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lacollectionneuse1967 · 5 months

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slip of the tongue

Theseus Scamander x Reader

The word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.” He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face.

summary: you're a personal assistant at the british aurors office. you accidentally call your boss, theseus scamander, "daddy."

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, ddlg themes, (light) mdom/femsub dynamics, (light) size difference kink, unprotected penetration

It was mid-November. London was dark by four in the afternoon and you were out of the Ministry by five, pulling your trench coat around you and shouldering your way out into the stone streets and coal black skies. It wasn’t bitingly cold yet, but you kept your arms tucked close to your body regardless. Dipping in and out of the indistinct crowds, moving with purpose.

You had about fifteen stacks of classified documents on you, but they were safely magicked away into the lining of your coat, and they weighed nothing. Magic almost always weighed nothing, cost nothing.

For you, at least.

“A natural.” “The brightest witch of her year!”

That’s what they’d called you at Hogwarts. Even your closest friends in [your House] eventually grew bitter and irritable, so you had to feign stress before exams and pretend to practice your spells alongside them in the common room, in a display of camaraderie.

The truth was you didn’t need to practice, or study. Ever.

You were muggle-born, everything in your life before Hogwarts had been so difficult to bear, your parents’ death, the streets of East London, the orphanage. Even talking to other people, simple conversation, bore some inexplicable strain for you.

But magic had come as easy as breathing. Your wand was like a limb, an extension of your body, you didn’t even have to reach for magic, it just sprung forth, dancing into the world.

You wanted to be an Auror since you were fifteen. You were good at magic, and little else, and you were curious, had a talent for dueling and abhorred those who took advantage of the weak. It seemed a natural path.

You were hired straight out of graduation. You were only meant to work as an Administrative Assistant at the Ministry of Magic for a few months. But that was nearly a year ago…

In truth, you’d already been offered a position as an Auror. You turned it down discreetly. Theseus Scamander, Head of the British Auror Office, was the man you’d been assigned to as an assistant. He was the figure you answered to, and you’d been his sole, personal secretary.

Before you loved him, you liked him, but even then you could recognize that you liked him too much for what was appropriate to feel for your boss. He was nothing like you in that he was maddeningly easy to become fond of. He was funny and charming, kind and handsome. Sarcastic and a bit of a straight edge. You glowed in his praise.

Every “Excellent work, Y/N” or “Y/N, you’re a lifesaver,” or casual introduction beginning with “This is my genius assistant-” swelled inside of you with happiness. Once he’d even, absent-mindedly and only half-looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet, said “Good girl,” and you’d nearly fainted.

The first time he hugged you, after some successful project of yours, he’d braced his arms around you and spun you around, and you’d gone wide-eyed and stiff. He set you down in a flourish.

You were terrified your reaction would put him off touching you forever, but he only laughed aloud, the sound like bells in the wind.

“Not scared of the death threats we receive from dark wizards but you’re scared of a little hug from your boss?”

Your heart seized, though you returned his laugh in relief. If he only knew what you were really scared of.

“Try it again,” you smiled and met his gaze defiantly. “I’ll do better this time, I promise.”

It always seemed to shock and delight him in equal parts, the way you responded to him. You liked to challenge him, and to make him smile just to see it spread across his face.

When Theseus hugged you the second time it was him who hesitated at the feel of your warm body pressing into his, his large hands hovered in mid-air before resting delicately on your upper back.

When you were hired he was still engaged to Leta Lestrange, as he was when you turned down the promotion you were offered. Pathetically, being his assistant was the closest you could get to him. You weren’t about to walk away from that, walk away from him. Between late-night talks at the office and laughter-filled afternoon teatimes at his house, he’d become something like a friend. You couldn’t have him, but this was enough to sustain you. You weren’t her, but you knew you meant something to him…

When you entered his dark apartment, slipping the key out from under the welcome mat, it was no warmer than the outside world. Barren and cold as death, no signs of life. You whisked your wand out and spelled on the lights, spelled the documents free and they fell heavily from your coat, thunking unceremoniously on the hardwood floor.

Since he broke up with Leta, Theseus hadn’t been home, that was clear from the state of his place. He had hardly been at the office. You covered for him without even having to think about it, without even blinking you spewed out excuses and deftly dismissed the Aurors who came to call on him.

You didn’t think about what that meant about your loyalty, to the Ministry and to him.

"Y/N," he’d prefaced in a letter, an owl sent to your house. "I trust you with my life. Not in theory, but in practice: with this letter you hold my life in your hands. You’re my assistant, but you’ve also become my closest and most cherished friend."

He’d mentioned Grindelwald, going behind the Ministry's back, “choosing sides,” and that he was with his younger brother, Newt. He told you to tell the Ministry he was on business if they asked, to make up something about a dark wizard lead in Romania. And he mentioned that he would need you to make copies of some confidential documents from the archives for him. He asked you to set them aside "but not in my office. Not safe. Bring them to my apartment. Key under the mat. I’ll be in touch soon. I owe you."

And so here you were. Still in your work clothes, a navy blue pencil skirt and chiffon blouse, black tights and your [hair color] hair pressed into loose finger waves, your heels scattered somewhere across his floor. You were organizing the documents into piles.

He’d requested the strangest things, all top secret, in the most restricted section of the Ministry Archives. Old maps and travelogs pertaining to sightings of some ancient creature with certain prophetic or spiritual abilities. Topographical maps of Bhutan and Austria. Classified research on dark magical objects that bound promises in blood.

It made you feel like you were in school again, made your head spin.

Wishing always hurt for you, coming from your background, you hardly let yourself indulge in it. But right now you wished he would’ve told you more. You wished, more sharply and painfully, that he was here.

In the middle of organizing the endless piles of parchment you began to drift off. The words on paper began to cross and blur in your vision. You didn’t want to disturb his apartment or his things, so you hadn’t put on the fireplace. Cold and tired you padded to his empty room.

Just a little rest before I finish up here. You thought to yourself. Just going to rest my eyes.

You crawled under his crisp bed sheets and your eyes pricked at the overwhelming smell of him. If you didn’t allow yourself to miss him before this, you couldn’t help it now. You’d never been in his room before, you thought distantly, fatigue already claiming you, dragging you down into a black sleep.

-------

You weren’t cold anymore. Someone had put the fireplace on. You became aware of this before you heard him.

“Y/N,” Theseus’s voice was rough and low and sweet. It must've been past midnight. He was dressed in a suit still, bending over the bed, his eyes tender and tired. “Did you fall asleep, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You stirred. That word undid something in you. Unfettered any tension or stress you’d been holding in your body since he’d been gone.

“Theseus,” you muttered, still half-sleep. Your eyes were swollen, you would’ve been mortified, but he was here, at last, and he was looking at you with a gentle smile, so affectionate.

“M’sorry, the documents—I fell asleep-"

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. He dragged a hand over his face and stood. You felt guilty for stealing his bed, you didn't know where he'd been, but he looked positively wrecked. “Rest. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

He turned to leave, presumably for the couch. You reached out for him, any part of him, and your hand caught the waistline of his pants, a finger hooked there.

He looked down at the offending hand and raised a brow.

You were half dreaming, his arrival was so unexpected, so surreal. Your face felt hot, something like fever.

"Mm, don't go," you mumbled. And then, the word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.”

He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You were suddenly terrifyingly awake.

You clapped a hand over your face, mortified, and rolled over in his bed so that the pillow concealed your face. Consciousness seeped in gradually and with every sober second you were swallowed by dread.

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “Oh god, I have to leave. I'm sorry, I was sleeping, I don't know why I said that."

You stood as clumsily as a drunkard, taking half his sheets to the floor with you. Your hair was a mess and your skirt had hiked up nearly around your waist, revealing your black panties through your sheer tights.

“Oh god,” you said again. You couldn’t look at him. You began to fix your skirt and pat down your hair when he stepped forward, eyes dark, hand gripped around your wrist.

You startled, confused. But he looked the opposite, an absolute calm washed over his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Coming home to you in my bed,” he let out a sharp breath, something like a stifled groan. “You have no idea what I wanted to do to you.”

Your stomach fluttered. You searched his face for any signs of confusion. He looked tired, a little undone, but more himself than ever.

“I don’t understand,” you didn't know why you felt on the brink of tears, when this is all you’d wanted all along. “You… you want me? But you were engaged, you…”

The look in his eyes was blazing and still, fire in water. It was enough to silence you.

“I want you. I ended things with her because I couldn’t live with it, wanting you. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, not at your job, and I’m sorry to bother you with it now, but it can’t be helped. You can leave if you want, things can go back to normal. Me, wanting you, and you knowing nothing about it.”

He seemed to return to himself now, he sounded like the Theseus you knew. Poised, sure of himself. Mercifully kind. But his chest was heaving and the desire, plain on his face, was enough to make your knees buckle.

He wants me. He wants me. With each beat of your heart you felt the truth of it swell inside you. You could see it, unmistakable, the look of want that mirrored your own. Ready to worship and renounce and claim.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted, weakly. When he spoke again his words were terse, strained.

“Get back in bed,” is all he could manage, and then, “And call me that again.”

And for the first time since you’d known him, you defied him.

Like the possessed, you fell into him, kissing him. He stumbled back in surprise, catching you with his hands crowded around your face. And you were both kissing and grabbing at each other, you fell to your knees and he followed you down.

You couldn't stop kissing him, not even to regain your balance, to catch your breath. He tasted so good, and his mouth on yours would've been enough to sustain you forever. The two of you were so desperate with need, you were half-kneeling on the floor.

You began to whine in protest when he pulled away at last, but he stood and pulled you up from under your arms. When he threw you back onto his bed, your stomach flipped. He was looking down at you, pulling off his shoes and jacket, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. With him looking at you like that, you would've let him do anything to you, anything at all.

“Sweetheart, I said,” he pulled off his dress shirt and your head went dizzy at the sight of his bare chest, his shoulders and arms. “Get back in bed.”

His voice was stern, but fond. You knew what he wanted immediately, and it thrilled you to give it to him.

“Yes, daddy.”

You could see him struggling to control his expression, he just bowed his head back and pinched his eyes shut. The corner of his mouth twitched.

The knowledge that it was you doing this to him, driving him crazy, turning him on, heightened your arousal. Submitting to him strangely felt like power in your hands.

“Good girl,” he said at last.

He was in his boxers now. The shape of his dick through the thin cloth made your mouth water. You wanted to press your open mouth against it there, wanted to pull it out and kiss it. You don’t know what had come over you. You couldn't think straight.

He got into bed beside you.

“Come and sit in my lap.”

Your body purred and thrummed in delight. This is all you’d ever wanted at the office, to drape yourself over and onto him like this.

You crawled over him and sat firmly in his lap, legs splayed around his thick thighs. His hands came up around your waist, sliding further up to your chest. He looked up at you unblinkingly, eyes hooded and reverent, but his fingers moved of their own accord, unbuttoning your shirt.

You reddened, suddenly self-conscious. “Wait, don’t-“

“Don't?” he raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to stop?”

He made a tutting noise and continued to remove your shirt, you had to look away when he flung it across the room, you were so embarrassed. He had your bra off in seconds.

“So cute. So shy.” he said dotingly, but his actions were anything but cute, massaging and running the rough pads of his thumbs over your nipples over and over again in circles.

You moaned without meaning to, and the sound embarrassed you further. You felt him grow even bigger beneath you, between your legs.

“No, you don’t want me to stop.” He sounded so cocky you wanted to tell him off, but you couldn't, not with him playing with you like this. You could only moan weakly beneath his hands.

Your hips began grinding against the outline of his cock. It was so big your entire body thrilled at the feel of him, at the ludicrous idea of fitting it inside of you.

He seemed determined to humiliate you, he kept talking you through it.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Can you feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” you answered, breathless.

“Tell me what you want. How you want me.”

“Inside me, please.”

“Please, who?”

You were so frustrated you could've cried. You wanted to come so bad, your legs were trembling. Up and down grinding and rubbing wasn't enough when you knew he wanted to be inside of you, that you could've had him inside of you.

“Please, daddy," You cried, feeling broken.

Theseus pushed you back onto the bed roughly and crawled over you, reaching down to hike your skirt even further up your midsection. You were already topless, but he gripped into your tights with both arms flexing and ripped them apart at the seam.

You gasped and instinctually tried to cover up, bringing your legs together, but he was already pushing your panties down past your ankles, and then his broad hands were covering your kneecaps, pushing them apart.

“No, no, don’t do that. You’re mine," He reprimanded.

It felt so vulgar, him seeing this part of you. But you were only half a person now. You needed Theseus inside of you to be complete, you were dumb with want. A whining, needy mess and he couldn't get enough of you.

Tears stained your cheeks.

“Please, pleaseplease-" You started to beg, but he silenced you with his mouth on yours, wet and warm and perfect. When he shushed you this time it was surprisingly caring, he caressed your face reassuringly.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay, I’m not trying to tease you, hold on.”

When he pulled out his length, your mouth went dry. You instinctually spread your legs wider. It was big, bigger than you thought. Both thick and long.

He reached a hand down between your legs to find wetness. Your back arched, your whole body curled and keened in pleasure against his hand, his touch.

But when he pushed a single finger at your entrance it met resistance. You moaned in pain and contentment when it finally slid in fully, past the knuckle.

“Ah,” he said with a grunt. “You can barely fit my finger, baby. You’re so tight.” He said this in equal parts admiration and lament.

“No!” you whined. “Please, please, I can take it-“

Theseus shushed you and kissed your forehead.

“I know you can, pretty girl. I don’t wanna hurt you, though.”

“I want you to. Please, please.”

He hissed something like fuck under his breath and began to add more fingers, a second and, then, absurdly, a third. You already felt like you were being split in half. He could barely move them, but soon enough he was pumping them deep and slow, in and out, and the act was so lewd you wanted to cry again.

“Fuck, that’s tight," he said to himself again. “Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

When he removed his hand you wanted to cry out at the loss, but then he was moving his body up, his hands clasped around the inside of your knees and he spread your legs up and open and wide, just for him.

When he sank down into you, his dick was so big and hard that your eyes bulged and your mouth opened pathetically.

“Oh,” you said, stupefied.

Then he pushed in and in, endlessly, until he bottomed out. You were already throbbing around him, so overstimulated from before, coming and fluttering around his cock before he’d even fucked you properly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed again, throwing your head back against the pillow and bringing the back of your hand to your mouth to bite, hoping to stifle the moan as your orgasm washed over you hard. Waves of pleasure ran from the crown of your head all the way down your legs, you could see it coming from a mile away but were nonetheless overcome, completely.

He made a small noise at the sensation of you tightening and pulsing around him and ripped your hand away from your mouth.

“I wanna hear you,” he ordered, and so you let him. It was almost an out-of-body experience, the way he materialized in front of you, inside of you, when you finally came back down to earth, blood roaring in your ears.

“I just stuck it in, and you already came?” His tone was dark and teasing. “That’s all it takes, darling?”

He leaned over and kissed you deeply, passionately, and then straightened your legs and threw them over one of his shoulders, bending you in half. He began to fuck you in earnest, fucked you limp. You really felt like a rag doll now, helplessly pinned beneath his weight, his hips pounding into your backside. He drilled into you, growing impossibly harder by the second, it was almost like being filled for the first time all over again.

You couldn't stop moaning, he kept telling you how good you were doing, how you were almost there. Kept asking you questions that made you blush, making you answer them.

Every thrust of his hips was pure ecstasy, vibrating shocks of pleasure were sent straight to your core, your whole pussy throbbing with it. He was fucking you and it was the best thing you’d ever felt, you never imagined sex could be this good.

You felt his dick stretching you wider and wider when he said, “Where do you want me to come?”

You didn't even think. The word preceded any thought.

“Inside. Please, please-"

“Fuck.”

The feel of him shooting into you, hot and warm and pulsing, sent you tumbling into another orgasm, it hit you so hard your vision went white and spotty. You had the impression your whole body was vibrating with the force of it.

He rolled your sweat-slick bodies over so that he was cradling you, holding you. You could feel his heartbeat, feel the air rushing in and out of his ribcage. He held you for a few minutes before finally relenting and pulling out with a hiss.

“You’re so perfect,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple, your chin, your neck.

You felt overwhelmed with emotion. Overstimulated. Completely at his mercy.

“I love you,” you said. Powerless. All your life you had clung to power, whatever power you could cling to and not be kicked off like a dog. But for him alone you allowed yourself to be weak.

Utterly and devastatingly weak.

You always imagined him saying it to you, first, but the thought barely had the chance to dampen your soaring heart because then he said, “I love you more. I promise you, whatever love you have for me, Y/N, I'll always have more for you.”

-----

He cleaned you up and gave you some of his clothes to change into. Soft and oversized, you were almost drowning in them. He changed into his own pajamas, changed the bedsheets and threw the old ones on the floor. Gave you a toothbrush to use and soon you were both cozy and tucked back in his bed.

“I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you," He admitted. “Even though I was your boss, and your friend, and I was a taken man at the time. It made me feel ashamed, sick with myself. How badly I desired you.”

Hearing Theseus say these words was like a dream, or something you wouldn’t even dare to dream.

“Are you staying here for good now? Or are you leaving me again?” You asked.

“You’re coming with me. With us.” He said in a way that was so sure and simple, it made you feel safe. Made you forget about the Ministry, and the world falling apart. “We need your help. And besides, I've missed you.”

-----

part two here

A/N: woohoo first fic ever! let me know if you have any requests or if you'd like a part two. right now i am only writing for theseus and no one else.

#theseus scamander #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x reader #theseus smut #theseus scamander fic #theseus scamander smut #fantastic beasts #callum turner #hp fanfic

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oddinarylani · 7 months

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'i just wished you cared about me' arranged marriage skz pt. 2.

pt 2: han, felix, seungmin, jeongin.

w: blood in han's, depression in seungmin's.

a/n: thank you for being patient, the long awaited part 2 is finally here, enjoy.

𝓱𝓪𝓷. ↴

he stumbled into your home still laughing, with the voices of his friends still booming behind him. a second later the door is closed behind him and his laughter dies down into something soft. while your ears have perked at the sound, your eyes raising from the printed page of your book, you stay put in your spot on the couch if just adjusting a bit. he slides the beanie from his head, shaking his shiny brown hair out a bit before his eyes wander to your form. “oh!” he grabs his chest, jumping slightly. the reaction brings a small smile to your face, but you quickly force it down. “why are you up? it’s super late.” he wanders to the kitchen, his voice sounding particularly far away now. your eyes roll, you thumb your book to keep your place. “i know you only go out at night, so i figured i’d stay up to see if you wanted to do something. i didn’t know you were going out.” upon your glance, you see the clock reads four twenty-seven am, and you groan, rubbing your eyes. this wasn’t the exchange you were hoping for.

when he re-emerges from the kitchen, your eyes scour his form, noticing the purplish lines that are forming in the tender skin of his under-eyes and the somewhat gaunt appearance of his pale-ish skin. you back straightens, “have you been drinking, jisung?” he’s already walking to your bedroom, but he slows his steps to a halt, turning back to lock eyes with you. “you don’t have to worry about me.”

your eyes trail on his form until he’s disappeared completely into the confines of your bedroom, only then do you sit back though still ever-worried. “of course i do, i’m your wife remember?”

jisung had fought tooth and nail for a nontraditional vampire wedding. he simply refused. it was bad enough your marriage was arranged with little to no say from the both of you on your choice of spouse, but he put his foot down at the idea of a traditional ceremony. you both wore black, surrounded by loved ones yet absent of friends, and you were bound to each other for the rest of your days. your human family was keen on this celebration of conjoining lives, having an option wasn’t an option - so with doubts you moved forward in the marriage - trying desperately hard to make things work.

a lot of your marriage to jisung was learning things about him through subtle cues - if the environment was relaxed enough it was easier to get him talking about his personal life or interests, though this had been an occurrence three times in the now two and a half months you’d been married. lack of communication was common, hence you not knowing he was going out earlier. you quit your job, finding one instead that could accommodate to nights so that you could actually see him on your off days and when you returned from work, this schedule you were still adjusting to - and it was killing you. you begrudgingly talked to his parents more in an attempt to understand his needs as a vampire, to which they let you in on the fact that jisung wasn’t the proudest to carry on the vampiric gene. with it came a lot of shame for him. he always ate in private, hunted in private, and stretched out his eating periods as long as possible. he could still consume human food, but nutrition for vampires was solely obtained by drinking blood. and as of late, you reminded him frequently of his need to eat, that it was important to him and his existence, and it was absolutely necessary.

why’d you do this? you cared for him. you had love in your heart for him. which astounded you that you felt your heart pull at just the sight of him, especially when he looked so sad and was probably starving, because jisung didn’t do much in return. he was hard to talk to, hard to communicate with - you hadn’t a single idea of how he thought of you. did he care for you? did he long to mend your new marriage? it was a guessing game. granted, you absolutely had good days with him. happy times of smiling together, laughing together, going out, exchanging gifts, meeting his friends - but the bad times were killer. and they weighed on your heart something fierce.

a few days had passed since your limited interaction with jisung - you’d seen him a few times in between then and now; before you went to work and after. maybe you hadn’t looked hard enough then, but now. now when you looked at him, you saw it written all over his face.

his cheeks were more sunken in, his eyes tired and droopy and rings of purple circled each eye. was he slimmer too? his wrists looked thinner than usual; and you found your heart breaking at the sight. he was sitting at his desktop, headphones on, eyes lost to the screen before him - every couple of seconds his mouse would click and you could hear cuts of music playing.

“jisung,” you called. when he didn’t reply or look up from his screen, you called again - this time louder. “jisung.”

he looks up with raised brows, a hand coming to lift his headphone off his ear - you see the glint of his gold band in the light of his desk lamp. “did you eat today?” you soften your voice though you’re mostly exhausted, and with it came a bit of irritation. he chews on his cheek and looks back to his screen. “yeah.”

“are you lying.” you plant your hands on your hips, you notice his leg is bouncing and he pulls his sweatshirt, the one you gifted him, over his hands. “n-no.”

you glare at him a moment more before walking out of the study. “i’m fixing you a bag.” his voice calls out behind you, “we’re out.”

you stop yourself just as you’ve made it into the living room, and walk back into the room, you lips tugged to the side as you chew on your cheek. there’s a few options laid out in front of you - and you were stupid to think you wouldn’t do any of them for him. you’re in thought for longer than you’d like to admit, jisung has resorted to toying with his somewhat dried lips as he turns back to his desktop for a moment, his headphones off now as he waits your scolding.

but scolding doesn’t happen, no. instead, you grab an extra chair from across the room and sit down in front of him, shoving your jacket sleeve up your arm with conviction. he sees how tired you are, and hates that you’ve resorted to this for him - in fact it angers him a bit.

you bear your bare wrist to him, looking down at your arm then once more at him.

“drink.”

he pushes himself out from his desk, “i don’t need your help. i can do this stuff on my own.” his voice isn’t overly angry, in reality he was a little soft for that, especially to you. he just seemed,,, tired. and it kind of killed you.

“jisung- just do it.” you shake your arm once, he stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. his thirst drives the red in his eyes to nearly glow - you know he hasn’t much more self-control before he inevitably gives in. he’s starving. he’s craving it. he’s on the brink of ravaging your arm for christ sakes, and you didn’t for a second doubt that power from him. you understood fully well what he was capable of, you just couldn’t see him like this any longer.

“n-no! i’m not gonna do it. why do you care so much anyway? why are you doing this?”

your eyes close, head tilted to the side as if he’s just struck a nerve - well, he has. and you haven’t the patience for it any longer.

“why do i care? why do i care? i’m giving you my arm to drink from - i’m giving you my goddamn life source because i’m your wife and i don’t want you to fucking die.” you stand up, your presence itself has him taking a step back.

“i’m doing this because i care. and i care because i fucking love you! i try so goddamn hard in this marriage, jisung. because i believe in-in,, in us!” your brows pull together, eyes glossy a bit - the rage in your heart sours into something sadder and you clench your jaw so tight you feel pressure in your teeth to keep from crying.

he’s struck. totally. he watches you with wide eyes, watches the way your expression strikes anger than melts into something like hurt. the way your brow thaws together and glassiness shines in your eyes. he reaches a hand to you, the one that bears your ring and you take your arm from his grasp when he takes your hand.

“i-i,,,” you sigh in defeat, still refusing the urge to cry. “i just w-wish you cared about me.”

when he says your name it feels like it’s the first time he’s ever done so, you pace around yourself for a moment as you quell the urge to cry, running a hand through your hair. you turn, grounded in his voice as he reaches yet again for your hand - which this time you take. “i care about you so much, a-and i’m really sorry that i haven’t been showing that to you.”

you let him hold your hand as tightly as he wants, “god i feel like such an asshole,” he chuckles, though the brim of his eyes are watery. “i didn’t think you’d want much to do with me to be honest.” you feel the shakiness in his fingers and you grasp onto his hand. “especially because i’m a… y’know…”

“but i don’t care about that, jisung. you know i don’t. i don’t give a fuck less what you were if it meant we could just be happy.” he nods, swallowing through his tears. “i-i know and that… that’s why i love you.” he admits.

you shake your head, “don’t just tell me that, jisung-” you look up to him with fierce, watery eyes. “i-i’m not! i would never-” he shakes his head and reaches for your other forearm. “it scares me… a lot i think. that you won’t judge me or hold that against me but that you support me.” in his grasp he brings you a bit closer, his hands now moving from grasping your own to resting on your upper arms and shoulders. “i’m really sorry that i’ve hurt you.. that’s the last thing i wanted to do. i just got really scared and didn’t… know what to do.” he briefly reaches up to smooth your hair with both of his palms before returning them to your upper arms.

“you know what you can do when you’re scared?” you ask him, wiping your own face before settling your arms around his shoulders, your palms wrapping around the back of his neck. at the feeling of your hands, he sets his hands on your waist. “you come to me.”

he nods, “you can come to me too, any time you want. i’ll listen to everything you have to say. and i’ll try to be better.”

you smile, smoothing your hands down his shoulders. “now,” your fingers dig into the sleeve of your jacket, pulling it up and over your wrist. “please drink. i see how hungry you are, and it’s not good not to. you have to take care of yourself.” the thumb of your opposite hand smooths the soft skin beneath his eye, his brows press together and he softly frowns.

his mouth waters at the sight of your skin, glowing and pulsating with a pulse that pumps your blood just beneath your skin. he parts his lips, and for a second you see the sight of his wet fangs just below his top lip. “it’s okay, i know you can stop - i don’t want you to be hungry.”

he gets comfortable, sitting on the surface of your shared bed in the room just next to his study - his hands cradle your wrist, turning the soft flesh over to bare itself to his awaiting teeth. his eyes swim with frenzy, and per your comfort again, he leans forward and sinks his teeth into your skin. your face scrunches up at the feeling of your skin giving way to his fangs, but the feeling of his lips around the wound soothe the ache. soon he’s finished, wiping his mouth with his hand before smoothing his tongue over the wound. “my saliva will heal it over night, don’t worry.”

“it’s okay. how are you feeling? any better?” he tugs you onto the surface of the bed, his gentle fingers grabbing a nearby bandage to delicately wrap around the bite wound. the sun was beginning to rise now, and you were tired beyond belief. “i do. thank you so much.” he smooths your hair from your head, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“i really meant it when i said i was sorry and that i was going to try harder. i can’t imagine how stupid i looked to you, god,” he buries his face in your shoulder, shaking his head as you chuckled. “it’s okay. i didn’t mean to blow up that hard - i just… it all kept building up and i really wanted to talk to you but it never felt right.” your hand comes to rest on his head as he burrows further into you, you can imagine the burn of his cheeks and smile to yourself at the thought.

“well, if we’re going to be married. these are things we have to talk about i guess.” his skin is cool to the touch, you shiver at the feeling. “we can talk about whatever you want too though. like what your favorite color is or why your favorite movie is your favorite movie.”

“i like pink a lot.” he says, his cheek pressed into the pillow next to you. “why is that?” you wonder.

“it looks best on you.”

𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁. ↴

oh he was beautiful. maybe not even that; maybe something greater.

you admired him still but frequently lost yourself to the floaty thoughts in your brain - thinking fondly back to your wedding day. he was dressed in opalescent whites of different shades, the hems of his attire glittered in the evening sun - cuts of sunlight beaming fractals down through the trees to paint his face something magnificent. and his wings. your feet carried you along the forest floor, but your eyes were blown into a sweet expression you couldn’t fight. they were transparent if not for their shining and glittering design - fine lines of sunlight itself swirled and cut into fine designs on his wings - you were starstruck in his gaze. you cradled your bouquet, and though it was now your third time meeting felix in person, his worried and saddened expression turned into something peaceful when you looked at him. despite your arguments in efforts to call off your betrothal, now when facing him, you strangely felt as if everything would just work out. he exuded a kind of sweet energy, even just his smile would bring you happiness. you interlock your hands and despite the circumstance, you can’t help but smile soft while reciting your vows, your practiced eye contact now utterly natural and right.

you’d been married to lee felix for two months and ten days - and in those days since accepting your marriage, you’d seen him only a handful of times. well, more than that, honestly, but it was easy to blur the days and times you saw him. it really only felt like you’d had a few conversations with him or shared any moments of true transparency or emotional value. he was dedicated to his job, he was. he protected the forest alongside a large force of fae people’s. regulations in the forest were strict - strong. and he took his job very seriously. he spent nearly every waking moment tangled in the trees, tending to her grasses, or playing with the forest creatures to keep the forest happy and healthy, and while you were more than proud of him of his job and his dedication, your marriage was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart. he was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart.

your job was to nurse saplings and hybrids, you were gone from your home for severely shorter hours than felix was - and while you loved your job all the same as he did his own, you couldn’t help the want for a loving marriage despite the circumstances of it being arranged. you saw him frequently laughing in the trees and vines alongside his colleagues, happily caring for the creatures of the forest with careful and loving hands, and couldn’t help but hope that one day you’d be the one making him smile, making him laugh, and be the fairy behind his loving touch. your heart swells at the very thought - ugh what a lovey he was. pure goodness you assumed. not a bad bone in his body. you just wanted him for yourself, selfishly.

how could your heart not blossom with feeling at the opportunity to be married to him? he was,,, he was so much. words couldn’t describe the ache of affection you yearned from him. the way he lived. it was profound in and of itself.

your arms cradle the sleeping sapling of a mother willow, tender palms wrapped around the baby as they slept soundly. your mind snaps back to reality, your eyes fluttering to the small angel in your arms, and you smile at the sight. “precious.” you admire, putting them back into their warm pot of soil to sleep until the next morning. evening was approaching, it was time for you to leave for the day. you float to your bag, your wings carrying you seamlessly to your things as you gather them and say goodbye to your fellow caretakers, returning home to your high tree top bungalow. your home was comfortably secluded near the top of the tree canopy, neighbors somewhat closeby to still have the comfort of community but to also have a nice peaceful feeling of seclusion in your own home. the lights wrapping around your home had been dimmed, you frown at the sight, concluding felix must not be home.

as you float to the door, softly landing on your feet, you push it open and find the lights are off and evening darkness begins to swallow your home. you sigh softly, pulling your leaf tote off your shoulder to hang it by the door. you pull clips from your hair and pad to your bedroom with your eyes focused comfortably at the floor, thinking no one was home.

that is until you enter your bedroom to see felix standing in the open space just before your bed, lifting his button-down from his head to peak into your closet for night clothes. “oh-” you jump, clutching your chest, face warming at the sight of his bare skin on display. “you scared me, sorry.” his eyes widen for only a moment before he relaxes into a smile, “oh sorry for scaring you, i should’ve left a note for you. i came home early today.” you beam gently, pulling your earrings out to leave your jewelry in a box at your vanity. “it’s okay! i’m glad you’re home. how was today?” you turn to look at him as he speaks.

he takes a sleep shirt from a hanger and begins slipping it on. “ah, the watering hole at the east side of the forest edge began growing fungus - so we had the court mages come down to get rid of it. other than that, it was surprisingly uneventful.” his face contorts into a kind of grimace as he struggles to fit his wings through the back of his shirt - trying desperately hard on his own to flutter them through the back only to get caught. you stand, moving to help him as your vision falls to his back - and you stand behind him to gently tug his wings through the back. “there you go, better?” you ponder with a soft worrisome look, rounding him to get a better look. he smiles and nods, “much, thank you.”

you take a few steps back to sit at the edge of your shared bed, once again getting lost in your head as you stare at his wings. so pretty. moonlight begins to filter in through your bedroom windows and they almost seem to glow. “what’s wrong?” he asks, catching you off guard in your staring match. he’s left his shirt opens as he looks at you, his brow scrunched. “o-oh! nothing! sorry- your wings are just,, really pretty.” you chuckle, hoping to play off any tension or awkwardness. his face flushes a true shade of pink and his gaze falls to the floor, “thank you.” his low voice in gentle in the quiet.

“but,,” he turns back, now stepping closer to you at a slower pace before he sits down in front of you. his gaze is so concerned, and he speaks as though what he has to say is hard. you match his expression, head tilting only a degree or so. “you always kind of have this expression like you’re thinking,, or that you’re getting lost in your head. do you want to talk about it?”

your cheeks flush at his notice and you look down to your hands now folded over your lap. if now was ever the time to bring up issues than you’d have to do it. were you going to drag this process on forever? you hoped not. now was the chance.

“you’re… you’re so wonderful at what you do.” you smile again, because you can’t help but give in around felix, but it’s sadder - and he worries about what’s to come despite your compliment. “you’re so dedicated. and i love seeing you smile and laugh with everything you do. with your colleagues, when you’re caring for the creatures in the forest, or when you’re caring for the plants and trees,” you pause. your lips part because you know what to say, you know exactly what to say because it’s been the only thing you think about during the day. and you simply must say it now or else you’d dig yourself into a hiding hole and never bring it up again. “but i wish,, you cared for me in the way you cared for you job. in the way you care for the forest.” your thumb circles the band on your ring finger absentmindedly. it’s become second nature. when you look down to your hand, and see the band on your finger your eyes begin to water. oh not now, please, i was doing do good.

“i’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, actually.” he starts. you lift your watery eyes and his expression melts, his hand coming up to wipe your tears but he stops himself in fear of crossing a line when really that’s all you wanted in the moment. “i..” he swallows and his eyes get lost in focusing on nowhere in particular in the room and that’s when you notice it.

his thumb is playing with his wedding band, his nail tracing the metal and fumbling with it just as you did without noticing.

your lips pull to the side as you try to keep them from trembling. “i wanted to talk to you about how we can become closer. how we can work better as a unit and build our relationship-” when the tears track down your cheeks and you look up at him, he disregards his fear and reaches out shamelessly - his pal meeting your cheek as his thumb swipes wetness from your eyes. you lean into his touch, appreciative of his warmth until it leaves you. his own eyes are a bit watery, but out of shame and guilt. “i feel,, so guilty. for making you feel that way. and i d-don’t ever want to make you feel like that again because i do care for you.” when he looks back up at you, you reach for his hand and rub his band with your thumb. “i care for you a lot.” he chuckles sadly.

“i care for you too. and i want this to work out.” you reason, now holding his left hand with both of yours. he goes quiet for a second as he dips his head and wipes his face. at the sight your heart swells and you feel a smile over take your face. “y’know on our wedding day, i thought, ‘wow i must be the luckiest person ever to be marrying the prettiest fairy in the forest.’” you chuckle, wiping your face until he laughs through his tears. “don’t say that, i’ll cry more!” you chuckle with him and this time you wipe his face with your thumbs when he can’t get past the guilt.

“i p-promise i’ll make it up to you. i’ll show you i care for you and that i can be a husband you deserve.” his gaze lifts with your hand as you thumb over his wet freckles, and he now grabs your hands sacredly.

“let’s work together, yeah?” you look over his face with a more fond expression, watching every small move he makes to wipe his face and try desperately hard to keep the tears off his flustered freckled cheeks. he nods, fiercely. this was a change you already felt oncoming, and as you settled into resting for the night, you laid beside your husband - hands kept to yourself for now as shyness seemed to settle between both of your bodies.

“i know i’ve been distant and consumed in work,, but i’ve been watching you at your job recently.” his nimble fingers pick at the surface of his pillow, pulling a stray thread from it’s place. your brows raise, a soft look of surprise graces your features as you listen. “oh?” he immediately cuts in, “not like that! i just.. wanted to see you at work but.. i didn’t know how to.. reach out.” his gaze is focused elsewhere.

“you can come visit me at work anytime. i think you’d be excellent with the sapling babies - they’d love you.” your teeth show in a genuine smile and he can’t help but think how contagious.

“i couldn’t really think much, except for how stunning you looked doing it.”

you push your face into your pillow, “you can’t say things like that,, i’ll blush.” your hands cover your face, and much to your surprise, he grasps them to pull them from your red cheeks, looking at you solemnly. “it’s true. the sun was hitting you just right and you looked so pretty,, so happy.”

he’s holding your hands again, the current if shyness feels as though he’s melted it away, and you reach out to brush a stray hair from his face, “i am happiest when with them, they bring me a lot of peace.” he beams, his wings flutter a bit behind him on the bed.

“would you want to raise one, one day?” his eyes are wide with the question, as if a great amount of hope rests on his shoulders.

“with you? absolutely.”

𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓶𝓲𝓷. ↴

“there won’t be a wedding.”

you looked up from your coffee, both of your hands wrapped around it’s now cooling porcelain. your heart drops to the lowest part of your stomach at the news, hands steadying for a better grip on your mug. every dream, every hope, all the excitement of the young you, hoping for a beautiful wedding shared with the person you loved, instantly came crashing down in a fury. you swallow, feeling the eternal dread creeping on - up your back and over your shoulders.

“can i ask why?” you look up to your future husband, finding a kind of indifference on his face, that made your heart sink further.

“my family has a last minute trip planned for the weekend we originally scheduled - we talked to your family and decided to cancel it.”

“okay.”

“i’ll make it up to you.”

for the sake of a legitimate marriage, you did stand before each other and repeat vows of no particular meaning to you - and held his hand as you walked back down the aisle in a white sundress. you slept in the same bed but didn’t know the man beside you, you said goodbye to him for his business trips but mostly thoughts of leaving consumed you while he was away (even though your family would have your head for it) you ate beside him but didn’t speak - your outlook on your marriage was bleak to say the least.

your own job consumed you of course, the marriage was for business anyway. but you took severely less trips than seungmin did - and mostly worked from home in your office, conducting meetings, discussing sales goals and the like.

and now, at your age, you came to realize something. that your life wasn’t lived for what you wanted to do or how you wanted to live, but instead was lived out by the expectation of how you were supposed to. who were you even really? and you didn’t have the best example - your parent’s marriage was arranged. and though your mom persevered in saying they were happy, you could easily read between the lines to see they were anything but.

seungmin had his good moments.

he was great at his job, very dedicated. he periodically checked in on you but it felt half-hearted. there were a few times he’d sent flowers to the house while he was away. a lot of empty promises on his part though, saying he would look forward to doing something fun when he returned home, only for his time to be taken again. you’d bury yourself in your work if that was the only thing you could do - eyes filtering over the now dying roses on your desk.

he was gone now on another business trip, he had been now for three days. in truth, you missed him. or maybe you missed the idea of him. the idea of what he could be to you, and what you could be together. it all felt very misty in your brain, a lot of thoughts you couldn’t dwell on for long periods of time as they stopped making sense. you’d try to sort through your feelings, categorize your thoughts, to better understand yourself - but most attempts remained fruitless. your marriage to seungmin was an enigma - with most of your free time spent alone, all you had to do was think of him. it was strange to admit you missed and longed for a man you feel like you don’t know, but your nights were spent planted on your couch, wondering when he’d return.

your days spent in your new home brought a wave of heaviness you haven’t looked in the eye in years. it was dreadful. every waking moment you fought to stay motivated with your job, but a large part of you hadn’t a single care. not for anything. after work, you’d crawl back into bed and sleep until waking, rotting away in your home.

until seungmin came home.

when he unlocked the door and came in with a few small bags by his side, you didn’t raise your head from your pillow, or dare to even wipe your cheeks of the tears cascading down your face - you didn’t care. you didn’t care if he saw, you didn’t care if he had something to say. you only felt the weight.

he comes into the bedroom, and upon looking at you curled up in your shared bed, wetness glistening on your cheeks, his brows furrow. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, mumbling something that sounded like “it’s nothing.”

he wasn’t taking that as an answer, not with the way his voice drew out and the way he came to sit on his side of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs. “what’s wrong?” he asks, this time a little softer; even just the way his voice sounded made you want to cry.

you roll to your back, eyes focused nowhere in particular as you muster up something to say. your tears fall into your hairline now, for a moment you feel as though this might be worse than dying. “should we separate?”

“like divorce? no, no we shouldn’t. what’s,, what’s going on?” he almost wants to reach out and touch you but he keeps his hands to himself for now. the news hits him with a kind of weight he wasn’t expecting; he stumbles over the words that first come to his brain, his composure slowly melting away.

“you’re never here, seungmin.” your head lulls to the side to look at him. “i care about you a lot. i just wished you felt the same.” your voice trembles on the breath of a whisper, soon your eyes are focused elsewhere yet again - and your lips shake a bit.

he grasps your hands, and pulls your weight up until you’re resting in his arms. his hold is light - as if he were afraid to touch you but he does anyway. your heart explodes - he holds you because he understands it’s what you need. and you realize, this is the first time he’s ever held you, and you hope to whatever greater source there is in the world, that it isn’t the last.

“i’m sorry.” he pats your back with a gentle hand, and he feels your arms circle him lightly. “i do care for you.”

you sit in his hold comfortably, listening to him as he periodically speaks. “i’m sorry i’m never home. the business has kept me really busy, and, to be honest, i didn’t know what to do.”

you understand more now than ever that, it’s hard for him to speak his emotions. and while it might be awkward, it meant so much more that he was trying. his long sleeve shirt is soft against your palms, you flatten them more, pressing closer to him a bit - hoping it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, but rather it urges him to speak more on his feelings.

“i assumed you’d be unhappy, and honestly, i wouldn’t blame you. i wanted to try to make things work.. i just didn’t know how.”

that was, perhaps, the most words you’d heard from him - and you were beyond happy with his honesty.

“i mean, it wasn’t like our marriage was ideal but i too want to make it work. i believe we can.”

when your bodies separate, and seungmin fumbles with his fingers that peak just past the sleeves of his shirt, you’re both swallowed in a kind of silence, one you wouldn’t label, but one that was loud. “what,, what do you want me to do? to be better?” he asks quietly.

“just talk to me.”

“talk to you? what do you want to talk about?”

“anything.”

for the next few hours, as the moon hung high in the night sky, you sat in your bed and talked. like people did. like married people did.

“when i was 14 i got a bone spur in my ankle from working at an amusement park.” you chuckled, seungmin laughs beside you as well. “how’d you do that?”

“i jumped down onto a platform and i didn’t bend my knees when i landed so,” you mesh your fingers together, “crunch. y’know?” his expression changes to a grimace of sorts, “i broke my elbow playing baseball as a kid.”

“you played baseball?”

“i did.”

𝓳𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷.↴

“before you are five people, you must choose a significant other to marry.” were the words spoken to jeongin - words he was expecting to hear, dreaded ones - evil even in prospect. he was raised for this moment, this was one of many he must complete in his family’s line of work. his choices were limited, but this one seemed impossible. his steps were counted, he rolls through his foot, keeps a sharp gaze so his intentions aren’t questioned, not in front of his father, and he looks between the wide-eyed looks that stare at him with hope. not hope of being chosen, no quite the opposite.

there was only really one option -

you.

you were beautiful, maybe not even that but something he couldn’t label or put a finger on. it stole breath from his lungs as he raised his hand without a second thought, pointing to your slightly hunched composure.

“you.”

it was the first words he ever spoke to you - and you wanted nothing more in that moment for them to be the last. but you knew hope cost very little in your new life. you were unsure of the price over your head for marriage to the son of the leader of the biggest crime ring in the area, but you hoped it hurt his pockets if anything. you were to be married to jeongin now, and that was your life’s purpose. you would part from your family, and move into a house suitable for newly weds, you’d forget everything you loved, everyone you loved, if it meant he was happy.

you were wedded in a small ceremony, only surrounded by your parents and other members of the crime syndicate. your father handed you off your arm to the man that was soon to be your husband, and you took his hands with a grip too easy to slip. he grasps your hands, soon loosening his hold upon feeling your reluctance in your hands. but it isn’t reluctance in just your physical touch with him - but it’s the reluctance in your eyes. the way light doesn’t shine in them or sparkle, and you speak your vows with such shame it kills him.

so he vowed to stay away. if it made you happy.

but you weren’t happy. not really.

was he? he didn’t know.

but even from the start, he felt your sadness when you spoke to him, the light still hadn’t returned to your pretty face, well. there was one thing that made the sparkle gleam in your expression,

painting.

fuck you looked beautiful when you painted. lost in the color - the washes, forgetting your hands were smeared and wet and that your cuticles were crackling with paints to no wits end but you continued, and you would persevere. you’d surround yourself with happiness and feeling only translated and spoken through the mouthpiece of a canvas, and he could sit and watch you forever, just admiring the way you lost yourself in something for a moment that wasn’t your marriage.

“what would make you happier?” he’d asked one day.

you raised your gaze up from the marble of the extending bar of the kitchen counter, your cheek between your teeth. it was a question you weren’t ready for, one that you thought he’d never ask. “i’d like to paint more.” you answered, almost smiling a bit through the dark lines beneath your eyes.

in truth, you could see the good in jeongin. the reluctance to follow in his father’s footsteps, the boyish, happy energy he so little exuded that you only wished to see more of. yes. in truth, jeongin was beautiful. yet he chose to show it so little. you wonder if it was fear, trauma even - but he seemed so far away, so distant.

“okay.” it was simple. and a week later, he showed you to one of the spare bedrooms in your home - canvas’ covered the walls and a desk and stool stood in the middle of the room, an array of different paints grouped in boxes and a great big container of brushes sat on it’s surface. you could’ve cried at the sight, but instead thanked him, a number of times, and began on your next piece.

and after that, he was gone again. all hidden behind stern expressions, his suits and ties and whispers of jobs and missions. you’d lost him again, and damn it all you were tired.

you’d been defeated since you said yes to him, no you’d been tired since you’d found out you were to be married to a stranger. and now, when you felt like things were going somewhere, he was just,, gone. you were sick, sick of feeling this way. feeling like your life had no other meaning than to be strangers, sick of him not talking or trying, just sick.

so you pushed a blade into your first canvas. you cut through the paint, the flesh of it, cut through the hours, the focus, the mess ups and successes, and you kept going. you dragged the blade through the wooden circumference and threw it to the ground with your hair flying behind you.

jeongin came in a moment later to hear the commotion - finding a few of your paintings destroyed, tears running down your cheeks, and your form huddled in the corner of the room with your knees pulled to your chest. you were hysterical - like your filter had diminished and your true thoughts were the only thing capable of leaving your lips.

“i-i-! i-i just wished you cared-!” you yelled.

he grabs your face, holding steady in both of his hands.

and suddenly, the only thing you see is him.

and he was there. there. with his brows pressed together, and his thumbs swiping over your cheeks soft. he was there.

“i’m here- i’m here.” his voice steadies your heart, his presence centers your attention on him and him alone - and despite the pure rage you felt at him - he was the only person you had. and the only one you wanted.

your breathing slows, as do your tears, and you lower your hands, letting them rest on his forearms. “you’re,, here.” you repeat as if he’d disappear.

he nods, his thumbs smoothing over your cheeks. “that’s right. i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere, i promise.” he assures.

he was numbly grounding - he pulled you out of your own head so quick you saw stars and felt whiplash. and now, in steadiness, you grasp his hands from your face and hold onto him tight. “b-but,, why aren’t you ever really here? why don’t you care-” you hiccup.

“because i don’t know how to be.”

you look at him with an expression only capable of melting, and your face contorts sadly again and he tries. “j-just don’t leave. just try, please? i want this to work because it kills me.”

“i won’t leave. i won’t. and i do care. i really do, so much. i’m sorry.”

though you feel like strangers, and he still feels so far away, you stretch your arms outward and you grasp onto his waist - and in a way you weren’t expecting, he wraps his arms around you, and holds you like he’s known you for years. and maybe in some kind of way, he did.

“i believe you but just.. can we talk? can we do fun things married people do? like go on dates and watch stupid movies?” your tears fall gently now, rounding the flesh of your cheeks in a way he thinks is so pretty, so unlike how he understood you before. but now, when you look at him, you feel like you see a man you know. one you can trust.

he nods, vigorously as he pulls you from his arms. “i want that, and i’ll try okay? i promise,” his hands grasp your own, “i promise i care. i really do.”

you nod, now too consumed with teas to speak again, and instead you push your face into your hands and sit back on your legs between his own. he takes a moment to look around the room, finding art even in your destruction.

“your paintings,” he frowns, standing. he picks one up, stretching his arms out to look at it. his expression is sad, genuinely sad, and it kind of surprises you to see that.

“it’s okay.”

he looks to his right to see you, swallowed in a tainted sweatshirt, and he smiles, setting it against the wall in front of him.

“let’s make new ones.”

i have no concept on whether these are good or not, i've been working a lot and i'm actually sick rn but persevered through seungmin's and jeongin's. lmk what y'all think.

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violetarks · 26 days

Text

megumi's parental figure, early 20s! gojo satoru, comes in to discuss with you, first year teacher as 'ms l/n', a little mishap that has occured between the young boy and someone else in your class. a fight had broke out in the midst of recess and, while on your break in the teacher's lounge, you were called to the entrance of the room with the two boys, both with their fair share of scratches and scruffed up clothes.

the office had to tell the respective parents to come in to talk after school, while you stood with the boys in the sick bay, helping the nurse clean their wounds.

megumi grunts, "don't call gojo..."

"i have to, sweetie." you retort, placing a bandaid on his cheek from the bark that scratched his face when he was pushed into the ground. megumi frowns even more. "it's the school's policy. i'm sorry."

he only nods his head, eyes pricking with tears as the kid beside him bawled his eyes out about getting in trouble with his parents

you know it's megumi's so-called 'immature, loud-mouth, waste of time and effort' guardian when he comes bursting through the hallway in some kind of uniform, glasses on his nose and fringe messily sticking to his sweaty forehead. not the man you had pictured taking care of megumi.

"megumi! megumi!" he calls, rushing up to you and the boys. they sat in the chairs outside of your classroom while the rest of yours kids were painting. megumi groaned, covering his face in embarrassment as satoru kneeled down in front of him and badgered on. "what happened? i came as soon as i got the call!"

megumi, unwilling to answer, only glares at the boy beside him, who does the same thing.

you sigh, "your son and his classmate were in a physical fight today, mr gojo."

satoru looks to you for a split second before doing a double take. his blue eyes peak over his glasses and you find yourself clearing your throat to gather your nerves again.

as soon as satoru turns back to megumi, he's worried again. "oh god... megumi, please, tell me, did you win—?"

"mr gojo!" you harshly whisper, slight chuckle in your tone at the question. he glances up at you. "please."

so now you sit with both of the boys' parents — megumi and his legal father, satoru (who hasn't stopped smiling at you since he walked in, which is a step up from his not-much-older sister coming in to fill in for their parents), and the other boy, ibuki, and his parents, mr and mrs sawamura (who were of high paying jobs).

the mother and father duo look unpleased to be there, whilst satoru just keeps sending you the warmest gaze. the boys are glaring at each other, clicking their tongues and looking away.

"i apologise for the inconvenience this has caused." you explain, hands on your lap as your sit on your chair at the head of the classroom, "but i'm afraid the school's contacted you on such short notice due to the events of today."

you begin to explain what you know from the boys and what other teachers have told you. megumi and ibuki have never been friends due to clashing ideas, but today, ibuki pushed megumi onto the floor at the playground in the middle of playing tag when megumi was 'it' and tagged ibuki. as a result, ibuki made a comment on megumi's absent parents.

the ravenette, in return, pushed ibuki back and told him to apologise, only for ibuki to throw the first punch. a minor brawl occured, with slapping, kicking, punching and bark throwing whilst other kids watched. nothing was severely damaged, but scratches and light bruises were evident on the boys.

in the end, neither of the boys wanted to apologise.

"what could my son have possibly done?" mrs sawamura questions, crossed arms. the two have been hostile since the start, but you don't react.

"mrs sawamura, ibuki put his hands on megumi and pushed him to the ground whilst insulting him." you reiterate, "i'm sorry, but all accounts state this."

"ibuki, did you do such a thing?" mr sawamura questions, glaring at his son.

ibuki, baffled and nervous, begins to sputter out, "i—well, megumi...! he—he bullied me and said i was a slow runner!”

"i wasn't making fun of you, i was stating a fact." megumi retorts, shaking his head. satoru smirks.

"if anyone should be punished, it should be that bully of a kid!" mrs sawamura exasperates, "goodness, what kind of child resorts to such hostility? children say anything these days! what are you raising?"

satoru turns to her with a roll of his eyes. "a kid with common sense. maybe the reason your kid is so jealous of megumi isn't just because he's smarter than him or cooler, but because megumi knows to cover mouth when to sneeze rather than on other kids at the christmas concert."

"it was an accident!" ibuki cries out, wiping his tears.

"you told all the boys you were gonna' do it!" megumi retaliates, rolling his eyes as well. the resembalance is uncanny.

"nonsense!" mr sawamura exclaims, standing from his chair. you rub your temple, headache ensuing. mrs sawamura only shakes her head as her son sticks her tongue out at satoru. "ibuki would never be jealous of someone like megumi!"

for the first time since he began, satoru's smile drops. he stands as well, towering over the other man. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"okay, let's dail it down, please." you say, standing up as well. you watch as the two men do as you say and seat themselves, all the while glaring at each other. "now, it is a two day suspention. no exceptions. and the kids will have to complete all assigned work i have for them. here."

you give the two boys a folder each, filled with a short workbook and other things, and you don't even allow mr and mrs sawamura to complain before you stand up and bow your head.

"both children are in trouble for participating in the fight." you explain calmly, furrowed brows, "however, this is not the first instance ibuki has been caught talking about other people's privacy. i believe this is an issue to be solved at home."

your last sentence makes satoru giggle and stare at the couple, judging them. they, in return, begin mumbling in their placesnamd crossing their arms.

"thank you for taking the time out of your day to discuss this unfortunate event. i shall see you kids on thursday. good evening." you say blankly, already grabbing your belongings and heading out the door.

satoru is quick to catch up to you before you get into your car.

"hey, ms l/n!" he calls, holding megumi's hand as he gets dragged along in the carpark.

"mr gojo." you reply, expecting him to start explaining megumi's actions.

"thank you for standing up for megumi today." he says, making you stop, "it's good to know that he has someone looking out for him at school."

"oh... i, uh, i don't mind. he's my student, and he does very well in my classes." you explain, smiling at the kid, "how's your cheek, megumi?"

"doesn't hurt at all..." he retorts, looking to the ground. you only grin.

satoru then holds out his other hand. "you can call me 'satoru'. i want to take you out for dinner as a 'thanks' for helping out megumi."

you stop before shaking his hand. "i'm y/n. i'd love you, but..." your eyes drift to megumi, who only turns away with a pout. "i try to keep my work life and personal life separate."

satoru lets out a small chuckle before nodding his head. "i understand. thank you, ms l/n. you're megumi's favourite teacher."

"hey!" megumi grumbles, jabbing at the white-haired man's stomach, "ugh! let's just go home!"

you wave as megumi drags satoru to a nice black car, and they drive to the school gates as you enter your own vehicle.

you're incredibly surprised when you are informed by the principal that fushiguro megumi is leaving the school after only four months of being under your care. you begin to question why he was leaving. were you not a suitable teacher for him? what was wrong with your teaching style?

megumi explains to you that he's upset he's leaving because he actually doesn't want to go. he wants to stay, and he has never complained about you to satoru. you asked why he's moving schools, and he only shrugs and says satoru told him he would be.

when satoru comes to pick up megumi, you make sure to stand at his side with your arms crossed. the man is pleasantly surprised when he sees you with an annoyed expression.

"ms l/n, lovely seeing you again." he says, patting his adopted son's head. the boy scowls and pushes his hand away, stepping closer to you.

"mr gojo, i'd like to ask why you are making megumi move schools when he is perfectly fine here. is this a problem with me? is my way of teaching not up to your standards?" you begin, looking at him dead in the eye.

satoru chuckles, hands in his pockets, "not at all, y/n. megumi actually does pretty well under your care."

"so what is it?"

"i don't want him to be your student." he hums out, shrugging his shoulders, "because you don't mix work with your personal life, i figured i'd take us out of your work life. if megumi is no longer your student, then i can be your boyfriend."

your stilled, frozen as he smiles dumbly at you. any teachers or parents close enough to hear your conversation stop to giggle behind their hands, enjoying the short display of romance. you furrow your brows before uncrossing your arms, tilting your head to the side.

"i—" you begin, pursing your lips and covering your face a little. he lets out a small laugh. "satoru, you can't just..."

"if you care that much about megumi's education, you're more than welcome to come over for dinner and we can tutor him." he offers, grinning at you with such softness that you immediately hum in agreement, "that's great! c'mon, megumi, you can see ms l/n saturday night. say 'goodbye' to your friends and we'll go."

megumi then runs off to bid his friends 'goodbye', all of them crying out about never seeing each other again. in the meantime, satoru stands at your side, hands in his pockets.

"so," he begins, "can i take you out for dinner this weekend? megumi will be out of this school by then."

"i don't appreciate you taking megumi out of this school just because you wanted to ask me out." you huff out, tilting your head at him.

satoru smiles wider, bumping his hip with yours. “just imagine all the other things i’m willing to do to score a chance with you.”

“whatever.” you chuckle, looking back to him, “one date, i will give you one chance.”

“that is all i need. thank you, y/n.” he responds, winking at you. he turns back to megumi, waving his hand. “c’mon, kid! time to go home!”

as they leave, satoru shoots you one last smile and you swear you can hear your heartbeat quicken.

that was the last time megumi was ever your student and the first time satoru made you swoon.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojo x reader #satoru #satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader

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soov · 6 months

Text

RUMOUR HAS ITㅤ. . .ㅤ﹫ park sunghoon ★

꒰ 📒 ꒱ prince ! park sunghoon & fem reader, 1000 words. ㅤg fluff, royal au, arranged marriage, long fic. ㅤw slightly suggestive, pet names, kissing. ㅤinspired by mr queenㅤlibrary

“i suppose you know about the rumours by now?” the prince’s deep voice tugged you back to reality, making his presence known by leaning onto the same railing as you.

“why do you think i would’ve called you here if i didn’t?” you asked back, to which he responded with a smile, looking at the scenery in front of him.

sunghoon appeared somewhat unkempt. his hair dismissed the usual slicked-back style, soft black bangs falling on his eyes. he had a white linen puffed-sleeve shirt on, with the first three buttons undone. once, he had admitted that he owned twelve of the shirts, them being his favorite piece of clothing.

as your stare lowered, his high-waisted black pants and boots piqued your curiosity, “what is the reason behind the informal clothes?”

“why the question?” he turned his head in your direction, “you also have an informal attire on, my love.” sunghoon had a cheeky smile plastered across his face, attentive eyes observing the way you toyed with his sleeves.

“my maids said that this color and dress would look good on me.” you reasoned and pushed one of the puffy sleeves slightly up his arm, tracing the delicate veins enmeshed beneath his flesh. “and i only see you wearing this outfit when it’s your birthday or a happy day to you.”

“they were right; you do look good.” he seemed to be enjoying how you were caressing his arm. his muscles flexed and relaxed every time you touched him, making him feel like you were painting a masterpiece across his bare, pale skin. “and well, it is a happy day for me.”

“even with the rumours?”

right. the rumours. the gossip that spread around the castle like wildfire about the soon-to-be king and queen that didn’t truly love each other, only keeping up their looks because of diplomatic problems. that and the supposed cheating accusations, claiming that you were seeing a close friend behind the prince’s back.

in part, it would’ve been true if the false talk started a few months ago — though only the comment about real love being absent in your relationship. you used to think that the boy was a spoiled little brat who leeched off his parents’ high status. yet, you fell right into his trap when your arranged marriage was announced.

with his eyebrows tied together and the smallest pout, sunghoon gave you his trademark confused face, “why would they matter? we love each other and will get married soon, isn’t it? let them say whatever.”

the raw and honest responses from sunghoon were one of the many factors that brought him to the center of your heart. his unfiltered remarks, reminding you of your infinite worth (his words, not yours), slowly guided you to the path without return that is loving him.

you huffed out a breath, a bunch of servants whispering and stroddling through the garden close to the bandstand where the both of you were. if sunghoon wasn’t there, you would have cussed them out, even knowing that you couldn’t. they were your fiancé’s people, and briefly, they would be yours too.

“i do not appreciate how they talk so lowly about us...” you mumbled, chin on your palm. neither of you were big on pda, that was a fact, but you wondered if it was that bad to make the word even more convincing. “i just wanted to shut their mouths and show them that we long for each other.”

“do you, now?” sunghoon grinned, embracing you from behind as his pointy nose went to your neck. “we could give them a little sample of our love.” he muttered, the low timbre of his voice being more than enough proof of your effect on him.

you nearly choked on your own breath, a lump closing your throat. “i thought you were uncomfortable with showing affection in public?” the words left your mouth in a nervous whisper when he gently turned you in his hold to face you.

“princess,” he began, the pet name almost sounding sardonic due to your current position, “that was seven months ago. i hated you at the time, you know it. but i only want to kiss you right now.”

there was something in his eyes, blended with the dark brown hues and the sparkly melted stars that captivated and hypnotized you. sunghoon was so intense that you could never bring yourself to break eye contact, or reply coherently, when you were drowning in his gaze. a nod was all that came out of you.

the prince chuckled, the act so genuine and lovesick that your knees threatened to falter, “you’re so annoyingly beautiful.” he voiced, and leaning in, his lips parted to taste the sweetness of your mouth.

with a gasp, you carded your fingers through his raven hair. it had gotten so long in such a short time. the only place that your hands went to during your kisses was in between his locks.

a soft rumble escaped his chest, body beginning to relax when you played with his hair. in a second, sunghoon cupped a side of your face in his palm, still being smug enough to slide the other to the small of your back, gripping that part. a smirk curled his lips up as he felt the low cut back of the dress, tracing your skin like you did to his arm earlier.

his actions induced a shiver to run down your spine, and you couldn’t do much except feel yourself covered in goosebumps. softly, gently, slowly — that was how your fiancé enjoyed kissing you.

“sunghoon...” tugging at the loose collar of his shirt, you tried to regain your composure after the scandalous scene. “did they go yet?”

your breathy voice calling out his name only fueled the pure adoration the boy felt. “not yet.” he hummed, glancing at the flustered maids that giggled amongst themselves. “seems like they’re slow walkers.”

“at least that will make them stop talking.” you grumbled.

he squeezed you tighter in his arms as a response, almost trying to express the extent of his feelings in the way he held you. “it surely will.”

and it didn’t, since, now, rumour has it that the prince is too greedy to go for only a single kiss.

⠀ ⠀ SOOV © 2O23

ㅤ𝗿𝗲𝗶’s notes ⪩⪨ rumour is the only british version of a word that i will accept

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mysterycitrus · 3 months

Text

mary and john grayson are interesting in the peanut gallery of dead parents because unlike pretty much everyone else, they exist exclusively in the before, and rarely the after.

both the graysons and the waynes are plot devices for tragedy, sure, the literal inciting incident to heartbreak, but while the waynes tangibly haunt the story in the manor, in their painted likenesses, in gotham as a whole, the graysons remain largely absent.

jack drake returned from the dead only to die again. sheila haywood smoked over her son’s body. david cain heard his daughter speak and wept.

but who are the flying graysons? aside from phantoms their son thinks of fondly. their ghosts are crucial to literally everything. they must fall, they must hit the ground, and their son must watch. but what happened before? they live in the pocket anecdotes for every passerby who happened to be at the circus that night. they are a poster on the wall. they are the colours worn by children. but they still exist in absentia.

#idk im writing out my family tree for the graysons and if u ignore court of owls we have bare bones to work with #court of owls (derogatory tomato tomato)#dick grayson #dc comics #spokes #tbd

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mochinek0 · 3 months

Text

In Sickness and in Health

"Damian, I need you to work with the new student on this project." his history teacher stated.

"What new student?" the young Wayne questioned.

'There's no one new here. Has he finally lost it?'

"Stay after class, please." they replied.

Damian simply nodded.

'At least if the new person is all in his head, I can work by myself.'

"The new student isn't here today as she's sick. They're also a transfer student." The teacher spoke, "Here is her address."

"You want me to go there and become ill?" Damian speculated.

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. All I am asking is that you, at least, speak to her about the project." the teacher sighed, "She'll know better than anyone how long she'll be absent. Get her to write a note saying, I don't know, she gives you full control on the project or something. I'll deal with it from there."

"I can do that." Damian accepted.

'At least I can still work by myself.'

Damian looked down at the address in his hand an then back at the seamstress shop. Confused, the young Wayne entered the store and looked around for someone his own age.

"Can I help you?" asked an elderly lady.

"I was given this address for a classmate of mine." Damian explained, "I believe they mixed it up. Excuse me."

"Are you looking for Marinette?" they questioned.

'Marinette? Is that her name? Not American; he did mention they were a transfer student.'

"Yes." he answered, still unsure.

"Go through the blue curtain in the far back." the lady smiled, "There's a set of stairs that will take you to the apartment above the store."

Damian nodded and went to the back of the store. There was blue cloth hung up on a shower rod that parted slightly.

'A door would be better suited.'

Damian walked up the stairs to the second story and found single door. He raised his hand and knocked on the door. The door opened and he was shocked. There in the doorway was a girl with blue hair, up to his chest. She was wearing what seemed to be pajamas, had a blanket draped over her shoulders, a face mask, and a cooling cloth attached to her forehead.

'She is obviously seriously ill. How did she open the door? Why didn’t anyone else open it for her?'

"Who are you?" she questioned, hoarsely.

"Damian Wayne." he declared, "I was told to talk to you about a history project for school."

She moved away from the door and went stright to the kitchen.

"Sit anywhere you want. I haven't sat in the living room in three days. I'd offer you a beverage, but I don't want to get you sick and asking you to get it yourself, seems rude." the girl spoke.

'Polite; unexpected.'

"What are you doing?" Damian questioned, as he watched her stir a pot.

"Making soup for the week." Marinette answered.

"So, I should not expect you to return this week." he suggested.

"I usually eat soup when I'm sick and for the following days, to keep my immune system cleansed." she explained, "So, history? Leave me the details and I'll work on it."

"Mr. Hayes suggested you could write a note putting me in charge." Damian spoke.

"I can work, Damian." Mari remarked, "I don't need you coddling me because I'm sick."

'Coddle! I-The last thing I would do is….coddle her!'

Damian snapped, "I am giving you a way out! Get your rest and I will do it completely!"

"I'm on bedrest and as you can see, I'm functional." she growled back.

Marinette began to cough heavidly, enough to make her grip the kitchen counter. Damian watched as her breaths became labored, as if she had trouble inhaling.

'She calls this functional?'

Marinette grabbed a mug and poured hot water from a near by kettle. Damian watched as she spooned a small amount of tea leaves into a container and place it in the mug.

'Peppermint? She should try lemon, ginger, something citrus.'

"When are your parents getting back?" Damian asked, not moving from the doorway.

"I'm emancipated." she smiled.

'She's by herself?'

Damian looked around and noticed a small table with one chair. The living room had enough to seat up to three guests. There was also one door to the left, behind the living room.

"Leave the form and an email or something so I can send you my portion." Marinette called out, "If you don't like it, I can work in my room and you can work from out here."

Damian took out a pen and quickly wrote down his email at the top of the paper.

"I'll be back, tomorrow." he stated, leaving the apartment.

'Why is she so stubborn? She needs to rest. The simplest solution would be for her to rest this week while I work alone. What is she trying to accomplish?'

The moment she opened the door, Damian stared at Marinette annoyed. She had showed recently, but her hair was still wet. At the very least, she was wearing different clothes.

He scowled, "Where is the bathroom?"

"Oh, in my room, on your left." Marinette pointed out.

'Guess he really needed to go.'

Damian came back with a towel and threw it over her head, without notice. He quickly began to rub her head to get the moisture out.

"You're going to get worse with you hair looking like a wet mop." Damian stated, "Dry it completely."

Marinette remained silent and still. Damian stopped his movements.

"Marinette?" he asked, moving to face her.

'Shit!'

Marinette's eyes were wide and she was practially hyperventilating. She was clenching and unclenching her hands.

'She does not handle physical contact well. Is she going to be okay at school?'

Damian kneeled in front of her and showed his hands were raised in front of him.

"My apologies." Damian whispered, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Damian reached out and dragged his bag, next to the couch. He pulled out a small cylinder.

"I brought you some tea leaves. Citrus help you recover from illness." he began, "I don't believe peppermint will work." as he handed her the container.

Marinette took it and looked at it. She opened it and sniffed the tea leaves. There was lemon, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. There was some other stuff she couldn't make out.

"You......made this?" Marinette questioned.

'Why would he give this to me?'

Damian remained silent, but nodded. He didn't think she would noticed he took his time to make her something.

"I make my own teas." he replied.

Mari smiled, "Thank you."

Damian watched as her expression softened. She got up from her seat, letting the towel fall from her head, and quickly began to get things ready to brew the tea. Once it was finished brewing, she took a sip.

"It’s delicious, Damian!" Mari smiled, happily, "Maybe I should go to you for all of my teas."

Before he could respond, Marinette took her tea and went into her room. Damian picked up his things and saw she had gotten comfortable in her bed with her laptop on a tray.

"Were we not working over there?" he questioned.

"I don't want to get you sick." Marinette replied, "Besides, there's only one chair. I'll just email you-"

Damian left the room and returned with the chair from her kitchen table.

"I don't get sick, easily." Damian declared, setting the chair down a few feet from her bed, "h quicker we finish this, the more you can rest."

Marinette worked silently, sipping on the tea Damian had brought her. After an hour, Damian packed up his thing, declaring he'd return the next day.

This time, when Marinette opened the door, he could tell she was moving much more sluggish.

'She got worse! She's pushing herself for me. Damn her stubbornness!'

Damian quickly picked her up in his arms.

"You're-" she began.

"If I get sick, I will blame you later." Damian claimed.

"Sorry." Mari whispered.

Damian placed her back in her bed. He quickly rushed to the bathroom in search of a first aid kit or at least, a thermometer. Once he found it, he brought it back and held it out. Mairnette looked at it, in dissapointment.

"Use it." he demanded.

Marinette shoved it in her mouth and waited. The quick beeping notified them both something was wrong. Mari took it out of her mouth n tried to hide it. Damian was able to grab it with ease.

'102.5'

"I'm fine." Marinette declared.

"You are far from fine." Damian stated.

Damian took the thermometer to the bathroom and washed it, as well as his hands. When he returned, he found Marinette fast asleep. He found a cooling pad near by and placed it on her head. Damian remember a small cloth by the sink and wet it. He quickly cooled off her arms, her neck, and her legs, before covering her up. Damian took out a sticky note and wrote down his number.

Marinette woke up to the room being dark.

"Damian?" she called out.

She grabbed her phone and saw it was close to two in the morning. She set her phone down and felt a paper.

'Sticky note?'

She turned on the flashlight on her phone and looked at the note: Call me if you worsen-Damian.

'Aw. He's really sweet. I feel so bad for falling asleep on him.'

Marinette stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She grabbed the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and took her temperature. It read 99.2; it was the best it had been all week. She washed the thermometer and took some medicine. After, she made more of Damian's tea.

'Gonna need it.'

Damian arrived back from patrol to find an email from Mari.

'I thought I told her to call me if she got worse, not email me!'

He opened it in a panic and found it was her completed work for the assignment. Damian looked at the time. It was now three in the morning and she had sent it thirty minutes ago. He grabbed his phone and opened his contacts. Then, he froze.

'I don’t have her number! Fuck!'

Damian went over the next day and was surprised to see her more active. Marinette had answered the door happily and was dressed in white tank top, pink shorts, and slippers. She wasn't even using a blanket to keep herself warm.

"Damian!" She smiled, "Hey, did you get my email?"

"I did." he answered.

"Is everything okay?" Mari asked, "I didn't think I'd see you today."

"Why did you send it so late or early, I should say." Damain questioned.

"It was when I woke up." Marinette answered, "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you. I decided it was best to work on it, while I had a clear head. I'm feeling a lot better, so I should be able to see you at school tomorrow. I'm sure it was all thanks to your tea."

Damian nodded and held out his phone for her to grab. Marinette looked at it confused, but took it.

"I planned on yelling at you, for being up so late, but I didn't have you number." the young Wayne stated.

Marinette giggled, "And I should give it to you, why?"

Damian remained silent. He didn't think she would refuse to give her number to him.

"In case we are paired up again." he quickly spoke.

Mari added her contact information and handed it back.

"Sick Girl?" he questioned.

"So you know it's me." Mari answered.

He hated how right she was. It was likely that if she had entered her name, he would have forgotten it in a week and deleted it.

"Do you want to come in or was that all?" she asked.

"That was all." he said and quickly left.

Marinette closed the door an giggled.

'He's like a stray cat that came to say hi.'

Damian sat in class and kept his eyes on the door. Marinette hadn't walked in, yet, and it was almost time for the bell to ring.

'Is she still sick? Did her fever come back? I should have called her this morning to make sure she was feeling fine.'

The bell rang breaking him from his thoughts and then, she rushed in.

'Marinette.'

"Late." their teacher declared, "I will forgive you, this time, since you have been sick, Miss Duapin-Cheng."

Marinette nodded her head. It was finally time for history class and it was so different to see her in uniform. Damian could admit he more use to seeing her in pajamas or shorts, with her blanket curled around her. He was even use to her falling asleep, but some how the uniform felt less personal. He hated it. Damian watched carefully over Marinette. He had to make sure she was completely better. Her damn stubbornness left him worried about her pretending to feel better for his sake. Then, he saw it; the tense smile on her face. She was surrounded by their peers. It reminded him of the smiles his brothers' gave at parties. Damian walked over and grabbed her wrist.

"We need to talk about the project since you have been absent." he declared.

"Oh, okay." Marinette answered, as he pulled her away from everyone else.

"He could have been nicer."

"It's Wayne. When is he ever nice?"

"Lucky bitch."

"I can’t believe she was his partner."

"He probably did it himself, already."

"Yeah. He's just gonna give her a copy and put her name on it."

"I can’t believe he touched her."

"True."

"Better than him yelling at us to move or scram, again."

Marinette frowned as she heard what they said about Damian. That wasn't the Damian she knew.

"Thank you." Marinette whispered, once they were far enough.

Damian looked at her questioningly.

"For rescuing me." she answered.

"You appeared uncomfortable." the young Wayne spoke, " I was uncertain how you would react if one of them touched you. I understand if I made you uncomfortable, as well. My apologies for forcing you. Next time, tell them to leave."

"I'm not good at dealing with people; not anymore." Mari declared, "Besides, they should forget about me soon. I'm still 'new' in their eyes. I'm not trying to gain anything by talking to them. I don’t want to get to know them."

"I thought you weren't coming." Damian spoke, changing the subject.

"Huh?" she asked, confused, "I told you I was coming today."

"You were late." he growled.

"Oh." Marinette winced, "Uh….I have a feeling I will be in detention a lot."

Damian stopped and turned to her, waiting for an explanation.

"I have always been late to school, even when it was across from my house." she stated.

Damian sighed, "I'll pick you up in the mornings."

"No!" she cried out.

"Why?" he demanded, "Is that an issue? I have been to your place before, have I not?"

"I'm not a morning person." Mari replied, looking down.

He sighed again, "My brother isn't either, unless he has had coffee. I can bring you some." making a mental note to steal Tim's coffee in the morning from now on.

"Really?" Mari questioned, perking up.

"You better, at least, be dressed." Damian retorted.

"Pajamas count as being dressed, right?" she squeaked.

Damian glared at her, "Why would you still be in pajamas?"

"I'm not a morning person!" Marinette glared back, "I work late and-"

"The shop keeps you that busy?" he questioned.

"Oh." Marinette spoke, "No. I help in the shop sometimes, but that's not my job. I do commissions. She asks me to help some times, but she's going to let me use the sewing machine for free until I can buy one."

"How….long do your commissions take?" he sighed.

"Depends who it's for. If it's for my uncle, I tend to work three weeks straight. It also depends on the pay and timeline. If he called me right now and asked for something in six months, I wouldn't worry unless things began to pile up. It could also be one of my aunties."

'What the fuck is with her family? No wonder why she is emancipated! I can't believe they would work her that hard.'

"You're moving into the manor." Damian declared, "I'll even get you a new sewing machine."

"I am not!" she cried out, "I barely know you! All I know is you name and you make tea!"

"At this rate, I'll have to get you dressed and drag you to school!" Damian cried back.

"Who the fuck made you my babysitter?" Marinette shouted.

"Someone should be." he huffed, "You obviously need someone to take care of you. I don’t see why it shouldn't be me!"

Marinette squeaked and turned red. Realizing what he said, so did Damian.

The teacher watched as Damian took Marinette aside to talk. He was well aware that their assignment had been turned in three days ago. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was the closest he had ever seen Damian be comfortable around anyone. He also was aware of Marinette's past school and being bullied.

'I knew getting them to talk would be a good thing.'

DAMINETTE TAGLIST: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

TAGLIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

#daminette #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #marinette in gotham #bullied marinette #emancipated marinette #sick marinette #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #history project #matchmaking teacher #maribat #damian worried #grumpy damian #mochinek0

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circeyoru · 1 month

Text

You Think It’s That Easy? = Requested

[Yandere Human!Alastor x Arranged Marriage!Reader]

The Request (1) + (2)

Part 2 is out, please check Masterlist for the link

I supposed that it would be heavily implied that Reader here is female, cause I can’t imagine Alastor’s time letting male and male into a marriage. Sorry to my male readers!

A friendship between families is not something to be happy about. At least, to the children of the two families it isn’t

“Darling, meet Alastor, for now you two aren’t of age yet, but in time, you two will be married.”

That line was what chained you down to another without room for rejection or say. Luckily, Alastor himself wasn’t keen on the idea as well, so whenever you two were out of your parents’ sights, you two were off to do as you please

Your parents ran a successful shipping company, leading them to be absent throughout your childhood. They sent you to live with their friend, Alastor’s parents, later the idea of marrying you two was formed. Alastor’s father ran a factory, producing metal and machinary, so he was well off. There wasn’t a thing out of place, except maybe the greedy he has to money

With the lack of parents, you had to rely on yourself and you had plenty of private lessons to prepare yourself before going to going to school. You saw Alastor’s father as a sinful man that leeched off of your parents’ fame. The idea of marriage was mainly from him as well, since he wanted more compensation on top of what was given to him while taking care of you

Alastor was more of a mama’s boy, as you took notice. Very obedient to her, yet when it came to his father, he was much like a doll. You also saw his father as abusive, though he played the kind and sweet father figure when you were around, when you were out of sight, his switch is flipped. You leaned to Alastor’s wounds when you caught him reaching for a med-kit in the dead of night

The two of you made your peace with the arranged marriage after sometime spending at school. You two also thought of just going through with it since either of you found ‘love’, nor did you two want to disappoint your parents

A glorious wedding day supposed to be the best day of one’s life was a dull ceremony for you and merely a formality for Alastor. Vows spoken with the intent to break, rings exchanged as mere jellewery, and a kiss shared just as a performance on stage. Somehow, the smiles on your respective parents’ face was worth the trouble

You two moved out and lived in a mansion that was affordable. You two slept in separate rooms, nearly nothing was shared. The situation was much like a roommate. Nothing between you two suggested that there was the concept of ‘love’

Though an odd friendship of mutual acceptance and private support was formed. While you both had your fair share of friends and connections, you knew you could always rely on the other for anything because you’ve known the other your whole life and seen the ugly side of the other and accepted it

Like when Alastor’s father was accidentally killed in a factor fire and his mother passed away from an incurable disease not long after. Or your parents that died from a shipwreck while out at sea during a vacation you refused to go. During these traumatic times, while people around you two tried to claw at you, the other would protect and be a source of comfort

That’s why you two agreed to have the marriage stay in tact. It will be broken off when either one finds a partner that was ‘true love’

And that time came faster than imagined. You found that love you wanted, you didn’t tell anyone, opting to keep it a secret. You had a face to put on, so does your love. You knew Alastor would understand, in fact, he’d be ecsatic for you. Since this meant he would be free of this playing house game. You honestly figured Alastor had a lover of his own as well, since he returns home so late and would immediately head to the showers to clean before falling asleep

Everything planned for your leave, you didn’t inform Alastor and thought it was fine for you to just leave with your love. You did and none was the wiser. As a form of curtsy and thanks, you left Alastor a great sum of money, a letter of farewell, your wedding ring and signed marriage divorce papers. If he wanted, maybe you two could do on a double date?

While you were happy and dandy with the arrangement, Alastor found himself unable to go through with it when that time come. His hands crunched up the letter and he shoved away all that money. You see, he never expected it, but he fell for you in a way it wouldn’t be considered normal. You were someone he just want to let go

Starting that factory fire was easy, call it a trial. He hates his father, yes, but he also wanted to see if you’d break off the marriage since his father was the one to suggest the idea. But you didn’t and offered him a shoulder to ‘cry’ on, he realized then, that he prefered your presence other than his mother’s

“Alastor, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, My Dear. Accidents happen all the time.”

“No, it’s not!” You suddenly hugged him out of nowhere, you knew perfectly well of his aversion to touch, yet you hugged him tight and provided your shoulder, “Don’t hold it in, Alastor. It’s not good for you. I’ll be right here for you.”

Slowly, Alastor returned the hug. His arms wrapped tightly against you, he let his face bury between your neck and shoulder and forced tears out. When he felt your hands patting the back of his head and soothing his back, a sickly grin formed. He likes this.

He realized his love for you when you mentioned some unsatisfactory suitors that approached you even when your wedding day was near. He killed a few and faked some accidents there. Then he had that was your parents that wanted to stop the wedding since his father was dead and you didn’t appear interested in him

So he found some people with a grudge against your family and planned an accident during their vacation. He appeared as your knight in shinning armour when those some people targetted you. He catched them away, but he just had to off them for attempting to harm you. There, after everything blew off, he offered his hand in this staged marriage as a form of support to you. You needed a husband to rely on, even though you have the money, a lady such as yourself can’t last long alone

The moment you accepted, he got to work. Rooms changed to a shared bedroom, you two would appear as a couple in cafes to enjoy meals and breaks. Everything to make it seem like you two were truly a couple instead of what happened before

Alas, his time with you was very limited. With his popular radio shows and nighty activities, he couldn’t keep up with you. But in his eyes you didn’t change much, so he continued. He noticed you were happier, but when you didn’t tell him anything, he didn’t know what was happening. He assumed you had a successful deal made or the like

“Darling! Dear! I’m home!”

But all that returned his greeting was the empty silence of the mansion.

To think you found your love without telling him. He was careful to eliminate any potential lovers of yours. How did he miss this one?! He’ll admit he was busier than usual, but he had been keeping an eye on you. What went wrong?

As dramatic as it sounded, he felt like his life was sucked out of him when he saw the papers on the table. The flowers he brought, which were your favourite, and the ingredients he brought to make your favourite meal were long discarded on the floor. He left work early to celebrate your anniversary with you and you left?

He scrambled up his and your shared bedroom, your personal belongings and stuffs were all gone. He went to his study, your files, documents, and books were all gone. He went to the kitchen, your favourite kitchenwares were gone too. His knees gave out beneath him, you truly left. You left him

“I wish you a happy life with your lover, Alastor! Don’t mistreat her! And it’s not proper to stay out too late into the night, Alastor~” Those inferno words that taunted him. He could practically hear your voice teasing him from the letter. Did you think he had a lover too? How could he when he loves (is obsessed with) you?

Blasphemy!

The next day, ladies were eager to comfort him and console him. The news of his divorce and that he was a free man was all over town, no doubt something you did to ensure that he and his supposed ‘love’ can be together in public. He was in no mood to entertain them

Alastor buried himself in his work, radio broadcasting and killing. As much as he wanted to hunt you down and kill whoever stole your heart from under his nose, he can’t. The two of you were famous in your own rights and it would cause quite the scandal that both of you might not recover

So he took out his witchcraft book. Binding souls request both souls’ blood and hair, he had collected yours beforehand. A sacrifice, the body in front of him will do well, it was the some person that tried to copy you and earn his love

He’ll see you in Hell and when he does, Alastor will not let you go

Note: Another story that's not {Unwanted Soul}! I'll probably continue that one when all the votes are in. At least, the new plotline will be like that.

Since this request was a long time ago, I went and made it longer than others. Hope you like this one in the meantime!

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

#Circe's Nighty Writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #You Think It’s That Easy?

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teabutmakeitazure · 3 months

Text

Pinprick in the Backdrop

The background is something you should always pay attention to.

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

>Warnings: not specified to avoid spoilers. please proceed with caution.

>Word count: ~15k (slow burn)

>a/n: proofread to the best of my capabilities. if there's any spelling error, pls ignore

There are always some people you see everyday without fail on the train. Some you find on your way to the station and in the train, some on the train, and some when you step out of it. Most of you have never talked to each other, but you recognise them. Even if the middle aged lady who always sits near the door of car 7 changed her hair colour completely.

You can still recognise them. Seeing their face isn’t a requirement. It’s their existence that matters. It’s especially funny when you call the teenagers by name on Halloween despite the costumes they’re wearing.

Perhaps you missed a great opportunity to go into criminology or become a detective. Maybe even a spy. However, what’s done is done. You can’t say you hate your job, so you suppose it’ll do as long as you’re able to live a comfortable life and send some money back home to your parents.

Speaking of money, your boss - or should you say the man who also overlooks the finance department - has been absent from work for two weeks. It’s the main reason why your salary this month hasn’t come in yet. Why they decided to not pay you all is a mystery, but why your boss has disappeared is a bigger mystery. The money you have left in your account isn’t enough for the entire month, so they better pay you all soon.

The penitence of innocents always baffles you. There was nothing you could have done, nothing you could have changed, so why? Why does the human conscience produce these feelings of guilt? Maybe it’s because you unconsciously recall times when you were cruel or times when you had ignored to cherish the moments.

At the end of the day, it’s puzzling feelings like these that make you human. Black jacket hugged closer to your body, you head back to your desk, shaking the mouse as you try to wake up the monitor. Your boss is dead. The reason why it took so long to confirm was because he died in a different country and his cell phone was destroyed.

Another mystery is why he flew to a different country on a weekend, and that too for just four days. He didn’t even have any family there. They all live here, so imagine their surprise when they find out his ‘business trip’ was actually a personal one. You don’t question why they didn’t bother to contact his workplace when he didn’t return.

Quite a lot has happened within the span of a few days. First there was the news of your boss being pronounced dead. That was followed by the memorial they had in the office, and lastly, your salaries finally came in. You can refresh your savings now.

Still, the radical change in circumstances you cannot get over. Your boss, the half bald guy whose biggest transgression was making jokes in poor taste, dead? The information you all were given is vague. He left for a different country, somewhere in the Mimbo Republic to be specific, from Yorbia, where you are. It’s not your job to dig into people’s business, but this seems too fishy because his family also refuses to utter a word.

Thus, like all women trying to find information on a man they are interested in, you turn to the internet. Scrounging through news articles of accidents and injury and deaths, you finally find a few noteworthy ones from the day he supposedly passed away.

The darkness in your bedroom adds to the suspense, light solely coming from your backlit keyboard and the open window. It doesn’t help that it’s past two in the morning, almost three, but you’re determined as you scan through descriptions of a ‘buy and sell’ gone wrong.

Two hundred people. That is how many died at that event.

To be fair, the entire administration and security also kicked the bucket, and the attendees were around one hundred according to the article. None of this still makes sense. Was your boss among those people? If yes, why would he be at such an event?

Scratch that, his family definitely knows something.

After spending a little less than an hour snooping around, you finally shut down your laptop and go under the covers. It’s understandable when sleep doesn’t come easily.

The commute to work was the same as usual. The only difference was that one of the girls in your neighbourhood was nowhere to be seen on the train. Maybe she skipped school today. Despite the ordinary day, you are in no mood to entertain when familiar footsteps grow closer and closer to your desk.

“Hi, [Name]!”

You wish you left the building for lunchtime after all.

“You’re not going out for lunch?”

With the most uninterested face you can make, you shrug, eyes not leaving the monitor. If he gets the hint, he leaves. If he doesn’t… you’ll just excuse yourself and leave.

“So you’re not eating?” He’s behind you now, eyes fixed onto your monitor as he tries to make sense of the gibberish. “Your work requires a lot of thinking. You should eat something.”

“Not right now,” you sigh. “I have a whole hour left. I’ll eat when I feel like it.”

You know what this guy is doing. His engagement recently went wrong when he found out his ex-fiance was cheating on him, and now he’s seeking out someone to fill the hole. Quite literally in his case, but whatever. Perhaps you would have given him the time of day if he wasn’t so obvious and desperate… or if you ever bothered to remember his name.

It’s worse when you remember that you didn’t recognise him after the break-up. Chills. That’s what you felt. It’s best to keep your distance. He isn’t the same guy who gushed about the love of his life 24/7. There’s something unstable around him.

“Well, whenever you feel like it, just shoot me a text.” His hands grab the edge of your backrest, just millimetres away from touching your back. “I want to treat you to lunch.”

Closing the tab and opening another one, you voice your response. “Sorry, but I brought food from home. I’ll be eating that.”

“Oh.” he sounds disappointed. “No worries. I’ll treat you some other time then.”

Note to self. Bring lunch from home everyday from now on. If that’ll help keeping him off your back then so be it.

It has now been two weeks since your boss’ memorial was held. His replacement has already been hired, but you can’t bring yourself to bother too much. Some of your coworkers have started cozying up to him and buttering him up which is intimidating the poor man. Workplace politics is something you could never have prepared yourself for.

Another thing you couldn’t have prepared yourself for is adulthood. Why is it so hard to choose what to eat? You can’t live off of takeout because it’s not healthy, and whenever you fail to finish eating the fruits you got before they go bad makes you feel like more of a failure. Thus, with great determination, you end up buying half a dozen apples.

If you eat one daily, you’ll finish them all in under a week. More items are added to your trolley and when you finally exit the self-service checkout, you roll your shoulders, readjust your backpack, manoeuvre the plastic bags into a more comfortable position, and begin the walk home.

It’s nighttime, just one hour away from the shops closing. You know you’re safe because almost all of the people you are familiar with. There are only some here and there who you haven’t seen before, but they’re all normal. It’s evident from the way ‘it’ is stable around them. ‘It’ is light and calm.

After a fifteen minute walk, you’re at your apartment building. Unfortunately, you wasted too much time walking around after you got off work and now you’ll have to eat dinner late. Well, it’s not like your sleep schedule is fixed anyway. Another day of sleeping late shouldn’t hurt. It’s the weekend now anyway.

It is on this wonderful Saturday afternoon that you realise you don’t have friends. Clarification. You don’t have friends where you live.

After graduating, all of your friends either stayed in the same city or moved away somewhere else entirely. None of them came here, or anywhere in Yorbia for that matter. It’s realisations like these that force you to ponder over your future. What are you going to do? What’s your aim?

Before, it was to graduate and get a decent job. Now that you have that, what now?

With the lack of ice cream in your freezer, maybe you should start with procuring dessert. What about takeout as well? You could go for an evening walk, watch the sunset and get food for dinner altogether. That sounds nice.

Laptop turned on, you type in the address of a shady website and start browsing through the movie catalogue. Today, you will relax. Having hours of screen time isn’t a good idea, but it’s the weekend. Mistakes don’t count.

Maybe I should get mama and papa to move in with me after papa retires. That’s your thought when you head to the supermarket to get ice cream with takeout in hand. Getting food before ice cream wasn’t the best idea since it’ll be cold by the time you get home, but what’s done is done.

Life is lonely here. Sitting at home, alone, eating takeout and ice cream out of the tub while shows you’ve rewatched more than five times play on the TV. Maybe you should make some friends, but where?

Your workplace doesn’t have anyone, let alone any girl, your age. You also haven’t met anyone you wanted to be friends with. They’re all blended into the familiar background.

Paying with your card, you leave the self-service checkout counter and ready yourself for the walk back home. It’s more fun when you’re leaving the house for a walk, not the other way around.

Still, you take in the people around you like you do all the time. Most people you know, you recognise. You’ve been seeing them for so long. There are always a few who are a little odd as ‘it’ is a little unruly around them, like your notorious coworker. However, ‘it’ is still light and faint but most importantly familiar. That’s the most comforting thing about it. The familiarity is what’s important.

So imagine the surprise and utter shock you feel when ‘it’ is as dark as the night sky around a stranger you have never seen before.

The darkest you have ever seen is something similar to how dark yellow is compared to pure white. So seeing something as contrasting as jet black to white, you can’t help it when the bags fall from your hand and onto the ground.

You’re frozen on the spot, mouth hung open as you stare wide eyed at the stranger who stands just a few metres ahead of you. He doesn’t notice at first, too busy speaking over the phone to pay attention, but when his eyes fall onto you, they’re slow and knowing, like he’s been aware of your gaze since you saw him among the others around you.

A few deep, trembling breaths, and you grab the bags off the ground and dash by him as fast as you can without it seeming too obvious you saw something. This time you do not pause to soak in the familiarity of the surroundings. Your only goal is to get home.

Bringing lunch from home is starting to get tiring. You have to wake up earlier and pack leftovers as well as make sure you have leftovers or cook something the night before in case you don’t. All because some weirdo who’s hung up on his ex can’t take a hint. To be fair you don’t have the guts to outright say no as well.

Maybe you should work on that.

Today, you decided to take a walk on the pier near your apartment building. It’s also a fifteen minute walk away since it’s close to the supermarket. Nevertheless, you sit down on a bench and just watch the water.

It’s soothing, being idle like this. God, you really need a break.

Families and couples who you usually see around walk about the area. There’s something so special about this. This comfortable bubble you’ve created. Sure, you’re lonely with most of your social interaction being the neighbourhood kids or the teenagers on the train, but it’s all so comfortable.

It’s warm. Maybe you should ask your parents to visit. They’d like it here. The accessible sea and half middle aged or above population would be something they’d like.

The sun has gone down now, and the moon has started to become visible. So, with reluctance to let go of the passing time, you get up, backpack once again on your shoulders, and start the walk back home. Maybe you should also get an actual bag instead of using the one you did in university. You know, something that’s more feminine.

Regardless, as long as this one works, you’ll use it. No need to get a replacement if the thing isn’t destroyed yet. Wait, scratch that. Should you get more ice cream? Brownies maybe? The supermarket is right here and they have a section for freshly baked items. The brownies were amazing when you last got them.

You abruptly turn on your heel, completely determined to get what you are now suddenly craving. One step forward and you collide with something, getting pushed back a few steps from the force of whatever kind of brick it was. Barely are you able to regain your balance. Had you fallen, your laptop would not have survived.

You raise your head to look at what it was you walked into, ready to curse while there are no children around, but are completely frozen when you see him again. ‘It’ is large, so much more prominent and stronger than what you have seen in all the years you’ve lived. It’s like it’s protecting him, gently swirling around him like a protective layer.

It’s menacing, to say the least. You have no strength to utter a single word when the stranger steps closer to you, tilting his head as he inspects you for any injuries.

Or at least that’s what you think he’s doing.

You’re absolutely horrified at how ‘it’ seems to dissipate as he steps closer, the presence of it almost completely gone. It’s now as noticeable as it is for everyone, but you can still see the darkness of ‘it’. No way does it help that you can now also feel the mancing aura it has.

“Are you alright?”

Blinking at him, you come back to the present situation, the background noises coming back to invade your senses. Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, and your chest feels extremely heavy. Why is it so hard to breathe?

“Ah, it seems like the collision stunned you. It’s okay. I apologise for bumping into you.” The stranger smiles, and it causes bile to rise up your throat. You don’t like how he’s still looking at you like that. Like he’s looking for something.

“Hello? Are you alright, miss? Really, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he chuckles. You, on the other hand, fail to see what’s so humorous.

It takes a few more seconds to compose yourself, but your heart still beats loudly, spelling out the letters R-U-N in bold capital letters. However, social etiquette forces you to take a deep breath, bow, and voice your apology.

The stranger fails to get another word in before you awkwardly fast walk away with the nagging memory of the bandage covering his forehead and dark bangs messily falling over them.

Today, you walk home from the train station as fast as you can. The encounter yesterday has shook you to the core, and until you don’t see this stranger for a month straight, you will not cease the hurried travel back home.

Whoever this man is, you do not want to be within even a 10 metre radius of him. Something is definitely off about him, and in your experience the darker ‘it’ is, the worse person they are. You just don’t know what ‘it’ as dark as his means.

Nevertheless, fate likes to throw a pie on your face and laugh at you because he’s standing right outside your apartment building.

Fuck. That’s your only thought. Maybe you’ll hang around the neighbourhood or walk on the pier until he leaves. Yeah. better make yourself scarce. Unfortunately, fate throws another pie because when you turn your back and start quietly walking away, he notices you and calls out.

The bastard calls out to you.

Oh fuck me, you think. So much for not wanting to see him again. What does he even want? Does he want to know why you look at him like you’ve seen the man murder people countless times before?

“Ah, I’m sorry for disturbing your evening,” he says as he jogs up to you. How he noticed you while you were literally a building away you do not know. “I saw you leave this building in the morning, so I figured you live here. I’m sorry for intruding like this.”

‘It’ is still barely there like yesterday. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel the suffocating aura he has. Awkwardly, you sputter out a greeting. “Oh uh, h-hi.” The bandages aren’t there today, but those Godforsaken earrings are still there and his forehead is still covered by a hat. Does he have a receding hairline he doesn’t want to show?

He’s smiling at you, and you’re now noticing how wide and innocent looking his eyes are.

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Again, I’m sorry about the collision yesterday.”

You look at him for a few more seconds, heart beating erratically in your chest. “[Name]. And it’s okay. It was an accident on my part as well.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, eyes fixed on you and giving you his full attention. “Ah, that’s a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely lady.”

You have never cringed this hard in years. Still, you force yourself to awkwardly laugh just to be polite and attempt to cut the conversation short. There’s no reason you should stick around. It’s utterly pointless and risky considering how his mere presence makes you feel.

“Excuse my forwardness,” Chrollo says, “but I was wondering if there are any good restaurants here I can try. I’m staying here at a hotel nearby until I find a proper accommodation, so I was hoping you could give me some recommendations.”

You open your mouth to say something just to stop short of any sound exiting your mouth. What comes next is an apology. Be useless to him. Don’t give him any reason to seek you out again. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t lived here long enough to know.” Wait, that makes it sound like I just moved here which makes me an easy target if he’s a serial killer. “No- what I mean is that I’ve lived here for a while but I usually cook, so I’m afraid I haven’t explored the food here. I only get takeout from the restaurant behind the supermarket nearby.”

Grey eyes blink at you, the gaze attentive. The corners of his lips are still turned upwards, and his lips slowly part to allow him to speak. Everything seems more detailed. You can’t wait to shrug him off.

“If I may, I’d love to explore the food here with you.”

Fuck. Did I just get asked out? No no. Be realistic. He just needs someone to cling to in this new environment or he’s a serial killer trying to make you lower your guard. You sigh. Whichever it is, you refuse his offer regardless. “I’m sorry, Chrollo.” The fall of his smile is instant. It’s almost creepy. “I don’t plan on eating out too much. I enjoy cooking, so I’d like to stick to cooking as much as I can.” Seriously. What is it with men and taking you out to eat? “Thank you for the offer though. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to get ho-”

“I don’t mind cooking together as well.”

“...” What? There’s no way he just said that to you.

“If you prefer cooking, I have no issues with cooking together.” He’s still looking at you, expectantly this time, and you feel like the ground beneath your feet is crumbling away. Why can’t men take a hint?

“Ah, I really should get home soon. Isasmo must be waiting for me. I promised him I’d be home early.”

“Isasmo?”

“Mhm.” You’re shaking your head now. The presence of a man awaiting your return or curious about your whereabouts always works. “He gets very worried if I don’t get home on time. I don’t want him to worry, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Chrollo chuckles. Closing his eyes, he gently shakes his head. The loss of his gaze is short lived, but when it’s back, it cuts through your being. “Sorry for keeping you. I didn’t know you had someone waiting for you at home.”

Like earlier, your heart starts beating in your ears. How he’s keeping you on edge you have no idea. It’s maddening. “Alright. I’ll be heading home now.”

He smiles. “No ‘see you later’?”

Because I don’t want to see you later! “Goodbye!” With that, you dash past him and quickly enter the comfort of your apartment building without looking back. Honestly, you should start coming home at different times. Just to throw him off in case he swings by again.

Today, you discovered that your other coworkers are ‘talking’. Due to your sad lack of friends, you have no way of getting in on what’s going on, so you’ve resorted to hanging around corners whenever you hear someone talking or walking around with headphones on so that people think you can’t hear them.

Oh you can definitely hear them.

After a few days of gathering information you have learnt that the coworker who has still not given up on his pursuit of taking you out for lunch is acting a bit weird. Honestly, you called it way back. The day his engagement broke, he started acting differently.

You know because you can see with your own eyes at a glance instead of having to rely on long term observation. It also doesn’t help that ‘it’ has become slightly darker. It’s no way as dark as Chrollo’s, but it is noticeable enough to be discernible.

Speaking of Chrollo, why is he at the pier? No, scratch that. Why is he looking at you?

Quickly, as to not make it seem suspicious, you grab your phone from your pocket, press it to your ear, and start acting like you just accepted a call. With that legendary tactic that got you out of countless social interactions in university, you turn on your heel and start walking in the opposite direction.

When confirmed that he isn’t following after you and is nowhere to be seen, you pocket the device and continue on your merry way. The wind is chilly, the moon is hiding bashfully behind a cloud, and a tub of ice cream has been picked up.

Goods in hand, you arrive at your apartment. It doesn’t surprise you that midnight comes quickly. It is only after the clock shows 12: 30 am that you release the unhealthy snack for the night from the freezer and sit in the extremely poorly lit bedroom and stare at your laptop screen.

This time, however, you aren’t gaming, only browsing through more than eleven opened tabs (you lost count after eleven) and growing more puzzled by the minute. The incident that may have led to your boss’ death is gaining attention, especially on the conspiracy theory websites. Some say that the entire thing was a result of the mafia’s activities, while some claim that a notorious band of thieves did that to steal everything.

You have no evidence or trails that your boss died while participating in that ‘buy and sell’, whatever that means, but it sure does make you suspicious because you recently found out one thing. His body wasn’t recovered.

The more you think about it the worse it gets. Despite not wanting to, you’ve doom scrolled for so long that you’ve ended up on a five year old conspiracy theory post claiming that a group called ‘The Phantom Troupe’ goes around the world stealing stuff. The comments are mostly people confirming it, some even claiming to be hunters and saying that it’s true and common knowledge among hunters.

If they’re that dangerous and destructive, why doesn’t the Hunter’s Association take action? It’s all just a bluff or an exaggeration.

Lights all off, you get up to place your laptop onto your desk, but catch sight of something moving in the corner of your eye. It was barely there, something black or dark, but knowing that you left your living room window open, you simply sigh.

It’s completely quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you can hear your own breathing. Setting aside the fact that the awareness forces you to have to manually breathe, you slam the window shut but rest your forehead against the cool glass. Eyes stare down at the empty neighbourhood, and you start wondering how you got here.

It sometimes feels like a dream. Highschool feels like just a few weeks ago, and yet here you are. It’s surreal.

Five minutes of reminiscence are all you allow yourself, hands promptly grabbing the deep green curtains and drawing them just to freeze when you catch sight of something shining right behind you for just one moment. Turning your head around at an unholy speed only gives you neck pain because there’s nothing there.

Curse you conspiracy theorists. You will be extremely mad if you have a nightmare or lose sleep.

Your coworker didn't show up today. It almost makes you feel sad because you can get lunch from outside without having to deal with him. Ah, but the food you brought…

Nevermind. You'll eat it at home. Shoving the lunchbox back into your bag, you grab your wallet and head to the elevator. Headphones are on like usual in hopes of catching any stray gossip from around you.

Oh and do you catch a big one. Your coworker isn't replying to any texts or calls. He's ignoring everyone. The guy from accounting said in the elevator that he might be hungover since he has a drinking habit. Honestly, you should try and advance your relationships with these people from simple greetings. They’re better information sources than the news.

Nevertheless, you breathe a sigh of relief, merrily heading outside the building to head to the little hole in the wall restaurant you've been eyeing for a while.

The streets are busy as usual, almost everyone's lunch hours overlapping at this particular moment, so it isn't a surprise that you bump into a few people while trying to make your way. Although… it is a surprise when you bump straight into Chrollo.

Headphones are promptly pulled down to hang around your neck, and you brace yourself to visually deal with the pressing feeling that’s constricting your chest. ‘It’ is there but the comfort of the crowd allows you to deal with it with less effort.

You still don’t know why he’s like that. You don’t know why ‘it’ is like that around him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, “we should really stop bumping into each other.”

It’s the middle of the day and he’s dressed like he’s going to a funeral. Long black coat, black hat extending over his forehead, black button down, black dress pants, black-

What the actual hell are those shoes? Is that big yellow thing a nail that was screwed in? What the fu-

“Is something the matter?” Head tilted to meet your downward gaze, Chrollo’s expectantly looking into your eyes. There’s a moment of silence between you both, but you fill it with action as you move to the side to not take up space on the street.

With a very noticeable deep breath, you sigh. “Nothing’s wrong.” Something is wrong. His thing around him is creeping you out and making you uncomfortable. “I’m just a little tired.” Make yourself seem uninterested. You don’t particularly like this guy, remember?

He nods. “I see.” A pause and the dreaded question is voiced. “Do you work somewhere around here?”

“Yes,” you reply simply.

“Is it your lunch break?”

“Yes…” you hesitate.

“Perfect.” Like how your luck with the male human specimen has always been, Chrollo proceeds to utter the most undesirable string of words. “If you haven’t eaten, I would love for you to join me for lunch. I found a restaurant and was heading there just now.”

Despite knowing it’s hard to get out of this, you still try. “Ah, actually, I only came for a walk. I brought food with myself.”

“It won’t go bad,” he negotiates. “Please. Just this once at least. I promise you’ll have fun.”

Chrollo’s voice is light, cheerful when he says that. You are tempted, but still want to go where you were originally heading. Maybe you could sneak to the restaurant you wanted after shaking him off somehow. But before that, just to confirm what he has in mind, you ask him where.

And being the joke that your luck is, it decides to practise its humour right now because he took the name of the restaurant you were heading to. It also doesn’t help that your eyes widened and Chrollo commented on it, saying that he ‘caught you’. Screw luck. Screw having your way. Life is just a horrible comedy show with dad jokes and shitty puns coming one after another.

A while later, you are seated across from a man who has broken the record of most uncomfortable you have ever been. This time, however, ‘it’ isn’t what’s making you uncomfortable. It’s the way he looks at you like he knows something or is trying to know something.

You hate to admit it but after spending more than five minutes in his presence, you’ve gotten used to the suffocating feeling.

Even if you would rather not be desensitised to it.

It’s quiet between you both, Chrollo choosing to observe you shamelessly while you try your utmost best to avoid looking at him or showing that you’ve noticed his blatant gaze. It’s not busy in here, so that doesn’t help either. Phone in your hand, you scroll through social media apps, tapping away countless stories of people out and about.

The silence got comfortable, but he opened his mouth.

“I forgot to ask,” he says, voice low, “what do you work as?”

Your eyes briefly flit up to meet his but return to the screen immediately. “Data analyst.”

“Data analyst? You must be quite intelligent,” he chuckles.

“If crying through eight semesters of school is smart, then I suppose so.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks. “You got through it though. I count that as smart.”

Is he trying to flatter me? “Is that so?” You close the app and open a different one, indifference dripping from your tone. “What about you then? You didn’t say anything about yourself. For all I know, you could be a serial killer.” Fuck. Did I really just say that?

To your surprise, he laughs. The bastard laughs. “I’m afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you. I’m not a serial killer. I am, however, a fan of the arts.”

You remove your eyes from your phone screen, looking up at him even with your head tilted downwards. “You don’t look the part.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Those in STEM are all weirdos,” you state. Eyes move back to your phone, and you’re briefly reminded of the awkward lunches and dinners you went through during freshman year when you didn’t have friends. “The arts ones are pretentious. You look sophisticated, more like a theatre kid.”

Forearms now resting on the table, Chrollo leans towards you, an action you do not notice. “I’m quite sure that sophisticated and pretentious are synonyms, and even if they aren’t, they’re similar enough to be.”

You sigh. “‘A pretentious person works at the appearance of things. They want the appearance of substance, while either not understanding or not caring about actual substance. Sophistication, on the other hand, implies an authentic accumulation of knowledge and/or experience, and the ability to apply those things in advanced ways.’”

“...”

“That’s what an internet search says.” You look up, eyes slowly rising to meet his, but are startled when you see him considerably closer than earlier. He’s leaning forward, and out of instinct, you lean backwards. “So,” you continue, albeit nervously, “you’re wrong.”

Unfazed, he chuckles. “That means you think I have ‘authentically accumulated knowledge’. Why, I’m flattered.”

Again, you physically cringe with a crinkled nose at his smile and tone. “I’m only stating my observation. There are no intentions behind it.”

“Still,” Chrollo smiles, “you did think positively of me-”

“Food’s here!” He stops speaking immediately at your interruption, only shaking his head a little when you start eating. There’s not much time left for your break, so you’d rather get done with it and get back as fast as you can.

Not having the luxury of savouring the food to your desire is sad, but you don’t think about it. ‘Next time for sure,’ you tell yourself. The fact that Chrollo didn’t let you pay for your portion just makes you want to get takeout next time. At least you won’t stare at him in horror again.

Even if slowly being desensitised to ‘it’ isn’t a preferable outcome.

Good news is that you haven’t seen Chrollo for a little more than a week. Bad news is that you haven’t seen your coworker for a little more than a week.

If you had a jenny for whenever a superior at work disappeared for more than one week, you’d have two jennys. That isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. There’s got to be some kind of haunting going on. First your boss, then him? Another coworker? Another superior?

Sure, it’s been more peaceful without him here, but you don’t want another person to end up missing just to be pronounced dead. Neither is it good for the company’s reputation, nor is it good for the work environment. There’s already been word spreading around that they’ve started looking for his replacement.

Maybe that’s smart. Maybe… because not even the police have found any leads on his whereabouts yet. His entire apartment is just as it was, dirty laundry in the laundry basket, his phone and wallet still on his nightstand, bed not made, food left to cool still on the kitchen counter…

It’s a little eerie if you think about it.

Scratch that, it’s downright creepy. Where could he have gone? They even found half drunk bottles of different alcoholic drinks on his dining table. Did he get drunk and run off somewhere? Where could he have gone? Did he… get killed?

You have no idea of what’s going on. That is why you, being the detective that you are, have your laptop open in front of you at 1 a.m. as you scrounge the internet for any missing persons cases from this town. So far nothing noteworthy is coming up, the most being missing girls but nothing about a grown man disappearing to never be heard back from or seen again.

An hour or two of more searching bears no fruit and an additional hour of trying to sleep is rewardless. With great annoyance, you get up and throw on the biggest coat you own, something dark grey that almost reaches your ankles. Grabbing your keys and phone, you make the most foolish decision to take a walk at what you think is probably four in the morning.

The pier is silent. The only person you saw was a police officer on his bike drinking a hot cup of coffee.

It’s empty too, and cold. Is the nighttime really so serene? Hands are shoved into your pockets and your feet bring you to your destination on their own. It feels like walking on cotton, yet it doesn’t feel bad. It somehow feels soothing.

The empty pier’s cool wind blows through your hair. Enjoying this kind of loneliness is somewhat of a liberating experience. Did your missing coworker seek out something like this before he went missing? Did he want to feel the kiss of the cool late night wind on his cheeks? You lean over to look at the waves below, hair cascading around your face. You are met with the reflection of the starry night sky, and it isn’t long before you pull back.

Fifteen minutes of waddling around are all you allow yourself before pulling yourself back home. The keychains jingle when you turn the key in the keyhole, breathing a sigh of relief when you are finally back inside. Your feet immediately take you to your bedroom, hands grabbing the coat and throwing it to the nearest surface, and you immediately jump under the covers.

Face meeting something pink and smiling, you sigh again. “Goodnight Isasmo.” The pink axolotl’s smile remains and you cuddle the plushie before snuggling into the bed’s warmth. You hope sleep comes easy.

Three weeks. It has now been three weeks since your coworker has been missing. He has now been promoted to ‘missing person’ and his face, along with his cinnamon(?) hair, is now on every other newspaper or screen. It has also been three weeks since you last saw Chrollo, but you aren’t bothered by that. It’s actually a good sign. Never seeing him again is a favourable outcome.

Regardless, your coworker’s name is now permanently etched into your memory. Raaz Olen. That's his name. He has no direct family left, parents having passed away around a decade ago, and the only sibling alive is an older sister who wants nothing to do with him. It's a sad background if you think about it.

You sigh, turning off the computer screen before rubbing your eyes. Life has been uneventful these days. The most exciting thing you recently did was video chat with your old friends. Your best friend, the one who is about to replace your position in her life, suggested downloading a dating app because according to her you need some ‘action’. Were the eight semesters of action not enough? What’s so wrong with peace?

Yet in a moment of weakness, you caved into the idea and committed the act. A cropped group photo to show your arm awkwardly cropped out was uploaded and now there have been quite a few messages and matches. This unfortunate experience has only further proved why you say you have bad luck with the male human specimen. Their first move is to ask about your past relationships, and being salty over their shamelessness, you recount in detail just how agonising it was to be in love with what only hurt you back, to pine after what only reduced you to tears.

You deliberately left out the part that the object of your desire was your degree. At the very least, their uninterested replies were entertaining. Ah, such laughable insecurity. The app will go when you’ve had your fun. Until then, you suppose you’ll use it as a last ditch resort for entertainment.

If you do end up scoring a free dinner… well, no. You would rather not risk a date with a serial killer or worse, someone who wants a second date. The chances are slim, but never zero.

Another notification from the app dings, and you briefly check your phone to see a notification from someone who matched with you. There’s a “Hey! You’re very pretty,” as his message, and you almost scoff at the repetition. The amount of times you have been called ‘pretty’ by strangers on this app is laughable. Did they fall short of words? Maybe that’s just the standard compliment in the world of men.

You end up placing your phone face down, ignoring any following dings, and get back to work. There is only one hour left until you get to go home, and you would prefer not to leave this task for tomorrow to complete.

An old lady you see everyday on the train on your way back passed away. Despite having only exchanged greetings with her a few times and carried her bags for her at least a dozen times, you felt oddly sad when you heard of her death. Yes, you only knew her name and that her kids, her three sons, never called after moving away, but you felt like something had been taken when you heard.

Not something big but something small. Something you would not be bothered with by being gone but something you would definitely notice and feel the absence of. You took a day off to attend her funeral since it was hosted by the old age home she was living in, yet you ended up taking a day off after that as well.

Three boys, three men, lost a mother that day and none bothered to show up.

“Okay mama. I’ll pick you guys up from the airport. No, I don’t own a car. We’ll get a cab- it’s perfectly safe here! You’re not going to get mugged on the way from the airport, relax!”

More fretting comes from the other side, and you simply continue stirring the soup. The worries aren’t what annoys you. It’s the panic.

After around ten more minutes of reassurance, the call is disconnected and your soup is ready. It’s been a month since Raaz went missing, yet you cannot say you have moved on. It bothers you that a man like him can just vanish. Also, seeing his replacement walk around the office simply makes it worse. You prefer a person who would make you uncomfortable with interactions because of how ‘it’ seems to be rather than a person whose eyes wander where they aren’t supposed to.

Alas, on this fine Friday evening, soup has been cooked and a plan for your parents to visit you at the end of the year has been made. Your father agreed to use his annual leave to come visit you, and the only thing left is for the tickets to be purchased. If they like it here, you could convince them to move here! Maybe even look into your father working at the same place as you.

All is going according to plan! Now what to do about the guy who keeps pestering you to meet up…

You switch apps on your phone to see that he’s sent another few messages, mainly asking if you’re free this weekend. If you consider the sleep you need to catch up on and the show you want to binge, then you have no free time. Besides that, you really don’t feel like going out on a date. Should you just uninstall the app? Messing with the people you matched with has gotten tiresome. Perhaps you should.

Thus, with a few taps to your screen, your account on the application is deleted and the application itself is uninstalled. Honestly, you consider that a job well done. That calls for a reward; the reward being a coupon that can be redeemed anytime which grants you permission to do one stupid thing.

You know you would do the stupid thing regardless, but having a sort of system like that makes you feel less guilty when facing the consequences.

Being pulled into an alleyway with a hand firmly planted onto your mouth is not what you ever could have expected to happen to you on this Monday afternoon. Maybe your condemnation for toying with all those men on the dating app has caught up or maybe it’s one of those men here to force you to accept his advances.

Either way, you did not expect to start crying first thing when in a situation like this.

A hand strokes your arm, attempting to soothe you, as the other remains over your mouth. You can feel your assailant’s body heat and his breath over your ear when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Be quiet and it’ll be painless for both of us,” he says.

You furiously nod, sensing the threat, and he immediately lets go. Legs promptly spring to run, but the hand grabbing your arm renders your efforts futile. It is when your struggling ends in you falling onto the ground and him twisting your arm behind your back painfully that you relax, repeatedly tapping the dirty ground with your palm to show that you give up.

There are no faces that come to mind when you think of who you could've angered to this point, so the surprise that floods your blood vessels when you see Raaz’s face under the black hoodie makes you almost dizzy. His hair is dirty and unkempt, facial hair clearly not maintained as he was always clean shaved, and there’s a wildness to his eyes. You try your best to not pay attention to how ‘it’ is darker than before. You liken the difference to how dark brown is compared to beige, but you realise that ‘it’ is more menacing than it ever was.

Raaz is clearly unstable, yet you yourself can’t stop shaking from the lingering adrenaline.

“Stay quiet and listen to me,” he orders. “I need a place to hide. [Name], you have to help me. You will help me.”

Hide? What does he need to hide from? You dust off your clothes as you stand, a groan leaving your throat when the soreness in your arm makes itself known. He immediately grabs it again, afraid you’d run, but let’s go when you angrily shrug it off. “What happened to you?” you ask. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“I will be if you don’t help me.”

Taken aback, you try to think over the situation. Raaz, someone who you always thought was or had the potential to be unstable, is here, clearly frazzled and on the run from something or someone, and wants you to help him hide. What does he want? To stay at your apartment? Risk your life for him?

“I-if it’s that bad,” you start, voice already shaking, “I can’t help you.” The betrayal on his face makes ‘it’ stronger, and you freeze, barely able to get your words out. “If you’re not able to hide in such a big city, I-I don’t- I don’t think you’ll be safe anywhere I can keep you.”

Raaz grits his teeth, his hoodie now pulled down to reveal dirty cinnamon hair, and takes a step forward. Out of fear, and to maintain distance, you take one back but panic when you’re unable to lift your feet. One glance down and you see something shiny protruding from the ground wrapped around your ankles. It broke pavement to crawl around your feet and now they’re stuck to the ground.

You gasp when two arms settle on your shoulders firmly. With a shaky breath, you gather the courage to look up into Raaz’s crazed eyes, all colour draining from your face when his hands grab your face instead. Nails dig into your cheeks, harshly tugging it closer to his. When you retaliate by clawing at his wrists, he simply grabs your hair instead.

Tugging the strands, your head is pulled back, neck exposed. You can see him breathing heavily, ‘it’ growing more erratic and frightening. Like all rabbits stuck in a trap, you thrash, attempting to free yourself from his grip, to miraculously free your feet and be able to run into the safety of the public street.

“You-” he pauses, eyes widening. Your hair is immediately let go of, and he whips his head at record speed, looking over his shoulder. The panic is oozing from his countenance, hands shaking and lips trembling. You think you’re looking at a man running away from death just to be caught up with at every corner and turn.

Curses spill from his mouth, and he turns completely. You feel the grip on your feet loosening, and taking the opportunity, you pry your feet out of the grip. Raaz has still turned his back to you, head moving as he searches for something. When he does not react to your escape from your restraints, you run.

A hand barely grabs your hair again, but you are out of the alleyway before his pursuit is successful. Feet hastily take you back to the office building, and the first thing you do is run to the nearest bathroom. No one is inside, and you take the opportunity to catch your breath, letting all tears escape from your eyes before you wash your face and fix your appearance. The adrenaline is still in your system, and you’re left not knowing what to do.

How the hell is Raaz still alive? And what is he running from? Why does he have a target on his back?

You do not know him beyond a coworker who was not over his relationship ending. Who knows? Maybe his ex-fiance did what she did because she found something out and didn’t want to risk staying with him.

Either way, you can’t get the look he had on his face out of your mind.

Embarrassment is all you can feel when you exit the police station with a ‘call emergency services if you see him again’. Why don’t they understand that you might not be alive to call emergency services if you see him again? Bitterness is in your mouth as you hop on the train to get home. It’s dark now, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t scared.

You honestly don’t know what you did wrong to have gotten caught up in all that. Regardless, you’re looking over your shoulder as you walk home from the station, adrenaline coursing through you as you make your way through. It’s when you’re home and have checked all the rooms and windows that you breathe a sigh of relief.

Whatever the hell happened, happened. You’ll keep emergency services on speed dial and try your best to dial them if anything happens again.

If only sleep comes easy after all this.

It’s been a week since your encounter with Raaz. Today is Tuesday, the previous week’s Monday being the fateful day. You’ve since been bringing lunch from home like before and find it a little funny how Raaz is the one who’s making you bring leftovers again.

Anyway, to the matter at hand. Someone’s been inside your apartment.

You can tell because you left a pencil lead in the gap between the door and door frame of your closed bedroom door. It was still closed when you got home, but the pencil lead was broken and on the floor which is something that could not have happened unless someone opened the door with the lead still in the gap.

You had been doing that ever since the incident with Raaz and today is the day your paranoia proved to have grounds. Now what are you supposed to do? Live with the information that someone has been inside your home?

Isasmo stares at you from under the covers, his dopy black eyes peeking out. You’ve checked the rest of your apartment and other than Isasmo and you, there is no one. Or at least no one you are aware of. Maybe you should look into moving.

Should you inform the police? Maybe you should, but what would you say? “I was paranoid so I put pencil lead in the gap between my door like a psychopath and guess what? It was broken when I got home! I’m being stalked!” They might laugh at you or place you under observation, the latter of which is preferable.

You end up sucking up the courage and going to file a report, a picture of the broken pencil lead on the ground being your only piece of evidence. It’s an uneventful walk, one where you are completely alert and looking over your shoulder as you get to the nearest station. After being ridiculed for being ‘delusional’ and ‘overthinking’, they agree to file a report and ‘look into it’ when threatened to find your dead body in your apartment one day. Seriously, what does a girl have to do to be believed? Die?

You shake your head on the way home as you think over your conversation at the police station. The older officers ridiculed you but thankfully a younger one got them to at least file a report. Though you’ve been told you’ll be contacted if their investigation yields results, you doubt there will be one to begin with. Well, at least the pencil lead was intact when you got home. That is a relief.

It’s been a little more than a week since you filed a report at the police station and none of your pencil leads have been broken again. You would have thought the first one to break might’ve been done by something else had you not noticed that you’re almost out of pencil lead. You had counted 7 in the package just this morning and now there are 4…

Who’s messing with you? Do they think it’s funny? What if you’re paranoid? Are you sure you counted properly?

A sigh leaves your lips as you drop backwards onto the bed. Is this really what you have been reduced to? Curse whoever is doing this. The police have not contacted you again, so you went there yourself today and they said they didn’t find anything. As if they actually searched.

It makes you mad, yet you can’t do anything. Since there hasn’t been anything besides the pencil leads in the closed doors’ gaps, you chalk it up to suspicion. Whether you are delusional or the authorities, only time can tell.

Work has been slow lately, and you are reminded every single day of how boring your life has become. There has been no new gossip circulating and your attempts at making any new friends have not bore fruit. Your old friends have also started contacting you less as they’re busy in their own lives. Sure, you hardly have time yourself with how your job takes up two thirds of your day but you also don’t have a social life. That’s why you basically have nothing to do besides work and binge watch stuff.

Goodness, are you turning into your father? The temptation to download the dating app again whispers into your ear sometimes, but you fight it. You will only do so when you are seriously looking for someone, not when you are looking for fun.

Bag on your shoulders, you pocket your phone and head to the elevator. Despite the fact that there isn’t much work, it’s dark when you’re done. Maybe you’ve gotten slow, not work.

The elevator doors open and you promptly leave, heading straight for the train station. It's an uneventful journey, and you choose to fill the silence by plugging in your earbuds. You step out of the train station, adjust your bag again, and head for the supermarket. The grocery list on your phone is pulled out, music flowing into your ears as you go about getting groceries.

Now with two plastic bags in hand, you make your way home. If you had restocked milk earlier - and not gotten lazy - you wouldn't have to haul two heavy plastic bags back home. Delivery is an option, but you won't be at home during the day to receive them. If only they offered delivery during the weekend.

Your phone rings, but you don't check who's calling. It's probably your mother, and it would be inconvenient to stop and drop the bags to pull your phone out. With a sigh, you continue walking. However, your trek is cut short when a hand grabs your wrist in a crushing grip, and pulls you closer. The music is still blasting in your ears, and you start sucking in a breath to scream only to stop when the grip turns almost bone breaking.

One look and you see Raaz's face under the black hood. He narrows his eyes at you and pulls you with him, bags still in hand and earbuds still in. When at his desired destination - a random alley like last time - you are pushed in front of him and you almost fall face first. You brace yourself and end up staggering but the bags fall and slide in opposite directions.

“Bad news, [Name].”

You barely hear him, hands reaching to pull out the earbuds and pocket them. Turning on your heel, you face him. He doesn't look any better than last time, only worse. ‘It’ is quieter, but you can sense how erratic it is. It feels like he's hiding how unstable he is only to do a poor job.

“You're going to go down with me,” he smiles. “Since you refused to help me hide, you now have a target on your back too.”

Disbelief contorts your expression into one of disgust. He's bluffing. He has to be. “Stop lying, Raaz. I'm not stupid and I'm not going to help you.”

He laughs, loud and sad. “That's what your mistake was. You never said yes to lunch and then I… then I ended up drinking again because another woman I love didn't want me.” A hand runs through his dirty hair before it slides down his hood. “I drank so much I bumped into the devil I was running from. And then… ah, fuck. I ended up telling him who I was thinking it was just another guy at the bar.”

Raaz looks you in the eye, and you take a step back from the sheer intensity only to find your feet restrained to your ground like during the previous encounter. It baffles you, but before you could question it or let alone panic, he's talking again.

“Now you're going to go down with me unless you help me. I'll let you go. I-I’ll get over you and Liza if you help me. You won't be harmed… probably.” He shrugs at the last part, and you find yourself not believing him at all.

Still, you prod further in hopes of making a false promise and being able to get away. There's no need to reason with him to go to the authorities. If it could've been helped, he would've gone there himself. “And just what,” you ask, “are you asking of me?”

“Money,” he replies instantly. “I burned all my savings trying to run. I need money so I can get a ticket and get the hell out of here.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about. How do you expect me to trust you?”

Your question makes ‘it’ flare up for a second before calming down, and Raaz doesn't miss the way your eyes widened for a minute. “I suspect you can see things. I'm right, aren't I?”

“Answer the questi-”

“Your legs,” he deadpans. A finger raises to point at your feet, and he continues. “I restrained them. Do you know how?”

You gulp, but humour him anyway. “How?”

He smiles. “I can manipulate metal.” A beat of silence passes before he talks. “That's why I'm like this. Someone wants me dead for this and I know he can do better but he's too busy fucking with me to make it quick.” Raaz inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “I don't even know what he wants by dragging it out, but I'm going to make sure he regrets it.”

“You aren't even sure I'll be okay if I help you,” you state.

However, he just smiles at your complaint. “When someone's too busy chasing the big fish, they ignore the little ones.”

“Fine,” you concede. If it’ll get this psycho off your back, you'll give him money. “How much do you need?”

“Half a million jenny,” he says, clarifying when your jaw hangs open, “and I'm being generous. I'm going to have to fly illegally and it's going to take money.”

“I… I don't have much.”

“You're a data analyst, [Name]. You'll get your bonus after two months. Do something, anything.”

You suck in a breath. Maybe you could take some out of your credit card and some as a loan. You really don't want to pay interest, but you'll have to if you want this problem solved. “Okay.” The deal is sealed and you are sent on your merry way with an address typed into your notes app.

You can't believe you just agreed to that.

It's dark and quiet. The taxi dropped you off a few blocks away, leaving you to walk to the warehouses that once used to be rented by people for storage. The people running the business sold it off to someone who never bothered to continue it. Now you're here, cold and scared as you stand outside the dilapidated structure.

The garage door opens on its own, Raaz's face peeking from the darkness inside. His eyes light up at the sight of you. “You're here.”

You're ushered inside despite your protests. All you wanted to do was throw the bag of money to his feet and be back on your merry way but you just had to be pulled inside by a freaking metal pole of all things. Now you're here, standing with your feet restrained to the ground as Raaz counts to make sure you brought as much as he asked.

The only problem is, he's now talking on the phone and he just mentioned how he's got ‘both the girl and the cash’. Oh, and now there's something that's restraining your hands and despite how much you wiggle and pry your hands apart, it doesn't budge.

When Raaz glances your way from staring at all the money inside the bag, he just smiles. “I'm sorry for dragging you into this, [Name], but a man's gotta do what he's gotta do.”

Anger is the first thing that makes itself known because you took out a loan with interest for this dunce and he goes ahead to stab you in the back. Maybe you should've told the police about him. Shit. You shouldn't have been so stupid. But it is also the police's fault for never taking you seriously. If they had, you would've actually sought them out a third time.

“What are you doing?” Your voice grows louder, angrier and more desperate. “Let me go! You said you wanted money and you got it so let me go!”

Raaz clicks his tongue, and what he says next makes things clearer. “Don't get me wrong, someone has been after me but if I do as the boss says, he'll get me out of Yorbia safely.” Something fades in his eyes as he continues. “It's not like it's my first time. If I didn't have this side gig, I wouldn't be alive right now. There are too many people after you when you're like this.”

Something hard and solid slithers up your body and covers your mouth, cutting short any words from your mouth. Raaz stands, the light behind him hitting his back to make him look more menacing. “You'll be taken soon. I asked them not to hurt you and sell you immediately. Though cruel, it's a small price to pay for my own protection.”

You can hear an engine rumble outside, and a buzz in his pocket is all he needs to start stepping towards the garage door behind you. He moves while looking at you, hand awkwardly reaching behind him to pull up the garage door as his eyes remain fixed on your body. “Tie her up quickly. It'll wear off if I look away so make it-”

Thump.

Something heavy drops onto the ground and immediately the metal grip on you loosens a little. You can hear footsteps and a kick before the sound of the door closing. It's agonising, being forced to be still and helpless while something happens behind your back that is definitely not in your favour.

More footsteps and a figure in black stalks towards the bag of money only to ignore it entirely and head for the door in the back. You take the opportunity to fight against the restraints, wiggling and trying to move your arms but it's metal and you only end up exhausting yourself. You hear a sigh from the other room and freeze.

When the person is back, you are more confused and helpless when you see Chrollo's face. This time, there is nothing covering his forehead and you see something black covered by his bangs. It's when he steps closer that you make it out to be a tattoo of some kind.

“Your involvement was a surprise, but a welcome one,” he says. ‘It’ is calm and his voice is even calmer. He steps even closer, now standing just two steps away. “I had thought you were working with him, so imagine my surprise when it turns out he was using you. Or trying to, at least.”

You make a face but the metal wrapped around your mouth stops you from being able to convey it properly. Chrollo smiles at the display, the corners of his lips curling upwards out of amusement. “Do you need help?” His question only makes you grimace. “I'll free you if you tell me about your ability.”

You have no idea what the hell he's talking about, but you nod anyway, desperate to have the rigid metal wrapped around you gone. Chrollo steps forward and you expect him to reveal a chainsaw or some other tool, so it's perfectly reasonable when you shriek as his hand grabs the metal and literally rips it away from your body. As he pries away the last of it, you end up gaping at him, mouth wide open as you stare at him in disbelief.

Hands hanging by your sides, your features contort into one of fear as soon as he stands. Chrollo is now looking you in the eye expectantly and you have no idea what to answer him. Thus, you take a deep breath, confidence coming from the fact that ‘it’ is still calm and not threatening at all. Your lips part to speak and you briefly catch a hint of satisfaction is his grey eyes. “Do you… come here often?”

Chrollo blinks, once then twice. He raises a brow. “Pardon me?”

“You know… do you hang out here frequently?”

Confusion grows on his face, but he quickly recovers. “No. I don't.” A few moments of silence pass and he speaks up with a sigh. “You're completely clueless about the circumstances, aren't you?”

Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and you look down at your shoes as you nod. Nervousness makes you bite your lip. You were about to be who-knows-what by Raaz before Chrollo strolled in casually. Speaking of, where's Raaz? You turn around, eyes falling onto Raaz lying on the floor and a hat discarded next to him. A realisation hits you, a hand on your shoulder disturbing your thoughts.

“What do you make of this situation, [Name]? What do you think is going on?”

You carefully eye him. Not sensing a threat, you voice your thoughts. “Raaz… was involved in illegal activities. It's why he disappeared. He was running from someone too and the people he worked for promised that he'd be safe as long as he did what they asked.”

Chrollo hums. “And what did they ask of him?”

“A woman to sell off…?”

“You sound unsure,” he smiles. The hand on your shoulder slips down to your wrist, thumb massaging the skin. “He was involved in human trafficking,” Chrollo reveals. “His fiancé didn't cheat on him. She was trafficked.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, more pieces of the puzzle coming out of nowhere. Nevertheless, the most surprising thing is how Chrollo is here. The hand circled around your wrist is wiggled out of, and the question on your mind is voiced. “How are you here?”

Chrollo tilts his head at you. “I could ask you the same.” When you raise a brow at him, he chuckles. “I'm here for your coworker over there. He told you about someone who was after him. That would be me. However, I'm not after his life.”

You raise your brow higher, prompting Chrollo to continue. “You’re a Nen user, right?” When you ask him what he's talking about, he grows more confused. “You're a Nen user without the awareness of being one? Interesting.”

A hand finds its way to his chin, but Chrollo is lost in thought for only a few moments. “What do you suppose I should do with your coworker? He used to ask you out, correct?”

“Yes? Does that matter?”

“Perhaps,” he smiles.

You gulp, sensing a kind of game he's playing with you. “Don't hurt him. Hand him over to the police. They'll… they'll know what to do with him.” Your request is heard, but Chrollo does not seem to care for it because he clicks his tongue and pushes his hands into the pockets of his black trenchcoat.

Crouching down in front of Raaz, he grabs his hand and you look away. A moment later, you look again and Raaz's palm is flat against the cover of a book in Chrollo's hand. Where the hell that book came from, you have no idea.

“Now that that's done,” he says, now moving to stand, “what to do with you…”

Your blood runs cold at the question. If this situation is anything to go by, Chrollo is not any better than Raaz. In fact, he may be infinitely worse. Regardless, you still do not feel any kind of threat from him, ‘it’ being considerably less suffocating than it was the last time you had met him. Perhaps it is the lingering adrenaline that makes it seem so, but you are not afraid of him at the moment. Thus, being the person that you are, you try at making him spare you.

“Maybe,” you start, “you could, you know, let me go home. I'm not going to say or do anything. I couldn't be bothered about this. I'll take the jenny I was scammed out of and go home. Or you could keep the money if you want! As long as I get to go back home.”

Your negotiation attempt makes Chrollo think. He spends a few moments pondering over the situation, eyes still focused on you. When he parts his lips to speak, you have already prepared yourself to not be let go. “I'll let you go if you agree to meet me tomorrow evening. I suppose I can think over what to do with you in the meantime,” Chrollo says.

The offer makes you take a step back. “Really? You won't scam me like Raaz did?”

“I can make a promise if it eases your mind.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He's smiling at you teasingly and you in no way are feeling any sense of danger from him. Begrudgingly, you agree. “Fine. Where should I meet you?”

“Give me your number. I'll send you the location.”

You make a face at the request, but surrender when he pesters you with promises of no ill will. An hour later, you are at your apartment, the bag of jenny still with you as you start planning to immediately pay off the loan you took out.

It is 7 pm. You stand somewhere to the side where Chrollo had asked you to come, the man in question nowhere to be seen. He asked you to come around 7 pm and you ended up getting here at 6:36 pm. It’s been 24 minutes since you’ve been standing here in wait.

Though you’ve been waiting alone with your thoughts for so long, the dread starts settling in now. It does not help that you can feel a familiar suffocating aura before you turn to look at its source casually strolling up to you on the busy street. It also does not help that your alarm had been explicitly painted on your face as soon as he was within a 6 feet radius.

“I was expecting you to not come,” he says. “This is certainly a surprise.” Chrollo smiles at you again, the curve of his lips somehow more menacing than the darkness around him. There’s a hat covering his forehead like before, you note. It seems that he certainly wants to hide the tattoo in public.

“I suppose my life is on the line. I would rather not walk around with another target on my back. You don’t seem like someone I would want after me, if Raaz’s condition was anything to go by.”

“An excellent deduction. I’m not someone you would want coming after you, at least not for your life or ability.” You gulp his clarification, proceeding to ask what he concluded for the course of action he must take. Chrollo chooses to let a few moments of silence pass, listening to the bustle on the busy street before replying, “I’ll tell you in due time. First…”

That is how almost half an hour later you are sitting at a restaurant, Chrollo across you, and a menu in front of you. What the hell is going on, you have no idea. You came here to find out if you’re going to be kidnapped or killed. Not to be taken out for dinner. When asked what you’d like to have, you insist that you aren’t hungry, something that Chrollo makes it a point to ignore as he ends up ordering for you. It is even more disorienting when it ends up being something you’ve had multiple times for lunch during the workdays.

“So,” you start, nervousness seemingly dripping from your countenance, “I suppose the final verdict will be given for dessert?” When Chrollogives no answer, you continue. “At least give me a hint. Death or imprisonment?”

He blinks at you. “It’s a surprise.” With that simple statement, he is back to observing you, one hand on the table and tracing the rim of the glass tumblr in front of him. “I hope Isasmo isn’t worried about your circumstances.”

Ah shit, he remembers. “Nope. He doesn’t know.”

“You hid everything? I suppose that’s reasonable. An axolotl wouldn’t be able to help in any way.”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat picking up. “You… how do you know?”

Chrollo’s response is simple, but it isn’t any less chilling. “You talk to him everyday.” He’s still watching you, eyes crinkling at the corners from his amused smile. It’s maddening having to be on the receiving end of this. When you do not grace him with a response, Chrollo does not say anything further as well.

The silence is excruciatingly painful. Chrollo's gaze, however, is more uncomfortable than being called out in class for an answer and not knowing it. Thus, a bright idea pops into your mind, a legendary question that easily makes any conversation better. “So,” you start, bracing yourself, “you like jazz?”

The only reaction you get is speechlessness before Chrollo clears his throat. “Not particularly. You?”

You shake your head. “Not my style.”

Resting your face in your palm, you look away, eyes anywhere but him. The surroundings seem more interesting, the two couples and a few lone people in the background having more to tell than the person you thought was going to end up hurting you. Well, it’s not your fault you got caught in the crossfire of whatever was going on.

“What,” Chrollo says, perking you up, “was your relationship with Raaz?” He’s tracing the rim of the glass again, something that bothers you because of the discrepancy between the action and his expression. Regardless, you answer truthfully. There is no guarantee he already knows and is simply testing your truthfulness.

“He was my coworker. He used to ask me out for lunch numerous times. That’s all.”

“And did you go to lunch with him?”

You shake your head. “No.”

Chrollo simply makes a thinking face before he’s back to normal again, hands sliding underneath the table. Silence once again hangs in the air, the tension thick enough to be cut through with a knife. You are completely unaware of Chrollo’s aims and motives, yet he knows you more than you could have ever thought.

Which reminds you…

“Chrollo.” He perks up at the call of his name instantly. You continue. “Someone was most definitely coming into my apartment during my absence. Was that you?”

The smile he gave you told you everything. A groan comes from your throat, the annoyance over being paranoid and doubting yourself while being sure that something was amiss catching up. “And just why were you breaking and entering?”

He clicks his tongue. “I thought you were working with Raaz.”

“Yet when you didn’t find anything the first time, you still persisted.”

“New evidence can pop up anytime,” he shrugs.

How someone can be so nonchalant over something like this, you have no idea. Sure, you were worried at first but annoyed later on, but still!

“So have you decided what to do with me?”

After a moment of contemplation, you are given a smile and a promise to be informed of your inevitable outcome after dinner. Yet after dinner you are taken to a nearby pier with no sign of the final verdict being given anytime soon. Now settled on a bench next to Chrollo, the little distance between you both resulting from your death glares whenever he slid close to you, you decide to enjoy the cool breeze before asking him again.

And you do. You ask him again what he’s decided to do with you, and all you are given before the knowledge of your inevitable end is a smile and a tilted head. This is when you notice how long Chrollo’s hair is.

“I was considering an… ‘arrangement’,” he says. The words cause your heart to start beating faster. “I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head or your family if you agree.”

He pauses, gauging your reaction, and you start praying he does not turn you into some kind of personal slave. “If,” he continues, making you start fidgeting with your hands out of nervousness, “you agree, you’ll live comfortably without a care in the world.” Another pause and the anticipation grows. The sound of chatter in the background is completely mute and the wind has already stopped blowing.

“What I’m proposing is… well, you allow me to court you. I will take the necessary steps, and you simply have to accept.”

The minute Chrollo utters those words, you freeze. A reply is on the tip of your tongue, and you know it is not a wise idea yet you open your mouth anyway. “If you wanted to ask me out so badly, you could’ve just walked up to me and asked instead of threatening to kill me or my family.”

All you receive in response is a shrug before he formulates a reply. “Would you have said yes if I asked under normal circumstances?”

“No.”

“Then my point has been proven.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should test the waters. “And what if I said no? What then?”

Chrollo leans back on the backrest, now more comfortable before he continues his negotiation with you. “Was Raaz’s predicament not enough of an example?” The wind blows again, and he leans forward, eyes on the water. “Not that I would prefer that, but you understand what I’m referring to.”

And you do understand what he’s referring to. You understand because you saw what became of Raaz. Nevertheless, you need more information to negotiate. Perhaps you might be able to find a way out during his ‘courting’. “Are you a homeowner,” you ask. “And do you live in the house you own?”

Chrollo looks at you from the periphery of his vision, suspicion making him more alert. “No, but I can purchase a home anytime.”

“Alright,” you nod. “And do you have a stable income?”

“As long as the world has treasure and resources, I will.”

“I see.” You pause, thinking of more questions to ask. “What about family? How much family do you have? Any siblings?”

“None,” he replies, “Any other questions?” He’s looking at you directly now. “Or would you like to leave some things to be discovered later on?”

You purse your lips at the comment. So he has money and no family. Sounds mighty suspicious or concerning. Depends how you look at it. You’re looking at it both ways. Silence settles once again as you think over what to say next. Chrollo seems content to leave you with your thoughts, as he doesn’t make any move to break the silence.

But when the silence is broken, it is broken by your capitulation. Chrollo is pleased as expected, yet there is no sign of relief or contentment on your end. Perhaps you could purposely make the relationship fail, and then he might let you go. At the very least, this arrangement is better than having your parents and yourself hunted down by a criminal.

It has been 3 entire weeks since you accepted Chrollo’s conditions. Your job is going fine, boring as usual, and seeing Raaz’s replacement still reminds you of the feeling of cold metal restraining you and keeping you in place.

It’s maddening, having to relive that feeling everyday. However, what’s worse is seeing Chrollo inside your apartment numerous times a week, mostly when you come home from work. He hasn’t made a move to stay the night yet, always excusing himself to ‘work’ or saying something along the lines of you not being ready for that step. It’s not that you’re ungrateful for it, but you don’t like being indirectly told that he pulls the strings and holds the power.

That’s why you’re here. Everything in the past several weeks has led to this and the tension and stress of those weeks has boiled down to reveal someone very tired and just a little spiteful. You knew he was someone to stay away from, and you did stay away from him. Or tried to at least.

“You said you wanted to speak to me about something?”

The devil has voiced your intentions, and you are now obliged to jump straight to the point. Having just got off work, you’re tired and a bit annoyed due to the lack of proper sleep. Despite that, you suck in a breath, continue strolling with him in the park, and give your response.

“We should break up,” you say, a sense of finality in your words that conveys your message that you shan’t be swayed in your decision. “Or stop this, considering this isn’t a normal relationship.” You had refused to hold his hand today, saying you want to keep them shoved into your pockets since they’re cold. They are currently sweating. “I don’t love you, and I don’t feel any bit comfortable. Continuing this would just make the both of us miserable.”

The break up dialogue sounded better in the TV shows you’ve watched, but you let it slide and continue. “Let’s just… see other people, okay? You’re probably just lonely. You said you have no family, and I can’t be the replacement. I don’t feel it working. I don’t feel loved and I sure as hell can’t love back.”

There is silence before Chrollo stops in front of you. He turns, facing you, and you are suddenly reminded of the children playing nearby and your bag being on his shoulders. “Is it because you remember the circumstances? If that’s the case, I can make you forget them.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant.” You flex your sweating palms inside your pockets, nervousness skyrocketing. “I just… it’s not working Chrollo.” There is desperation in your voice now. “You may find this arrangement fulfilling, but it’s not the case for me. I don’t even know what you do for a living! I don’t know your last name and-” You cut yourself off. You’ve gone off-topic.

“What I’m saying is,” you continue, “I’m certain this isn’t working out. We should go our separate ways.”

Silence once again settles, but it is soon broken by the sound of footsteps. With your head down, you see Chrollo’s shoes when he walks up to you. A hand on your chin raises your head to meet his eyes, and you gulp out of nervousness when his lips part to speak. “The condition was that I would court you and you would accept. There was no room for rejection to begin with.”

He pauses, looking for any reaction on your face. When he fails, he continues. “If you don’t feel loved, you should communicate instead of breaking up. A relationship thrives when both parties communicate, right?”

You brush off his hold, lips twisting in slight disgust. “You aren’t getting my point-”

“Explain it to me then.”

“I just did.”

“Your argument lacks claim and reason. It isn’t even an argument to begin with.”

A frustrated groan and you bring your hands out of your pockets. With a few slaps to your cheeks, you try again. “I don’t like you and I can’t stand you. If this wasn’t something that came as a result of what happened to Raaz and I met you as a stranger and ‘it’ wasn’t as creepy as it was, I might’ve given you the time of day but none of it happened!” Chrollo looks at you like you’ve grown two heads during your outburst, but you do not care. “Chrollo, you creep me out and I don’t like you. I can’t accept you and fall in love with you. What more do you not understand?”

He blinks, once then twice, before grabbing your shoulders. The action makes you freeze, the suffocating feeling from ‘it’ growing and becoming more visible and menacing now prevailing. “Elaborate on ‘it’.” The grip on your shoulders slides down to your arms but you do not feel any less threatened. Maybe that’s why he never stayed the night. You’re too frightened at times.

“There’s… something around you.” Revealing this feels wrong, but you know you have no choice now. “It’s dark, the darkest I’ve seen yet on any person. It’s scary and overwhelming and I don’t like it. Sometimes it’s calm and tolerable and sometimes it’s huge. It doesn’t have anything to do with emotions, or that’s what I think.”

Chrollo hums, letting you go. ‘It’ does not simmer down until a few more minutes pass, and he only speaks after it does. “It’s your Nen ability. You cannot see Nen, but your ability is an exception.”

“What do you mean?”

Chrollo glances around before stepping closer. He points to his right palm with his eyes and in a moment, a book suddenly just appears in his hold. Any questions on your end are silenced with the excuse of being in a public space. The only answer you get that evening is that the book is Chrollo’s ability.

Any further probing is told off immediately. Chrollo does not wish to say anything further, changing the topic promptly and continuing to converse like you did not just attempt to break up with him. The lingering fear from his threats slowly starts seeping in, and you once again grow bewildered over how your circumstances have changed.

You're in the kitchen when Chrollo says you need to pack your bags. He had gotten up from the living room sofa and strolled into the kitchen when he broke the news. Now, as he stands in front of you, your back to the counter, and recounts the essentials you need to pack, you blankly nod. Everything is a blur. You cannot control your actions, only watch them like a third party.

He turns his back to you now, sighing at your silence, but before he can take a step forward, you plunge a knife into his back. The silence is deafening, but when you pull out the blade to see your handiwork, you are greeted with only a handle.

The blade sits in Chrollo's palm, and he's looking directly at you.

All your muscles are frozen, and you cannot discern whether the ringing in your ears is from the adrenaline or from being stared down. Minutes pass this way, and it is only when you throw the handle somewhere to the side that it subsides.

“Pack the essentials,” Chrollo says, his voice cutting through the silence. You’re now noticing the TV is turned off. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

You just noticed Chrollo’s palm is unscathed. How odd.

#yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere hunter x hunter

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a-small-safe-place · 6 months

Text

Platonic Yandere Rosalie Hale and Emmett Cullen w/ Adopted!Baby!Reader

Rosalie had traveled to a hospital in a neighboring town to volunteer in the maternity ward. Her motivation wasn't solely selfless; she yearned to be in the presence of infants. Rosalie adored babies for their small size and pure innocence. Occasionally, she'd volunteer in the pediatrics ward, where the sick children often mistook her for a princess due to her beauty. However, on this day, her heart was set on spending time with the babies. It was her favorite pastime, second only to being with Emmett. She would occasionally downplay her attachment when her family questioned her about her frequent visits to the hospital.

As Rosalie left the hospital, an overwhelming urge to cry overcame her, though no tears escaped her eyes. Instead, her venom-filled eyes burned, but she didn't shed a tear. A pang of jealousy gripped her as she thought about how many parents took their children for granted, complaining about the demanding baby and toddler years. Her thoughts drifted to Renesmee, whom she had practically raised during her early, albeit brief, years. However, Rosalie could never be Renesmee's mother, as the girl knew Bella as her mother, despite their strained relationship. Rosalie had even harbored a shameful hope during Renesmee's birth that Bella wouldn't survive, leaving Renesmee to be solely Rosalie's and Emmett's daughter. Yet, fate had different plans, and Rosalie remained without a baby.

Suddenly, a loud cry from an infant in a nearby car disrupted her thoughts. Rosalie couldn't hear the sounds of parents or a running car engine, and the freezing weather made her worry. She exited her car and began searching for the source of the crying, only to discover an infant version of yourself inside a locked car. Your parents were absent, and you were clad only in a thin onesie. Through the window, Rosalie detected the odor of an unchanged diaper.

Rosalie knew she should call the hospital to report the situation, but she feared you would end up back with your neglectful parents. Thoughts of Emmett being a great father crossed her mind; he hadn't been overly involved with Renesmee, except for playtime, but you could be different as their own.

With a swift motion, Rosalie broke into the car, thankful that the alarm didn't sound, given the car's poor condition. She rented a hotel room with you tucked away in her jacket before calling Emmett and sharing her surprise. When he arrived, expecting something else entirely, Rosalie had you dressed in a fresh diaper and cozy footie pajamas. You were notably small and slender, even for a human infant.

Emmett asked, "Babe, what is this?" His tone was a mix of confusion and amusement.

"Our baby," Rosalie declared as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, her eyes fixed on you without interruption. "We don't have a baby," Emmett attempted to argue. He typically went along with what Rosalie said, as she was almost always right, but occasionally he voiced his dissent.

Rosalie's gaze shifted to Emmett. He didn't need to read her mind to grasp that she needed you to be theirs. Without further argument, he sat beside her to get a better look at you. "This is definitely one sweet baby," Emmett observed, running a cold finger down your cheek.

Emmett expressed his concern, "Carlisle will be furious. He might make you return the baby." Rosalie acknowledged this and understood she would face objections from Edward, Carlisle, and possibly even Alice and Jasper. However, she couldn't help but feel it was unfair that Edward could have his human and endanger the family, and then having his daughter, whom he barely appreciated, that also put the family at risk.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes. For now, I want us to be a family: a mommy, a daddy, and a sweet little baby," Rosalie's face lit up when she referred to you. Emmett loved to see his wife so joyful, so he indulged her, understanding why she was so enamored with you.

A few months passed, and you were introduced to the Cullen clan. After some persuasion, Carlisle allowed Rosalie to keep you. The presence of a human infant injected new life into the Cullen household. Rosalie and Emmett spent the most time with you and Rosalie became upset if anyone besides Esme tried to hold you. Edward and Jasper's unique abilities helped discern your needs quickly, even though you couldn't communicate them directly. Jasper secretly enjoyed caring for you without interference from your parents and loved the way Alice dressed you like a doll. Edward and Bella, engrossed in their own activities, didn't show much interest in you. Renesmee, on the other hand, enjoyed having you around, as you allowed her to partake in kid activities she had missed out on. Carlisle and Esme were the perfect grandparents, but nothing could compare to your parents. Emmett and Rosalie adored you. Rosalie was extremely protective and insisted on homeschooling, but she always wanted what was best for you in her mind. You were their angel, and they were determined to protect you from harm.

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nymphomatique · 6 months

Note

You know, I really like your nerdy!Miguel and slutty!reader💅 Chef kiss💯

May I request a drabble where reader is going to meet her parents and she's really not happy about it? (Basically they are emotionally abusive towards her)

How would Miguel react if she just, you know, cries in his shoulder instead of fucking him like she always does?

(I'm just really into agnst sometimes, my apologies ⊂(・﹏・⊂))

P.s. English in not my first language, so I hope I wrote everything clear.

Thanks for you work!!

yes baby! and your english is perfect 🫶🏾 i hope i did ur request justice!

cw: feelings, reader going through it, emotionally neglectful parents, just a lot of feelings fr. brief mentions of sex i think, erm and barely proofread. enjoy!

you sat at your vanity in your dorm room, simply looking at yourself in the mirror. you felt like your stomach was going to drop out of your ass. you take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, hoping, praying, it grounds you.

within the reflection of your mirror, your eyes couldn’t help but focus on the figure sitting on your bed, nose buried in their laptop screen. you called miguel over with the intention of letting off steam at first, but the more you thought about it, the less it sounded like a good choice to make. so, you told him to make himself comfortable and keep you company, not without some snark of course. you feel bad sometimes, for snapping at him, letting out your anger on him, knowing he will take anything off your shoulders to bare upon his own. it crushes you inside to think about how you treat someone you care deeply about, even if you deny it to yourself.

your eyes meet in the mirror and miguel catches you looking, offering a warm smile in exchange. the moment is brief, and he returns his focus to whatever he was doing on his laptop, but as minuscule the moment, the more you feel yourself unraveling. a burning feeling crawls up your nose and you bow your head down, your face pulling downward. fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. please don’t leave me. i need you. your mind feels overwhelmed, and you can’t help the tears from falling down your cheek. you let them fall one by one, shame, guilt, and anxiety building up the more your tears spill.

your ears are ringing, you can’t. you can’t feel, you can’t see, you can’t breathe. a sob from deep within you leaves your mouth and you drop your forehead to your vanity, letting your emotion take over you. you can’t hear the soft lulling of music that you were playing while getting ready anymore, not the typing of keys from miguel. you’re so disoriented. when you feel something, someone strong and stable lift you up and bring you down onto your bed, your chest to its chest, you don’t question it. you know what it is. who it is. you let thick arms hold you, keep you together as you burst from the seams, the soft cooing and kissing lull your tears into a soft hiccup. the soft circles miguel rubs around your upper back make you realize what just happened and you’re embarrassed.

“i- i don’t- i can’t believe i-” you begin, but you’re interrupted by a soft squeeze from miguel.

“s’okay, baby,” he says softly, kissing the top of your head. “talk to me? please?”

and you decide you owe this moment of vulnerability to him, and yourself. and so, you take a shaky breath, and tell him why you panicked the way you did.

“my- my parents.. they..”

those words open a floodgate of bad memories and feelings. you tell him about everything. you tell him how your father and mother were emotionally absent. how they threw money at you when you needed them the most. how even at your lowest, your parents never cared for what they can do for you beyond the monetary.

you tell him about one moment in particular. where you were in first grade, you remember clearly. it was a day where you had to put together a career project based on one of your parents and have them sit and watch you present. and you remember being there’s, so little, so young, so expectant. watching everyone go one by one while you begged your teacher to wait for your parents to come because they promised! and you sat, and you watched the classroom door, and you waited until it was your turn. even as you presented, shaky voice and mispronounced words, you still held onto hope that they would come see you present even the last word to leave from your mouth.

but nothing. you sat back down and went through the rest of the day feeling sad and upset, but moreover lonely. you wish you had your parents.

“i remember asking them why they never came,” you sniffle, and miguel hugs you tight in his strong embrace. “straight up told me that it wasn’t worth their time.” the wounds of the old memory still feel fresh as you reminisce on them, years later.

“i will always be there when you need me. you’re forever and always worth my time,” miguel says, kissing your head. you’re silent, but you soak in his words. you know how you feel about him. i love you so fucking much that i hate you.

“m’supposed to meet them for dinner,” you breathe out, sitting up from miguel’s embrace. still, you reach to hold his hand tightly.

“you’ll be okay, baby. i’ll pick you up, and drop you off. anything happens, you call me and i’m there, yeah?” miguel whispers, running his hand up and down your thigh affectionately.

“yeah.”

when miguel drops you off, you take a moment to look in the fancy restaurant they’re both sat in. you look back at miguel and he reassures you once more, that “i will always be here when you need me.”

you lean in across the dash, pulling him into a deep kiss. “thank you.”

you finally get out of the car, but miguel watches you the whole way through, waiting until you walk in. your heart starts pounding but you remember when he said. i will always be here when you need me. i will always be here when you need me. i will always be here when you need me.

a reassuring breath calms you only slightly, but you walk in. your eyes flit to and fro in the dinning room, but when you hear boisterous laughter and haughty conversation in a booth ahead of you, you know they are your parents. you walk over to the table, not faulting when the mood fizzles, and a stale expression crosses both your mother and fathers faces.

“mother. father.” you sit across from them, your heart beating out of its chest. and you’re ready to take on your parents, knowing you have someone, miguel, who will always be there when you need him.

#<nerd!miguel3 #you’ve got mail💌#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel atsv #miguel o’hara angst

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vickyvicarious · 1 year

Text

"For your mother's sake."

It hits so hard, on multiple levels. First, what this might mean for her. It's her final effort, the most impactful thing she says after religion, superstition, outright pleading on her knees and crying all fail. She knows that she can't stop him from going, but at the very least she will try her best to protect him as much as she can. She places the crucifix around his neck herself, doesn't just hand it to him.

Did she lose a child to Dracula in the past? Is she seeing echoes of her own son in Jonathan's face? Or perhaps there have been brave young men who tried to fight back against him, who deliberately went to the castle and never returned. Maybe Jonathan is the first person she's met who is actually trying to go there, and while she knows it can only end in his death, the idea of letting anyone go willingly to that evil place is more than she can bear. She's giving up a piece of her own protection. The Count has been sending letters to her husband; he was the one who suggested Jonathan stay here. He knows of her. If she shows any resistance it could mean greater danger for herself, and giving Jonathan her crucifix means losing a powerful totem of self-protection. If he actually listened to her warning, she can probably expect a terrible fate of her own; maybe even just giving him the crucifix alone would be enough to ensure that. But again, whether he reminds her of her own lost son or just because he doesn't know what he's getting himself into, she can't bear to do nothing. She places herself in the role of his mother here. "For my sake," she's saying, "let me do what little I can to save you. Please."

Jonathan is an orphan. We don't know the circumstances of his childhood, but it's possible that he never even knew his mother. (It's my headcanon.) Even if he did, she has been gone for a long time now. And yet these are the words he can't argue with in the end. He was already taking her seriously, and trying to treat her with respect. Her warnings were obviously distressing to him, but there's no way he can actually turn back now. His livelihood depends on this trip, he has no actual evidence to justify leaving, and he also wants so badly to live up to Mr. Hawkins' trust in him. He is already "thinking of his father" (or the closest he has) when he says he has to go to the castle. And yet, the care and fear and love this woman is showing for him hits so hard. I wonder if he is thinking of his actual mother when he accepts the crucifix. Whether the concept of her or an actual memory... Or maybe he too is placing her in the role of his mother here. Maybe, in keeping the crucifix (and not just with him, but around his neck where she placed it, even as he rides away) he is saying yes to that implicit request as well. "I'll let you care for me. I'll accept it gratefully." It's the first motherly care he has probably felt in many long years.

In this book, children are placed in terrible danger again and again, and most of the time they can't be saved. Parents and parental figures are equally doomed, leaving our heroes all orphaned in a sense, unable to rely on any greater source of wisdom or comfort. They have to take things into their own hands and deal with the problem alone, despite still being caught up in grief for what they've lost - a kind of coming of age in that sense. There's even a literal version of this happening with both Arthur and Jonathan (and Mina) specifically, when their father figures die and leave them with sudden new responsibilities. And of course, the inheritances from these father figures help in distinct and immensely useful ways, even as they remain absent from the story throughout. They haunt the margins at best until death steals them away completely, and their illnesses tend to serve to divide our heroes from one another when they needed to be united sooner. I personally don't count van Helsing as a father figure really, but if you do then he is the only one who manages to be around and be directly helpful (and even then, he's unable to save Lucy), even though all the fathers we hear from are loved and loving. But we do actually meet a few mothers, and they are usually unable to alter the story despite being more present. Their efforts to save their children are misdirected and only bring about their own death as well, in the end. Lucy's mother seems to mean well but everything she does directly makes everything harder; the mother at the castle later tries to avenge her child possibly against the wrong person, and in any case is unable to succeed. But here, the innkeeper's wife with her crucifix manages what no other mother does. Even though she assumes this to be another wasted effort (in fact, she can't bear to remain in the room with him afterwards; re: Dracula did such a good job with the hopelessness in her voice when she says the 'mother's sake' line), her assistance helps Jonathan to survive. His 'inheritance' from this momentary mother-figure isn't just the physical crucifix, though that is useful (and also the only inheritance a mother leaves for a child throughout the book, even when it would be expected and easy and make complete sense to do so, ahem). It's also the first and the most knowledgeable and the most effective aid given to a 'child' throughout the entire book.

#dracula daily #re: dracula #dracula daily spoilers #crucifix lady #jonathan harker #dracula meta #my meta

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weasleyreidstyles · 17 days

Text

Serendipity

chapter seventeen

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): mentions of death (its a funeral), some fluff but it's mainly angst

series masterlist; previous part; next part

In the week following Dumbledore's death, the school had emptied out almost immediately – students were leaving via the Hogwarts Express almost daily and some parents would even apparate into Hogsmeade and meet their children at the gate to escort them home themselves.

No one trusted that Hogwarts was safe for their children anymore. Nowhere was truly safe. Not without the safety that Albus Dumbledore had always provided.

The hallways were desolate by the time two weeks had passed.

Your parents had met you and Hermione at the gates to the castle on they day of Dumbledore's funeral, pulling you both into tight hugs; unwilling to let you go. Molly Weasley had praised your efforts of saving her eldest son from Greyback, not taking into account how worried your parents would become upon not knowing if you were truly alright. Your father, a healer working at St Mungo's had demanded to know whether you should still be in the Hospital Wing recovering, but you'd assured him, and your mother, that you were only left with a few ugly scars.

Scars that you abhorred, but there was nothing you could do about the way they littered the skin of your abdomen. Mattheo had done his best to rid you of those insecurities, pressing lingering kisses to the marred skin whenever the opportunity arose. But the feelings still lingered when you examined the jagged silver lines in your bathroom mirror and in your nightmares where you don't save Bill, but end up worse off.

Hermione too, had assured your parents that she had come out of the battle virtually unscathed after they had turned to her with the same brutal enthusiasm for her safety. But the worry was still apparent in their eyes. You doubted that it would disappear any time soon. Not now that they are in the Order, and know just what you've been up to this year.

A few days after the battle, Hermione and Ron had found you while you sat in the library, enjoying a moment of solitude. They'd sat in the two seats opposite you and were looking at you with nervous expressions on their faces.

"Where's Harry?" you ask without looking up from your book. He was noticeably absent, probably grieving in his own way. Ron coughs awkwardly as Hermione shuffles in her seat.

"He doesn't know we're here, but we need your insight on something." she says and you finally look up at them, both as weathered by the battle as you are, dark circles stain their eyes just as badly as they do on your own face.

"What do you need?" You ask, voice quiet, so you don't draw any unnecessary attention. Ron reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment, which looks old and worn.

"Can you read this, and tell us what you think?" he asks as he places it on the table infront of you.

Hesitantly, you unfold the intricate little thing which reveals the neatest scroll of penmanship you'd ever seen.

To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more – R.A.B

"What the hell does this mean?" You ask, looking up at them with the same confusion mirrored in their eyes. You give Hermione a look and she nods imperceptibly, prompting you to see into her recent memories. You look at them with wide eyes. "The horcrux was a fake?"

"And whoever this R.A.B person is, has the real one." Hermione mumbles with a nod. Ron looks between the two of you before shaking his head and taking the note to examine it for the thousandth time.

You sit back in your seat, disbelief marring your features. Had Dumbledore died for nothing?

~∞~

The actual funeral service was a long, arduous process. But it was truly beautiful, despite the reason for such a large gathering.

The sun shined brightly, even as it began its slow descent in the sky, sending ripples of dazzling sunlight across the surface of the lake, and it was so warm. Warm enough that you had to wear a sundress that had been stuffed right at the bottom of your trunk since you'd returned to school after the Christmas holidays.

It was held on the school grounds, near the Whomping Willow, surrounded by the cascading violet of the wisteria trees that surrounded the banks of the Black Lake, resembling an almost life-like watercolour painting from where you were sat. It seemed that every entity on the grounds, from the people to the flora and fauna, had felt the impact of Dumbledore's death and mourned it on that balmy June evening. Some of the plants were dull where they used to be vibrant; even the birds weren't singing as joyfully.

The atmosphere surrounding the crowd was taut, ripe with with the whispers of conversations that drifted across the assortment of seating like a strange, lulling birdsong. The attendees varied from young students to old scholars, most of which you don't recognise. But you can see members of The Order dotted about the rows sporadically, eying certain rows and glancing conspiratorially between eachother; you understand why when you see Delores Umbridge (and Cornelius Fudge) waltz up the centre aisle into one of the rows near where other Ministry officials, including Rufus Scrimgeour sat, dressed in a vibrant fuchsia pink cloak, a 'grieving' expression painted on her ugly face. They're followed closely by Rita Skeeter, her enchanted pen and pad at hand. The Order members around their row are tense and alert.

You took a seat closer the back of the crowd, beside your parents, dressed in a deep green sundress with embroidered vines of the deepest sepia winding up the skirt in intricate patterns with little bluebells climbing up the stems, to combat the stifling heat of summer, and your wand is tucked into a thin, onyx holster on your waist.

Ron had clearly forgiven you to some extent, evident in the way he'd willingly sought you out in the library over a week ago, but he was still wary of the Slytherins you surrounded yourself with; Harry seemed content with bypassing your existence entirely. It was probably wise to sit further away from them, especially because it was obvious that Harry blamed your friends for Dumbledore's death. You can see the back of Ginny's head, where she's sat with the Golden Trio about five rows ahead of you. Even from where you are, you can see how she grips onto Harry's hand for dear life.

You can even feel Mattheo's eyes on you from his seat at the very back of the procession.

Can feel the way his magic calls to your's.

He's sat with Pansy to his left, Theo to his right and Enzo and Blaise are beside them.

Draco is nowhere to be seen.

The five of them have received a multitude of looks from those surrounding them, and you would be stupid not to see the amount of Aurors and Order members who had ended up seated near them.

Just thinking about the fact that they were surrounded as if they were a guild of threatening wizards, when they were still students at this very school, made your blood boil.

They still were not trusted, despite Remus vouching for them personally. Only a few members: the twins, Andromeda Tonks and her husband, Ted, seemed to acknowledge the risk that your friends were taking by just being at the school. Even your own parents were wary. Especially now. Voldemort was actively gathering more support and wreaking havoc across the country – wizard and muggle world alike.

Despite all the eyes on him, Mattheo appears to be surprisingly relaxed. But that's only because you are in his eye line. Dressed in a pretty sundress, with your hair cascading down your back and shoulders in delightful curls that he has the urge to tug on. Only you and his friends know just how tense he truly was, surrounded by people he didn't trust; people who didn't trust him.

You look lovely. You smile at the warmth in his voice, body thrumming with the heat of his gaze from a few rows behind you. Discreetly, so you don't attract your parents' attention, you turn to face Mattheo, who has a smirk widening on his face as he takes in the flush that dusts your cheeks, despite the tension that sits on his broad shoulders.

So do you. You reply, catching your bottom lip with your teeth instinctively as your eyes trail the length of his body. What you can see of it, at least.

He's dressed in a suit of all black – no ounce of colour aside from the singular indigo bluebell in the breast pocket of his suit jacket, one that he'd conjured when he noticed the patterns on your dress. His hair is unruly as always, blowing wildly in the soft breeze.

Stop looking at me like that, darling. It's inappropriate. His handsome smirk widens with his smugness.

I can't help it. Especially when you look at me like that.

He narrows his onyx eyes playfully at you and you turn around before anyone can notice your brief interaction, exhaling a breathy laugh as you shake your head. His own laughter reverberates through your mind like a gentle caress, igniting a spark in your core.

Strangely, you can feel his magic like its your very own, even two weeks after it had initially exploded around you.

Neither you or Mattheo have an answer for it. And neither of you are in a hurry to share the discovery, for it felt far too intimate to involve anyone else.

~∞~

As the service began the merfolk, who had gathered at the bank of the lake, had begun a sorrowful tune, their pallid skin glistening in the sun, wirey hair spreading about the murky waters. As they sang their song of loss and despair, Hagrid had started to walk down the central aisle, his face blotchy and red with tears that fell heavily from his eyes. He was cradling something in his arms, or rather someone, wrapped in velvet fabric of the deepest purple, spangled with glittering golden stars. A cloak that many students had deemed as Professor Dumbledore's personal favourite over the years, as it was his most frequently worn one.

It was becoming harder to swallow as a sob crawled its way up your throat at the sight. You gripped your father's hand in your's tightly and he squeezed back.

At that moment, it seemed like all the warmth from the sun was sucked from the atmosphere, as a cold shiver ran down your spine. You couldn't feel the powerful allure of his magical core anymore. His covered body looked so small and frail in Hagrid's arms and you finally let out a muffled sob as he makes his way past your row.

You feel a wave of love, sorrow and care caress your mind, which lets you know that, despite the indifference he holds towards his Headmaster, Mattheo was also feeling the devastation that their safety blanket; the one who was supposed to help defeat great evil, was gone.

When Hagrid was near the front, you could hardly see what was happening due to the amount of heads that obscured your view, but you can hear the distinct sound of hooves on stone as a herd of centaurs make their presence known, but they did not move from the trees and their shadows. They were stood preternaturally still as they observed with their bows and weapons laying limply at their sides.

Dumbledore's body had been gently placed onto a table of pure white quartzite, that made the colours of his cloak shine vibrantly in the steadily setting sun. The tune from the merfolk reached a slow end and from what you could make out, a small Ministry official, dressed in plain black robes stood beside the table, where a small stand had been erected.

From your seats, you and your parents could hardly hear what was said in Dumbledore's honour and when he stopped speaking and took his seat again, a palpable silence swept over the crowd when no one else got up to pay their respects. It was like a brutal finality had swept over the courtyard.

Albus Dumbledore was never coming back. You were on your own in this battle.

Suddenly, bright white flames errupted around the quartzite table and Dumbledore's body, growing higher and higher, spiralling in pretty patterns as a pheonix flew amongst the inferno joyfully as if rising from the ashes, before disappearing with an abrupt flash of golden light. The white fire, too, had vanished with the pheonix, leaving a white marble tomb in it's place.

More cries of shock are let out as a shower of arrows soared through the air, falling like dangerous silver-tipped raindrops into a clearing far away from the crowd. The centaurs turned and disappeared without a trace once they'd paid their tribute; the merfolk sunk below the surface of the Black Lake promptly after them.

~∞~

"Well...that was depressing." Theo's voice was low, sarcasm etched in his tone. Blaise and Enzo rolled their eyes as Pansy openly gaped at him as passers by gave him looks of disgust.

"Don't disrespect the dead, Teddy." You admonish with a scathing look, that he only bats away with shrug of his shoulders.

"Oh lighten up, tesoro. We all know he wouldn't have cared for all this seriousness." He says, bringing you into a side along hug, ruffling your carefully done hair with calloused hands. You bat them away with an irritated huff.

As soon as you were able to, you'd made a beeline for your friends, wrapping a sniffling Pansy into a hug, comforting eachother in silence as you sent words of affection mind to mind.

Now the six of you are stood off to the side, ostracised from where many of Dumbledore's Army are stood, sharing recollections of Dumbledore's life. Harry, Ron and Hermione are nowhere to be seen.

Mattheo is a silent, imposing wall of stoicism. He doesn't take part in you're friend's untimely banter, and hardly reacts to the scathing, untrustworthy looks that are sent his way.

You send a wave of your emotions to him, love pooling over the anxiety, which causes his stiff muscles to loosen as you reach over to take his hand in your's. Unashamedly you press kisses to his scarred knuckles, running a careful hand across his arm, and thread your fingers with his.

His onyx eyes are alight with gratitude, as the two of you listen to Theo and Enzo bicker.

Suddenly your isolation is cut off by a woman who looks exactly like the one who subjected you to the cruciatus curse a year ago. Her presence makes you startle on instinct, but that feeling is overcome with guilt as Andromeda Tonks, strong-willed, beautiful, stoic and regal; a good friend to your mother and Remus, stands before you with warm, russett eyes.

"Hello Meadow." She greets you, her voice soft and low, matching the slight hauty expression that matched Sirius' with haunting accuracy.

"Hi Andy." You reply, your brows crease in confusion when her husband is nowhere to be found. "Where's Ted?"

"Talking to your father and Remus, I believe." She says, a gentle look overtaking her features that makes her appear youthful and stress free, but that look is gone in a split second when her dark eyes trail to Mattheo's hand, still in your grasp and up to his carefully guarded face.

"You look scarily like your father." She says and you feel the way Mattheo imperceptibly flinches at her observation. The boys and Pansy stop their conversation to form a solid wall of mistrust behind the two of you, faces resigned and stony.

She must sense their growing hostility because she relaxes the harshness from her face, replacing it with apology.

"I mean no offfence." She says slowly, face twisting with regret. "We cannot help who are parents are, after all."

Mattheo doesn't relax, but he knows that you clearly trust her. Andromeda turns to face you instead, that soft look that painted her aristocratic face when she first saw you, appearing again.

"I've come to offer an olive branch of sorts." She tells you. "Remus vouched for the all of you and my nephew during a previous meeting and I'm inclined to agree with him."

"Nephew?" Blaise questions and you turn to see that they all look equally as confused.

"This is Andromeda Tonks, previously Andromeda Black." You introduce her formally with a light smile on your face, and the recognition lights up on your friends' faces when you do. "Draco's Aunt."

"I do wish I was meeting your friends under different circumstances, Meadow." She says.

"What's this olive branch you mentioned?" You ask curiously, steering the conversation back in the direction it had been going in before being sidetracked.

"I'm offering my home as a safe house for you all." Andromeda replies, casting her eyes on your Slytherin friends again.

"What's the catch?" Mattheo asks, his voice filled with suspicion, his grip on your hand tightening with his growing paranoia. You sooth him unconsciously with a stroke of your fingers against his knuckles. Andromeda's careful eyes catch the moment almost immediately.

"We know you're already inducted into your father's regime, unwillingly." She says quietly, wary of Mattheo untrusting stance. "With Severus gone, it is imperative that we know what we're dealing with."

"You need spies." Theo says with certainty, his face twisting with barely restrained contempt.

Andromeda only nods once.

Theo, Enzo and Mattheo seem to have a three way conversation mentally before they come to a decision and it's Enzo who speaks up first.

"Who else besides Professor Lupin, know about this?"

"Meadow's parents, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody."

You stare up at Mattheo with uncertainty. Would they really put their lives at risk for an organisation that barely trusts them?

"Are there any other conditions?" Mattheo asks, stepping towards Andromeda slightly, but not in any threatening way.

"Gather as much information as you can, as safely as you can. And get my nephew and my sister out of that Manor."

"What about after the war?" Pansy asks, having been silent throughout the whole exchange. "Like you said, they're already inducted. If the war goes in Potter's favour, will they be pardoned?"

Andromeda seems to still at that, as if she didn't know the answer and suddenly every single one of you are on edge as you consider the possibility that, if the boys help, they could be thrown right into Azkaban to rot, simply for carrying the burden of the Dark Mark.

"After the war," Andromeda whispers, "there will be justice. But I cannot predict the outcome, and we won't win without your help. I know how Voldemort's court works, for I was part of it for much of my youth before I got out. What you're doing already is proof enough that you are inherently good, even if most people don't see it."

"But what if-" Pansy replies but Andromeda holds out one of her slim, pale hands to gently silence her trail of thought.

"Thinking of that now will not help you during this. You mustn't for it will dull your hope for a better future. Take the offer, my house is in a quiet muggle town. No one will bother you there and it's delightfully warm this time of year."

You each exchange silent but definitive looks before Mattheo nods towards her once and immediately the six of you are given the image of a quaint cottage that sits on the edge of a seaside town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

"Ted and I will visit occasionally, to make sure our house is not in disarray. Remus or Alastor will deliver your assignments on a biweekly basis."

"Where will you stay, if we're taking up your space?" You ask and Andromeda offers you a friendly smile.

"With your parents in a safe house of our own. With them working high profile jobs in the Ministry and St Mungo's and being 'suspected' members of the Order, they can't be living somewhere anyone can find them."

You blink back your surprise emotions at the implications of her statement. It dawns on you then. The severity of everything happening around you.

Their need for an insider means that The Order weren't as prepared as they wanted people to believe.

They were willing to send your friends to the snake pit so they would have a chance to save themselves.

~∞~

The cottage stands at the end of a winding lane in Falmouth, Cornwall. It's all cobblestoned streets and thatch roofed houses, surrounded by idyllic fields and the most stunning views of beach for as far as the eye could see.

It was certainly out of the way – the nearest village was about a thirty minute walk away.

The perfect place to erect a safe house.

The six of you are stood infront of the picket fenced gate, bags in hand as your parents, Andromeda, Ted and Remus finish putting up the final protective enchantments.

It's been a week since the funeral. In that week, you spent every possible second with your parents, who seemed reluctant to let you stay here. All week, they'd been asking you to join them in their own safe house; one accidental peak in their minds told you all you needed to know for the reason why.

They didn't trust your friends. They especially didn't trust Mattheo.

Now, you stand beside him, tucked into his side as Remus gives you a debrief of instructions for the boys' first task.

"When is the next meeting?" He asks Mattheo, head tilting as you all stand in the cramped kitchen of the cottage, your parents and the Tonks couple nowhere to be seen.

Mattheo opens his mouth to answer, but grimaces as the Mark on his forearm burns in earnest, warning him...daring him to answer. You feel his pain in the very depths of your soul, scrunching your face at the feeling that brushes over you, even as you squeeze his hand in your's.

No one seems to notice other than Remus, who stares between you and Mattheo almost too quickly that you could have missed it.

"I see." He nods to himself as Mattheo runs his hand against his agitated forearm. "Does this happen whenever you try and disclose information."

"Only with the more top secret things." Enzo says from beside Pansy, who has already found where the mugs are as she sips on a steaming cup of tea.

Remus is silent for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not this would even work, before he speaks again.

"At the next meeting, try and gather as much information as possible. Even if it seems meaningless – but only if it doesn't pain you." He says gently. Remus knows pain, and he knows how detrimental it can be for a person.

He doesn't want to see this group of young adults go through what he did, but he knows it's futile, and hypocritical of him to wish, for he's the one sending them into the snake pit.

"How's 'meaningless' information going to help the Order?" Theo asks with skeptical eyes.

"We need to buy Harry time." Remus says, but he doesn't divulge any further.

"Why?" You ask from Mattheo's side and Remus' gaze turns to you.

"You know why, Meadow." He says and your face twists in confusion before realisation sets in.

"He's going to hunt horcruxes instead of returning to Hogwarts, isn't he." It's not a question and in the way that Remus tenses, you know you're right.

"Yes, Meadow. But I'm afraid what they found wasn't a real one."

This, you already knew of course.

"What do you mean, it wasn't real?" Mattheo sounds like he doesn't believe a word Remus says, and one look up at his face confirms the disbelief in his tone.

"It was a fake. Something transfigured into a replica of the Locket." Remus pulls out a polaroid photo from his pocket. In the centre of the blurred image, sits a locket with a similar insignia to the ring that Dumbledore had handed to you in the Hospital Wing at the start of the year.

"That's not possible." Mattheo snarls and you take it upon yourself to push him into one of the chairs at the dining table, lest he try and launch himself at your old Professor.

"It is very possible." Remus says without a blink. "You see, in the first war, we had a spy. Only few of us knew of his identity but he told us that he'd discovered something. He'd found out about horcruxes and was going to singlehandedly destroy them himself.

One day he was scheduled to come to a meeting, to discuss any progress with his discovery, and to also give us more information on who was on Voldemort's side, but he didn't show up.

Three days later, his house elf, Kreacher showed up in my flat. He didn't even get a funeral."

Remus' voice was soft and desolate as he told you this information, eyes foggy as he relives one of the most traumatic times of his life. Your eyes are alight with realisation almost as soon as he's finished speaking.

"Kreature? Isn't that-"

"Sirius' family house elf? Yeah he is." Remus replied, his eyes glassy.

"Sirius had a brother-" you whisper, your voice betraying your sadness at the thought of the eccentric man.

"Yes. His name was Regulus Black."

~∞~

omg she's finally posted!😱😱

a few things...first of all i have 1000 followers!?! wtf!! thankyou with my whole heart 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

secondly...i've been revamping the layout of my posts but theres an issue with a couple of them (cough...chapter 16....cough) and it wont let me edit those posts but thats fine😶😶😶😶

anyway hope you enjoyed this one....the cliffhanger wasn't planned but then i liked how it flowed to the start of chapter 18 so hehehehe

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