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little-diable · 4 months ago

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Broke my heart and called me pretty, won me back and called me his - Tyler Owens (smut)

Watched Twisters again and I simply needed to write another Tyler fic. I listened to "Pretty Slowly" by Benson Boone while writing this. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tyler had ended his engagement to the reader years ago, all for her to chase her dreams. But when he turns up as a guest for her lecture, both find themselves thrown back into the love they still feel for one another.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), ex-lovers to lovers, some angst, lots of fluff tho

Pairing: Tyler Owens x professor!fem!reader (4k words)

“(Y/n)?” Her eyes flickered up from her notes, watching her assistant take a step into her office. With a soft smile playing on her lips, (y/n) waited for Alice to keep on speaking, knowing that she must leave for her upcoming class in a few minutes.

“There’s been a scheduling problem with your guest for today’s lesson, they sent somebody else. He’s waiting outside for you.” For a second, she only stared at Alice, letting the words sink in before her annoyance and anger could clash through her. Organising guests who were willing to speak to her students has always been a struggle, she spent hours on finding the right people and now she couldn’t help but curse them for not giving her an earlier notice.

“Send him in, thank you, Alice.” (Y/n) began to collect her notes as the elderly woman left the room to fetch whoever was waiting outside, buying herself some time to remain calm. Deep breaths left (y/n), fighting through the uneasiness she couldn’t shake.

The sound of boots meeting the ground rang in her ears, and suddenly her body began to tense, freezing on the spot almost. Somehow she could feel him before she saw him, instantly knowing who was about to enter her office even though it had been years since they had last seen one another.

“Would you look at that, I’ve always wondered what your office looks like.” His voice shot shudders down her spine, a reaction she had once been all too familiar with but couldn’t help but curse now. With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) let her eyes wander over his features, fuck he was still as handsome as he had been all those years before.

“What are you doing here, Tyler?” Her voice didn’t carry much strength, just enough to draw his wandering eyes back to her. Tyler studied her for a moment, keeping his distance while both seemed to get lost in the draw they had felt ever since their first date, knowing that the other was the one - or at least it had always felt like that.

“Jake gave me a call this morning, told me he couldn’t make it. And since we were in the area anyway, I didn’t mind stepping in.” A scoff clawed through (y/n), followed by the shake of her head. She kept her eyes focused on her things while she rose to her feet, set on getting this over and done with as fast as possible.

“Of course you didn’t mind, the holy saint Tyler Owens just can’t help but present himself at any given chance.” His hand shot out to catch her arm before she could brush past him, forcing (y/n) to stand close to him.

“Hey, I’m doing you a favour here, least you could do is treat me with some respect.” His voice still had that southern drawl to it she had longed to hear for way too long. She had deleted all his socials, hadn’t talked to any of their shared friends, no matter how many times she had longed to do so - even thinking of him hurt still too much.

“Respect? I’m amazed you even know what that word means.” Both looked at one another for a moment, caught up in the memories that still haunted them to this day. Perhaps it could have been different. Perhaps they could have still been together if their path hadn’t been forced to an end years ago.

“I did what was right, you can paint me as the bad guy, but don’t lie to yourself, darling. I did it for you, and I would do it all over again.” She ripped herself out of his grasp and muttered a small “Follow me” before leaving the room. Tears threatened to build in her eyes, forced to remember the day he had broken up with her, weeks after he had asked her to marry him. Deep down she knew that he was speaking the truth, if he hadn’t broken up with her, she wouldn’t have followed her dreams to study overseas to end up where she was now. And yet she hadn’t been able to let go of her hurt to this day.

The sounds of their shoes meeting the cold ground was the only thing that could be heard, nothing but heavy steps that felt like they were moving towards their end once again. Ancient lovers reunited in their last hour on this earth, and with one last chance they were offered to find their way back together. A chance that was now slipping through their fingers.

“Good afternoon.” Her voice boomed through the big room which was filled with students who all instantly stopped speaking. Tyler kept his distance, waiting near the door while studying her every move. This was what he had hoped for all these years ago. For her to end up right here, doing what she had always dreamt of doing.

Parts of him had cursed himself for ending their engagement, but as much as he had wanted to follow her and help her chase her dream with him by her side, he hadn’t been able to leave. He had broken both their hearts with hurtful words spurred on by the anger he had directed at himself and at the circumstances he hadn’t been able to rip himself free from.

“This is Tyler Owens, I’m sure some of you may know his channel. He’ll talk to you about storm chasing today, please bear in mind that you’ll get enough time for questions after his talk.” She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to get lost in the eyes she had always tried to look for in every room. Eyes that had once held their shared secrets. Eyes that had watched her grow into a young woman after meeting when they had been mere teenagers. Eyes that still appeared in her dreams whenever her mind needed a reset from the battles she was currently fighting.

The sound of loud claps filled the room, he moved closer with a smile glued to his lips - a smile that slightly began to drop as she mumbled a quiet “I’ll be in my office” while brushing past him.

……

“Hey,” Tyler’s voice filled her office. A soft sigh left (y/n) as she forced herself to look at him, unable to bite down the hurt that had been clawing at her skin since the second he had first entered her office hours ago. “You missed an interesting class.”

“I,” she cleared her throat while shifting around on her seat. “I watched the stream. You were good, they loved you.”

“Well, what can I say? We have a big fan community.” A soft laugh managed to leave her before she could stop the sound, forcing heat to rise in her system. “Will you grab dinner with me? I think we’ve got some catching up to do.”

She should have said no. She should have kindly told him that she had other plans. But knowing that she’d most likely not see him again for years and years to come felt like a punch to her gut. So all she did was nod her head and grab her purse, ready to leave her office for the day.

No words were spoken between them as he guided her towards his truck, the same one she had seen in his videos. It felt strange being here with him, sitting in the truck that added to this internet persona of his she was a stranger to, barely recognising the man he was now.

“It’s bigger than I expected it to be.” (Y/n) blurted out the words while she looked around the truck, watching Tyler drive them to the spot he seemed to have in mind. The smirk tugging on his lips told her that she had just shared something she shouldn’t have, letting him in on the knowledge that she was watching his videos every now and then.

“I always wondered if you were watching us. They miss you, you know.” Nothing but a hum managed to pass her lips, unable to speak up as her throat grew tighter. It had been years since she had last seen his crew, the people she had once called her friends and had cut off the second she had left home, unable to think of anything that had something to do with Tyler. Years had passed before (y/n) had allowed herself to get back into all things storm chasing, which also meant catching up with Tyler and his work.

“I miss them too.” Her eyes flickered down to his right hand which seemed to move in her direction but before Tyler could touch her, he pulled back again, balling a fist that rested on his thigh. It hurt her more than she had thought to see him like that, seemingly struggling just as much as she did with their newfound distance after all these years. And yet they were still bound together, by something neither could put a finger on.

“Thought we could visit Mary Jane’s, for old times’ sake.” She couldn’t reply, not when one memory after another caught up with her. They had lost count on the amount of times they had chased in that area, grabbing dinner and coffees at Mary Jane’s at any given chance. A bittersweet memory that only worsened the heavy feeling settling on her chest.

After parking the truck, she watched him round the car to help her down, keeping his hand placed on the small of her back for a second too long. It felt as if Tyler had to force himself to let go, to remember that she no longer was his to touch, even though it only felt right to keep close.

“So, tell me, professor. What did I miss? What did you do the last few years? Your mom didn’t tell me much.” Her focus was ripped from the menu at the mention of her mother. She hadn’t told (y/n) anything about being in touch with Tyler, hadn’t dropped his name once. Every now and then (y/n) had wanted to ask about him, knowing that her mother was most likely at least watching his videos, but something had always held her back. Perhaps she had been too scared to hear of stuff she wouldn’t be able to stomach, wondering if he had moved on, if he had found another woman to spend the rest of his life with.

“You’re still in touch with her?” The approaching waitress momentarily distracted them both, taking on their orders while (y/n)’s gaze kept flickering back to Tyler. Seeing him again had made everything more complicated, a distraction she hadn’t needed, but as much as she wanted to run and hide from the past, she also couldn’t stop herself from wanting to ask all these questions burning on the tip of her tongue.

“Well, I call her every Christmas and on her birthday, and she does the same.” An unjustified anger simmered inside of her, drawing a frown onto her features while averting her gaze. It felt unfair that he and her mother had kept in touch, sharing details about their experiences and what they had done over the past years – all while (y/n) had fought so hard for a clean start away from her past. “Hey, look at me, pretty.”

“Don’t call me that, Tyler.” Hurt flashed over his features, a sight that only worsened the pain she felt deep inside of her.

God, what was she even doing here? There was nothing left to say, nothing but a proper goodbye so she could go back to her day and forget the pain she had tried to bury six feet under.

“Listen, (y/n).” Tyler reached for her hand before she could pull away, forcing her to keep her focus on him. “I didn’t do it right back then, should have sat you down and told you everything I feared and worried about. I should have given you the chance to make this decision for yourself. But I don’t regret giving you an out, you deserved to experience every dream, everything you have worked so hard for. Don’t blame me for wanting you to live the best possible life you could dream to live.”

“But what if all of those dreams had lost their meaning without you? What if nothing worked the same way without you by my side?” A tear dripped from her eye before she could try to wipe it away. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t read what was swimming in his pupils. Nothing but hurt and confusion that made her pull her hand away from his big one. “This was a mistake.”

She pushed herself out of the booth and rushed outside while more tears kept on falling. The shaky exhale leaving her drowned out the sound of Tyler calling for her, catching up with (y/n) before he pulled her against his broad chest. Sobs clawed through her as Tyler’s hand kept stroking up and down her spine, holding her close.

“I got you, darling, I always will.”

……

“Here, do you need anything else?” It had been hours since her breakdown at the diner. Hours that had been filled with a shared dinner, memories that had been whispered about and eventually a drive back to her place. It had already been late by the time they had left Mary Jane’s, leading her to invite Tyler to stay in her guest room for the night.

“I’m alright, thank you, darling.” Tyler shot her a smile before he pulled her in for another hug. With a kiss pressed to her hairline, he eventually let go of her, watching (y/n) leave the room after a few hesitant seconds.

Her heart was racing until she found herself laying restless in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The past hours kept replaying, flashing past her open eyes while wondering if Tyler had managed to fall asleep. Seeing him again had ripped open all old wounds, leaving her confused and torn between too many sensations. For the last years she had tried to move on, had gone on many dates that had led to nothing but a hopeless feeling that she may never get over Tyler and the love she still felt for him. A feeling that had now resurfaced once again.

With an annoyed sigh clawing through her, (y/n) left her bedroom again, freezing in her step as she found Tyler’s frame standing near the window in her living room, staring down on the city. Slowly, she moved closer, wrapping her arms around herself as she came to a halt next to him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His raspy voice made goosebumps rise on her skin, forcing her to shake her head while trying to keep her focus on the lights. A few seconds of silence passed before Tyler wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her against his side. “I missed you, pretty.”

This time she didn’t comment on it, could only push herself further into his embrace to search for his warmth. Wordlessly Tyler pulled her along to her sofa, plopping down on it before she placed her head on his chest, falling back into a routine that felt too familiar.

“Do you think we would have been married by now if things hadn’t ended?” The question was whispered, rolling off her tongue without giving it much thought. (Y/n) had always wondered about their wedding, how it would have played out, who they would have invited and where it would have taken place.

“Oh, for sure. I wouldn’t have been able to wait much longer before calling you my wife.” His soft chuckle vibrated through both their bodies, drawing a smile onto her lips.

“I was so excited for it. It would have been the best day.” Tyler tightened his grip on her waist while pressing another kiss to her hairline. For a moment, neither of them spoke, keeping quiet as their thoughts began to spiral. She felt his muscles tense beneath her, making her wonder what he was about to speak while the night wrapped its comforting veil around them.

“It can still be the best day.” Her heart skipped a beat, wondering what he meant by that. Her eyes found his, seeing the way he was torn by whatever kept buzzing through his mind. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it, and yet the way he looked at her, filled with something she hadn’t felt in years, left her wondering if he was still talking about the two of them.

“What are you saying, Tyler?” His hand came up to cup her cheek, feeling her warmth pressing against his hand. Seconds of silence blurred by, making both their hearts race while he fought to find the right words.

“I won’t ever be able to love anybody the way I love you, and that will never change. And judging by what you told me, it’s the same for you. Marry me, for real this time.” She pushed herself off his chest, rising to her feet with a teary laugh that was torn between excitement and sadness. (Y/n) stared down at him with her fingers buried in her hair, trying to figure out if this was just a joke fate was playing on her.

“That’s insane, Tyler.” He mimicked her movements to draw her back in, hands resting on her waist.

“You know what they say, pretty, if you feel it, chase it. And I’m so tired of living this life without you by my side.” Her body forced her to move, to close the distance between them with her lips finding his. Electricity buzzed down her spine, forcing her even closer to deepen the kiss. Kissing Tyler had always been an experience to say the least, two magnets that fit together, an explosion of heat and longing, and yet this felt even better than all these years ago. It felt right, more right than anything else.

Without breaking the kiss, he picked her up, forcing her legs to find their way around his waist. Tyler carried her back to her bedroom, letting them rest on her mattress with him hovering over her.

“Do you mean it? Really mean it?” (Y/n) mumbled the question against his lips. His fingers brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, a warm touch that communicated what both felt at that moment, an undying longing that grew stronger with every passing second.

“Marry me, (y/n).” Another laugh clawed through her, a sound that turned into a moan the second his lips found her neck, kissing their way down to her collarbones.

“Alright, I will marry you.” Tyler kissed her again as his hands disappeared beneath her shirt to pull it over her head, exposing her naked frame to his wandering eyes.

“You’re even more gorgeous, fuck. I can’t wait to make you mine again.” Her eyes fluttered close as he tugged on her panties, pushing them down her legs. Tyler’s mouth kissed its way to her aching heat, groaning the second he tasted her again after all these years. With both arms slung around her thighs to keep her close, he ate her out, letting his rough tongue brush through her slit before sucking on her pulsing bundle.

Moans and groans left both, high on the different feelings both were held hostage by. No longer could (y/n) remember if being with Tyler had always felt like that, all she knew was that she never wanted this moment to end. She’d happily be stuck in time like that, forever reunited with the one that had gotten away.

Tyler let his gaze rest on her pleasure-drunken features, trying not to get too eager while his hardening cock begged for her attention. He’d fuck her all through the night and then some more in the morning, having to burn every passing moment into his mind to fight against the fear of waking up in a few hours from a too good to be true dream.

“Tyler,” his name rolled off her tongue, spurring him on to push her over the edge. (Y/n) had her back arched off the comfortable mattress, hands fisting the blanket while her first orgasm clashed through her like a ship hitting the cold ocean ground. She lost control of the moment, could only give room to her sounds the blinding sensation pushed through her.

He kept lapping at her folds, prolonging her orgasm while he couldn’t bite down his proud smirk. Tyler still knew her body like the back of his hand, able to map her out even with both eyes closed as if she had always been his.

“What will it be, darling? What do you want?” Tyler’s voice had grown lower, raspier even while he still lingered between her trembling thighs. He watched her heavily exhale, needing to ground herself before letting her twinkling eyes find his.

“I need you inside of me, now, Tyler.” Without having to ask twice, he followed her command, getting rid of his shirt and his tight boxers before finding his way back to her. He watched her fish for a condom, helping him roll it down his length as both their hands shook from the anticipation and excitement they couldn’t shake.

Somehow it reminded her of her first night with Tyler, the first time he had fucked her in the back of his truck in the middle of nowhere. It had been the best night of her life, or so she had always thought - until today at least.

With his lips pressed against hers, he kept himself close as he pushed into her, slowly. Both groaned at the feeling, no longer used to being connected this intimately. She clung to him with her nails clawed into the soft skin of his back, needing to adjust for a few seconds before a soft “please” managed to leave her.

They weren’t in a rush, weren’t set on chasing a high within a handful of seconds, but it felt too good to have one another back again, set on giving their all to the other. Every thrust hit her swollen spot, every thrust reminded (y/n) of the way Tyler had always managed to make her feel - as if he was the match setting a petrol station ablaze, a heat so strong it could melt her skin right off her body.

Forever his, forever hers, a story so complete, neither could manage to put it into words.

Their bodies met with every faster growing thrust, set on feeling her walls flutter around him while he kissed her breathless. She stared up at him, getting lost in the eyes that were filled with a love so strong, she was sure that neither of them would be able to let go ever again.

“Atta girl, you’re doing so well for me. I got you.” He pressed a kiss to her neck while he deeply exhaled. Both tried to drag out the moment, hoping that they could stay connected for longer, but their bodies had other plans, needing another high while falling off the edge together.

Tyler’s hand found her right thigh, pulling it closer to her body to hit deeper spots that made both groan. She snuck a hand between their bodies to circle her pulsing bundle, desperate for the relief cumming around him would push through her. Encouraging praises and sweet nothings left Tyler, spurring her on to let go before he could.

And then (y/n) came again, high on everything he embraced while another moan left her. Tyler fucked her for a few more moments, chasing his own orgasm before he groaned against her warm skin. The feeling buzzing through them both only grew stronger, keeping them united while they tried to catch their breaths.

“Are we really doing this? This is insane.” Her breathless laugh filled the room, leaving Tyler chuckling while he lifted his head off her chest. He looked at her for a moment, pressed a kiss to her slightly swollen lips and then pulled out of her.

“We are, and I can’t wait to finally call you my wife.”

#Tyler Owens smut #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens imagine #twisters #glen powell

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cuddlepilefics · 5 months ago

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I don’t mean to get emotional

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Chan

Caregivers: Stray Kids

Prompts: Fear / Breaking point / “I can’t stop crying, I’m sorry—”

@whumperless-whump-event

No one’s POV.:

“Hyung, are you sure, you don’t wanna lay down? Just a quick power-nap or something”, Changbin asked softly, resting his hand between Chan’s shoulder blades. The Aussie had been nursing a headache for over a week now and was getting increasingly rundown, yet that didn’t stop him from spending the night at the studio. 3racha had been at it for hours and Chan’s eyes already watered from the bright screen, so his dongsaengs did their best to convince him to take a break. Resting his chin on his hand, Chan hummed: “Not gonna sleep.” – “We know, hyung”, Jisung sighed, “Your eyes look really irritated though, so why don’t you let us take over?” – “Yeah, hyung. You can still add your ideas from the couch with your eyes closed. We’ll note them down. Come on”, Changbin encouraged, helping the older up. Chan didn’t put up much of a fight when he was manhandled onto the small couch at the back of the studio but while Jisung already moved in front of the laptop, Changbin couldn’t help but notice how warm their leader felt.

A relieved sigh left Chan’s lips as he relaxed into the cushions. He hadn’t realized just how tense he had been until he was able to lay down. That didn’t mean that just because he was horizontal now, he’d stop working. Oh no, most definitely not. Chan still had a lot to add to their tracks but eventually allowed his eyes to close, when Jisung played the changes he proposed over the speakers to try them out. After a while, Changbin noted that Chan had been quiet for a bit and asked softly: “I think if we change the last syllable, it’ll rhyme better. What do you think, Chan-hyung?” Both, him and Jisung looked at the eldest intently, but he didn’t even stir. “Finally asleep?”, Jisung breathed hopefully and watched how Changbin scooted closer to their leader. Lightly brushing the back of his hand against Chan’s forehead, Changbin frowned and moved it to the other’s cheek before humming: “Hyung has a fever. No wonder he’s been so rundown. With how long he’s had a headache, I wouldn’t be surprised if he already had that temperature a few days ago.”

Wanting Chan to get as much sleep as possible, Changbin carefully tugged the Aussie’s beanie down over his eyes, so the light wouldn’t bother him. Jisung had already put on headphones by the time Changbin rejoined him at the desk and the two continued working in silence, trying their best to not wake their hyung. With their headphones on, they didn’t hear the soft groans coming from Chan as he slept but even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have thought much of it. The older often sounded distressed in his sleep when apparently everything was fine, so they had learned not to wake him. Only when Jisung caught a movement from the corner of his eye, did he turn around to study the other. Realizing that Chan was shivering, the younger adjusted the air-conditioning and dug a thin blanket out from one of the bottom drawers. That was the benefit of having their own studio and having spent many nights there. They were well equipped and Jisung had an easier time focusing after making sure his hyung was tucked in warmly.

They had been working in this track for ages and felt like it finally was their time to present it. JYP had them come in for their evaluations, which happened more frequently now that they had entered the survival show. Chan didn’t hate the evaluations like one might think. After so many years, he had finally gotten the chance to pick members for the show and to lead them through it. Though he worried about the results of their evaluations every time, he saw them as a chance to prove himself. Today, 3racha would be evaluated as a sub-unit of Stray Kids and Chan really felt like they were in their element. This was his group, they were performing his song.

JYP remaining stoic throughout their performance was no surprise. He usually did that for suspense and maybe also to see if they’d waver or remain confident. What was not all that usual was JYP asking them to go a second time. “Try it again without Chan?” The Aussie felt his heart sink and he could barely breathe when Changbin and Jisung performed the track a second time, though this time as a duo. This couldn’t be true. Not again. He could not be removed from another group he had been training with. The group he himself had assembled. JYP really thought Chan’s song sounded better without him in it?! That thought made the Aussie feel sick to his stomach and it was like someone had pulled the rug from under his feet. He felt himself falling…

“Hyung?”, Changbin asked for a second time after Chan had shot upright. With a trembling hand, the older pushed his beanie back up and was finally able to see again although his heart still raced. Spinning his chair around, Jisung too pulled off his headphones and watched in stunned silence as the Aussie burst into tears. Changbin hesitantly got up and took a seat on the couch next to Chan, opening his arms to silently offer a hug without forcing himself on the older. When Chan slowly leant against him, Changbin whispered: “Did you have a nightmare?” Still trying to get his bearings and assure himself of where he was, it took a moment for Chan to nod. Jisung picked up the Aussie’s water bottle and offered him a drink.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”, Changbin hummed, handing Chan a tissue. For some reason, the older has a hard time calming down, despite realizing that it had only been a dream. Drawing a shaky breath, the Aussie tried to pull himself together but failed when his chest immediately hitched again. “I can’t stop crying, I’m sorry-”, Chan choked out, rubbing at his eyes. Tracing his back, Changbin promised: “It’s okay to get emotional from time to time. Especially with the fever you’re sporting.” – “Fever?”, the leader sniffled pathetically. Changbin and Jisung looked at him in disbelief, Jisung muttering: “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” – “Uhm”, the Aussie mumbled, running one hand under his nose, “I- I actually didn’t? Makes sense in hindsight though.” – “Mhm, it surely does”, Changbin sighed, motioning for Jisung to save their work and pack up, “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

When they got back to their dorm, they expected Hyunjin to have gone to bed already but him and Felix were still watching dramas in the living room. “You’re home!”, Hyunjin exclaimed, Felix’ face lighting up instantly when he spotted his hyungs. The dancer’s smile quickly faltered though when he caught a glance at Chan’s face. The leader’s eyes were still a little puffy from crying and held a sickly gloss, which combined with the flush on his cheeks easily gave away his fever. Getting up from the couch, Felix frowned: “You don’t look so good, Chan-hyung.” The eldest hummed in confirmation and rested his head on Felix’ shoulder when the younger pulled him into a hug. “And you’re overly warm”, the dancer added, reaching up to cup Chan’s cheek.

Changbin already set about warming up a late dinner for Chan, so they could fetch him some painkillers for his headache, while Jisung explained: “Someone needs to learn how to read his body’s signals, right, hyung?” Chan grumbled something, which came out muffled by Felix’ shoulder but when the younger pulled away, he saw the unshed tears in the leader’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”, Felix whispered but Chan only shook his head, breathing: “I don’t mean to get emotional.” – “It’s okay. Nothing to be ashamed of”, the younger assured, tightening his hug. He glanced towards the kitchen to figure out what Changbin was doing, when the rapper already returned, humming: “You should have a bite, hyung. I’ll go and fetch you some medicine.” – “Thanks, Bin. Not really hungry but I’m tired of this headache”, Chan whispered to keep his voice from cracking.

Chan plopped down on the couch and drew his legs closer to try and ease the chills as he hesitantly lifted a bite to his lips. Hyunjin and Felix sat down in either side of him and kept him company, smiling a little when Changbin placed two pills and a glass of water on the coffee table. Hyunjin traced Chan’s back while he ate and the leader barely knew how to handle the affection. He felt flustered, especially with the amount of eyes on him, but he was to tired to do anything about it. Secretly, he hoped Felix would stay for a sleepover and cuddles, though he knew it would be unwise to risk the dancer getting sick too.

With the encouragement of his friends, Chan found the energy to take a shower before bed and was glad he had. The warm water soothed the deep ache in his muscles and seemed to release some pent up emotions, the leader hadn’t even been aware of. At least, he would have to feel the tears on his face with the water running over his skin, washing them away immediately. Nobody would see him overwhelmed by his emotions now, which Chan couldn’t be more glad about but that didn’t mean that his nose didn’t get incredibly stuffed up from all the crying. To his relief, nobody pointed it out and perhaps, his dongsaengs just assumed it to be one more sign of his illness. At least, the Aussie hoped so.

“Hey, are you feeling up for cuddles or would you like some space?”, Felix hummed when Chan sleepily shuffled out of the bathroom. He knew his hyung tended to get vivid nightmares whenever he ran a temperature and Changbin and Jisung had confirmed that once again while the leader was in the shower, so Felix couldn’t bear the thought of his Aussie brother experiencing the fear all by himself.Though he felt a little guilty about it, Chan mumbled hesitantly: “I think, I’d really like cuddles, actually.” – “How about you get ready for bed and I’ll be there in a minute”, Felix smiled kindly, squeezing Chan’s shoulder before walking off, “You guys don’t mind me borrowing some sleep clothes, right?” – “Have we ever?”, came Changbin’ and Jisung’s muffled reply and the younger giggled at their sync.

Laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, Chan contemplated going back on his request. He really didn’t want Felix to feel this wrecked but before he could dwell on it more, he felt the bed dip next to him and only a moment later, his favorite koala was pressed against his side. The dancer had noticed how irritated and puffy Chan’s eyes looked and had fetched a cold washcloth. “Close your eyes, hyung”, Felix whispered, gently draping the cloth over his hyung’s eyes. He smiled when the tension on the lower half of the leader’s face melted away, his jaw no longer clenched. When Felix ran his fingers through Chan’s damp curls, the older was already asleep.

#fanfic #fluff #comfort #fanfiction #sickfic #sick #stray kids #skz #angst #whumperless whump event #whumperless whump event day 30 #whumperless whump event day 30: I don't mean to get emotional #whumperless whump event 2024 #rpf

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ladymostdeject · 2 months ago

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Seeking Radiodust Beta Reader

I'm writing a post season 1 Five Times Angel Dust called Alastor Daddy fic and I'm looking for a beta!

I'm three chapters in, and it's about 14k long now, and each chapter has been exponentially longer than the last, so I really don't know how long it's going to be.

I'm looking for help with typos and sentence structure, and maybe someone to bounce some later ideas off of, also would love help deciding how to tag it.

It's surprisingly light on the daddy-kink considering the name. Like... very light.

Actually if someone who's into Daddy-kink wants to be my Daddy-Kink advisor that would be amazing.

Contains: Present-tense, Angel is super horny for Kaiju!Alastor, asexual alastor, bdsm in later chapters, though I don't know how explicit I'm going to get (knowing Angel though probably pretty explicit), It swaps perspectives between Angel and Alastor, Alastor is... so crazy. I think it's pretty funny, but I'm also not shying away from dark ex-abuse-victim-stuff (angel doesn't work for Val anymore but there's fallout it's not swept under the rug).

There's a sample from chapter 2 under the cut

That spider fellow was turning out to be far more entertaining than Alastor could have ever expected!

Why, he hadn’t danced this much since his last partner started stepping out with that wretched moth and his brain oozed out of his… well. It seems very clear to Alastor that Valentino’s hellish power is to make other demons boring.

Not that Vox was ever anything but a mediocre dancer. Angel, though! Oh ho! Not only is Angel excellent at following, but he already knows the proper forms, so Alastor is free to improvise and experiment on the fly! Not even dear Charlie can keep up with him quite so well, quick study though she is. What a waste! To have had him chained to a harlot’s dancing pole for so long, when he has such a talent! And passion! Every time Alastor has solicited a spin around the floor, Angel has indulged him with a joyful laugh.

Then of course, there’s the cooking. With all the new wayward souls to feed, Alastor has had a crash course in Italian batch meals from a surprisingly knowledgeable teacher. Furthermore, he seems quite happy to trade a story about his Zizi for one about Mother. Though, Alastor frequently adds extra seasoning when Angel’s back is turned. His family recipes are tasty, but could always use a little more kick. The result is something Angel calls “Louisitalian”.

And! And! Just the other day Niffty came to get him on account of some commotion and by the time Alastor arrived, Angel had it well in hand! He’d knocked the poor sap right to the floor and had him pinned, fine as a dandelion! Effective communication, with magnificent stagecraft!

Afterwards, he had been cycling between playful glee and that long, deep stillness that Alastor had come to know intimately. That night he saw something powerful in Angel. It was a thing he’d had to find on his own, and it was rare. If exercising such a small amount of passion was enough to trigger that state for Angel, Alastor suspected he would make as natural a hunter as he does a dancer.

Best not to actually invite him on a hunt, though. It would upset Charlie if Angel started killing recreationally again, and Alastor has already put a great deal of effort into cultivating an arrangement with her that results in few questions about what exactly Alastor is doing when nobody is looking.

He will have a think on how to manufacture further opportunities for Angel to practice violence that Charlie cannot morally object to.

What would it have been like if he had recruited Angel in those early days before he was broken and left to fester? It would have been so useful to have him in the collection! To have a true artist’s soul, free to shape as he’d like! He marveled at all the different directions he could have taken his myriad talents, instead of having him wasting away underneath that – UGH! Why it makes him feel… Well, its an unpleasant emotion, to be sure.

The problem is fixed now, Alastor took care of it quite handily. If every problem could be solved in such a simple and satisfying manner, he’d run out of problems altogether! If he had killed that frivolous moth decades ago, he might have been able to free another soul or two wilting under his insufficient light. Why, he’d practically become a philanthropist in the autumn of his career, and isn’t that just the way of it, sometimes?

Unfortunately, the only thing that would upset Charlie more than the ruination of Angel’s little redemption effort would be Alastor collecting his soul. And to think she didn’t consider herself an overlord. A tragedy.

If he can’t own him, he’ll have to settle for a dance here and there. At least it will keep him entertained while this little job drags on.

The hotel wasn’t supposed to work, and his job here is so much more complicated now that it does.

~*~

Angel Dust has a long, storied career being groped, manhandled, and roughhoused in every way imaginable. He’d even invented some new ones. And yet, he feels as if he’s never been grabbed more in his life. Alastor has popped out of so many nooks and crannies that Angel’s startle reflex has given up the ghost.

Usually, it goes like this: Some swing tune will start playing out of fucking thin air, and he just holds out his arms, ready to be swept away by Alastor’s shenanigans.

He hummed one beloved song from the Radio Demon’s childhood or some shit, and suddenly he’s being hunted by a dance beast! Alastor might not be regular-horny, but he’s, like, the dance-horniest man in Hell! Angel has started wearing his more comfortable boots all the time even when they don’t match.

Angel had seen him spinning Charlie around plenty of times, usually when he was trying to manipulate her into doing something he wanted (or into forgiving him when Alastor does something terrible), but Alastor doesn’t seem to be trying to get anything out of Angel other than a dance (or two five hundred). At least he hasn’t set off Angel’s bullshit detector yet.

Angel had wanted Alastor to look at him, to notice him. And oh boy, did he get what he asked for. That attention is so much weirder and more fanatical than he could have ever expected. On the other hand, it comes with way less sex than he would prefer. Al’s such a gentleman, he won’t even try to cop a feel! Doesn’t he have eyes? Does he not appreciate Angel’s sexual magnetism!? It’s insulting, is what it is.

It’s not like Angel doesn’t also love a good dance, he absolutely does, though he’s starting to question if anyone loves dancing as much as Alastor. He loves the breathless feeling he gets dancing with Alastor, but he’d like him to turn it down from an eleven to, like, a nine and a half - eight, minimum.

It’s really cute, actually. Angel can tell he’s trying to make friends, but it’s almost like no one ever taught him how. Or how to relax.

#radiodust #lady talks #lady writes

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travalerray · 3 months ago

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13 and 24 for the ask

hiiiiii! Thank you for the ask!

13. that helped me understand a character better

Hm, so this was tough. I picked an excerpt from "Drunken Dream" which is effectively a Lan Wangji character study:

"You are three when your uncle calls for the presence of you and your brother in his room.

You are three when you learn of your awful birth, you are three when you learn that your mother is a reprehensible criminal and your father a disgrace for protecting this reprehensible criminal. You are three when the stone cold reality of the statement descends down upon you.

You must not be like your father.

It takes a while for the both of you to understand why everyone hated your mother. Your brother came around to it first, but then again he has three years on you and had a far more sensible head on his shoulders. He is going to be a sect leader—if he isn't sensible, then who will be? It was six when you really start questioning the world around you.

(Or perhaps it had started a long time ago, on some meeting with your mother, when you began to wonder about the validity of the claims that the sect imposed upon you like a prison.)

You wonder whether your father was a disgrace for "protecting" your mother, only to leave her to perish at the cold and clammy hands of isolation, or whether he was a disgrace for not having gone further. For doing more. These thoughts keep you up at night—shameful their nature, and you punish yourself accordingly.

It's cold kneeling on the winter grass, waiting for the doors to open.

The two of you—brothers by blood—don't understand death until a while later, when shufu sternly said that your mother would never open the door again. You learn of death as isolation, as something that takes and never returns."

It's something I did write to really get into the Feel of writing him, since the next one in the series is very much focused on him and Nie Huaisang. His extremely tragic backstory with his father atticwifing his mother and then shutting himself up as well, leaving the reins of the sect to his younger brother, which all inform his present day complex of how he perceives love and responsibility(love as pain, to be exchanged for suffering etc)—which I find deeply fascinating to explore character wise. It was also my first time writing in second person present tense so! It was an exciting piece to write for sure!

24. that makes me go "huh...i wrote that?!"

I had to think about this, since my writing really doesn't deviate much, so maybe this one I wrote after listening to Speed and Friction on a loop (under the cut because I am cheating and putting the whole thing here, tw for blood, gore and tragic (?) death):

"Five years ago, she had jumped on the back of a pickup trunk and arrived in this town.

"..."

"Ai, Ai!"

She turned around to look at the kindly grandma who had taken her in, face smeared with the dust accumulated by the hours of toil on the roadside. Her face was wrinkled like the most dried of raisins and she wore a sunny smile to match the month of the year.

"Ai! You shouldn't go wandering about, you are still sick, you know."

Right.

She was sick.

The girl called "Ai" smiled at the kindly old lady and put on the proffered sunhat. She had been sick for quite a while. For as long as she could remember, she had been sick for one thing or the other—of the world, of the eternal dreadful march towards death, of... everything.

The sun made her sick, the moon made her sick, the air around her made her sick, the people, the plants, the animals....

"Ai, get inside before it gets worse."

"Hai...."

Agreeably, amicably, she stepped in.

It was a simple straw hut with a thatched roof. It was falling apart in sections, but the grandma's eyesight was poor, and the girl did not care much. The wind blew in when it rained, making them shiver with the cold. The grandma would complain, futilely lighting fires. The first snow of the year would make the both of them fall sick, yet she would drag herself out to work.

It was a lot of work.

Kokoro had a lot of work to do and plenty of love to spend for those who did none.

The girl had gotten here five years back, half dead on the roof of the pickup truck she had clambered into. Family and friends she had none, worldly attachments she also had none. None of them mattered in the face of the brain numbing, heart shattering boredom—she had simply felt an "impulse" for the first time after she had been born and followed it to this town.

If this impulse had taken her to the grave, she would have gladly followed it.

It was said that when she had been born, she had not cried. Her doctors and "parents" had been so worried that their daughter had been a stillborn child. Yet, upon conducting various tests, it had been revealed that their daughter had been physically alive.

Life had not been harsh onto her parents.

Life had not been harsh onto her siblings.

Life had also.... not been harsh onto her.

She had simply found herself unable to care enough.

School, friends, family—all seemed to fade. The people around here felt wooden, like puppets in a play, coming and going for their designated roles. She alone stood awkwardly in the middle of the stage, without a script, just a background character, just a background character whose inaction or action would be unnoticed by a greater audience.

This girl lay dormant for the first few years of her life.

It mattered not what she did.

She was called something by the people around her, but like anything else, it was a placeholder—it was something to melt into the background better, to stay unnoticed like the countless blades of grass in a meadow. If a single one behaved strangely, there would be no fuss in any world. No one would ever know.

This girl had been going about their day the same bothersome way, listening to the gaggling flock of incessant teenagers speak about some boring things. That was when she saw it—the truck unloading a mass of red. She did not quite know what it was, but it had a strong metallic smell, unlike anything she had ever smelt before. It felt like a natural calling to her, as her feet led her to the truck, to lie down onto the reddened roof, letting the trails of the liquid seep into her white blouse as she lay in wait for her impulse to lead her to the next destination.It was a strange sensation.

An impulse.

She had never felt it before.

She had gone through life mechanically, like a pre programmed robot, going through the motions that every other "human" was supposed to. Yet now, finally she had been given a "role" to play, an "impulse" she had been handed by her body, sizzling underneath her skin, buzzing in a pleasant way, down to her very bones.

The truck underneath her had vibrated, as if it could sense her feelings too.

It had gone on for miles and miles, stopping for a rest here and there.

And it had brought her to the grandma calling herself "Kokoro", who had taken in the battered girl who found herself losing her "impulse" once more as she was given a new name of "Ai".

The girl sat huddled in the blankets, watching another section of the roof fall onto their bedding with a huff. Kokoro-san would never notice this, her eyesight was too bad. She regularly got scammed by the lowlifes at the village stores and returned home with subpar goods.

She huffed out a breath of her own.

It was summer, yet she was cold.

It was summer and her birthday the next day, yet she was going to die.

The illness was not a particularly severe one if one were to live in the big cities. If one did live there, a kindly doctor would sit you down, and they would dole out the treatment plan. You could either go with the "embarrassing" ordeal of making things known to the whole wide world and still meet your end, or you could go through the clinical procedures and never go through any of the troubles ever again.

This girl had seen many people cough up blood before. Many a times, she had seen petals mixed in them, flowers taking root in their lungs. They had taken leave from school, some returning with a drastic change in who they were while some.... chose a different path.

This girl had sometimes wished that she could go out that way. She had never felt a thing for the people she had been meant to bleed for. The people around her were wooden puppets starring in major roles of a play, surrounded by flashlights, while she was a background extra without a script, a wooden doll without an owner.

This girl lived had followed an impulse into the gloom of a faraway village that trafficked humans. It was an impulse that had brought her there—yet, life was as mundane as it could have been. If you stay at a place for a year, it becomes the same as ever. "Kokoro" at the end, becomes just Kokoro. "Blood" just becomes blood.

The flowers in the dustbin are just the flowers that had twisted their way through her chest into her throat.

Ai coughed, blood dribbling down her lips.

It was odd.

Kokoro was yet to return.

The world turned a peaceful dark, thrumming with the white of a youthful rose. Blood dripped onto it slowly, bit by bit. "Ai! You didn't take your medicine, did you?"

Kokoro-san bent down, heaving with the effort.

The world was thrumming soothingly.

A crinkled hand of paper brushed against her forehead and the grandma cooed.

"Oh dear, you are burning up."

Ai hummed, curling up.

She coughed up more blood, feeling the pressure of a flower pressing up against her tongue. That was the physical form of the "impulse" that had brought her here, manifested by five years of hard work.

Kokoro-san was grinding down something in the mortar when she silently placed the flower in her hand.

The both of them understood then, what a lovely place the world was.

Kokoro-san bent down, kissing her tiny forehead.

"Happy Birthday, Ai.""

"Ai" here is for love, while Kokoro is for "heart". This was written in a daze but it's basically an original piece about interpretation of the Hanahaki disease—twisted love of any and all forms that takes its roots into someone. It's more depressing than my other works I think😂

#kk's ask tag #kk's writing tag

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lolitastories · 11 months ago

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NOT A CHAPTER

This will be insert of storylines that happens in the future if Yn and Kayce

Chapter 14: Part 1

Chapter 13:

“When am I going to be a big brother?” My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. I turned over to Tate seeing how he looked at me before both our eyes looked over to Kayce. He was sitting on the other rocking chair as we enjoyed the morning light. “My friend just got a little brother and my other friend already has two” he turned back to me with a wide smile and hope in his eyes. “I want three so I can beat them but I will settle with one” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Buddy, Y/N and I need to talk about it first. It's a decision we can only make but am glad you are all for it” Tate stands up from my lap facing us both.

“Listen I understand so let me tell you what's on the table” I looked over to Kayce who had a slight grin on his face. “You know I don’t mind sharing and being nice but with a sibling I will learn so much more. I will be more responsible. Protective. I will have a love for teaching because I will be teaching them everything about the world they don’t know. As an only child I will be such a mess!” I subdue the laugh I wanted so badly to let out.

“You know some studies have linked only children with having superior verbal skills. Others have concluded only children are more motivated and better adjusted. And not to mention they get better grades.” I say sipping on my coffee.

“I promise to get better grades! To study day and night and do all my chores on time!” He comes closer to me.

“Bud. We expect that of you either way, not the all day and night thing but we will keep that in account when your father and I have the discussion of your sibling”

“Yay. I need to go tell grandpa” He ran off before I could hold him back.

“Your sibling? As in present tense?” I look over with a smile. I kicked off the blacket and set down my coffee.

“Don’t get too excited cowboy” I move over to sit on his lap. “You haven’t even made me your wife” I lift my hand to show him an empty finger.

“I thought you didn’t care much about marriage” he wraps his arms around me pulling me back. I lay my head on his shoulder as he pulls the blanket he had on us.

“I can make an exception” I smile, digging my head into his neck.

“With the sibling before marriage or marriage?” I pull back looking dead in his eyes.

“Both” My smile drifted away wanting to see his reaction before getting my hopes up. I know he was smiling and grinning talking to Tate and teasing me but now it was a serious conversation.

“I would love to give Tate a sibling. I just want us to be on the same page” His hand moved to my cheek and down my neck pulling me closer so my forehead rested on his. “I don’t want this to rush us into something you are not ready for or don’t want” I know what he meant. Before we started dating we got into an argument like we always did when we talked. I told him I didn’t want to be held back by people. People usually disappointed me and I found a way to either disappoint them or kick them out of my life. So as far as that goes I told him I wouldn’t think twice about having a kid. It wasn’t something I wanted to ruin.

“I know what I said before and that doesn’t change the fact that I am still scared.” I move my hands up his chest to rest on the side of his face. “I don’t need a ring to know that I want this” I give him a quick kiss. “I want you, Tate, and your crazy family” I hear him chuckle. “I also want your future kids but maybe not right now” I cuddle closer to him resting my head on his shoulder as we both look out the distance. “I want to enjoy you and Tate before we add to the world” He lays a kiss on my head wrapping his arms tightly around me.

“If that is what you want” He whispers in my ear.

“You don’t want that?” With a slight humor in my voice but I was worried what he was going to say next.

“I want what you want” I pull a little back, turning over to look at him. “We are a team but when it comes to your body it's your choice. I will do and give anything you are okay with” I laugh laying back down

“Where’s my orchard?” I say with sass in my voice. “I want my orchard and you have yet to give me one” I smile hearing a huff behind me. “You know I can always go back to Gideon” This time it was a groan I heard. I was lifted off the chair and placed to stand on the porch.

“Damn woman, What I got to do to keep you happy” He shakes his head grabbing onto his hat but I stopped him from putting it on.

“You still love me right?” I whisper, putting my hand behind my back. He had gone down one step on the stairs so it even out our height a bit.

“That should never be questioned ma’am” I smile walking closer. “That is why to show you I will plant you an even bigger orchard than that Gideon guy” He rolled his eyes looking in another direction. I laugh at his response. I take the hat from behind me and place it on his head. He turns towards me, lifting his head. I plant a kiss on his lips pulling away with a smile.

“Oranges and apples” I whisper still close to him

“Yes ma’am” he smiles, pulling me closer by wrapping his arms around me.

“Should’ve gotten a cowboy a long time ago”

“But you were too busy messing with those city boys” I laughed hitting his shoulder. “If you had just given me a chance years ago” I laugh a little louder pulling him away

“What are you talking about?!” Years ago he was still with Monica. I heard them arguing once but it wasn’t like couples don’t argue. The only interaction we had together was dinners and maybe the occasional hello, how are you?, and goodbye. We didn’t get a chance to continue as Tate was running up to us screaming.

“Dad!” With a giant smile he runs up to the porch to stand beside me looking over to Kayce. “Grandpa thought it was a good idea. He said once the baby is born he is going to buy another horse so I could train him!” I hold in my laugh this time not wanting to give hime hope. I watch as Kayce kneels down infront of him. He took a quick glance at me and with a smile and a nod he knew what to say.

“Buddy I know you are excited but y/n and I decided to wait. That doesn’t mean you won’t be a big brother, it's just not going to happen right now” I can already tell he has a sad look in his face as his shoulders slump down and as he looks up at me my statement is made true.

“That's okay, I understand. '' I smile gently, getting down aswell.

“I promise you” I look over at Kayce before moving closer to Tate’s ear. “It won’t be long. So you better start practicing before then”

“You’re right!” He smiles, pulling away. “I need to learn how to change diapers, oh! And how to wash their bottles.” He continues to mumble to himself as he walks through the house door. I turn over to Kayce looking him dead in the eye.

“What?” He smiles

“Don’t you have work to do?” I say sternly with my arms crossed

“Yes ma’am” He bows his head, turning around.

“I love you”

“I love you too,” He shouts. I know I don’t want a baby right now but he is really making it hard as I see him walk away. I can imagine him with Tate by his side. Both holding one hand of a baby who is learning how to walk. Maybe another baby in Kayces arms as they walk throught the ranch. Laughing and smiling.

“I need to get on birth control soon” I whisper to myself.

“You should have gotten on it a long time ago” I jumped back, turning to see Beth standing behind me. “I mean I know you were never much out there but I know Kayce and you do it like rabbits”

“So you will understand why I need it more than ever. Even more now that Tate has brought an idea that won’t be going away anytime soon”

“I thinks it's a great idea”

“Of course you do Beth” I smile wrapping my arms around her. “But you are just going to have a to wait like the others”

“Not long right?” She laughs.

“If I don’t get on birth control, no” We both laugh knowing my words scared me but the humor it cost her eased my nerves.

#beth dutton #jamie dutton #john dutton #kayce dutton #kayce dutton smut #tate dutton #y/n l/n #yellowstone #reader #y/n #dutton ranch #dutton family #Kayce

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burning-fcols · 7 months ago

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"Can't say I'm surprised it was my father that started the exterminations." The angel across from Lucifer scoffed in spite of himself. "But I am surprised that my old man is somehow still alive and not being tortured by you or your sinners." Seth's golden eyes, reminescent of Adam's, flashed dangerously as he stared at the King of Hell. Everything from his tone of voice, body language was saying the same thing: 'What's your angle?' "My father would never agree to join your merry band of misfits unless he had assurances. So- what did you promise him?" (Seth @ Luci) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @meansman 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 It's strange... How similar Seth is to his father. Lucifer doubts saying such would be met with anything but scorn, but that doesn't make him any less certain of it. Picking out mannerisms that remind him of Adam— from the judgmental scoff to the guarded way Seth carries himself —Lucifer has to fight to keep from involuntarily slipping deeper into his studying. ❝ Yeah... You and me both. ❞ He absentmindedly mutters, well aware of how lucky it was that Adam hadn't completely fallen prey to the denizens of Hell.

It'd be so easy to lose the thread of the conversation in favor of pondering about Adam and his child.

Wondering what sort of father the first man may have been. What relationship was cultivated with his son... Regardless of how strong or poor it may be, Seth clearly feels an obligation to Adam. Otherwise why would he be going through the trouble of conversing with the King of Hell on his behalf? Of course, Lucifer is aware he could be misreading intentions. That happens a lot. Perhaps Seth is merely concerned for his own purposes. Which would be quite human of him, Lucifer must admit.

Composed and cordial, wandering down this line of thinking helps protect him from the inherent awkwardness of the situation. Despite not feeling the slightest physical danger— no matter how sharp the others gaze —there's no denying the emotional minefield being navigated when in the presence of Adam's child. An importance in the situation that Lucifer suspects he's burdening himself with. Seth and Adam likely wouldn't understand the slew of emotions churning within his chest.

But parental instincts are difficult to shake. Especially when dealing with the offspring of someone he's intimately involved with. So one can't blame him for feeling a sense of responsibility for the angel before him. Were Seth any of the other high-and-mighty hypocrites found fluttering around ❛ paradise ❜ , he would not be received with nearly as much courtesy. Albeit, a distracted politeness, Lucifer managing to be jostled from his thoughts by the others question.

Startling with a tensing of his body and blink of hazed eyes, it's not difficult to tell Lucifer hadn't been entirely present during the interaction. Despite this, he manages to answer truthfully, smile a tad strained as he wonders whether the explanation will be accepted. Sincerity doesn't always get through to heavenly beings. ❝ Less of a ❛ promise ❜ and more of a... reassurance. ❞ Palms press together, the fallen angel painfully aware of how much more conviction Charlie would have when explaining. ❝ So long as Adam is at the hotel, he'll receive help in his quest to return to Heaven. We can't exactly promise it'll work... but so long as he's willing to try, so are we! Mainly my daughter Charlie. She's the actual heart and soul behind the project. ❞

With a swish of his hand, stardust manifests into a silhouette of Adam above his palm. Motioning at it with his free hand, Lucifer elaborates, ❝ He gets a safe place to stay along with a mentor to guide him down the path of betterment, until eventually— POW! ❞ With a snap of Lucifer's fingers, the silhouette sprouts a pair of large wings. The tiny Adam flies into the air like a rocket, disappearing in a shower of sparks that rain down on Lucifer and Seth. ❝ He's accepted back into their fickle flock~ ❞ 「 ☆ 」

#burning-fcols #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴍʏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇꜰᴇɴᴅ ❞ ¦ 「 Lucifer IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴄʜᴀᴍᴘᴀɢɴᴇ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ; ᴄᴀᴠɪᴀʀ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ— ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ! ❞ ◌ ᴍᴀɪɴ ¦ 「 Lucifer 」#meansman #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ❞ ¦ 「 Seth 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱʙᴇʜᴀᴠᴇ? ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ— ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」

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the-s1lly-corner · 2 years ago

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Random creepypasta character hcs VOL. 3(?)

Lost count on these but yeah I wanna drop more headcannons!!!

Nina is genderfluid and uses any pronouns! They also wear binders every now and then + they wear pride jewelry

Also they dye their hair like. A few shades lighter because he likes how the roots look when they grow out!! Same note they dye their own hair!!

I'm sorry for really focusing on nina but I've been flashing my design for her; but she also wears fake fangs

Before eyeless jack became eyeless, he has heterochromia! One eye was brown and the other was more gold!

Obligatory "I hc that ej and nina would be friends" but they do each others nails and would help each other put together outfits

A majority of eyeless Jack's shirts are band shirts

The neighborhood, TV girl, hollywood undead, mother mother, ICP, ect ect are a few of his favorites! Granted I think his wardrobe would become more limited since he lives in the woods alone in my au...

Still focusing on EJ, in my au before he got all.. monsterified... I feel like he was studying to be a doctor

Ironic and kinda messed up considering now he's forced to dissect people to sustain his own body but yeah

I'm pretty sure I said this before but I'll say it again since I love the concept; but Ben 99% of the time is bound to electronic devices. Basically meaning you'll rarely, if ever, see him drag himself out. Even when he does it takes a lot out of him, and he can only wander for so long until he has to go back

More au stuff but to help give jill her own unique vibe and stuff, I designed her to look like those old dolls you'd see way back then. You know the ones, with the porcelain faces and ragdoll-like bodies!! She still has her black and white clown look but yeah!! Due to this she also has visible tears and stitches on her; mainly on the limbs!! I also kinda wanna give her a sort of lolita dress look, if I ever draw her again! Give her loads of frills and stuff

Tying this all off since shes made to resemble a doll shes short 😔☝️ a moment of silence for lady

She can still stretch her limbs like jack, though

Though tbh idk if jill could do that or not <\3 but shh it's my au

Jane is much more... well idk the right wording, but I guess shes more masc presenting in my hc/au? She doesnt wear a dress or pair of heels like her canon look

I adore her canon look dont get me wrong, but I feel like considering that shes gunning for Jeff, that isnt too practical; esp considering jeff is.... something else

Basically wears stuff that's easier to run in, add some protection to her if she falls, swap the heels out with running shoes, no dangly accessories, ties her hair back. If not she'd definitely cut it down short

She still has her mask, though, but its a prosthetic she made/received herself since I dont think she'd want to touch the one jeff gave her

So yeah!!

Also I feel like, out of most the creepypastas, she has the best chance of living her own life in society; she only has intention to end game jeff, but asides that shes just. Mostly normal. Shes in therapy for her trauma, she has a job, she lives in her own place, ect

Oh that also reminds me! I keep rattling in about "my au" this, "my au" that, but I havent actually... released anything about it outside of headcannons

Idk if it'll be out in written fanfics, or as comics, or just one shot half au-accurate drawings or WHAT but

Basic run down of the au; time skip has taken place, havent decided a set amount of years, but it's been long enough that characters (that age) like jeff or jane are in their 20s (so like anywhere between 7-13ish years)

Slender still has his mansion, but it's hardly like anything the old fandom had,, it's no where near as huge or extravagant; its about as good as an abandoned mansion can be with little to no access to materials to upkeep it, and hardly anyone lives in it

Also same area ej lives, but they don't interact much and have a tense dynamic; both refuse to change locations

Still fleshing out the mansion idea!! So this is subject to change!!

Anywaus

Obviously characters who dont age/are ghosts/undead dont change ages; so like ben and sally are still the same, and the same applies to others like

Uuuuuh

Puppeteer, laughing jack and jill, slender and his brothers (this au does not include THAT one, fuck that one, we only have splendor and trender here), zalgo

Oh speaking of zalgo! He exists!! They don't really have a physical/tangible form though, hes more so a concept/untouchable entity that corrupts whatever it touches and causes chaos

Anyways

Also eyeless Jack's aging is... slowed; not by much but yeah!! Side effect of his curse and the whole "his body is changing into something horrific", and the slow age thing is a whole thing about the curse trying to extend his life span in order to cause more damage to himself and others

Real goofy stuff

Anyways

Laughing jack lives in his lil box and mostly transfers from person to person via the box being passed around

Be it garage sales or being sold in a goodwill, he eventually finds a new family to torment

No one suspects the old ass jack in the box!!!!

Ysah that's about it

Sits

Anyways yall should totally send me In requests (please read my pinned first!!)

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta au #au #slenderman #creepypasta nina the killer #eyeless jack #laughing jack #laughing jill #ben drowned #zalgo #jane the killer

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bookwormscififan · 7 months ago

Text

Hybrids and Humans, Chapter 6

Someday We Will Sing Again

Read on AO3!

Previous chapter

A/N: Can someone help me find the heartbreaking angst I was supposed to put into this chapter? I don't think I made it sad enough. Also, chapter title taken from a song on the self-titled album by Electric Century.

Warnings: Implied smut in a flashback.

“The records don’t say anything about killing hybrids after the law was passed that they can coexist,” Mare stated, squinting at the book in front of him. “It’s been fifty years since a hybrid was killed on capture.”

“The signs of struggle in the house say otherwise,” Phantom grumbled, pushing his book aside with a sigh. “Sorry, sorry, I know you’re trying to help. It’s just—I’ve scoured these books for years to figure out where they took him, and I never found anything.” He tensed when Mare reached across the table to gently take his hand, offering his twin a smile.

“Just because you didn’t find clues doesn’t mean that he’s gone,” Mare whispered, taking his hand away and opening another book. “If you don’t want to read, tell me more about him.” He glanced up at Phantom’s hesitation, then began to read when his brother relaxed.

“Jackie was… god, he was amazing,” he started, and Mare could feel the love in Phantom’s voice. “There was this… shine in his eyes, a glint he got whenever he had a fun idea to do something, and there was no way to refuse when he looked at you like that. You’d barely notice his hybrid identity because he was always wearing hoodies or beanies, and he’d figured out how to tuck his tail into his shirt to hide it.”

“You really loved him.” It wasn’t a question, but Phantom nodded with a sad smile nonetheless.

“The first time he told me he loved me, he was so nervous,” he laughed, touching the ring under his shirt again. “He must have messed up the statement at least five times, and his hands were shaking so much that he could barely hold anything. I’d never known a hybrid to be so nervous.”

“He was different to the hybrids that dad had made you study?”

“They’re all different,” Phantom answered, eyes clearing as he returned to the present. “Mare, they just want to live their lives. They would never hurt anyone unless they needed to protect themselves. All Jackie wanted was to help people. All they are is human but with some added quirks. Jackie was no less human with his ears and tail than anyone else I’d let in my—” he cut himself off, face going red.

“You slept with him?” Mare’s voice rose a little with his incredulous question, ducking his head sheepishly when Phantom motioned for him to quiet down. “I know you said you loved him and were planning to marry him, but, god… What would dad say?”

“Dad’s been dead since we were in grade school,” Phantom stated flatly, meticulously straightening the piles of books around them. “If he were still alive, we wouldn’t be living at the edge of town.”

Mare backed off the conversation, seeing the anger flaring in Phantom’s eyes, returning his attention to the books as Phantom lost himself in reminiscence.

“So,” Jackie asked with a smirk, resting his chin on a closed fist on Phantom’s bare chest, looking up at him with bright blue eyes. “How was your first time with a hybrid?”

“Listen to me,” Phantom began, looking at Jackie with lovestruck eyes, moving a hand to run fingers through the hair between his ears. “You are not a hybrid to me. I’m not looking at you as a descendant of a failed genetic experiment. To me, you’re just Jackie. You’re my Jackie, and our first time together has not prevented me from wanting more.”

Jackie flushed, cheeks a stark contrast to the patches around his eyes, hiding his face in Phantom’s shoulder as his tail swayed lazily between their entangled legs. Phantom chuckled, running his other hand down Jackie’s back to rest at the base of his spine, feeling the hybrid shiver from the contact.

“You don’t have to keep flirting,” Jackie’s voice was muffled, lips moving against Phantom’s skin. “You already know I’m in love with you.”

“That’s what makes the flirting more fun,” Phantom chuckled, rolling over so he was hovering above Jackie. “You are so unbelievably amazing, the most rare and unique thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. And you’re mine alone.” Leaning down, he caught Jackie’s spluttering lips in a kiss, hands sliding to wrap around his back, pulling him up into a hug.

Jackie took a moment before returning the kiss, pulling Phantom down into a deeper one when the human pulled back, hand tangling into his hair to start them on a second round.

In his small home, Mad curled his tail around his feet, gently combing his fingers through the fur with one hand while he held a book Mare had loaned him in the other. Pausing his reading with a small frown, he closed the book and held it to his nose, inhaling the scent of printed paper, glue, and the cloth binding it.

There was another scent, too, woody, with a chemical-y hit akin to varnish. Mad’s ears tilted forward as he took another sniff, recognising the smell as the scent that lingered around Mare. High-quality timber and varnish, like a musical instrument. And the stronger tang was possibly rosin.

Mad hugged the book to his chest, purring softly to himself as he fell asleep to fantasies of Mare making music.

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @dungeon-dragons-dragons @rattyboyisemo

#writing #fanfiction #nwtb fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #madmare #hybrid AU #Raccoon Hybrid Jackie #Fox Hybrid Mad

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sagemoderocklee · 7 months ago

Note

director’s commentary on rts

ok last one for tonight and then i need to sleep. answering this cause i was just thinking about this the other day so it'll be easy... also spoilers for anyone who hasn't read this fic yet.

so this is about the last scene of ch4

i could be entirely wrong but i felt like a lot of people missed that the scene was not a like generically cute moment of Gaara and Lee making breakfast (obviously punctuated by Lee's guilt), but that Gaara was actually interrogating Lee throughout the scene.

it starts with asking Lee if everything's okay, like that's really the moment for the audience to kind of go 'gaara knows something is up'--again someone might have picked up on this i just dont recall any comments being left that pinpointed this.

and obviously something IS very much not okay with Lee but he's trying to playing it cool (and failing miserably). but Gaara basically spends this scene all the way until Lee ditches him to go riffle through his things basically quietly pleading with Lee cause he knows Lee's up to something.

gaara is absolutely happy to see Lee, and obviously from the audiences perspective this is bittersweet, but it's like doubly so because Gaara is basically saying this knowing Lee's got ulterior motives and quietly asking him to just... not do whatever he's doing.

but 1 Lee is oblivious and 2. gaara is the kazekage so he still does need to know what's going on and cue the interrogation

The 'so soon after your promotional mission' is pointed. this is when gaara is starting to dig for information because he knows Lee is trying to get promoted and he knows that promotional missions give temporary Jonin level clearance. did Lee actually get promoted? and did he really only take two weeks on his mission?

even this line is more of Gaara hinting that he knows something is up:

obviously at the face of it he's genuinely saying that lee has skills he doesnt have, but he's also saying there's something Lee is doing now that Gaara cant do. Gaara trusts Lee completely, but he now realizes he shouldn't.

when gaara encourages Lee to boast, it's a tactic to get Lee to slip up. if he's boasting about a false achievement, he's more likely to misspeak. Gaara knows Lee's a terrible liar, so he's egging Lee on in the hopes he'll reveal something

when gaara is talking about how much faster Lee is than Sonic Boom (unaware as he is of Sonic Boom being Lee's target and that is really is dead), Gaara uses the present tense to talk about said target. in other words, he's telling Lee he's faster than Gaara himself because at this point Gaara believes he is the target of Lee's promotional mission. and of course this continues with the next line:

and then gaara goes in for the kill with this:

but Lee's answer isn't really enough, and gaara worries lee's going to catch on if he keeps questioning him so he lets up but not without a warning:

and then this last line from Gaara in this scene:

it's true. he told Lee he wouldn't tell Kakashi right then and there, but Lee obviously isn't aware of what Gaara means here so when he returns to Konoha injured and heartbroken, he's assuming Gaara's going to go to Kakashi with what he did. but Gaara is at the end of this interrogation, still in love with Lee and still hoping that Lee will change his mind about whatever he's there to do. in Gaara's mind, he's basically said 'i know you're up to something, please whatever it is don't do it, and kakashi need never know'

it's not Lee's imagination in the next chapter when he separates from Gaara at the birthday festival and thinks Gaara is worldlessly asking him not to go through with his plan.

Gaara really is asking Lee not to do what he's about to do. Gaara didn't just stick close to Lee for the pleasure of his company during his birthday festival. he was very much keeping an eye on Lee, and when Lee suggested they separate, Gaara knew it wasn't innocent. he let Lee get as far as he did into his study because he had to be sure.

there were no hidden seals being tripped to alert Gaara to a break in--there certainly would have been but in this case he didnt need an alarm to tell him what he knew was coming--he simply suspected long before Lee began riffling through his mail (and again the first scene of ch5 with Gaara letting Lee see where his mail went was also again part of Gaara trying to figure out what Lee was up to. because Lee was being soooo obvious that he was interested in the mail, so Gaara let him follow him into his study to see where he'd put it)

ultimately, Gaara thinks the promotional mission is related to intelligence, not his own physical person, but it's still an obvious breech of trust both personally and politically. and in a manner of speaking depending on the intelligence it could impact Gaara on a personal level because obviously if Lee uncovers any of Gaara's political plans that go against the Kaze Daimyo it could be disastrous for Gaara...

Anyways! thats the director's commentary for RtS ch4-5! hope you enjoyed!

#ask game answers #rts #my fanfiction #gaalee

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buttercup-art · 8 months ago

Note

From the OC questions!

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

Thank you so much for asking these! I had a lot of fun with them!

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

Noa prefers to be left alone whenever she's sick. She's usually seen at her best; strong, confident, perfect. And here she is, weak and pathetic! (at least in her eyes). Her hair is messy, she didn't bother to get dressed out of her pajamas because she was way too tired, and she's leaking snot everywhere. Why the hell would she want people to see her like that?

However, if someone does decide to visit Noa, despite her strictly telling them not to (looking at you, Hugo-), not only is she going to be angry, she's going to feel incredibly embarrassed. She might even try to hide herself from them the best she can (like hiding under a blanket while saying "Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!" She looks fine, of course. She's just being dramatic because she feels gross lol).

But if they refuse to leave, she'll (begrudgingly) let them keep her company (especially if she secretly enjoys it, hint hint). Not so much let them take care of her, though. She can do that herself.

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

If she has a day when she has nothing specific to do (and she rarely does. She's a pretty busy woman), she usually spends it painting!

While she is a rather logical and analytical person, she does enjoy the finer things in life, art being among them. Though, her art focuses a lot more on technique and realism, rather than self expression. (Think Roman art. A study of anatomy and the human form).

It's also one of the only times where she's seen 'dressed down' (but not really? She still makes an effort to look sleek and stylish, just in a much more casual sense). A black turtleneck sweater, covered in paint splotches here and there, plaid pants, and black flats. No one can see her since she's doing this in her own penthouse, but she feels better knowing she looks presentable.

If she's not in the mood for painting, another option for a lazy day is to spend it reading. Specifically mystery and suspense novels. She really enjoys trying to figure out the big twists and endings, even jotting down notes in a journal while she reads. Most of the time she's able to figure it out way before the author can reveal it. But sometimes her normal thinking process can lead her to be wrong about a book's ending, simply because she ends up thinking way too much about certain details (when the author clearly wasn't thinking enough about it. And they're the one who wrote the damn thing!)

And when that happens, she gets so disappointed and annoyed that she starts insulting the writer and/or the characters. You might hear her say something like "T'es bête comme tes pieds !" (you're as dumb as a rock!), or "Quelle nouille !" (what an idiot!). She's still going to keep reading it the whole way through, but all she's going to be thinking about is how she could have written it better.

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

Quite a long time. She likes things in a specific way, and does not handle things changing all that well. Although she can adapt well to fast-paced situations, it's different when it comes to her living space or a place where she's suppose to feel comfortable.

For example, if Noa were to spend the night in Hugo's apartment, she would be very awkward and tense about it (even if he tells her "make yourself at home". She's not used to sleeping there, so it's going to be hard for her to relax). I'm talking making sure she doesn't dirty any of the carpets or the furniture, making sure things are put back in the exact same places they were in if she ever needs to move something (almost to make it look as if she was never there in the first place), sitting upright with perfect posture, etc.

The same applies if she ever needs to move to a new place. Just overall being tense about it and acting as if she doesn't live there.

To make herself feel at home, however, she needs her own space, or things that feel like her.

Like a cozy spot where she can read that's not her bed. Even if it's just a corner of the living room. As long as it has comfortable blankets and a reading light, she's happy. Her own mugs/teacups (even for Hugo's place. She might use his once or twice, but not all the time).

A whole cabinet in her kitchen reserved (and filled) with all kinds of tea, especially her favorite ones.

Some splashes of color throughout the space, particularly purple. Maybe some flowers or artwork decorating the walls. She's a very stylish person, and where she lives reflects that. It can't be too dull or boring.

Things like that.

She'll get used to it after a while. It just takes some time for her to adjust.

#thank you again!#and keep em coming if you want!#if you want to know something about Noa i'll be more than happy to answer #it's helping me develop her character a bit more lol #s/i: noa simmons #tftbl #borderlands oc #oc questions #hyperionhugo #long post

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theretirementstory · 1 year ago

Text

Bonjour tout le monde. We had rain yesterday, what a blessing for the garden. I caught this “moody” sky last night.

I haven’t been keeping up with the Tour de France as much as I would have liked, but I really don’t want to have “square” eyes or even “rectangular” as that’s the shape of my TV screen. However, I do like to see where the Yates twins are in the standings after Adam had the yellow jersey for four days. I will be watching next Saturday as the stage starts in Belfort and I am sure you remember me telling you how much I enjoyed my stay there.

Cycling is taking place in town this coming Friday, with the “Cyclisme Nocturne”. Usually I would be there with my camera but as bedtime is early now, I will miss it this year.

It has been a busy week for visitors, Monique came to see me on Tuesday. I had taken the car to the garage for its MOT, unfortunately due to the holiday period, the MOT’s are being done alternate morning and afternoons so I left the car at the garage for the MOT on Wednesday.

Wednesday, I had British friends Sarah and Jonathan visit. Jonathan was preparing a print for hanging and I had made lunch for us all. It was great to just sit and talk (in English) and I am so pleased with the print it really does look amazing.

Friday was “National Day” and so a public holiday. Maud said she would come to visit and I was busy preparing food etc in the morning. We had been talking for around an hour when the doorbell sounded, it was Anie bearing gifts, a jar of currant and raspberry jelly. She came in and sat talking for an hour or so and then left. Maud left around 6:45pm which didn’t leave me long for my meal and then to get ready for bed. I have noticed lately with Anie, that she speaks to me only in French, maybe because other people are present and she doesn’t think her English is up to the mark. Sometimes I find it difficult to understand all she says. I have decided that I need to really study my French far more and understand my tenses. However, when I mentioned this to Maud yesterday she said my French was really good, I have a good vocabulary and even with my accent I can make myself understood. I felt quite pleased with myself.

I found this poem entitled “Foreign Language” by Maria Sudibyo.

“Foreign language

Is a road that goes parallel

With our mother language

Every time we learn a new word and it’s meaning

We make a bridge between them

And when we have known most of all

We can walk together in wider road.”

I have had a video call with “The Daddy” and my two gorgeous grandchildren. I have sung Baa Baa Black Sheep and Humpty Dumpty to my grandson. Listened while my granddaughter told me about her school visit to the Sealife Centre. My grandson has his birthday this coming Tuesday and his Daddy celebrates his birthday on Thursday.

“The Trainee Solicitor” hasn’t been in touch yet this morning. He was telling me his plans for the next few months and was bemoaning the fact that he has lost a number of plants in his garden. It happens and it’s sad, I have never managed to keep an alstroemeria plant from one year to the next and the beautiful Calla Lily I bought last year hasn’t surfaced this year either. I would like to buy some Black-Eyed Susan plants but I haven’t seen any and the only places I have spotted the plants in town are in the municipal beds 😳.

The association where I go for the knitting group, went on their trip to the Cite du Vitrail in Troyes. They looked to have a great time, with lunch included. The photos were sent to me and I was sorry to have missed it all, never mind there is always next year.

I have almost finished the items to be displayed at the Marche Nocturne, which takes place in town on the 28 July. I am also trying to knit another little hat for a child to add to the collection. If anyone is interested in buying them they will be on sale too, so maybe a little bit of money will change hands 😉.

I am toying with the idea of going to the supermarket this morning, not that I need very much, but I know they were selling calla lilies and as I have just mentioned them thought I may buy another or maybe not!

Until the next time 👋.

#barsuraube #nature #photography #summer #trees #troyes #friends

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uzumakisavior · 1 year ago

Text

The wasn’t sure if he was any of those things anymore? Anymore? Qualities about oneself don't just flake away. These qualities are inherent within people. It's all about tapping in. The correct guidance and the right amount of challenge can transform people, yes, but that doesn’t erase who they were. Haibara’s presence taught her about care, altruism, and positivity. She aspired to be just as caring as him, and albeit challenging, she was going to try. The more time spent together, the more her admiration for him molded into a budding crush. Butterflies fluttered against her stomach at the sound of his voice, and a smile would slap on her face at his simple gifts.

Haibara’s voice was still ringing in her head. ‘C’mon now. You know I don’t smoke, Shoko. I may not like it, but here! I got you this special lighter! You see? It has the Eiffel Tower. It lights up when you light your cigarette.” The tower was engraved in the lighter. It was fancy, and it was decorated with a textured trim along the edges. Negative space had a matt finish. The lighter was large and bulky, and Shoko’s small hands struggled to turn it on. She still loved it since it was the thought that counted, that she was remembered. And when another reprimand from the elders came at her doorstep, Haibara would be there with a hand on her shoulder. Yu would comfort her, in his own bright and refreshing way. A cool breeze and gentle sunlight after a storm. That's what it felt like. Birds chirping amongst cheery blue skies. ‘Don’t listen to them, Shoko. I think you’re doing great. They are pushing you because you’re so good at what you do. Remember that we need you and you’re important to us sorcerers. -Uh-umm, No pressure though!’Shoko would stand there, still visibly distraught. Her shoulders would curl into itself. Her hands would rub around her upper arms, doing its best to distract from the emotional hurt the elders bombarded her with. ‘Hey hey…..How about I help you study next time? That would be fun, right?’ Haibara would point to himself with his thumb against his chest. ‘I get to be the one learning this time. You can teach me the material. That will help make it stick. I know it will.’ Haibara was consistently present when Geto and Gojo were absent. Her job and experiences were important to him, and when she felt like a forgotten tool only to be called upon when needed, Haibara was there to remind her how Shoko was worth more than the information she could recite.

Her arms were beginning to tense once again. She could feel her shoulders curling into herself. Haibara inspired her to be patient, but now that he's gone, does that mean she is going to give up? To abandon her goals and sit in her displeasure? No. She wouldn’t. Haibara wouldn’t want Shoko to take her grief out on innocent friends and patients. It’s not that she wasn’t patient anymore, or that she wasn't patient in the first place,but she wasn’t going to let tragedy define her and soil Haibara’s memory. And Suguru deserves more than to let his tragedy define him. It was her turn to pay it forward. Honoring Haibara was worth the struggle to support others, to retain a sense of humanity for the sorcerers around her. It was so easy to give into sorrow and pain. To take the fire and fuel anger and vengeance. So…easy…

Suguru’s words repeat themselves “...Even if it's hard, if I can keep our comrades from suffering the same fate, then... How could I live myself if I don't at least try?”

Oh goodness. -Try-. Try to save everyone. Try to save all sorcerers from certain death. She wasn’t god, and she shouldn’t try to be. She understands Suguru, and it pained Shoko to see him put so much pressure on himself. Suguru isn’t god either, and the means of control could only reach so far. Lips part to inform him of solid advice, but she was cut off. "I can't stop swallowing curses, either... It's the only way I can use my technique. I hate it, but... I need to do it. It's all I have..."

Well, to be clear she didn’t say he should stop all together. His technique doesn’t have repercussions if he kills the curse. As long as the curse is dead, he isn’t forced to swallow them. “Su-” she mumbles. Her throat grated her syllables. Cut off again. A conversation with Suguru was a true practice of patience. She wasn’t getting angry with him. It was concern, disappointment, and frustration that was masked by the anger coming across her lips. She hears Suguru’s voice call her name, capturing her undivided attention. The way it rolls off his tongue wipes her mind of all thoughts. Her arms rub against her upper arm just as she would with Haibara under stress, and then, suddenly Suguru’s hand rests warmly on her shoulder. The gesture, simple and superficial, provided deep, integral familiarity. Memory of a friend - a potential admirer- that is dearly missed. Oh how she wishes that it was Haibara comforting her this time. To be cocooned by his bright, virtuous warmth. Yu was a symbol of the purest form of innocent morality. Shoko could feel his presence in Suguru’s gesture, a presence that was felt in a missing puzzle piece. The missing piece, although small in retrospect, captures the undivided attention to all that notice it. His absence is demoralizing to her, and she feels its aching vacancy as Suguru tries his best to console her.

The inside of her throat twists into a hard lump. Swallowing the ball only added to pressure. thus, clears her throat a few times to settle her oncoming distress, just for her to nod intermittently as he speaks. Salty tears burn her eyes, causing her to blink more often than usual. Suguru’s words continue, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you have to deal with all of this and that I can't do what you're asking of me... None of this is really fair, is it? That we have to go through this just because we're sorcerers, while everyone else enjoys their youth..."

It's not fair. It's not fair that others enjoy their youth… “-and Haibara is dead,” she spits out, her voice breaking at the weight of the sorrow that torments her. It is not fair that Haibara’s dead. It's not fair that the elders don’t care. It's not fair that she needs to isolate herself to protect her sanity from the bodies dropping like flies. It's not fair her career was mandated, not chosen. Its.just.not.fair. Lay people worry about their train being late for the third time this week, and sorcerers? Their lives are on the line every time they leave the premises.

She leans into his shoulder in a dire search for drastic relief. Rivers flow as her shallow breath hitches every few seconds. It made it harder for her to speak. “It's not-fair!! None!” she sniffles and holds her breath in a fruitless attempt to calm down. “Th-That I wasn’t there to h-heal him. That I h-had to….-to dis-sect him. They….-They made me di-sss- dissect him Geto! They forced me t-to mutilate him!!” Alas, the secret she had told no one. An oral non disclosure agreement left compromised.

*weak*. All these sorcerers can talk about is *weakness. Strength. Who's the *strongest.* Power. The resentment in his voice. She took it personally. She can fight. She can hold her own. Does it mean her value as a person is any less because of her size? Or worthless for being caged in as just a healer?

Shoko's jaw tightens. Her breath hitches at the name *Haibara*. Her friend. One if her *favorite* friends she was deeply close to. If only she could have been with him, close by. Healed him. Lay eyes on those bright brown eyes own more. The late night talks, the gifts, the jokes and laughter- were all a stolen from her. From Haibara!! Now, her days are spent solely buried in a book.

Day in, day out, study study study. She needed to cheat to even keep up with the curriculum. More dead bodies. More death. Experimentation, it felt so inhumane. Sorcerers weren't cattle. They aren't some cow you needed to beef up. They are people. People that also needed protection. And for what? For sake of strength and power? By who? The very same people who's trapped her in her this very career? The same poeple who led Haibara to *his* death? A sick joke this was. All a heinous joke. A long running gag that she was learning to run with.

Her RTC abruptly stops. Her places her full palms on Geto's back. The wound was 99.9% done, and thus no need to worry about infection.

The resentful, overbearing ropes that bound her to her career grew tighter. Her wrists, her ankles, her mind were chained to her employment. It made her.....angry. She could feel the adreline tricking into her system, like the very IVs she worked with everyday. Geto's words, albeit relatable, was pushing her over the edge. It seems as though when Haibara died, he took some of Shoko's patience with him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for Geto to think of her this way. Even if he didn't directly mean it, it sure as hell still hurt. The pang in her chest was elbowing its way to the surface.

Shoko places some of her weight on the palms resting on him.

"There's a lot to address there, Geto," she retorts, her voice becoming stone cold. "Weakness....clearly, you sorcerers need to get a grip. You place your *entire identity* on this strength vs weakness bullshit that it's eating away at all of you. And for you, Geto, quite literally. There is more to you than your strength and power. You're my friend outside of that. Do you think I'm going to drop you at a dime of a hat just because, let's say something happens to you where you become debilitated? You're sweet. You're kind. You're polite. Intelligent. A wonderful strategist. Your hair is that of a shampoo commercial. I miss the long talks about the books you read and the art museums we use to visit. Culture is a big thing. I can see you become a historian one day. Your laughs are pleasure to listen too. I miss them. You're not a one dimensional robot. Placing your entire identity and value in one factor is not only harmful, it causes distress. Unnecessary distress!!! You're a person, not a product!! Look at yourself in the mirror and see the whole you, not one tiny little peace. You're worthwhile just as you are."

She sharply removes her palms from him. Her hands ball to a fist at her sides. She struggles to keep her voice low. Tears well up in her eyes, and the lump in her throat pushes against her voice, causing it to quiver. She does her best to swallow it down.

"Haibara's passing hasn't only affected you. It's affected us all. I miss him already, and we can all agree he was unjustly taken from us. 'Should of, would of, could of', doesn't help us. It doesn't serve us any greater healthy purpose. It doesn't assist us in moving forward in our grief, but only stifles us. 'Should of, would of, could of,' only rips us apart. We can't control everything. We can't control what happens around us, only in front of us. It's *not* our job to correct other's wrongs, worry about things bigger than us, or protect everyone around us. I-it....it's too big of a burden to bear. You're g-going about this all the...the wrong way. It's not our-...." Shoko sniffles, "responsibility."

"And as for your gross curses......." she sighs, holding back her tears. He truly loved Haibara, and the last thing she wanted was to meet more of her friends lifeless at the morgue. "You.dont.have.to.eat.all.of.them. Just the ones you *feel* like eating. Or any. Fuck it......hell, swallow none of them." Shoko places one hand over the last 0.1% of the injury that was left to heal, and finishes the job. "I fucking hate this..." she mutters, her voice on the verge of breaking. "It's fucking stupid."

#cursesavior #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #shoko

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years ago

Text

Fireleaf (Part Three)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Part One ⤲ Part Two

Hi! I wanted to get this out sooner but I have a stinking cold and kept falling asleep whilst writing lol. Anyway - enjoy!

@greeneyedivy has been such a massive help with this story so far. Those braincells deserve all the love 😉💋

Warnings: None for this part.

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

“Beron’s announcing the engagement tonight – at the feast.”

Willow glanced up from the belongings she’d spread out over her bed. You’d seen to it yourself that she and her husband got the suite closest to yours. If your sisters were going to be hovering around for the next two weeks, you wanted your favourite one as close to you as possible.

Willow’s blue eyes studied you, her night-black hair rippling like silk as she tilted her head. “And how do you feel about that?”

Slowly, you shook your head from where you stood at the window overlooking the garden. It had been a task, in itself, to break away from the circles of acquaintances gushing over each other, to get some time alone with your youngest sister. She’d spotted you trying to rub the panic out of your chest and had made an excuse to Dion about needing to show you something in her suite.

“I feel…” Your eyes remained pinned on the lawn, bouncing over the people who were chatting and laughing and drinking. All far too wealthy for their own good. All as shallow as one another. “I feel trapped.”

There was a rustle of clothing, and then Willow was by your side, placing a hand on your arm. “I know this cannot be easy for you, Y/N.” She studied you. “But is Dion really so bad?”

You frowned, glancing down at your clasped hands. It wasn’t about whether Dion was the nicest person in the world or as much of a brute as his father. It was about you, your choices – your life. Your freedoms.

They didn’t seem to exist anymore.

“He doesn’t seem bad.” You admitted with a small shake of your head. “From what I can tell so far, he’s…polite. Kind. But I could still be proved wrong. And I didn’t want any of this. I’m not sure I ever even intended to marry at all.”

Your sister continued her appraisal of you. What her eyes were searching for, you didn’t know. But even though she was younger than you by five years…in that moment, she seemed older than you. Wiser. As if, in your situation, she would have just accepted it without complaint.

“I’m the only one who didn’t get to choose.” You quickly said, hoping to nip her thoughts right in the bud. “All four of you did – you, Molly, Clem…even Sara, who can’t choose which foods she does and doesn’t like day-to-day. Father may have made suggestions, but…your husbands were your choices. Not his. And Dion is Mama and Papa’s choice – not mine.”

Willow’s face seemed to change at that moment. A change so quick, it took you a few seconds to discern that her bright, pretty face had been shadowed by something…bleaker. The ever-present light in her eyes winking out slightly.

“Yes. Well.” She murmured, stepping away from your side. She turned her back to you, returning to the items she’d spread atop the bed. “Choosing is not all it’s cracked up to be, I assure you.”

You stared at her – the back of her head. “What does that mean?”

No answer. You may as well have not been there as she separated her clothes from her husband’s, folding them into neat piles to store in the armoire. But her shoulders were tense – stiff.

“Willa.” You used her nickname, striding around to the other side of the bed to face her. “What do you—are you and Isaac not happy?”

“Drop it, Y/N.”

You blinked at your youngest sister; at her sharp, cold tone. The two of you…you didn’t have secrets. At least, you didn’t think you did. Her husband’s estate may have been a bit of a trek away from yours, but you and Willow made the effort to meet regularly. To catch up. And she knew everything about you. Everything.

Yet you could see – right now, she had a wall up. She was blocking you out in a way she never had, and it made your stomach twist with worry.

“Willow.” You murmured gently, perching on the bed. “You can tell me—if things aren’t alright with Isaac. It stays between us.”

Her hands seemed to falter on the shirt she was folding. You watched closely as she swallowed, her eyes tracking the items before her, and then flickering up to meet yours.

“We just…” She shook her head. “We had an argument, that’s all. A couple of weeks ago.”

“Okay, well…all couples argue–”

“He hit me.”

You looked up so quickly, your neck clicked. “Excuse me.”

“He lost his temper…and he hit me. He’s never done it before–”

You were already standing up from the bed. Already feeling a fire igniting inside of you, spreading through you. You were going to hunt Isaac down and deal with him yourself—

“Y/N, no.” Willow hurried into your path, blocking the door. “You’ll make it worse. It was one time, and he said he’s sorry, and he won’t do it again. Things are just still a little…raw. But they’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

“If he thinks he can lay a finger on you and get away with it–”

“He’s not.” Her touch on your arm was gentle. “Believe me, he’s not getting away with it. I’m not making things easy for him. He knows he did wrong, Y/N. Please, just…just keep it between us. Don’t tell him I told you. Please.”

You studied her face – didn’t know whether it was fear or desperation or both that shone in those wild, blue eyes. But whatever it was…it had you relaxing your shoulders, slinking back just enough to be rational.

It would make things worse if you stormed downstairs and confronted Isaac in front of everyone. Not just for Willow, but – but for you, too. You were sure Beron Vanserra wouldn’t appreciate such an outburst. And in front of his cohorts, no less.

“...Okay.” You relented – didn’t like it one bit, as you pressed your lips into a thin line. “ But, Willa…if he tries anything again…”

“He won’t. He won’t. But I would tell you straight away.”

You realised that was going to have to be good enough – for now. But while everyone was keeping their eyes on you throughout this gods-damn festival…you had a new person to mark. You were going to be watching Isaac like a hawk.

Scary, though – that Isaac had only dared to do such a thing once he had a wedding band firmly on your sister’s finger.

It didn’t exactly sell marriage to you any further.

⤲

It was by mid-afternoon that the more interesting celebrations had begun. The idle mingling and chatting around the estate had made way for the attractions that the High Lord had arranged — stalls of games and baked goods and the lilting caress of background music reaching out from across the green.

The atmosphere became easier with the arrival of the lesser fae, the working families. The people — farmers and land workers and pure grafters — that everyone had to thank for there even being a fruitful harvest at all. They turned up in droves, families of giggling, excitable children and their parents, aunts, uncles and older siblings who just seemed to be relieved to be doing something for fun.

You certainly noticed, however, the clear divide. That Beron Vanserra may have invited the lower dwellers of his court – the true backbone that kept it thriving – as a courtesy, a move to make himself look good and honourable – but with no real intention to acknowledge them. The cleave between your world and theirs was evident in the dull, tattered clothing that stood out amongst the gowns and tailored suits of the elite. And the way the noble members of the court watched them closely, judgingly, as though they were a smear on the landscape. As though they didn’t deserve an invite to the Harvest Festival that they had toiled to make happen.

It had you balling your fists at Dion’s side as you floated around, playing the part of the quiet, blushing female perfectly. It was a tad jarring every time he introduced you to someone as his fiancee, or placed a warm steady hand on your back. And not only did you have your family to contend with – their stares as they pretended to be uninterested in you – but Barric, also. It was clear he was acting as escort to your courtship.

He always remained a few steps behind, enthusiastically greeting people as he passed them and pretending to observe the various stalls that were set up. But he walked where you walked, looked at what you looked at — and stopped at the exact same moment that Dion pulled you to a standstill in front of a table where a High Fae female was selling homemade chocolates.

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” Dion asked you, a glint in his eye.

“I do.” You nodded, eyeing the sweets in front of you that admittedly smelled incredible. “Do you?”

“Oh, a terrible one. Chocolate, sweets, cakes — I love it all.” He turned to the vendor, his smile winning and charming as he said, “A bag of the orange chocolates for my lady here, please.”

His lady. It flowed so easy from his lips, like he’d been speaking those very words for years. You waited patiently as the expert chocolatier bagged the sweets up and accepted Dion’s coin in exchange. He fell into conversation with her, chatting and asking questions he seemed genuinely interested in the answers to. And you…you scanned the droves of people, looking for any glimpse of Willow’s husband. You may have promised not to say anything, not to act on your anger, but that didn’t mean you weren’t keeping a close eye on him, making sure he didn’t step a toe out of line—

But it wasn’t Isaac your eyes landed on. You should have been used, already, to the many flashes of red, flowing Vanserra hair around the place. The brothers were all dotted around somewhere, mingling with friends, partaking in the game stalls — but it was the youngest one your eyes found. Lucien.

It surprised you, somewhat, that he was even present. You were unable to stop yourself watching as he stopped at the small, rickety lemonade stand that a group of children were tending. Their clothes were clearly the grubby hand-me-downs that most of the lesser faeries seemed to be wearing, and it didn’t look like any noble members of the court had stopped by to humour them and buy what they were selling. Lucien Vanserra was likely the first.

He seemed to say something teasing, and all of the children broke out into a fit of laughter. And Lucien was grinning…so at odds with the contempt he’d worn when he’d looked upon you on the day of your arrival. He made a show of sniffing the pitcher of lemonade, of commenting on the aromas — and the children were loving every second of it. Hanging off every word. And you may not have been close enough to hear his words over the many voices around you, but you saw the way he ordered four cups of lemonade for himself — handed over one coin for each of the four children that were gazing up at him in pure amazement.

You were so entranced by the scene that you didn’t realise Dion was speaking to you until he was stood before you once more, a chocolate pinched between his fingers.

“Open up.” He smiled broadly. “Taste this.”

You blinked, your cheeks heating just slightly. Your eyes shot to the small gathering of your sisters and your parents, where they stood, sipping from delicate teacups and acting like they weren’t analysing your every move. A tad uncomfortable, you parted your lips and stilled as Dion pushed the small, round chocolate between them.

“Good, right?” He smirked as you took a bite. “They’re my favourite.”

They were good — there was no doubt about that, as you chewed and swallowed. The orange tangy and the chocolate creamy, it was an effort to stop your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“I’ll keep that in mind for Solstice.” You said — and almost blinked at yourself. You’d only been around him for forty-eight hours, and you were already talking about buying him Solstice gifts.

He held your gaze as he lifted his finger to his lips and sucked the remnants of chocolate off.

Clearing your throat, you turned quickly. “Those children are selling lemonade. How about we buy a cup?”

He smiled widely, offering you his arm. “Lead the way, my lady.”

⤲

You’d been primed for this.

It was while you’d been pulled this way and that, moulded into the prettiest, perfect vision for the evening feast, that Barric had joined you in your suite. He’d perched himself on the chaise across the room and detailed every aspect of what you were to expect that evening. Where you would sit, how you were expected to act, even what was appropriate for you to eat.

But most of all — most of all, you were to remember to smile, to look enthralled, while the High Lord officially announced to his court that you were to wed his second-eldest son.

You thought you might vomit before you even made it to the great hall. Because no amount of priming would be enough. You realised that when you approached Dion at the bottom of the grand staircase, your long skirts – and Barric – trailing behind you.

Dion’s eyes flicked over you, alighting with…something…as he took in the dark green gown. He swallowed, adjusting his collar. “...Wow…”

You stepped down from the last stair, your cheeks heating self-consciously. “Does it look ridiculous?”

Your fiance shook his head. “Quite the opposite. You…are a vision.”

From behind you, still hovering on the stairs, Barric cleared his throat. “Shall we go in?”

Taking Dion’s arm, the three of you did just that. Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you took in the sight of the room, your eyes searching for where your family were sitting; just beside the top table, where the High Lord and his family lounged.

“You’ll be sitting beside me.” Dion said into your ear. Barric had already informed you of the arrangement earlier, but you felt a second sting of disappointment at not spending the feast beside Willow.

The giant room was full with chatter and the aromas of so many different foods, it was overwhelming. But as you walked past tables, smiling politely at the people Dion greeted, sparing a wave for your own family, two things struck you.

That the spread of food was…exorbitant. A feast, indeed, but so incredibly over-the-top, the thought of its cost made you cringe; it seemed especially tonedeaf with the amount of people who’d been wandering the estate earlier in clothes and shoes that were more or less falling apart. And that was the second thing you noticed – all the Lesser Faeries that had joined in the fun that afternoon…the children enjoying themselves and the grafters letting their hair down after a summer of hard work…not a single one of them was present.

Your eyes bounced over every single table. Every person sat at those tables. Every last one was of a noble or aristocratic background. Every one of them wore garments and accessories that could have paid the rent on the lesser faeries’ land for an entire year.

“Where are they?” You turned to Dion, frowning. “The families that were here earlier.” You didn’t want to use the words Lesser Fae out loud; something about it left a sour taste in your mouth.

Dion seemed totally oblivious to your shock as he replied. “The common folk? They’re not invited to the feasts or dances – just the daytime events.”

You gawked at him, a slither of cold outrage snaking through you that he didn’t seem to notice. You were just about to point out that the very food everyone in that room would be eating was there because of the harvesters, the workers who broke their backs and put their sweat and blood into the community – but a hand landed on your arm, and you looked up to see Barric shoot you a warning glance.

“Come,” He said. “You two must be seated before the announcement.”

Fuck the announcement, was what you wanted to reply. How were you supposed to sit and watch these people bask arrogantly in their wealth when the people toiling over their lands were probably wolfing down a dinner of stale bread and cheese? There was plenty of room in here for more tables, plenty of spaces in which those people could sit.

You had to ball your fists, to bite your tongue – you looked over to your family, found your parents staring expectantly at you. And it was only imagining them in tattered clothing, eating gone-off food, that gave you the will to tamp down on your anger. For now.

You were led to the top table and seated in a high-backed chair between Dion and Jareth. Jareth sent you a wolfish grin, taking a long sip from his wine chalice.

“Evening, future sister-in-law.” He murmured, his eyes wandering over your body. “Don’t you make the pretty plaything?”

You scowled at him, facing forward. Jareth seemed to have an entire bank of leering, inappropriate comments for any female in the general vicinity. Only earlier that day, he’d stood and shamelessly flirted with you and all of your sisters – in front of their husbands, too

You were saved from having to make a remark by Beron standing from his throne at the centre of the table. He looked over the great hall, and then squared his shoulders. Tapped a fork against his glass loud enough that the cacophony of voices died out in seconds.

“Good evening to you all.” His voice was clear– confident – as he stared forward and made direct eye contact with people. “Welcome to our first feast of this year’s harvest. An old tradition of our people that I hope we can start anew. And what a bounty of good food we have before us.”

Murmurs of agreement broke through the room. You clenched your hands beneath the table.

“Before we indulge ourselves,” Beron said. “I have a wonderful announcement I’d like to share with you – my court. My people.”

That said it all – that he didn’t consider the landworkers of his court, their families, to be his people.

“I’m delighted to share with you the joining of two families.” He continued. “You all know my second-eldest son, Dion.” A glance at Dion, a flash of expectancy in his eyes. “Dion is engaged to be wed — to the fine lady at his side. Y/N, we look forward to welcoming you into our family.”

All eyes were on you, now. You felt your cheeks redden, your skin growing tight and hot under the intense scrutiny. You couldn’t help wondering what those many people might be thinking – whether there were jealous females thinking they would have been better suited for the role. Irritated fathers who were pissed that you’d wormed your way in with the Vanserras before their child could. Stuck-up mothers who didn’t deem you anywhere near good enough.

But you smiled – like you’d been told to. Inclined your head at Beron – like you’d been told to. Allowed Dion to grab your hand and place a kiss on your cheek – like you’d been told to.

And the crowds of people cheered, just like they were expected to.

“We hope you’ll join us in celebrating the happy news.” Beron raised his glass, and everyone in the room followed. “To Dion and Lady Y/N. Let the feast begin.”

⤲

It felt wrong – to eat the food. Every bite was like ash in your mouth. The only relief was the spiced wine you washed it all down with.

After an hour or so of feasting, the rigid formality seemed to dissipate somewhat. People rose from their seats, venturing to other tables to speak to friends, or even to approach the top table and engage the High Lord in conversation — conversations that had you clenching your fists harder and harder beneath the table, as you listened to Beron’s subjects gush about how generous he had been to invite the common folk to the daytime celebrations. Some even complained that said folk should have made a better effort with their clothing.

It was that comment which had you hitting your limit. You pushed your chair back, muttering an excuse about going to the bathroom, and breezed away without a glance back. Luckily, Dion — and all the other Vanserras — were far too taken by conversation to notice.

You didn’t think you could get away with leaving the room itself — not with Barric always keeping a watchful eye on you. But you floated around its edges, the cold, draughty parts where Autumn Court banners were hung and discreet alcoves dipped off into other parts of the manor.

It was in one of those alcoves that you spotted him — Lucien.

He leaned against a wall, wine glass in hand, his eyes dancing over the tables and his feet making no move to go any closer. You hadn’t even checked to see if he’d been at the top table with the rest of his family.

But something told you they wouldn’t have noticed — or cared — if he wasn’t.

Dressed in a tailored outfit a similar shade to his russet eyes, his long hair unbound, he looked like a painting in that alcove. The kinds your mother had hung up all around your family’s estate. He cut a solitary figure like he always seemed to, but appeared to be otherwise relaxed. Appeared to be fine with just standing and…spectating. Just himself and his thoughts.

As though he could sense your intense stare, his eyes flicked to yours. Those dark red eyebrows rose when he found you, indeed, staring.

You couldn’t explain it — the way your feet began to move towards him. He’d been nothing but unpleasant to you in the short conversation you’d had with him. But something about his solitary nature spoke to you. Something that made you want to speak back.

You stopped at a drinks table, grabbing yourself another glass of wine, before subtly sidling over to where Lucien stood. You tried to relax your stance, to mimic his casualness, his ease, as you pressed your back against the wall, a few steps away from him. He watched the entire thing.

You met his eyes once more, taking a sip of your wine and nodding in polite greeting.

“Is there a reason you’ve been walking around with a face like a smacked ass?” He said.

That was his greeting.

You blinked at him, your body somehow coiling tighter than it already was.

So — that rude conversation on your first night here hadn’t merely been the product of Lucien in a bad mood, then.

His head fell into a tilt as he studied you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile once since the feast started. Is our food not to your liking?”

It would have been so easy to scowl and stalk away — to not get into this with him. And would have been wise to, also. He may have had a terse relationship with his family at best, but you didn’t doubt he’d run straight to his father with any complaints of yours — if only out of spite, fanned by this bizarre dislike he seemed to have for you.

But clearly you weren’t feeling very wise. Not as your mouth began speaking before you could tell it not to.

“It just leaves a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.” You said through gritted teeth. “That we’re all here stuffing our faces, over-indulging, and yet nobody actually responsible for the harvest has been invited.”

Lucien cocked a single eyebrow. He angled his body towards you. “This sounds interesting. Please, do impart your musings upon me, Lady. I’m fascinated to know what goes on behind the pretty face.”

Pure, pure sarcasm. He was mocking you, being rude again — and you knew that. And never had you let anyone speak to you in such a way before; never had you stood for someone so freely ridiculing you.

But did you walk away, decide not to humour him?

No. You didn’t.

“Look around the room.” You simply said, holding his gaze. Your clenched jaw was the only symbol of ire you threw at him. “Look at every damn table. Every single person here is a noble, an aristocrat. High Fae. And yet the High Lord didn’t deign to invite the hard workers who slaved over the land all year so that he could even host this feast. None of the hard-working families that everyone should be celebrating and thanking. No, they’ll be stuck at home eating stale bread and cheese and receiving no appreciation for the back-breaking graft they put in.”

The words had just…tumbled from your mouth. Pent-up from an hour of watching people gush over the High Lord. You knew you should have stopped yourself, knew you should have kept your mouth shut and later ranted to Willow, or even your damn reflection in the mirror.

Not to the youngest Autumn Court son who had an inexplicable problem with you. Who was probably delighting in the fact that you had just slipped up.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. His lips pressed together, his eyes narrowing. His head fell into a tilt.

“Interesting.” He said, his tone quiet. Cutting. “But have you completely forgotten your own privilege, Lady?”

You balked at him. Hadn’t expected that response. “What?”

“You are a noble. You are High Fae.” His eyes travelled over you, disgust curling his lip. “And you are here, looking just as prim and proper and stuck-up as the rest of them. When was the last time you did a hard day’s work in your life? It seems to me like the pot is calling the kettle black.”

Before you could even begin to formulate a response, he was pushing off the wall. Draining his glass and striding away without so much as a glance back at you.

All you could do was stand and gawk in his wake — stunned and stung by his words. You wanted to run after him, to chew him out and tell him how wrong he was. How much hard work you had put in over the years. That he’d got you completely and utterly wrong.

But as you drained your own glass and turned in the direction he disappeared in, not even a flash of red hair remained.

⤲

You should have left it alone.

Lucien Vanserra had made his thoughts of you abundantly clear — his dislike for you. And with his mind clearly made up, there was probably no use beating a dead horse and trying to defend yourself.

But the anger that had already been there, inside you, had snowballed. You remained at the edges of the room, helping yourself to the wine and not bothering to pretend you were happy to be there. Fortunately, nobody seemed to take much notice of you, either.

You stared with narrowed eyes across the room, watching Dion, who was now engaging in enthusiastic conversation with Willow. They seemed to be getting along perfectly — you’d suspected they would — and you were thankful that she was distracting him enough, making him laugh hard enough, that he didn’t seem to be aware of your absence.

Lucien had no right to talk to you like that. He didn’t know you, had no knowledge of the kind of work you had done. He’d formed an unfair opinion of you and run with it, and in a situation that was already lonely as it was, you didn’t need the added hostility. Did it mean you were weak, to be barely three days in and hitting your breaking point? Maybe. You didn’t care. You needed someone to sound off to, to give a piece of your mind.

That was how you found yourself slipping out of the great hall before anyone could stop you. You were going to hunt Lucien down, to confront him and demand to know what his damn problem was.

Your thoughts were a tad fogged by the wine you’d consumed. There was no real method or direction to the route you travelled, probably going round in circles. You strode through the long, winding halls with purpose, passing servants who took one look at your thunderous expression and averted their gazes.

Outside. Lucien Vanserra always seemed to be outside, somewhere, loitering around trees and in the shadows. You pushed through the huge glass doors that opened out onto the veranda — the same one you’d dined on only that morning.

You’d made it only halfway across the dewy grass before you heard him — heard them. There was a trilling, feminine laugh that echoed through the night, stark and loud in your ears. Movement in your periphery. You turned in its direction.

Just in time to see Lucien press a pretty blonde against a tree. To see his hands roaming her body as he kissed her feverishly, and they laughed sensuously into each other’s mouths.

You went still. Just…just stared for a moment. Stared at the scene before you and tried to understand the bile that rose in the back of your throat. The twisting in your gut.

Only when Lucien and his lover disappeared out of sight did it strike you — the hollowness you felt. The jealousy. Nothing…nothing to do with who it was, but…the intimacy. The freedom of that intimacy.

Because it hit you like a ton of bricks that Lucien Vanserra may have been a solitary male who liked to skulk off and brood alone…he may have been the black sheep of his family…but he clearly still had freedoms that you lacked. Such a fact stung like a slap.

You couldn’t just sneak off for a clandestine fumble in the woods with a casual fling. Couldn’t engage in a spell of brief, meaningless passion, just for the hell of it. Not anymore.

It left you feeling so, so terribly lonely. You didn’t really know why.

But that fire of anger inside you winked out. Left you empty. You didn’t feel like confronting Lucien Vanserra anymore, didn’t feel like chewing him out.

You just wanted to be alone.

⤲

“I like him. Dion, I mean.”

It was nearing the end of the first week of the festival when Willow slipped her arm through yours. The moon was beating down on the Vanserra Estate, and a sizable group of people had come along to The Offering – an Autumn Court tradition that had been built from superstition centuries ago. It was said that at moonrise, anyone who left offerings for the wild creatures of the Autumn Court were promised safety and good harvest the following year. Groups of courtiers wandered through the woods, carrying armfuls of jam jars and fruit baskets and crisp loaves of bread, all to be left for creatures that may not even exist.

“Dion’s nice.” You acknowledge with a small nod. You were careful not to speak too openly with your sisters lingering close behind. And the Vanserra brothers striding ahead.

It was true – as the week had progressed, you’d found yourself enjoying Dion’s company. He was easy to talk to, a male of flowing conversation and good humour. You’d taken to sharing nightly walks around the gardens, and you were perfectly happy to listen while he regaled you with stories and shared knowledge of subjects you knew nothing about. And additionally, he seemed to have truly taken to your youngest – favourite – sister. He and Willow already had a budding relationship built on teasing each other, on affectionate bickering. It wasn’t unusual to walk into a room and find the pair of them laughing – a fact that angered Isaac, no doubt. You’d been keeping a close eye on him all week.

And you’d thankfully not run into Lucien Vanserra’s path. Which was good. Which was fine. You weren’t going to bother with pleasantries when he clearly had no intentions of doing so.

“Do you have any idea of when the wedding might be?” Willow asked you, gently nudging you with her elbow. Her offering of a huge jar of honey was tucked under her other arm.

“No,” You shook your head. “It’s to be discussed after the festival. That’s when the preparations will begin.”

Her gaze flicked to you. “And are you…you know…attracted to him?”

“He’s a handsome male.”

“You know what I’m asking, Y/N. Do you feel…alright…where the wedding night itself is concerned?”

You spared her the slightest glance in your periphery. She was bound to have brought this up at some point…this subject that was a giant elephant in the room. Sitting on a secret that you had no clue what you were going to do about. Try as you might to bury it, it always lingered at the back of your mind – waiting to come alive and smack you in the face.

But you squared your shoulders. Played the fool, as you said, “I feel fine about it.”

Before you could think of a subject change, Willow was suddenly veering you both to the left, tugging you around a giant tree. She checked that you were truly out of sight before she turned back to you, her face pinched. There was something…comical, in the way she tried to look serious while holding a giant jar of honey.

“Have you even thought about the situation at all?” She hissed. “Things may be sweet and innocent right now, but come your wedding night, Dion is going to know. He’s going to figure out the state of your virginity – or lack thereof – and he might not like it. I hear the Vanserras have a thing about taking pure brides.”

You swallowed, your stomach bottoming out. It was far easier to ignore when it wasn’t being pointed out to you. And you didn’t know what you were going to do about that – whether you planned to tell Dion or not.

You couldn’t bring yourself to regret that one choice you’d made for yourself all those years ago – to have Linden, one of the few people you trusted more than anything – to be the first person you had sex with. He had been kind and careful, and you’d felt good afterwards – glad you’d chosen the person yourself, and never thinking it would be a decision that would come back to bite you on the ass.

And yet here you were. Engaged to a male who likely expected you to be…intact, as you’d heard other males say, on your wedding night. A male who expected to be your first and only lover.

“I highly doubt Dion is a virgin,” You shrugged defensively. “Why should I have to defend my choice to sleep with Linden? I wanted–”

“Holy Gods.”

The words, choked with incredulity and a lick of laughter, had not come from Willow.

You looked up, your entire body – entire existence – going cold as you observed Molly gaping at you from a few strides away, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised, her back ramrod straight.

“Damn it.” Willow mumbled under her breath. “Molly–”

“You actually gave yourself to that brute?” Molly folded her arms, her eyes studying you. “Do you have no respect for yourself at all?”

Your jaw clenched. “It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t be listening in on conversations.”

Your eldest sister placed a mocking hand over her chest. “I was concerned about my sisters wandering off into the woods alone.”

You took a single step towards her, to say, to do…what, you didn’t know. But Willow was grabbing hold of your arm. Glaring at Molly with an intensity that would have even the most hard-faced people backing down.

“You better keep your gods-damn mouth shut about this, Molly.” She said through gritted teeth. “I mean it – not a word.”

Molly smirked. Oh, she was enjoying this. To have leverage against someone was like having the Winter Solstice come early. Her eyes glistened with challenge.

“Keeping my mouth shut won’t change the fact that Y/N allowed herself to be defiled by that scum with a sword.” She sniped. “How, exactly, do you plan to explain yourself to your betrothed?”

“None of your fucking business.” You snapped.

“Tetchy,” That wolfish smirk widened. “You have no plan at all, do you?”

“I–”

“Swear you won’t say anything.” Willow cut in, folding her arms.

“Are you above begging?”

“Swear,” Your youngest sister repeated, her jaw ticking as she stepped forward, “you won’t say anything.”

“Mother Above, the two of you are so dramatic.” Molly made a show of glancing at her nails. Of sighing deeply. Of placing a hand on the swell of her belly. And then she smirked again. “I swear I won’t tell anyone – if only because I can’t wait to see how this pans out.”

She offered no chance for you to respond before she was turning and flouncing away, a trill of satisfied laughter in her wake. Your shoulders slumped, but you felt no relief – you didn’t trust Molly or her word for one second.

“Bitch.” Willow murmured beside you, scooping up the jar of honey. “Don’t worry about her. She’s all talk. Let’s make these offerings before the Autumn Court creatures materialise and decide to eat us instead.”

You forced a smile. Allowed yourself to be tugged back through the trees, onto the path that groups were still ambling along, only spaced-out faelights and moonlight illuminating the way.

Ahead of you, Molly had returned to strolling at her husband’s side.

She glanced back once. And grinned.

⤲

The end of that first week was a relief. Albeit a short-lived one.

You wanted to wind the week up by doing nothing. By holing yourself up in your room and reading, or sleeping, or—anything. Anything that didn’t involve plastering a smile on your face and talking to people.

And yet here you were, on a dragging Sunday night, trying to work out how you were going to survive the last week of festivities — all while the High Lord’s personal bard played to a tittering audience, and your sisters and Dion’s brothers chatted around the table you all occupied.

You almost felt bad for the bard. Nobody appeared to be listening. Every song he had played had been drowned out by the numerous conversations happening at once.

You felt…uneasy, with Molly sitting opposite you. She may not have spoken a word of your secret thus far, but the glances she kept shooting you were in no way subtle. The exhausting week had begun to weigh on you, and you bristled every time your sister opened her mouth. Beside you, Dion seemed to notice your resigned demeanour.

His hand landed on your leg, and he leaned down to your ear. “Are you alright?”

Glancing up at him, you nodded. “I’m fine – just tired.”

“We don’t have to stay for this — I can take you back to your suite.”

Across the table, a resounding tsk came from your eldest sister. Everyone looked to her in question, but her gaze was firmly on you. On Dion, and the clear direction his hand was leaning in beneath the table.

“Now, now, enough of that.” Molly said, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m sure the two of you would prefer to keep things clean and pure until the wedding night.”

Your jaw ticked as Dion shifted beside you. “That isn’t what I meant.” He said.

“No need to sweat.” Molly smiled at him — and then glanced at you. Directly at you, her eyes burning into yours. “We all feel temptation beckoning us sometimes, right?”

“Molly.” Willow’s voice was low, warning, from the chair at your other side. “You’re being inappropriate.”

The tension around the table could be cut with a knife. But Molly seemed to be enjoying it, as she sat back in her chair and continued to simply smirk at you. So many retorts teased the tip of your tongue, begging you to rip into her, to give in and make that scene she was so clearly angling for—

But you were saved right at the last minute by one song ending, and another beginning. The bard’s swift musical transition seemed to sweep away the tautness that stretched around your table, and as if the last couple of minutes hadn’t occurred, conversation started anew — instigated by Eris, who was happy to sit and bend everyone’s ears with heroic stories about himself.

You were just thankful that the heat was taken off of you.

Even more so that only Willow and Dion seemed to be aware when you pushed out from the table, rising to your feet. Everyone else was too entranced by Eris waxing poetic about a hunting trip he’d been on.

“Can I escort you somewhere?” Dion peered up at you. There was a strange lick of apology in his eyes, his tone, as if he blamed himself for the turn the conversation had taken moments ago.

“No,” You answered quickly — too quickly — and cleared your throat. “No, thank you. I’m ready to turn in.”

He nodded in what seemed to be understanding — and perhaps a flash of disappointment. He reached for your hand, pressing a chaste kiss to your fingers. “Goodnight, then.”

The tinge of guilt you felt was almost enough to make you sit back down and tolerate Molly for the rest of the evening, just to appease Dion. Because all week, he’d been nothing but kind to you. Nothing but polite and accommodating and understanding that this situation you both found yourselves in was a bizarre one, a tricky one, and you were trying to puzzle it out yourselves with the watchful gazes of others constantly on you.

But if you stayed a second longer, you thought you might scream. You’d barely had a moment to yourself all week, and if you didn’t take that time now, you weren’t sure what you might do. What you might say.

You kissed Willow on the cheek and bade everyone goodnight, trying to ignore Molly’s eyes on you as you hastily left the room.

But you didn’t go straight to bed, like you were no doubt expected to. The one bit of solace you’d found in this place, in this situation, was the beautiful sprawl of land around you, as far as the eye could see. You wanted to feel the chilled autumn air on your skin, to breathe in its crisp scent whilst you walked the gardens — alone — and allowed your thoughts to roam freely.

You waited, just long enough to make sure nobody followed, and then made your way outside. You weren’t dressed at all appropriately for the bite in the air, but there was something pleasant about the cold temperature washing over you. Like you were breaking the surface of water and taking great, greedy gulps of air.

You allowed your feet to carry you aimlessly, putting distance between you and the manor, the sounds of music and chatter floating out from inside. The further you strayed from the huge house, the more you relied on the accompanying full moonlight to illuminate your path and guide you onwards. Shafts of its silvery light broke through the leaves as you began to wend through the trees, the smell of damp earth and bark somewhat of a soothing tonic to you.

You didn’t realise just how far you’d wandered until you could no longer make out the lights from the manor — or the sounds. The silence of the forest at this time was deafening, the only sounds made by your shoes kicking through leaves and stepping on twigs.

That was — until you heard it.

You couldn’t immediately make out what it was — what you were hearing. A sound akin to heavy breathing, but not that of a person; almost like a creature’s snout sniffing the air.

You stopped dead on the path you were wandering, frozen on the spot. Only around twenty feet away from you, you could just discern the outline of objects sitting at the bases of the towering trees. Small jars, bigger ones, cloaks and trinkets—

The Offerings everybody had left for the elusive Autumn Court creatures. You had wandered way, way too far.

You didn’t know what to do as the strange sound picked up, grew closer. You didn’t fancy your chances at running over the uneven forest floor in your gown — and certainly not if it would just invite whatever animal was lurking to follow you.

You stood ramrod straight, waiting for it to emerge. Perhaps a wolf, or a wildcat, or—

The…creature…that inched out from around a tree was a thing of pure, undiluted nightmare.

Its head was certainly that of an animal’s — a fox — with glowing yellow eyes and a maw that pulled back into somewhat of a sneer. But its body…slender and tall…it had to be towering at eight feet at least, and walking on two legs—

You were going to vomit. Never had you had such a strong, visceral reaction to a sight before you. The way you shook had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

You couldn’t move — not as you watched the giant beast stalk towards the offerings, its nose still loudly sniffing the air, sniffing for—

Something snaked around your face — a warm hand that covered your mouth, your nose. You had no time to react as you were yanked back against a firm, solid body, and slowly, slowly dragged backwards.

“Don’t,” A voice, lethally quiet, whispered into your ear. Lucien. “Make a sound.”

You obeyed. As much as you wanted to scream your head off in pure terror. Lucien’s other hand was around your waist, and you gripped onto his arm, allowing yourself to slowly, slowly, be dragged backwards, your eyes never once leaving the creature.

You thought he must know these woods like the back of his hand, with how expertly he stepped around trees and over dips, acting like you weighed nothing more than air as he pulled you along with him.

Only when you were far enough away that the creature was just a moving blot of darkness did Lucien stop. He pressed his back against the tree. And continued to hold onto you.

His hand splayed flat against your stomach as he gradually pulled the other from your face. “Don’t scream.” He told you, his voice little more than a sigh. “And don’t move.”

You couldn’t move, aside of the uncontrollable tremors wracking through your body. You were icy cold all over, and you pressed back against Lucien, savouring his warmth, his firm presence. His chest heaved heavy breaths as he held you still.

“…What…” You dared to whisper, “What was that?”

Because the creature…you’d never seen anything like it before. These things that you’d left offerings for…they were all supposed to be mere superstition. A nightmare entity that parents used to make their children behave.

But you’d seen it before you, in the flesh. A towering, fox-like creature that walked on its hind legs.

Lucien’s fingers pressed against your stomach. “It doesn’t have a name,” He murmured. “It just is. They’re rare, but…history says they would appear for the offerings left at the trees. And they track a person’s movement. Once they’ve spotted you, you’re done for. We called them Nutcrackers, as children. Because it allegedly cracks your skull between its jaws, like a nut, before you have a chance to react.”

The shiver that wracked through you was palpable. It felt like ages that the two of you stood there like that, your bodies pressed together, waiting for some indication that it was safe to promptly get the fuck out of there. After what felt like an eternity, the dark outline of the horrifying creature seemed to slip deep into the brush, its long, slender arms clutching a whole bounty of offerings.

You knew the coast must have been clear when Lucien exhaled — and pushed you away from him.

“What the fuck,” he stormed round to face you, “were you doing all the way out here?”

You rubbed your arms, too shaken to be put out by his tone. You shrugged half-heartedly. “I came for a walk. Didn’t realise how far I’d wandered.”

Your nonchalance seemed to anger him. He was a flare of red hair and golden skin — accented by silver moonlight — as he shook his head at you, his strong jaw flexing.

“You really are as daft as you seem.” He sniped. “Count yourself fucking lucky that I was here to get your ass out of that.”

You folded your arms. “Do you want me to thank you?”

“I don’t care what you do—”

“Or perhaps I should apologise,” You cut him off, “What were you doing out here so late? I don’t suppose I was interrupting another quick fuck against a tree?”

Lucien stilled — stared at you. And you wished — wished so damn hard — that you could snatch those words right out of thin air and cram them back into your mouth, down your throat. You didn’t know why you’d even said it.

It had achieved nothing — other than making it clear to him that you’d seen him sneaking off with a female on the night of the feast.

He stepped closer to you — so close that his hair tickled your face as he leaned down. So close that his scent pushed its way up your nose, invading you, smothering you—

“Do me a favour,” He hissed, “and stay far away from the woods. Stay far away from any potential danger so that I don’t have to stick my neck out getting you out of it.” Cruel, russet eyes flicked over you. “In fact? Stay far away from me. That’s what I want you to do, Lady.”

He turned without another word. Or another glance at you, as he stormed away, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his boots.

All you could do was watch his retreating figure, trembles still wracking your body.

You should have been thinking: Lucien Vanserra is a prick.

Should have been thinking that you wanted to smack his sneer from his gods-damn face.

But you watched and watched as he disappeared out of sight. You weren’t even worried about the fucking fox-nutcracker-hind-legged-creature anymore. Not as it was just you and the trees, and the sting of Lucien’s harsh words still hanging in the air.

All you were thinking was that Lucien Vanserra smelled like a heady mix of apples, of woodsmoke, of the forest after a downpour, the earthy tones of cedar and balsam fir. The most delicious concoction that your imagination couldn’t possibly make up. It lingered in your nose, rapidly fading with each passing second.

All you were thinking was that you’d never smelled anything — anyone — like it.

That you wanted to inhale that scent greedily.

Again and again and again.

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

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imagineimpact · 3 years ago

Note

Could i request Diluc angst oneshot where reader and him get into a big disagreement or argument where Diluc makes them cry and feel really bad about themself so they go and end up hanging out with Kaeya a bit much cause he offered to cheer reader up and Diluc won't apologize. until he see's his s/o hanging out with Kaeya

I actually wrote 2 different versions of the ending for this, but this is the one I decided to go with! If you want the more angsty version do let me know.

Anyway,

Harsh Words

Diluc x Reader

Screaming. Yelling that could be heard throughout the Dawn Winery residence late into the night, heard only by the maids, the night security, and perhaps a late worker or two.

And of course, by the two individuals who held the voices.

It was rather unusual for the two of you to be at odds; and, on the occasion in which you were, it wasn’t nearly to this degree.

But the two of you were outright screaming at each other. It wasn’t even about one thing anymore - it was everything. Whatever you had been arguing about had reached the point of irrelevance; It never should have reached this point and you knew that, but you were under fire and you couldn’t stop.

All you knew was that this was Diluc’s fault, and that you couldn’t take this kind of argument.

“If you just thought about your actions for once-”

You cut him off, “Oh don’t try me with that, you’re the one treating me like I’m an idiot and trying to control my-”

“If you had just listened for once and been less of a selfish bitch then I wouldn’t have to!”

His words had cut far deeper than either of you had expected, and you physically recoiled at the words, a sudden wave washing over you which forced tears from your eyes. The truth in his words was irrelevant - It felt true, even if it wasn’t.

You turn away from him. In spite of your state, he makes no move toward you. None, not even to give you the slightest feel of any comfort. You knew - he wanted the words to cut through you.

You go to the door and slip on your shoes, leaving the room as fast as you humanly could.

You can’t take this anymore.

But you don’t make it past the front door. As if by telepathy, Diluc has two of his night security waiting by the door in a stance showing you that they’re ready to make sure you don’t leave. They block your path, silent in their menace. When you turn around, only then do you notice Adelinde and Hille quietly staring at you. Diluc’s footsteps down the stairs are a slow horror, an even pace which served to only emphasize that feeling of dread; Very easily, this felt like the perfect time to be murdered.

The drawl of footsteps approach, yet cease a few meters away - he’s far too distant to do anything himself. His eyes lock on yours, quietly assessing you.

“Diluc, let me leave.” You hiss through streaming tears. You nearly choke on the tension in the air.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes don’t show any expression, show any remorse or guilt, or even happiness. Truly, there is nothing in his eyes.

“Let me make myself clear: You are not leaving this premises in the middle of the night. Do you understand me?”

“Not even slightly.”

Silence. His eyes flicker, the way they do when he sees an abyss mage, or when Kaeya makes a comment that goes a little too far - pure anger.

“Adelinde, fix up the guest room.”

“No need. I’ll be leaving now.” You scoff.

Diluc tilts his head, peering over you and towards his security as if to say ‘don’t you fucking dare let them through’.

Then another look, and you feel yourself being pushed into the house again, the slam of the doors behind you.

A wave of anger washes over you, and you can’t help the excess of tears that fall, harder now than they had been before.

Diluc holds his ground, staring at you silently. You shake your head and look away, not sure what to do with yourself. Their staring puts you in pure disarray.

“Adelinde.”

“Yes, sorry.” She mutters, bowing and taking her leave in the direction of the guest bedroom in order to prepare it for you.

When she’s gone, you shake your head. “I’m not going to be sleeping.”

“Then stay in your room. I don’t care.” He huffs, turning away and wandering back up the stairs, his footsteps seeming less menacing now.

The argument was done.

Your eyes catch a light outside the window, seeming to exist a far distance away. Maybe it was the fire of a hilichurl camp.

What time was it? Surely the sun would be up soon anyway.

Fine. You would leave then, no matter what.

When you got to your room, you actually did manage to sleep. Not nearly enough; An hour was nothing in the long run, but it was still just slightly enough to not feel entirely exhausted.

Still, the sun was up when you arose, and you lay in the bed, uncertain as to what would happen when you left the room.

If Diluc wasn’t going to apologise, you wanted nothing to do with him.

So, after a little while of resting, it was a surprise to hear a knock at the door. You were summoned to breakfast. Nearly the entire time, you and Diluc sat across from each other - an oddity indeed considering he would always insist that he wanted you seated beside him - this time, however, you were as far from his as possible within the confines of the seated table. The usually empty seat felt hard beneath you, not softened by an everyday presence. Your usual seat to his right - where your plate had been placed before you had taken it to where you were now - was empty.

Neither of you could look into each other’s eyes. The silence, broken only by the light clinks of cutlery, felt burdenous.

You expected him to say something, anything really. You could barely eat the food on your breakfast plate, and without any words, you didn’t feel all too comfortable anyway. You let out a quiet sigh and stood up, tucking in your chair and lifting your plate to take it back to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Diluc’s voice was quiet but the harshness in it was unmistakable.

“I’m not hungry.” You looked down at the plate in your hands. “I’m going to Mondstadt.”

Diluc stood up suddenly, pushing back his chair and stepping close to you. The sudden movement caused you to shutter slightly, and he pulled back a bit. Still, he tore the plate from your hands and placed it on the table. “When you return, be ready to have a serious conversation.”

Oh.

You opened your mouth to speak, but then huffed and turned away. “Right. I’ll look forward to getting yelled at again.”

Diluc scoffed, “Stop acting like a petulant child.”

“I’m not doing this right now, Diluc.” Your feet are moving before you can even think about it. This time, as you approached the door, no one was there to stop you. You left with no present company to watch over you, and you knew that today was going to be a long, long day.

——

Mondstadt thrives with life, as per usual. Because of how bright and pleasant the place is, any spec of gloom is extremely obvious on a day like this.

You took to the adventurers guild to take some commissions. Maybe killing some hilichurls or slimes would take your mind off of it all, or maybe just delivering some needed materials to someone.

The entire time you had been speaking to Katheryn, you felt eyes watching you, but you didn’t want to make it obvious you knew. Alas, it was only moments later that you startled at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.

“No need to be so surprised.” The familiar voice chuckles beside you.

“Good morning, Kaeya.” You let out a soft sigh, the exhaustion of the day before wearing into you. You thanked Katheryn and turned your attention to Kaeya. His eyebrows twitched and his expression shifted as he studied you.

“What happened?” He asks rather blatantly, eyes clouding over. “Was it Diluc?”

You took a deep breath. “Wanna join me for commissions?”

Kaeya scans your eyes. “As long as you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Come on.” You nod, wandering out of Mondstadt with him.

The slowly falling night brought you back to Mondstadt. You agreed to go to the tavern with Kaeya, a subtle kind of thank you for spending time with you today. It wasn’t like you were doing anything else anyway.

The tavern was already busy before you got there, people crowding around for a nights drink. You subconsciously step towards Kaeya as if shading yourself away from the crowded atmosphere and he is wary of your proximity. He draws you to his side, a friendly notion, and steps inside before you.

Charles waves at you both from behind the counter. Kaeya quickly orders a round of drinks and takes you to a table away from the bar.

“Hey, look who’s been dragged in.” Rosaria wanders over, quietly making soft chatter with you. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to spend some time together.

Kaeya eventually wanders away, grabbing your drinks and bringing them back over.

Time seemed to dwindle away, the mindless chatter with your friends giving you more than ample distraction from anything else that might have been happening.

“Master Diluc! Didn’t expect to see you here today.” Charles’ voice rings out.

Of course, that wasn’t going to last long.

You lift your head slightly, tensing up. Diluc is scanning the room, twisting his wrist lightly as he speaks quietly to Charles; The words miss you. You freeze as your eyes lock. For just a moment you’re caught in that discerning gaze before he nods at you and turns back to talk to Charles. Kaeya draws your attention back away, and you slip back into your conversation, not wanting to deal with anything else.

“I’ll get another round.” Rosaria gets up and makes her way through the tavern, leaning over the bar and making another order for the table.

“How many are we on?” You ask, already flushed from the… how many glasses had you even had?

“Five.” Kaeya laughs, leaning on your shoulder. “But now that the killjoy’s here, he’ll stop us from having our well-earned fun.”

“I heard that.” Diluc scoffed, passing by you.

“Good.” Kaeya wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, more out of a delicate affection than anything else. Diluc’s eyes narrow at his brother, who just laughs in response.

“Get your hands off of-“

“Oh don’t worry, brother. I would never keep them somewhere they don’t want to be.” Kaeya mocks. “You, on the other hand, can’t say the same.” Even with his words, he loosens his hold on you and leans back a bit.

Rosaria returns with your round, greeting Diluc casually as she slips back into her seat. Your pissed off boyfriend wanders away back to his work.

It clicks in your hazy mind that the only reason he’s here is likely because you are. You laugh at the thought, then clink your tankard to the group and drink.

—

As the evening wears down, many people in the bar until it’s pretty much only your group and a few others left there. Diluc lets out a soft sigh as he watches you, trying to soften that jealous pounding of his heart. He takes a sip of his own drink - apple cider, of course. He could never slam back drinks the way that your group currently were. Where had the hours gone?

Oh, no. How many drinks had you had? Whatever was next, he swore to himself that he would make sure that it was watered down. At this rate, you were pretty much welcoming alcohol poisoning with open arms.

Kaeya, wobbly as ever, decides to be the one to approach the bar this time (mostly because Rosaria was leaning against the table, head folded into her arms as she groaned). Diluc shook his head. “No, no. The three of you will drink this whole tavern dry if I don’t stop you.”

“Oh, I’m not here to get any more.” He leans on the countertop. “I just want to know what the hell you did.” Kaeya motions over to you. You’re just giggling at Rosaria’s complaining, leaning over and patting her on the head.

“I’m not talking to you about this.” Diluc leans back, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Suit yourself.” He straights up. “I should probably get her out of here before you say something stupid.”

“I’m not going to be saying anything stupid.” Diluc shakes his head, looking over the list of all the drinks you’ve had this evening. “You’re all wasted.”

“And yet, you haven’t said last call.”

Seemingly to spite him, DIluc immediately does. He signals over to Charles to round up the remaining people. He knew to leave you last.

Kaeya’s laugh is enough to haunt him. “You make this right, Diluc.” He runs his finger over the counter. “Otherwise I will.”

“Get out of my sight.”

The cavalry captain laughs again, then wanders over to your table. He practically drags Rosaria back up, but she pushes away from him and made her own way to the counter - always a good spirit, she paid for her own portion of drinks and left. Being a nun, she probably didn’t need to use the money elsewhere.

Kaeya was two steps away from just carrying you out the door, but through his drunk mind he finds the clarity to understand just how absolutely inappropriate that would be to do, especially in front of Diluc. Alas, you lean on his shoulder as he assists your steps.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Diluc’s voice calls out, as if to stop you both.

“Usual billing.” Kaeya calls back.

“No, no.” You both look back at him. He shifts on his feet, eyes locking with yours. “I’ll be damned if you go home with him.”

“Then damned you are.” You roll your eyes, turning away.

He calls your name softly. “Step away from him. Come here.”

You take a deep breath. “I am so glad I don’t have to remember any of this.”

Diluc places a glass of water in front of you. “Drink this. You wreak of alcohol.”

“And you wreak of your hatred.” You sit down in front of him, knowing that it wasn’t about to get better.

Diluc’s eyes flicker up to Kaeya. “Get out.”

“Not happening.”

“Kaeya, this doesn’t concern you.”

“Their safety is more than enough concern.”

“It’s alright, Kaeya, just wait outside.” You pipe in, not wanting even more stress.

Kaeya agrees, quietly slipping out the door. Charles is told to escort him away, an act which may have varying success.

Either way, you sat in front of Diluc, not sure what exactly to say to him.

“I’m tired, Diluc. I’m tired of this. I can’t put up with-“

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out, interrupting you. “Please, hear me out.”

“I’m not going to remember-“

“Then I’ll tell you again when you will.” He leans over the counter, not wanting to be apart from you. He calls your name again, as if to hold your attention, “Can we talk about this?”

“I think we talked about this already.” You groan. “Yesterday, plenty of yelling. The Maids and guards can confirm.”

Diluc takes a long breath out. You lift the glass of water and take an even longer sip.

Maybe the barrier of the counter between you made you feel better. But, as tears sprung to your eyes, you felt so, so much worse.

“Do you hate me?” You ask, your voice squeaking. “Do you want to break up with me.”

“No, Y/N.” He reaches for your hands, but you had pushed your stool too far away from him beforehand that he couldn’t. He circles around the bar and gently grabs both of your hands, soft enough in his hold for you to be able to pull away. “Don’t ever say that. I love you.”

“Then, why?” You sob, turning your face away from him, hands still in his. “Why did you yell at me? Why wouldn’t you talk to me this morning?”

“I…“ Diluc stops himself, taking a deep breath. “I was angry. We were both angry.” He shifts, pulling out a stool and sitting in front of you. “I wasn’t acting rationally.”

“When you said you wanted to talk this morning, what were you going to say?”

Diluc hesitates, gripping your hands just a little bit harder. “I was going to ask… I was going to ask if you were happy.” He admitted, quietly. “But I can’t do that. I can’t put you through that.”

You tug him toward you, pulling his hands close to your face. “Why would you say that? I love you.” You sob into his soft skin.

He takes his hands away from your gently, slipping them around your waist and pulling you close to him, into his lap. He tightens his grip. “I’m sorry.” He repeats. “I’m so sorry. I never want you to cry.” He feels his heartbeat heavily in his chest, a distraught washing over him. “Don’t ever destroy yourself like this again.” He runs a hand over your back.

You don’t say anything. You’re way too drunk for many more coherent thoughts to pass your lips. You lift your head and plant a soft kiss on his cheek, and he softly kisses your forehead, pulling you back to his chest so that you don’t try to kiss him anymore - He wasn’t about to let that happen, you were far too drunk.

Diluc was ashamed of his thoughts. His guilt, rising only when he saw you in the present company of his brother, showing affection and finding comfort anywhere except for him. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, nor to you, but as you cried into his shoulder, he couldn’t help the wave of disappointment in himself that washed over. Why could he never be there for the people who needed him most?

“Come on, finish your water, let’s get you home.” He insists, though he holds you tightly still until you stir.

You take the water, sipping it with a slight indignance. He would have to apologize to you again in the morning, but he would do anything to get you to trust him again.

(Part 2 here)

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