

Finally, Mikhail decides to voice an opinion. “I-I believe my father is right.”

“That settles it!” Tsaverich begins quickly thereafter, his hand clapping his son’s shoulder so hard it jerks the boy forward. “The couple wishes to be married in their future nation. Let us put an end to this nonsense—”

“There are two people to be married and one of them has yet to speak.” Diluc’s tone is that familiar bite, the kind that was aimed at you three months ago. It is a gentlemanly gnash of his teeth, but his intent is verbose. Poisonous as he tears his deathly glare away from Tsaverich before finally falling onto you.

Eyes softening, only then.

“You have not spoken.” He says to you, gently.

And you’ve never been one to need anyone to offer you the stage—you’re a negotiator, an Ambassador. You’ve learned how to command things when necessary. This is not Diluc being a savior, but instead, him being earnest—interested to know your position, determined to hear your thoughts. Which makes this all the more confusing.

He did not want to hear your opinion three months ago. Diluc was wholeheartedly, completely, and violently uninterested in any conversation surrounding arranged marriages— and yet, here he stands. Asking for your opinion on your own.

You hate how easy it is to give it upon being asked by him.

“Forgive my silence,” You begin after a long beat. Sparing a glance to the number of people in the room, you compose yourself as quickly as you can. “I meant only to consider all positions before offering an opinion.”

“Heartily forgiven, my darling.” Your father beams, sweetly. “This is your wedding, you are allowed to do and ask as you please. Forgive us for forgetting that detail. Tell us, what are your thoughts?”

You nod, fingers fiddling with themselves as you find the correct words to tell.

“It… is as Master Diluc says. Mondstadt is not only friendly territory for the two families that have conducted business there, but it is also my second home. Let us abide by a matter of principles. If venue is the object of contention, then I vote for the compromise.”

Tsaverich looks heartily annoyed by your words while your father beams a perfect picture of a proud man. Entirely too pleased to see that his plan has worked, thus far. You find your attention, however, drawn to someone else entirely.

Diluc stares at you as though fate were predicated on you entirely.

And it is. The words are heavy coming from your mouth, an admitted desire at the revelation of your long held truth. It is breathy and uneven and the unearthing of truths that shatters the foundations of carefully built walls.

“Let us begin a marriage with peace and trust. End the stalemate. I wish to be married on Dawn Winery.”

He looks at you, a burning flame in his eyes. And for a moment you can see the unspoken language, you can hear the whisper of what he means to say ring in your ear.

Your father claps, its startling sound resounding throughout the room.

“Well! There’s our answer! It is the bride’s big day after all, I believe we should defer to her wishes on this matter. Let’s put this down as a tentative idea. I will gather with Master Diluc to discuss more of the finer details of the venue, but for now let us all break for a much needed dinner.”

—

He is quick to follow you, right on your heels as you lead a path from your father’s office into the upper pavilion. Past the lingering staff and into the seclusion of your own personal office where high windows overlook Liyue Harbor and the sun casts its setting hue into the room. The warmth of orange bathes the quaintness of your personal items in a settling glow. Your desk is filled with papers, and ledgers, and charming trinkets given to you over the years; Pictures of your family, a childhood dog, and even him, scattered on surfaces. The room is hardly fitting for the arena in which your emotions threaten to spill onto the man before you, but you suppose neither was a dining hall.

You and Diluc certainly are aiming to have a knack for disagreements emboldened in the safety of personal spaces.

“Is this your way of mocking me?” You turn quickly on your heels as soon as the doors to the office close. The question is pointedly aimed and his face contorts into a furrow.

“No, this isn’t that at all—”

“Then petty revenge, is it? A final ‘I told you so’? Even if my father did come to you for assistance, you should not have involved yourself—”

“He didn’t.” Diluc interrupts quickly. He holds his hand up in gesture and you notice briefly that in the duration of the walk back to your office, he has removed his gloves. They remain folded in his hands. “I offered to your father the Dawn Winery as a venue for your wedding.”

Your head pulls back, confusion etched on your brow. “...You offered?”

“Yes.”

You blink owlishly and despite the discomfort, Diluc has never stood more surely on his feet. “I do not understand. You oppose this wedding.”

“I do.”

“You said you did not wish to be involved.”

“I did.”

“Then why would you offer?”

The question does not catch him by surprise. It is one he knew would be asked and yet it still renders him quiet. All that which he had rehearsed, fortified as explanation when sleep evaded him and his attention waning as he rode horseback between the trail leading to Liyue, falls through at the moment of demand. He is speechless despite having much to say.

The only words able to fall through his mouth at the sight of your furrowed gaze and waiting figure is: “I was a complete fool—“

“Of epic proportions.” You interject, and he nods absently. Deservedly.

“Yes. And, in my foolishness, I realized that I do not wish to be right. I care only to have you speak to me again. I was wrong to dismiss what was so important to you, and it was wrong of me to treat you so coldly. That is not how one treats their friends, and it certainly never should have been how I treated you, especially not when you had come to me for comfort.” He grips the gloves tightly in his hands, fingers wrenching over the leather material. If you look hard enough, you can see the blanching of his knuckles. “I was prideful, and angry, and that is my nature that I am ashamed I could not hide, even for you. But, I had to come. I had to see you.”

The space between you two—where he stands by the door and you by your desk—feels like the proverbial sea splitting apart lighthouses. Both of you, lamps circling and splitting through the fog, just barely missing alignment with one another.

"I am not, nor will I ever be, proud of the man I was that night." He says and there is no shyness to his tone. He almost seems to grow taller, more emboldened where he stands, displaying his seriousness to the words he speaks. He means to make no mistake with his words.

He stands before you replacing the man of rage you saw all those months ago with an apologetic one. Believing everything he says.

The hue of the setting sun wafts across his figure pristinely, softening the sharpness of the features that your angry mind made him out to be. The sculpted physique that has turned him from boy to man. An honorable man, always and still.

The fortified walls of your sorrow crumble at the sight of him. Three months of built steel and rage crumbling in an instant and it is pathetic, and pitiful of you. Your beating heart tears at the sinews and seams as the truth confronts itself once more. You are and will always be in love with a man you cannot have.

You will live your life in union with another, and still think of the tenderness of his gaze and the honesty of his words. Of his care for you. To cross a nation and offer his home in something that he despises, solely for the sake of an apology. For you.

For his friend.

You pull your gaze away, looking instead to the gold inlaid hourglass on your desk. You spin the object, more content to watch the sand spin than to look at the man before you. "I am not foolish enough to think that I am blameless in this disagreement. I cannot fault you entirely for your response. I knew it would draw forth an argument and still, I sought your counsel. And then, I ran when I was hurt by your feelings that were the fault of my actions. But, it was not your temper that hurt me."

The floorboards creak with the shuffling of his feet, his nerves once safely concealed by the steadiness of his figure suddenly betrayed by the squeaking wood. "Then…it was what I said?"

You sigh, sadly. "It was what you didn't say."

Diluc swallows, almost stuttering. "What... what did you want me to say?"

Your eyes are drawn to him, then. Something burns there, something that was burning once before in your father’s office. Your mouth opens and closes, hesitancy shuddering through you like a frigid chill.

It comes forward, the truth, "...Diluc." You exhale it away, softly, before shaking your head.

Diluc steps forward, crossing the sea and approaching the gravel of your shore. “No, no. Please. Tell me. I would like to be better. I would like to have my friend back.”

He takes your reticence to mean ways in which he can be a better comfort, a better friend in times of need. It isn't what you mean at all. You know what you wanted him to say, what you wished he would do.

Sensing you pulling away further, Diluc begins again. “I… do not know how to express myself so freely like you. I do not know how to express myself so freely to you. But in that inability I realized that I was at risk of losing one of the most important people in my life. So, please, tell me how I can be better and I will.”

It would be pathetic to tell him that you had hoped that he would declare a love for you that he has never given an indication of. How stupid of you would it be to admit that the love you held for Diluc is not in the way that friends do, but something deeper, something more consuming.

“Maybe we are no longer meant to be friends. Maybe this was meant to happen.” You whisper. There is a tightness in your throat, a stone forming in the depths that your voice cannot overcome. “I am to be married soon and off to another nation. The nature of our friendship will surely change. Maybe this is for the best.”

Diluc steps forward again, a desperate hurry to his movements as he draws himself ever nearer. “I do not believe that. And I do not believe that you believe that.”

“I cannot live with a crumbling friendship, Diluc. Let us end it, be done with it. This is too big of an obstacle, we cannot be as we once were.”

In a turn of efforts, it is Diluc then who is forcing himself into your eyesight. A sharp contrast to months ago when you were the one pleading to be seen by his avoiding gaze. He bends his head down, boring his eyes into yours as you try to lean away. “You mean to tell me that only I have lived in the misery of our silence for these past three months?”

And you want to lie, if only to further avoid the ache and the drawing out of this, but you cannot. Your heart does not allow it. Not with him.

“No.” The sharp threat of tears line your eyes. Diluc’s hands move quickly. They cast his gloves onto the surface of your desk and rest on the sides of your arms, gathering you into his hold. Squeezing you softly.

“You cannot live with a crumbling friendship, but I will never be able to live without you. Your company, your voice, just thinking of you keeps me sane. My words cannot be easily forgotten, I know, but I beg you, come back. Be angry at me, treat me coldly, I do not care. So long as you are here. I cannot live without my friend.”

“But can you live with a friend who has made a decision that you disapprove of?”

Slow moving and rolling fog of silence clutters the room. Diluc swallows. The answer is obvious in the wavering of his stare, in the tightening of his hands on your arms. You wait.

His voice is a low and a desperate plea. “Do not marry him—”

“Diluc—”

He remains determined. Words picking up in speed, in desperation.

“You deserve more than him. You deserve someone who knows you like I do, knows your heart—not your fortune. You deserve to be in a marriage that is happy, and true, and of your choice—”

“Some people are not meant to marry for love. Some concessions must be made. And that is my choice!” You argue, again. Shaking your vehemently. His hold on you remains fixed and in this battle you realize that his face has become so much more closer to yours.

“You can. We can.” He insists. “Make a choice with all facts presented before you.”

“I have—”

“Marry me.”

Your mouth widens, falling open and shut in a foolish manner. Your heart stops beating altogether. “...What?”

It is only then that he seems to realize what he has said. It flashes across his face in a masterful play of emotions. Surprise, fear, disbelief all replaced soon thereafter with a blazing determination.

It can no longer be denied. Diluc has run from this for too long. Words fall before he can catch them, truth and the resounding levity taking over him. His hands slowly move from grasping onto your arms, to cupping the underside of your jaw. Holding, gently, within his palms.

“I raged against the imposition of an arranged marriage because it forced me to confront the fact that I am a coward in not making my affections for you known. Yearning for your presence, your heart, your mind in every waking hour and yet having to discuss your future with another… A future without me. I could not bear it and so I was reduced to a child. Helpless, and angry, and afraid to lose you. But it has only pushed you away, because that is what I know best.”

Tendrils of loose hair fall onto his face, painting the perfect image of raw sincerity. He’s beautiful and it crumbles the remaining walls of your heart. “Three months without you have been agony. I wake thinking of you, I sleep dreaming of how you are. I would rather be near you than to ever be right about something, again. And I must tell you that I have been in love with you since I first saw you on your father’s ship all those years ago.”

His thumb sweeps against your chin, sweetly and you find your own hands being drawn to grabbing onto his wrists. He continues, his head dropping and finally tearing from your gaze, “I love you enough to hope for the return of your affections, but I will love you enough to put your happiness above my own. Even if your final decision is to marry him, with all the facts.”

You breathe out, disbelief and incredulity stiliting your words.

“Diluc, I don’t want this if you feel as though this is your last obligated effort to save me from something. I don’t want this if you don’t feel this.”

He shakes his head vehemently. Dispelling your thoughts before it could even take flight. “No. It should have been my first effort. I should have told you my feelings long ago. But, I hadn’t thought it possible. And, I was blinded by rage.” A humorless laugh tumbles out of his mouth, “Kaeya and Adelinde were quick to inform me otherwise.”

It is your turn to cup his face, his face falling gently into the touch of your palms. “You are everything to me, Diluc, and have been for so long. How could I not be affectionate for you?”

He shrugs, “Because I am prideful, and stubborn, and you deserve… much more than that.”

“You say that as if I am perfect.”

“To me, you are.” He says quickly.

“I am not. Our disagreement made each of our faults abundantly clear.” You insist.

“You are to me.” He says again, resolutely. “Even your faults are everything good. You are intelligent, kind, and beautiful and… the good things of me, what little there are, are because of you.”

His hands, strong and ungloved, calloused from years of labor yet soft to the touch, grab onto yours, then. Gently holding your palms to his, fitting together as though they were always meant to. He brings your hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to the surface as he utters his words. “And I do not deserve your forgiveness, but… if you will allow me to try, I will spend every waking moment of this life and the next hundred, earning it.”

And it is everything you had hoped and more. Eyes of vermillion boring into yours earnestly as he descends onto one knee and procures a ring. A single stone of cor lapis shining in the center of an embezzled design.

“If you will have me.”

Epilogue: Spring

It is finally accepted, the idea that was presented and discussed so feverishly once before. A ceremony will be conducted at Dawn Winery—with complimentary wine and the assistance of the full staff, as was promised. Which, fortunately enough, didn’t take much negotiation this time around, further doubling your father’s excitement. His sense of propriety and restraint was thrown out the window the moment you informed him of the change in plans.

Or rather, the change in groom.

No event could be more worthy of grandiosity than this. His daughter’s wedding— the long awaited union to the man they had all hoped it would be; had prayed to the gods to enact their divinity in making it happen. And in their blessed favor, it had finally come true.

Your father gleefully informed the Tsaverich family of the broken arrangement while shoving a drafted wedding invitation into their hands — one that crudely scratched off the Tsaverich’s last name beside yours and messily wrote ‘Ragnvindr’ atop of the strikethrough— and shouted from the rooftops in Liyue Harbor of the great news.

His beloved daughter was marrying the love of her life!

You had been more than content to have a small affair, and Diluc had been at peace to do as you pleased, but when your father in his great glory had appealed to your senses and emphasized how important it was to honor the union of your families and their respective nations—how great of a duty it was to respect the ancestral lines!— you both had acquiesced with little issue.

It would end the same whether the ceremony was performed in the great peaks of Mount Hulao or in the ravines of Windrise, whether there were two hundred guests or two people.

You would be married to Diluc, and he to you.

(And Diluc—

Poor Diluc who found himself at wit’s end with how elated is, who has found himself lost for words despite never trying to speak. A kiss from you, of which have they become more frequent these days, quells the simmering rage and forges a new fire in him; One of great joy, of great desire that he hadn’t even thought possible.

Poor Diluc who lays beside you on your shared bed in the manor as you peruse a booklet of different colors for table linen, offering a sweet yet lazy opinion whenever you ask for it, his fingers trailing slowly up the curve of your spine. Exposed skin the fodder for his eager touch, brushing over splotches of red, revealed only after the intimate moment of the night prior.

—realizes rather latently and with great awe that Adelinde was right.)

“This is a good look for you, my boy.” Your father had told him when it was just the two of them. You, having been stolen away by Adelinde and a few older women of your family to plan, plan, plan!, just a few moments prior.

Diluc raises a brow. “Hm?”

“Happiness. It does wonders for a man.” Your father says simply, patting Diluc on the shoulder, “My dear late friend would be proud of the man his son came to be.”

It’s a warmth he hadn’t realized he was waiting to hear. An affirmation he hadn’t realized he wanted. It strikes him rather deep in his chest. Has his throat closing and a sharp prickling irritating the corner of his eyes.

That is until your father, for all his eccentricities, pushes the matter further.

“He would, however, be humiliated to know that he now owes me ten-thousand mora.”

“Ten-thousand?” Diluc questions after swallowing the ball in his throat. “What for?”

“I wanted to formalize your union when you were children but your father insisted that you both would eventually find your way. Ah, the scruples of men from the land of contracts and freedom. We bet the amount on it.”

Diluc pauses, “Forgive me, sir, but it sounds as though you owe my father. We made the decision on our own accord.”

Your father hums, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re right. It does sound that way. But it would not have happened without a little push.”

Your father gives a knowing glance to Diluc, patting him lovingly on the shoulder. Diluc huffs a mirthless breath, realization falling onto him.

"She was never going to marry Tsaverich."

"Archons above, no. Me? Tied to that man? Puh. I thought she was going to finally confront her ‘secret’ feelings when I informed her of the need to decide. Or, that you would have made your sentiments known when she brought that wretched boy to you as a candidate. But, you two have always been a stubborn pair, so I was hardly surprised when she came home early slamming doors. I decided to take matters into my own hands and push. With a little help from some friends, of course."

Diluc huffs a breathless laugh. Speechless. Curious how he hadn’t seen the two strategically placed agents in Kaeya and Adelinde before. “Ten-thousand, it is. I don’t suppose you have a preference on cash or check?”

Your father laughs heartily, “Keep it. Invest it in my grandchildren. Now go, your bride is calling you.”

You are married, twice, in the Spring. With the sun setting on the horizons and the cranes returning to the land from their winter migrations, blessing your union with their homecomings.

It’s a beautiful event, one that habitants of Liyue and Mondstadt are sure to discuss for the rest of their lives. Unable to forget the melodious romantic hymns of a joyful bard, and the profound prose of a well-versed director who insisted that this was the most harmonious wedding he had ever seen.

Now, that life has settled and the routine has become normal— your life being lived between Liyue and Mondstadt, in the warmth of the manor that was always yours and in the arms of the man that always belonged to you—when bar attendants jokingly ask Diluc these days how’s that friend of yours?

He tells them the truth with a roll of his eyes and a small smile.

“My wife is very happy.”

And when the manor is soon thereafter honored to welcome another guest to the home the following Spring—a swaddled bundle of joy with the scarlet hair of her father and the warm eyes of her mother that the gaggle that is your conjoined families can’t keep their hands off of—

Well, Diluc is all too pleased to admit how happy he is, too.

a/n: if you made it here, thank you. i have been working on this fic for four years now. its taken up so much of my heart and space. kind of in disbelief that its finished.

#genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #diluc <3 #tw: genshin #my writing #i expect exactly two notes on this fic lol #thats okay though! im finally DONE

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lustlovehart · 6 months ago

Text

Bitten Hope

A/n: loosely inspired by @merakiui ‘s DRU Jade and Death Row Floyd, not exact though, but I really liked her writing on their serial killer counterparts and took inspo!!

Pairing: Serial Killer! Jade Leech x Reader x Serial Killer! Floyd Leech

Summary: Interrogating criminals is your job, it’s rare for that to go wrong. Though, it’s even more rare for them to be infatuated with their investigator.

Warnings: Heavy Yandere [mdni] , Blood, Biting, Cuffing, Kidnapping, Violence, Dub-con kissing (not on mouth), aged 18+, Imprisonment

You’re stood on the other side of the one-way-looking glass. You can see them, but they can’t return that gaze. The two of them aren't eerily silent. No… they’re laughing and conversing as if this was just a regular brotherly reunion. To them, it might just be that, two brothers who are finally talking to one another after a year of only speaking through calls.

“Seems you’re still the same, Floyd”

“Well duhh, I don’t have that time you do to plan them out, I jus’ wanna get it over with”

“Perhaps that’s why you were caught much earlier than me.”

“Well you got jailed too so that doesn't change anythin’” Floyd leans back in the chair, his head craning up to look at the bright buzzing lights of the room.

“Ya think they’re gonna bring Shrimpy in?“

To this statement, the other twin looks at him, curiosity filled in those mismatched eyes.

“My, are you saying [name] is here?“

“Oh right, I didn’t tell ya cuz it woulda’ been lame if you knew,“ his head jumps back into place, a bubbly smile replacing his previously disinterested expression, “Yep! Shrimpy’s here, ain’t that nice~“

On the other side of the glass, you’re left balling your fist into itself.

How… How could they—!

A steady hand on your shoulder breaks your trance, the familiar sight of bright red somewhat comforting the tension in your joints.

“They were off-putting in our school years but, no one would’ve known how it was gonna turn out this way.” You place your hand above his, offering a smile to him to show your body easing itself.

“Yo Jade.”

“Yes?” Once again, Floyd’s mood changes, shifting from cheerful to… scary. The same aura can be felt from Jade but to a more concealed degree.

“I wanna break the glass.” You and Riddle's head turn immediately at the man’s suggestion.

“Pray tell how would you do that?” he tilts his head and strikes his signature close-eyed smile at his twin “And why do you wanna do that?”

“Dunno, wait till these cuffs come off.” His hands lift as the sound of clanging chains resonate through the empty room, his brother only smiling as he looks down at his own. “And I don’t like the vibe I got on the other side.”

You quickly move out of Riddles range, his hand grasping for where your shoulder previously was.

“Wha— You’re going in alre—?! [Name]—” You don’t reply, the sound of the door swinging open and shutting filling the silence of the space.

“Oh my. You should be more careful, any stronger and we could’ve broken free from these.” You sit on the other side of the steel table, crossing your legs as you lean into the cold metal.

Floyd’s been on death row for a month now, but he hasn’t given any leads. And Jade… he just got here. Maybe if the both of them are together we can…

“When. You can tell me.”

“When are we gonna marry Shrimpy? As soon as we get out—“

“No. When did you start? Killing. When did you start being murderers.” Jade lays his hands on the table, his biceps and forearms visibly buff as well as veiny.

“When do you think?”

“ Are you avoiding the question?”

“No, of course not, I’m just simply asking if you know—“ Floyd’s upper half quickly flops onto the surface, a loud sigh interrupting you and Jade.

“Since the last year of school, now can we talk about Shrimpy ‘stead, talkin bout us is boring”

“Floyd…” Jade's lips are pursed in a line, he expected his brother's outburst but he hoped it would come later compared to sooner.

“Whaat, the faces people made when I strangled them aren’t fun to think about anymore,” his body stays flopped, only turning his head as his smile is aimed towards you. “So shrimpy, yah still single right~? Savin marriage for us yeah?”

“You… I am not!”

“But you’re still available? I see.” Their flirtatious comments only serve as a way to piss you off even more.

“You two… I’m not going to marry serial killers…!”

“Then do not think of us as killers, think of us as your lovers.”

“I will not…! Ugh… just be quiet and answer me.” They don’t reply only giving you the smiles they would flash at you when school was still happening. I can’t be obvious with my questioning—

“About 250.”

“Jade, what are you talking about…?”

“You were about to ask us how many victims we’ve had yes?”

…

…What? What? We only linked 8 of those murders to Jade how could he possibly—

“Floyd, what about you?” Floyd looks up at the sky, his face almost cartoony as he ponders about the answer as if he’s on TV.

“Uhhh, dunno. I didn’t count. Was a big number too though.

… How did these two even—

…

“ Where are these people now? How did you do it to them?”

“Shrimpy wants to know real bad huh’. Okay, I’ll tell yah.“ you didn’t think his grin could grow any bigger but it does, somehow. “but yah gotta lean in close.”

Ignoring the obvious risk of getting too near, if you do this… you have the opportunity to finally know what’s happened to all these people. All those missing person cases… you can find out just how many of them were the faults of these two.

You look back at the glass for a moment. Knowing that Riddle is on the other side eases your tension, albeit only a little. Well…

You hope he’s on the other side.

Your body slowly leans towards him, each second making you wanna back out, but pushing through it despite that gnawing feeling.

Floyd’s smile seems to be the biggest it's ever been. His face comes closer to your own, his voice low as the whisper that leaves his lips sends chills throughout your body.

“Ya ready?”

It happens too fast. He’s swift with the movement, before you can fully lean back to avoid it, you can feel it. His lips are felt on your cheek before the tender texture is replaced with sharp edges that dig into the nape of your neck. Your fingers lock into his hair, immediately pulling yourself free from his Jaws.

The chair you originally sat on is knocked back onto the floor. The clattering sound of the seat resonated through the walls.

“Awwww shrimpy looks cute with red all over!” He flashes his teeth, once white canines, are now painted in red. The sight makes you freak out, both of your hands flying up to the wound in your neck, putting immediate pressure on the bite.

He didn’t hit anything vital, only deep enough to bleed me… but if I don’t get this wrapped up it might get infected.

You don’t spare them any more words, immediately walking to the door and gripping the handle. You swing it down pulling the exit inwards.

…

It won’t open.

It won’t…

“My I do wonder where that other officer went…” Your head stays locked on the handle, not even daring to turn back to face them.

“Goldfish s’out already? I wanted him to see you in red, ain’t that his favorite color?”

“How did you…?”

“Tarts, they do smell incredibly sweet, don’t they? Though, I do prefer eating their consumers instead.” It’s uncanny. Jade is putting on that… that smile…! He’s spotless, unlike his brother, the brother that’s exuding such a joyful aura with blood splattered on his mouth… The brother doesn’t seem bothered at all by the iron liquid that is absorbed in his jumpsuit.

“So that’s how… That’s how you covered up the rest of your victims…”

“Yes. Now do you understand self-control as well?” His eyes slowly trail down to your hands as he speaks, his tongue quickly wiping his lips before retreating inside. “It takes a lot of restraint to not take a bite out of such a lovely meal. I’m quite jealous of Floyd.”

“You wanna…?”

“Eat you? Oh no, not anymore. But, just a little nibble doesn’t hurt any—“

Clang!!

Your focus is caught by the sudden explosion of sound. Your eyes quickly shift to the interruption.

“So that’s how you gotta do it. It ain’t that much Jade, you jus’ pull up real hard.”

…

Floyd is out.

“It was that simple? Then let’s be quick.” Jade follows his brother's instructions, the same clanging sound ringing in the space. “It’s much more comfortable not having our hands chained to that cold metal table. It seems I even have bruises on my wrist from such capture.” He’s not lying, his wrists are littered with purple bruises, but you bet he was the one who caused those himself, not the cuffs.

“Look look!” the two of them circle the table, each step they take more menacing than the last. “Jades got a booboo on him, you gonna kiss it all nice and better right~“

Jade plays along seamlessly, wiping away tears that aren’t there at all. “Yes… It hurts a lot, it would feel much better if someone made it all better.“

“you…! I’m not going to-!“

“Jades hurt. You gonna fix him or what?“ His voice is deep, it’s not playful anymore, and his face is practically inches from your own, it’s horrifying... If you keep rejecting them you… You don’t wanna guess what’ll happen.

Riddle… Deuce… Why isn’t anybody coming?! Even if Riddle left for a moment he should be back, even then someone would’ve checked up on us…! Where… where…?!

“Won’t you heal me, nurse?“

This was so stupid! I should’ve come in with Riddle, or told him to come in with me! With how quickly I rushed in I didn't bring any of my weapons I’m…!

Your knees give out beneath you, falling onto the floor while the twins followed you down. Your fingers reach towards Jade, pulling his limb close to your mouth. The two of them smile at you, watching carefully each movement with an overabundance of joy.

Your lips make contact with the skin of his wrist. You don’t focus on the texture of his hand, only putting all your attention on this task.

“It still hurts dear, I would like more.“

This is humiliating.

“Shrimpy’s cute kissin’ you like that, I wanna take another bite.“

You keep going with Jade, placing more kisses on that one wrist before transferring to the next one.

Someone… Anyone please…!

Floyd leans into the side of your neck, the side completely clean and, un-marked. His mouth opened and his hot breath coated the skin of your side. You don’t stop your assault on Jade's hands, only acting as if Floyd isn’t readying himself to bite you again.

I’m gonna die. These two are gonna kill me.

To your right, wind blows next to you, the brighter light of the hallways illuminating into the room.

Someone… Someone came…! I’m free…!

“Rid–!... dle…?“

“You two… You couldn’t wait any longer than 20 minutes could you?!“

A man wearing a black hoodie and surgical mask walks in, the baseball cap and sunglasses covering any distinguishing traits he could possess.

“Ah, seems we forgot. Forgive us Azul.“

“It's not our fault you took so long, it wasn’t fun waitin’, we just wanted to mess with Shrimpy for a bit, s’not fair you got to play while we were locked in here.“

No… No…!

It’s been years since you’ve seen the con man. His looks have changed, but, he’s still the same it seems.

Hopefully… he doesn’t work out. Distantly, you can remember a point in time when you had wrestled Azul during your school years, albeit it was more of a surprise attack than an actual fight. You won against him.

Against the twins, even in NRC they had insane strength, so directly fighting them would’ve been a death wish, but with Azul, you might have a chance.

You pull all your leftover strength into your calves, pushing yourself up from the space between Floyd and Jade, ready to throw yourself at the man.

Before you even have a chance you’re pulled back down as a needle is pointed at your face. Jade's hand is tightly wrapped around your throat as Floyd’s arms squeeze around your waist.

“It’s rude to leave in the middle of a ‘party’ Is that not what you said to us back then?”

“You guys are leaving? Why?! A… special meeting? But I made all of you presents…! Look, I spent so much time making little eels and even an octopus…! Don’t go yet—! Oh, you’re not…? Great!”

“Where… Where’s Riddle…? Deuce…? Please I need to know—”

“They’re alive. Just asleep.” Azuls eyes look to the side, a little red blob reflected on his lenses when he turns.

“Really…? Good good…”

“But only if you behave.” His leather shoes take a few steps forward before kneeling down, his eyes scanning your body. Mostly unharmed, besides the vicious bite Floyd left on you. “Floyd did you really—” his eyes pinch together before his finger massages the nose of his bridge, the most exhausted exhale leaving his mouth at the sight,” It's… whatever, unless you two wanna stay on death row we have to go now.”

My best choice is to let them go, I'm unarmed and no one else is coming so… I’ll just use the building's cameras to figure out what they plan to do next.

“You guys can leave, no ones… no one’s going to stop you—” your body is lifted into the air, your stomach having the sharp pain of a shoulder blade driving into it.”w-wait stop…!” your legs kick and flail all around, but the hold Floyd has on your body doesn’t falter for a second.

Before you can lift your arms to hit him from behind, Jade locks them together using a spare pair of handcuffs he stole off Riddle’s unconscious body. His finger plays with the chain between the cuffs as a smirk plays on his lips at your struggle.

“I wouldn’t advise it.” His finger makes your hands move up and down before hooking the underside with his index. He doesn’t let up, successfully locking your hand from further use.

“We have 10 minutes to drive out of here, you two are lucky this place is on the edge of town.”

No… Please…!

Before you leave the room, your eyes take a glance at Riddle's body. It’s only a slight bit of movement, but you can see him stir up, his head turning to face the doorway.

He can’t move. It’s over.

The last thing you see before being swept away is the bright red of his pupils widening at the sight of you bitten and taken.

“[Name]… Stop… Don’t take…!”

A quick glance is all it takes before his eyes shut close again, the last thing his vision pieces together being the sight of your form carried away from view. The tall silhouettes of Jade and Floyd shrouding in shadows as they leave through the doors, the hooded figure waving his hand before following behind. The trail of officers littered behind them is a sad sight.

As they leave, their disappearance will leave a stir in their community, all that’s left being the view of their successful escape.

“[Name] [Last], missing, please call 911 if any leads.”

———

This is leaning towards heavier dark tones than what I usually write, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway <3

#serial killer! Jade #serial killer! Floyd #twst x Reader #yandere twst #yan twst #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #yandere Jade leech #yandere floyd leech #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x Reader #vesperwrites #darkves #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere #serial killer!twst

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toournextadventure · 11 months ago

Text

when you love it

Summary: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it - Caitlyn Siehl

Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: swearing, injury mention, suggestive themes, blood mention, hurt no comfort (hopeful ending), extreme guilt Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (part 2)

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.”

Your fangs caught on your lip as you did your best not to smile. With the slightest turn of your body, you patted your client on the shoulder and congratulated him for getting off on murder. He was guilty as sin. You could practically smell the tainted blood coursing through his veins. It was abysmal; he was a horror to work with. Doubtless he would be murdered before he even left the courthouse.

His money was still just as good as anyone else’s.

The judge continued his usual spiel, the one you personally had heard many times over. Something about understanding the severity of the charges, how one must persevere to become more, to prevent such a situation from occurring again. She was getting much more emotional about the speech, putting more of a motherly spin on it. It was a lovely touch.

It wouldn’t work. But it was lovely.

“Don’t get yourself in too much trouble,” you said once the judge was finished and you could shake your client’s hand.

His smile was sinister. “I’ll be calling on you again.”

You made sure to show your fangs in your own smile. “I’ll be expecting it.”

The man gave you the creeps, more so than most of the clients you represented. Which was precisely why you allowed your shadow to escort him out of the courthouse to the freedom he had unjustly earned. You watched as he left with a smile that betrayed your actual thoughts.

If he called again, your rates would double.

“You did your job masterfully.”

You turned around, watching people continue to mill out of the courtroom. No one was facing you, not even the usual suspects. Even your best friend Detective Faus had already left. There was no one left to talk or discuss the events of the case. A pity.

Maybe it had been another hallucination; they were more frequent this time of year. Sounds of blood spilling, pouring down your throat like the first drink at the bar. The door opening, muffled words, wood splintering. The sounds made themselves known in your mind, drowning out everything else around you.

“Looking for someone in particular?”

No. No, that was no hallucination. You looked down to see a young man no older than 20 - though his spectacular mustache looked a bit old for him - standing beside you. It was no wonder you hadn’t noticed him, he was rather short. With a stunning crop of slicked back raven black hair, he reminded you of someone. Someone you did your best to forget.

“Thank you, mister…,” your voice trailed off.

“Pubert Addams,” he said with a charming smile as he held out his hand toward you. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

A wet gasp-

-a snarl-

-relief-

-pain-

“-A pleasure, Mr. Addams,” you said, grasping his hand as gently as you possibly could. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while.”

“I believe you knew my sister and her wife in college, did you not?” He asked as he let go of your hand.

A breathy moan-

-airy laughter-

-a warm sigh-

“-Quite a long time ago,” you said, “but yes.”

“Yes, I knew it was you,” he said with a smile that was far too familiar. Eerily so. “Are you free for a short while?” He asked. “I have a proposition for you.”

You sighed and shifted the weight to your good leg. It left an ache that rarely eased, though certainly not for lack of trying. Thanks to the glasses, you were confident your distrust was hidden. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the young Addams boy; he seemed decent enough. You had worked with enough sleazy people to know who to trust and who to be wary of.

There was just the little problem of not wanting anything to do with an Addams.

Though, you supposed you could give the boy the benefit of the doubt. After all, what would it hurt? If he was anything like Wednesday - and it was beyond clear he was - he would love the danger. The thrill of propositioning you would far outweigh the danger of having you near. A brave boy.

Just like his older sister.

“I suppose I have time,” you finally said with a toothy grin. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh, I’m not old enough to drink,” he said quickly as he fell into step beside you. Exactly like his sister.

“A coffee then,” you amended.

He had no objections.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as he walked out of the courtroom with you. The stench of rancid blood filled your senses before you saw the commotion outside. Your client’s body lay sprawled along the steps, his blood flowing from the tips of his fingers; no one dared try to stop the bleeding. At the bottom, the police were shoving the victim’s brother into their cruiser.

“An eye for an eye turns the whole world blind,” Mr. Addams said with a shake of his head.

You didn’t dare hide your smile. “A beautiful sentiment.” You continued to walk past the scene, not looking back to see if Mr. Addams was following.

His footsteps quickened their pace to match yours before he stood beside you once again. It was a short, silent walk to the little cafe you had started to call your own. The barista was a wonderful young girl; she had easily fallen victim to the vampire charm you did your best not to throw around. Though you were a little less careful nowadays, but that was your little secret.

“What can I get for you, sugar?” The young waitress asked once you sat down. She, too, had fallen victim to your supernatural charm.

“A quad?” You asked once Mr. Addams sat across from you at the little table in the corner.

“Heavens no,” he said with his own charming smile, “I’ll take a mocha, thank you.”

“An espresso, darling,” you said with a smile at the waitress.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll have it for you in a moment.”

You tried not to mention your surprise at the young Addams going against what his older sister had made seem like tradition. Or perhaps she had changed over the years; it was a possibility she had come to enjoy the sweeter things in life. After all, Enid certainly did, so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She always had been a lovestruck fool for Enid.

So were you.

You promptly ignored the thought.

“What is your proposition, Mr. Addams?” You asked as you continued to wait for your drinks.

“Ah, of course,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I would like to invite you to a soiree we happen to be hosting.”

“I’m nothing but a stranger to you,” you said simply. “What about me warrants an invitation?”

“My sister and her wife still talk of you,” he said. “Incessantly.” His smile was gentle; genuine. “I believe inviting you would make them happy.”

You didn’t grace that thought with a reply. If they still talked of you, that was their issue. Wednesday was certainly psychotic enough to desire your presence. Enid, also, could certainly be delusional enough. Seeing you again should bring them no sense of joy or peace; if anything, it should cause nightmares.

It didn’t matter that you often found yourself thinking of them in return. When you talked with clients who had a penchant for breaking the law, much like Wednesday. Committing their crimes guiltlessly for one reason or another. There was a difference in that Wednesday always had a good reason - even when you tried to make her believe she didn’t - but that could be easily overlooked when her cold brown eyes appeared in your mind.

And Enid was often seen in the young intern at your firm. Possessing a giddiness that was so often lost in people. Her colourful nails that you had been unable to forbid were like a flash of the past. The only difference was those nails were typing away at a computer instead of leaving scratches along your back. It was difficult, on occasion, to differentiate the two.

The waitress set the drinks on the table, giving you a wink and smile in the process. You smiled back, showcasing your fangs as she turned and walked back to the counter. If Mr. Addams hadn’t accompanied you, you would have flirted with the woman. Flashed a bit of cash, invited her home for a quick drink of your own before sending her back on her way.

You stirred your espresso for no good reason. At least it gave you time to think of your answer. Mr. Addams was gracious enough not to push. A wonderful change of pace from Wednesday, who would push until she regretted it. Which she had. Oh, she had, and you had all suffered for it.

There was no way you could tell Mr. Addams why you wanted to decline his invitation. If you even so much as hinted at the carnage you had caused, there was a high probability he would not only rescind his offer, but paint you as the monster you had already claimed for yourself. With good reason, of course, you hadn’t earned the title by sitting around.

On the other hand, just the mere thought of seeing Enid and Wednesday made your dead heart feel alive again. You had done your best to fill your nights with women. One after the other, never keeping them long enough to even learn their names. Each a new attempt to forget the two women who had taken your heart all those years ago. They never filled the hole; if anything, they made it bigger.

Perhaps…

“When is this little soiree of yours taking place?” You asked with a sigh, finally looking up from your espresso.

Now that smile was identical to his sister’s.

“I’ll fetch you the invitation.”

—---

You stood on the balcony of your apartment. Smoke curled around your fingers as the cigarette rested between them. The heat from the lit end was almost unbearable on your skin; it was a welcome feeling. City lights twinkled around you, creating constellations yet unnamed by the human race. Perhaps one day they would be prominent enough to fit in with the constellations of old.

It was the night before the soiree at the Addams residence. You had done your best to remain in control of your emotions the days leading up to it. Hell, you had even gone so far as to hire a few women just a few hours earlier to keep your thirst in check. You would rather receive a stake to the heart than risk another incident like the one that had created this situation in the first place.

And yet, even with all your preparations, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had carved a home into the center of your chest.

The balcony door slid open.

“You coming back, baby?” The woman asked.

It was a shame you didn’t remember her name.

“Come on, baby,” she said, and you felt warm arms wrap around your waist. “I know you want another drink.”

You did. God you did. Just the thought of another drink left your throat searing. You tried to swallow, but all it did was burn like liquid fire trickling down your throat. With a sigh, you lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. If you were going to be in pain, you may as well finish off your cigarette.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you said with an exhale that left smoke falling from your lips.

The warmth left your waist as she went back inside, and you heard her talking to… the… other woman. God, you really needed to learn the names of the people you drank from. If anything, it was the least you could do; it was polite. But you didn’t particularly care. All you knew was they weren’t Enid, and they weren’t Wednesday.

You were pathetic.

You took one more drag of your cigarette, feeling the heat burn the skin on your knuckles. The thick smoke left the taste of ash on your tongue and did nothing to ease the scorching pain in your throat. You dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it with your heel. You hissed when it singed your heel; you had forgotten you were barefoot.

If you had possessed any sort of soul, you would have felt guilt. There was something tugging on your invisible heart strings, begging you to care about the women you were surrounding yourself with. No, that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t something tugging at your heart strings; it was two voices that had haunted you for years.

They single handedly ruined your night. With no shame and no clue that they had even done so, they had ruined it. The women around you weren’t the right women. Their skin was soft, but it wasn’t the same. Their freckles were in the wrong spots, and their nails and hair were the wrong colour. Each and every moan was the wrong tone, and these women just weren’t right.

It was a struggle, but by the time the night was over, you had more than gotten your fill. There was no possible way you would still be thirsty by the time you made it to the Addams residence. Though that didn’t stop you from grabbing a blood bag from the fridge and tucking it into your pocket before you left your apartment.

You stopped by the mirror in your hall to make sure you looked alright. It was custom made to not contain any silver, allowing you to see at least a semblance of your reflection. It wasn’t perfect, but it was like looking at someone through water. A little blurry, slightly distorted, but you could tell it was a person.

Your eyes were drawn to the dark scars that weren’t entirely hidden by your shirt collar. The majority of the scars were hidden, but not those. They were a stark contrast on your neck; a stark reminder of your monstrosity. Subconsciously, you lifted your hand to run your fingers over the taut flesh. They still ached.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

You recoiled as if burned. Out of all the times you could have that memory, this wasn’t the optimal day. It didn’t require any consideration before you walked back to the fridge and grabbed a second bag, placing it right beside the first within your jacket. You had one shot; you weren't going to blow it.

It was a beautiful day outside as you approached the Addams mansion. The sky was overcast, almost allowing you to take your glasses off. Not that you would have, but it would have been a nice option to have. Large groups of people made their way up the steps and into the mansion. It truly was a stunning building; you had missed it.

You fell into the back of a group, ensuring you were silent and could walk in unnoticed. Yes, of course someone would notice eventually, but you wanted a chance to settle back into the excessively large house. The smell of the slightly-rotting wood was enough to ease your racing pulse. It smelled like home.

While everyone continued to slowly make their way into the ballroom, you went the opposite direction. Your hand trailed against the walls, maneuvering around each and every item that was hanging. The paintings and knick knacks and more recent looking photos. Some were new, or at least newer than you. They certainly hadn’t been hanging on the wall the last time you had visited.

The idle chatter of the crowd started to fade the further you went.The hallway turned into a slightly larger room filled with framed photos and awards. You let your fingers hover over the nameplates on the awards. Spelling Bee, First Place. A smile tugged at your lips as you moved on. Silver, Figure Skating. Down and down the line, you looked at award after award. There were names underneath, but you didn’t waste your time looking at them.

After the awards were the photos. You picked up the first one with gentle hands; a wedding photo deserved care. It was no surprise to see Wednesday in black and Enid in something so bright it was almost blinding. The image alone had your chest aching. They looked rather happy.

Their happiness didn’t distract you from the scars down the side of Enid’s face. The ones that traveled from the corner of her eyes to her jaw. Based on the colour in the photo, they were freshly healed. You couldn’t see Wednesday’s; she had a black lace wrapped around her wrist. From the look of Enid’s, you could imagine.

You set the frame back down on the table and stepped back. The curiosity had disappeared, quickly replaced with something heavy. With a tight chest, you backed out of the room and made your way to the ballroom with everyone else. The slight limp in your step worsened. A sigh fell from your lips as you had to lean against the wall and reach down to tighten the brace. Your jaw clenched almost painfully as the brace became insufferably tight around your leg, but at least it gave you the ability to stand on your own once again.

Until you were nearly knocked over by children running down the hall.

“Excuse me!” One of them called back. A chorus of the same words were quick to follow as the other children ran after the first.

“Behave!” You froze. “And don’t push people!”

“Yes ma’am!” The children shouted.

If you had known you would have such a visceral reaction just to her voice, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation. You had no idea your body itself would react to her voice. If you could sweat, you would have been. Your fingers twitched. Don’t turn, your mind told you. Begged, even. Desperate, feral, pathetic.

“Cara mia.” You forced yourself to take a step. “You forgot your shawl upstairs.”

Don’t turn around, your mind said. It was frantic. You forced another step. And another. Each one heavier than the last, as if your body was fighting with your mind. You truly were a fool to accept the invitation, and there wasn’t even a word to describe yourself for actually daring to appear. Stupid. That was the best word.

“Are you a vampire?”

You sighed and took a moment to calm your emotions before looking down. One of the children that had been running around was now standing beside you, looking up at you with bright eyes and a cocked head. It reminded you of- no, you wouldn’t think of that. You turned to face the child and shifted your weight to rest on your good leg.

“I am,” you said with a singular nod of your head. “And you are?”

“Oh,” they said with a smile. A large, wolfish smile. “I’m an Addams.”

You were thankful they couldn’t see your eyes. “Charmed.”

Of course they were an Addams. How could you ever think differently? The Addamses were magnets for trouble, and you didn’t have to know the child to deduct that they were, in fact, trouble. You turned away from them and looked back out into the ballroom.

“My mothers have a picture of you on their nightstand,” the child continued.

You wished they would leave.

“But you have scars, and the person in their picture doesn’t.”

You would have no shame in killing a child.

“My momma has scars too.” It would be simple. “They almost match yours.”

“Don’t harass the guests, dear.”

Or perhaps you would simply kill yourself. It would certainly be less painful than whatever was about to happen. You could hear the echo of your dead heart beating loudly in your ears. Perhaps if you refused to turn around, she would continue walking. Walk right past you and into the crowd, leaving you behind as you so very much deserved.

But she didn’t continue walking as you desperately wished she would. She didn’t move out into the crowd, saying her greetings to the others as was customary. You could barely hear her footsteps at all above the incessant noise that you were wishing would get louder. Drown out all the thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside you.

“We weren’t sure you would come.”

You still refused to turn around. Even when you felt her sidle up next to you, her arm brushing lightly against yours. Oh, her warmth was glorious. You had forgotten just how lovely it was to feel her warming you up. To bring life to your soul in a way that only she was capable of. No amount of women in your bed had ever held a candle to her warmth.

“You look good.” Her voice was impossibly soft against the rising chaos of the soiree.

Growls and screaming echoed in your mind’s ear as you finally made the brave - or stupid - decision to turn your head. If you had thought your anxiety was bad before, you would have been impressed with your anxiety at that moment. The first thing your eyes took notice of were the healed, lightly coloured scars on her jaw.

The scars you had caused.

“You look healthy,” Enid said with a soft smile.

She looked so very grown. That childish glint in her eyes was still present, but she held herself with far more respect. The insecurity had long faded away, much like the scars that continued down her neck. The child was right; you almost matched.

“I fed before arriving,” you said. Your words felt like ash in your mouth. “No need for history to repeat itself.”

“We have more in the kitchen,” she said quickly. “If you need it.”

You opened your coat to show the two bags in the pocket. “I came prepared, thank you.”

She smiled a closed mouth smile and nodded before looking back out at the ballroom. That heavy feeling settled in your chest once again. After so many years, that was all you had to say to her? That you had fed already? Of course, that was probably the one thing she wanted to hear after so long. You were a fool. A damned fool.

“I hope the kids weren’t bothering you,” Enid said. “They get excited when we host gatherings.”

“They seem decent,” you said. Decent?? That’s the best you can come up with? “That one-” you pointed to the one with the bright eyes “-is rather talkative.”

Enid giggled, and for a moment, you felt young again. “Willa says she gets it from me.”

Willa. You could have laughed if it didn’t hurt so bad. Wednesday had always attempted to claim she hated it. Yet it never stopped the lightest blush on her cheeks when you or Enid would use the unassuming nickname. When was the last time you had even heard it?

Come on, Willa, put it down, I’m being serious.

You turned your body ever so slightly. You didn’t want Enid to see the scars creeping down your neck. Her hand brushed against yours. It was shameful how quickly you pulled your hand back, shoving it into your pocket. No good could come from her feeling the shake of your hand, or the scars that hid below the cloth of your clothes.

“Oh, there she is,” Enid said, this time reaching out to grab your arm a little harder than she probably meant to. “Stay right here, I’ll bring her over!”

The moment she left your side, the cold started to crawl back over your skin. It sunk into every vessel, every inch of your body, both inside and out. Attending the soiree was a mistake. A mistake that you couldn’t take back. Just like that night. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. You could leave before they came back and continue your miserable existence as you had been.

But then you saw them together, hand in hand. It was an unexpected thing to see Wednesday practically smiling at Enid. In public, that was. You couldn’t recall a single time she had smiled at anything in public. Yet there she was, walking closer and showing some semblance of physical affection in public. It was stunning. Your heart was almost beating.

Until your eyes landed on all the black lace that you knew covered scars no one could comprehend.

“I told you I saw them,” you heard Enid say as they both approached where you were frozen in place. “And I was right.”

Wednesday looked up at you with those stunning brown eyes. “So you were.”

Your fingers twitched in your pocket. Now that she was so close, you could smell her blood flowing through her veins. No matter how much you swallowed, you couldn’t ease the burn that was rising up your throat. You clenched your jaw tight, ignoring the sting of your fang piercing your lip.

Wednesday!

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? “Hello Wednesday, I’m sorry for nearly draining you while you attempted to prove I wasn’t a monster.” Or even to Enid. “I apologise for trying to kill you when you stopped me from killing our girlfriend.” There was nothing you could say, to either of them, to justify what you had done. What you couldn’t forget.

“I told them you had their picture,” the previous child said as they approached along with the rest of the herd.

For the first time, you were thankful for children.

“So you told our secrets?” Wednesday asked. “You know what happens to those who tell our secrets.”

The old Wednesday would have sounded more intimidating and borderline threatening. Yet, even as her words said one thing, the soft look on her face said another. The children all smiled and tried to hide their laughter as they continued to look up at her.

“You’d better run,” Enid whispered.

Each of the children shared a look before running off, laughter following in their wake. It was almost… cute? Adorable, even? God, you needed to escape this place, you were almost turning soft. You needed to get back to your murderers and criminals, this was turning pathetic.

“As intimidating as ever, my love,” Enid said as she leaned down and placed a soft chaste kiss on Wednesday’s cheek.

It made you sick. The burn in your throat spread, turning into a searing pain in your chest and stomach. All that was left was the tingling in your fingers and legs and you were finished. You wished the inferno would swallow you whole, reducing you to nothing more than ash and bone.

“You seem pale,” Wednesday said.

It seemed you wouldn’t combust soon enough.

“I only arrived out of courtesy,” you said as you stood taller. “Now that I have said my hellos, I must say my goodbyes.”

You tried to act like the looks on Enid’s and Wednesday’s faces didn’t kill you inside. It was like a silver stake to the heart, spreading its carnage down every muscle fiber and blood vessel. After all these years, you had managed to hurt them again within only a few moments. And you didn’t even possess the decency to apologise for the first sleight against them.

“Do you have to?” Enid asked. “You could stay.” Her eyes fell. “We could talk.”

“Did Enid tell you we have more blood in the fridge?” Wednesday asked.

She circled her fingers around her lace-covered wrist.

“I don’t do house calls,” you said. You could hear Wednesday’s pulse over the crowd. “Especially with those I cannot pay penance to.”

And yet, you didn’t make a single move. Against your better wishes, your feet stayed glued to the floor. Each beat of Wednesday’s heart was enough to have your mouth salivating, yet you couldn’t leave. A memory popped into your head of Enid almost seeming disappointed that her blood wasn’t appetising to you. It was a fond memory, one you replayed often enough for it to seem like a core memory of your relationship.

“You could stay,” Enid said.

“We can go somewhere quieter,” Wednesday continued.

You didn’t want to go somewhere quiet, you wanted to go home. You internally scoffed at the word; you didn’t live in a home. It was just a building, with four walls and a new blood bag or two every night. You barely lived in it, instead opting to spend all your time in your office where nothing could remind you of the two women standing in front of you.

They were your home.

“Please?” Enid asked softly. Almost too softly. Even with your enhanced hearing you could barely discern the words over the jazz band that had started playing.

You sighed. Would it truly hurt to spend a few moments with them? To give you some semblance of normalcy that only they could provide? After all, you could see the muscles underneath Enid’s skin. If you truly lost control, surely she could stop you. She had stopped you before.

The scars reminded you of it every day.

“Very well,” you said with a slight nod.

Enid was the one to reach out and grab your hand, pulling it out of its pocket and linking her fingers with yours. Her nails dug into the back of your hand, drawing out a sting that was a welcome distraction. The ache in your throat was ever present as Wednesday walked right beside you while Enid led you out of the ballroom.

The hustle and bustle of the ballroom slowly faded into oblivion as you were led down the corridors of the Addams mansion. You could recall memories from each room you passed. Each with their own story to tell. Stories of stolen kisses, scandalous rendezvous, silent moments with the women you loved, but together and separate.

When Enid stopped in the kitchen, you would have laughed had it been under any other circumstance. It was clear they had the same thoughts on their minds when Enid sat you down and Wednesday retrieved a blood bag from the fridge. She placed it between you and her when she sat opposite you at the table.

How comical.

They both stared at you with unwavering gazes. What was going through their minds, you wondered. Were they feeling the same way you had? Broken, anxious about fucking up, convinced you had blown your chance? Or perhaps they were waiting for you to break and recreate what had happened on that fated night all those years ago.

You sighed when you deduced they wouldn’t speak first.

“You both look well,” you said in a croaky voice that, if they were wise, was indicative of the state of your instincts. Think of something else to say. “Are all those children yours?”

Think of something less ridiculous.

“Yes they are,” Wednesday said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was almost condescending; you loved it.

“Pubert said you’re a lawyer?” Enid asked.

“Defence attorney,” you said with a nod, “yes.”

“Is it, ah, fun?” She asked.

You sighed. If the entire night was going to go along those lines - awkward and uncomfortable, tip toeing around every word - you would rather leave. Not a single positive thing could come from such a conversation. It was talking for talking sake. You all hated small talk, that was something that you knew had never changed, yet there you were, struggling to find any sort of conversation.

“It’s acceptable,” you said before placing both palms on the table. “I believe I really should be getting on.”

You attempted to push yourself up from the seat. Attempted being the key word. It wasn’t often your bad knee would buckle when standing; usually reserved for long nights in your office where you had barely managed to take bathroom breaks. Yet when you pushed yourself up, you felt the strain in your knee. It was a familiar feeling, that weakness before a painful tightness that so often forced you back into your seat.

And it did. Your grip on the table meant nothing as your knee shook for a nanosecond before giving out underneath you. Thankfully the gasp never actually left your lips. You could taste the copper in your mouth as you bit your tongue in an effort to stay silent. In the end, your entire leg trembled.

Enid and Wednesday stood up quickly, knocking their chairs back and watching your every move. You wished they would come to you; you were glad they didn’t. The looks on their faces was terrifying enough. Identical looks to the ones they had had that night.

“Wednesday, put it down,” you said when she refused to remove the knife from her hand.

“Your fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

She had barely broken the skin before the scent hit you. It had been months since you had fed, and she had broken the floodgates. Everything about her disappeared except for the small drop of blood pooling at the bottom of her hand.

You didn’t feel yourself practically jumping toward her. You didn’t hear her gasp when you ripped the knife from her hand. You didn’t see the look on her face as you licked up the blood on her palm, or when you moved up her hand to bite the pulse point on her wrist.

But you tasted the nectar that flowed through her veins. You felt the strong pulse beneath your lips. You felt the scorching hot blood falling down your chin before you simply couldn’t keep up with the flow. Something vaguely pushed against your neck, but it was little more than a nuisance. All you knew was the blood in your mouth and the warmth on your lips.

Vaguely, you heard something. A scream, a growl, something breaking, you couldn’t tell the difference. It was nothing compared to the relief you were getting. How could you care about something in the outside world when you had such a delicious-

-something solid slammed into your body. The skin underneath your lips vanished, replaced by the cold air around you. When your body stopped rolling, you could feel the aches already starting to form. It didn’t matter. You zeroed in on Wednesday’s wrist again.

You were met with what felt like a truck slamming into your leg. Bones cracked, stretching the tendons and muscles with the new direction they were facing. It wouldn’t hold any weight when you tried to stand up. No matter; that was why you had two legs.

Something large and furry stepped in between you and Wednesday. Nothing about it was familiar in that moment. Instinct told you it was nothing but an obstacle in the way of your feed. It charged, and you swiped. Your fingers clipped something even as you felt its claws rake across your skin.

You tried to stand. Something sharp crossed your chest; the air was cold on your skin. When you stood up again, it was met with similar results. The third attempt got you closer to Wednesday. When something sharp clasped around your shoulder and threw you back to the ground, you stilled.

That hot blood you had gorged yourself on started to feel hot on your neck. Not in it, on it. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. Your hand lifted to the side of your neck. Your fingers pushed past the skin and then-exposed muscle.

As you pushed harder on the wounds, doing your best to staunch the flow of blood, the world started to come back to you. Blackness peeled back from your vision. The blurry world started to come into focus along with the sounds that you could finally discern as gasps and growls.

So did the pain.

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded in places.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

You released the pressure from your neck and felt the blood continue to fall.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. Something wet fell down your cheeks.

“I know,” Wednesday answered just as softly. It was humiliating.

It was lovely.

“Please stay,” Enid said. You looked down to see her reach her hand across the table.

You shouldn’t. You had nearly killed them, had gone into a frenzy that you hadn’t experienced ever again. What if it happened again with them? After all those years, you still loved them. You would never admit to anyone, but you kept their photos on your desk at work. You couldn’t risk hurting them again. Couldn’t risk killing them. You were a monster, and that fact alone was never going to change.

They looked at you expectantly.

For when is a monster not a monster?

You reached forward and placed your hand on top of Enid’s.

Oh, when you love it.

#wenclair x reader #wednesday addams x reader #enid sinclair x reader #wednesday x enid

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m1ckeyb3rry · 9 months ago

Text

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // FIFTEEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You return to the palace and attempt to tell your brother the truth of the world.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.6k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: man i’m really going to miss this arc of the story…vibes have been unmatched so far (ba sing se era >> ursa era imo even if the underlying mystery of the ursa era was rlly fun to write)

“Sokka!” you shouted, kicking the front door. You knew the Avatar’s house was under near-constant surveillance by the Dai Li, and the longer you waited outside, the more likely it was that you’d be caught. Yet for some reason, your last three attempts at knocking politely had proven fruitless, and even this more violent greeting went unanswered. Giving up and ramming your shoulder into the doorway, you flinched when it swung open eerily and without protest.

Why was the villa empty? It didn’t look like it had been abandoned in a methodical fashion; a set of clothes you assumed were Katara’s was tossed over a chair, and there were dishes in the sink. All of this spoke to a hasty exit, one that might not have been entirely willing and was certainly made without an advance warning.

From the corner, there was a chittering sound, and you all but leapt out of your skin before realizing it was a tiny, fluffy creature. Stooping down, you recognized it to be a winged lemur, staring at you with wide viridian eyes. You offered it your hand with a smile, but it only sniffed it delicately before skittering backwards, leaping around a corner and then poking its head back like it was hoping you’d follow.

“What is going on?” you muttered to yourself, deciding you might as well follow the shy animal. It made a cooing noise at you, nudging you with its small, wet nose as you reached the room it was waiting for you in. Once it had ascertained that you were safely with it, it leapt onto your shoulder, nipping your ear when you tried to leave.

You were about to chide it for the rude behavior when you heard the front door creak open. Biting your tongue, you pressed your back to the wall by the door, peering through the crack at the new visitors. Based on the winged lemur’s behavior and your own intuition, it wasn’t the Avatar or any of his friends, and your stomach dropped as you saw men wearing the familiar Dai Li uniform creeping into the villa.

“You really think the Avatar’s the one that kidnapped Princess Y/N?” one of them said.

“Who else could’ve killed Captain Chhay?” his partner said. “That man is a legend in the organization. Long Feng thinks that they kidnapped Princess Y/N so that they have some leverage to enter the palace.”

“Poor girl,” the first agent said with a chuckle. “She’s like a toy for the real political powers to play with.”

His partner scoffed. “Right? It’d be depressing if she actually cared, but she’s not exactly done anything to gain any kind of relevance in her kingdom.”

“Her and that brother of hers are making this far too easy.”

“Did you hear that the Lower Ring citizens rioted just from seeing her?”

“At this rate, a peasant uprising isn’t far off at all. The seeds for revolution have been sown, and as long as things continue in the way they have been, it won’t be long before the monarchy is done away with completely and Long Feng can finally, truly assume power.”

“Shh! What if they overhear you?”

“It’s fine. The Avatar and his friends are busy under Lake Laogai. This is only a cursory inspection. There’s no one around to hear us; when else can we discuss this type of thing?”

“I don’t know. You’re just stressing me out. How much longer do we have to stay here, anyways?”

“We have to check for Princess Y/N. Or, at least, pretend like we did.”

“Honestly, I’d say we’ve done our due diligence.”

The voices were growing closer, and you shoved your fist in your mouth to avoid making a sound, staring wide-eyed at the winged lemur, who did not even blink as it returned your panicked gaze with a steady one of its own.

“True. Who really cares if she lives or dies? It’s all the same to our plans.”

“If she dies, though, people might feel some sympathy for the royal family.”

“Nah, just think about it: as long as we can blame the Avatar and his friends for killing her, then we not only get rid of one of the royal family members, we also shake the public’s faith in the Avatar. It’s actually for the best if we don’t find her.”

“You’re right!”

They were right outside the room now. If they took another step and turned, they would see you. You shrank back even more, wishing you could melt into the shadows, meld with the wall, hide in some way that would ensure they never caught wind of you.

“Let’s just go, then.”

“Wait, what if she isn’t dead, though? If she escapes and comes back to the palace, it’ll make us look horrible.”

They took that step, but still they did not turn. You shivered, wanting to squeeze your eyes shut but knowing you could not be caught off guard in case they saw you.

“If she comes back, we can let Long Feng deal with it. She’s been a real pain in his neck, you know? If Captain Chhay were still around, he’d probably be sent after her by this point.”

One of the agents clicked his tongue. “Good old Chhay. I’d never have said it while he was still around, but he was like a polar bear dog. Who else would be that loyal to a person?”

“I don’t know. Rumor has it that Long Feng paid him twice the regular salary. I’d be loyal too, for that kind of money.”

They retreated from the room, and you let go of the breath you had been holding, patting the winged lemur on the head, though you were still careful to be silent.

“That so?”

“Maybe one of us will be promoted to take his place now that he’s gone.”

“Now you’re talking!”

The door to the villa slammed shut behind them, leaving you and the winged lemur alone. You buried your face in your hands, breathing in quick, short gasps, gritting your teeth as you tried to regain your composure.

It went deeper than you realized. This wasn’t just incompetency or confusion — the Dai Li were planning on utilizing the citizens of Ba Sing Se for their own means, using them to overthrow the current government and then instating Long Feng as, ostensibly, a dictator. It was only your own fortune — you were still unsure whether that fortune could be considered good or bad — that you had overheard their plot, but what now?

You were presumed to be dead. At first, this horrified you, but as you thought about it, there was a definite bonus. The Dai Li’s efforts would be focused on the Avatar and his friends, and if you were considered a vanished non-issue, then there would be no eyes scanning the city for you. It left you free to operate as you wanted, given that you employed a modicum of caution.

Digging through the wardrobe of the room you were in, which upon investigation revealed itself to most likely be Katara’s, you pulled out a scarf and wrapped it around your neck and head. Though it did nothing about your stained dress, it concealed your identity well enough that you felt more comfortable walking outside than you had before.

“What about you?” you said to the winged lemur, scratching it behind its enormous ears. “You saved my life, I’m pretty sure. Thank you for that. Where will you go now?”

The winged lemur purred at you, rubbing its cheek against your own and tightening its grip on your shoulder. You giggled and rubbed its forehead.

“Alright, then. You can help me. Come along, but be prepared; it might be dangerous. I don’t think there’s time to rendezvous with the Avatar. I’ll have to storm my own palace and demand to see my brother myself,” you said, squaring your shoulders, finding some irony in the fact that you had finally been given leave to live your life how you wanted and yet you were returning to the very place you had tried so desperately, for so many years, to run from.

After all, if Princess Y/N was considered dead, then that meant you could live in disguise and become someone else. You could leave Ba Sing Se entirely and travel the world, see the sights you had thus far only ever read about. The capital of ice in the North Pole, the city of Omashu, which was commonly referred to as Ba Sing Se’s little sister…it was a possibility. There was no one stopping you anymore.

No one, of course, except for your own conscience. You could not leave when you knew that the Dai Li and Long Feng had killed your father and were planning on overthrowing your brother. You could not leave when your people, the ones who you had been born with a duty to, were being manipulated and taxed and abused by the ones that were meant to have their best interests at heart. And, though it was less grand of a reason, you could not leave the city where Lee was. Not without telling him first.

Though you knew the villa was located in the Upper Ring, it took you a moment to regain your bearings and find the palace. After all, it was far more difficult returning without one of Quynh’s doors to serve as a convenient portal or the Dai Li escorting you with their Earthbending. The sun was already high in the sky by the time you made it to the palace gates, but by the time you arrived, you found another problem facing you.

The royal military, which guarded the palace, was in complete disarray. It was as if a tornado had torn through them. Men were strewn about, staggering to their feet, while others used their own Earthbending to fix their formations. Was the palace under attack? Were you too late? Had Long Feng’s rebellion already begun?

“Who goes there?” a guard shouted at you. You did not respond, picking up your speed from a mere walk to a sprint, holding the scarf over your head so that it did not blow off as you ran. You could not know if you trusted the army or if they were in league with the Dai Li, and unless you were forced to, you did not want to reveal who you were.

“Hey! Answer us!” another guard said. You kept running towards the bridge over the moat. You just needed to cross that bridge, and from there, nothing could stop you. They must’ve had that same thought, though, as the stones of the bridge began to recede, leaving a gaping maw where you should’ve crossed.

Then the boulders began to fly. They weren’t trying to hit you, but they were blocking your path, making your entrance far more difficult. You used one hand to cover the winged lemur’s eyes from the dust pluming in front of you, squinting your own so that you were not blinded by it.

If you did not do something, then the guards would go from obstructive efforts to far more deadly methods. Earthbending against this quantity of offensive parties was a suicidal idea, especially when you were on the palace’s doorstep and there was a high chance you’d get caught, but there was one final card you could play, the one you had been unwilling to part with most of all.

Casting the scarf aside, you pointed at the guard who had been lifting another boulder into the air to throw at you. He paused mid-action, and then he pointed back at you, like he could not believe his eyes.

“I am Princess Y/N of the Earth Kingdom, you fool, and what you are doing right now is treason! If you throw even a pebble more at me, I’ll have you hanged!” you said.

“Princess Y/N?” the guard said, the boulder thudding to the ground before him as he dropped into a bow. “We were under the impression that you were — that you were dead!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Reform that bridge at once,” you said. “Did you think that a girl of Shan’s line could be killed that easily? Perhaps I must remind you: I am the princess. As long as my people need me, I cannot die.”

After that, you walked unchallenged towards the steps leading up to the palace. It confirmed one thing, at least: the army was not allied with the Dai Li. If it was, then you would’ve been seized by now and dragged to Long Feng, but all that the soldiers did was shy away when you stalked past, giving you looks that were equal parts questioning and awed, like they could not quite believe that the shy, delicate little princess was capable of such feats.

It was only a matter of time before the Dai Li caught wind of your presence, if they had not already. You had to make it to the throne room by then. At least for now, they were limited in what they could do while Kuei was watching, for he was still the supreme authority of the kingdom. Now that you had gone and announced who you were, they ought to have done everything they could’ve to stop you, but curiously, there was no one that came to block your path.

Even stranger, the route to the throne room was torn apart and devoid of guards. There had clearly been a fight, but who had broken into the palace and managed to overtake it so quickly?

The walls were crumbling, and entire pillars had been torn in half. There were scuff marks on the carpet, and the stone floors glittered with dampness — it had obviously been a massacre. For the first time, you felt like you actually fit in, your ragged appearance matching the ruined entrance hall perfectly.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Kuei’s voice drifted out from the throne room, the door to which was, for some reason, lying on the ground. “I’m sorry, but you have no proof. I’ll have to trust my advisors on this one. Long Feng, what do you say of their claims?”

“Do you think that I could’ve hid a hundred years of war from you?” Long Feng said, his voice cold and flat. “What’s more, I’ve received some disturbing news. It seems that the Dai Li found evidence that the Avatar and his friends were involved in the murder of Captain Chhay, as well as your sister’s abduction.”

“What?” Kuei said.

“What is he talking about?” Katara said.

“I’m an Air Nomad! Killing is against my morals!” Aang said.

“Look, we didn’t kidnap or murder anyone! You have to believe us,” Sokka said. “About that, and about the war. I don’t know why your advisor is lying about all of this, but you have to see through it!”

“Even from the Avatar, this kind of situation is just too fantastical. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to arrest you, at least until Y/N is found and Captain Chhay’s murderer is apprehended,” Kuei said.

“You don’t have to look any further,” you said, pausing in the doorway to catch your breath, hunched over as you wheezed from how much you had pushed yourself. The winged lemur jumped from your shoulder and scampered over to Aang, who made a small noise of surprise at the arrival. “I’m here.”

“Y/N?” Kuei said.

“Your royal highness?” Long Feng said, his innocence clearly feigned, though his surprise likely wasn’t. You glared at him, regaining your composure and straightening before taking the same place as always: below the throne, staring up at those who would always be above you. Your brother, the king. Long Feng, the traitor. You were beneath them both, but this time, you did not allow either of them to intimidate you.

“Where have you been, sister?” Kuei said. “We thought the worst must’ve happened! The servants came in the morning, and all they found was Captain Chhay’s long-dead body. You were gone. Who took you? Did they hurt you?”

“Clearly the princess has been through a horrible ordeal, your majesty,” Long Feng said. “Look at her dress. She needs time to rest and recover from what was no doubt a most harrowing encounter.”

“I’m fine,” you said. “There was nothing harrowing about it. He didn’t even have time to fight back.”

“Of course, you must’ve managed to escape somehow, and thank Quynh for that,” Long Feng said. “But just the mere experience of being kidnapped would’ve been traumatic. Poor princess…I will assign thrice the Dai Li agents to look after you, so that you may rest in peace.”

“I didn’t have to escape, and I wasn’t kidnapped,” you said. “This kind of conduct can be expected of my brother, but I know at least you are smarter than this, Long Feng. In fact, I know a lot of things about you now.”

“No,” Long Feng said.

“Yes,” you said. “You understand, don’t you? I killed him. I killed Captain Chhay.”

Kuei shrieked. “What?”

“It’s true,” you said. “I did it.”

“No way,” Toph said from behind you. “I think I respect you a lot more now.”

“Toph!” Katara hissed.

“Dai Li, seize her at once!” Long Feng said, gesturing towards you impatiently.

“Y/N…how? How did you do that?” Kuei said. “How did you murder someone? No, not just someone — the Captain of the Dai Li himself!”

“Does it matter?” you said as earthen cuffs bound your wrists behind your back once again. “The more important question is why. That’s what you should really want to know.”

“Take her to her chambers and ensure she does not leave!” Long Feng said.

“Why did I do it? What cause could your dear sister have to kill a man? Ask!” you said.

“We will decide what to do with you after we have gotten rid of the Avatar and his friends,” Long Feng said.

“Kuei!” you said. Putting him in this position was the worst thing you had ever done to him, but it was necessary. He had to seek out the information, or else he’d cover his ears and hide away as he always did.

His eyes swam with emotions you doubted he had ever been exposed to before, a veritable maelstrom of thoughts and questions and feelings that he likely did not even know how to handle. Dai Li agents appeared at your shoulders, but you did not take your eyes off of your brother. Your brother, who loved you. Your brother, who was the only family you knew. Your brother, who was the Earth King, the supreme authority in all the kingdom. You looked only at him, and you waited.

“Stop! Release her!” he said. The Dai Li hesitated, but though their loyalty might have been to Long Feng, they still had to abide by Kuei’s commands above all else. The stone restraints crumbled away, and the agents bowed before stepping away from you. “Why did you do it, Y/N?”

“Because Captain Chhay killed our father,” you said. “And he did it on Long Feng’s command.”

“What?” Sokka said.

“This is so complicated,” Aang said. Sokka hummed in agreement.

“That — you cannot just accuse people of regicide without proof!” Long Feng said.

“You sent Captain Chhay after me. He tried to kill me multiple times in Ba Sing Se alone. That’s proof enough! He was your little pet, wasn’t he? It’s what your own agents called him, after all. The beast of the Dai Li, sent to do Long Feng’s bidding. Who else but he would’ve been the one to kill the 51st Earth King?” you said.

“You’re being ridiculous! What motivation would I have to assassinate your father?” Long Feng said.

“Stewardship over the Earth Kingdom isn’t a bad prize,” you said. “Though I’ll admit that luck did play a role. After all, if our mother hadn’t died as well, then she’d be Kuei’s regent.”

“What, did he kill her, too?” Sokka said. “This dude just keeps getting eviler and eviler.”

“No, he — actually, wait,” you said. There was no proof, but for some reason, you didn’t find it too far out of the realm of plausibility. “There’s a chance, though I don’t have any proof for that claim as of right now.”

“You’re going on and on about nothing,” Long Feng said. “I’m not the ruler of the Earth Kingdom. Your brother is.”

“Yet he only implements policies that you approve of,” you said. “Policies which, if I might add, are deliberately harming our people! You’re sabotaging his reign so that our family is overthrown for good. You mean to usurp Kuei, and don’t even try to deny it — I overheard your agents discussing it, and, more importantly, I’ve seen the effects of your suggestions firsthand.

“The only city safe from the war charging exorbitant prices to those refugees which try to enter…thank goodness for that unnamed noblewoman allowing passage through the second southeast gate, right? I won’t speculate about her identity, but I’ll give you a hint: she’s someone you’d recognize.”

“You little wench,” Long Feng said. “You wasted your own money on that? I should’ve known.”

“That’s not all. You refuse to acknowledge the disparity between Upper and Lower Ring citizens, and the Dai Li are closer to terrorists than officers of justice. The people of Ba Sing Se are frightened to speak out about anything, because the Dai Li is always watching. No wonder they hate Kuei and I. No wonder they riot in the streets! But that’s exactly what you planned,” you spat. “Because once they revolt, you will pretend to be on their side and then use the same structures you claim to be against to strengthen your power, your grip on this nation. Kuei and I might be uneducated about the reality of this world and its wars, but at least we care about our people! Can you even claim that much? What sort of an advisor are you?”

“Continuing to speak will only incriminate you further,” Long Feng said. “You have gone mad, princess. There’s no other explanation for why you killed the captain meant to protect you, or for why you are saying such things. They are the ravings of a lunatic! King Kuei, I recommend she be arrested and sent to a correctional facility equipped to handle her case at once.”

You had said all you needed to, and so you just pursed your lips and ducked your head. Your part was done; now, it was up to Kuei to do what was right. If he did not make the proper choice now, then it was hopeless. Then they could take you wherever they wanted, because you could not fight back against your own flesh and blood.

“Dai Li, arrest—” You could not help your shoulders from slumping at Kuei’s declaration. Despite everything, it had not been enough. He still did not have any faith in you. “—Long Feng!”

“What? Your royal majesty, what is the meaning of this?” Long Feng said as the Dai Li agents saluted at Kuei before clicking a pair of metal handcuffs around Long Feng’s wrists.

“Did you really think I’d believe you over Y/N? Did you really think that there’s anyone in the world who I value more than her? It would’ve been more suitable for you to pretend like you actually cared about her. I might’ve been more inclined to agree with you then, but no matter your station, if you dare to speak against my dear sister like that, then you must face the harshest of repercussions,” Kuei said, standing and drawing himself to his full height.

“Kuei?” you said softly. You had never thought that he would be the one who would do something like this. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that he would stand up for himself, for you, to this extent. Yet here he was, doing exactly that.

“You are making a mistake! If you do this, you will be remembered as a foolish, empty-minded despot who used his power to rid the kingdom of any who dared to criticize his family,” Long Feng said. “You will be remembered as a tyrant. I swear it to be so!”

“That’s fine,” Kuei said. “They can remember me as a tyrant if that is what they will — as long as I am remembered as a tyrant who loved his sister. Agents, please, take him away at once! I’ve had enough of listening to him. I think it’s time that I take counsel from more qualified parties.”

“You’ll regret this,” Long Feng said over his shoulder. “I can assure you of that!”

“And you’ll regret killing my father,” Kuei said. “I can assure you of that.”

“I didn’t think he had it in him,” Sokka mused, earning him a snort of approval from Toph.

“Are you finally willing to listen to us?” Aang said. Kuei massaged his temples.

“Yes, I am. What’s this talk of war? Who are we at war with?” he said.

“The Fire Nation,” Katara said. “They attacked a hundred years ago. They killed all of the Air Nomads and have been steadily invading the Earth Kingdom; Ba Sing Se is the only place that’s still completely safe from their influence.”

“Because of the walls?” Kuei said.

“Yes, exactly. They haven’t managed to break through yet, which is why so many refugees have been coming here — most of them have lost their homes, and Ba Sing Se is the last hope they have at making new lives,” Aang said.

“The Fire Nation is that strong?” you said.

“That strong, and that dedicated. You know, their prince chased us all of the way here!” Katara said.

“For what reason?” you said.

“Something about capturing the Avatar and restoring his honor, I think,” Sokka said. “I’m not really sure. But! We have a way to defeat them, as long as you lend us your support.”

“We’ll do whatever we can,” Kuei said. “Right, Y/N?”

“Of course,” you said. Without Long Feng there to guide him, Kuei was like a baby animal whose legs were still wobbly and eyes were still barely opened. It would take time before he could stand on his own; until then, he needed someone who he could rely on, someone who could reassure him that he was doing the right thing. And since you’d rather that person be you than anyone more unsavory, you took the role upon yourself with as much grace as you could muster.

“The day of the black sun is coming up,” Sokka said. “The sun will disappear behind the moon for a window of time, and all Firebenders will lose their power. We have to strike them while they can’t fight back. That’s what we need your armies for — while they take care of the Fire Nation forces, Aang and a small task force will infiltrate the palace directly and defeat Fire Lord Ozai for good.”

Kuei glanced at you. You nodded. If they were telling the truth and this day of the black sun was a real event, then it was probably the best chance you had at turning the tides of a war that you had thus far been losing.

“Say, Katara,” you said as you walked her and Toph to the guest rooms they’d be staying in after they had finished briefing you. “Earlier, you mentioned a Prince Zuko and a Princess Azula. What are they like?”

You were fascinated by the thought that there was another pair of siblings not too dissimilar to you and Kuei, albeit younger, of course. Another pair of siblings who bore the burden of a crown. Another pair of siblings who had the weight of a nation looming over them. Would they understand the sense of duty which prevailed in you? The patriotism, the love for your subjects? You would likely never get to meet them and ask, considering you and they were on opposite sides of a war, so you settled for this, for learning about them through Katara’s words.

“They’re the worst of the worst,” Katara said.

“It’s true. They’re pretty crazy,” Toph said. “Though their uncle isn’t that bad!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t say that, considering he did lay siege to her city for six hundred days,” Katara said. “And not too long ago. I mean, it happened in our lifetime.”

It was almost a credit to Long Feng’s dedication, you thought, that he had even managed to hide such a long siege from you and your brother. The fact that Ba Sing Se had been under attack for two of your years of living and yet you had not known a thing about it was actually impressive, if not unfortunate.

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that,” Toph said. “He’s pretty nice otherwise, though.”

“Naturally,” you said, bemused.

“We don’t know much about Azula, except that she’s Zuko’s sister and the princess of the Fire Nation, but Zuko’s been on our tail pretty much since Sokka and I found Aang in that iceberg. Apparently, he was banished or something, and the only way he can regain his honor is if he captures the Avatar. That’s what we’ve put together from his random speeches and consistent efforts, anyways,” Katara said.

“Although, we haven’t seen him in a bit,” Toph said. “Maybe he’s settled down somewhere.”

“Or he’s in disguise,” you offered. “You could’ve seen him and not even realized who he truly was.”

Katara shook her head. “No, he’s pretty distinctive looking. He has the giant burn scar covering the left half of his face — it makes him hard to miss. If we had seen him, we would’ve known.”

Your mind blanked, your stomach churning as you tried to process what she had just said. Burn scar. Left half of his face. Where else had you seen that distinctive mark before? You didn’t want to recall, but you did.

“Does he really?” you said to Toph.

“I dunno,” Toph said. “I’m blind.”

“Ah, right,” you said.

“Like I said when we first met, though, I can tell when people are lying, and she’s not. I don’t see what the reason to lie about that would even be,” Toph said. “It’s kind of a really specific thing to make up.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Katara affirmed. “Why, what’s wrong? I guess it’s kind of weird for the prince of the Fire Nation to be have a burn wound, but it was probably a training accident or something.”

“Oh, no,” you said. “Oh, no, no, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Katara said.

You did not want to listen to them, but if they were telling the truth, and you knew in your heart of hearts that they were, then that meant only one thing: Prince Zuko hadn’t settled down. He hadn’t given up on his chase or his war. He had moved on to more strategic maneuvers, that was all. Stealth instead of strength. Infiltration instead of invasion.

“He’s here,” you said, stopping and gripping her shoulders. She blinked at you, her blue eyes wide with uncertainty. “Katara, listen to me. All of you need to leave Ba Sing Se at once. If he gets his hands on Aang, then there’s no chance of our plans succeeding.”

“Huh? What’re you talking about?” Toph said.

“Prince Zuko’s here,” you said. “In Ba Sing Se, under an alias. I’ve seen him. I’ve met him. If the Avatar is his end goal, then the Avatar must leave as soon as possible. It’s not safe here.”

“But isn’t the Earth Palace the safest place in the world? There’s no way he can get past all of those guards all by himself,” Toph said. “He’s not that good of a bender, I’m pretty sure.”

You groaned. “No, he can get in. Anytime he wants.”

“How?” Katara said.

“It’s not important,” you said, too ashamed to admit your mistake. “Look, I trusted you all, didn’t I? Now you must trust me.”

Katara seemed uncertain, but Toph nodded at you, her expression set.

“We’ll just leave early,” she said. “I’ll go see my mother, Katara and Sokka will meet up with their father, and Aang can go visit that guru. Hopefully, by the time we’re finished with those errands, things will be dealt with.”

“I am sure it will not be a problem,” you said. “But just in case, you probably should not return to the capital. Unless Kuei or I appear before you ourselves, it would befit you to assume that any summons are deceptive in nature.”

“Are you sure about this?” Katara said. “If it really is Zuko, then he must have some tricks up his sleeve. Will it be okay for us to leave you alone?”

“If Aang is killed or captured, then it will be many years before the next Avatar reaches the level of training necessary to face the Fire Lord,” you said. “It’s too great of a risk for you to stay when it’s all but confirmed that Prince Zuko is here. As for me, I have the might of the Earth Kingdom behind me. No matter what, I’ll be fine.”

“Odds are that he’ll leave Ba Sing Se once we do, too, so there won’t even be any danger to the palace,” Toph said. “Once we go our separate ways, he’ll have to split his forces up as well, so it’ll also then be easier for us to take him on.”

“There’s also that,” you said.

“You have a point,” Katara said. “Alright. Toph, go tell Aang to get Appa ready. I’ll get Sokka and catch him up.”

“Be safe,” you said.

“You too,” Katara said. Toph punched you in the arm.

“Stay sharp, princess. See you around,” she said. “You’re not as much of an idiot as you could be.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I look forward to seeing you all again — if not in Ba Sing Se, then in the Fire Nation, on the day of the black sun, when we finally bring about their downfall for good.”

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#zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #canon au #the glass princess #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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rainforestakiie · 2 months ago

Text

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Feeding Kink~

i couldn’t decide what i wanted to write for this. i had a few different ideas and finally landed on something inspired by greek mythology, centered around the goddess persephone, where she is taken to the underworld and eats the seeds of a pomegranate, which binds her to the underworld for part of each year. i have also mixed in the request i got for stockholm syndrome. i don’t know if i pulled it off alright, but here you all go. hope it’s good?

@adamsappleweek

Adam was the oldest child of the Sunsmouth family, with two younger brothers and three sisters, all of whom he had raised almost as if they were his own. Born into a household where love ran deep but time was scarce, Adam had grown up not only as a brother but as a caretaker. From the moment he could walk, he was shouldering the weight of his siblings' childhoods—comforting them through nightmares, picking them up after school, ensuring they ate, bathed, and dressed in clean clothes. He'd even changed their diapers when they were infants, far before he was old enough to understand what it meant to be a parent.

His parents were not neglectful in the traditional sense; they loved him, adored him, and provided for the family financially. Yet, their demanding careers—ones that whisked them away on ceaseless travels—kept them at arm’s length. Adam often pondered the choices they had made. Why, he wondered, did they continue to bring children into the world if they could barely be there for them? Wasn’t it enough to have just him or maybe one of his sisters? It never made sense to him, and the question gnawed at him in quiet, unspoken moments.

It was never resentment that filled Adam’s heart; no, he adored his brothers and sisters. He had been more than just a live-in nanny; he had been their pillar, their guiding light in a world that could be so cold and indifferent. But that didn’t mean Adam hadn’t once carried his own dreams. As a child, he had dared to imagine himself following in his father’s footsteps, of becoming someone great—someone important. Yet, with each new sibling, those dreams slipped farther out of reach, shelved in some forgotten corner of his heart, gathering dust. His childhood aspirations turned into distant echoes, nothing more than fleeting fantasies.

Even now, as he watched each of his siblings graduate, walk across stages to the sound of applause, and venture into the world to chase their own ambitions, Adam clapped and cheered for them with genuine pride. But there was a hollowness to his smile, a quiet ache beneath the surface. What about him? His youth had withered away, traded for responsibility. His time had passed. The youngest, his brother Elias, had gone off to college that very morning. The house, once teeming with laughter and chaos, now stood still. Empty.

For the first time in years, Adam was alone. Truly alone.

The streets were eerily quiet as he wandered aimlessly that night, his footsteps soft against the damp pavement. The glow of streetlights cast long, distorted shadows on the ground, and the distant hum of the city was muted by the fog rolling in from the sea. He had no particular destination in mind, but his feet carried him toward the local bar, a place he had visited more frequently as the house had emptied. The idea of solitude scared him, and the alcohol had become a way to blur the sharp edges of his loneliness.

Adam barely noticed the figure following him—or perhaps he did, and simply didn’t care. All he wanted was a drink, something to drown the persistent, gnawing emptiness inside. He pushed open the door to Webster’s Bar, where the familiar scent of stale beer and old wood greeted him like an old friend. Webster himself, the barkeep, stood behind the counter, polishing glasses with a rag that had seen better days. The man was a relic of the town, with his wild grey beard, bulbous nose, and eyes that glittered like tiny coals beneath bushy brows. His skin was ruddy, his voice gravelly, but there was a kindness to him, a strange warmth beneath the gruff exterior.

“Webster,” Adam muttered, sliding onto a barstool, “You hiring by any chance?”

Webster grunted as he placed a beer in front of Adam, his hands thick and worn from years of tending to this forgotten corner of the world. “Depends. You got any skills?”

Adam snorted, taking a long pull from the bottle.

“Not really,” he admitted, shrugging. “Spent most of my life raising my siblings.”

Webster raised a brow, his lips curling into a smirk as he wiped down the counter. “So, what can you do then?”

Adam hesitated; the weight of his unspoken inadequacies heavy on his chest.

“I can... manage,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I’m good with people. I can handle responsibility.”

The old barkeep nodded thoughtfully, eyeing him for a moment before jerking his head toward the door. “Come by tomorrow. We’ll see what we can do.”

Adam felt a flicker of something—a spark of hope, perhaps, or maybe just relief. He nodded, offering a quiet thanks before laying his head down on the counter, staring blankly at the half-finished beer. But his moment of reprieve was short-lived.

From the corner of his eye, Adam noticed a figure slip onto the stool beside him—a shadow that seemed darker than the dim lighting of the bar should allow. He blinked, wondering if the alcohol was already messing with his head. The man who now sat beside him was draped in a long coat, his features obscured by the low brim of a hat, though something about him felt... wrong. There was an air of something ancient and unsettling, as though the shadows themselves clung to him like an old, familiar friend.

“I hear you’re looking for a job,” the man said, his voice soft and slippery, as if each word slithered out into the air like smoke.

Adam stiffened, sitting up and narrowing his eyes at the stranger. “Who’s asking?”

The man grinned, and in the dim light of the bar, Adam could see the sharpness of his teeth, almost too sharp, too unnatural.

“Let’s just say... I overheard.” His grin widened, showing teeth far too white for someone so cloaked in darkness. “What kind of work is a man like you looking for?”

Adam hesitated, his mind swirling with both the effects of the beer and the unsettling presence of the man next to him. What kind of work? What was he even searching for? Purpose? Redemption? He wasn’t sure. But something about this man sent a shiver down his spine, a creeping sense of unease that coiled itself around his gut.

“I don’t know,” Adam said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just... something. Something that’ll give me something to do.”

The man’s grin grew wider, impossibly wide, as though it stretched beyond the limits of his face. “Oh, I think I have just the thing for you.”

And in that moment, the bar seemed darker, the air thicker, as though the weight of something otherworldly had descended upon the space. The stranger leaned closer, his eyes gleaming like obsidian, and Adam felt a chill crawl up his spine.

“What if I told you, “The man whispered, his voice like the hiss of wind through a graveyard, “That your true purpose was waiting for you... in the shadows?”

Adam blinked, his curiosity piqued by the man’s cryptic smile. There was something both unsettling and alluring about this stranger, something otherworldly in his presence. As the man leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, the air between them seemed to hum with an energy that Adam couldn’t quite place.

"It’ll be worth your while," the man murmured, his breath warm but carrying an undercurrent of something cold, something ancient.

Adam raised an eyebrow, a flicker of scepticism crossing his features. "Sure, buddy. But I’m not interested in whatever shady business you’re cooking up. I don’t need money, don’t need a place to crash. I just… need something to do. Keep myself busy."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, he wondered why he had said so much. There was something about this man that made the truth slip out, unbidden.

The man chuckled softly, a sound that was both amused and deeply knowing. "I apologize if I gave the wrong impression," he said, his voice like velvet draped over shards of glass.

"I’m not offering anything… illicit. What I need is simple." His lips curled upward in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A babysitter."

"Babysitter?" Adam repeated, incredulous. He ran his green eyes over the man, taking in his sharp, well-dressed appearance. The man didn’t seem like the type who would have a child, much less need someone to care for one. "You have kids?"

The man’s smooth shrug was unsettlingly casual. "Just one. A daughter."

Adam paused, considering. "How old is she?"

"Four," the man replied, his voice softening ever so slightly. But the softness felt more like a pretence than a sign of affection.

Adam frowned. He was good with kids—he had practically raised his siblings—but something about this felt… off. The man’s charm, his odd insistence, the way the conversation was drifting—it all sent a shiver down Adam’s spine. But still, a babysitting job? That was familiar territory.

"She’s a good kid," the man continued, sensing Adam’s hesitation. His smile was warm again, but the warmth was like the flicker of a flame about to be snuffed out. "She hardly ever cries. Doesn’t cause trouble. It’ll be easy for someone like you."

Adam narrowed his eyes. "And her mother?"

The man’s entire demeanour shifted in an instant. The coldness returned, biting through the air like a winter gale.

"She’s not in the picture," he said, his voice tight and distant. The way he said it left no room for further questions.

"Gotcha." Adam nodded slowly, sensing he had touched on something dark and sore. The man quickly shifted back to his charming facade, his grin growing wide again.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, his voice once again light, almost playful. But Adam felt the tension beneath it, like a string pulled too tight.

Adam frowned, weighing his options. "How many hours are we talking here?"

The man shrugged in that same, unnervingly smooth way. "Not too many."

Something about that vague response made Adam shiver. He couldn’t quite place why, but the lack of specifics made his skin crawl. "I’ll think about it," he said cautiously.

The man made a soft sound—something between a sigh and a growl.

"I apologize for being… insistent," he said, his tone still gentle but now with an edge of impatience. "But it’s incredibly important I have your answer now."

Adam blinked, startled by the sudden pressure. His mouth opened, then closed, as he struggled to respond. His nostrils flared slightly, and his brow furrowed.

"Right now?" he asked, his voice low.

The man’s eyes glittered, their blue depths seeming to swirl with something unnatural.

"If you’d be so kind," he said, his voice dripping with charm, though Adam could sense something far more sinister lurking beneath.

He fell silent, considering the offer. He had spent his life looking after others. He knew how to take care of kids. What was one more? But hadn’t he just gained his freedom? Didn’t he want to escape the role of a caretaker, not fall back into it?

As if sensing his thoughts, the man leaned closer, his hand brushing lightly along Adam’s arm. The touch sent a strange jolt through him, almost electric.

"I know it doesn’t sound exciting," the man murmured, his voice soft, seductive, "But there will be… other things. Things that will make up for the more tedious parts."

Adam blinked, unsettled but intrigued. "Other things? Like what?"

The man only smiled, his eyes twinkling with that same unnatural light. Adam glanced over toward Webster, the bar owner, noticing that he was deep in conversation with another customer, examining what looked like a résumé. Adam realized, with a sinking feeling, that someone else might already have taken the job he had considered earlier.

The man followed Adam’s gaze and hummed softly, almost sympathetically.

"Some people," he said, his voice low and dark, “Are meant for much more than bartending."

Adam snorted, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on him.

"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath. He turned to the strange man and nodded. "Alright. I’ll take the job. When do you want me to start?"

The man’s grin widened—unnaturally so, the corners of his mouth stretching just a little too far, his teeth suddenly too sharp, too white. For a fleeting moment, Adam swore the man’s eyes gleamed with red and gold, like the eyes of some unholy creature from the depths of a nightmare.

"Excellent," the man hissed, his voice no longer as smooth as before but carrying a dark, guttural undertone. He grabbed Adam’s hand, his grip cold and unyielding. Adam flinched at the contact, the man's touch like ice on his skin.

"Tomorrow," the man said, his voice dripping with dark promise. "Tomorrow, we will discuss everything further. Oh, Adam, you’ve made the right choice."

He chuckled darkly, pulling Adam closer, his breath hot against Adam's ear. "You’ll make a perfect mother to Charlie. And a perfect wife to me."

"W-What?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper as his vision blurred, the world around him growing darker. Adam’s heart lurched in his chest. "What do you mean?"

But before he could get an answer, the shadows swirled around him, pulling him under like the inky black waters of a cursed sea. The last thing he felt before losing consciousness was the man's cold arms wrapping around him, holding him tight as he whispered, "You’re going to love it in hell."

When Adam awoke, he was lying in a vast, lavish room. The bed beneath him was impossibly soft, covered in blankets of rich, blood-red velvet and deep, shadowy purple. The walls were draped in dark silk, and the air was thick with the scent of something sweet yet cloying, like pomegranates on the verge of rot.

And though he could see no one, Adam knew, with a chilling certainty, that he was no longer alone.

Adam’s heart raced, thumping in his chest as the room dimmed around him, the stranger’s ominous words sinking in. His vision blurred, the edges of his reality closing in as darkness overtook him. The man’s grip was icy, a cold that spread like poison through his veins, dragging him down into unconsciousness.

When he finally stirred, the world felt strange, heavy, as though gravity itself had shifted. He blinked against the dim light filtering through the room, soft and otherworldly, casting long shadows in hues of deep purples and reds. His body was nestled in plush, velvet blankets—luxurious yet suffocating in their richness. He wasn’t in the bar anymore; no familiar sound of clinking glasses, no distant murmur of patrons. Instead, an eerie silence filled the space, thick and oppressive, broken only by the distant sound of what could have been faint whispering.

Adam sat up slowly, his head spinning with disorientation. The bed beneath him was enormous, almost too large for the room it occupied, draped in a tapestry of dark reds, blacks, and purples. It felt too soft, too luxurious, the kind of bed you’d expect in a palace rather than any earthly home. His fingers brushed against the smooth, cool fabric of the sheets, and a shiver ran down his spine. Where was he?

He stood shakily, his bare feet sinking into the deep, velvety carpet below. The room was grand, almost cavernous, with high ceilings lost in shadow. Ornate furniture lined the walls—antique chairs, dark wood tables, mirrors framed in twisted, golden vines. The air smelled faintly of something sweet, almost cloying, like roses left to rot in the damp. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Hello?" Adam's voice broke the silence, but there was no answer, only the soft echo of his own voice bouncing off the cold walls.

A low chuckle broke the stillness, and Adam’s heart leapt into his throat. The man from the bar—the stranger with the unnerving grin—emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room, his form silhouetted against the faint light. His eyes gleamed in the dimness, glowing with an unnatural light, an impossible mix of gold and red. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, revealing teeth that were far too sharp.

"Ah, you're awake." His voice was smooth, almost soothing, but the undercurrent of malice was unmistakable. "I hope the accommodations are to your liking."

Adam took a step back, his mind racing, piecing together the last moments before everything had gone dark. The man’s words from earlier rang in his ears—hell? A wife? A daughter? What had he agreed to? And more importantly, where was he now?

"Where am I?" Adam’s voice was unsteady.

The fear seeping through despite his attempt to keep it together. His mind flashed back to the warning signs—the way the man's eyes had flickered with unnatural light, the strange way the room had darkened around him at the bar. He cursed himself for not listening to his gut earlier.

The man stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, as if he commanded the very shadows around them. His grin never faltered, and as he drew nearer, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"You're home now, Adam," the man said smoothly. "Welcome to your new life... or rather, your new eternity."

"Eternity?" His voice cracked slightly. Adam’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse roaring in his ears. "What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t sign up for this."

The man’s smile widened—too wide—showing rows of razor-sharp teeth that gleamed in the low light.

“Oh, but you did, Adam. You see, you’re going to take care of my daughter, Charlie, just as we agreed. Only now, you’re not merely a babysitter.” His voice darkened, dripping with satisfaction. “You’re something much, much more."

The words sent a chill through Adam’s entire body. He remembered the stranger saying something about a daughter—Charlie, a little girl. But now, under the weight of this new reality, the words seemed more like a trap. Something far darker than he had ever anticipated.

"Where is she?" Adam’s throat was tight, his voice barely a whisper now.

He had no idea what kind of world he had fallen into, but if there was a child involved, his instincts as a caretaker kicked in. Even in this strange, nightmarish place, the need to protect surged through him.

The man’s eyes gleamed, and he stepped aside, revealing a door that had been hidden in the shadows. Slowly, it creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway that seemed to stretch into eternity, the light flickering like distant candle flames.

"She's waiting for you," the man said, his voice soft, almost tender now. "Go to her, Adam."

Adam hesitated; his legs heavy as if they were weighted down by lead. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to get away from this nightmare, but something deeper pulled at him, something he couldn’t quite name. Slowly, he forced his feet to move, one step at a time, towards the doorway.

The hallway was cold, colder than the room had been. The walls were lined with ornate paintings—portraits of people whose eyes seemed to follow him as he walked. Their expressions were blank, but there was something sinister in the way their gazes lingered. The air felt heavier with each step, thick with an unseen presence, as if the very house was alive, watching his every move.

At the end of the hallway, a small door stood ajar, faint light spilling out from within. Adam approached cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached for the handle, his hand trembling slightly as he pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was surprisingly simple. It was a child’s bedroom, filled with toys and books, the walls painted a soft shade of lavender. And there, in the middle of the room, sat a small girl. Her hair was golden, falling in soft waves around her face, and she was playing quietly with a set of wooden blocks. She looked up as Adam entered, her eyes—large, innocent, but unnervingly deep—met his. They were the same unsettling gold and red as the man's.

"Hi," she said softly, tilting her head slightly. "Are you my new mummy?"

Adam’s blood ran cold.

Adam stood frozen, staring down at the little girl with eyes like molten gold streaked with red. Her pupils were slitted, like a predator’s, giving her an unearthly appearance. His breath hitched as he stumbled back, the sight of the arrow-pointed tail curling out from beneath her pink dress only adding to his horror. This wasn’t a child, not in any way that made sense. She was something far darker, something twisted. Adam’s mouth went dry.

“Papa!” she suddenly squealed with joy, her voice high and cheerful, a stark contrast to her demonic features.

Adam flinched as the shadowy figure of the mystery man stepped out from the darkness. The girl scrambled to her feet and darted over to him, and he scooped her up into his arms with ease. The man’s grin widened, but it no longer looked human. Adam’s pulse quickened, his heart pounding in his chest. His green eyes flicked between the two, recognizing now what he had failed to see before. Neither of them were human. Not even close.

Their faces were eerily similar—framed by golden hair, their cheeks unusually red against the stark whiteness of their skin, almost like porcelain. But it was the tails swaying behind them, the sharp teeth gleaming as the man smiled, and the claws at the tips of his fingers that made Adam’s stomach churn. Even worse, the man’s feet—goat-like and cloven—clinked softly against the polished floor, their sound reverberating in the vastness of the castle’s chamber.

The man was tall and slender, his white skin glowing against the deep reds and blacks of his outfit, which reminded Adam of a circus ringmaster, though twisted into something far more sinister. His short, slicked-back hair was streaked with coral, and his eyes—the very same as his daughter’s—pinned Adam in place, their predatory gleam sending cold dread down his spine. His snake-like pupils contracted as he studied Adam, and a forked tongue darted out, wetting his sharp lips.

“I see you’ve met Charlie,” the man said with a grin, bouncing the girl lightly in his arms. Her giggles echoed like music in the eerie silence of the room. “Do you like your new mama, sweetheart?”

“I like them a lot!” she said excitedly, her tail swishing behind her. Charlie beamed, turning those monstrous eyes back toward Adam. “I can’t wait to spend time together!”

Adam could only stare in disbelief, every muscle in his body screaming at him to run. But his feet remained rooted to the spot, frozen by the sheer strangeness of what was unfolding before him.

The man chuckled darkly, bouncing the girl again in his arms. “You’ll get to spend all the time you want, darling. But remember, you have to share your new mama with me.”

His grin stretched wider, and Adam swore he saw the tips of his sharp teeth gleam in the dim light.

“I know, Papa,” Charlie giggled, casting a knowing look at Adam. “Mama and Papa need special alone time, too.”

Adam’s stomach lurched, his face draining of colour. "No…" he whispered, his voice cracking. "No, I’m not your… wife. I’m not your mother."

His voice shook as he said it, disbelief and horror swirling in his chest. “This is a mistake… it has to be a mistake.”

The room fell deathly silent. The laughter between father and daughter evaporated in an instant, replaced by an eerie stillness. The man’s golden eyes darkened, his grin slipping into something colder, something far more dangerous. He stared at Adam with unspoken malice, his lips curling with disdain.

Charlie’s eyes, wide and glistening, filled with unshed tears. She sniffled softly, her tiny voice trembling.

“You’re… you’re not my new mama?” she whimpered, her little face twisting in confusion and hurt.

Adam’s heart twisted painfully, but he stood his ground. He swallowed hard, trembling as he met the man’s gaze.

“No,” Adam repeated firmly, his voice wavering. “No, I’m not. This is… a mistake. I’m not your wife.”

The stranger’s golden eyes never left Adam, a deep displeasure settling over his sharp features. His long claws curled tighter, and the room seemed to grow darker, colder. Charlie’s sniffles grew louder as she turned her face into her father’s chest.

The man’s voice, when it finally came, was low, measured, but filled with an ominous weight. “It’s no mistake, Adam. I don’t make mistakes.”

His forked tongue flicked out again, and his eyes gleamed like burning coals. “Charlie, darling, don’t you worry. This is your new mama. They’re just… under a bit of stress.”

Charlie sniffed again, looking back at Adam with wide, pleading eyes. “Mama, are you feeling okay?”

“No,” he muttered, his voice thick with panic. “This is wrong. I’m not… I need to get out of here.”

Adam stumbled backward, shaking his head wildly. His breath quickened as he spun around, shoving the double doors open with trembling hands and slamming them shut behind him.

He bolted down the corridor, his heart racing. The sheer size of the place overwhelmed him—the endless hallways, the maze-like turns. He ran until he found a row of windows, gasping for breath as he peered through them. What he saw made his blood turn to ice.

Outside, the world was not the one he knew. A crimson mist clung to the ground, and in the distance, flames licked at the horizon. The sky was a swirling maelstrom of dark clouds and fire, casting an eerie red glow over the landscape. He could see shadows moving within the mist—twisted figures writhing in the distance, and though the castle walls muted the sounds, he knew they were screaming.

Hell.

The word whispered through his mind, chilling him to the core. He was in hell.

Adam turned from the window, his breath coming in shaky bursts. The hallway stretched out before him, draped in deep reds, purples, and gold. Every detail was opulent, grotesquely beautiful. Gold-framed mirrors lined the walls, interspersed with portraits—oil paintings of strange figures, many with horns and tails, their eyes following him as he walked. Apple motifs were carved into the moulding, into the ornate doorframes, and gilded on the furniture. It was all too perfect, too polished, like a seductive trap waiting to snap shut.

Eventually, he came to another set of polished oak doors. He hesitated, but the ominous pull of his surroundings urged him forward. Pushing the doors open, he stepped into a grand dining room. A long table stretched out before him, a roaring fire flickering in the massive hearth to his left. The air was warm, suffocating.

At the far end of the table, the man was seated, his white top hat casting a shadow over his face. His elbows rested on the table, his long claws steepled together, and his eyes—a haunting mix of red and yellow—glimmered from the darkness. A chill crawled down Adam’s spine as the man’s gaze locked onto him.

“Take a seat, Adam,” the man said, his voice a slow, deadly purr. “It seems we need to have… another discussion.”

Every fiber of Adam’s being screamed at him to run, to slam the doors shut and bolt back through the labyrinth of corridors. But something held him there, something far darker than fear. He found his feet moving of their own accord, dragging him toward the table. Slowly, reluctantly, he sat down at the far end, as far from the man as he could.

The man’s lips curled into a sharp smile, but there was no warmth in it—only cold, calculated malice. "Now, let’s talk about your future here, shall we?"

Adam’s breath hitched, the cold, unrelenting gaze of the man—The man, he now knew—cutting through him like ice. A powerful shiver crawled down his spine, twisting in his stomach as those words echoed in his mind: his future here.

His fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as he tried to steady himself. He didn’t want a future here. This place—this nightmarish castle veiled in opulence—was nothing short of a gilded prison.

The man’s smile, sharp and gleaming with unnerving amusement, sent waves of unease through Adam.

“Who are you?” Adam finally whispered, his voice low, trembling despite himself.

The man chuckled, tilting his head in a way that made him seem both playful and predatory.

“You’re a smart man, Adam,” he drawled, his voice laced with condescension. “I’m sure you’ve already figured it out.”

The devil’s amusement danced in his golden, snake-like eyes, glinting like fire beneath the shadows of his wide-brimmed hat.

Adam stared, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. His gut twisted painfully, as though something dark and terrible was trying to claw its way through him from the inside.

“Hell…” Adam whispered, barely able to voice the word. “I’m in hell.”

The man’s grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the flickering light of the fireplace.

“Exactly. And if there’s a hell, my dear Adam,” he leaned forward, voice rich with dark amusement, “What else must there be?”

A wave of nausea hit Adam. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the figure before him. The puzzle pieces slotted into place, one by one. The ornate decadence of this castle, the flames and screams outside the windows, the inhuman child with her slit pupils and devilish grin. He swallowed hard.

“The… devil.” His voice trembled as he forced the word out.

The man’s laughter echoed through the chamber, filling the room with a sound that felt ancient, malevolent.

“Oh, Adam,” he said, his eyes gleaming like molten gold. “The names your kind have given me. Satan. Beelzebub. The Devil.”

His forked tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “I prefer my real name.”

The air grew colder, pressing against Adam like invisible chains. The mysterious stranger’s eyes darkened, expectant. His grin had faded, replaced with a deadly seriousness.

“Say it.”

Adam’s heart raced, his throat tightening as he felt the weight of the stranger’s command. He didn’t want to—he couldn’t—but the force of the man’s gaze, the pressure of his presence, was unbearable. His lips parted slowly, the word slipping out as if torn from his very soul.

“…Lucifer.”

For a moment, Lucifer snickered in amusement, his sharp teeth gleaming once more. But just as quickly as the grin had appeared, it vanished, replaced with a cold, dangerous silence. His expression darkened, shadows creeping across his face, and the room seemed to grow colder, darker, as though the flames in the fireplace were retreating from the sheer force of his displeasure.

“You made my daughter cry,” Lucifer said, his voice a low, menacing growl.

Adam’s green eyes widened, his throat tightening with dread. He hadn’t meant to—he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.

“I… I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“But I—I can’t stay here.” His voice cracked, the desperation raw and heavy in his words. “I can’t stay in hell.”

Lucifer tilted his head, his unnerving gaze locked onto Adam with a dark intensity. “But you agreed, didn’t you?”

His voice was smooth, almost playful, though there was an edge to it that made Adam’s skin crawl. “You agreed to work for me.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears. He shook his head, his voice rising in panic.

“How was I supposed to know you were the king of hell? I never thought this job would—” He gestured wildly to the room, to the world outside the windows, his voice growing hoarse with frustration. “—whatever this is.”

Lucifer sighed, long and theatrical, his golden eyes glinting as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s a babysitting job, Adam. Nothing more, nothing less.”

His grin returned, sharp and dangerous. “You agreed to care for my daughter. And that is exactly what you’ll do.”

Adam scoffed, his disbelief quickly turning to anger. His hand slammed against the table. “What kind of job involves kidnapping me? Holding me prisoner in hell and forcing me to—”

His words caught in his throat as his mind stumbled over the absurdity. “—become a wife and a mother?”

Lucifer’s grin widened at that, dark amusement gleaming in his eyes.

“Ah,” he said softly, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Perhaps it’s not a job after all, then.”

Adam’s stomach dropped, dread twisting tighter and tighter inside him. His breath came in short, shallow bursts as he felt the walls of the room close in.

“Take me back,” he demanded, his voice trembling but defiant. “Take me back home, now.”

Lucifer’s grin didn’t waver, but his eyes—the red and gold depths of them—flashed with something far more sinister. Slowly, deliberately, he shook his head.

“No, Adam. There is no going back.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but the finality of it struck Adam like a death sentence.

Adam felt the room tilt, his heart racing, his mind reeling. This was real. This nightmare was real, and there was no waking up from it. No escape. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he could barely breathe.

Lucifer stood from his chair, his towering figure casting long, looming shadows across the room. He took slow, measured steps toward Adam, each movement precise, predatory.

“You belong here now,” he whispered, his voice a silken thread wrapping around Adam’s mind, his soul. “With me. With our daughter.”

Adam recoiled, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he tried to push away the sheer weight of Lucifer’s presence.

“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, trembling. “No, I don’t—”

Lucifer’s hand reached out, gently brushing against Adam’s cheek, though the touch sent an electric shiver down his spine. His voice dropped to a whisper, seductive and dangerous. “You do, Adam. And soon… you’ll come to realize how wonderful it will be.”

The room swirled with shadows, the flames in the hearth casting flickering, dark shapes against the walls. Adam’s heart raced, his mind struggling to break free from the trap that was closing in on him, tightening with every breath. Lucifer’s eyes bore into him, like a predator waiting for its prey to surrender.

In the stillness that followed, Adam realized with gut-wrenching horror that there was no way out. There never had been.

Adam’s heart raced as Lucifer’s presence grew closer, his breath warm against Adam's cheek, lips brushing dangerously close. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with a magnetic pull that made Adam’s skin tingle. But as Lucifer leaned in for a kiss, Adam jerked away, his hands pushing hard against Lucifer's chest. The force of his rejection sent Lucifer stumbling back a step, surprise flashing briefly in his molten-gold eyes.

Lucifer blinked, his forked tongue flicking out in disbelief, as though he had never expected to be denied. For a moment, the air between them hung still, and Adam's breath came in panicked gasps. His vision blurred with unshed tears, the weight of his situation crashing down on him all at once.

“No,” Adam rasped, shaking his head wildly. His voice wavered, trembling with the onset of a breakdown.

“No, no, no—I don’t want this!” His green eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape that wasn’t there. “I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to be trapped in hell!”

Lucifer, regaining his composure, frowned, rubbing his chest where Adam had shoved him.

“You agreed, Adam,” he said, his voice cold but calm, as if he were explaining something to a child. His claws flexed lightly, the tips grazing over his pristine white suit. “You made a deal.”

Adam’s breath hitched, the tears finally spilling over.

“That’s not fair!” he choked, his voice cracking. “I didn’t agree to this! To being locked away in hell as your wife and Charlie’s mother! I agreed to babysit, for a few hours—nothing more than that!”

Lucifer’s sharp red pupils narrowed as he rolled his eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh. His smirk returned, flashing those unsettling sharp teeth. “Honestly, Adam, you should’ve known I meant something more than those… measly little words.”

Adam gasped, clutching his chest as the panic clawed its way up his throat. “I didn’t know you were the Devil!”

His voice wavered between anger and desperation, the overwhelming unfairness of it all pouring out of him. “How could I have known you were trying to trick me back at the bar? I thought—”

Lucifer laughed, a dark, rich sound that filled the room and sent a shiver down Adam’s spine. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why does it matter?” His voice was casual, almost bored, but there was a glint of sadistic delight in his eyes.

Adam stared at him, horrified. “It matters because this is my life!”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with sudden, dangerous excitement. His expression brightened, as though struck by a brilliant idea. Adam recoiled instinctively, dread pooling in his stomach. He didn’t like the way Lucifer was looking at him—like a predator cornering its prey.

“Fine,” Lucifer said with a sharp grin, his voice soft yet menacing, as if the very air around them buzzed with his power. “Let’s come to an agreement. A… compromise.”

Adam, still trembling, sniffed and wiped at his eyes, his hope clinging to the word despite his fear.

“What… what kind of compromise?” he asked warily.

Lucifer raised his hand with a flourish, and the long, empty table before them transformed in an instant. A lavish feast appeared, as if conjured from the depths of dreams and nightmares alike. The table groaned under the weight of elegantly carved dishes—roast chicken, golden duck, steaming piles of potatoes, and desserts that shimmered like jewels. Pies and cakes towered decadently, glistening with syrup and cream.

Adam’s stomach growled audibly, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, since before his sibling had gone off to college. The sight of the food was overwhelming; it was the kind of meal that belonged in fairytales, something he could never have even dreamed of touching in his real life.

Lucifer’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his long, serpentine tail swaying lazily behind him. “I’ll take you home,” he purred, watching Adam’s wide eyes with satisfaction.

Adam’s head snapped up in shock, barely believing the words. Relief surged through him, making his knees weak.

“You… you will?” he stammered, his voice breathless with hope.

Lucifer hummed in a pleased tone, throwing a casual hand up as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I’m a man of my word. If I say I’ll do something, I will.”

A cautious smile tugged at Adam’s lips as he exhaled shakily, his entire body relaxing as the nightmare began to fade. He could go home. He could finally go home, and all of this—this horrible, surreal nightmare—would be over.

But before the relief could fully settle, Lucifer stepped closer, his cool claws brushing gently against Adam’s cheek. His voice lowered, becoming a seductive whisper as his red eyes gleamed with wicked amusement.

“But it has to be fair, doesn’t it?”

Adam’s heart sank again, his breath catching in his throat. “What… what do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“If you can stay here in hell for just a few days,” he whispered, his breath warm against Adam’s skin, “I’ll take you home afterward. No tricks, no traps.”

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, his fingers trailing down Adam’s cheek. His smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting dangerously. “Are you hungry, Adam? You must be starved.”

Adam swallowed hard, glancing at the dazzling feast spread before him. His stomach twisted painfully with hunger. A few days, he thought. He could do that. It wasn’t forever, and he could go home after. He could survive a few days… couldn’t he?

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed as he watched Adam’s resolve flicker. “I made all this just for you,” he purred, motioning to the grand feast. “Everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you could ever desire.”

His fingers curled around Adam’s chin, tilting his face up to meet his gaze. “All of it, yours… with just a snap of my fingers.”

But then Lucifer’s expression darkened, and his voice turned sharp, almost cruel, as he leaned in closer.

“Shame,” he whispered, his breath cold against Adam’s ear, “that you won’t be able to taste a single sliver of it.”

Adam’s eyes widened, and he turned to look at Lucifer, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What… what do you mean?” he gasped.

Lucifer grinned, his tail wrapping possessively around Adam’s middle as he pulled him closer.

“You want to go home, don’t you?” Lucifer whispered. “But if you eat anything—if you so much as taste the food of the underworld—then you’ll be trapped here. Forever.”

The realization hit Adam like a punch to the gut. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of Lucifer’s words sank in.

“That’s… that’s why you said I had to stay for a few days…” Adam’s voice wavered with fear. “Because if I eat or drink anything…”

Lucifer’s tail coiled tighter, and he tugged Adam down onto his lap, pulling him into the plush chair with a possessive smirk.

“Well, of course,” Lucifer purred, his voice dark and rich. His claws trailed gently along Adam’s side as he whispered into his ear, “Did you really think I’d make it that easy for you, my sweet?”

Adam's heart thudded painfully in his chest as he stared at the feast, the scent of roasted meats and decadent pastries filling the air. His stomach twisted in hunger, but he forced himself to swallow, convincing himself the food didn’t look that good. He could resist it—he had to. Two days. He just needed to get through two days without tasting or drinking anything from this cursed underworld. He could do it, couldn’t he?

Closing his emerald-green eyes, Adam focused on steadying his breathing, trying to ignore the way Lucifer’s chest pressed lightly against his back, the warmth of the devil's breath brushing against his neck and cheek. It was unnervingly intimate. He could feel the slight rise and fall of Lucifer’s breath, the soft, teasing puff of air that sent shivers down his spine.

Lucifer’s cool fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward him. Adam’s breath caught as their gazes met, Lucifer’s golden-red eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker beneath.

“Are you sure you don’t want to even try something from my table?” Lucifer’s voice was like velvet, smooth and sultry, a dangerous temptation wrapped in every word.

Without hesitation, Adam replied, “Nope.”

His voice came out more strained than he’d intended, his throat tight as he forced the words out. “I’m not hungry.”

“Stubborn,” he purred, the word laced with dark delight. Lucifer’s sharp-toothed grin widened, a snort of amusement escaping him.

“Fine, be stubborn.” His hand didn’t leave Adam’s chin, keeping him close, his touch possessive and unyielding. “But since you’re going to be so rude and not try a single bite of my lovely meal, then you can at least be kind enough to feed me.”

“Feed you?” he repeated, unsure if he’d heard correctly. Adam blinked, taken aback.

Lucifer’s purring laugh sent vibrations through Adam’s body as his tail coiled tighter around Adam’s waist.

“That’s right,” Lucifer murmured, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “I want you to feed me, darling. You can manage that, can’t you?”

A hot flush spread across Adam’s cheeks, and he quickly looked down, his pulse quickening at the idea. He could feel Lucifer’s breath against his throat, the closeness making it harder to think straight.

“I... I guess I can,” Adam stammered, his voice small. He nodded, more to convince himself than Lucifer. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Lucifer’s lips curled in satisfaction, his golden eyes watching Adam closely, waiting for the next move.

“Good,” he purred, nuzzling his face suddenly against the side of Adam’s neck, his breath warm and teasing. The unexpected contact made Adam jump, a startled yelp escaping him before he could stop it. Lucifer’s chuckle rumbled in his throat.

“Why don’t you surprise me?” he whispered, his tongue flicking briefly against Adam’s skin, making him shiver.

Adam’s hands trembled slightly as he turned back to the extravagant spread laid out on the table. The richness of the food overwhelmed his senses—steaming roasts glistening with juices, fresh bread still warm from the oven, and pies filled with dark, sweet fruits. Every dish shimmered as though touched by magic, every scent designed to draw him in, to break his resolve. His stomach growled despite his best efforts to ignore it.

He took a deep breath, trying to focus. He could do this. He just had to get through it, to survive the devil's twisted game without breaking. His fingers hovered uncertainly over a silver platter of honey-glazed duck, the golden skin shining under the dim light. Slowly, he picked up the carving knife and carefully sliced a piece, feeling Lucifer’s eyes on him the whole time, burning with an intensity that made his skin crawl.

Adam swallowed hard and, with shaky hands, lifted the delicate slice of meat toward Lucifer, his heart pounding in his ears. Lucifer's gaze never left him, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he parted his lips, sharp teeth glinting.

“Good boy,” Lucifer murmured.

He leaned forward, capturing the slice of duck between his teeth, his lips brushing against Adam’s fingers as he took the bite. The touch was deliberate, sensual, and Adam felt heat rise to his face as his heart stuttered in his chest.

“I know you won’t be able to resist for long~” Lucifer purred, his voice dripping with mischief, the corners of his mouth curling into a self-satisfied smirk. The glimmer of mischief in his golden-red eyes danced like firelight, igniting an unsettling thrill in the air.

Adam narrowed his emerald eyes, steeling himself against the devil’s charms.

“I will,” he declared, though the quiver in his voice hinted at uncertainty.

Lucifer chuckled, a sound like silk sliding over stone. “We’ll see about that, my dear.” He leaned closer, his presence enveloping Adam with an intoxicating blend of danger and allure. “Oh, Adam, I think you’re going to be positively delightful to watch. Like a moth drawn to a flame, or perhaps more fittingly, a squirrel to a treasure trove of acorns.”

Adam scoffed, crossing his arms defiantly. “I’m no squirrel, and I certainly won’t be dancing to your tune, Mr. King of Darkness.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken.” Lucifer’s grin widened, sharp and predatory. “You’re already caught in my web, darling. It’s just a matter of time before you start enjoying the ride.”

A nervous flutter stirred in Adam’s stomach, a mixture of dread and undeniable curiosity. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Funny?” Lucifer feigned innocence, raising an eyebrow with a playful twinkle in his eye. “I prefer to think of myself as entertainingly diabolical. Now, why don’t you loosen up a little? You’re much too tense for someone who’s about to have a spectacularly dreadful time.”

“I’m about to have a dreadful time?” Adam shot back, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly at the devil’s absurdity.

Lucifer leaned back, his expression mockingly contemplative. “Oh, it’s going to be marvellous. You might even enjoy it… once you stop fighting the inevitable. Think of me as your guide through the wonders of the underworld. A delightful tour, if you will.”

Adam rolled his eyes, fighting a reluctant smile. “What’s next? A devilish theme park?”

Lucifer laughed, a sound rich with amusement. “Now that’s an idea! ‘Lucifer’s Hellish Adventures’—a ride so thrilling it’ll make your soul scream! But for now, let’s focus on you enjoying your stay here. After all, we’ve got all eternity, darling.”

��More like something called ‘LuLu-World.” With a shake of his head, Adam felt the absurdity of the situation washing over him. “I’m still not eating anything, just so you know.”

“Suit yourself,” Lucifer replied, his grin unwavering. “But just remember, every squirrel has its day. And eventually, even you will find yourself nibbling on the delights of hell, whether you like it or not.”

Adam felt a shiver run down his spine as he processed the implications of Lucifer's playful tone. The devil’s sharp grin cut through the air like a blade, glinting in the dim light of the dining room, where shadows danced along the walls, whispering secrets of their own.

"You have the audacity to lick me, and then act like it’s just a game?" Adam's voice trembled; his emerald eyes wide with disbelief. The lingering warmth of Lucifer’s breath on his skin sent a flush of heat through him, a confusing mixture of fear and something darker, more primal. "What is this, some twisted form of seduction?"

Lucifer chuckled, his laughter deep and resonant, echoing off the walls adorned with grotesque paintings of forgotten souls and tempting fruits.

“Oh, darling Adam, you really do misunderstand me.” His tone shifted to one of mock concern, teasingly indulgent. “This is more than mere seduction. This is a challenge—a delightful dance we shall share until you can no longer resist.”

Adam recoiled instinctively, though his body betrayed him, leaning slightly closer, drawn by a force he couldn’t comprehend.

“I’m not interested in dancing with you, Lucifer,” he said, though his voice wavered under the weight of uncertainty. “I just want to go home. This isn’t where I belong.”

The devil tilted his head, those piercing golden-red eyes gleaming with mischief. “But you are home, sweet Adam. The underworld is your new reality.”

He shifted slightly, pulling Adam closer on his lap, the warmth of his body engulfing Adam in a cocoon of dark allure. “Why fight against something so… exhilarating?”

With a flick of his wrist, Lucifer conjured a delicate crystal goblet filled with shimmering crimson liquid that caught the dim light and sparkled like rubies. “Just a taste, my dear. You’d be surprised how enchanting hell can be when you let go of your inhibitions.”

“No!” Adam blurted, his heart racing. “I told you I’m not eating or drinking anything from here. You can’t make me.”

“Make you?” Lucifer echoed, feigning innocence. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

He leaned in, his lips mere inches from Adam’s ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “But isn’t there a part of you that’s curious? Tempted? This could be so much more than mere babysitting, Adam. You could explore pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, if only you’d open yourself to it.”

Adam swallowed hard, the tension thickening around them like a shroud. The scent of roasted meats, fragrant herbs, and sweet pastries wafted through the air, mingling with the faintest hint of something darker, something intoxicating. He closed his eyes again, attempting to shut out the overwhelming allure, but it was no use. The promise of indulgence lingered at the edges of his consciousness, taunting him.

“I’m not here to play games, Lucifer,” he finally managed to say, though his voice lacked conviction. “I’m not your entertainment.”

Lucifer’s grin widened, revealing those sharp, gleaming teeth, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Ah, but my sweet Adam, you’re exactly that. And I find you simply irresistible.”

He gestured dramatically toward the table, where the sumptuous feast lay waiting, a smorgasbord of delights both beautiful and grotesque. “Indulge me. Just one bite, one morsel, and I promise I’ll let you go. But if you refuse…”

He trailed off, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the air between them.

The implication was clear: a refusal could mean more than just a missed meal. Adam’s heart raced, each beat a countdown, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He looked back at the table, his resolve warring with the primal urge to indulge.

“Why are you doing this?” Adam demanded, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why do you want to trap me here?”

“Trap?” Lucifer echoed, feigning surprise. “Oh, darling, I’m not trapping you. I’m offering you a taste of eternity—a chance to explore your true desires. Who knows?”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against Adam’s ear again, sending a jolt of electricity through him. “You might even enjoy it.”

Adam shivered, caught in the web of temptation spun by the devil himself. Could he truly resist? The thought both terrified and intrigued him. As he gazed into Lucifer’s luminous eyes, he felt the air crackle with unspoken promises and dark delights.

“Just a taste, Adam,” Lucifer coaxed softly, leaning back just enough for their eyes to meet, his expression shifting to something almost sincere. “You might find it hard to leave once you truly know what I can offer you.”

With a gulp, Adam felt his resolve waver, the boundaries of right and wrong blurring in the seductive haze surrounding him. The devil smiled, his eyes dancing with anticipation, as he waited for Adam to decide if he would take the plunge into the unknown.

“No.” Adam said.

“Suit yourself.”

The morning light streamed through the ornate windows of the castle, casting a soft, ethereal glow that danced across the room. Adam stirred from his restless slumber, only to be greeted by a most unexpected sight. There, at his bedside, stood Charlie—a tiny figure in an adorably chaotic ducky-themed nightgown. Her messy blonde hair framed her cherubic face, giving her the look of a freshly roused angel, albeit one with a hint of mischief. The small ducky slippers on her feet flapped adorably as she clutched her beloved duck plushie, the fabric worn and soft from countless hugs.

Sniffing adorably, Charlie blinked up at him, her big eyes shimmering like pools of honey in the morning light. Adam’s heart twisted at the sight, a reminder of the innocent sweetness that still thrived even in this twisted underworld. He blinked in bewilderment, the reality of his situation flooding back to him. He had been kidnapped by the king of hell to become his new wife, and this peculiar little girl was now meant to be his daughter.

“Where’s your papa?” he asked, struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep and confusion.

Charlie pouted, her lips forming a perfect little duck face. “Papa is always busy in the morning with the new human souls,” she informed him, her voice a mixture of pride and disappointment. “They’re called sinners down here.”

With a sigh, Adam kicked the quilts off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, shivering as the cool air nipped at his skin. Irony, he thought; hell was supposed to be warm. Charlie eagerly gestured for him to pick her up, and without hesitation, he complied, feeling the soft weight of her against him as she nestled into his shoulder.

“I’m always lonely when my papa is busy,” she murmured, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. “Nobody is ever here for me.”

Adam frowned at the revelation, and his heart ached at the loneliness in her tone. “What about your mama?”

At the mention of her mother, Charlie stiffened, pressing her face into his shoulder. “We don’t talk about her,” she mumbled, her voice muffled. “She’s gone… and not coming back.”

A wave of sorrow washed over Adam as he pondered who Charlie’s mother might have been, and why both she and Lucifer seemed to grow cold at the mere mention of her name. But before he could delve deeper into that unsettling mystery, Charlie pulled away slightly, her face lighting up with joy.

“But I really like that you’re my new mama!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with innocence. “I can’t wait for us to play together! Papa says you won’t let me feel lonely ever again!”

Adam felt a warmth bloom in his chest, a mixture of affection and guilt swirling within him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell this bright-eyed child that he would soon be leaving. Instead, he decided to distract her.

“How about we get you ready for the day?” he suggested, and her face broke into a wide smile, excitement radiating from her like sunlight.

To his surprise, Charlie was remarkably easy to get ready. Unlike his younger siblings, who would wail and flail like they were being sent off to war, she cooperated effortlessly. She brushed her teeth happily, sat still as he lovingly detangled her hair, and beamed with delight when he braided it. The simplicity of the task soothed him, reminding him of quieter, happier times.

Eventually, they made their way to the dining table, where a glorious breakfast spread awaited them. The sight was almost overwhelming—a feast fit for a king, with pastries glistening under the morning sun, fluffy scrambled eggs, golden-brown pancakes stacked high, and a cascade of fruits that seemed to sparkle with an otherworldly allure.

Adam stood before the table, holding Charlie’s hand while she gripped her plushie tightly with the other. He cast a wary glare at the food, his mind racing. Was it some cruel trick, designed to tempt him into breaking his vow?

Charlie looked up at him, curiosity painted across her cherubic face. “Are we going to eat now?”

Adam hesitated, torn between the magic of the spread before him and the danger it represented.

“You’re going to have your breakfast,” he replied finally, trying to maintain his resolve.

Charlie pouted, her expression shifting to disappointment. “But what about you? Mama’s going to eat too, right?”

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, the tension mounting. “I’m… not hungry,” he admitted, trying to sound convincing.

With a huff, Charlie declared, “Then I won’t eat either!”

Panic surged through Adam at the thought of the little girl going hungry. He swiftly scooped her up again, urgency coursing through him. “No, you have to eat!”

Charlie whined, her face scrunching in displeasure. “If I have to eat, then why doesn’t mama eat?”

Adam sighed, sitting down in the same chair he had occupied the night before. He placed her gently onto his lap, hoping to soothe her.

“Because I’m an adult,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “Adults can choose when they want to eat. But you’re still growing. You need food and water to become strong and healthy. Don’t you want to be just like your papa?”

Her eyes widened in wonder at the thought, and she nodded eagerly. “Of course I want to be like papa!”

But Adam soon found himself in a precarious situation. As he offered her a bite of fluffy pancake, she stubbornly refused to get off his lap and insisted on being fed. It was a comical battle of wills; he wasn’t quite sure if he found her stubbornness adorable or exasperating. Yet, he surrendered to her wishes, gently feeding her just as he had done for her father the night before.

With each bite he offered, he felt a strange warmth spreading through him—like a mother’s love, a bond slowly forging between them. And despite the dark shadows looming over their unusual family dynamic, Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he was meant to be here. Even in hell.

As Adam gently fed Charlie another bite of fluffy pancake, her joyous laughter filled the air, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. He was lost in the warmth of the moment, feeling the softness of her small frame against him, when a sudden burst of enthusiasm shattered his reverie.

“Papa!” Charlie exclaimed, her voice ringing out like a bell, bright and sweet.

Adam stiffened at the sound, his heart racing as he felt an unmistakable presence looming behind him. All the hairs on his body stood on end as he turned his head slightly, his breath hitching in his throat. They’re stood Lucifer, leaning casually against the back of the plush chair, his dark silhouette almost ethereal in the morning light. The way he held himself was both magnetic and unnerving, exuding an aura of power that sent a shiver racing down Adam’s spine.

“Not eating breakfast, I see,” Lucifer purred, his voice rich and smooth, the kind of sound that could melt ice. Adam felt his cheeks heat with a flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the devil's magnetic pull.

Charlie beamed up at her father, her face glowing with innocent delight. “Mama wasn’t hungry!”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his ruby-red eyes. “Is that so?”

Charlie nodded vigorously, her blonde hair bouncing as she spoke. “Mama said he’s an adult and shouldn’t be forced to eat if he doesn’t want to.”

At that, Lucifer released a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the air, a sound both rich and dangerous. He reached over Adam's shoulder, deliberately invading his personal space, as his clawed finger dipped into a small bowl of whipped cream. Slowly, tantalizingly, he brought it to his lips, licking the cream off with a satisfied hum.

“Shame,” he said, his tone laced with mischief. “Because it’s positively delightful. You’re missing out, Adam.”

Adam swallowed hard, heat rising to his cheeks as he shot Lucifer a glare, his heart racing for reasons he dared not explore. He turned his head, covering his ear after Lucifer purposefully ran his tongue along the outer shell, sending a jolt of unexpected electricity coursing through him.

Lucifer stepped back with an innocent smile, as if he hadn’t just teased him so dangerously. With a playful flourish, he scooped Charlie from Adam’s lap, spinning her through the air like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze.

“Don’t you look beautiful today!” he praised, his voice dripping with affection.

Charlie squealed with joy, her laughter pure and infectious. “Mama braided my hair!” she declared, pride swelling in her chest.

Lucifer glanced towards Adam, a pleased purr escaping his lips. “Did he now? Very talented, our Adam.”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled as she chimed in, “I hope Mama will do more things with my hair!”

Lucifer smirked, a sly, almost wicked grin that made Adam’s stomach twist with a mixture of anticipation and dread. “I’m sure he will.”

Adam felt his face flush even deeper, the heat rushing to his cheeks as he stubbornly turned away. The exchange tugged at his heart, a confusing mix of warmth and longing that he couldn’t quite process. Here he was, trapped in hell, yet in this moment, it felt like a twisted kind of family.

As Lucifer set Charlie back down, she looked up at her father with adoration, and Adam couldn’t help but notice the way the devil’s gaze softened just for her, a flicker of genuine love shining through his dark façade. For a brief moment, the tension in the air lifted, replaced by a sweetness that made Adam’s heart ache.

“Shall we eat, then?” Lucifer suggested, glancing back at Adam with an enigmatic smile that sent another thrill of apprehension through him.

Adam hesitated, still torn between his vow to resist the temptations of the underworld and the warmth of this peculiar little family he was being drawn into. But looking down at Charlie, her big eyes full of hope and excitement, he knew he couldn’t deny her this simple joy.

“Yes,” he finally said, his voice steady, though a tinge of uncertainty lingered. “Let’s eat.”

As the three of them gathered around the table, the tension still crackled in the air, but it was now accompanied by a hint of laughter and light-heartedness. Adam caught Lucifer’s gaze as the devil smirked at him, a knowing look passing between them.

With each bite Charlie took, her delighted expressions were enough to momentarily drown out the dark shadows lurking just beyond their idyllic scene. And in that fleeting moment, Adam allowed himself to dream of a future where love and laughter reigned, even in the darkest of places.

As they settled around the lavishly adorned dining table, the air shimmered with an intoxicating blend of warmth and tension. Lucifer, his eyes gleaming with mischief, leaned closer, one hand elegantly brushing against the stack of golden pancakes piled high before him.

“Pancakes,” he declared with a playful lilt in his voice, “Are my absolute favourite.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, he licked the cream off his fingers, his gaze locked onto Adam’s, a suggestive smirk playing on his lips. The way his tongue flicked out, tasting the sweetness, sent a delicious shiver down Adam's spine, igniting a fierce blush that spread across his cheeks. It was a bold display, and yet, there was something almost tantalizing about the way Lucifer seemed to savour the moment, as if it were meant only for Adam to witness.

Oblivious to the charged atmosphere, Charlie dug into her own pancakes with unrestrained enthusiasm, her little hands gripping the fork as if it were a weapon against the deliciousness before her. She was happily lost in her culinary adventure, her laughter bubbling up like a melody, contrasting sharply with the tension simmering between the two adults.

Adam fumbled with his own plate, his heart racing as he met Lucifer’s gaze.

“Well, I hate pancakes,” he blurted out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could consider their weight.

Both Lucifer and Charlie gasped in horror, their reactions comically synchronized. Charlie’s head whipped up, wide-eyed with disbelief, her small face scrunching up in confusion.

“How can you not like pancakes?” she demanded, her voice a mixture of shock and indignation.

Adam flushed under their scrutiny, feeling as though he were a child being chastised for an unthinkable offense.

“I just… I don’t like them,” he muttered sheepishly, glancing down at the table. “They’re too sweet.”

Charlie looked as if he’d just declared he didn’t believe in magic.

“But you have to try Papa’s pancakes!” she insisted, her tone bordering on desperate, as though she were pleading for Adam’s very soul. “They’re the best!”

As she thrust a forkful of fluffy pancake toward him, Adam shook his head, retreating slightly in his chair.

“N-no, I’m really not hungry, Charlie.” He could feel his resolve slipping, the innocent enthusiasm in her eyes pulling at his heartstrings.

Lucifer, still watching with that infuriatingly smug expression, leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Don’t you want to make her happy, Adam?” he teased, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “What kind of mother would refuse to try her child’s favourite food?”

The implication hung in the air like a challenge, and Adam felt the heat of embarrassment rise to his face once more. “I’m not—”

But Charlie was having none of it. With an insistent pout, she nudged the fork closer to Adam's lips, her eyes sparkling with determination. “Just one bite, please? You have to try it! They’re magic pancakes!”

“Magic?” Adam echoed, caught between laughter and exasperation.

“Yeah! They’re made with love,” she declared, her small voice full of conviction. “And Papa says they’re extra special when he makes them.”

As if on cue, Lucifer leaned forward, his expression mock-serious. “You wouldn’t want to upset the balance of our pancake universe, would you?”

He waved a finger in a playful admonishment, before leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, I promise they’ll be unlike anything you’ve ever tasted. Perhaps they will even change your mind.”

Adam narrowed his eyes at Lucifer, feeling the heat of their playful banter wrapping around him like a smouldering cloak. There was something intoxicating about the way Lucifer wielded his words, a power that made Adam’s heart flutter against his better judgment.

“Fine,” Adam relented, his curiosity piqued despite his reservations. He glanced down at Charlie’s eager, bright eyes and knew he couldn’t deny her. “Just… one bite.”

With a triumphant cheer, Charlie thrust the fork into Adam’s mouth, the soft pancake melting on his tongue. The moment it touched his taste buds, he nearly gagged. Sweetness cascaded through him, but it wasn’t just the flavour; it was the overwhelming sense of warmth and affection laced within each bite that nearly made him choke.

Panic seized him as he caught Lucifer’s piercing gaze, the devil’s expression unreadable yet intensely focused, as if he were waiting for Adam's verdict.

“Well?” Lucifer pressed, a devilish glimmer in his eyes, drawing closer, his breath whispering against Adam’s skin.

Adam's resolve crumbled, and he quickly turned his head away, a napkin at the ready. As Charlie gleefully bounced in her seat, he discreetly spit the pancake into the cloth, trying to mask his reaction.

“It’s… um,” he began, searching for words while battling the lingering taste on his tongue.

He swallowed hard, feigning indifference even as he felt the corners of his mouth twitch in a struggle against the truth.

“Okay, maybe it’s… not terrible.” The lie felt heavy and forced, but he had to keep up the charade, especially with Charlie watching him so expectantly.

Charlie erupted in a fit of giggles, oblivious to Adam’s struggle, her eyes sparkling with delight. “See! I told you! You’ll love it!”

Lucifer leaned back, but his narrowed eyes remained on Adam, dissecting him with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. So close. So close to winning.

“There you have it, Adam. Welcome to the pancake appreciation society.”

Adam flashed a tight-lipped smile, the tension swirling around them like a thick fog. He could feel Lucifer’s presence looming close, as if every heartbeat echoed the unspoken challenge of the moment. There was an electric charge between them, laced with danger and dark intrigue.

As Charlie continued to squeal with delight and dig into her breakfast, Adam allowed himself a moment to breathe. He felt a strange comfort in her innocent joy, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in his own mind. Yet, every glance at Lucifer sent a shiver down his spine, the devil watching him with an intensity that made his heart race and his stomach twist in knots.

With every laugh and playful exchange, the bond between them seemed to weave tighter, a complex tapestry of dark magic, sweet affection, and lingering uncertainty. In that moment, Adam clung to the chaos that was his life in hell, savouring the fleeting warmth of family, even as the shadows of his reality loomed just beyond reach.

The remnants of breakfast lingered on the table, a tableau of rich foods that held no appeal for Adam. After a few more moments of laughter and sweetness with Charlie, Lucifer reluctantly prepared to leave, much to Charlie's dismay.

“Papa don’t go!” she pleaded, her eyes shimmering like the morning dew, full of innocence and longing.

Lucifer knelt, brushing a stray hair from her face, his expression softening.

“I promise I’ll be back by supper, my little sunshine,” he assured her, his voice like honeyed velvet. “And I’ll make sure a wonderful lunch awaits you both.”

Adam narrowed his eyes, feeling a flicker of defiance ignite within him. He mouthed a stern “I won’t be eating, no matter what trick you pull.”

Lucifer’s grin widened, delight dancing in his crimson eyes. “We’ll see about that,” he mused, his amusement thick, like a current of dark magic in the air.

With a final hug, Lucifer planted a gentle kiss on Charlie’s head, making her giggle. She clutched at his pristine white coat, her small fingers gripping the fabric tightly.

“Papa, shouldn’t you kiss Mama goodbye too?” she asked, her innocent curiosity radiating through the room.

Adam’s stomach dropped. He instinctively took a step back, shaking his head vigorously.

“No, no, no, I don’t need a kiss goodbye,” he stammered, his voice wavering slightly.

Charlie’s eyes widened, bright and innocent. “But doesn’t Mama love Papa?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions and expectations.

The rejection was on the tip of Adam's tongue, ready to deny the very premise. He didn’t know Lucifer. He was the devil himself, after all. But the sincerity in Charlie’s gaze, her heart-shaped face glowing with hope, made it difficult for him to shatter her illusion.

He shot a glare at Lucifer, who stood there with an infuriatingly smug smile, his tail swishing playfully behind him. He approached Adam with a grace that was both unnerving and intoxicating, laying his claws possessively upon Adam’s hips, pulling him closer.

Adam twisted his lips together, clenching his eyes shut, his heart racing like a trapped bird. He could sense Lucifer leaning in, breath warm against his skin, anticipation curling in the pit of his stomach.

Then, with a playful flicker of mischief, Lucifer’s lips brushed against Adam’s cheek instead of his mouth.

“There,” he said, pulling back, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “Both my princess and queen have had goodbye kisses.”

Charlie squealed in delight, clapping her hands together, while Adam stood there, glaring even harder at Lucifer, rubbing his tingling cheek as if trying to erase the warmth left behind.

With a flourish and a tip of his white top hat, Lucifer vanished into golden flames, leaving only the lingering scent of brimstone and sweetness in his wake.

Adam sighed, a blend of frustration and confusion swirling inside him. He wanted to cry and hide from this chaotic reality, but Charlie looked so blissfully happy, and he couldn’t bring himself to spoil her joy.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked, clearing his throat as he turned to face her, determined to redirect the focus away from his swirling emotions.

Charlie’s face lit up with uncontained excitement. “I want to draw!”

Adam felt a wave of relief wash over him. Drawing was good. Drawing was easy, a world where he had control.

“Great choice,” he said, his heart lifting slightly as he grabbed some paper and coloured pencils from a nearby shelf. He was a decent artist, and the thought of creating something simple with Charlie made the heaviness of the morning dissipate just a bit.

As they settled down at a large wooden table adorned with intricate carvings, Charlie’s laughter echoed through the room like music, bringing a semblance of warmth that momentarily chased away the shadows that lingered. Adam watched her draw, the way her little hands worked so intently, the concentration etched on her face.

“Look, Mama!” she exclaimed, proudly presenting a crayon drawing of a bright sun with a smiling face. “This is you and Papa!”

Adam chuckled, the tension within him easing as he took in her innocent masterpiece.

“That’s beautiful, Charlie,” he praised, feeling a warmth spread in his chest.

As they spent the day together, the confusion and fear of his situation began to fade, replaced by the sweet, simple joys of being with Charlie. Each laugh, each playful moment between them was a tether to sanity, a small respite from the uncertainty looming over them.

In this enchanting chaos of colours and laughter, Adam found himself drawn deeper into this bizarre reality, where love intertwined with darkness and hope blossomed amidst the shadows.

The day unfolded in a whimsical tapestry of laughter and creativity, weaving a bond between Adam and Charlie that felt as rich as the hues they splattered across paper. Charlie was an effervescent spirit, her laughter like chimes ringing through the air, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief and wonder. Each song she sang twinkled with innocence, and every dance step she took seemed to defy the sombre shadows that lingered in the corners of their hellish abode.

Together, they delved into a world of colours and textures. Adam found himself captivated by her enthusiasm for art; they spent hours drawing, the pages filled with fantastical creatures and sprawling landscapes. He introduced her to the delicate art of papier-mâché, their fingers sticky with glue and laughter as they moulded the paper into a whimsical cat, its body taking shape under their shared joy. The clock ticked away, lunch coming and going in a blur, but Adam did his best to ignore the beautifully presented spread before them, aromatic scents wafting through the air like an enticing siren song.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try just a little?” Charlie asked, her large, hopeful eyes wide as she offered him a piece of her lunch.

“I’m really not hungry, sweet pea,” Adam replied gently, knowing that she would not be swayed so easily.

But before he could distract her further, a pop of sparkling pink smoke erupted from the side, filling the air with a delicate shimmer. Charlie’s face lit up, her excitement palpable as she eagerly seized a glistening parchment, thrusting it into Adam's face.

“Read it, Mama! Read it!”

Adam took the parchment with care, glancing around the dining room to ensure they were alone. His heart melted as he unfurled the neatly written note. It was a sweet message from Lucifer, brimming with affection for his daughter. The words danced on the page, telling Charlie how proud he was of her, how he missed her giggles, and how he couldn’t wait to see what wonders she created today.

As he read, he watched Charlie's face light up, her smile stretching wide, and his chest tightened at the realization of how much she truly adored her father. It was painfully evident that she was lonely. Despite being surrounded by the splendour of the underworld, the shadows of her father’s responsibilities loomed heavy, casting a pall over her joyful spirit.

Adam shuddered, picturing the duties that weighed upon the shoulders of the king of Hell. The thought made his stomach turn, yet it also illuminated the truth of Lucifer’s frequent absences. Yet even through the chaos of ruling the damned, Lucifer made time for his daughter. He was present in the morning, returned for dinner, and tucked her into bed with a kiss and a story. Sweet messages floated through the day, making Charlie beam with delight as if she held the sun in her small hands.

It was a stark contrast to Adam’s own parents, who seemed to drift through life, barely acknowledging their children. The ache in his chest deepened as he reflected on his own family, the absence of warmth and affection painfully evident.

“Don’t be sad, Mama,” Charlie said suddenly, her voice cutting through Adam's melancholy thoughts. She was patting him on the shoulder, her smile wide and earnest. “It hurts now, but it’ll get better.”

Adam blinked back the sudden sting of tears and lifted her into his arms, holding her close.

“I’m not sad, sweetheart,” he said softly, though he could feel the truth of her words wrapping around him like a vice.

Charlie hummed thoughtfully, her little nose crinkling in that adorably serious way. “Yes, you are. You’re making the same face Papa makes when he thinks I’m not looking.”

Caught off guard, Adam paused. He lowered his voice, curiosity threading through him. “Is Papa sad often?”

Her response came with a nod, her brow furrowing as she contemplated the question.

“Papa is sad a lot,” she said quietly, “But since you’ve come home, he’s been a lot happier!”

Adam felt a warmth spread through him, a flicker of hope igniting in the shadows of his heart. Charlie’s face radiated joy as she hugged him tightly, her small arms wrapping around him in an embrace that felt like sunshine piercing through a cloudy day.

“I’m so happy Mama has come home!” she exclaimed, and Adam couldn’t help but smile back, his heart swelling at her innocent declaration.

In that moment, as the complexities of their strange lives melted away, Adam felt a flicker of clarity amidst the chaos. While his presence in Hell was born of necessity, he recognized that he could offer Charlie something she truly needed—a companion, a protector, someone to fill the void left by Lucifer's countless duties. But as the thought began to solidify, a bittersweet ache settled in his heart. He couldn’t stay here; he couldn’t anchor himself in this world of flames and shadows. He belonged on the surface, where the air was crisp and filled with sunlight. Yet, perhaps he could suggest to Lucifer that he create a pet for Charlie. Maybe a cat or a dog? Something that would purr loyally at her side, offering unconditional love while Lucifer navigated the dark waters of his responsibilities.

“Mama?” Charlie’s small voice cut through his contemplative haze, her figure wobbling toward him with a book clutched tightly under her arm. “Will you read to me?”

Adam smiled warmly, lifting her effortlessly and settling her onto his lap. Charlie snuggled against him, humming contentedly as he took the book from her pudgy hands. He felt a pang of happiness at her innocent trust. His emerald eyes flickered to the landscape outside, a twisted vision of Hell that, at times, looked surprisingly beautiful, draped in hues of crimson and gold.

“Sure, pumpkin,” he replied, turning the white book over. It was adorned with a floral pattern that seemed out of place in this realm, like a delicate flower blooming in a field of ash. Curious, he opened the book, revealing beautifully colored illustrations of angels and celestial scenes. The first page depicted a glowing city, its golden gates gleaming against the backdrop of an azure sky.

“Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates, known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light, angels that worshipped good and shielded all from evil,” he read softly, his voice a gentle caress that wrapped around them like a warm embrace. Charlie’s red and gold eyes grew heavy as she gazed at the pretty pictures, her small hand reaching out to trace the angel on the left.

“Papa,” she murmured sleepily, a smile curling on her lips.

Adam swallowed hard, the weight of realization crashing over him like a tidal wave. This was the origin—the true origin of Heaven and Hell, the story of Lucifer, the fallen angel of God.

“Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation, but he was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven. They felt his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world, so he watched as the angels began to expand the universe in their ways.” Adam paused, his eyebrows furrowing in thought.

How horrible, he mused. They cast Lucifer out simply because his dreams were far too great and beautiful for them to comprehend.

“From the dust of Earth, they created Marcus and Lilith, equals as the first of mankind. But despite this, Marcus demanded control, and Lilith refused to submit to his will, so she fled the garden.” Adam turned the page to reveal a breathtaking painting of Eden, lush with greenery and adorned with vibrant flowers. His heart sank as he read the names of the first humans again. Marcus and Lilith? He had always been told he was named after Adam, the human of Eden, but this book spoke of Marcus and Lilith as the first man and woman.

“Drawn in by her tears and anguish, Lucifer found Lilith in despair beneath the Apple Tree of Life. He asked, ‘Why do you cry, Lilith?’” Adam traced his fingers over the illustrations, wondering about the bond they might have shared. Did they fall in love? Was Lilith perhaps Charlie’s mother? It made a certain sense. If Lilith had left Marcus, it would explain why Eve had taken her place. But then, where did 'Adam' come from?

“Lilith is heartbroken as she explains how much she can’t stand Marcus. She’s lonely and just wants a friend, someone with whom she could laugh and talk. Lilith had no desire for romance or marriage, but she wanted somebody to protect and love in another way.” Adam continued, turning the page but hesitating. The next part sounded too graphic for a child, too heavy for Charlie's tender heart.

“Papa’s read this to me countless times before,” Charlie chimed, patting the page. “I know what happens next.”

“Oh…” Adam swallowed, a knot forming in his throat as he turned the page and inhaled sharply. “Lucifer lays Lilith under the Tree of Life and cuts into her torso to retrieve her rib bone. With Lilith’s blood and pain painting the soil of Eden, Lucifer combines the new dust of Earth with Lilith’s bone to create a new human: the second man, Adam.”

Adam felt a pang of something profound as he stared at the painting of Lilith, her ethereal beauty captured in pale skin and long golden hair, icy-blue eyes glinting with a kind of wisdom that felt ancient. And then there was the man hiding behind her—a version of 'Adam'—with tanned skin, reddish-brown hair streaked with hints of blonde, looking bewildered and confused.

“But the Angels of Heaven were unhappy with the disobedience Lucifer had performed. They banned Lucifer from returning to the garden, stripping him of his duties in guiding the new humans. They decided to allow Lilith and Adam to remain in the garden and created a new wife for Marcus, a woman named Eve.” Adam's gaze shifted to the painting of Eve, her long red hair cascading down her back, smothered in freckles. She was lovely, but not as captivating as Lilith.

“They deemed that since Lilith had chosen not to become the mother of humanity, then she shall never bear children. And since Adam was born from her foolishness to be independent from Marcus, then so be it. Adam will be her responsibility, and if he steps out of line—accidentally or not—it will be she who will be punished.”

“Lilith agreed to this nonetheless. Saddened by losing her first friend but happy to have some responsibility outside of being a mother for humanity. She would look after Adam, and from that moment on, Lilith loved Adam, not as a husband, but as a little brother. Though Adam didn’t make it easy for her. He seemed to be a troublemaker for Eden, always getting into mischief, climbing trees, playing with animals, and somehow getting himself hurt time and time again.” Adam read softly, chuckling at the illustrations of this first Adam. Charlie giggled at the antics depicted in the pages, and for a moment, they were lost in the story—a bittersweet tale of love, loyalty, and the burdens of creation.

Adam read the next passage with a growing sense of unease, his heart heavy as he realized the tragic cycle repeating itself. Lilith, once defiant in her rebellion, had unknowingly become the very thing she despised—a suffocating force. Whether she realized it or not, her protectiveness over Adam grew like a shadow, smothering him in its grip. It was ironic and painful, her love morphing into control, just as Marcus had once done to her. She thought she was saving Adam from his own missteps, but in doing so, she only pushed him further away. Finally, unable to endure it, Adam fled, following the same path Lilith had once walked, seeking freedom from the chains of well-meaning love.

Adam frowned as he glanced at the painted image of Lilith—her face etched with sorrow, a woman heartbroken by the realization of what she'd become. Did she even know what she was doing? Did she see how her fear had twisted her?

Turning the page, Adam felt his brow furrow deeper as the story took a curious turn. Lucifer had found his way back into the Garden. Of course, he had—Adam couldn't help but chuckle. The devil himself sneaking in like an eternal troublemaker. But the illustration... it was unexpected. Lucifer and Adam, side by side, close enough that their affection was undeniable. Their faces were inches apart, a charged intimacy radiating between them, something more than friendship. Adam blinked in disbelief. Was that really love? Could it be? He felt an odd mix of humor and confusion swirling in his chest.

"Lucifer in love with Adam?" Adam muttered, incredulous.

Charlie, perched next to him, looked up, her tiny face filled with curiosity. "What happens next, Mama? Keep reading!" she urged, her voice sweetly innocent. Adam swallowed his surprise and continued.

"Together, they sought to share the magic of free will with humanity. They offered the fruit of knowledge to Eve, who accepted it without hesitation..." Adam's voice trailed off, feeling the chill from the eerie drawing of Eve. There was something unsettling about the way her lips curled into that strange, twisted smile as she held the red apple.

"Eve makes me feel... bad," Charlie murmured, scrunching her nose.

"You're not the only one," Adam replied quickly, flipping the page. But what followed was even more grim.

“With Eve’s acceptance came the corruption of humanity. Darkness and sin seeped into the world, unraveling Heaven’s carefully woven order.” The spread of Lucifer's broken form hit Adam like a punch. Lucifer, once radiant and full of fire, now looked shattered—his six wings sagging, his head bowed in despair. As punishment, Heaven had cast him into the pit, forever separated from the light, condemned to witness only the cruelty and wickedness of humanity.

Adam could feel the heartache through the art. Lucifer hadn't just fallen—he had been crushed under the weight of his intentions. "In his shame, Lucifer lost his will to dream, to create… but with the birth of his daughter, Charlotte, he found a new reason to live."

Adam glanced at Charlie, now fast asleep, curled up against his arm. He smiled gently, but his attention was abruptly pulled back to the text. Heaven's cruelty knew no bounds—each year, they would send an army to Hell to exterminate its sinners, ensuring that Lucifer's rebellion would never rise again. It was a never-ending war. But then the pages went blank, and Adam felt frustration bubble up inside him. Where was the rest of the story? What happened next? He wanted—needed—to know.

"Where’s the rest?" he muttered, trying not to wake Charlie. But before he could process his growing irritation, a voice spoke behind him.

Adam’s heart nearly stopped as a voice broke the stillness behind him.

“He died.”

Adam spun around, startled, to find Lucifer standing against the wall. The King of Hell, always so composed, now looked fragile. His head was bowed, and his signature top hat cast a shadow over his face. His voice, usually so smooth and full of charisma, now seemed distant, broken.

“Who?” Adam whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lucifer didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. Without a word, he gently took Charlie from Adam’s arms, holding his daughter with such tenderness, as though she might slip through his fingers if he didn’t cling to her tightly. She sighed softly in her sleep, nuzzling into Lucifer’s chest.

Adam watched, feeling a strange weight press down on his chest.

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now,” Lucifer began, his voice low and unsteady, “That I led a rebellion against Heaven. I had this... naive dream, a fool's dream, that maybe I could redeem the sinners... that I could bring them back to Heaven. But Heaven... Heaven refused to listen. They called me a troublemaker, a fool who dug his own grave, and told me to lie in it.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. It was rare to see Lucifer like this—so open, so vulnerable. His green eyes widened, seeing the truth in Lucifer’s face, a rawness that had always been hidden beneath charm and wit.

Lucifer turned away slowly, his hand brushing down Charlie’s back, soothing her even in her sleep.

“I was angry,” he continued, voice trembling. “I thought I was helping when I gave humanity the apple of knowledge. I saw Marcus… saw what he was doing to Eve and Lilith. I thought... I thought if he had the knowledge, he’d learn, that he would stop hurting them.”

He paused, his voice cracking. “And Lilith... she became so afraid, so desperate to protect Adam, she became overbearing, suffocating him. She was becoming the very thing she feared, but she couldn’t see it. She wanted to shield him from everything. I thought if she had knowledge, she’d understand what she was doing was wrong.”

His words trailed off as he entered Charlie’s bedroom, the soft light revealing rainbows and ducklings decorating the walls. It was a room filled with innocence, a sharp contrast to the darkness of their conversation. Adam stood in the doorway, unable to move as Lucifer gently laid Charlie in her bed, brushing her hair from her face and kissing her forehead with a tenderness that broke Adam’s heart.

“I didn’t know,” Lucifer murmured, his golden-red eyes glowing in the dim light. “I didn’t know about the sins, the darkness that would follow. I just wanted them to stop hurting each other.”

“I believe you,” Adam whispered, his voice shaky and fragile, as if he too might break under the weight of this confession.

Lucifer gazed at his sleeping daughter, the corners of his lips tugging downward in sorrow. He kissed her forehead again, then turned his gaze toward Adam, his eyes filled with regret.

“It’s my fault she’s motherless,” Lucifer said, the pain in his voice unmistakable. “I thought I could be enough for her, but I can’t. I can never fill that void.”

Adam swallowed hard, dreading the question he was about to ask. “Who was Charlie’s mother?”

Lucifer flinched at the question, his jaw tightening. “I led a rebellion against Heaven,” he said sharply, a flicker of anger and shame in his eyes. “I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing for humanity. Heaven washed their hands of them, abandoned them when they fell. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.” His voice cracked again, and Adam could see the battle raging inside him—the guilt, the sorrow, the regret.

Lucifer’s breath hitched as he stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. His eyes were red-rimmed, glistening with unshed tears.

“I left Adam... my Adam... alone. I was so consumed by the rebellion, by trying to save everyone else, that I left him behind. He was nine months pregnant, and I—” His voice faltered, and he pressed a trembling hand to his face. “I thought I had time. I thought... I’d come back in time. But I was wrong.”

Adam bit his lip hard, holding back his own emotions, his throat tight as Lucifer continued.

“He was alone,” Lucifer whispered, his voice breaking. “Our home... it was small, modest—nothing like this castle. No enchantments to protect him. He didn’t want anything grand, just a place where we could be together, where we could be happy. And I gave him that, because I loved him. I still love him.”

Adam’s heart twisted painfully as Lucifer spoke. His words were laced with agony, the weight of a thousand regrets.

“He begged me to stay,” Lucifer continued, tears now spilling freely down his face. “He begged me to call off the rebellion, but I didn’t listen. I told him it would be fine, that I was a Seraphim... that nothing could happen to me. I told him the rebellion was more important, that it wasn’t selfish of him to ask me to stay. How could I have said that? How could I have been so blind?”

Lucifer’s hands were trembling now, his claws digging into his palms as his grief overwhelmed him. “Adam saw an omen... a warning of what was to come. He was so scared, and I didn’t listen. I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing for our people.”

“I thought Adam was…was being nervous. Was being anxious, he was close to his due date. I…I thought…he was always a little dramatic and just thought…”

Adam’s vision blurred with tears as he took a shaky step toward Lucifer, his hands reaching out to grasp his. He squeezed them tightly, grounding Lucifer in that moment, trying to offer him something—anything to ease his pain.

“What happened?” Adam asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer looked at him, his golden eyes hollow, haunted. “Heaven knew about the rebellion. They sent a team—an undercover strike force—to eliminate the threat. They... they found our home while I was leading the rebellion.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his fists clenched so tightly they trembled. “While I was up there... fighting for what I thought was right... my Adam was down here... being attacked. Slaughtered by Heaven’s righteous warriors. He was pregnant, defenceless... he wasn’t a threat to anyone.”

Adam’s heart shattered as Lucifer’s voice broke completely. “When I came home, everything was red. There was blood, and I—I found him. My Adam. Gone.”

His breath hitched as he struggled to continue. “I killed them all... every angel that dared touch him. I made sure each and every one had a painful death, I spared them no mercy. I wanted them to feel every bit of pain I was feeling…I…I was losing myself in their agony. I was happy they were hurting and wanted them to suffer even more.”

Adam’s tears fell freely now, but he couldn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The pain in Lucifer’s eyes said it all.

“But then... I heard Charlie’s cry,” Lucifer whispered, his voice trembling. “She was alive. Somehow, in all that horror, she was alive. Adam must have given birth during the attack... or just before. I don’t know. But she was there, and I... I had one small piece of him left.”

Lucifer’s voice broke, and Adam pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling the weight of Lucifer’s sorrow in every shaky breath. They stood there, clinging to each other, the silence heavy with the loss of a love that could never be replaced.

“Charlie was still alive. Charlie was still here and – and I had to protect her. I had to make sure she would never be hurt like…like her mother. That Heaven would never touch her like they did Adam…” Lucifer spoke, hugging Adam tightly. “I made a deal with Heaven, that they could continue the extermination once a year and I would stay out of the way, as long as they never touch Charlie.”

Lucifer’s voice broke as he stumbled over the words, holding back the weight of his grief. He stood before Adam, trembling, the mighty Seraph reduced to a father full of regret. His hand was now cold, though Adam clutched it tightly, hoping to offer some solace, some connection that Lucifer seemed to have lost along with everything else.

Adam's heart raced. His mind whirled, trying to process the gravity of what Lucifer had revealed. The King of Hell, once so proud and unyielding, was laid bare before him, stripped of his usual confidence. It was all too much. The quiet of Charlie's room only seemed to amplify the echoes of past pain that now filled the air between them.

Lucifer’s voice was barely a whisper when he continued, “I thought I was doing what was best for everyone. But I didn’t see the cost. Adam wasn’t just my partner…he was my everything. I thought by protecting humanity, I was protecting our future, but I was blind. I lost him because I was too arrogant to listen.”

Adam felt the air grow thick with tension, a palpable darkness creeping into the room. Yet, despite the sorrow and tragedy, there was a tenderness that couldn’t be ignored. Lucifer’s love for Adam, for his lost love, was so profound it threatened to swallow him whole. The tears he fought back shimmered in the dim light, unspoken words trembling on his lips.

“I failed him,” Lucifer admitted, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t save him. I wasn’t there when he needed me most, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. Every year, the weight grows heavier, knowing that Adam was taken because of my decisions.”

There was a long pause, and Adam could feel the depth of that silence. It wasn’t the emptiness of space, but the kind that comes from loss, from the gaps left behind when a soul departs. He didn’t know what to say, how to respond. It was too big, too much for words. Yet, there was an unspoken connection now between them, one that pulsed with shared understanding and unshed tears.

“Lucifer,” Adam finally whispered, his voice barely audible, “I—I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine…”

Lucifer shook his head, his eyes flickering with emotion. “Sorry doesn’t change what happened. I don’t want pity, Adam. I want… I just wanted a chance. A chance to make things right.”

For a moment, Lucifer seemed smaller, diminished under the weight of his own guilt. But even now, in this fragile state, Adam could see the immense love he still held. The way he had cared for Charlie moments before, the way he still clung to the memory of his Adam—it was proof of a love so fierce it survived even the flames of Hell itself.

“Charlie’s all I have left,” Lucifer said softly, his gaze drifting to the closed door of her bedroom. “She’s my light in all this darkness. Every day I wonder if I’m doing enough, if I can ever truly fill the void her mother left behind.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with unanswered questions and unshed tears. Adam's mind raced. How could something so beautiful—Charlie’s life—be born out of something so tragic? His heart ached, not just for Lucifer, but for the love that had been lost in the pursuit of a dream.

“Lucifer,” Adam murmured, “He… Adam would be proud of you, you know. For taking care of her. For keeping his memory alive through her.”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, a mixture of pain and longing flickering in their depths. He looked at Adam as though trying to find something—some answer, some resolution—buried within him. But instead, all Adam could offer was a soft smile, one full of compassion and understanding.

“I hope so,” Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible. “I hope I haven’t failed her the way I failed him.”

Adam stepped closer, his hand still wrapped around Lucifer’s, holding it tight as though he could somehow share in his burden. "You didn't fail them, Lucifer. You... you saved Charlie. And you loved Adam, in the best way you knew how."

Lucifer looked at Adam with a strange mixture of gratitude and sadness, the fire in his eyes dimmed but not extinguished. "It's the 'how' that haunts me, Adam. I loved him, but I loved the world too, and in the end... I lost them both."

The raw honesty in Lucifer’s voice cut through the room like a blade, sharp and unyielding, but it carried with it a tenderness, a vulnerability that softened the darkness. There was love here, even in the tragedy. Even in the pain.

Adam let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a small laugh escaping him despite the sombreness. “You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

Lucifer blinked, momentarily stunned by Adam’s words. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. It was a sound filled with sorrow but also a hint of warmth. “I suppose I am. Love is my greatest strength…and my greatest weakness.”

Adam found himself smiling softly. “That’s not a bad thing. It’s what makes you human… in a way.”

Lucifer’s smile was small, sad, but real. “And yet, I’m anything but.”

The air between them shifted, the tension easing into something softer, more intimate. In that moment, it was just two beings—one angel, one human—connected by the shared weight of love and loss. Adam squeezed Lucifer’s hand once more, a silent promise that he understood, that he was there.

Lucifer gazed at Adam, his golden-red eyes burning with something deep, something unspoken. And though the darkness around them remained, so did the light—the fragile, beautiful light of love that refused to die, even in the face of the greatest tragedies.

“I won’t fail her, Adam,” Lucifer whispered, his voice trembling but resolute. “Not again. I swear it.”

Adam nodded, his heart full. "You won’t. I believe in you."

Adam’s chest tightened, and his breath caught in his throat as the intensity of Lucifer’s gaze bore into him. Time seemed to stretch, leaving nothing but the echo of Lucifer’s words reverberating in the silence.

“I love you so much, Adam.”

Those words, so raw and tender, felt like a dagger piercing his heart. A strange mix of emotions clawed their way to the surface—fear, longing, disbelief. The air between them grew heavy, suffocating in its intensity.

The soft whisper of "wait" escaped Adam’s lips, but it sounded more like a plea than a command. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, hands pushing against Lucifer’s chest, creating distance between them. Adam stumbled backward, his back hitting the cold, unyielding corridor wall with a dull thud. His eyes were wide, frantic, darting between Lucifer and the space around them as if searching for something to ground him.

Lucifer’s expression shifted, the brief flicker of hurt crossing his features making Adam’s heart ache in ways he didn’t understand. The once confident King of Hell, who moments ago seemed invincible, now stood before him vulnerable, the rejection written plainly in his eyes. Yet beneath the hurt, there was something more—determination, desperation.

"What...what are you doing?" Adam stammered, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at Lucifer in confusion. His pulse hammered in his ears, a sinking dread settling in his gut.

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. His hurt was palpable, but his frustration bled through. He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey.

"That should have worked," Lucifer said quietly, his voice edged with frustration. "You should have remembered."

Adam pressed himself harder against the wall, instinctively trying to escape, but there was nowhere to go. His heart pounded, fear and confusion swirling together, making his limbs feel heavy, his mind disoriented.

"What are you talking about?" Adam breathed, shaking his head, trying to make sense of Lucifer’s words. "What—what do you mean remember? Remember what?"

Lucifer stopped just short of him, his gaze intense, filled with a mixture of anguish and longing.

"The story, Adam. Our story. Your true life. Does none of this awaken anything in you? Not even the way Heaven murdered you?" His voice cracked at the last words, and something cold twisted in Adam’s chest.

Adam’s face drained of colour, his heart plummeting into his stomach.

"Murdered...?" he echoed, his voice weak, trembling. He shook his head slowly, disbelief making it hard to form coherent thoughts. "You’ve gone mad, Lucifer."

"No," Lucifer whispered, stepping even closer now, his presence overwhelming. His gaze never wavered, desperate and fierce. "It’s true, Adam. You’re my lover. My other half. My husband and wife. You’ve come back to me."

“No, no, that can’t be true," he whispered, panic rising in his chest. Adam shook his head again, harder this time, as if trying to shake loose the weight of Lucifer’s words. "You—you’re grieving. You’re holding onto something that isn’t real. It can’t be real."

Lucifer’s eyes softened, but his voice was resolute. "It is real. You’re my Adam. You’re Charlie’s mother. I know it, deep in my soul. You’ve come back to me."

Adam’s breath came in shallow gasps, his head spinning.

"No, no, you’re wrong," he muttered, his voice trembling as he stared at Lucifer in disbelief. "I—I’m just Adam. I’m no one special. I’m not a queen or a king or your—your consort. I’m just… I’m just Adam Sunsmouth. I’m just a normal man, born in Italy. I’m no one."

“Yes," he whispered. Lucifer’s smile was small but filled with a deep, aching sadness. "You’re just Adam. My Adam. You belong with me. With Charlie. With your family."

Adam’s vision blurred, his heart racing faster than ever. Everything was spinning out of control. His legs wobbled, and he felt himself growing dizzy.

"This… this can’t be happening," he murmured, clutching at the wall to steady himself.

Lucifer’s hand reached out, gently touching his arm. The warmth of that touch sent a shiver through Adam’s entire body, and he looked up into Lucifer’s eyes—those fiery red and gold eyes that now brimmed with a strange mixture of sorrow, love, and hope.

"Do you really believe," Lucifer asked softly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through Adam’s very soul, "That I, the King of Hell, the fallen angel cast from Heaven, could mistake someone else for the reincarnation of my eternal partner? Do you really think I wouldn’t know my Adam when I saw him? Felt him?"

Adam’s mouth opened and closed, words failing him as he stared into Lucifer’s unwavering gaze. His heart pounded against his ribcage, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like an avalanche. He wanted to deny it, to push it all away, but something inside him—something buried deep—stirred.

"I…" Adam stammered, his voice shaky. "I’m not...I’m not special. I’m just…"

Lucifer stepped closer, his hand sliding from Adam’s arm to cup his cheek, his touch gentle yet firm.

"You are special," Lucifer said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You’re my Adam. You’ve always been my Adam. And I love you, now and forever."

The words hit Adam like a tidal wave, crashing over him, threatening to pull him under. His head swam, his knees buckled, and he clung to the wall as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

"I…" Adam whispered, his voice breaking. "I don’t know if I can be who you want me to be."

Lucifer’s thumb traced a soft line along Adam’s jaw, his gaze filled with an aching tenderness that stole the breath from Adam’s lungs. "You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. That’s all I’ve ever wanted."

The silence that followed was deafening, an intense, suffocating quiet that seemed to stretch on forever. The weight of everything unsaid hung between them like a storm waiting to break. Adam’s heart raced, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but beneath it all, there was something else—a flicker of warmth, of something long forgotten.

"I don’t remember," Adam finally whispered, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "I don’t remember any of it."

Lucifer’s expression softened, and he leaned in closer, pressing his forehead gently against Adam’s.

"That’s okay," he murmured, his breath warm against Adam’s skin. "You don’t need to remember. I remember enough for the both of us. And I will wait, for as long as it takes, until you do."

Adam’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. The intensity of Lucifer’s love, his unwavering devotion, was overwhelming. And yet, somewhere deep inside him, something stirred—something he couldn’t quite grasp but that felt so familiar, so right.

In that moment, as Lucifer held him close, Adam’s walls began to crumble, piece by piece. And though he couldn’t understand it, couldn’t explain it, he felt the faintest glimmer of something—something lost, something broken, something yearning to be found.

The silence between them stretched, but it was no longer suffocating. It was filled with the unspoken promise of love, of patience, of eternity. And in that silence, Adam felt, for the first time, the flicker of a memory not yet formed but just within reach.

He was still just Adam. But maybe—just maybe—he was also so much more.

No! No, no, no, he needed to go home! His siblings needed him!

he enchanted castle seemed to hum with tension as Adam walked through its corridors, his legs weak and trembling. Nearly a full week had passed, and every moment dragged on, as if time itself had conspired to crush him beneath its weight. His stomach was a hollow ache, his throat dry and raw. He was dangerously close to breaking, to giving in and surrendering to the role Lucifer so desperately wanted him to play. The role that would make everything simpler. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

His siblings' faces flickered before him, their wide, innocent eyes. They depended on him. Without him, they’d have no one. His parents had long since abandoned their responsibilities. If Adam didn’t make it back, what would become of them? The thought alone gave him the strength to put one foot in front of the other, even as exhaustion gnawed at him from within.

He steeled himself as he approached the grand doors of the dining hall. His heart raced, his skin prickling with the oppressive magic that permeated the castle. The air felt thick, as if Lucifer’s presence was already pressing down on him before he even opened the doors. Adam swallowed hard, feeling his pulse hammer in his throat as he gripped the door handles and pushed them open.

What greeted him wasn’t the extravagant banquet that Lucifer had prepared every night to tempt him. There was no lavish spread of food or glistening goblets of wine designed to break his will. The long table was completely bare.

Adam blinked in disbelief, his exhaustion-addled mind struggling to comprehend the change. And there, at the far end of the table, sat Lucifer, his posture relaxed, his red eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He was calm, too calm, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along.

"Lucifer," Adam bit out, his voice cold, harsh. His heart thudded in his chest, frustration boiling up in him, tightening like a noose around his throat.

Lucifer’s gaze met his, and if the sharpness in Adam’s tone bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, the King of Hell offered him a small, almost amused smile.

"Adam," he greeted in return, his voice velvety smooth, maddeningly calm.

Adam's chest heaved, his vision swimming slightly from the fatigue and hunger that gnawed at him. But he wouldn’t let Lucifer see how weak he felt. He had to keep his resolve, had to stand his ground. He approached the table with steady steps, his eyes fixed on Lucifer’s calm figure.

"Enough," Adam demanded, planting his hands on the table, his voice laced with frustration. "This game is over. I don’t want to play anymore."

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, his claws tapping idly against the armrests as he regarded Adam with mild curiosity.

"Ah," he purred, his eyes glinting with amusement. "If you wanted the game to be over, you just had to ask."

He gestured elegantly with one hand. "Tell me, Adam, what would you like to eat?"

"No." Adam’s voice was sharp, his hands curling into fists as he glared at Lucifer. "I won. I’ve beaten you. The game should’ve ended days ago."

Lucifer let out a low, dismissive snort, rising slowly from his seat. His wings rustled faintly behind him, though they remained folded for now.

"You think so?" His tone was cool, but there was an undercurrent of something darker beneath it. "You haven’t won anything."

"You said the game would only last a couple of days!" he snapped, his voice trembling with the strain of holding everything inside for so long. Adam’s anger flared, his exhaustion fuelling his defiance. "It’s been a week! By your own rules, I should’ve won. You’re cheating, Lucifer. You keep changing the goalposts!"

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, the warmth and humour draining from his expression. His wings unfurled with a sudden, violent snap, filling the space behind him with a looming shadow of black feathers. The atmosphere in the room grew suffocating, thick with an oppressive magic that made Adam’s skin crawl. Lucifer’s voice, when he spoke, was cold and dangerous.

"Have you forgotten who I am?" Lucifer asked, his eyes burning with something feral. "I am the King of Hell. I decide when this ends. And it has not ended yet."

But Adam didn’t shrink back. Despite the raw power rolling off Lucifer in waves, despite the deadly gleam in his eyes, Adam stood his ground, his hands shaking but his resolve firm.

"That’s not fair," he growled, his frustration boiling over. "You’re cheating because you don’t want to admit I won. You’re trying to break me!"

Lucifer’s expression hardened, his wings stretching further, casting long, ominous shadows across the hall. His voice was a low growl, the kind that sent chills down even the bravest souls’ spines.

"You think this is about winning or losing?" He took a step toward Adam, his presence towering, but Adam refused to be intimidated.

"I should have won by now!" Adam shouted, his voice echoing through the vast hall. His fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with exhaustion and emotion. "Let me go already! I want to go home!"

"No," he growled, his wings flaring wide, his eyes blazing. Lucifer’s face twisted with something raw and dangerous. "You can’t go home. Not because you’re still playing this game, but because your home is here. With me. With Charlie. You are mine, Adam, and I will wait for all eternity until you accept that."

Adam’s frustration erupted into fury.

"I’m not your Adam!" he screamed, his voice hoarse, his hands shaking with the force of his emotions. "I don’t belong to you!"

The room crackled with tension, and for a heartbeat, everything was still. Then Lucifer’s eyes flared with fury, his wings spreading to their full terrifying span. He surged forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. His voice, when he spoke, was a thunderous roar that shook the very walls of the castle.

"You are!" Lucifer bellowed, his voice ringing with an ancient, primal authority. His hands gripped Adam’s arms, not hard, but firm enough to keep him in place. "You are my Adam. You always have been, and you always will be. Your soul is mine, and no matter how much you fight it, you know it too. You feel it, don’t you?"

Adam’s chest heaved, his breath ragged, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would tear through his ribs. But even as Lucifer’s power swirled around him, suffocating in its intensity, Adam didn’t back down. Tears burned in his eyes, but his voice was steady, filled with a quiet, fierce defiance.

"I’m not the person you think I am," Adam whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I’m not the Adam you loved. I’m not your lover, your wife, or your queen. I’m just… just me."

Lucifer’s grip tightened slightly, his eyes softening for a moment, but there was still a storm raging behind them.

"You are more than just you," he said, his voice low, almost pleading. "You may not remember, but I do. I remember everything. And I will wait, Adam, as long as it takes. You are mine, and I will never let you go."

Adam’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, torn between the weight of Lucifer’s words and the desperate need to return to the life he knew. He looked up into Lucifer’s eyes—those eyes filled with centuries of love, of longing, of grief—and something inside him wavered, cracked. But he couldn’t let himself fall. Not yet. Not like this.

"I can’t do this," Adam whispered, his voice breaking. "I can’t be who you want me to be."

Lucifer’s wings shuddered, his expression softening, but the intensity never left his eyes. "You don’t have to be anyone but yourself," he murmured, leaning in closer. "But you are mine, Adam. And I will wait for eternity until you accept that."

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, filled with unspoken pain and impossible love, stretching between them like an unbreakable thread.

Adam inhaled deeply, willing himself to calm his racing heart. The anger, the confusion, the exhaustion—it all surged within him like a storm threatening to tear him apart. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in slow breaths through his nose, trying to regain some measure of control. When he opened his eyes again, they met Lucifer’s, the air between them thick with tension and unsaid words.

“Please,” Adam whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I want to go home.”

Lucifer’s eyes flickered, too many emotions swirling across his face for Adam to untangle. Anger, sorrow, longing—it was all there, raw and unhidden. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came at first. Instead, he just stared at Adam, as if struggling to find the right thing to say.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and almost pained. "You are home."

Adam’s breath hitched, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. He shook his head, his throat tightening as the tears welled up in his eyes.

“No,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he lowered his head. “This isn’t my home… it can’t be my home.”

His voice cracked as the weight of everything settled on his shoulders. “My home is back in Italy… with my brothers and sisters.”

Lucifer’s expression softened, his eyes tracing Adam’s face with a tenderness that only deepened the ache in Adam’s heart. Slowly, gently, Lucifer lifted his hand to caress Adam’s cheek, the pads of his fingers warm and soft despite the claws.

“Adam…” he murmured, his voice as soft as a broken whisper. “Your brothers and sisters don’t need you anymore. They’ve grown up. They’ve gone to college… they’re living their lives now.”

His thumb brushed across Adam’s cheek, wiping away a tear that had slipped free. “You don’t have to take care of them anymore. You’re free. Free to live your own life the way you want.”

But Adam shook his head again, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “But I’m not free, am I?”

His voice trembled, a bitter edge of hopelessness creeping into his words. “You’re holding me here, Lucifer. You won’t let me go. You won’t let me live the life I want.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Adam’s ragged breathing, the silence between them stretching thin and taut like a fraying thread. Lucifer’s eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a tight line. He released a sharp, guttural sound from deep in his throat, a growl of frustration and something more—something painful.

“Fine,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice harsh and guttural, like the strike of a blade. Adam’s heart leaped in his chest, a flicker of hope lighting in his eyes. He stared at Lucifer, wide-eyed.

"Fine," Lucifer growled again, stepping forward sharply. “Let’s end this game tonight.”

"W-What—"

Adam barely got the word out before Lucifer’s hands were on him, shoving him backward with surprising force. Adam stumbled, his legs giving way beneath him as he crashed onto the table behind him, the wood hard and unforgiving against his back. The impact sent a sharp pain shooting up his spine, his head smacking against the surface with a dull thud, making his vision blur.

A soft, pained groan escaped Adam’s lips, but it was quickly stifled when Lucifer crawled on top of him, pinning him down with terrifying ease. One clawed hand pressed firmly against Adam’s chest, keeping him in place, while the other grasped his chin roughly, forcing him to meet Lucifer’s burning gaze. The grip on his chin was tight, too tight, the claws digging into his skin just enough to draw small beads of blood.

"Fine,” Lucifer growled again, his breath hot against Adam’s face as his eyes gleamed with dark intent. "Let’s finish this fucking game tonight."

His voice was a low hiss, each word laced with venom and something deeper, something desperate. “If you win, I will take you home first thing in the morning. No more tricks. No more lies.”

His grip on Adam’s chin tightened briefly, making the sting in his flesh sharper. “I’m a man of my word, Adam, even if you don’t believe me. If you win this last game, I’ll let you go. Do you agree?”

Adam’s breath came in shallow, panicked bursts. His mind spun as he stared up at Lucifer, trying to process the sudden shift. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that it drowned out almost everything else. He nodded quickly, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

"Y-Yes," he stammered. "I agree."

Lucifer’s gaze softened slightly, but the smugness in his expression was unmistakable. He slowly blinked, the anger melting away from his features as a sly, knowing smile curled at the edges of his lips. His wings shifted behind him, dark and expansive, casting long shadows across the room.

“Good,” Lucifer purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now, be a good boy and stay still.”

Adam’s heart lurched as Lucifer snapped his fingers, summoning a silver can that shimmered with faint golden magic. His stomach twisted in anxious confusion as he narrowed his eyes at the object, dread pooling in his gut.

Lucifer’s eyes darkened with amusement as he leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over Adam’s skin before his long tongue flicked out, dragging slowly along Adam’s trembling lips and down his throat.

“Open,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

Without thinking, Adam obeyed. Lucifer sprayed something cool and creamy into his mouth—whipped cream. The sweetness flooded his senses, but Adam barely had time to process it before it dripped from the corners of his mouth. Lucifer was quick to clean it up with his tongue, his warm, wet mouth moving languidly over Adam’s skin, savouring each touch.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed as he straightened slightly, still straddling Adam’s waist. He raised the can to his own lips and suggestively sprayed more cream into his mouth, the sight almost mocking in its seduction.

"Now, Adam," he purred, his voice a dangerous mix of teasing and command. “For the next hour, if you can keep it in your mouth without swallowing, you’ll win.”

Adam’s heart raced in panic, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to bear. He was trapped beneath Lucifer, his body pinned, his mind whirling with fear, confusion, and a deep, gnawing ache. But as Lucifer’s tail coiled behind him, and his eyes locked onto Adam’s with that knowing smirk, Adam realized—this was far from over.

“Sounds easy, doesn’t it?” Lucifer licked his lips, his eyes growing hungrily.

It did sound easy. He can hold wiped cream in his mouth for thirty minutes. He can do it. But then, the expression on Lucifer’s face had Adam doubting himself and his abilities of staying still.

“Let’s see…” Lucifer purred, laying his clawed hand upon Adam’s stomach, right above his crotch. He slowly dragged his hand along Adam’s stomach and up to his chest, where his clawed fingers explored the hidden flesh. Searching for his nipples.

A whine escaped Adam and Lucifer grinned sharply at him. His tail wagging in delight behind him. Lucifer’s sharp clawed fingers pinched Adam’s t-shirt by the collar and rips it straight open, making the buttons pop off. Immediately revealing Adam soft, untouched flesh. Of course, Adam jerked in shock, shuddering underneath the King of Hell.

“Let’s see if your body remembers me~”

With that, Lucifer held the can of whipped cream up and bared all his sharp teeth, they gleamed down at him. He sprayed the cream across Adam’s exposed nipples, making a perfect swirl on top of both. The action had Adam trembling, with his eyes widening.

Lucifer purrs, eyeing the two whipped creamed nipples and licked his lips. He reached over Adam purposely placing the can down and snapping his fingers, suddenly a spark of golden magic swirled around Adam’s head. A range of candy delights framed Adam’s head and Lucifer snickered as he began to pretty-up the whipped cream, adding chocolate, sprinkles and even a cherry on top. He purposely rubbed the cherries directly on top of Adam’s perky nipples.

A whimper bubbled through the cream in Adam’s mouth. He squirmed against and Lucifer tusked, pinning him down his knees.

“No, no, don’t be a bad boy.” Lucifer warned, his tail swirling side to side. “If you keep trying to get out from under me, you’ll be disqualified, and I’d win automatically~”

Eyes narrowing sharply up at Lucifer, Adam inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to relax on top of the table. He wanted to swallow but wouldn’t allow himself. He wasn’t going to lose. He wasn’t going to give Lucifer the win by being disqualified.

He was going to win.

Lucifer snickered at the sight and began to crawl down Adam’s body. Adam thought Lucifer would have teased him by licking at his nipples but alas he didn’t. No. Lucifer moved further down Adam’s body until he got to his hips.

Heart pounding, Adam tried to arch his head to look down at the blonde devil with large, disbelieved eyes.

“Don’t disturb my masterpiece~” Lucifer warned, pushing Adam back down by his chest. “Be good for me, baby.”

Adam laid his head back, moving his green eyes to stare up at the ceiling above him. He tried not to look as he felt Lucifer unbutton his trousers. Lucifer pulled them down his legs, stripping them fully off his body and throw them harshly across the hall. Adam hoped Lucifer would conjure him up new clothes when he wins.

Sharp eyes scanning Adam’s exposed form, Lucifer chuckled. His clawed fingers running down Adam’s thighs, he checked to make sure Adam still had the whipped cream in his mouth, before he bent down and mouthed at Adam’s hidden cock. He felt Adam jerk underneath him and groaned himself. He ran his long tongue back and forth across the cock, moaning himself as he felt Adam start to harden under his mouth. Lucifer sucked at it, catching the fabric of his boxershorts between his sharp teeth and ripping it.

Snapping his teeth, he ripped it open and revealed Adam’s private parts. His hard cock standing up immediately. It was flushed adorably red, and Lucifer groaned at the sight, licking his lips.

“Aw, you’re so pretty.” He cooed, caressing his fingers around the harden flesh. His eyes flashing in delight as Adam whimpered, trembling and beginning to arch his hips up into Lucifer’s hand. “You’re so sexy, Addie. I’m going to eat you alive~”

His long tail swirled over Adam, wrapping around the whipped cream can again and lifting it up. Adam’s green eyes followed the can, his chest shuddering as Lucifer brought it close and with his tail, he began to spray it, framing the whipped cream perfect around Adam’s cock. Adam let out a muffled scream at the action, his green eyes rolling into his skull and Lucifer laughed somewhat cruelty at the sight.

“Do you still think you’re going to win, Adam?” Lucifer asked, beginning to pretty his delicious treat up. Adding chocolate, sprinkles and everything else he could think to it. He licked his lips hungrily. “There’s no way you’re going to win. You’re gonna have to swallow all that delicious cream in your mouth and then begin to scream for me~”

Adam’s breath hitched as Lucifer leant back to appreciate his masterwork. His mouth watered, he couldn’t wait to eat it. His eyes gleamed with desire and trailed his claws along Adam thighs, all the way up Adam’s stomach and up to his chest where he circled Adam’s pretty nipples.

“Let us finally have some fun~”

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #fanfic #guitarduck #lucifer x adam #au #fanficiton #adamsapple harvest #adamsapple month #for adamsapple fans!#adamsapple feeding kink #feeding kink

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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LETS 👏GIVE 👏Y/N 👏SOME 👏LOVE👏

This is gonna be nearly impossible in real life but the anime has tons of non logical stuff SO...

Please make a HC of Modern Y/N meets prehistoric Y/N 🙏

Cause you know how somewhere in the earth someone could possibly be your twin?

That situation but in different timelines 😭🙏 perhaps maybe Modern Y/N is part of the science team and is SHOOK

Make the impossible POSSIBLE BEGGING

Y’all this is such a whole new level of meta-

I had to sit down and figure out how to even write this. Third person of (Y/N) variations? Second person except you never know which you is you? But I might sail forward with the latter, with the little twist that one line is yours, and the other one is yours. You get to decide. Pick your timeline or don’t pick at all and just be both.

Baki Headcanons: Prehistoric! Reader meets Modern! Reader

Featuring the Baki characters, you and you. (With a surprise you appearance)

“You never mentioned you had a long lost twin, (Y/N)” your coworker comments playfully. You return a hesitant laugh without looking away from your monitors. He has a point, the resemblance is uncanny. Save for the impressive size difference, every other feature down to the finest detail is eerily similar…no, more like identical to yours. There has to be a rational explanation but your mind is blank. Who the hell are you looking at? One of the screens flashes a loud notification and you jolt at the sudden disturbance. They’re waking up.

Your eyes are burning and the surroundings are blurry. You can almost feel your bones creaking as you groggily lift yourself up. There’s a faint tug at your skin and you touch around for the source. Long, thick threads seem to be attached to the surface of your body. Roots? Some sort of creature? You’d rather not wait to find out, so you swiftly rip them off. You hear a groan next to you and as you turn, your vision begins to return some clarity. Pickle is rubbing his face in irritation but immediately calms down once he sees you’re with him. At least you’re not alone. Although it doesn’t change the fact you don’t know where you are.

“Amazing”. Several people murmur in chorus as you stare down, towards the ancient creatures. You’d share their excitement if you weren’t so entranced and afraid by the view of a person that’s almost a perfect copy of you. You touch the double glass and wonder if perhaps you’ve been glancing at your own reflection all along. You don’t have to mull over it too hard, as the prehistoric man begins to lose his patience and the security window becomes a frail obstacle in the path of his massive fists. Within seconds you’re on the ground, scrambling to avoid the shards that now spread across the lab tiles. Is this how you die?

Pickle scans the room, completely baffled by the strange machinery. He doesn’t recognize anything. Not even the humans cowering in fear before him. He would like some answers, but doesn’t know where to obtain them. Frustrated, he grinds his teeth and considers his options. He turns to search for you and his head freezes. Did you…become smaller? What are you doing on the floor? He rushes to help you up, but you yell out in fear and try to shove yourself away. A familiar growl erupts behind him. It’s you. Confused, he checks the person he’s still holding. Wait. What?

Your wrists are aching and you’re panting. You can feel your knees giving up. Is he trying to kill you? Why you, out of all the people? The Jurassic man pauses in his movement and you shyly peep over towards the commotion that distracted him. You lock your eyes with the woman and she seems to be in disbelief. Can’t blame her, really. You’ve had plenty of time beforehand to process the similarities, but it’s her first time meeting you. Is she as shocked as you were during the first encounter? And then it hits you: the man thought you’re her.

You’ve often observed your reflections in the water and have always been fascinated by the phenomenon. As far as you can tell, however, there’s no pond or river around this time. Who is the person standing next to Pickle? You exchange a quick look with your equally bewildered mate. Oh, how exhausting. This isn’t your home and that isn’t you. You don’t understand. Maybe this stranger has some answers to all this. You step forward and squat down to the level of this smaller version of you. You’ll get to the bottom of this.

The wall crashes and you slap the emergency exit button. You crawl out of the cockpit, coughing out the dust particles and fumes caused by the explosion. Did the Time Machine work? You survey your surroundings and gasp involuntarily. Is it…you? There’s a tall, toned woman kneeling before a much smaller human, but they both bear your appearance.

My partner (that proofreads everything) absolutely lost it when he saw the request and found the idea so wild he wanted to write his own thing. So hereby attached are his own headcanons. Enjoy! This was a crazy ride.

Bonus: Baki Characters but it’s all You, the Reader

You reminisce about you fighting you. How you challenged you, met you in your underground fighting arena, how you circled around you, looking for an opening into your defense. How glorious when your fist hit your face, and how your blood splattered on the ground of your arena.

You are preparing to fight you. The strongest fighter in the world is you, and you are your son. If you want to have any chance of defeating you, you will have to become even stronger than you. So you train, every week, every day, every hour. In your basement you are facing yourself, so that one day you can stand in front of you instead.

You couldn’t believe your ears when you called from the survey site. In the salt, you found you fighting yourself, in the shape of a T.Rex. Reviving you after millions of years would further prove your spot as the number one scientist.

You feel yourself exiting your body, flying through the cold air. You rudely land on yourself lying among the trash bags. The unpleasant feeling wakes you up. Upon waking, you demand your clothes. You put them on, even though they barely fit your muscular body. You exit your alleyway, walking through the crowd of you. You stand out from yourself, so you spot yourself immediately.

#baki #baki the grappler #baki headcanons #pickle baki #pickle x reader #prehistoric reader #reader x reader #reader x reader x reader

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atlasthegreatest · 3 months ago

Text

Time Wrap: A Bizarrely Adventure! / Cassandra Vole x Male Reader

What if, after being assigned to work together for a Divination class, Cassandra and Y/n accidentally bring someone into their mess?

Word count: 4770

A/n: This was requested by an anon. Enjoy it!

The third floor of Hogwarts’ North Tower was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of wind that slipped through the cracks in the stone walls. It was an unusually cold night for this time of year, the chill creeping into the Divination classroom, where a handful of students sat, half-asleep, waiting for Professor Trelawney to begin her lecture.

Cassandra Vole shifted in her seat, her pale eyes narrowing on the glowing embers in the center of the room. She found herself sitting next to someone she had never intended to be so close to. The unspoken tension between her and the person to her left was palpable, so thick you could cut it with a wand.

Their names were always next to each other on the list, and fate—or perhaps Trelawney’s enigmatic whims—had forced them into this uneasy partnership.

The person, known simply as Y/n Black, sat with his arms crossed, stealing glances at Cassandra, who was equally displeased with the pairing. They shared a tense history: petty arguments, snide remarks, and an unspoken rivalry that had never truly dissipated.

“Alright, my dears, for today’s lesson, you will be paired up,” Professor Trelawney’s hazy voice broke the silence, her presence suddenly looming behind them. “We will delve into the future… with a slightly more advanced technique. Screaming, if you will, with the Orb of Destinies.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. The Orb of Destinies. Of course, it had to be something as ridiculous as that. She glanced at Y/n, who seemed equally disinterested, but unwilling to give up on the task.

The orb was placed between them. It was an old, cracked glass sphere, glowing faintly with an otherworldly lilac light. Trelawney circled close to them, her bracelets clinking, smelling distinctly of lavender and incense.

“The task is simple,” she continued. “Look into the orb, focus your mind on a future event, and you will see and unfold it. But be careful… the future is a delicate thing. Any interference, any interference, and the consequences could be… unexpected.”

Cassandra and Y/n exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing: How bad could this be?

With a reluctant sigh, they both leaned forward, staring into the swirling mists of the orb. For a few moments, nothing happened. The mist within the orb twisted and curled, but remained just that—mist.

Y/n spoke first. “This is a waste of time.” The boy stepped away from the orb with a sigh.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Cassandra muttered, frustration rising in her voice. “Maybe if you focused—”

“I’m focusing,” Y/n said, frowning at the girl. “Maybe you’re the only one who doesn’t—”

The orb glowed brighter, pulsing as their fight intensified. Suddenly, the mist inside swirled violently, swirling like a storm trapped in glass. They both gasped as the light expanded, the orb cracking slightly, releasing a strange energy that filled the room.

There was a blinding flash of white, and then… silence.

When their vision cleared, the classroom looked the same. The orb was still, a faint crack running through its center. But something was different—someone was in front of them.

A boy, around nine or ten, stood awkwardly in the center of the room, dressed in slightly outdated Hogwarts robes, his face a mix of confusion and curiosity. His hair was dark and unruly, and his eyes—a piercing, familiar shade of green—brightened as he took in his surroundings. But the most shocking thing wasn’t his sudden appearance; it was the look he gave Cassandra and Y/n.

“Mum? Dad?”

The words hung in the air like a curse. Cassandra froze, her breath catching in her throat. Y/n’s expression mirrored her own—a mix of shock and horror.

“What—what did you just say?” Cassandra whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes scanned every feature of the child’s face in front of her, not believing what she was seeing.

The boy tilted his head. “You… are my parents. Cassandra Vole and Y/n Black. Don’t you remember?”

Y/n looked at Cassandra with a look of panic. “This has to be a mistake. This… this can’t be real.”

Cassandra shook her head. “No. No, no, no. That’s wrong. You—” she gestured to the boy, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re not… we’re not… together.”

The boy frowned, looking between them. “You’re not now, no, but… you are in the future. That’s what you said, Mom. You always fight, but you said you’d find out.”

Cassandra felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Y/n, on the other hand, seemed paralyzed, his mind racing to make sense of the impossible situation.

Trelawney, oblivious to the chaos, appeared beside them, her eyes shining behind her thick glasses. “Oh, what a pleasure! It seems you’ve gone beyond just seeing the future! You’ve brought it back with you.”

Cassandra quickly turned to the professor. “How are we going to send him back?”

Trelawney blinked. “Send him back? Why, my dear, that’s quite complicated. The future isn’t so easily reversed once it’s made present. But… I’m sure there’s a way. In the meantime, perhaps you should meet your son.”

“Our son?!” Y/n exclaimed, finally finding his voice. “We don’t—” He stopped, staring at the boy who sat across from him and shaking his head in disbelief.

The boy, seemingly unfazed by his parents’ reactions, took a tentative step closer. “I know this is weird. But you told me this could happen, that I could come here by accident.”

Cassandra blinked and then groaned, pressing her hands to her face. “This can’t happen.”

Y/n looked at the boy, his mind still spinning. “What’s your name?”

The boy smiled at his father. “Cassius. It’s a combination of Mum’s and Grandpa’s names. You’re the one who chose it, Dad.”

A heavy silence filled the room once more, Cassandra and Y/n exchanged a look—this one not filled with disdain, but with the weight of the impossible reality before them.

They had brought their future son into the present. And now, they had to figure out what to do next.

Cassius stood awkwardly between them, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for some kind of reaction. His green eyes, eerily familiar to Cassandra’s, flickered between his parents—though at this moment, they were anything but.

Cassandra was the first to speak, though her voice was shaky and laced with disbelief. “This can’t be real,” she whispered, half to herself. Her hands were shaking slightly, something that never happened, no matter how intense the situation. “This is just some kind of fortune-telling trick gone wrong.”

Y/n, standing stiffly beside her, ran a hand through his hair, looking so disoriented. “I… I mean, there’s no way. This isn’t—this isn’t possible. We can’t be your parents.”

Cassius’ brow furrowed. “Why are you two acting so weird? You knew I might come someday. It’s not like you two don’t like each other that much.” He paused, fidgeting with the hem of his robes. “I mean… not anymore.”

Cassandra blinked, finally looking directly at Y/n. The idea of her and Y/n—the person who had been nothing but a thorn in her side since her first year—being together in any capacity other than a mutual annoyance was ridiculous. Impossible.

Except… here was the proof, right in front of them.

“Look,” Y/n finally said, his voice cracking a little. “Cassius, was it?” The boy nodded eagerly. “We—this is a mistake. We didn’t even—” Y/n trailed off, looking at Cassandra as if waiting for some kind of explanation.

But Cassandra was just as lost as he was. How were they supposed to deal with this? She wasn’t sure if she should be angry, terrified, or… something else.

“Cassius,” she began slowly, kneeling slightly to reach his eye level. “Where exactly did you… come from? I mean, what year?”

Cassius blinked, clearly confused. “Uh… the future? Fifteen years from now, I think? You two aren’t so… strangers in the future, though.”

Cassandra and Y/n exchanged another look, the weight of his words sinking in even more. Fifteen years from now, they would be… what? Married? Raising a child? Cassandra shook her head, not wanting to entertain that thought any longer.

“Well, that’s unexpected, but isn’t that the joy of Divination?” Trelawney’s airy voice cut through their rising panic, clearly fascinated by the turn of events. “Such an incredible glimpse of what’s yet to come.” She clapped her hands together softly. “I suppose this is a great success! I had no idea you two were so intertwined by fate.”

“We’re not,” Cassandra muttered, standing up again. “That’s a mistake.”

Trelawney scoffed, unconvinced. “Fate, my dear, is never a mistake. It just is. Now I suppose you’ll need to take care of your little visitor while we figure out how to reverse this… temporal hiccup.”

Y/n looked at her in disbelief. “Are you serious? We can’t just keep him around. He’s from the future!”

Cassius, who had been silently watching the comings and goings, finally spoke again. “You told me it would be like this. Well, Mum did. She said you two would freak out and try to send me back immediately. But you can’t.”

Cassandra’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean, we can’t?”

Cassius looked at her seriously. “It’s not that simple. You’ll need something special to reverse this – Dad said you have to go to the Room of Requirements.”

Cassandra’s mind raced, trying to piece together how in Merlin’s name they had explained this to anyone. Who in the world could they trust with this kind of thing? McGonagall? Professor Marazion? No, they would have to figure this out quietly before anyone else found out.

The idea of being permanently linked to Y/n, even in the future, was nearly impossible. And yet… looking at Cassius, she couldn’t deny that there was a familiarity, a strange sense of recognition that made her uneasy.

“It’s okay.” Cassandra said after a long silence. “Let’s get him to the Room of Requirement. If this is some kind of weird spell, we need to fix it. Now.”

Y/n nodded reluctantly. “The sooner we fix this, the better.” Trelawney watched with an air of detached fascination as Cassandra and Y/n gathered their things. Cassius, for his part, seemed remarkably calm for a child who had been hauled back in time.

He practically skipped after them as they left the classroom.

———————

As they walked through the dark halls of Hogwarts, neither Cassandra nor Y/n spoke. The silence between them felt heavier now, more suffocating. They had been forced together more times than they cared to remember, but this… this was on a whole other level.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/n spoke. “So… what do we do if we can’t send him back?”

Cassandra gave him a sharp look. “We’ll send him back.”

Y/n nodded, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes—a worry neither of them wanted to voice. What if this wasn’t a mistake? What if Cassius was here for a reason? What if… this was their future, whether they wanted it or not?

Cassius, sensing his father’s discomfort, interjected. “It’s not that bad, you know. You two fight a lot, but… you figure things out. You always do.”

The light-haired girl stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the boy. “How?”

Cassius smiled softly—causing Cassandra to picture Y/n’s smile—his green eyes filled with something beyond his years. “Because you love each other.”

The silence that followed Cassius’s words was heavy, thick as the fog that sometimes clung to the edges of the Forbidden Forest at dawn. Cassandra and Y/n stood frozen, their minds struggling to process what he had just said.

Love each other? Impossible.

Cassandra was the first to break the silence, her voice tight and strained. “That’s… that’s ridiculous.” She then looked at Y/n, as if to leave the argument.

Y/n, however, looked just as shaken, his face pale in the light of the lantern. “Yes, ridiculous,” he muttered, though it seemed more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone else.

Cassius, walking ahead of them now with the carefree ease of a child who hadn’t yet grasped the full weight of his words, merely shrugged. “You always say that,” he commented as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “But you don’t mean it. Not really.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to argue but found the words stuck in her throat. She glanced sideways at Y/n again, their tense expressions mirroring each other in ways neither of them cared to acknowledge. It was absurd. The very idea of them being together—in love—was beyond reason. They could barely tolerate each other now. And yet…

The strange sense of familiarity she had felt earlier looking at Cassius seeped back in. There was something about him, something in the way he carried himself, that she couldn’t shake. It was like a shadow of herself and Y/n, tangled in a future she refused to believe in.

“We’ll be in the Room of Requirement soon,” Cassandra murmured more to break the silence than anything else. “Once we’re there, we can fix this.”

Y/n nodded in agreement, though the lines of worry on his face remained.

They walked in silence once more, each lost in their thoughts as they traversed the winding corridors of Hogwarts.

When they finally reached the familiar stretch of the stone wall where the Room of Requirement was hidden, Y/n stopped and turned to Cassius. “Alright, boy. If you’re right about this, what exactly should we do?”

Cassius smiled, his green eyes shining with a mix of excitement and innocence. “You have to think about what you need—like really focus on it. Mom always says the room knows what you want, but it only opens to what you need.”

Cassandra nodded, trying to get over the surprise of receiving advice from a child who claimed to be her son from the future. She closed her eyes, focusing on one thought: We need to send him back to his time.

Y/n did the same, though he kept his arms crossed tightly against his chest as if keeping the weight of this entire situation under control.

The stone wall shone, and a door appeared, its doorknob shining softly in the dark corridor.

"Well, that's new," Y/n murmured as he reached for the handle, hesitating for just a second before opening the door. Inside, the Required Room had turned into something that resembled a vast library, shelves of old books stretched in the shadows above. A large stone table was in the center, and on top of it was a single book, shining faintly with magic.

"That... that must be this," Cassandra said, moving forward cautiously. The title of the book was written in sparkling golden letters: Temporal Reversals: The Unveiling of Destiny.

Y/n reached out to touch it, but Cassius suddenly spoke. "Wait."

Both Cassandra and Y/n froze, looking at the boy.

"You have to be careful," warned the little boy, his voice serious for the first time since his arrival. "If you do it wrong, you won't just send me back. You will change everything."

Cassandra's heart jumped a beat. "What do you mean by changing everything?"

Cassius looked down, suddenly shy. "I don't know all the details, but Mum told me that if you play a lot with time, things can change. Like... big things. I may not even exist if you do it wrong."

Y/n turned even more pale, his hand falling from the book. "Great. No pressure then."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes towards Y/n, unhappy with the way he spoke. She then faced the little boy. "How do we know that this is no longer a mistake? You shouldn't be here in the first place."

Cassius shook his head. "I think this should have happened. You always say that things happen for a reason, even if you don't like reason."

Cassandra bit her lip, the words cutting deeper than she expected. It looked exactly like what she would say– Cassandra older and wiser, whoever she was. But this younger version of herself, standing here now, was not ready to accept this. She wasn't ready to accept any of this.

Y/n, feeling her hesitation, took a step forward again. "Look, we need to fix this before things get worse. We don't know what kind of ripple effect we're dealing with."

Cassius' face lit up. " Ripple Effect! That's what mom called it too."

Cassandra ignored the heat pull that Cassius' familiarity brought and focused on the task at hand. She opened the book, flipping through the fragile and yellowed pages. Her eyes examined line after line of dense magical theory, the archaic language and difficult to decipher.

Y/n, standing beside her, glanced over her shoulder. “Something in there about how to not accidentally erase an entire future?”

Cassandra looked at them. “Give me a minute.”

After what seemed like an eternity, she found the passage she was looking for. “Here. It says we need a personal connection to the timeline we’re trying to reverse. A memento, something meaningful from the person’s life.”

They both turned to Cassius, who looked at the small bracelet around his wrist. “I have this,” he said quietly, holding it out to them. The bracelet was plain, but there was a small pendant hanging from it—a small silver locket engraved with the initials C and Y/i intertwined.

Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat. She knew those initials. They were hers and Y/n’s.

Y/n looked at the locket, the same realization dawning on his face. “Where did you get this?”

“Mum gave it to me when I was five,” the little boy explained. “She said it was really special. She says Dad gave it to her as a wedding gift.”

Y/n swallowed hard, his emotions swirling inside him. This wasn’t just some random object. It was proof. Proof of a future he refused to believe in. Proof that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him and Cassandra than they would ever allow themselves to admit.

“Okay,” he said softly, taking the bracelet from Cassius. “Let’s do this.”

Together, he and Cassandra placed the bracelet on the book, their hands almost touching as they prepared to cast the spell. The air around them seemed to buzz with anticipation, the weight of the future hanging in the balance.

“Ready?” Y/n asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He seemed unsure of what he was going to do.

Cassandra nodded, though her heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn’t ready. Not for this, not for what it meant. But there was no turning back

But before they could continue the spell, the two of them looked at Cassius who was watching them in silence.

“Are we good parents to you?” Y/n suddenly asked. Looking deeply at the little boy while ignoring the way Cassandra looked at him. “Are we happy together?”

The little boy smiled broadly at his father. “You and Mum are the best parents a child could have! And you are happy together. You are madly in love with each other despite the little disagreements you have – like for example: On my sixth birthday, you took me flying on the broomstick without Mum knowing, but when we almost fell off the broomstick, Mum scolded you for almost letting me fall and for having that stupid idea of flying with me – Mum’s words. But then you –” He was interrupted by a hug.

Cassandra knelt and wrapped the little boy in her arms, hugging him tightly against her chest, hiding her face against his black hair, just like Y/n's. Hearing the little boy say that made a sensation consume her entire body. That strange feeling now made sense to her – it was a maternal instinct. And she hugged her future son, stroking his strands of hair, feeling Cassius's small arms wrapping around her waist. It was then that she felt herself being hugged too.

Looking up, she found herself staring at Y/n's covered chest as he hugged her and Cassius against him, wrapping them both around him while stroking his future son's hair. Feeling the weight of Cassandra's gaze, Y/n looked back at her, exchanging a brief glance with the girl.

Cassandra was the first to break the hug and took Cassius' face in her hands, stroking his cheek with the tip of her thumb. "Our future selves are very lucky to have you as a son, too."

Y/n nodded, smiling slightly. "Knowing that I have a child as intelligent as you makes me feel proud of myself." He said, ruffling the boy's hair, seeing how his eyes, so similar to Cassandra's, shone with the compliment.

The little boy, upon hearing the compliments – from the teenage version – of his parents, couldn't help but lower his head to hide how his cheeks turned red at that.

“And we all know that he got the smart part from me!” Cassandra exclaimed with her nose in the air. Which drew a reaction from Y/n.

“What do you mean by that?” Y/n complained, raising his eyebrows at the girl. “Are you insinuating that I'm stupid?”

“Insinuating? Honey, don't lie to yourself.” Cassandra replied sharply.

“Look here, girl–” A laugh cut through the small argument that was about to escalate between them.

Both Cassandra and Y/n turned and found Cassius laughing at them. They then turned to face each other again, both feeling a wave of satisfaction consume them at the sound of Cassius's laughter.

Taking advantage of the light moment, they both raised their wands and, with a deep breath, began to chant the spell softly. The room filled with a soft, glowing light as the magic continued, swirling around them like a gentle wind.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then, with a sudden, brilliant flash, the spell was complete. The bracelet disappeared, and Cassius…

Cassius was gone.

The boy's laughter still echoed through the air, despite the deafening silence that followed. Cassandra and Y/n stood frozen, their wands still raised, staring at the space where Cassius had stood moments before. They already missed him.

Cassandra was the first to slowly lower her wand, still staring at the space where her son—her son—had stood moments before. The weight of it all, the impossible reality they had just experienced, pressed heavily on her chest. Cassius was gone, sent back to the future she stubbornly refused to believe in. And yet, the image of him—his dark hair, those bright green eyes, his smile—refused to leave her mind.

Y/n, standing so still beside her, let out a long, shaky breath. He glanced down at his hands, almost as if expecting to still see Cassius’s bracelet there, but it was gone. The locket with their initials, the proof of a future that bound them together in ways neither of them wanted to face, had disappeared with it.

Y/n broke the silence first, his voice rough, as if he’d swallowed something bitter. “Well, that was… unexpected.”

Cassandra looked at him, surprised at how his voice sounded when she answered. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Y/n gave a short, humorless laugh, running his hand through his hair. “What do we do now? Pretend this never happened?”

“I don’t know,” Cassandra admitted, her voice calmer now. She didn’t know how to move on from this. They had just met their son. From the future. She couldn’t just pretend none of this had happened, couldn’t forget the way her heart had twisted when Cassius had smiled at her and called her mother.

But there was a deeper fear gnawing at her now—the fear of what it all meant. She’d spent seven years avoiding any kind of connection with Y/n beyond their reluctant partnership in class. He’d irritated her, infuriated her, and made her want to scream at times. And now… now there was the undeniable truth of a future where they were together, raising a child. A child who seemed happy.

She felt Y/n’s eyes on her, searching for some kind of answer, but she didn’t have one to give this time.

“Do you think… we’re destined to end up like this?” Y/n asked, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Together, I mean. In this future.”

Cassandra flinched at the word, together. She shook her head, more out of instinct than certainty. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Y/n laughed again, but this time it was bitter. “Yeah, well, nothing between us ever is.” They fell silent again, the tension between them stronger now than ever.

Cassandra’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, but the more she thought, the more confused she became. She couldn’t deny the strange connection she felt with Cassius, nor could she forget the way the little boy looked at her and Y/n as if they were more than just two people who barely tolerated each other. But she wasn’t ready to admit what that meant. Not yet. Maybe never.

“I think…” Cassandra began, struggling to find the right words. “I think the future can change.”

Y/n looked at her sharply. “Change? What do you mean?”

“I mean… just because we’ve seen this future doesn’t mean it’s set in stone.” Cassandra’s voice grew stronger as she spoke as if she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else. “People make choices. The future isn’t inevitable. We don’t have to… end up like this if we want to.”

Y/n’s expression darkened a bit. “What if we do?”

Cassandra blinked, startled. This was the first time Y/n had hinted that they might be open to something more than their current antagonistic relationship. It was shocking to hear it out loud, but a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he had also felt—whatever it was—that strange pull toward something deeper.

“I…” Cassandra trailed off, unsure how to respond. She had never let herself consider that Y/n might have feelings about this that went beyond the superficial snooping they’d shared for years.

Y/n sighed, shaking his head. “Forget I said anything.”

“No,” Cassandra interrupted, surprising them both. “Don’t… don’t do that. Don’t just dismiss it.”

Y/n looked at her, his eyes wide with a mix of hope and hesitation. “So what should we do?”

Cassandra took a deep breath. She hated this—hated feeling vulnerable, hated not having control of the situation. But Cassius’s words echoed in her mind, soft but persistent: You love each other.

“I don’t know,” she said again, softer this time. “I don’t know what we should do. But maybe… maybe we don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

Y/n was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he gave a small nod. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

#cassandra cain x reader #male reader #harry potter: magic awakened #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry

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allnightstay · 2 months ago

Note

I don't know if this idea sounds too dark to you, if so I respect that you change it for something you like more, but I hope you like my idea. I would like a fic where Orochimaru tickles Kabuto as part of some experiment. (Because I remember that at some point in the anime it was implied that Orochimaru experimented on Kabuto at some point and well the fact that Kabuto didn't show any mutation and was still alive, makes me think that maybe, just maybe it was a completely and unusually harmless experiment.)

I LOVE fics that involve experimenting or a doctor-like scenario. This one will be funnnn.

A/N: I changed the gif on this one cause I realized he was crying 😂

Summary: Orochimaru suggests an experiment to test human reflexes. It's all in the name of science, of course.

Lee: Kabuto

Ler: Orochimaru

Kabuto had grown used to Orochimaru’s strange requests. Over the years, he had been subjected to countless experiments, most of which had left him unharmed, physically, at least. He trusted Orochimaru, despite the eccentricities and the cold curiosity that drove the Sannin’s work.

Still, when Orochimaru summoned him late one evening, Kabuto felt a familiar knot of unease in his stomach. The lab was dimly lit, and the sterile smell of chemicals lingered in the air. Orochimaru was already standing at one of his tables, his snake-like eyes gleaming with that unsettling glint of amusement.

“Kabuto,” Orochimaru purred, not looking up from his tools. “I’ve been thinking about a new… experiment.”

Kabuto adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake around Orochimaru, despite his loyalty. “What kind of experiment?” he asked cautiously.

Orochimaru finally turned to him, a slow smile creeping across his pale face. “A harmless one,” he said smoothly. “Something I’ve been curious about. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.”

The reassurance did nothing to ease Kabuto’s nerves. He had heard that line before. But Orochimaru’s commands were never to be questioned.

“Lie down,” Orochimaru instructed, gesturing to the operating table in the center of the room.

Kabuto hesitated for a fraction of a second before complying, lying down on the cold metal surface. His pulse quickened as he stared up at the ceiling, wondering what Orochimaru had in store for him this time. His mind raced through possibilities. He’d endured physical conditioning, chakra draining, sensory deprivation, but what could this be?

Orochimaru approached him with deliberate slowness, a needle-thin finger trailing along the edge of the table as he circled it. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice soft but with a teasing tone, “about the limits of human reflexes.”

Kabuto blinked, confused. Reflexes? That seemed unusually benign for Orochimaru. “What do you mean, Lord Orochimaru?”

The snake-like man chuckled, the sound low and sinister. “You’re always so composed, Kabuto. So calm, so… collected. But I wonder… what would it take to make you lose control?”

Before Kabuto could respond, Orochimaru’s fingers lightly brushed against his side. Kabuto tensed, his body instinctively flinching at the touch. His breath hitched, with an audible "hhng," but he kept his composure, unsure of what Orochimaru was doing.

“You see,” Orochimaru continued, his tone eerily calm, “I’ve observed something interesting about how the body reacts to certain stimuli. Even the most disciplined subjects have… weaknesses.”

Kabuto's eyes widened as he began to understand what Orochimaru was implying. His heart raced, but he forced himself to remain still. Orochimaru’s fingers trailed along his side again, a little more deliberately this time. Kabuto bit down on his lower lip, refusing to give Orochimaru the reaction he seemed to be looking for.

Orochimaru’s grin widened. “Ah, I see… You’re trying to resist.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I wonder how long you can last.”

Before Kabuto could protest, Orochimaru’s fingers danced along his ribs, the touch featherlight but incredibly precise. Kabuto jerked involuntarily, his body betraying him with a sudden, uncontrollable twitch. The clear sound of trying to hold his laughter in was all too present.

“Interesting…” Orochimaru murmured, his fingers moving faster now, tracing the sensitive spots on Kabuto’s ribs. “Is this where you’re most sensitive, Kabuto?”

Kabuto clenched his jaw, determined not to react, but the sensation was too much. He felt a giggle bubble up in his chest, threatening to escape. Orochimaru’s touch was both infuriatingly gentle and maddeningly persistent.

“Lord- hnng, Orochimaru- stop-” Kabuto managed to get out, his voice strained.

“Oh no, no,” Orochimaru replied with a sinister chuckle. “We’re just getting started.”

He intensified his efforts, his fingers now moving in quick, unpredictable patterns across Kabuto’s ribs and down to his sides. Kabuto squirmed, his composure slipping as the ticklish sensations overwhelmed him. He twisted on the table, trying to escape the relentless touch, but it was no use. Orochimaru was thorough, like with every experiment he conducted.

Finally, a strangled laugh broke free from Kabuto’s throat.

"AHAHAHA NOHOHO!! LOHOHORD OROHOCHIHEHEHE!!"

“Ah, there it is,” Orochimaru said softly, his fingers continuing their torturous dance along Kabuto’s sides. “Such an interesting reaction, don’t you think?”

"NAHAHA COME OHOHON!! STOHOHOP!"

Kabuto’s face flushed with both embarrassment and frustration. He couldn’t stand the fact that Orochimaru was toying with him like this - an experiment that was clearly more for Orochimaru’s amusement than any scientific curiosity. He tried to buck off the table, but Orochimaru’s hands were relentless, finding new spots, under his arms, along his stomach, that sent jolts of ticklish agony through his body.

“PLEHEHEASE!! I CAHAHAHAN'T!!” Kabuto gasped between strained chuckles, his body shaking uncontrollably now.

“Oh, Kabuto,” Orochimaru said, his voice smooth as silk, “this is fascinating. You should be honored. Not everyone gets to be part of such… unique research.”

Kabuto could barely form a response as Orochimaru’s fingers dug into his hips, sending him into a fit of helpless laughter. His normally cool, composed demeanor was in tatters, replaced by desperate giggles and gasps for air. Every time he thought Orochimaru might stop, the Sannin would switch tactics, finding a new sensitive spot to torment.

"AHAHAHAHA!!! NOHOHOHO!! OKAHAHAHAY!!! Ahahaha I c-can't tahahahake it!!"

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Orochimaru’s hands stilled. Kabuto lay panting on the table, his body trembling from the lingering sensations.

Orochimaru’s smirk never left his face as he looked down at his exhausted subordinate. “That will be all for tonight, Kabuto,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking. “You performed admirably.”

Kabuto sat up slowly, still catching his breath, his face red with a mixture of frustration and humiliation. He adjusted his glasses, refusing to meet Orochimaru’s gaze. “Was that really necessary, Lord Orochimaru?”

Orochimaru chuckled softly. “Of course. It was all in the name of science.”

But Kabuto knew better. There was nothing scientific about it. Orochimaru had simply enjoyed watching him squirm. Still, Kabuto said nothing. He knew better than to question Orochimaru’s motives openly. Instead, he silently vowed never to let his guard down around the Sannin again.

#tickle fic #anime tickle fic #anime tickling #anime tickle #naruto tickle fic #ticklish kabuto #lee!kabuto #ler!orochimaru #kabuto tickle fic #Orochimaru tickle fic

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elenavr13 · 1 year ago

Text

Echoes of Old Friends

Darkiplier x DA

Warnings: swearing

After the events of WKM, the DA attempts to move on & create a life for themselves despite being trapped in the mirror. Against their hopes & wishes, their past seeks them out in the form of a familiar face.

*What Could Have Been- Sting*

*I may expand this & turn it into a complete story in the future.*

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

Daylight filters through the cracked glass reflecting the main entrance of the decrepit, forgotten manor. Mindlessly flipping through the pages of one of the books I have read a thousand times, I suddenly feel a chill crawl down my spine. What the hell? The physical feeling startles me back to reality because I haven’t felt anything like that in years. Immediately, I close the book & scan the room, nothing not even in the outside world. Faint tapping screams through the silence-drowned manor. Probably just the weather. After a few seconds, it occurs again. This time I realize the odd sound is coming from inside the house. My mind starts spinning with ideas of what type of animal has climbed through a broken window or one of the rotting walls. Maybe it’s another raccoon coming to search through the rubble or maybe the squirrel I saw the other day has come back. Excited to see a living creature, I get up to find it. Before I can even travel to the next reflection, a voice freezes me in place.

“Y/n, I know you’re in there. Come out.” There’s people here!

“Y/n?” I whisper to myself. Something about that name tugs at my heart. Then again that voice is also eerily familiar. I jump from reflection to reflection searching for any sign of the people with no luck. Suddenly, the realization hits me. Y/n, that was- is my name. My name is Y/n. I haven’t heard that name in years. The last time I…that voice…Damien? Appearing in the mirror that holds my soul hostage, I see the man who used me & shattered my heart. Sorrow in addition to hope consumes me upon seeing him but it quickly gets replaced by bubbling rage.

“Why are you back?” I seethe.

“You don’t seem very pleased to see me.” His smooth voice provokes me.

“& why should I be? You’re the last person I ever want to see.”

His jaw clenches but he continues. “I can get you out of there.”

“I don’t want your help.”

He smirks. “Stubborn as always but I can give you what you want. All I’m asking is that you…”

“I want you to leave.” He appears taken back.

“Even after all these years you still blame me. We were happy before that night & we can still be happy if you will only listen to me.” Anger emanates from his voice as it increases in volume.

Unfazed by his temper, I snap back. “We? There is no ‘we’ not after what you did, Damien.”

“It’s Dark now.” He sneers

“Oh, I apologize, Dark.”

“That snake took everything away from me! I was merely protecting you from him. It was for the best.”

“You know what would have been ‘for the best’? If I had never agreed to your fucking deal. I trusted you & you betrayed me. Mark may have been the cause of all this but he never did anything to me. You on the other hand took everything away from me! I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. Just leave me alone! Leave me alone like you have for the past however many years it’s been.”

“91” My anger immediately dissolves from his simple answer. 91? It’s been 91 years since that night? I’ve been trapped in a reflection utterly alone for nearly a century?

“You just expect me to agree to your plan after you abandoned me for a century? I’ve managed to make some semblance of a life without you- without anyone for that matter. I Don’t Need You. Why do you even want to ‘help’ me? I don’t have anything anymore. I am just a reflection of a person because of you. So tell me, what are you going to gain from ‘helping’ me? ”

He continues to stare back with a blank expression which only ticks me off more. Before I do anything irrational –like I could– I begin to leave to another reflection in the manor. “I miss you.” His baritone voice stops me.

Without turning back around to face him, I say, “Little late for that, Damien.”

A deep growl keeps me in place. “I tried to play nice & you still view me as the bad guy. I thought you were better than that.” This time I spin on my heels to face the man I used to believe was my friend.

“& I thought you were better than to destroy what we had.”

“I didn’t destroy…”

“Go ahead, keep blaming Mark for your actions.” Suddenly he takes a hold of the frame surrounding my vision of the outside world & rips the mirror off the wall.

“I have heard enough of your insolence.”

“Put Me Back! Damien, put…”

“Stop calling me that name!” I glare daggers at him but he seems to be amused by it. “How are you even going to stop me, doll?”

“I’m not your doll.” Rage gets the best of me I throw a punch which would have made contact with his smug face if not for the glass separating us. Instead of flinching, his smirk just grows as he leaves the manor with me in tow. I attempt to jump to another reflection but some force keeps me tethered to the single, wretched, glass prison. Knowing there is nothing I can do, I fall silent, exhausted from my outburst. Why can’t I just be happy? I was just starting to get better & move on. Now Damie- Dark is back to remind me of the life that was stolen from me. What did I do to deserve this endless suffering?

#markiplier #darkiplier #youtuber ego #ahwm #darkiplier x y/n #ahwm darkiplier #darkiplier x da #who killed markiplier #a heist with markiplier #wkm district attorney #wkm #wkm damien #darkiplier x reader

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voilate · 2 years ago

Text

Countdown

Pairings: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: Y/N Stark allowed Quentin Beck to fill the hole that her father left following his devastating death. As the countdown ticks she is forced to either betray her boyfriend, Peter Parker, or her dead dad.

Word Count: 2254

⚠️: Kidnapping, Violence, Blood, Stress

My eyes begin fluttering open at the sound of machines clanking.

“Peter?” I drowsily groan as my vision unblurs. The room is dark and I can barely make out a few shadows that decorate my sight. I take notice of the restraints that tightly grip my stomach, arms, and legs, keeping me glued upright to a cold metal chair.

“Peter!” I gasp, suddenly regaining consciousness. I aggressively flail back and fourth in attempts to rip away from the shackles holding me in place. They grip me so tightly I can hardly begin to struggle before being met with a pressing pain.

“Peter!” The metal against my stomach digs deeply into my skin, making it hard to breathe.

The last thing I remember is walking in on Peter fighting Mr Beck. I didn’t know why they were fighting or what was happening, and had no time to figure it out before..

Suddenly I feel the agonizing pain of a pounding headache spewing through my skull as I recall a drone flying into me. I can’t remember much past that. Distant calls for help, faint screams of my name, and then waking up here are the only helpful details I can pull to the front of my mind.

I look around, desperately trying to adjust my eyes to the unlit room. I’m assuming Peter isn’t here, and i’m hoping I’m alone, which just leaves me to my thoughts.

After my dad passed, Mr Beck was so quick to step in as a parental figure, for both Peter and I. I’ve grown so attached to him so quickly, I can’t begin to imagine what could’ve sparked an argument between my two closet companions.

I close my eyes to help sort my thoughts, and tame the migraine that’s only grown larger from trying to focus in the dark.

Maybe Peter tried to take back the glasses he gifted to Mr Beck. I can faintly remember the details of him telling me he was starting to regret his decision. Everything he so briefly mentioned to me about the situation is a blur in the mess of my current state of mind.

I told him that I trusted Mr Beck, and that my dad would have too, but he was so frantic. I don’t know why I brushed him off so quickly.

I hear the clatter of a light object falling onto the ground, which startles my eyes back open.

“Am I alone?” I mutter lowly after an eerily pregnant pause.

I don’t know if I was expecting a response or not, but a shadowed figure slowly appearing from the dark, creeping into the low light that shines from a far away lamp, I can confidently say I was not prepared for.

“Hello?” I call, awaiting a response, “Peter?”

“He’s not here.” The voice grumbles. “He ran like a coward.”

The man whose voice I’m quite familiar with, steps forward, allowing the light to ever so slightly illuminate his facial features.

“Mr Beck?” I question, “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” He echoes, stifling a laugh, “What’s going on, is Peter betrayed me. And left you here to die.”

“What do you-“

“Just shut up!” He orders, and I slam my mouth shut. He quickly kneels on the ground in front of me, taking my shackled hands and looking into the depths of my eyes with intent.

He seems manic. Like he’s actually losing his mind. His eyes bulge in a way that screams danger. If I wasn’t restrained I would pull back, run away from his crazed state and find Peter, but for now I have to tough it out.

“I need your help.” He utters. “I need the code to your dad’s vault. The one on the 29th floor of Stark Industries.”

I bite my lip, confused as to what the hell is going on.

“I know he put his most valued things on that floor because it was a random number,” He continues, “Nobody would think to check any floors besides the top and the bottom. With 29 being the date of your birthday, it was a pretty simple code to crack.”

He pulls away, shaking his head after being met with my thoughtless eyes.

I know what he’s talking about. I know what secrets lie behind that vault, and I now realize what’s going on.

For years my dad warned me of all the enemies who would be out to get him. He told me stories of encounters from the past and predicted things that would happen in the future. My dad was no idiot, but it turns out I am. I curse myself for not seeing the signs sooner. The signs that Peter definitely caught onto, and literally spelled out for me. I don’t know why Mr Beck is doing this, and I don’t know how I fell for his lies, but I’ve been professionally trained by Iron Man for a situation like this.

Act dumb.

If I don’t know what he’s talking about, which would be highly plausible in a situation such as this one, there’s literally nothing he can try and force out of me.

Playing clueless is how I go home without a bruise on my body, and it’s the easiest game to play.

“Mr Beck,” I sigh, allowing my voice to break, “I don’t know what you’re-“

“Oh, save it.” He groans. “Did you really think I expected the daughter of stubborn ass Tony Stark to give in immediately?”

I stare at him blankly.

“No. I didn’t. I played the long game. I grew close with you and your boyfriend, stepping in at perfectly timed moments, waiting months, trying to work anything out of either of you, but to no avail, “He looks up as if recalling a memory, “and now we’re here. Tears begin to form in my eyes, and I pray they don’t fall. I trusted Mr Beck. I confided in him and let him fill the hole that my fathers death left behind just for his own selfish gain. “Do you really think, after months of planning, and even more months of pretending to give any shits about you and Peter, that I would throw it all away in an impulsive heat?” He chuckles. “Everything has been thoroughly thought out to the bone. So I ask you again,” I hear the clink of a knife being pulled from his belt. “What’s the code?”

I don’t look at his dagger. If I do, he’ll sense that i’m contemplating wether or not to tell him. But I don’t know anything, so there’s nothing to decide upon. I stare into his eyes, my vision blurred by my glossed pupils.

“I don’t know anything.”

Slowly, he lifts the tool to my face, pressing it against me cheek.

Part of me doesn’t believe he’ll actually do it. Like he somehow really does care for me. As if he’s being driven by a filthy greed that almost everyone has hidden deep down.

That was my first mistake.

He swiftly slashes across my cheek, leaving a stinging sensation and the trickling feeling of gushing blood.

“I know you think this will all work out. Like if you don’t tell me anything you’ll walk out of here alive, but you’re wrong. If you really have nothing to tell me, you no longer serve me any purpose, therefore I can kill you.”

Exasperating a sigh, I close my mouth stubbornly to symbolize the lack of information I’m willing to give, and look to the floor, which results in a quick slice of the knife.

I wince, trying not to think about the blood slipping down my neck and onto the tight lavender dress Peter had picked out for our date night.

“What’s the code to the vault?” He repeats.

“I don’t know.”

He grabs the collar of my dress, slowly dragging his knife all the way down to my thighs, leaving my body exposed and a long red liquid spewing where his knife opened my dress.

He looks up at me, clearly searching for a reaction that I don’t gift him. He angrily wraps his legs around my thighs, taking a seat on my lap. At an antagonizing pace, he begins dragging his knife from my eyebrow all the way down my nose and to my cheek.

Then down my arm repeatedly, as if solely in spite of me.

“Someone will come for me.” I spit the blood that had trickled onto my lips and into my mouth onto his already blood stained shirt. “Peter will find me.”

He chuckles, slowly rising to his feet and walking to a nearby table. “He left you.”

The tears that stream down my face and fall into my lap aren’t for the pain that he causes me, but for the memory of our relationship. The guilt that I feel after letting him replace my wonderful father. Dad would never stand by and let this happen, and I’m not going to either.

He fidgets with a few tools on the table before settling for a high tech remote. I hear the sound of a button being clicked before a projector lowers from the ceiling.

I stubbornly lift my sunken gaze to see what the screen is for. It goes static for few seconds, before flickering to a countdown screen.

“2 minutes and 30 seconds remaining.” A monotone voice reads.

“You see that?” He questions, “I know you’d do anything to protect the people you care about, including endure hours of torture. That part was just for my enjoyment.”

He motions to my cloth less body.

The screen shines brightly, illuminating the wide, cocky smile plastered on Mr Becks face, “If you fail to tell me what I want to know about your dads safe before the timer goes off, a video will broadcasts across every public television screen in new york city.” He pauses as if trying to build suspense. “A broadcast that will expose Spider-man’s identity.”

For a split second, my face falls, and his smile brightens.

“I-“ I stammer, looking at the screen in shock.

Is he bluffing? He has to be. But his face reads otherwise. He proudly stares up at the screen, almost as if he hopes I don’t give in so that his genius, perfectly executed plan can come to life.

“Two Minutes remaining.” The voice reads.

I think about Peter. My boyfriend. My best friend. I know Mr Beck is lying, and that Peter didn’t really leave me here, but Tony was my dad.

I close my eyes in remembrance of what I’ve lost. How my dad spent those years trying to bring Peter back, and got himself killed in the process. How I lost him long before he was really gone. All for Peter.

“What would he do?” I foolishly ask myself.

He wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. He would’ve caught on to Mr Beck the second he walked into the picture. This is all my fault, and Peter shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes. He would save Peter.

“30 seconds remaining.”

I open my eyes and watch the screen, watch the seconds slowly inch down. A tear escapes my eye, and I don’t bother hiding It’s clear i’m upset, my facade has fallen.

He slowly inches towards me, placing his hand ‘comfortingly’ on my face and using his thumb to wipe away my tears. “What’s it gonna be?”

My eyes are filled with furry, though my voice doesn’t reflect it as I calmly reply. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“I knew you’d come around!” He smiles, walking to the other side of the pitch black room. I see a number panel light up, as he looks to me expectantly.

The timer continues to rush down, now reading 18 seconds.

“0212912001” I recite quickly through clenched teeth.

I faintly hear the clicking of him inputting some numbers.

“Your birthday?”

“My birthday.” I mumble, allowing a tear to roll down my cheek.

Beep Beep

The machine confirms, illuminating a green light as he turns back to me in astonishment.

“Didn’t think i’d tell the truth?” I coldly stare at the timer, as my tears continue to fall.

“No.” He says shortly, rushing to see the projector, “I honestly didn’t think you’d be so weak.” He says it like a passing thought. As though he planned to say it in confidence but was too worried about something else that was going on.

“Six.” The tedious voice reminds.

“Giving up your fathers most important life changing inventions?”

“Five.”

“To protect your boyfriend?”

“Four.”

He laughs, shaking his head. His voice again laced in conceded confidence “Pathetic.”

“Three.”

“Turn it off!” I cry, trying to break free of the restraints that hold me.

“Two.”

“It’s scheduled to upload. The countdown isn’t what controls when. I could never have stopped it.”

“One.”

As if on command, the screen changes to a video of a bloodied Mr Beck, presumably immediately after his fight with Peter. I quickly send him a glance and notice he’s wearing the same outfit as in the broadcast.

“I don’t know if I’ll make it out of this

alive-“ I hear clanking and fighting in the near distance behind the camera, “Peter Parker is Spider-man.” He pants,

Peter is then brought into frame. He’s in his all too familiar suit, but it’s torn, bloodied, and his mask is nowhere in sight .

“No.” I mumble.

“And if you’re seeing this… he’s killed me.”

The screen goes dark and my heart plummets.

#spiderman #peter parker #tom holland #zendaya #spiderman no way home #spiderman homecoming #spider-man kidnap #quentin beck #spider man x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #spider man fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #marvel #the avengers #avengers kidnapping

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george228732 · 11 months ago

Text

Fylass Through the Looking Glass - Chapter Fifteen - Dragon’s Elegy

The clouds of Wonderland were darkening, as a newfound sense of discomfort shrouded the group that was going back to the Looking Glass to get to Underland, as if a cold shadow was tagging along - the chills across the land were clearly signaling a bad omen, and maybe it was true, as those same clouds took the shame of bizarre, amorphous creatures, thing that shouldn’t be a problem in and of itself, but there was something about those figures that felt oddly artificial, as if someone was doodling without much care in a piece of paper - it felt foreboding, as everything else; a watching eye that was just so excited to see what was about to happen in the stage, a creature that was old, even older that Wonderland itself, a threat that was looming, always looming, but never got the chance to show up personally… For now at least.

On all the way through to get to the Looking Glass, everyone was eerily quiet, wanting to at least say something to ease the tension, but no words came from anyone’s mouth, even though they just got exposed to a mouthful of information, which it would be good at first glance, but thanks to that, now they have to deal with the fact that there’s a threat much bigger than the Jabberwocky, and even if it sounds redundant, it was the truth.

Nonetheless, they had to take care of both of them sooner or later, and deep down, they knew that this trip back to Underland would be one they would never forget - the last time the ferocious dragon got to Underland, or specifically, the White Kingdom, grief and despair reigned for a long while, bittering the hearts of everyone, and from there, many forgot the friendship both realms once had, and many forgot that the other realm existed, and even though Cosmounse was surely a threat far more dangerous than it, it didn’t take of the fact that they needed to get rid of that dragon in one way or another - sure, its cycle would surely never cease, but at the very least, peace could be found for a while, or well, they hoped so.

…

A row of voices echoed through the path that bestowed upon the group, putting everyone on edge - it surely wasn’t something to be worried about, and yet, they didn’t want to take any risks whatsoever, so everyone drew their weapons, just in case; it didn’t take much to see that the ones walking next to them on the gloomy pathway were ones that they knew about before, being none others than the residents of the Tarot Town, along with their mayor, and a suspiciously familiar gray jay leading the way.

"Oh dear, I am glad I found-... You." The Mayor, Aeon spoke up, but quickly stopped herself from keeping up with the conversation when she noticed people that she never saw before, as far as her mind could go, but also the Spade and Club Suits were there too, and both Fylass and her seem to be intrigued and interested in each other’s presence, both for completely different reasons, it seemed, for as Aeon seemed to have saw them somewhere in her dreams, Fylass had an expression which indicated that they knew her in a personal level; no one that Fylass knows and holds dear deeply, actually know about who she was in the real world, but nonetheless, that didn’t really matter at the moment.

Fylass tried to pretend they didn’t know about her when they realized the expression they were giving off, and didn’t say a thing, until someone else in the group did.

"...Oh, miss? …What are you doing here with your people? The weather doesn’t seem to be the appropriate one to wander around, especially if the villagers are going with you." Dero said, half lying.

"Regarding that, I actually wanted to request something from the Queen." Aeon said, with the gray jay besides her flying around, seemingly distressed by something.

"...? What would that be?"

"...It would request shelter at the Card Castle for me and my people. I got another one of those visions early in the day, and while I don’t have much recollection on what I saw, I know the message it was trying to send, and I fear for the safety of the Wonderlanders, so I thought that the Card Castle would be a more well secured place for protection."

Dero felt a shiver of unease when he heard that - it felt too similar to the one day he woke up in Wonderland for the first time, with all those people refuging at the Castle’s doors as the looming threat that started his oath kept on going.He pondered about that request for a bit though, and eventually came to the conclusion that he was not going to commit the same mistakes that led him to lose the one he loved.

"...I accept your request, and I am sure that the Queen will do so as well." He remarked and pointes his swords towards the starting point where the group had started walking. "Follow that path, and you’ll be there in no time, yet I recommend you to hurry, as like you said, your safety could be in danger - When you get there, I’d advise you to stay away from the windows and things along those lines, since it does seem like a huge storm… or something worse could happen."

With those statements out of the line, Aeon silently nodded and thanked the Jailer as she and the other villagers of the town went to the Castle as fast as it could to still be considered walking, although, the bird that accompanied them seemed keen on actually following the suits and their gang, for reasons that seemed unknown, but it’s not like it could be important that a mere bird were following them, right?

When the rest of the villagers were out of view, the group kept on going towards their destination before it could be too late, time is running out, time is running out, and yet, some had their head lost in their thoughts.

"...I… I feel like I saw her once before… Is she… No, it can’t be." Maforanti thought - apparently, he still had difficulties in remembering some other things that should’ve been in his head when he received that epiphany, but he had to keep his mind busy regarding another event that was sure to follow.

The path leading to the Looking Glass was becoming more narrow, as if someone was contracting the mere fabric of reality, with the skies enclosing, and the trees stretching to make the path feel more claustrophobic, and the path of dirt lengthening to make each step feel more difficult to do; everyone walking along felt a sense of unrest, but the silence was still present, and it couldn’t be more palpable.

Nonetheless, they got to the place where the Looking Glass is supposed to be, but the shack it was in felt contorted, and even more out of place than the rest of the world, and its inside didn’t help to ease that feeling as Fylass turned the knob to open it; the gray wooden planks of the floor and walls were peeling its layers like tapestry, as its remains were still on the air, never able to touch the floor, the table where that mismatch of a board was below now had a shape that was so far from what it could’ve been once, shape that couldn’t be described, while still having that board on top, and the faint smell of wet clay and vinegar floated across the decaying walls.

The Looking Glass on the other hand, looked just the same as always, but its normalcy compared to the rest of the room was what made it so off putting to even look at.

"...I got a bad feeling about whatever is going to happen on the other side, but at this point, it’s this, or having to bear the possible danger of not doing anything." Fylass said as they got closer to the Looking Glass, confirming that it was still able to be passed through, and such, they handed their hand towards the group that weren’t Suits or Pieces, so they were able to go through as well.

Step by step, everyone left Wonderland to finish off a threat that started ever since the gates of Underland were opened, and they were greeted by the same decrepit shack that greeted them in the other world, but now, the sheer, freezing cold winds welcomed them to the stagnant, possibly dying world, Underland. Buddy and Celeernyx didn’t even take a look at the surroundings outside the shack and they could already tell that something was extremely off, as if someone was taking off the air that the group breathed all of a sudden.

It wasn’t until Fylass opened the door that they realized the situation they were in - everything was far too cold for Underland, and the faint sound of a clock ticking echoed throughout the whole land, but what was the most eerie of everything was the silence that drowned Underland; yet another bad omen. It either meant the Jabberwocky wasn’t here yet, or it already caused everyone’s voices to get muffled by its jaws, like how it happened so long ago.

"I can already feel that this is going to be a great hassle… Let’s bring our weapons now, before we regret that we didn't do it earlier." Unicorn said, and so, the group took their weapons out due to perfectly knowing that this adventure will take a drastic move sooner or later, and were about to leave the shack to finally settle this for good, ot at least they hoped so - They knew the Jabberwocky would just rise again after a while, for its curse would just latch onto someone else, and the cycle would just repeat again, but at the very least, contain it for some time would be enough for the people, and it would be even more than enough that that creature doesn’t cause a disaster in Underland, yet again.

It wasn’t until Fylass stepped out of the door that they heard something that apparently had come with them through the Looking Glass, being that same gray jay the Mayor of Tarot Town was holding with her, one that was odd to look at, since it seemed to have some intelligence that a bird wouldn’t be able to possess, which is ironic, since in Wonderland, not much things make sense.

"...Huh… How did this bird follow us?" Banshee asked rhetorically, wanting to ask how didn’t anyone see that the gray jay was tagging along.

"...It shouldn’t matter, we need to get going before it’s too late to act…" Celeernyx spoke up right after.

The gray jay on the other hand, flew across the room and landed on one of Fylass’ antlers as the Wolpertinger they were now. The club wanted to take them off there, but after a couple of seconds of trying, they figured out it wouldn’t budge, so they left it be, besides, this world is running on a countdown, a house of cards if you will, and there will be no failsafe if they break it by not hurrying up.

With this new "companion" tagging along with them, everyone got out of the dying walls of the room, hurrying to get to the White Kingdom to see if everything was doing ok with Neptune taking care of the Castle and the people around it from the Jabberwocky’s jaws, or if that creature already did its rampage. Dero and Giselle seemed to know the path to get there, including the King, Queen, and the Bishop, as if even after all those years, they still got to remember Underland before the incident, and years before such, Giselle’s own death…

Nonetheless, the silence was still in the air, but gladly enough, when they got to the town close to the White Castle, none of the architecture seemed damaged in any significant way, proving that the Jabberwocky - somehow - haven’t gotten here yet, but that raised the question of where were the people, since at the very least, a modicum of noise should come from them; it was so quiet that the group could hear their own heartbeats, but oddly enough, not the sound of the ticking pocket watch in Fylass’ bag…

"...Wait a minute…" Fylass grabbed their bag, and look at its contents - that book, the pocket watch and… The Club Key, which guards their part of the Card Castle, and from there, their diary…

…

Fylass took out the pocket watch, and indeed, its hands were not moving, which wouldn’t be a problem in and of itself, but what was the most eerie of all was that it didn’t seem to be an external problem, and rather it seemed more as if time itself had stopped - it would be exaggerated to think about such possibility, but by closer inspection on the houses’ windows, none of the clocks that were visible through them seem to work either, which would explain the deafening silence, or at least, part of it.

"...This is getting worse by the day, huh…?" Ades said, trying to process the situation at the moment. Either way, seeing how nothing else was happening at the Town, whether that be literally or figuratively, the rest of the group decided to get to the White Castle to confirm if everything was okay.

Step by step, it was as if the climate was getting colder to the touch, to the point that it became almost unbearable, and the distance was harder and harder to see due to an odd fog that started surrounding the place entirely, like that fog that covered Time’s Clock Tower - things get inexplicable in the span of a few seconds in this world, to the point that it seemed that someone was tampering with the fabric of reality once again, and if that were true, they knew exactly who it was, but they were too busy and dreaded of such assumption that no one would prefer to utter his name.

Nonetheless, even with the world conspiring against them, they got to the doors of the White Castle, and from there, it was much clearer where did the people go - they were taking shelter in the gray, marble walls of the castle, apparently knowing the danger they were under, as well, with many being too silent out of the fear that if the Jabberwocky got here, they would all be doomed for sure. Neptune was close to the King and Queen’s thrones, doing his job as well as he was capable of without the Royal Pieces’ orders.

After a little though, he got to see the group amongst the people that were taking shelter.

"My King! My Queen!" He said as he walked towards them, being careful of not tripping someone out of the blue, and when he got to them, he bowed to them in a respectful manner. "I did as you were told and kept your Kingdom safe."

"...I am grateful for such, however… I must ask, why are all these people here?" Buddy said - in any other context, this would lead to any sort of interrogation or even scorn, but knowing the situation they were in, it was a relieved thank you, disguised as a question.

"My King, the people witnessed the Jabberwocky in the far away distance, and wanted a place to be safe at, so I thought it’d be for the best if I let the townsfolk stay until the situation got better, but knowing the danger that creature means to all of us, I am not so sure…"

That sank dread on everyone’s minds - The Jabberwocky really got here, but it was by a miracle that it hasn’t spotted this place yet, but it wouldn’t take long until it did… Lucid came down with an idea to keep the people safe, though.

"...What if we send your people to Wonderland? The Jabberwocky isn’t there, and if it goes back, we can send your people here again, as we take care of that menace." Deep down, Lucid wanted anything but to see their friends and loved ones hurt, or even dead, but there wasn’t any more choice on what they could do, yet dragging people like Fylass or Chaos to this didn’t sit well with the Porcelain man.

Speaking of Chaos, though, since he realized what he really is, he couldn’t look at Neptune the same way, knowing that at the very least, they could’ve been friends, or even more before he lost his memory, and his silence was nothing like how he would have acted in any other way; The Mad Hatter didn’t seem mad anymore, just… bleak, but probably thoughtful. Neptune on the other hand, looked at him with a sense of faint memories and nostalgia, whether it was before Chaos could have time with him, or after, who’s to tell? Anyways, Neptune still had a job to do, and he thought that what Lucid had said could be a good enough idea to keep everyone safe and sound.

"...The Bishop seems to have a decent plan… Do we go with it, my King?"

Buddy pondered on that - he had been so rude and disrespectful to not only the Wonderlanders but also the same people which he should appreciate since they are part of the same hierarchy he’s part of, and even then, they’re still willing to help out, it maybe wasn’t for him, or maybe it was, but what mattered was that even after all of that trouble, the people that he wronged in this adventure still wanted to help out. It reminded him of simpler times where everything was okay and he didn’t have much to worry about… Those times are gone by the same creature that is terrorizing Underland right now, and the Wonderlanders surely were at fault, but… at this point, did it even matter?

"...Yes, yes. It sounds good enough, please go through with it - One of the Suits should accompany you people for you to go through the Looking Glass, though…" He said.

"I will do so." A voice spoke up, being Giselle’s, with Dero right beside her - with what happened on the Card Castle when both were on their own, he wasn’t that keen on going with her, knowing that she didn’t want to be at his side, at least for now - he knew something was troubling her, but he also knew that he wasn’t in any position to do something about it, or at least, he believed he wasn’t.

"...Okay. I’d recommend you to hurry, before that thing notices you and things go sour. There’s little to no time left for us to wander around doing nothing." Buddy remarked, as Neptune and Giselle left the scene to try and get the people to get out and take shelter in Wonderland, being one of the few actual options they had to avoid annihilation. Some were immediately on board, some others refused as the offer was on the table, but anyway, all of them ended up complying in one way or another, and as silently as they could, the Castle was quickly emptied, with only the group standing on the now lone walls.

Fylass, although being mostly quiet as things enveloped, seemed extremely troubled - not only because of the Jabberwocky, not only because of Cosmounse, but also for something else, that no one could put a finger on what it was - The gray jay above them seemed also distressed, as whenever the kid took a step that placed them closer to any window or door leading to the outside, the bird would try to make them go back, may be by chirping right next to them or even trying to use its faint strength to make them back away, not that the kid wanted to get out just now, knowing what kind of threat was outside the Castle’s walls.

"You seem quite anxious, dontcha?" A voice spoke to them on the side, being Rooky’s voice which just so happened to get out of the crown willingly, with Buddy taking notice of that, being fitting now, considering that she was extremely quiet due to staying in that crown, and only some people could hear her, for some reason, Fylass included.

Fylass was taken aback for a second, but quickly gained composure.

"Well… Yeah, I am, but it’s for what’s happening right now, and such…"

"...Are you sure? I ain’t gonna get mad if you’re lying!" She snickered.

"..."

"It’d proooooobably recommend you to spill the tea before it’s too late for you to do so, I am part of a crown, but even I know that bottling up feelings just so no one can see them is dumb. You’d bet how Buddy would be acting sometimes after a certain incident."

"...You know that?"

"Maybe! Maybe not! I am just waiting for them to notice."

"Why haven’t you told them anything?"

"Because it’d be funnier that way! Besides, do ya reeeeeeally think that they’d trust a word that I say? Being a crown apparently takes away points of credibility!" She spoke up. "But I digress, what I am saying is that at one point they’ll probably discover whatever you’re hiding, but making sure you reveal that to them, or that they figure that on their own depends on ya!"

"..." Fylass stood silent, thinking on what she just said - they wouldn’t want them to know that they could maybe not even exist, being just a figment on someone’s imagination, and yet, that feeling is eating Fylass from the inside, not being able to share this with someone just caused them more pain, but they didn’t want to cause more pain to others.

"...But-" Fylass was about to say something until they noticed something in the distance, or well, someone else noticed that something in the distance; The Clock Tower was seemingly acting strange, with its hands moving back and forth erratically, to the point that its hands spelled out impossible hours, which was odd, since time had stopped. The fog made it hard to see, but it was clear that something was very, very wrong.

"...Er… Apparently, the Jabberwocky isn’t the only thing we have to deal with now." Unicorn said, also noticing the anomalies that were going on in the Tower.

"Could Majaway be there? That’s the only explanation I could figure out on this…" Celeernyx remarked.

Eventually, it came down to a consensus that they needed to get there, to not deal with two problems at the same time, and might as well try to fix one of them before they went through with the next one. The Gray Jay on Fylass’ head insisted the kid not to keep going, but it had to be done, and as the Wolpertinger left, it had no choice than to begrudgingly tag along to a possible danger that had to be dealt with.

The area was even harder to get to than the White Castle, being something unremarkable for sure… It was freezing cold, with the cold winds so familiar of the area making it hard for one to focus due to the foreboding sound they made, and the fog getting increasingly thicker and harder to look through, until eventually, it all stopped.

The cold of the land disappeared.

The winds stood still in the air.

The fog stopped being a thing.

Now, the Clock Tower was on the view, and an impending sense of doom made itself present amongst the dread and discomfort. It looked… off, ignoring how its hands moved erratically as the sound of gears turning could make someone deaf if they got closer, there was something about it that felt dangerous to even touch, and even Time himself didn’t feel okay by stepping on it, being just as quiet and usual, to the point that not many didn’t even notice he was there.

"...I fear whatever’s going to happen next." Ades said again, as Fylass got closer to get to the entrance door, being opened by something or someone, long before they got there. It was all too quiet, until all of a sudden…

A growl was heard in the sky.

It was enough to shake the ground and the hearts of the victims that heard it, and by taking a look at the now dark skies, they saw it, the Jabberwocky, and sadly, it saw them too.

"...Oh no."

The fog, cold and the winds appeared again in the span of a second, and the creature flying across the skies quickly flew across the group, placing everyone into a panic.

"RUN!" The first of the voices yelled across the chaotic grasslands, making it clear for everyone that they needed to flee if they wanted a chance to live - taking advantage of the muffling sound of the winds and the thickness of the fog, everyone ran to a random direction with the hopes that the Jabberwocky wouldn’t be able to see them.

A creature so mighty would place everyone in a panic quickly, but in the case of these people, many only have heard of it, but never got to see this creature fighting in its full glory, and that was terrifying, as for the ones of the White Kingdom, this only brought them the worst memories of loss they could ever think about, and if they didn’t hurry, they’ll be part of those stories as well.

The sound of the grass being flown around thanks to the strong winds was just for the setting, to see a tragedy play out in a random theater, and sadly, there were both spectators and actors in the same play - a twisted scenario serving for entertainment of a few.

Fylass (with the gray jay still in head) quickly stumbled with Lucid and Buddy in the fog, being relieved that at least they found someone across the chaos, but it quickly shifted into panic as they heard the creature possibly getting closer, and it was time to get the others and run - poor them that didn’t plan this all the way through.

It would’ve probably ended well if the fog hadn’t disappeared out of the blue - like a cruel joke, it wouldn’t have ended well for any one, huh? Repeating a tragedy that both Wonderlanders and Underlanders would have to go through - it was only fair, right? Now they were exposed to the creature hunting them down, and it was pretty convenient that it saw the Wolpertinger and their companions first.

As the Jabberwocky flew towards them, Fylass pondered on what they could do in that short span of seconds… This creature going after them was created by them, after all, for they knew that this place wasn’t what it seemed, they knew the truth, but the others didn’t…

"..." Fylass remembered what Rooky had told to them, and at this point, whether it was for them to know the truth, or for them to finally understand them, and what they go through, Fylass got the cleaver from their bag and threw it towards the King and Bishop with the Club Key still inside, and sprinted towards the creature that would kill them with the hopes that maybe, they could have a bit more time to escape if the fog came back to save them in time.

With a swift move, they seemed to have managed to make at least the faint bits of damage to the Jabberwocky’s face, as they were lifted towards the skies for the final act, with the gray jay doing its best to avoid the same attack and fate.

Lucid yelled for their name as it all went through, not wanting to see another one of his loved ones die by the same methods, but it was all too late. Fylass knew they could come back as long as they fell asleep like some mere dream, but no one else knew, so in their eyes, they could only see how that dragon opened its jaws and all of a sudden, the kid was, sadly, no more, as their body shatters inside the creature.

The deafening silence came to be again, as if everything had stopped in time, with Lucid, Buddy and the others seeing how the kid died in front of their eyes, unable to save them in time, and they could only stay on their knees in hopelessness and shock, as the fog didn’t seem to go back, and the Jabberwocky was going to go after the King and Bishop.

Or well, was.

Dero, not being able to afford being in disbelief in a situation like this, intercepted between the future attack and took his sword out, trying to attack it once more with the hope that his attacks would be enough to scare it away, but surprisingly enough, no attack came.

Everyone had closed their eyes to not see the rampage, but no rampage came - everything went quiet, so so quiet, and when they opened their eyes, yes, the Jabberwocky WAS there, but it wasn’t moving - in fact, it was still and stiff on the air, stuck in time, still with that expression that a wild animal would make before eating its prey.

"..." Dero was only filled with questions and sadness, not only for this, but also because he had, yet again, lost someone that he could’ve maybe protected, and in ire, he started swinging his sword around, hoping that that would be enough to kill it, but no damage he could make seemed to even leave a dent on it, apparently because of the position it was in, not being able to give or receive damage, resembling a taxidermied animal, but those eyes were still full of life…

Lucid cried out for Fylass’ name, knowing that he was gone, and wouldn’t come back, or at least for now.

"WHY?! WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING!?" He yelled, doing his best not to choke on his words. "AS SOON AS I SEE A BRIGHT FUTURE FOR MYSELF AND THE PEOPLE I LOVE, THIS HAPPENS! WHY?! FIRST MY BUDDY, NOW THE KID?! WHY AM I SUCH A FAILURE?!"

Buddy was silent at this point, not being able to process what just occurred, but that last statement made him click something on his head.

"...Y-Your Buddy? …Wait… What do you mean by that…? You weren’t there on that… day…"

"...!"

"...S-Shard?" He spoke up. Shard, that name Lucid had before losing his old buddy and body in Wonderland, that name that no one should be able to remember at this point, besides someone that would be close to him on those days… Was he…"

"...That’s… T-That’s my name…" Lucid said, trying not to drown himself in his sorrows. "...How do you…"

It was clear who they were talking to.

Apparently, they weren’t gone, they never were.

"...Mags…?" He got closer, and all of a sudden, it was clear who he was with the whole time, and without words, the two got themselves in a massive embrace, crying over a loss, and crying over seeing another loss being healed.

The others would try to follow, not knowing what was exactly happening, but it was all too confusing to focus on more than one thing.

…

Lucid, as he realized the truth of the current situation, grabbed the bag Fylass had thrown to him, as one of his sorrows was eased, another one followed… Although…

This isn’t the end, now is it?

-------

@galakianexplosion (DRAWING AND SUCH :D)

@heiressofdoodles

@lostsoulau-ask

@loaflovesdoodling

@ilikesillythingswooo

@monsterhatdoodles

@moon-mage

@kirby-universe-4162

@den-of-the-blue-dragon

@kachikirby

#fylass in wonderland #fylass through the looking glass

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