#everything will pass / the edge will dull / the sun will shine / the day will come . thats morning . emptys the same as clean

[keingleichgewicht]

I still love y

parties are for losers by ferry / nona the ninth by tamsyn muir

#pafl #parties are for losers #edit tag #dude. #the ntn poems been revolving in my brain for months. it hits so hard. i have four different types of stacked brainrot about it #its about .Mmmmmmmmmmm. 'when everyone who fucked with me is dead / when everyone we loved has gone‚ or fled‚' #everything will pass / the edge will dull / the sun will shine / the day will come . thats morning . emptys the same as clean #when everything has burnt to nothing that will be morning. and the trouble is that its so easy to imagine it from temnovas mouth too #temnova says: sleep. i'll wake you in the morning. #there is a long night ahead. and youre just a failed draft

[kinglazrus]

The Cracks in the Mask

Sequel to The Moment it Breaks. Written for @invisobang 2023!

AO3 | FFN

Rating: T

Words: 9156

Warnings: mild panic attack, nondescript mention of vomiting, temporary dismemberment, graphic description injury

Description: Danny has been struggling for months. Balancing ghost hunting, school, and keeping his powers a secret has drained him both physically and mentally. And it all comes crumbling down when an identity is exposed—but not Danny's. Tucker Foley, his best, is a ghost hunter. And not just any ghost hunter, but the Tech Hunter. The same hunter who, just three days ago, pressed a cannon to Phantom's chest and fired without mercy.

This is fine, right? Everything is fine.

Check out the amazing art made for this fic by @popjeckdoom!

Cover | first scene | second scene

—

Danny can still feel Tucker's hands on him. Not in some aching, metaphysical way like when they bump shoulders, and the warmth of that contact lingers for hours afterwards. This isn’t warmth, but heat. Tucker’s fingertips had only brushed the hollow of Danny’s throat during that final grab, yet the spot burns now.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, turning toward a storefront window as he checks his reflection, pulling the collar of his hoodie down. Splotches the colour of old bruises litter his throat, tinged green around the edges and dotted with red. The rash and micro-cuts left by Tech’s nanobots are unmistakable. Had Tucker noticed how the nanobots coated his fingers as he reached for Danny, seen how they wounded him?

Of course, he didn’t. There is so much Tucker never notices.

The hoodie isn’t damaged, but that doesn’t surprise Danny. Tech’s touch has always hurt, and it was always designed to hurt ghosts.

It never destroys anything man-made.

Never harms anything human.

Danny clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking. It’s getting harder and harder to lift his feet with each step. The wobble of his left knee, the stabbing in his chest every time he breathes, the itch of his throat. It all weighs him down. And atop that, something far heavier bears down upon him, a bone-deep dread that twists his stomach into knots. He has felt the press of that unseen force from the moment Tucker stepped into Lancer’s office.

Danny sways under a bout of dizziness, nearly stumbling into the street when he tries to catch his footing. Unable to breathe deeply, he compensates with quick, shallow breaths.

And the itch on his throat persists, like bugs creeping under his skin, gnawing on his insides. They skitter from his throat to his chest, spreading from his ribs to his heart, his lungs, burrowing deep.

Danny doesn’t notice his hand roaming under his hoodie until a nail slips between the bandages on his chest and pricks the open wound. A passing woman glares at him when he yelps, muttering something about delinquents under her breath. Danny ignores her.

At least he isn’t thinking about the itching now. He presses the heel of his palm into the bandages, grimacing through the lingering sting, waiting for it to dull into the ever-present throb. To be safe, he clasps his hands in his pocket, so he won’t scratch again as he continues down the street.

Despite how bright the sun shines, the air is cold. Or, it had been when he left for school that morning. He remembers looking out the window—seconds before realizing he was three hours late for class—seeing how crisp and clear everything looked, how the snow sparkled in the sunlight, and knowing it would be cold. But he's not cold now. He almost feels too hot, and the temptation to rip his hoodie off grows along with his weariness.

A red-hot coil burns in his chest, hissing as it brands the inside of his ribs. He exhales the steam in shallow puffs and wipes sweat from his forehead.

Something yellow glints at the edge of his vision, causing Danny's heart to leap into his throat. He throws himself to the side, slipping in the snow as he tries to get out of Tech's reach.

But Tech's not here. Tech is at school.

The taxi that caught Danny’s eye passes harmlessly by.

He leans against the nearest wall as he tries to catch his breath, which is hard when the bandages around his chest are so tight that his ribs creak. He reaches under his sweater again and probes the bandages, finding the loose loop his scratching had created. His fingers come away damp, but that could be blood or sweat. He doesn’t want to know which, wiping his hand on the inside of the hoodie.

It's too damn hot out here. His skin crawls. There's so much yellow everywhere, every flash cranking Danny’s nerves up. It all becomes too much, and he crashes to his knees as his stomach revolts.

No one pauses at the sight of a kid gagging on the sidewalk. Danny wonders what they think of him but decides he doesn't care as he retches again. Nothing but bile comes up. When was the last time he ate or drank anything besides ectoplasm? When did he even have that last? He has a foggy memory of opening the box he keeps his supply in and downing the last three vials at once, but he can't say when that was. As for actual food, that must have been on Friday, before the fight. That was three days ago, and he hasn’t had a bite to eat since.

Danny's head spins.

He should go home. Lancer told him to go home. Actually, no. He said he would send Danny home. With a parent, probably. Parents who already hadn't been answering the secretary's calls, which would have left Jazz as the remaining option. Danny won’t be surprised if she had put herself down as one of his emergency contacts the second she turned eighteen last month. But going home with her would either mean waiting at school all day for classes to end or pulling her out of class so that she could take him home.

Danny's stomach churns again. No. He wouldn't have let that happen. Even if he hadn’t stormed off, he still would have left.

He slumps against the wall behind him. During the fight on Friday, he landed poorly, and his left knee has been smarting ever since. It protests a bit more loudly now, especially after getting jostled around by Tucker. A few seconds to rest and stretch it out will do him some good.

Snow soaks into his jeans, but he doesn't care. Taking a handful of snow, he shoves it in his mouth, swishing it around until it melts, trying to get rid of the bile taste. He doesn't have anything else to wash it down with. He doesn’t even have his backpack, for that matter. Maybe it's still at home, sitting by the front door. Or he left it in the school office. He can't remember.

He doesn't remember much of anything since Friday. Just the pain, and the blood, and the cracking of his heart as he glimpsed those familiar green eyes underneath the visor.

A few snowflakes fall onto Danny's lashes. His eyelids flutter.

Why is it so hot?

After checking that people still aren't paying attention to him—they aren't—he closes his eyes and tugs on his core. Cold floods his veins as his ice powers activate. It soothes the bruises that spread across his back and stomach. He focuses on the palm against his chest, concentrating on his worst injury.

The cold is a balm. It pushes back against the heat in his cheeks and helps him forget about the burn of Tucker's hand.

Danny doesn't know how much time has passed before he hears a vehicle pulling up. The cold bites at his nose and ears, but his cheeks are still far too warm. He still hasn’t caught his breath.

He hears tires rolling over broken concrete. This must have been where he fought Johnny a couple of weeks ago. The city is usually pretty good at cleaning up Danny's messes, but sometimes the smaller debris gets missed. Most people have learned to ignore it by now, but Danny always notices.

A window rolls down.

Danny squeezes his eyes tighter, hoping he hasn't been mistaken for a vagrant. A scrawny kid with no backpack, huddled on the street during school hours in winter, wearing nothing but a hoodie. He pulls his knees up to make himself smaller. Bending his left knee hurts a bit more than it should, more than it ever has with bad landings in the past, but he ignores it.

“Danny, do you need a ride?”

It takes Danny a second to recognize the voice and the truck. Mr. Foley leans over the passenger seat and peers at him through the open window.

It takes another second for Danny to remember his ice powers and cut them off. He misses the cold as soon as it's gone. He always feels better when the cold comes from within, numbing his body from the bones outward. But he can't have Mr. Foley noticing the glow in his eyes. Despite the delay, Mr. Foley doesn't react.

“Where's your jacket? I almost didn't recognize you and had to turn back around,” Mr. Foley says.

“I don't need a jacket.”

“Everyone needs a jacket. You're going to freeze.”

Danny brushes the snowflakes off his lashes and stares hard. “Where's Tucker?”

“At the school. We got him set up with that student tutor program, and he's working on that for the rest of the afternoon. He has to catch up on all the work he missed from ghost hunting.”

“Oh.” Isn't that nice?

Danny almost says no. He has known the Foleys his whole life, considers them family, and would go so far as to call them his honorary aunt and uncle. There had once been a time when, if he couldn't go to his parents for something, he would go to the Foleys. But he almost says no.

Mr. Foley must notice his hesitation because he rolls his eyes and says, “Just get in the damn truck.”

Danny gets in the damn truck. Hot air blasts into his face once he's inside.

Mr. Foley waits until Danny, who first closes the vents on his side of the truck, has buckled himself in before speaking again. “I'm disappointed in you.”

How diabolical of him to wait until Danny can't easily escape.

“There's a jacket in my locker,” Danny mutters.

“Not because of that. Although, yes. You're going to get sick if you aren't already. Do you remember when you boys were little? Whenever you and Tucker played in the snow, you always took your jacket off. We couldn't leave you alone outside, or you'd come in three hours later with the worst cold we'd ever seen.” Mr. Foley shakes his head with a smile, although it fades quickly.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Tucker, but it’s not like you to lash out,” he continues. “It’s obvious you’re going through something, and I’m here if you need to talk. But what you did in there wasn’t okay.

Danny watches the sidewalk as they pull into traffic, staring at the indent he left behind. He hadn’t noticed how much it was snowing when he was sitting, but a pile nearly three inches tall marks where he had been.

“I can’t say I’m not mad, but… I’m just disappointed.”

Danny wants to say he didn't mean to hurt Tucker, but he can't. Tucker is his best friend, but Tech? Thinking of Tucker's alter ego makes Danny's heart pound, and not in a good way. Not the way he's used to. Thinking of Tucker as Tech? He wants to throw up again.

Every bruise, every burn, every little cut Danny has gathered this past month throbs at the thought of that golden armour. He checks over his shoulder, but no one is there.

Tucker's at school. Tucker's at school. Tech is at school.

“You don't have anything to say?” Mr. Foley asks.

Danny shrugs.

“Tucker's okay, by the way. You didn't hurt him any more than he already was.” Mr. Foley pauses, giving Danny space to respond, but he doesn't. “This is an upsetting situation. Tucker is hurt and has been getting hurt for some time. Going out and hunting ghosts—” Mr. Foley shakes his head. “It's funny how much a mask can trick you. Tucker made me follow all the 'official' Tech Hunter accounts. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen everything there is to see of Tech online. It seems obvious now that I know. I always thought he was just a fan.”

Mr. Foley's grip on the steering wheel tightens. “But some of those videos…”

Danny doesn’t need to hear it. He has seen them, too. Clips of Tech zooming through the city, using gadgets and gizmos to take down ghosts with ease. They started fun. Even Danny enjoyed the videos at first. He felt a kinship with this new hunter, who didn't seem much older than him. But then the tech got bigger, the fights more brutal, the targets more… familiar. Danny stopped watching the videos a while ago, after he became the ghost in them.

“These last few weeks alone… I swear he was hunting down Phantom every day. I was starting to feel sorry for Phantom until—well. Until.”

Danny rubs his knee. Despite having time to rest, it still hurts. Touching it is like pressing on a fresh bruise.

“I'm sorry,” Mr. Foley says. “It's been a stressful few days, but it's not appropriate for me to dump this all on you. You need to worry about school, not ghosts. I just always thought Phantom was a good one. It doesn't seem right that all ghosts could be bad.”

“Well, you were wrong. Everyone knows ghosts are bad.”

“Danny, your parents—”

“Were right all along. We all should have listened to them. Ghosts aren't good.” Danny squeezes his knee. “They can't be good. They're monsters, right? Because only a monster would hurt Tucker like that. Wouldn't see the person behind the mask. It—Phantom—Tucker was there the whole time, and Phantom couldn't see that. He just kept hurting him. He should have known!”

The soft voice of the radio fills the cab. And then Mr. Foley turns it off, and there's only silence. Danny can't look. He lets go of his knee, flexing his fingers. They're numb from how tightly he clenched his hand.

He wants to make himself small, curl up and disappear into nothing. He doesn’t want to be seen or heard or perceived. If only a portal would open up beneath him and take him to an endless void—there must be one somewhere in the Infinite Realms—where he can stop existing for a while.

“Danny,” Mr. Foley says.

Stop it.

“Danny, I'm worried about you.”

Stop looking at me.

“Your parents are good people, but I don't like it when you start saying these things. And you've been different lately.”

No, no, no!

The heat of the cab bears down on him. His bandages are damp, and he is cold and hot and too many things all at once. Mr. Foley keeps talking, but his words don't reach Danny. The pounding of his heart drowns them out. The truck turns a corner, making Danny's view spin, but when the vehicle straightens out, the world does not.

“I—” a voice says. “Please. I need—”

“Are you okay?” Something hot touches Danny's forehead. “You're burning up.”

A hand reaches for the door. A monster's hand with pale, bony fingers and scabby knuckles. It pops the door open. The truck screeches as Mr. Foley slams on the brakes, but Danny is already out the door, part of him phasing through the metal when it can't open fast enough. He hits the ground running.

“Danny!” Mr. Foley shouts after him, but Danny is gone before the truck stops.

He doesn't know where he's going. Snow pelts his face, nearly blinding him. The wind has gone from nipping at his cheeks to slicing through him, whipping into a storm. In the distance, a haze of green and orange glows behind the snow. Danny veers away from it and pivots down the nearest street. As he turns, he skids on a patch of ice and loses his footing, careening into a mailbox. The corner drives into his chest, and his world goes white.

Danny comes to face down in the snow with ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know how long he was out, but it is long enough that the flood of adrenaline has ebbed. As the tide recedes, it uncovers all the aches he had ignored for the past few minutes.

Every breath drives a dagger through his chest. He doesn't know if he wants to cry, puke, or collapse. Or all three at once. Through the flurry of snow, he hears a shout.

“Danny!”

He has to keep going.

“Danny, where are you?!”

Leaning on the mailbox for support, he drags himself up, pivoting on his left leg.

He hears a pop. A crackling, like stepping on broken glass. Danny crumples with a scream as a searing pain tears through his knee. It’s here and gone in seconds, leaving his whole body trembling as he lays in the snow. He tries to rise, but his knee immediately gives out.

A hand touches his shoulder before he can try again.

“Daniel.”

He tries to clamber away from the hand, the voice, but his leg can’t bear the weight, even when sliding across the ground. His entire side spasms when he accidentally knocks his knee, and he lashes out at the hand reaching for him, stopping just sort of crushing those fingers in his grip.

He whimpers. “Leave me 'lone.”

“Don't be stupid. You're coming with me.”

Danny is scooped up before he can protest. He doesn't even have the energy to squirm. Anything that isn't snow is just a blur of colour. The face above him. The car ahead of them. As they approach, Danny’s shaking stops. Not because he adjusts to the pain, his body just stops. No breathing. No heartbeat. Nothing. All at once, everything has become very far away.

“Not so much fight in you today, little badger.”

He tenses as the car door opens, but inside is barely warmer than out in the snow. Danny lies in the backseat, cheek pressed to the chill leather. He tries to keep his eyes open, but staring at the seat ahead of him while the car moves turns his stomach. Again, nothing but bile comes up.

He closes his eyes, drifting into nothing as the darkness takes him.

—

A tether pulls Danny along. His body moves, and he moves with it, but he isn't moving it. “Danny” and “Danny's body” are not the same right now. His body feels the arms around his shoulders and under his knees. Danny does not. His body lifts its hand to stare at its scarred fingers. Danny does not.

Danny drifts behind, watching but not seeing, as the world moves around him. It is dull and flat and not quite real. It’s like possessing his Doomed avatar all over again.

That changes when he is set down on a cold table in front of a glowing expanse. The swirling green fog beckons him forward. He tries to rise, but those hands grab him again and sit him back down. This time, he feels the pressure on his shoulder as if through layers of thick cloth. One hand moves to his head, dragging through his hair. Danny doesn't try getting up again after that. He sits, content watching the ebb and flow, breathing in the sour air.

The one time Danny's friends had been in his parents' lab, they called the air acrid. Danny would have agreed with them before. Now, that smell comforts him. The same way people enjoy citrus, vanilla, or pine, Danny savours the scent—and taste—of ecto-rich air. The longer he sits there, the more “Danny” and “Danny's body” feel like one thing again. The table beneath him becomes solid, real. His breathing, although far from easy, evens out. The haze over his mind creeps away like fog in the sunlight.

The trembling starts immediately. Danny closes his eyes, taking as deep a breath as possible, ignoring how shaky it is. He wants to curl into a ball and wallow, but this isn’t the place for that. Not anymore. Instead, he gives himself ten seconds.

One.

Ten seconds to be miserable.

Two.

To wonder how badly he screwed up this time.

Three.

Four.

To wonder if he cracked a rib when he hit that mailbox.

Five.

Six.

Or what he might have torn in his knee.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

To pretend he’s just a normal kid having a shitty day.

Ten.

Danny sits up straight and turns. Now that his panic has retreated—not gone, but tucked into a corner of his mind like a wild animal—he realizes where he is. Who he's with.

Danny didn't notice when Vlad pulled away. Part of him, much larger than he wants to admit, laments the loss of contact. Now, Vlad leans against the console of his lab. A large monitor rises behind him, with several smaller screens angled beside it. They can function as individual screens or act as one massive display. Danny has played Doomed on those screens many times in the past year. He can see the game's case just behind Vlad, alongside his NASA mug and a pair of headphones he has never seen before.

Vlad follows Danny’s gaze to the items on the desk. He smiles and picks up the headphones. “Do you like them? They just came in. I know your old headphones got damaged in a fight.”

“Yeah.” The ear pads on the headphones are planets, and stripes like the rings of Saturn decorate the headband. It will not be the first gift Vlad has given him. Danny swallows before adding, “With Tech.”

Vlad puts the headphones down and comes forward. “I'm sure you heard the news by now. It's all over Amity Park. I'm sorry your best friend turned out to be a ghost hunter.” He rests a hand on Danny's head in a paternal gesture, which Danny normally finds comforting. “It must be hard. Are you all right?”

Danny takes in the lab, which has grown more familiar to him than his own home. The day Vlad showed him this place and revealed himself, something in Danny changed.

You're like me, Danny had thought. You understand me.

Any ghost can stumble into Vlad's lab, but he and Danny are the only humans able to reach it. It became his haven. Here, he could be himself without worrying about anyone else seeing. And Vlad gave him that.

Tucker's words, which had never left Danny's mind, resurface.

Vlad told me to.

Danny jerks away from Vlad's hand, leaving it hanging between them. Something changes in Vlad's expression. It's so minute that someone else might not have caught it, but Danny has spent too much time with the man not to notice. Vlad's nostrils flare, and his mouth twitches downward. Danny blinks, and Vlad's smile is back at full brightness, but it's too late. Danny saw the mask crack.

Vlad clasps his hands behind his back and starts pacing. “I heard about your suspension. Your father added me to your list of emergency contacts after I came to Amity, and when you left without waiting for an adult, the school contacted me. You're lucky I found you. Have you even treated your injuries yet?”

“Vlad.” Danny's tone could make a ghost shiver.

Vlad pauses for a second. “Daniel. What did I do to lose my uncle privileges?”

“Whatever you did to Tucker.”

“Oh, dear. Is this about the press conference? I promise it won't be anything bad, but this is a big revelation for the city. I would be remiss not to address it.”

“No, I—press conference?” Danny shakes his head. “Stop it. Stop deflecting. Tucker told me.”

Vlad's jaw tenses. Another crack. “What do you mean? What did he tell you?”

“Everything!”

Vlad looks Danny up and down, then swivels, heading back for the console. He swipes the NASA mug up and swirls around the liquid inside. Some week-old energy drink, probably. He sniffs at it and makes a disgusted face, then dumps the contents over a nearby floor drain. Vlad takes his time going to the eyewash station, filling the mug with water and cleaning it.

Two minutes pass before Vlad returns to the console and leans against it, giving Danny a long stare. Unable to straighten with the gnawing in his chest, Danny curls in instead. Vlad smirks.

The expression makes Danny bristle. He knows that face. It's the smile Vlad gives him when they've both seen something stupid—a private joke passing between them. Danny doesn't smile back. He doesn't see any jokes around here except for himself.

“I don't know what you're talking about. Is your fever getting to you?” Vlad says.

“You knew who he was! Tucker said so!”

“Oh. I found out by mistake. I knew it would only hurt you, so I gave him some advice. I would have told you sooner if I thought it would end like this. But you know how unstable you—”

“LIAR!” Danny howls, the sound tearing from Danny’s throat, shaking the lab. It cracks the monitors and shatters the mug in Vlad’s hand. He scowls, shaking off glass and blood, while Danny cries out. “Why would you make me hurt him?!”

“I didn't make you do anything. You said you wanted to help, so I gave you a task. You did get the relic, didn't you?” Vlad pauses, but not long enough for Danny to answer. “How exactly you went about getting it was entirely up to you. I have plenty of resources you could have used to track it down before Tech got to it.”

“I wasn't going to use one of your ghosts!”

“Oh, that's delightful.” There is nothing friendly in Vlad's smile now.

The shift takes Danny aback. Despite the cracks he saw, he doesn’t want to believe the mask is there, to see it crumble. This isn’t supposed to happen. Vlad should be smiling at him—warmly—and offering some sage advice that sounds pompous but ultimately helps Danny figure this out. And, after taking care of Danny’s wounds, they will go upstairs and watch something in Vlad’s home theatre. An old Packers game if Vlad reaches the TV first, during which he’ll recite the same hundred facts Danny has heard a thousand times over. Some kind of monster flick if Danny gets there first, or a space documentary if he wants to annoy Vlad. But no matter what they watch, they’ll spend the hours crafting a perfect lie about his behaviour for Danny’s parents, and when Danny goes to sleep later, he can rest easy knowing that Vlad has his back. Even if no one else does.

Danny wants his Uncle Vlad.

He doesn’t want this.

“You really think you're a monster, don't you?”

Danny fights back tears, saying, “I'm not like them! I have a heartbeat. I still feel things. I don't just hurt people because I can!” He doesn't even convince himself.

“There's more than one way to be a monster.” Vlad presses a button on the console.

The screens, cracked but still functional, light up. All seven show the same thing: a clip from Friday's fight. It isn't in the video circling online, but Danny remembers this moment. It happened not long after the fight began.

Phantom grabs Tech by the chest piece, lifts him, and then slams him down on the ground. Hard enough that the pavement beneath Tech fractures and his suit glitches. The video closes in on the ghost's snarling face. Its bared fangs. The wild, inhuman eyes.

“Shut up!” Danny launches himself at Vlad. In the second it takes to cross the lab, he transforms from human to ghost. His claws tear into Vlad’s suit as they collide and crash into the main monitor. It shatters, glass raining down around them, but the video doesn’t stop.

The screens on either side show the clip on a loop. The same scene is happening here, in a different place, with a different friend, but the same feral look on Phantom's face.

“I didn't want to! You made me do it!” Danny slams Vlad down again and again and again. All the while, that recording taunts him from the edges of his vision. Danny's attention snaps to the screens on his right. Beams of ectoplasm explode from his eyes and carve through the screens, scorching the walls as he turns from right to left.

Vlad shoves his palm under Danny's chin and fires. Pink overtakes Danny’s vision as the ecto-blast goes off, throwing him across the lab. The smell of smoke and singed flesh overpowers the comforting tang of ectoplasm. Danny stares at the ceiling, panting, and swallows. It hurts.

“Little badger, look at yourself. You're not in the right state for this.”

Danny pushes himself up and finds Vlad, now transformed, floating closer. The front of his suit is torn, but the injuries beneath are little more than paper cuts to him. Danny flicks the blood off his claws and tries to stand. His knee gives out beneath him.

“You can't walk.”

Danny tries to respond but cuts off with a sharp gasp. He touches a hand to his throat. When he pulls away, he finds ectoplasm dripping from his claws.

“You can't speak.”

Danny snarls.

“I thought you said you weren't a monster?”

With a screech, Danny throws himself forward again. Vlad dodges to the side. They've been here before. How many times has Danny tested himself against Vlad, tried out new powers on him, and sparred in the lab?

How many times has Danny lost to Vlad in these friendly sessions?

That doesn’t stop Danny from throwing himself, again and again, at the man he trusts. The man he sees as a mentor, an uncle, and maybe even a father figure. He lashes out with claws, and teeth, and ectoplasm, but nothing hits. Vlad keeps slipping out of the way, unbothered, as if this means nothing to him. Danny's whole world is crashing down around him, and no one cares.

He tries to duplicate, desperate for any edge he can get over Vlad, and gets so far as having two right forearms sprouting from his elbow before something inside of him fizzles.

“No, no, no!” Danny croaks. A ring flickers around his chest. He forces it back, barely, and leaps at Vlad again, charging ecto-blasts in all three palms.

Vlad dodges the first blast and the second but slips right into the path of the third. Triumph fills Danny as the ecto-blast explodes, until a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

“Don’t forget who taught you all of your tricks.” The duplicate Vlad left behind to take the hit melts away as the real Vlad steps back, claws sinking into Danny’s flesh. He smiles before wrenching Danny’s arm upward.

Danny screams over the squelch of the limb tearing from his body. He crumples on the floor, groping at his elbow. Threads of muscle coated in blood and ectoplasm twitch beneath his fingers. Their tattered ends dangle from the arm in Vlad’s grip, a jagged bone poking out between the flesh.

Danny retches when he feels the muscles twitching. Darkness creeps into his vision, and he has to fight it back.

His arm. His arm. Vlad ripped off his arm.

A string of muscle slips out of the severed arm and hits the floor. Globs of ectoplasm follow, splattering against the tile. The flesh shrivels, sloughing off in chunks, followed by the remaining muscle, and the bones crumble in Vlad's grip as the arm corrodes from the inside out. Danny flinches at each wet smack, unable to tear his eyes away from the decaying limb. Every time a piece of it falls, his elbow spasms. He cups the wound, expecting his hand to close around a stump, but finds solid flesh instead. Slowly, his gaze lowers.

Ectoplasm oozes between his fingers. Pulling his hand away, he watches the last dangling thread of muscle fall, joining the mass on the floor. The ectoplasm on his elbow bubbles and smooths out into pale, unblemished skin.

Between the swimming in his head and the darkness creeping into his vision, it takes him a while to truly process what he sees. His right arm, from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips, is still there.

The melting limb is fake—the duplicate.

It is the duplicate, right? Danny flexes his real—please, please be real—hand. The crumbling remains of his other fingers twitch, sending a jolt up his arm. Muscles that did not exist before—and exist no longer—strain to move a part of him that isn't there.

The limb is fake.

But it feels real.

Every second of agony as his flesh decays before his eyes.

When the rings come again, Danny doesn't have the energy to fight them off.

“Remember: it didn't have to be like this, little badger. If it weren't for your stubbornness, we could have kept going as we were. But I suppose you've ruined it.” Vlad waves his hand, creating a shield of ectoplasm. With a push, it shoots forward, pinning Danny to the ground, moulding around his body as it binds him.

The last chunks of his arm dissolve, and Danny’s eyes widen when the puddle inches toward him. He squirms, breath hitching as he tries to get away, but there’s nowhere to go. His bindings tighten, forcing his elbows into his ribs, cutting into his wrists until his fingers go numb.

The ectoplasm seeps into his hair. When he whips his head around, droplets splatter against his cheek. One lands on his lips.

The taste of lime. The smell. Burnt. Rotting.

Vlad rests a foot on Danny's chest, on his injury. It draws Danny’s attention, but one word lingers in the back of Danny’s mind.

Acrid.

“And I could have done so much for you,” Vlad says, then digs his heel in.

Danny is too busy howling at his cracking bones to see the foot come for his head next.

—

Danny was bleeding the first time they met. It was the standard for their first few run-ins, spread over the following weeks. Even now, it seems that Danny always bleeds in Vlad’s presence.

He had been late coming home from school, caught in a fight on his way. He pelted toward the stairs, clutching his backpack against his stomach—the fifth backpack he would lose after his accident. Before he started climbing, his dad beckoned him to the living room. Danny didn't have time for whatever his dad wanted. He could feel the wet spot on his side growing. If he didn't get behind a closed door soon, someone might notice the stain spreading on his shirt. He cared more about that than the grey tint slowly overcoming his vision.

“Danny? Are you coming?” his dad called again.

Danny made the mistake of looking back. His dad’s eyes were filled with so much hope. Danny knew his parents were eccentric and that put people off, but how could anyone ever say no to Jack Fenton when he radiated such joy?

Danny's earliest memory is the glint of his dad's smile. The warmth of his arms.

At that moment, Danny was bleeding into his backpack. His vision was growing dimmer by the second, and he wasn't sure if he could walk straight. But his dad smiled and waved him forward, and suddenly Danny was a toddler again, taking his first wobbling steps toward his favourite person in the world.

His dad’s beckoning hand pulled him toward the promise of that warmth, and he stumbled into the living room.

He didn't know the man sitting on the couch. Didn't hear anything his parents said, either. Danny rushed through an introduction (Hi, I'm Danny, nice to meet you—I'm going to my room now) and fled as soon as possible.

Once locked behind the bathroom door, he stuffed his bloody shirt into his bloodier backpack and started fixing himself up. He had to dig a pellet of ice from his abdomen and was surprised it hadn't melted yet. That ghost—what was his name… Klemper?—had been tossing snowballs left and right. Danny hadn’t expected it to hurt once he got hit with one, much less bury a chunk of ice in his stomach.

So much for making friends.

Once the shard was out, blood flowed freely from the wound. Danny nearly passed out at the sight of it. It was the first time he had bled so much from a ghost fight. He impressed himself by holding it together, until he tried to stitch himself up with a travel sewing kit. As the needle dug into his skin, his world went black.

An hour later, Danny was bandaged—but no stitches, never again—and the bathroom was clear. He had stuffed the toilet paper and towels he used to mop up the blood into his backpack, intent on tossing the whole thing in the dumpster once night fell. Satisfied with his cleanup job, he slunk into the hall, shirtless, once again hiding behind his backpack.

Danny had been so busy checking if Jazz's door was closed that he hadn’t noticed the body before him until he buried his nose in a cashmere jacket. He looked up into the stunned face of the man his dad had wanted him to meet. Some old friend of his parents’ from their college days. Danny had already forgotten his name.

He wouldn't find out for weeks how the man noticed the only drop of blood Danny had missed—a stain the size of a quarter on the hem of his jeans. In the moment, all he saw was the man's shocked expression melting into amusement, and something else, something Danny couldn't name but recognized on an instinctive level. Something that made him take a step back.

The man surprised Danny with a pat on the head. “Try dish soap. And cold water,” he said before gliding past into the bathroom.

Danny spent the rest of that evening hiding in his bedroom, afraid that at any second, his parents would come bursting in because their friend saw him bleeding. They never did.

To anyone else, that interaction would have been insignificant—a few harried seconds easily forgotten. But to Danny, who had already been through so much, it meant one thing:

There was an adult he could trust.

—

Danny wakes up to a fever and a ceiling covered in stars. Not the dollar-store, glow-in-the-dark stickers he grew up with, which his dad helped him put up when he was five, but a light projection from a lamp on the nightstand. With the curtains drawn, only the stars provide light for the room. Danny is thankful for that. He can barely keep his eyes open with how much his head pounds.

He reaches to peel off the blanket, but freezes. His right arm hovers in front of him, trembling. It comes back to him quickly: the sound, the smell, the taste. The slow decay of the phantom limb.

It was fake, he tells himself, squeezing his hand into a fist. That wasn’t real.

The rest of his body feels stiff, fresh bruises blooming across his back and shoulders, and he can’t catch his breath. It’s like there’s a knife in his back, held in place by Vlad’s heel, and even the smallest inhale pushes Danny’s chest back into the blade.

His throat is a footnote in comparison, barely worth his notice.

But his knee… This morning, Danny’s knee twinged. There was discomfort, but he could walk. Comparing his pain from then to now is like comparing a bruise to a bullet wound. He knows the disparity between those two injuries.

He pushes himself up, peeling away from the sweat-soaked sheets, and bites back a cry when his leg shifts. He has to stop twice and grit his teeth before he manages to sit upright.

The blanket falls into his lap just as he spots his reflection in the mirror across the room. His chest and throat have been bandaged with care. The edges of his injuries creep out from beneath the bandages, flares of red skin touching his collarbone and ribs. The bandages on his throat are also damp, but not from sweat. Danny recognizes the slightly tacky sensation of Vlad’s healing salve—a concoction made to soothe ectoplasmic injuries. It works best on surface wounds.

Beneath the blanket, he discovers unfamiliar pyjamas. Pulling up the left leg reveals a compression bandage around his knee. If it’s supposed to help, it’s not doing much.

There is little else in the room besides him, the bed, and the mirror. The projector and the nightstand, of course. A dresser beneath the mirror. A Dumpty Humpty poster on the door. This room is one of many that Danny had yet to explore in Vlad's manor. Despite this, he immediately knows what, or who, it's for.

This is Danny's room.

Only a day ago, that realization might have warmed him. Now, it fills him with disgust. He needs to leave as soon as possible, but he can't go out in a pair of flannel pyjama pants. Scanning the room again, he doesn't see his hoodie or sweatpants, but he notices a stack of clothes on the corner of the bed.

Designer jeans, a Vladco polo shirt, and a fur-lined leather jacket. No way Danny is putting those on.

He goes to transform, tugging on his core, but a jolt of electricity stops him. It rips through his body and leaves him breathless, clutching his chest. He doesn’t try again.

He should. If he wants to get out of here quickly, he only has one option. But just turning his hand intangible makes his insides itch. He doesn’t want to know how intense that would feel across his whole body. Doesn’t want to hurt any more than he already does.

Danny berates himself for his weakness.

He changes into the clothes and hates every second of it, but he doesn't have another option. It takes an embarrassingly long time since he has to manoeuvre his bad knee. Bending it hurts. Straightening it hurts. He can’t even let it lay limp without some discomfort. But he manages, grimacing when he catches his reflection, and starts the arduous process of limping through the manor.

He may not have explored every inch of Vlad’s home, but he knows the layout well enough to find his way to the front door. He keeps one hand on the wall to help his balance, but he still falls a few times.

By the time he reaches the stairs, the wall is the only thing holding him up. Every time he puts weight on his left leg, his knee slides beneath his skin. His right thigh aches from hopping across the manor on one leg. While ghost hunting keeps Danny in shape, the last few days have drained him so much that he feels like a weak freshman again, barely able to run a mile.

As he peers down the stairs from the third-floor landing, part of him whispers that he should go back and collapse into that soft bed. But he hasn’t sunk that low yet. As he debates the least painful way to make it down, a voice floats up to him.

“—wake him up. I don't want to take up more of your time,” Jazz says.

“It's not a problem, dear.” Danny's heart quickens at Vlad's voice. “Danny visits often enough. I don't mind him taking up one of my spare bedrooms for a few hours. I'm just glad I found him so quickly.”

Danny clings to the newel post as he lowers himself to the floor, starting the long process of scooting down the stairs one step at a time.

“Thanks again for calling the school back. Lancer said he didn't want to pull me out of class, but someone needed to be here for Danny.”

“He was fine with me.”

“Family, I mean.”

“Right. Of course. But you could have waited for school to end.”

Danny glances at the grandfather clock on the main floor, visible at the back of the hall now that he's worked his way down to the second landing. It's not even three yet. Jazz had to leave school early because of him. A bitter taste spreads across his tongue. He swallows a few times, but the taste lingers. He can't get rid of his guilt that easily.

“Yeah, that's not happening. Danny comes first.”

He wishes she would stop saying stupid things.

When Danny finally reaches the bottom floor, he stops to gather himself. A few quick breaths, so close to hyperventilating that he wonders if his panic has reared its head again, before he strides over to the doorway leading to Vlad's sitting room. He almost makes it all the way, but on the last step, his leg buckles, and he clings to the door frame to keep himself up. Jazz’s head jerks up at the sound of him hitting the doorway, and her face lights up when she spots him.

“Danny!” She is upon him instantly, leaping across the room to reach him, rubbing his hair, touching his forehead, and fussing with the jacket. “Oh. This is new?”

“His clothes were soaked, and he didn’t have a good coat. I couldn't in good conscience leave him like that.”

While Jazz frets, Danny stares past her. Vlad sits in a lavish armchair with his back to them but watches through the mirror above the mantle. He has a thing for mirrors.

Their eyes meet, and Vlad's flash red. Danny pales.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jazz asks.

Danny, unable to speak, nods. The way Jazz fusses, she keeps pushing him back, forcing more weight onto his injured knee. Tears spring to his eyes.

“Oh, Danny.” Jazz lifts a hand to wipe the tears away, but Danny flinches back.

“Careful.” Vlad rises from his chair. The movement yanks Danny's attention back to him as he approaches. “I think I might have bruised his ego when I had to carry him inside. He must be sulking.”

Danny can feel Jazz's eyes on him, but he can't look away from Vlad. Danny hasn't stopped shaking since they made eye contact. Vlad raises a hand to fix his sleeve, and Danny flinches again.

“Oh.” Jazz's hand finds Danny's wrist and squeezes it once. “Well, thank you again. I'm taking Danny home now if that's all right.”

Her tone says she doesn't care if it's all right; they're going home now.

“By all means,” Vlad says.

No one moves. Danny doesn’t want to look away from Vlad, afraid of what might happen the second he turns his back. Jazz must pick up on his wariness because she keeps looking between them as if she, too, is waiting for something to happen.

Vlad finally breaks the spell over them by gesturing to the door.

Jazz takes Danny’s hand and pulls him away. He stays behind her, so she can’t see him limping. Unfortunately, they’re nowhere near the wall, and he has no way to hold himself up when his leg gives out again. His hand rips from Jazz’s as he stumbles, barely catching himself from face-planting.

Jazz spins around, lips parting, but Danny snaps, “What?” before she can say anything.

Hurt flashes across her face. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” He drops to one knee, ducking his head to hide his grimace, and mutters, “Tripped on my shoelace.”

Jazz doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t lift his head to see what face she’s making. Danny fiddles with his perfectly tied laces until Jazz’s feet turn away from him and head for the door. He stays on the ground, breathing softly through his nose until he’s ready to stand, rising on one leg. His left knee spasms.

He massages it through his jeans, although it doesn’t help. The compression bandage doesn’t seem to be doing anything, either. It feels like someone sliced his knee open, chipped the bone to pieces, and filled the hole with oozing ectoplasm.

The front door opens and shuts.

Danny only has a second to process what that means before he jerks toward Vlad, just in time to see a syringe of orange fluid jabbed into his arm. Danny rips his arm away, but Vlad is faster. By the time Danny stumbles back, the syringe is empty.

“I've done a lot for you, little badger. I still will.” Vlad closes his fist around the syringe. There's a flash of pink, and then ash falls from his hand. “You'll be thanking me in a couple of hours when that kicks in. Remember, I only want what's best for you.” He turns but pauses halfway. “Oh… and keep that relic safe for me, won't you? I'll be needing it soon enough,” he says before drifting out of sight.

—

The car shakes as Danny drops into the passenger seat, and once more when he slams the door shut.

“Hey, not so hard,” Jazz says.

Danny ignores her, facing the window as he scrubs his face. He can still taste the salt on his lips, and the red around his eyes is prominent. He tries to rub it away, but there’s no helping it. After a few fruitless seconds, he gives up, pulling the bar under his seat to slide the chair back and give his legs some room. He cranks the lever on the side as well, putting the back down, and drapes a hand over his eyes.

“Hey.” Jazz prods him. “Upright, seatbelt on. That's not safe if we crash.”

“Do you plan on crashing?” The words drag at his throat, which quickly went hoarse during his minute of alone time. His voice comes out raspy and quiet. Danny doesn't know what Jazz sees, or what she makes of him right now.

After a few seconds of staring, she sighs and turns the engine on. “Just wear your seatbelt.”

Danny clicks it into place with the hand not draped over his eyes. If Jazz sees the redness, she’ll know that he was crying. Stupid. Fourteen years old and crying like a child. Danny's fingers dig into his scalp. His nails aren't quite claws when he's human, but they're sharper than normal and prick his skin. Every time he cuts them, they start growing back to a point. He always trims them before it gets too obvious.

They drive in silence. Danny grits his teeth, focusing on not hissing in pain every time they hit a pothole. Hold it together, he tells himself. Only a few more minutes to home, and then he can fall apart in private. Until then, he just has to be okay.

Everything is okay.

Everything is okay.

Jazz doesn’t try to talk again, which is better for Danny. He’s unsure if he can open his mouth without some strained sound escaping him. The inside of his lip is already ragged and bleeding from how hard he bites down.

When they turn onto their street, he thinks he’s in the clear. Jazz parks on the backstreet, in front of their garage, and Danny hears her shuffling around. At first, he thinks she’s getting out, and hopes he can wait her out and go inside a minute later. His hopes are dashed when something drops onto his chest.

Danny bites his tongue to keep from crying out.

“You left your backpack at school,” Jazz says. “After you got suspended. Do you want to talk about it?”

Danny clenches his jaw, breathing as deep as he can through his nose, and swallows the blood pooling in his mouth. Once he can speak without gasping, he says, “Yeah. I put it down, and then I forgot it was there, and then I left because I'm not allowed to be there anymore.”

“Only two weeks, and you still have to do schoolwork. I'll be bringing it home for you. Maybe you can use the rest of the time to get caught up on everything else you haven't done yet. And then you can tell me what the hell happened with Vlad back there.”

“Can we just… not do this right now.”

“Danny—”

“Jazz.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out angry, but there’s a bite to her name that he can’t take back. Being in this car, with her, is too much right now. He doesn’t need this. He needs things back to the way they were when he was oblivious and hurt, but not as hurt as he is now.

Jazz purses her lips. “Okay. I'll tell Mom and Dad about the suspension. You can talk to me—and them—when you're ready.”

“Yeah. Right.” Danny gets out before Jazz can say anything else. She follows, but he refuses to look back, fighting to hide his limp. He doesn't stop until he's inside, up the stairs, and in his bedroom. He doesn't even make it to the bed, crumpling against the door, curling over his knee as tears prick his eyes.

There are daggers under his skin, chipping away at bone and muscle, driven deeper with every step he forced himself to take. He thumps his head against the door, mouth open in a soundless scream as he lets the pain wash over him. It tears through his body, every bruise and burn throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Outside his room, the house comes alive as his parents return, their voices filling all the empty spaces. Danny's room stays dead and quiet.

For hours, he leans against his door, staring up at the stickers on his ceiling. While his eyes trace the familiar constellations, his mind has receded deep within himself. Moving from his head to his toes, he focuses on all his aches and pains, giving himself a few moments to feel each one before shoving them out of mind.

Some pains are worse than others. The bruises, he files away without a second thought. The headache and the twist in his gut take a bit more effort. But his chest? His knee? Danny doesn’t have the words to describe how much they wreck him before he can push them away.

It’s just pain. He can handle pain.

At some point, someone comes by and knocks on his door. Danny doesn’t answer, barely conscious enough to hear it. His chin dips to his chest as he watches the shadow until it leaves, relaxing only a fraction when it does.

Eventually, the sounds outside dim. Jazz whispers goodnight. The floorboards in the hall creak, first under his mom’s light steps, and then they groan as his dad traipses across them. A door closes. Everything goes quiet. With the quiet comes an all-encompassing numbness.

The clock on Danny’s nightstand reads two a.m. by the time he drags himself from his stupor. In his backpack, abandoned at his side the second he sat down, something glows. Danny reaches inside and gropes around until he finds it, small and cold to the touch. He draws the item out.

“This is all your fault,” Danny mutters. Whether that is to himself or the relic in his hand, he doesn't know. Doesn't care. Both are true.

As Danny opens his palm, the Ring of Rage glows brighter.

#invisobang #invisobang 2023 #danny phantom #Tech Hunter AU #No One Knows AU #Danny Fenton #Vlad Masters #Maurice Foley #Mentor Vlad Masters #Manipulative Vlad Masters #danny phantom big bang #danny phantom fanfiction #phicc #phanfic #mild panic attack #nondescript mention of vomiting #graphic description injury #temporary dismemberment

[denim-mixtapes]

Diamonds and Rust [1/5: Treasure Hunting] - (Eddie Munson/Reader)

Rating: T Word Count: 2100 Pairing: Eddie Munson/F!Reader Warnings: Language, Slow Build/Slow burn, pet names instead of Y/N, unironic use of the word "milady" Summary: Working in a thrift shop makes for some long, boring days, especially in the summer when you can't even fill the time with studying. Luckily your favorite metalhead regular stops in often to help pass the time. Also posted on AO3

Working in a thrift store at the edge of town usually meant long, boring days. You’d get the occasional antique hunter, a few moms shopping for their families on the weekends, a handful of regulars, and every so often some bored teens would stroll through but for the most part it was quiet. You liked it that way. All the more time to get some studying done all while getting paid, right? At least that excuse worked during the school year. Now, mid-July of the summer after your senior year, the days passed like molasses through an hourglass. Shadows stretch along the walls as the sun moves across the sky and not a soul passes through the door. 

You spend your shifts processing donations, sorting clothing into piles such as Menswear or Children’s or Dear God Why Would You Donate This There Is Literal Shit On It , and testing electronics and toys for functionality. It’s a little dull sorting diamonds from rust, but it’s a living.

Like clockwork around 2 PM, the bell above the door signals the entry of your favorite regular. He’s missing his signature leather jacket and battle vest combo, and his mop of hair is tied into a knot at the base of his neck, but he still has that signature Eddie Munson smile plastered on his face. He beelines for the counter you’re sitting behind and taps out an enthusiastic beat on the glass top, the silver of his chunky rings clicking against it louder than he anticipated. 

“Anything new for me today, Sweetheart?” He asks, drawing out the pet name a little too slowly. 

Reaching under the counter for the milk crate you and your coworkers stashed the particularly good donations, you shrug. “Not much more than yesterday, Munson. Most people don’t drop off donations in the middle of the week.” 

As you set the crate on the counter, his eyes shine with excitement. He’s practically bouncing on his toes, watching as you dig in the bin for the box you’d stashed there earlier today. 

“Maybe not,” he muses, “but I know you don’t always go through everything as soon as you get it… and you wouldn’t have reached for your little treasure chest down there if you didn’t have to so, again I say,” he actually does bounce this time, his hands coming to a teepee in front of his wicked grin, “what’cha got?” 

You can’t bluff any longer, and roll your eyes when you toss the velvet jewelry box onto the counter. “Dunno if it’s your size,” you say, “but it’s got your name written all over it.” 

Eddie opens the box quicker than you thought humanly possible, and the noise he makes can only be described as a roar of excitement, followed by a hearty laugh. He pulls the thick silver ring from its place in the box and inspects it. A heavy skull sits on the top, much like the one he already wears daily, but this one has a set of dark, tarnished metal horns curling from its forehead and small red stones set in the eye sockets. He immediately slips it onto all of his fingers to test the fit. It doesn’t look hopeful until he switches hands, slipping it onto the second finger where his other skull ring sits. 

Chuckling, he switches them, tossing the old ring up in the air and catching it before stuffing it in his back pocket. “Would ya look at that? Guess there’s only room for one,” he chuckles, flexing his fingers and admiring the new piece. “How much?” 

“As you can guess, we probably wouldn’t make much on that from anyone but you,” you tease, looking over all the other jewelry prices in the case before you. You throw out a random number, “Two-fifty?” 

“Oh,” the man before you feigns offense. His hand flies to his chest, pressing softly against the Hellfire logo, and he throws his head back. “You wound me, sweetheart. You really think that little of my style that something I love is worth a mere two dollars and fifty cents ?”

Laughing, you raise an eyebrow, your hands resting mockingly on your hips. “You wanna pay more for it?” 

“No, no,” he holds out a hand, stopping the bit before it can go any further, and rummages in his wallet for a few crumpled dollar bills. “But keep the change,” he says as he hands them over, “I don’t like…jingling.” 

Your eyes narrow at him while you pluck two quarters out of the register and deposit them into the penny pool next to it. 

“I dunno,” you murmur, “you seem to me like exactly the kind of person who wouldn’t mind jingling, what with all the chains and buttons you wear.”

“Touche, my dear, touche.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives an exaggerated shrug. Turning on his heel toward the door, he calls over his shoulder, “guess I just don’t like change. Pocket or otherwise!” 

When Eddie is around, you fear you’ll never stop rolling your eyes. Which you do, affectionately, and bid him adieu until tomorrow, when he’ll inevitably show up once again asking if anything new has come in.   

You'll definitely look. You always do. It’s a habit now, to keep an eye out for things that your regulars may like while you sort and process donations. Charles, the old man who looks for cat trinkets for his wife, always stops in on Saturday mornings while she’s at her hair appointment. You set things he may like aside so that you can show him and save him the time of browsing. Anything remotely trendy or something that may seem like a cool find, you tend to hide amongst the racks to make it more of a challenge for the teens that come in and love the hunt of it all. Likewise, the items that scream Eddie Munson at you, you can’t help but stash away with your own findings, because he can spend all day browsing the racks – and he will – but seeing his face light up when you produce your wares from under the counter is one of the highlights of your day. 

You weren’t sure how to feel when the town outcast seemed to pick your shop as his new hangout. To give yourself credit, you never really were one to buy into all the rumors spread around high school, especially in Hawkins. If you did, you wouldn’t trust anyone. No, you didn’t think he could be nearly as bad as everyone made him out to be, but his personality and style still didn’t paint him in an overly-inviting light, and you didn’t want anyone stirring up trouble in your (for the most part) peaceful place of work. At his first visit, you figured he just needed a thing or two and that he would be in and out. Then he hit you with that damn smile, and he kept coming back . Soon enough his “freak” persona melted away before your very eyes, and with every visit, over casual conversation and the occasional Icee he would bring you from the gas station across the street, you got to know the true Eddie Munson. Sure, he was still a metalhead with quite the eccentric fashion sense and devil-may-care attitude, but he was also an excitable and inviting nerd who loved a good opportunity to talk about his interests and even your own. 

So now you find yourself tucking tee shirts and patches and tapes into that milk crate and looking forward to the next time you see him. Really, you always looked forward to his next visit, but your little treasures were a better excuse for that excitement. 

The day after you presented him with his new favorite ring, the store received a donation that you’re more excited than ever to sort through.

The record store in town has had “CLOSING SOON! EVERYTHING MUST GO!” signs in its windows for months, and you had assumed they were just waiting to sell the last of their inventory before finally closing their doors, but according to the former owner the rent on the building had become too much to make keeping the doors open worth it. So, he brought the last of the inventory (about 9 crates full of records, and a few boxes of resale tour merch) to you, hoping that they might have better luck on your shelves. 

You can barely contain your glee and have to stop yourself from ripping into the boxes before he’s even left the store. By the time two o’clock rolls around you’ve managed to sift through about half the boxes, and have a short stack of records on the counter waiting to show off. 

“Well, well, well,” Eddie’s voice startles you from your concentration on the task at hand, you’ve been so engrossed in sorting through the items that you didn’t even hear the bell above the door. “What do we have here?” He gestures to the overflowing counter with both hands, excitement dancing in his eyes. 

“Christ, Eddie,” you scold, hand to your heart and a soft glare on your features. “You scared the pants off me.” 

Raising his eyebrows, he leans heavily on the counter, leaning in close to peek over the edge at your legs, “aw, man,” glancing back up to your exasperated face, he chuckles. “I was hoping you meant literally.” 

“Shut up, Munson.” You breathe. 

“Alright,” he reaches for the box closest to him and digs in, “but only ‘cause I’m itchin' to see what this is all about.” 

So you dive into the story, explaining everything the shop owner told you when he dropped it all off and you both sort through the records. Although, while you organize them alphabetically, Eddie is sorting them into two distinct piles: “Worth Listening To” and “Utter Trash.” You won’t tell him you saw, but he definitely slipped an extra ABBA album underneath Bat Out of Hell in the 'good' pile .

“Oh!” You exclaim after setting the last of the boxes behind the counter to get priced and shelved, “I almost forgot the best part!” 

“Oh yeah?” He probes, his dimples on full display when he gives you a cheeky grin, “What’s that?” He leans his elbows heavily on the counter, leaning into you with interest.

You grab the stack of hand picked items from under the counter and push it toward him, your expression full of pride. It’s not much, a couple of pins, a shirt, and three records, but they’re the ones that stood out to you most before Eddie showed up. 

“Take ‘em,” you say, barely above a whisper despite there being nobody else in the store, “they haven’t been logged yet so they technically haven’t been donated.” 

He holds the shirt, a Black Sabbath Tour ‘78 design, up to his chest and bites back a grin. “Now something tells me you shouldn’t be doin’ that.” Then, pulling the shirt away from himself, he holds it in front of you, making a show out of closing one eye and lining it up perfectly so that he can picture it on you. Your cheeks heat – whether it’s under his stare or at the comment you aren’t sure. He holds the shirt out to you and winks, “You should keep this one for yourself though. I’ve already got one like it and I’m sure you’ll rock it better than me, anyway.” 

You snatch it from his grasp and busy yourself with another box of donations to hide the fact that your blush is only getting deeper. 

“We aren’t technically supposed to hold shit for anyone after it’s been processed either, but you don’t seem to complain when I do that.” 

When you look back up, he’s holding his hands up in surrender, “hey, no complaints over here, I just wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with the law or anything. That’s kind of my schtick.” 

“Eh,” you shrug, “what the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and with a donation as massive as this, they won't be missed.” 

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he scoops the pins into his pocket and shuffles the three records between his hands. His gaze flicks between the titles (Judas Priest Stained Class , Rush 2112 , and Motörhead Overkill ) and your face, his smile widening as he does, “these are some good picks.” 

“I know , ” you press, “now get outta here so I can do my job.” 

He bows, actually bows, with his hands outstretched and turns toward the door. “Till next time, milady!”

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson/you #eddie munson reader insert #stranger things reader insert #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fluff #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #diamondsandrust fic

[baroquebucky]

caress

soulmate au where when you touch your soulmate you see glimpses of your future with them; the winter soldier touches you and realizes there’s so much more out there

series masterlist // previous // epilogue

part five

word count: 6k (v worth it me thinks)

masterlist

a/n: the final official part has arrived bffs </3 i will be doing an epilogue of just pure fluff do not fret <333 i hope u all enjoy this one !! made it xtra long for y’all <3 let me know what you guys think pls !! , i cried writing jt and the ending is my favorite thing ever eeek !!!

You were sitting on the couch next to Natasha, it was quiet as the news played on the tv in front of the two of you, news reporters talking about the aftermath of Thanos’ doing. 

23 days.

23 days since you had lost half the team, since you had lost half the universe. Since you had lost bucky.

Life was dull, you cried for hours on end at night, longing filling your chest. Sometimes you would dream of him, a smile on your face as you slept. Then you would wake up, reaching out next to you in hopes of your fingers being met with the cold vibranium of his arm. You were met with cold sheets, emptiness.

Steve missed him too, sometimes he would sit next to you when you were in tears, placing an arm around you and comforting you as best he could. Natasha and him took turns watching over you, making sure you stayed healthy.

The sound of low rumbling brought you out of the trance you were in, you furrowed your brows and looked at nat, she looked back at you equally as confused. As you went to get up things around you started shaking, steve came of the restroom concerned.

“what the hell is that?” You questioned, Rhodey and banner walking into the room together. The five of you ran out into the yard, looking up your eyes went wide. You recognized carol carrying the giant ship, you had met briefly when she came to earth after receiving Fury’s signal.

Your mouth flew open and tears filled your eyes as you saw tony, a smile on your face as Steve ran to tony, steadying him as the woman next to him handed him off.

The rest of you watched from afar as pepper ran up to tony, the two hugging. You felt your heart tug in your chest as the two soulmates embraced.

You were sat next to thor as while the others explained what happened, though you figured from the pain in their eyes they had suffered the consequences of thanos’ actions themselves.

“whats wrong with them?” Tony asked, looking at you and thor.

“oh he’s pissed, he thinks he failed, which he did-” the raccoon continued to talk but you zoned out.

“did barnes..?” Tony asked softly and steve nodded, his eyes softened, if he had the energy he would’ve gotten up and hugged you.

As they continued to talk you could see tony getting angrier at the captain, you hated it. You hated knowing that things would most likely never be the same between the two friends. You watched teary eyed as the two argued, the lump growing in your throat.

Thor placed his hand on you arm gently, reassuring you everything would be okay. You looked up and saw tony take out his arc reactor, shoving it into Steve’s hand.

“here, take this. You find him, and you put that on, you hide” tony spat, immediately falling to the ground. Steve was quick to catch him, holding him up.

Before you knew it he was passed out, steve carrying him quickly to a bed with steve and Rhodey hot on his heels.

You sat back down next to thor, he handed you some of whatever he was snacking on and you smiled at him softly. The two of you watching the rest of the team bicker and talk about where thanos was.

“-unfortunately they didn’t have you guys” carol replied to Rhodey, you looked at thor, nudging him and he nodded, getting up while he still chewed.

Thor walked up to carol, holding his hand out as Stormbreaker came to him, barely missing carol. The two stared at each other before thor nodded.

“I like this one” he turned to you and you gave him a tight lipped smile.

“Let’s go get this son of a bitch” steve spoke, a determined look on his face as everyone moved to get ready.

“y/n are you not coming?” Steve spoke and you hesisted, looking around before shaking your head.

“I’m gonna stay here with tony and pepper, in case they need something” you replied, fiddling with the dog tags you still wore around your neck.

Steve knew that wasn’t the reason, but he didn’t push you, simply nodding his head, giving you a hug and then walking away.

You sat back on the couch after letting pepper know you would be there if they needed anything. You let your mind wander back to the flash on you and bucky at a picnic, the sun seemed so bright and you caught yourself smiling as you thought of bucky. Your eyes were closed as you seemingly looped the flash of your futures in your head.

“isn’t the sunset so beautiful james” you sighed contently, a small smile on your face as you looked at the pinks and reds. You turned to look at bucky, but he was gone. “Bucky?” Your heart raced, tears in your eyes as you looked around.

“y/n?” You whipped around quickly, mouth falling open as you saw bucky fading into dust.

“no!” You cried out, running to catch him.

Your eyes shot open and your heart raced in your chest. That can’t be right, that can’t happen. Bucky was your soulmate. Those visions were set in stone they had to happen, those were the rules, they can’t just change all of a sudden. Right?

You peeked into the room, checking in on tony and pepper.

“can i get some water actually?” Pepper asked and you nodded, quickly coming back with water and some snacks for her. “Thanks” you whispered and you smiled at her.

“they’ll bring him back, i know they will” pepper reassured you. You gaveher the best smile you could manage and replied, “i know.”

You held out hope for the time the others were out. Shaking away the thought of the flashes of your future changing. It’s just because I’m on edge, that’s it. You reasoned, your leg bouncing as you waited for them to return.

Everyone walked in, you ran up to them hopeful for good news, you looked at steve with a smile, hugging him and holding your hand in his. He felt his heart crush in his chest, this was the happiest you’d been since the decimation and it was going to be torn from you immediately.

“so? did you get the stones? when are we getting everyone back? Does someone need to snap or clap or what? did you guys kill him?” You rushed out, eyes shining in hope as you looked at everyone. Your stomach fell as you saw the look on their faces.

“he destroyed them” Natasha spoke cautiously, “there’s no more stones, we- there’s nothing we can do.”

“oh,” was all you managed to say, your hand going limp in Steve’s, you felt a new wave of pain coming up and you didn’t want to have another meltdown infront of them.

“y/n, please we’re here for you” steve spoke, trying to grasp your hand again after you pulled it out of his.

“I’m fine” you smiled, walking away quickly to your room. Steve sighed, going to follow you but Natasha stopped him, knowing you would want some space.

You laid on your bed, at first nothing happened, you just looked up at your ceiling, an emptiness in your chest. Then it all hit you.

Bucky was gone, there was nothing that could bring him back. The one person you were destined to was gone and you couldn’t do a single thing about it. The little time you had together wasn’t nearly enough to you. The two day trips to wakanda left you wanting more, but you could never get more time. You were always out of time.

For years you had been praying to finally touch your soulmate, to meet them and live a long happy life together. You knew you would never get that the moment you reached out to bucky and saw your future with him. You knew the road would be bumpy but you held out hope, both of you did. You tried to keep him within your grasp, you tried to hold him close to your heart for as long as you could despite knowing you were out of time. You thought of how he would embrace you, how he would keep you safe in his arms while you slept.

Now you slept in an empty bed, knowing there wouldn’t be a next visit to wakanda. Knowing your soulmate was gone and you didn’t get to say goodbye. Knowing you were back to where you started- Alone.

——

Five years.

It had been five years since the Decimation happened, everyone else called it the blip.

Gently, you set down the bag of groceries, finally closing your apartment door after your third trip up. You arranged everything quietly, 40s music softly playing from your speaker and the jingle of Buckys dog tags filling the apartment.

You never took them off. They were all you had of him, they were the only thing to keep you going. You would fiddle with them and hold them close to your chest. They brought you comfort. The same comfort bucky would give you, the comfort he had given you during your time in wakanda. The same you should’ve had right in this moment.

One more fight

The words rang in your ears, taunting you. Rage, sadness and pain all filled your chest, your heart aching as you finished putting everything away, shutting the music off and turning on the tv. You looked down at the dog tags that rested on your chest, tears welling in your eyes as you read over them.

The hot tears fell down your face and you held the dog tags tightly in your hands, mind going blank as you let yourself wallow in the pain for a moment.

Your phone rang and you wiped your tears away, sniffling as you saw Steve’s contact picture. You hesisted before answering.

“hi steve!” You spoke brightly, putting on your best act.

“hey y/n how are you?” Steve spoke smoothly and you wiped at your tears before replying.

“I’m doing good! Just got back from the grocery store” you wanted to hang up, to just watch reruns of your favorite show and forget about everything

“are you sure?” Steve spoke cautiously and you replied quicker than you intended, “course I’m sure!”

Then there was a knock on your door.

“great because I’m outside” steve replied happily, hanging up and waiting outside. Your stomach fell, you looked in the mirror, your eyes and nose were redándolo your cheeks flushed.

Quickly you ran to splash water on your face, taking in a shaky breath as you dried your face and moved to open the door, putting a smile on your face and greeting steve.

“if it isn’t my favorite captain” you smiled, steve looked at you warily, taking you into a hug after you let him in.

“you forget i have enhanced hearing y/n, i know you were sniffling right before opening the door” steve spoke bluntly and your shoulders fell. “y/n, you can’t keep shutting me out, Natasha is worried about you too” he spoke softly, taking your hand and leading you to your couch.

“i just miss him” you whispered and steve sighed, pulling you into him so your head rested on his chest, he wrapped his arms around you as you cried quietly.

“i know, i do too, we just have to learn to live without him, he would want you to start a life y/n, you don’t have to be alone” steve spoke. His presence was calming.

You and steve had been friends for so long, there was a reason he knew he could call you when SHIELD fell. You were the one to help him adjust to modern society, you were his first friend out of the ice.

“how about you go shower and change, and I’ll make some food for us okay? We can watch your show while we eat” steve smiled, he knew you hadn’t showered in three days from the way your hair was tangled and messily thrown into a ponytail.

“okay” you nodded, smiling softly as he helped you up, handing you some tissues before the two of you headed to do your own things.

You were grateful for steve, he had always been there to check up on you, constantly making sure you were okay. You had basically shut everyone else out, Natasha didn’t really reach out. You didn’t blame her.

You walked out of your room, the smell of pasta hitting your nose and your stomach growled, steve smiled as he set out the two plates.

“tried my best” he mumbled and you shook your head.

“thank you steve” you hugged him tightly and he returned it, letting go after a couple moments so the two of you could eat.

“i saw some whales the other day” you spoke up, “when i was coming up the bridge” steve smiled, glad to know you were leaving the apartment.

“fewer ships, cleaner water” he nodded, “might tell Nat, I’m sure she could use some good news” you nodded.

The two of you ate in silence, watching your favorite show as you did. Steve stayed for a bit longer before heading back to the compound. He hugged you tightly and you held onto him.

“promise you’ll reach out” steve pleaded and you nodded, “I’ll try” he smiled at your words, it was a start.

It hadn’t even been an hour when steve was calling you again, you rolled your eyes as you answered the phone.

“steve im not crying i swear” you joked, a small smile on your face.

“you have to get to the compound” he spoke in a serious tone and your stomach dropped, “scott Lang is here” you felt your heart race.

“wasn’t he- i thought he-” you cut yourself off, moving to get a jacket and your car keys, “I’m on my way.”

When you arrived you rushed towards the living room watching as Scott paced infront of steve and Natasha

As you set next to steve, scott began to ramble, talking about quantum physics and his time i. The quantum realm.

“wait, are you talking about a time machine?” You asked him, and he shook his head.

“no, of course not, it’s like a- yeah a time machine i know it’s crazy but there’s gotta be a way” scott mumbled.

“Scott, i get emails from a raccoon, nothing sounds crazy anymore” you smiled at natashas comment.

“so who do we talk about this?” Scott asked nervously, you and steve looked at each other for a second.

Tony.

The four of you approached the cabin, your heart heavy as your eyes land on tony. You knew how much he wanted to just stay out of everything, he was happy for once, he was with his soulmate, he had a family.

“we know what it sounds like” Scott spoke as he finished explaining his plan.

You were quiet as tony and steve talked, Scott joining in when he mentioned his plan of a time heist.

“we can bring everyone back” Natasha reasoned and tony scoffed a little. “Or we could make things worse” he stated and you shifted. The four bickered for a while longer before you spoke up.

“Tony, we have to take a stand” his eyes landed on you and his gaze softened a bit.

“we did stand, and yet here we are” he spoke sharply.

“i know you got a lot on the line, a wife, a daughter, but i lost someone very importantly me, a lot of people did-” you zoned out as Scott spoke, your eyes resting on the lake and watching as the water moved slowly.

“Mommy told me to come and save you!” Morgan smiled as Tony picked her up. You smiled at the pair.

“good job, I’m saved” tony smiled at her, he turned to you guys before sighing, “i wish you’d come to ask for something else, i missed you guys” his eyes were soft and he spoke sincerely.

“I’m happy for you, i really am. But this is a second chance” steve pleaded and tony replied quickly, “i got my second chance right here.”

“Aunt y/n!” Morgan smiled as her eyes landed on you, wiggling out of her dads grasp as she ran to hug you.

“hi little stark” you smiled, picking her up with ease and carrying her on your hip.

Tony smiled at you as the steve and Natasha looked at you in confusion.

“i visit, I’m not a horrible person” you mumbled, you knew steve would have some choice words for you later.

“If you don’t talk shop, you can stay for lunch” tony spoke up, the others sighed, walking towards the car.

You set Morgan down, telling her to head inside. You gave Tony a hug, “I’ll visit soon, just haven’t been feeling the best” you mumbled and he rubbed your back.

“you always have a room here y/n” he smiled softly and you nodded, waving goodbye before going the other three in the car.

“we’re gonna need a big brain” steve spoke, Scott looked at him in disbelief.

“bigger than his?” Scott questioned and you rolled your eyes, knowing you would be seeing Bruce soon.

“can you drop me off at home actually?” you spoke up, steve looking at you for a moment before nodding, driving to your apartment building. You got out quickly and said goodbye, “let me know what you guys find” steve, Natasha and Scott nodded, wishing you goodnight.

The cold New York air nipped at your skin as you rushed up your stairs, holding your jacket tightly as you fumbled with your key and let yourself in, sighing when you closed the door.

You changed into your pajamas quickly, brushing your teeth before grabbing the notebook and your pen on your nightstand and sliding into bed. You flipped to the next empty page as you began to write.

hi james,

today was okay, steve came over and found me crying. he stayed and made dinner, he’s been taking care of me for a while now, i feel kinda guilty.

You continued to write into the journal, letting all your feelings pour out into the page. As you finished for the night you clicked you pen and set them on your nightstand. You had finished all the pages in the notebook already. With a sigh you got up from your bed, grabbing the small notebook and placing it on the floor as you reached for a container under your bed.

You reached for the lid and opened it, there were numerous other notes book, you placed the one you had just written in next to your last one, closing the lid and sliding it back under your bed.

For the past five years you’ve been writing to bucky, it helped you stay somewhat sane. If he ever came back you didn’t want him to feel left out, you wanted to make sure he felt like he didn’t miss those five years of your life. You wanted him to be there. Your hands fiddled with the dog tags as you laid on your side.

You needed him to be here with you.

The next morning you woke up to a call from steve, with fuzzy vision your answered the phone, bringing it to your ear.

“hello?” You mumbled and steve spoke quickly, your eyes widened as he spoke.

“tony found a way” was all you needed to hear to have you scrambling to get ready.

“be there in 30” you rushed out, a smile on your face. You felt hope blossoming in your chest, thoughts of the picnic with bucky flooded your mind as you got ready.

You were going to get him back. You were going to be together.

You ran into the compound as smiled at those around you, rocket looked at you in shock when you smiled at him.

“didn’t know she did that” he remarked and Scott looked at him equally as shocked.

“Steve! Tony!” You beamed, crashing into them and taking them into a group hug. You let out a sigh of happiness.

“Is it true? Can we actually get them back?” Your eyes shined and tony found his heart growing, it had been so long since you had been happy.

“we have a shot kid” he nodded, “Clint just tried it out and it worked,” your smile grew, throwing your arms around him as everyone gathered into the room

“well what are we waiting for? Let’s plan this heist!” You smiled, looking at everyone and steve nodded.

You listened as everyone spoke, sharing their knowledge on the stones. You sat next to Natasha who was taking notes, glancing over at them your gears turned, speaking up as they talked about Stephen Strange.

“he lived in New York?” You questioned and they nodded, Tony rolling his eyes at you, “are you paying attention?”

“if you pick the right year there’s three stones in New York” you replied quickly, everyone looking at you in surprise.

Not long after your realization there was finally a formulated plan. You were nervous, excited and hopeful. You were going to get everyone back, you were going to get bucky back.

“Six stones, three teams, one shot” you mumbled, everyone nodding as you looked at the plan you had come up with steve and tony.

“I’ll stay behind just in case, you all know what you’re doing and ive been out of the loop so” you trailed off and they nodded.

“you already did enough, i mean you came up with the whole plan” tony scoffed and you smiled at him.

“you guys got this” you encouraged them, natasha smiling at you. Without hesitating you pulled the three in for a hug, squeezing tightly before letting go.

“okay, go kick some ass” you smiled.

The team filed onto the time machine and you waited by the buttons, looking for steve signal.

“see you in a minute” natasha called out to you and you waved goodbye, pressing the buttons and holding your breath and they all shrunk and disappeared from your sight.

It was only a minute later when they all appeared, you smiled as you ran up to them, quickly doing a headcount. Your stomach fell when you saw Natasha was missing.

“Clint wheres nat” you asked quietly, voice shaking. He didn’t reply. You stumbled back, teary eyed as you walked out.

You looked at the lake, steve, Tony, thor, Clint and Bruce gathered around you.

“do we know if she had any family?” Tony asked and you scoffed.

“us” steve spoke up and Thor looked at them confused.

“you’re acting like she’s dead, why are we acting like she’s dead?” Thor spoke up, his voice growing louder and you winced as he continued, Clint soon jumping in and arguing with him. The two men shouted and you let your tears fall silently, steve noticed and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“she’s not coming back” Bruce mumbled quietly.

“we have to make it worth it” you spoke up, wiping your tears and standing up.

“we will” steve spoke, getting up after you did.

“the what are we waiting for” you looked at them with a small smile, squeezing Clint’s arm before walking past him and into the lab.

You waited anxiously for them to finish the gauntlet, jumping up when rocket walked in with it in hand.

“who’s gonna snap their freaking fingers?” Thor spoke up, immediately volunteering.

“no Thor, wait a second” you stopped him, everyone else protesting his actions.

“what we’re just waiting for the right opportunity?” He huffed and Scott spoke up.

“we should at least discuss it”

Thor nodded his head, speaking up again, “I’m the strongest avenger this is my responsibility, it’s my duty” you were quick to stop him.

“it’s not about that” you spoke gently. He furrowed his brows and turned to look at you angrily.

“stop it! Just let me!” You could see the tears in his eyes, “let me do something good, something right”

Tony explained to him the power the stones had, trying to reason for him to not do it. Thor argued right back before Bruce cut him off, explaining how it almost killed thanos when he snapped and how no one else could survive it.

“how do you know you will?” Steve asked cautiously.

“it’s mainly gamma, it’s like i was made for this” he whispered as everyone moved back you noticed Nebula was missing.

Bruce’s grunts of pain made you focus back onto him, “are you okay? talk to me!” You screamed, frantic as he yelled in pain.

“I’m okay!” He spoke fighting against the pain and snapping his fingers, you held your breath as he did so, your heartbeat thumping in your ears.

You looked out the window and saw two birds, a smile on your face as you realized it had worked. Clint had a smile on his face as he answered a call, “honey, honey!” He spoke.

You turned to tell the team it had worked, but before you could you were blasted away by missiles, the compound crumbling underground.

You groaned as you heard rocket calling out for her, you and Rhodey doing your best to free him. Finally he wiggled free, the three of you sighing before your eyes went wide. A flood of water washing over the three of you as you panicked.

Rhodey called for help and you heard Scott on the other end. You kept your head up high, trying to not drown, rocket clung onto you as Bruce tried to hold the structure up.

“see you on the other side” Rhodey spoke and you geared up shaking your head.

“Hang on! I’m coming!” Scott yelled and you tried your best to stay above water, Rhodey struggling next to you as rocket clung onto your back.

Before you knew it you were clinging onto Scott as he turned into giant man, Rocket continued to Clint onto you and Rhodey held on for fear life.

Scott placed you and rocket down, you spotted the wakandans next to you and ran towards them, smiling as you saw t’challa and shuri amongst them.

“shuri!” You cried out, hugging her tightly. She handed you a gun and some knives and you quickly strapped them to you. “How’d you know” you smiled and she shrugged.

“you people never seem prepared for battle” she teased and you smiled, standing next to her as you prepared to face thanos’ army.

Your eyes scanned the crowd for bucky, heart beating louder and louder and you couldn’t find him. You ran onto the battlefield with everyone, immediately shooting and fighting the aliens off.

You shot them as fast as you could, but they were quickly surrounding you, grunting as one of them tackled you,

Before you could even think of grabbing a knife it’s body fell limp and you pushed it off you, looking at the bullet wounds.

“hope you haven’t been fighting like that this whole time doll”

You felt your heart drop and your stomach flutter. Bucky.

You turned around quickly, a smile on your face as your eyes met his baby blue one. Your smile grew as you ran towards him, dropping your gun and throwing yourself onto him. He picking you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding you tightly.

“you’re here, you’re back, you’re here” you spoke over and over, tears streaming down your cheeks as you buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“I’m here doll” he reassured you, holding onto you tightly and closing his eyes for a moment. The sound of an alien screaming made you snap out of your bubble.

You groaned as you picked up your gun, shooting it in the head before turning back to bucky, you smiled at him before crashing your lips onto his. He smiled into the kiss, leaning in for a second before the two of you pulled away.

“been waiting five years to do that” you spoke breathless and bucky smiled at you.

“after this you can kiss me all you want sweets” he spoke and you giggled, moving to press your backs against one another, shooting at the aliens.

You thought back to wakanda, how familiar it all was. But this time you would win. This time it was your last fight, you would win and you could go home with bucky. You could be with your soulmate.

You watched as the other tossed the gauntlet around, trying to keep it away from thanos.

“Bucky we have to go help them!” You called out and he nodded, the two of you running towards where steve, Thor and tony were, helping fend off the aliens attacking them.

You saw thanos get the gauntlet and you felt you blood run cold, you froze in your spot. Please, not again. You turned to bucky, dropping your weapon as you clung onto him tightly.

“not letting you go again” you mumbled, kissing him before letting go and grabbing a knife from your suit and running towards the titan.

You threw the knife at thanos with all you had, lodging it in his shoulder. He cried out in pain as it stabbed him, giving Tony the chance to attack him once more, pulling the gauntlet before Thanos punches him away.

“I am inevitable” thanos spoke, your blood ran cold as he snapped, flinching away when he did. When nothing happened you looked at him once more, a smile on your face as you saw the glove had no stones.

“And i” tony spoke, “am Iron man” he snapped his fingers, the white light blinding you before bucky pulled you into him, shielding you from the light.

As the two of you looked again you saw the aliens fading into dust. You held Buckys hand tightly, your knuckles white. You looked at him in excitement, wrapping your arms around his neck when you realized you had won.

You had won.

Turning quickly you ran to look for tony and steve, the smile falling from your face when you saw peter over Tony’s body.

You ran towards him, falling to your knees next to him.

“tony? no you can’t” you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes and he turned to look at you.

“hey kid, take care of my girls yeah?” He smiled and you shook your head, “you can take care of em you have to hold on a bit longer” you protested.

“always told you that you had one hell of a throw” he chuckled dryly, “‘ts what helped me get the stones” he smiled gently and you broke down into tears, “you have him now, you’ll be okay” he whispered.

Bucky pulled you aside, letting pepper speak to tony. You cried into Buckys chest, not knowing what would happen to you if you looked back.

It happened so fast.

You were in a black dress outside the cottage you had visited countless time. You didn’t imagine the next time you visited would be for Tony’s funeral.

Bucky held your hand, his thumb making small circles on the back of your hand to calm you down. You could help but lean into him, his presence relaxing you immediately.

You smiled fondly as you thought back to the time tony tried to talk you into breaking up with bucky one time after you came back from wakanda. You knew he was joking but he still felt a little bad, buying you dinner as compensation

As the service ended you followed bucky, steve and Sam to the time machine where Bruce waited.

You stood next to bucky as steve said goodbye to Sam, walking up to you guys next.

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til i get back” steve spoke and bucky smiled.

“how can i? you’re taking all the stupid with you” the hugged tightly for a bit before pulling apart.

“gonna miss you buddy” bucky sighed and steve looked at him softly.

“it’s gonna be okay buck” he turned to you.

“bye steve” you let out softly, bottom lip quivering. He hugged you tightly, kissing your temple softly.

“you’re still gonna be my favorite best friend” he spoke softly and you smiled, letting out a soft chuckle before sniffling.

“you finally have him back y/n, you’re gonna be happy, i promise” you nodded and hugged him one more time, knowing it would be the last time.

As he stepped into the time machine you melted into Buckys side, he put an arm around you and kissed the top of your head.

Steve vanished as he went to return the stones, seconds later Bruce signaled to bring him back, but he didn’t appear.

“where is he?” Sam spoke, worry lacing his voice.

“I don’t know he blew right past his time stamp, he should be here” Bruce panicked and you and bucky looked around your eyes landing Onondaga older version of him sitting on a log.

You nudged bucky as you heard sam and Bruce arguing.

“sam” you called out, looking at him before back at steve. Sam walked towards you cautiously as you pointed at steve.

“go ahead” bucky spoke to the man, the two of you smiled at sam as he approached steve.

You and bucky smiled as steve handed sam the shield. A grin on your face as he put the shield on his arm.

“he’s gonna be a great captain america” bucky smiled fondly and you nodded. “Steve made the right choice” you added.

The two of you walked away hand in hand, getting into your car and heading back to your apartment. Bucky settled in quickly, sitting on your couch and pulling you down with him, a small squeal leaving your lips as your back crashed onto his chest.

“missed you so much buck” you mumbled, wiggling so that you could cuddle into him, leaving open mouthed kisses on his neck and onto his jawline.

“i missed you too doll” he whispered, kissing you softly, his hand moving to the back of your neck. He pulled away when he pinky felt the familiar chain of his dog tags, hooking it onto his pinky and pulling them out from under your shirt.

“you kept them?” He looked at you teary eyed and you nodded, heart racing.

“they were the only thing left of you, course i did” you smiled, taking them off and placing them onto him, fixing them so that they laid on his chest.

“that reminds me!” You smiled, getting off of him and running to your room, pulling the bin from under your bed and carrying it towards bucky.

“i- uh- when you were gone i wrote in these journals almost everyday, to kinda keep you up to date for when you got back” you smiled sheepishly and bucky felt his heart grow in his chest.

“you never lost faith?” He questioned, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. You shook your head.

“sometimes i wanted to” you mumbled, holding his hand in yours, “but you never took me on a picnic so i wasnt letting you go so easily” you pouted and he smiled, kissing you.

The two of you smiled into the kiss, giggling and he peppered kisses all over your face.

“I’m your forever y/n y/l/n” bucky whispered, his forehead resting against yours. You felt your heart rate speed up, your stomach full of butterflies. Closing your eyes as you relished the moment.

“and I’m yours forever bucky barnes” you kissed him softly before opening your eyes, the two of you pulling away a bit.

You reached out and caressed his cheek, you smiled at each other. You finally had your soulmate, and you had forever together.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes completed series #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes soulmate au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #soft bucky barnes

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Revision.

Commissioned by the very lovely @pyrokittyowo.

Pairing: Yandere!Simeon/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Past Trauma, Toxic Relationships, Codependency, Infantilization, Isolation, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Gaslighting.

The sun never sets in the Celestial Realm.

It’s less whimsical than it sounds, to be fair. Sleep is a luxury for angels, a way to pass time for the young and the injured, but that hadn't been something Simeon thought to tell you when you first arrived, as you tried to follow his mangled, irregular cycle of rest and work. You’d gotten the hang of it with time, carved out your own routine and forced yourself to follow it, but you’d be lying if you said you were completely used to it. It was grating, if anything, just how bright all of it was, the shine only amplified by the ivory and gold angels seemed so fond of. It was overwhelming, really. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve called it unbearable.

But, you did know better. This realm was warm, but not stifling, not half as oppressive as the Devildom had been. It didn’t have the same constant chill, a pervasive darkness only made worse by the humid air and that invasive metallic scent, like stone and rock and the blood that must've been soaked into the cracks of both. The darkness was worse. All of it was worse, but you tried to keep your mind on the landscape, the starless sky, the bleakness you’d slowly grown to hate.

If you let yourself think about anything else, you’d have to think about the people you’d met, the brothers, the way they’d looked at you. You’d have to remember how tight Mammon’s grip had been, the first time he took you by the wrist rather than the hand, or how dull Beelzebub's fangs were and how much it hurt when he drove them into your skin, your chest, the sensitive area just below your collarbone that never failed to bleed, when it bit down. You’d have to think about how Lucifer’s hand felt as it wrapped around your neck, the sound of your own failing breath, the way he’d laughed as you—

You inhaled sharply, cutting yourself off before you could get any more lost in the memory.

Because that’s what it was – just a memory. Something you’d never have to worry about again, thanks to Simeon.

Still, you were allowed to complain. Even indoors, perched in one of the many bay windows spotted around Simeon’s sizable chambers, you could feel the unyielding sun, notice the light start to eat away at your vision like a hungry, gnawing parasite. There were clouds in the sky, perfect wisps of nothing, but they'd been their since the day you first arrived, fixed features on an unchanging canvas. They wouldn't move. You already knew that. Nothing moved in the Celestial Realm, not unless it had a reason to.

And yet, you found yourself opening your mouth regardless, asking the question that’d been playing on your tongue all day. You could let yourself have this. You could hope that were wrong. It wasn't like this would be the first time. “It doesn’t rain here, does it?”

Immediately, there was a hum from across the room, one of the many soft sounds Simeon seemed to be so fond of. You should’ve been glad he was there to answer at all, really. Simeon spent most of the day tending to his vague responsibilities. If he had time to sit around, pouring over a scroll in a language you couldn’t recognize, it must’ve meant it was either too early in the morning or too late at night for him to be bothered with anything else. You couldn’t be sure which, not when the two were so impossible to tell apart. “Rarely,” He replied, still distracted. “Michael tries not to leave the weather up to chance. If he needed a storm, I’d be able to tell you weeks in advance.”

You almost felt bad for him. You would’ve hated it, knowing everything long before it actually happened, but you doubted Simeon would ever let himself be so careless. “I don’t know how I’d stay sane,” You admitted, your gaze moving back to the window. A white dove had landed on the edge of Simeon’s windowsill, meticulously sorting through bleached feathers with its pointed beak, and idly, you wondered if the animals bothered to regulate themselves, too. “You wouldn't like my hometown. Couldn’t see the sky most days, and when you could, it was nearly too hot to go outside. Never stopped it from snowing a month before winter, though.” You paused, letting yourself smile at the thought. You missed it; you weren’t going to try to deny that. You were still allowed to miss things. “Luke would probably love it. Say what you want about humans, but we've never gotten a bakery wrong.”

Simeon didn’t hum, this time. The silence couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but your heart still found a way to tighten in your chest, stopping completely as you heard his chair scrape against the floor, sharp footsteps following the noise immediately. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and he was kind enough not to force you to, brushing off your avoidance as he positioned himself on the opposite side of your small shelter. It wasn't much of an improvement, though. If he'd just let himself be a little more cruel, you might've had the pleasure of hating him for it.

“You’re thinking about the human world again.”

He was getting straight to the point. You couldn’t say you weren’t thankful.

“How can I not?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained, out of place against his sober expression. “I haven’t been home in a year. I’m bound to want to go back, eventually.”

“You know it’s not safe.” It was a familiar mantra, one you should’ve been numb to, but it still found a way to hurt, to linger, accumulate into a small, aching knot in the back of your throat as you reminded yourself that he was only doing it because he cared. That was all – he cared. He didn’t want to see you get hurt, not again. He didn’t want to see you face anything more harmful than his clumsy comfort, even if he did have a strange way of showing it. “We’ve talked about this before, (Y/n). It’s still too early to tell if Lucifer left any lasting damage. There could still be a tracking spell I haven’t discovered yet, or worse.” There was a pause, and a gloved hand came to rest on your knee. You could’ve mouthed the words, as he said them. “I can keep you safe here, but your world is neutral territory. I might not be able to stop him, if he and his brothers tried to take you away.”

You hated the way he said it. Part of you, a persistent minority, still wanted to think this was all a misunderstanding, a result of crossed wires and mixed messages and the kind of miscommunications that only ever led to such awful things. You knew it was unhealthy, to try to tint your own memories with such a forgiving light, but that didn't help you smother the temptation to believe all the soft, pleasant encouragements Asmodeus had whispered in your ear as his brothers lived out their distorted, carnal fantasies. Whatever Simeon was trying to do, it certainly wasn’t helping, either.

“I’ll be careful,” You tried, slouching against the glass. It was warm to the touch, a feeling you savored under his cold gaze. “It’d be a day trip, at most. Just a few hours. I…” He was wearing the silk gloves, today, soft and smooth as he raised his hand, cupping your cheek without a trace of hesitation. You trailed off instantly, still unused to the gentleness. “I just want to see my family, that’s all. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

“You’re bored of me, now?” It was supposed to be playful, the question accompanied by a light chuckle, but you still shook your head, leaning into his palm as you went on. “I can’t say I blame you. I know I’m not one for company, but if you’re dying for entertainment, I can see what—”

“It’s not just that.” You should've let him finish, but it was already too late to stop yourself. You didn’t want to stop yourself, if you were being honest. You just wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere different, a place where the sky didn’t hurt to look at and the sun wasn’t so willing to punish you for existing. You wanted to be able to step outside without worrying whether or not your angelic hosts still thought you were worthy of their concern. You didn’t want this, anymore, even if it was the better option. “I’m just tired, Simeon. I’m tired of being here, I’m tired of running, and I just want to go home—”

There was a small huff, a sharp crack. By the time you realized what happed, by the time that sudden acidic sting faded into a steady throb, his thumb was already digging into your jaw, your head forcibly tilted back in such a way that made it so you had to look at him. You couldn’t avoid the softened anger in his eyes, or the stiffness in his posture, or that tight, unignorable scowl. He was disappointed, and he wanted you to know you were the reason why. He was mad at you, and you’d done everything to earn it.

When he spoke, he did so slowly. Like he was talking to a child who hadn’t quite come to terms with reality, just yet. “I’ve taken care of you, haven’t I?”

“You have.” There was no point trying to deny it. If it hadn’t been for Simeon, you’d still be rotting in that hellscape, subject to the whims of a family of monsters. He'd saved you. He'd helped you escape, and you had to be thankful for that. “I just don’t know if I can—”

“And you care about me, right? You don’t want to see me worry?”

You hesitated, but your answer was inevitable “Of course.”

“And you do remember the last thing Belphie said to you, don’t you? What he did to send you running to me?” He let himself smile, despite the nature of the question. “I could barely understand you back then, with the crying and all. Honestly, I almost didn't notice you were begging me to save you.” It was easy to forget how Simeon could be, when he knew he was right. Most of the time, his confidence was comforting, a gentle reminder that you could trust him, that you should trust him. Right now, it just made you feel weak. “What was it, again? C’mon, love, you can tell me, can’t you?”

You could. Objectively, you could, if you tried to. You could force your mouth to make the words, you could shut your eyes and let Simeon guide you through it, and you could tell yourself they were just memories, that you were somewhere else now, that you were somewhere better, but…

But, you really, really didn’t want to, and you couldn’t convince yourself you did.

If you did, you’d have to remember how tightly Belphegor had held your hand, as he said it, his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip strong enough to leave your palm bruised, after he pulled away. You’d have to think about the small smile he wore, the hatred in his half-lidded eyes, the chill that'd run down your spine as he hid his face in the crook of your shoulder and told you that, if you ever tried to leave him, if he ever had to share you with anyone beyond the six exceptions he was already making, he’d kill you. It was as simple as that.

If he ever saw you again, he’d kill you.

You were safe, here. You were safe in the Celestial Realm, you were safe with Simeon, but you still found yourself choking on the words, your throat going dry as your shoulders pitched forward, a bolt of something frozen striking your chest before you could ward it off. You couldn't be sure why something so distant would make you cry, but you could feel it coming on – hot tears welling in your eyes, blurring your vision, threatening to spill over and strip you of what little pride you had left, but Simeon only wiped them away, as doting as he always was. As loving as he always was, even when you took his patience for granted. Even when you hesitated to lean into him, as he pulled you into his chest, urging you to hide your face and treat him like the pillar of support he was so clearly trying to be. Even when you didn't deserve it, when you didn't deserve him, when you didn't deserve any of this, not when he was kind enough to pretend he didn't know that just as well as you.

“Poor little thing.” He was humming, now, his tone teetering on the line between carelessness and comfort. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not in the moment, not when it was all you could do to muffle your hitched sobs into small, pathetic whimpers. “It’s nothing to blame yourself for. You just need a little help.” Another pause, elongated and purposeful. Sadistic, in only because he had to try so hard not to be. “You just need someone to protect you. It’s only human.”

It was all you could do to nod, to agree, as mindlessly as you were capable of. You didn’t want to think. You didn’t want to risk remembering something you shouldn’t.

Instead, you just focused on the sunlight streaming the nearest window, how it felt as it hit you.

How, wherever your skin made contact with Simeon’s, it seemed to grow just a little more insufferable than it had been, a second ago.

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere scenario #yandere commission #commission #writing commissions #yandere prompts #obey me #obey me imagines #yandere obey me #obey me simeon #yandere simeon #simeon x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere fantasy #yanderecore #yancore

[diary-of-an-onliner]

lifelines [g.w.]

hi! first fic, pls be nice!

word count: 2300

warnings: none

After Gryffindor turned the tides at the last second, winning the second most important game of the season after a massive setback in the first hour, the celebrations raged harder than ever. Since Hufflepuff had beaten Slytherin to the ground two days ago, the path towards the Cup was clear. Angelina was sitting on the couch, having passed the point of looking pleased long ago, and now seemed almost frazzled by the result. People came up to her periodically, clapping her shoulder or topping off her drink, directing the buzzing energy of the common room straight into her.

Truly, the atmosphere was phenomenal, the stolen food and drinks from the kitchens juicer and a little more spiked than usual. Or maybe it was the sunlight still streaming through the windows as strongly as ever despite the past gloomy week. Whatever it was that made the day so electrically happy for everyone, it showed no signs of stopping.

This type of unrestrained feeling you always imagined started from the back of your head as s little star-like scribble that cast a net over you and spread the intensity throughout. This week it was stronger than it has been in a while.

You felt electric in the stands as you yelled for your team, an invisible line ripping the words from your throat before you even knew you were saying them. You felt elated as your housemates put their hands around you in delight, screaming themselves sore when they announced the winner. And you were feeling the happiness in your hair now, in every single strand from root to end as it swayed along with the bottle in your hand.

This was happy. This was joyful. This was utterly buttery in your chest and electric in the air.

You idly looked around the red and orange common room, which burned with excitement, deciding how to best spend this time before it runs out on Umbridge's watch and she ruins it.

No. No wasting thoughts on her today. She sucked enough life out of you and your housemates this year, she won't be doing it off the clock too.

Your eyes settled on possibly one of the strongest sources of this warmth - George Weasley, sitting on the arm of the couch next to his brother. The window behind him silhouetted him in gold perfectly, like the sun offered him to you. It accented how attractive he was, even if he burned a little at the top.

You've connected eyes before, talked before, even bantered. One wittier than the other every odd day, you toed the line between acquaintances and friends perfectly. Seeing as he's very popular, catching him in-between conversations was a matter of luck.

You imagined a line going from the center of your chest to his as you approached him. He pensively looked to the side, observing some goings-on on the far end of the room as you interrupted him.

"That was a good game. You got some very nice shots in," you said.

He turned to you with a mild close-mouthed 'hm', a look, and then a grin.

"You sure it was me?" he cocked his eyebrow and look at Fred on the couch next to Angelina, bumping knees with her and accepting congratulations in both of their names.

"You wear different numbers, genius. I know how to count this time."

"And you have my number memorized," he said, his voice glad.

"That would've been a great line if you were a Muggle."

"Pity, I already chose a magical career." he took a sip of his butterbeer and eyed you up, "Maybe I should start using my magical lines on you. Would those work better?" his eyes widened and his tone turned innocent at the end.

"I think I know too much anti-jinxes for that."

He pursed his lips in amusement. "Alright. What would work on you then?"

"Oh, I find responsibility and appropriacy really hot." you shot back, twirling a piece of your happy, charged up hair.

"Contradiction too," he said, "since you're still here."

"I find contradiction a natural state of the human soul, thus if I wasn't contradicting myself, I wouldn't fully be here."

"Hm. Brainy." he chuckled.

"Judgy. If you need me to simplify you can just say so."

"I think I can handle your smart mouth just fine."

"Then why am I winning?"

"I didn't realize this was a competition."

"Rookie mistake." you shook your head dramatically.

"I'm pretty sure it's a rookier mistake to assume you're winning. Who's the judge?"

"My innate inner sense of whether I'm winning or not."

"If it's inside you, then how would one file a complaint concerning an unfair ruling?"

"They wouldn't. It's a noble and just system that decided I'm in the lead. You just need to accept the truth."

"Don't make me come in there," he said, smirking good-naturedly.

"In where?" you shot back.

"In you." his smirk held on for a second before he seemed to realize what he said and his face scrunched up in apologetic laughter.

Your mind slipped into the gutter the way new yorkers fall into sinkholes filled with rats - hilariously fast.

Albeit greatly amused, he started to correct himself, "I didn't mean-"

"No, of course not." you licked your lips, "I understood you the first time " Was karma going to bite you in the ass for that lie? Who knows, but you might even be into that. Everything seems possible when the sun is shining. So he shone.

He grinned with his happy mouth and you once again noted how the light from the window behind him silhouetted him in the golden lining that made him look like a cutout glued onto the scene of this funny collage. His hair was aflame and his face was darker from the shadows but just as loudly burning with laughter.

This was happy.

You drew the word in your mind, line by line. H, a smooth move from the bottom, a decorative loop, then a parallel stroke, and a transversal. A, a circle with a tail, sharp move upward, and an even sharper drop for the backbone of p. P's tummy? Bulge? Nope, your mind shouldn't slip there in the middle of Binns’ class, no matter how boring he was. Another p, as George's knee bumped into yours. He was moved from "Mr. Wester, Phillip." for being disruptive, so he engaged in an under-the-table kind of disruption with his new tablemate.

You smiled. A long diagonal line, and another shorter one that cut into it. Y.

Happy.

You were, truly, right now. It sounded upside down to be happy though, both overall and when stuck in a soul-suckingly draining class, but you were.

George read over your shoulder, then audaciously engaged in over-the-table elbow-bumping-disruption and a cocked eyebrow. You straightened up, feeling a warm line unfold from the back of your head to the core of your brain, through the center of your chest, and straight to your stomach. Your happy line.

I'm happy, you mouthed.

Really? He mouthed back sarcastically yet good-naturedly. I can definitely see why. His eyes darted toward the professor. I say go for it, he's a catch. You might even be his type.

You burst out laughing, then immediately bit your lip. A few students, including Philip, looked at you as you shook with laughter, but professor Binns carried on.

George, on the other hand, shrugged with his shit-eating grin, pretending he has no idea why you were laughing, thus letting everyone know why you were laughing.

You scribbled, I don't know. What if it goes badly. I'd hate to be ghosted.

George raised his eyebrows at the Muggle slang you explained before. His hand slipped next to yours on the table and you felt your happy line thrum in approval. His hand was warm as he gently pressed it to yours, slowly took your quill, and scribbled back: Need someone more physical, huh? And I thought you were the romantic type.

Strong words for someone who never bought me dinner, you replied.

Mhm, as soon as I find a good line get you to agree to it.

Keep writing like that and I'll start thinking you fancy me.

Keep your mind in the gutter and I'll start thinking you don't fancy me back. He accented that line with a wink and an overdramatic lip bite.

You pouted sarcastically at him. Of course not, I only want you for your knobby knees.

He chuckled, reminded of the short line of warmth that connected your knees under the table. He pressed his into yours a little stronger, then pulled away.

That's a funny way of flirting. I'd know, I'm an expert at funny.

Self-proclaimed.

Untrue.

And I'm not flirting. If I was, you'd know it.

Would you? your breath hitched. For reasons you very well knew but refused to sound out to yourself, this short sentence drove the air around you two from joking to serious at breakneck speed.

Know if you were flirting with me? your happy line felt jumbled up in your stomach. He smiled at you.

Would you know if you were flirting with me?

The following week was arduous.

Gryffindors had a record amount of detentions, and Snape tore into them any and every chance he could. Even McGonagall was one edge, meaning lousy or missed homework was a death sentence. You forgot how to read from tiredness, submitting essays patchworked of other people's thoughts without ever having any information pass through your head. Everything was dull, gray, and dragged out.

Despite that, outside the castle the sky was blue and sunlight streamed through the soft clouds and a sweet breeze would blow around aimlessly. It was both comforting and a little mocking. The sky should be as exhausted and as beaten down as you. Good to know stress made you compare yourself to a literal sky. But maybe that's a little cruel. Nevertheless, it sounded like nature itself was turning its nose up at you, saying you're selfish for wanting grey skies, she doesn't care, she's above puny human affairs. The world turns and you have to turn with it or stop, then spend the rest of the time catching up.

You haven't stopped yet, but by all that is holy, you wanted to sleep. As the sun finally descended on a Friday after dinner, you finished your essays in hope that the next week might be kinder if you do everything quickly. The common room was dark, most of the light coming from the fire in the fireplace. It was also oddly empty for nine-thirty in the evening. Apparently, everyone had the same week as you.

Your almost finished essay laid on the table as you dozed, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of your armchair.

The creak of the portrait opening caught your attention, and George Weasley walked in a second later, rubbing his sore hand and cussing.

Truly everyone had a shitty week.

"Love?" you said teasingly.

He looked up at you with a tired grin.

"It's late."

"Not really. You okay?"

"Nothing I can't handle, love." he sighed, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"Can I see?" you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Again, the firelight licked at the lines of his face, clear and sharp. He had circles under his eyes and a heavily nibbled lip.

"It's nothing." still, George raised his hand. "Love." he added, distantly. He seemed to be staring right above your head. You looked at the middle line of his lips again. You imagined him biting it.

Was it him that bit it? That one hurt. You hoped it was him.

You took his hand in your and rubbed circles into his knuckles. His eye winced.

"I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault."

"What happened?" he closed his eyes.

"Two ickle firsties almost brought the wrath of Umbridge into themselves with some dungbombs. You know how it goes," he said, a corner of his lip tugging upwards. Your chest expanded looking at him being satisfied with himself. As he should be.

"How... responsible of you," you said.

His eyes snapped downwards to yours.

"Keep looking at me like that and I might also start being appropriate too, darling."

You stepped closer, your happy line thrumming against your chest like a quivering violin string.

"What if being responsible is enough?"

"Enough for what?" he breathed out before you pressed yourself against him.

At first, that's was it was - a press of two warm lips. Then he started to move slowly, almost gentlemanly. How appropriate.

As he touched you, you felt the daze of last week lift. The little star scribble on the back of your head lit up, pulsing with brightness rather than fogging your thought. This was clear, you felt his every stroke that made up his face and chest and hands. The scribble of happiness extended itself into a web, overtaking your brain - you could feel it and you wondered if he saw it too when he looked at you. You pulled away and lifted your head to check. Probably not, but his eyes were glassy and he gave you a dopey smile. He was glad you were there. You pressed your lips against his again. You were glad he was there too.

The web continued down your neck, arms and chest, into your legs until your toes buzzed with light coursing through you. You were more awake than you have been in a long time.

Your hands were the brightest of all, and as you touched his hands, connecting them fingertip to fingertip, things made sense. The web buzzed and his breath was warm against yours, hands pulsing with energy as your every lifeline connected into his.

#george weasely #fanfic #hp fanfic #george weasley x reader

[guqin-and-flute]

[I am once again giving you an unrelated fanfic. Have some Modern married Xiyao.

Potential CW: poor anger coping skills?, very brief mention of suicidal ideation in internal dialogue. It's an errant thought and he doesn't actually mean it]

Jin Guangyao is upset. What's more upsetting is that he doesn't know why he's upset--this lack of information rankles him more than the feeling. He's used to feeling badly. That's how life is. But without a name, there is nowhere to file it away neatly. It is easier to ignore the sharp sting of a newly noticed cut than this fucking awful malaise that has apparently decided to settle over him with no rhyme or reason like he's some stupid idiot in an artsy French film, slowly choking down filtered cigarettes on some rusty balcony against a sunset or something.

That's not what he does. He is efficient. He is useful. And when he is like this, he is not.

And he still doesn't know why. And the fact that he cannot categorize and escape this has the ennui sliding slowly into a slow boil of tooth grinding fury.

Had it been the morning traffic? The fact that the library had emailed to inform him of a delay on his inter-library loan? The fact that his overpriced coffee was just a tiny bit burnt? The fact that Zixuan had taken a sick day today and so had not brought the soup his wife had promised Jin Guangyao for lunch? It shouldn't be, because these are all so horrifyingly trivial.

He has a tension headache beginning to string itself along his temples. He hates that the receptionist has a perky goodbye ready. He hates that the sun is shining so brightly. Then, he hates that the shadows of the clouds when they pass make things look grungy and dull. He hates that there is a flap of leather from his steering wheel that has peeled up in the back from his picking and he can feel it rubbing against his index finger as he stares, white knuckled and unblinking into the brake lights ahead of him as this bubbling pique crescendos as slowly as one of Xichen's beloved classical music pieces.

In fact, one is playing on the radio, softly, just within hearing range. The quiet, shrill edge of violins makes him want to kill something. Maybe himself. There's a bridge coming up in half a mile. He, very sanely, presses the button on the dash that turns it off instead of doing any of those things. The thought of Xichen has a voice of reason suggesting that he might meditate, while trapped here, 10 minutes from home.

Instead, he jabs a button on his fancy, stupid steering wheel with this thumb. An attentive computer noise beeps. The sudden noise in the relative silence of the car makes him dig his nails into the leather. "Text A-Huan," he snaps.

"Okay! What would you like the message to be?"

Jin Guangyao is going to find whoever programmed this faux-friendly robot voice and make them watch him drown their entire family in a toilet. "I. Hate. Everything."

Beep. "Okay! Your message reads; 'I hate everything'. Send?"

"Yes, send," he seethes before it can fully finish.

There is no plan to this. None at all. He just needs something real to sink his metaphorical teeth into. A reasonable anchor to reality to tell him whether or not he's being stupid and terrible for no reason at all.

Even though he already knows that he is.

The response returns in 43 seconds. Jin Guangyao had been counting. The cheery beep sounds just as the very stale green light turns yellow ahead. He presses the gas. "One message from A-Huan."

The light blinks red while he is only 1/4th of the way through the intersection. The lead car of the adjacent left turners beeps and he bares his teeth at her because he isn't fucking invisible, he's in a high profile gold Lexus and she had definitely seen him fucking coming. He stabs the button that makes the car read him the message.

"'Oh no. Bad day? Want to call? Blue heart emoji'," the female robot voice chirps in a butchery of his husbands words and no, no, he does not, because, at this point, it would simply be a minute long sustained scream of rage over literally nothing at all. He should have kept it to himself and found a quiet place to throw rocks at a wall or something until he wasn't such a repellant time bomb.

He does not reply because if he hears that robot voice again, he's going to commit vehicular homicide. And being arrested would not calm him down.

Finally, traffic parts and he pulls into his driveway--he notices how the bush on the side of the house's branches are creeping up to scrape the window of the kitchen and makes a mental note to send a curt text to the landscaper about his pruning habits. Why are they paying him several hundred dollars a month to let a stupid bush get unruly enough to damage the paint on his window trim?

When he slams his door shut, he hears a loud CLACK that announces that he has just closed his seatbelt in the door and lost the last tenuous thread of his temper. Heaving the door back, he plants his other hand up on the black plastic next to the window and smashes it shut again with all of his strength. Repeatedly. CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK--Chunk.

Breath hissing between his teeth, he jerks his suit jacket straight, loosens his tie and stalks to the house. The garage door groans to life behind him. Xichen had been watching.

Perfect.

He's nowhere to be seen when Jin Guangyao slams through the backdoor like a vicious thundercloud, which is good and probably intentional, because it allows him to wrestle off his shoes, jacket, and tie in privacy. This does nothing to release any pressure, because it must be intentional wrestling--controlled and confined so he doesn't pop off a button or rip a seam or scuff the shining black leather. Now he's seething in their immaculate, state of the art kitchen, hating how the cold tile feels against his black dress socks and the fact that it smells like tea. Which is stupid. Because he likes tea. But not right now.

Stop being a piece of shit, he snarls at himself. You've already probably fucked up the car and Xichen doesn't deserve this. He balls up his fists so tightly that the bright pain from his nails sinking into his palms leaks up his arms. Be better.

He has no idea how to do that because he has no idea what is wrong.

Reason says to steer clear of Xichen until he can get a hold of himself and behave like a fucking adult. And in the early days of their relationship, he would have. He had. Whenever he got like this, he would shut down or not have inflicted himself on Xichen at all with a smooth lie, and no amount of prying would get anything useful out of him because he would not be a bother. There had been Talks. Long, extensive Talks about trust and love and wanting to take care of him. He had even believed some of them. That's how they can be married, now, years later--Xichen knowing just how close he is to this at all times. How thin his veneer of manners and pleasantries actually is. (He can't truly know, though, can he. If he knew how much none of it makes sense, there is no possible way someone as kind and intelligent as him would choose to stay.)

Xichen would purse his lips if he said this out loud; somewhere between exasperation and sad fondness. Jin Guangyao doesn't tell him, anymore. Most of the time because he doesn't actually think this.

This is not most of the time.

Yes, reason says that he should suck it up and become a human being before burdening Xichen.

But his husband has long, cool hands and soft eyes and a brilliant mind that can solve any problem just by holding it and maybe he just wants to be small and angry and ugly and pathetic and selfish in the comfort of his own home while someone reminds him that there have been, in fact, good things that have happened in his life and he had been, at one time, happy--believe it or not.

And if nothing else, it compounds his streak of bad decisions.

The smell of tea intensifies when he reaches their room. The curtains are drawn. It renders the deep, dusty blues of the bed spread and the armchair black and the aged gold accent pieces muted, except for where the warm light pouring from their open bathroom door paints them bright again. Xichen sits on the edge of their bed in the soft, expensive loungewear Jin Guangyao got him for his birthday last year, one ankle on his knee, watching him with eyes just as soft as he had been expecting. A mug of tea is tucked into his hand and a plate with round, lumpy shapes sits by his hip. Beside that lays spread out the absurdly oversized and absurdly soft heather gray shirt that Nie Huaisang had gifted to him as a joke but was, in fact, one of Jin Guangyao's guilty pleasure sleep shirts.

With his perfect voice and his perfect logic and his perfect way of being the only good thing on this entire, worthless planet, his husband says, "I think you need to scream into this pillow."

'This pillow' is, in fact, one of theirs, dark blue with a thread count that was higher than any savings he ever had in college, perched on a bundle of blankets that is the perfect size to throw himself upon like a sulking romance heroine. He hates it. Hates that this is known, that this might help.

So he fucking does it. He deliberately stalks around the bed, climbs up, smashes his face into the pillow and screams as loudly as he can. With every single ounce of rage in his body, curling him up like the shriveling of a raisin in fast forward, like the curling of a scorpion tail, like throwing up, wringing every last scant molecule of oxygen out of his lungs.

When the sound peters out and he has to drag in another breath, he curls tighter, the claws of his hands reaching over the top of the pillow to fist in his hair. It presses the plush of it firmer over his face and bites it until his teeth ring with dull pain, and his jaw aches and his head throbs and his eyes sting. His scalp burns from the pull on his hair and his throat is raw and tight.

Tearing himself away, finally, he gasps in a gulp of cooler air. Xichen has turned so he is now cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with a mix of calm and understanding sympathy. "Lay down?"

There is a ragged, hollow hole in him that still has scraps of rage clinging to it like disgusting lichen--but the visceral, all consuming hate seems to have been absorbed by his pillow. So he lets himself roll sideways, eyes closing. Xichen gets off the bed--Jin Guangyao assumes, wearily, that he's putting down the tea mug and hopes that he uses a coaster--and then returns by knee walking up the bed to his side. Then, those cool hands he had been hoping for pick open the tiny hard buttons of his shirt. Each pop releases a a tension across his skin and he feels that he can breathe easier with every one.

Jin Guangyao can hear him breathing, slow and measured, through his nose and thinks that it's probably the most comforting sound that he's ever heard in his entire life--now that he's willing to be comforted. Able to be. The reminder of Xichen's continued existence is the only sound he will ever need to be calm again.

The button up is abandoned in favor of undoing his belt--breath, more of it, infiltrating him deeper and deeper--popping the button on his slacks, tugging them down his legs in a warm slide. The quiet clink of it being tossed somewhere. A closing quiet as Xichen leans in and presses his smooth lips to his forehead. Then the corner of his eyebrow. Then the bridge of his nose. Different points and planes of his face like he is unlocking a combination that will open him up and allow him to purge the rest of the awfulness that lingers.

What it mostly is is exhaustion, now. "A-Huan," he groans--whines. Ugh.

Before disgust at himself can settle in, his husband takes this as the invitation for what it is and kisses his mouth, gentle and slow. Jin Guangyao moves his mouth back, halfheartedly, mostly parting his lips to allow him access to do whatever. But all he does is kiss him chastely. Lovingly. He tastes like green tea. Then, Xichen murmurs against his lips, "Would you like a bath?"

He vents a negating grunt, lolling his head back and forth. Baths are so much work. Even when Xichen offered to wash his hair or read to him or even join him, you still had to keep it hot, you had to endure cold when you left, get yourself dry. Too much change, too much sensation and movement.

He should be shaking himself awake. He should be apologizing for his terrible, pointless mood. He should be trying to kiss him back, love him back, pay him back. Thank him.

Xichen merely lifts his hands and presses the heels of his palms into the hinges at Jin Guangyao's jaw, inexorably grinding the tension out of them. Jin Guangyao allows himself to melt. When those cool fingertips slide into his hair, he lets them tug him upright, so Xichen can slide off his button up and slip him out of his undershirt. He shivers against the chill of the bedroom air, but he doesn't feel a surge of utter hatred for the sensations so, well, that's something. In no time, Xichen has coaxed him into the oversized shirt, removed his socks and bundled him up against the padded headboard, tucked into Xichen's side.

Jin Guangyao allows this. He allows himself to allow the blanket to be tugged up over his bare legs, Xichen to tuck the warm mug of steaming mint tea into his hands, and wind his fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before sighing it all out. Xichen's fingers rub soothing circles across his sore scalp.

"Open?"

He cracks one eye to see a cookie hovering at mouth level. It's too dim in the room to properly tell what kind it is, but because Xichen has been perfect in literally every other way, he simply obeys and bites down. Browned butter and sea salt and semi-sweet chocolate ooze across his tongue and the instant spike of sugar satisfaction warms his chest. Jin Guangyao chews with utter contentment, swallows, and opens his mouth again.

"Good?" Xichen's amused voice vibrates warmly through his chest as he indulgently feeds him another bite.

"Mm. Very. Did you make them?"

"I did, earlier today. I just got lucky with the timing." His nails scrape oh so gently across his scalp. "How are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Jin Guangyao blinks up at him and his sweet, kind, ridiculously gorgeous face that is graced by a light smile and a gold edge light from the bathroom.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Being terrible."

"You're never terrible."

"I was today. I think I fucked up the car."

Xichen chuckles, smile crimping to a knowing press. "I saw. It won't be a big deal. We'll deal with it later."

"...Thank you."

"Of course, A-Yao. Do you still hate everything?"

"Mm-nn." He snuggles down deeper against his ribs, looping an arm around Xichen's warm waist. He has the best husband in his arms, his dark-sweet scent is in his nose, chocolate on his tongue, and 1000 count sheets against his skin.

What is there to hate?

#I was in an exceptionally bad mood #so therefore I projected it onto JGY and made Xichen make it better #because that's what writers DO #There is no plot at all except my own journey of being in a better mood. I am now. But it is also 4:20 am. Oh well. You do what you can. #my stuff #my fic #xiyao #lxc #jgy #text #xiyao fanfic #completely unedited because that's how it goes #it's an errant thought and he doesn't mean it #brief suicide mention

[yorumiraki]

“that’s just how it is”

jjk teachers x reader

part I

be advised: swearing

prologue ..... part II

[unedited]

13 years later.

…..me…..

…...me sa……

….hime…..

...hime-sa….

“...hime-sama.”

y/n can hear kana calling for her in her sleep, but groaned and turned the other way when she saw kana open the windows, letting the sun into the dusty room.

“let me sleep”

“hime-sama, you told me to wake you up.”

“well then i must’ve lied.”

“.....”

she let out a loud sigh while sitting up, stretching her arms up above her head before scratching it harshly. it looked to be morning time and y/n had told kana that she had many important things to do today. many things meaning lounging around even earlier than she usually does. there’s nothing to do around here besides sit around. money isn’t a problem. after what had happened she was able to buy a house outside the city, isolated in a large grass field and stayed there, only going into the city whenever she needed to go to the store with kana because god, she could never send that woman to get groceries, spending 300$ on groceries that (y/n) didn’t even need or ate. her life now was a bit better than before…. it was just very quiet. and lonely. kind of sad every time she thinks of it.

kana approached her sitting on the edge of the bed and pulled her up, y/n stumbling before catching her balance. it didn’t take much for her to ‘get ready’ for the day, since she spent her entire time in or around the house doing god knows what in her same sweats and sweatshirt she’s been wearing for the past two days.

kana guided the sleepy woman to the bathroom before letting her take a steamy shower and when she opened the door emerged from the mist, kana was delighted to see that she actually took a shower. it took a lot for her to even bother taking care of herself but thanks to kana being around still, even though it wasn’t necessary anymore, she still vowed to take care of her till her last breath. the next few hours of the day continued like usual, kana making food and y/n eating, sitting around reading, counting the birds flying by the house in the large field,tanning, sleeping, eating, training, she even picked up archery because she was just bored. too damn bored. sometimes she even laid face down in the field to pass the time.

“... i need to go outside…”

kana listens to her mumbling to herself, nodding in agreement to the statement.

“perhaps some archery will suffice, hime-sama.”

(y/n) grunted in agreement, a little peeved that she still called her that but let it go for now. she opened the sliding door, covering her eyes and walking out into the light. as expected, her eyes began to adjust slowly to the change, and she stood there waiting for her vision to clear up before continuing her way to the middle of the field. out there was a laid out table, and she headed to the side shed to fetch the arrows and bow before settling in front of the table, facing the target 40ft away from her. she stretches before jumping up dramatically, nodding to herself.

“alright alright.”

kana watched as y/n made her shots, turning away and looking into the forest, having the feeling that they were being watched. suspicion was her immediate reaction, there’s no other people around here except them, there no reason for someone else to be out here.

“hime-sama…”

“hold on, leave me be kana. i’m focusing right now.”

she hesitated before shutting her mouth and nodding, turning back to the forest to keep a lookout for any activity. all that could be heard was the sounds of blowing grass, birds chirping, and the loud sound of arrows striking onto the target. y/n seemed to be ignoring everything around her when in reality she was actually listening to the area around her as well, sensing random surges of energy before it would settle down. the wind began to blow a bit more and when it died back down, the feeling was even stronger than before. it was closer now.

‘ugh.’

the shifting of kanas feet could be heard, her nervousness becoming more obvious, turning to look at y/n with a perturbed look on her face.

“i know kana, i feel it.”

the last thing they both needed was getting into a brawl here and now, not when they were just trying to relax and go about their days peacefully. y/n pulled back the arrow and as she released it, her eyes widened watching the arrow stop right before the target, floating right in front of it. in a panic, she swiftly pulled another arrow into the bow before pulling it back again as far she could go, embedding her energy into it and aiming back towards the target. there behind said target, feet were peaking out at the bottom, a poor attempt at hiding. either that or they knew they would be noticed sooner or later.

“COME OUT.”

kana rushed over to y/n’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder before pulling her hand up threateningly towards the target as well.

“oya? you’re still no fun. didnt think you’d wanna kill me so soon…. (y/n)-sensei.”

both women were stunned, not expecting to see THAT man walk out from behind the target. white hair. black uniform. blindfold… and a stupid little smirk on his face.

gojo satoru.

“what do you think you’re doing here?”

“whaaat?? you’re not excited to see me.you’re favoriteee student, WAIT DONT SHOOT- just kidding~ not like it would hit me anyway…. oh come on stop being so stiff, and stop pointing that thing at meee. i’m the strongest you can’t do that. did you hear??? i’m the strongest and you can’t-“

the two women listen to him, (y/n) putting her bow down and roughly slamming it onto the table with a huff. just what she needed. the school to bother her again. gojo kept blabbering, not realizing that they were both waking away from him.

“h-hey w-wait, where are you going?”

“away.”

“wait come back we-“

“no.”

kana stopped walking and turned around, bowing to gojo before continuing to follow her mistress. she could hear y/n grumbling to herself, clear irritation obvious in her tone. she stopped, gojo appearing right in front of her, his hands stuck into his pockets looking down at her.

“i just want to talk.”

they stared at each other, her deciding whether or not it was even worth listening to. she did NOT want to be doing any favors for the school. being sent away was good enough damage. last thing she needed was to be used and get shit on. but she won’t deny that she was very curious about what he had come to bother her about.

“....tch….fine.”

she walked around him, slamming the sliding door open before walking in.

“gojo-san.”

“hm.”

kana approached him slowly, hands folded in front of her.

“it is a pleasure to see you. although i should warn you, hime-sama hasn’t really…spoken to anyone after all these years and she’s just, very rough right now. do you understand?”

he looked at the house for a moment before turning back and nodding he began walking inside, kana followed close behind, and silently slid the door shut.

“..... so what you’re saying is you got some 15 year old to eat the finger of sukuna. THE sukuna. you know, the four armed cunt whose fingers we couldn’t destroy?”

nod.

“ and then when you realized he was, as you say, “compatible”, you suggested that he became the vessel for sukuna as a chance to destroy said curse.”

“yup.”

“and because that happened, those elders, those bums, those HAGS, immediately decided to execute him without actually considering him as a potential vessel?”

nod.

“ and that you want to keep him alive because your student asked you too? a personal request? for him?”

“mhm”

“and not only do you want to bother me to just tell me this, but you want me to come back as well, that’s what you’re saying.”

“BINGO!”

“yeah, no.”

gojo stopped his little chair dance, before crossing his legs and arms.

“ (y/n)-sensei-

“stop calling me that damn it. saying that like i’m old or something. i’m literally 3 years older than you. i stopped teaching years ago. and what’s this whole thing about me coming back? i’m not even allowed to go back to that hellhole.”

“it seems being out here has made you a bit sluggish. i’m surprised you can even socialize at all.”

(y/n) went to flick his forehead, lifting her arm towards him, only to feel it be slowed down as she got closer and closer. eventually she gave up, settling for flipping him the bird instead.

‘overpowered little shit.’

“just shut up and finish what you were saying.”

“have you been working on your anger issues?”

(y/n)’s eye twitched, already knowing what he was trying to do. she rubbed the bridge of her nose in annoyance. as if she was gonna blow up for something like that.

kana walked over with a tray of tea, pouring into two cups before walking back to the kitchen. (y/n) reached for her cup, watching as gojo grabbed a handful of sugar cubes and threw them into his cup, stirring the contents with a spoon loudly.

“i did finish. all you need to do now is come back.”

“i don’t wanna come back for some kid, one of which i don’t even know, just so i can watch him die in the end.”

gojo shifts in his chair, pausing, looking at you closely.

“it was lifted.”

“what. what was lifted?”

“your banishment.”

an eerie silence takes over the room, (y/n) turning her head to the side and blinking repeatedly.

“what.”

he sips before continuing,

“you heard me. you’re free to come back. we would actually prefer if you did come back, we’re very low on staff right now and…”

he stopped talking as he watched her put her cup down and look away from the table, eyes glued on the view out the window next to her. a shine to her usually dull eyes.

“is… is that really true? you’re not fucking with me are you?”

gojo smirked, knowing he had caught her attention before nodding his head up and down in confirmation.

(y/n) sighed for the 100th time that day before turning back to him. she really didn’t wanna give in so quickly. all her worries were suddenly thrown out the window after hearing his last statement. in truth, this is really what she’s been wanting all these years. just to be able to come back. her grudge against the school was being chipped away at… but she wasn’t willing to let it go that easily. gojo tapped loudly at the rim of his teacup, pointing his finger at her.

“so?”

kana looked at her, tight lipped and curious. but (y/n) didn’t miss the hopeful look that twinkled in her eyes. breath in (y/n), breath in.

‘....damn it.’

“so this kid…”

gojos lips turned up into a wide grin.

“...he got a name?”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #anime #gojo satoru #ieri shoko #nanami kento #mei mei #iori utahime

[dirt-cup-draco]

I Miss You

tw: brief mention of self-harm, depression, depressive thoughts. **Please do not read if any of these are triggering or dangerous to your mental state. Take care everyone <3**

draco malfoy x reader- flashbacks in italics

To look at someone and know with everything in you that you know them better than anyone else was gratifying. To realize that they had become a stranger and that you didn’t know as much as you thought was worse than anything you’d ever felt. 

You watched Draco as he sat with all of his friends, arm slung around Pansy’s shoulders and a bored look on his face as he pushed at his food. You had to fight the churning of your stomach as you remembered how it felt to be tucked safely under that same arm and feel like nothing could ever go wrong. 

You could still feel him beside you, could still smell the cologne he’d picked out after asking you if it was nauseating or pleasant. Every time you passed the courtyard you thought of lazy Saturdays, the sun warming your backs as you sat by the fountain and people-watched. 

Bile burned in your throat and you had to look away, feeling sick and no longer hungry. How was it that he could be okay? It was that very same question that had been eating away at you at months. You loved him with every part of your heart, every bit of your soul, and he was fine without you. 

 “All right?” Lavender Brown asked, casting you an odd look and you flashed her a fake smile and nodded quickly. 

“Of course, just remembered I have a charms essay due and I haven’t quite finished it yet- excuse me,” With that same tight smile pulled over your heartache you all but ran from the Great Hall, rushing up to your dorm. 

The tears burned at the corners of your eyes and you sat heavily upon your bed, trying to catch a breath but finding that your lungs didn’t want to cooperate. “I should be over this,” You whined, praying that someone- that Draco- would recognize your inner turmoil. 

The sun was high in the sky and shining through your open windows but it only added to the ache you felt. The seasons had changed drastically in the four months of solitude you’d been trapped in and it seemed they would continue to shift before you ever got an answer. 

Tears, fat and hot, rolled down your cheeks and burned your hands as you brushed them away ferociously. You were so sick of crying but it seemed you couldn’t help it when you reminded of the boy you’d been friends with since you arrived at Hogwarts. He was a friend of your brother’s but as time went on, he talked with you more and your sibling less and you had become inseparable. He was your world, and you had foolishly thought you were his. 

You took in a shaking breath, voice catching as you let out another choked sob. Why does it hurt so badly? Do you know what you’re doing to me Draco? I want this to be over.

You tore your tie from your throat, being unable to catch your breath once more as you caught sight of the dried corsage on your night stand. It had only made sense back then that you and Draco go to the Yule Ball together, even if you hadn’t expected the invitation. 

“My brother told you I didn’t have a date, didn’t he?” You poked Draco’s chest, a teasing grin on your face but insecurity swimming behind your eyes. You knew Draco had wanted to ask another Slytherin, her name was Sophie (of this you were certain), yet here he was with a silly grin and a bouquet of sugared quills. 

“Haven’t talked to him recently, is that a yes?” All he had to do was pull you into a quick hug and remind you he did what he liked and your worries had vanished. 

Your lip trembled as you brushed your fingers over the brittle petals, a tear falling onto the browning flowers- the moisture being soaked up immediately. You had the sudden thought to crush the thing between angered fists and let the powder fall to the ground but with a deep sigh and a loud sniffle you opened the drawer and dropped the corsage inside. You couldn’t be angry with him no matter how badly you were hurting, you loved him and if he was happy then you would pretend that it was okay he had abandoned you so easily. 

“Everything alright?” You’d asked during mealtime as Draco picked at his food but didn’t seem to put anything into his mouth. His cheeks had gone hollow weeks ago and although you knew why he forbade you speak of it. 

“Yes, fine,” He had replied robotically and even if you had expected the answer it still disappointed you. He was your best friend, why couldn’t he be honest with you? 

“I was thinking over the summer you could stay with me for a week or two and we can go to the lake like always,” You mentioned through a mouthful of roll and Draco rolled his eyes at the sight, but you caught the smallest blip of a smile at the edge of his mouth and considered it a rare victory. 

“Yeah, maybe, I’ll owl you,” He had dismissed it quickly but you thought nothing of it. Draco wasn’t one of many words in recent days and you supposed he had just grown fond of comfortable silence. Did he realize you were crawling out of your skin? You had wanted to hug him, wanted to brush his hair from his eyes and beg he take just one more bite of dinner or ask if he’d had enough to drink that day but you let the desire fester inside of you. 

You didn’t want to push him away by being too inquisitive. 

You realized that you were supposed to be in class but nothing could pull you from the comfortable space you had found in your bedsheets. You had drawn the curtains and blocked the sun from view. Your pajamas were soft against your skin and the heavy weight of your pillow pulled tight against your chest was enough to stop the tears even if nothing could stall the ache in your chest. 

You had to remind yourself to take a deep breath as the corners of your eyes began to burn again and you clenched your fists tight, nails pressed uncomfortably against your palm. Even pain had done nothing to soothe the dull thud that had been rattling in your chest since Draco had read your begging and pleading and had said nothing. 

Your legs were stuck by pins and needles as you moved your legs into a new position, the floor hard and cold beneath you. You took a glance in the mirror and felt silly once you spotted the mascara that was smudged underneath your eyelids, highlighting the fact you hadn’t slept in nearly a day and a half. 

The new top you had on didn’t seem as cute as it had that morning when you’d sent an owl to Draco, asking when he would be arriving. He told you to expect him that Saturday and so expect him you had. You’d not slept the night before and you’d risen early to make yourself look nice. You felt shame burn in your veins at your vanity. 

He didn’t care, probably didn’t notice, that you had dressed up. You didn’t expect anything but your love only grew for him more each day and every year it grew more impossible to swallow down those feelings and pretend you didn’t want more. Maybe if you could impress somehow he would tell you he felt the same. 

You scoffed bitterly, looking down at your red hands- having wrung them to the point where they were raw and irritated. Hours you had waited, from ten that morning to ten that night. Silence all day long and you had so foolishly hoped that he was simply busy and would get back to you soon. Soon turned out to be close to midnight that night when a tawny owl had tapped it’s beak against your window and bit your finger when you’d rushed to grab the letter instead of giving them payment first. 

You had welcomed the sting of the owl’s sharp beak once you looked at the nearly barren letter. All it read, in Draco’s lazy scrawl, was “Sorry. Not today.”. That night you had made your way to your mother’s room, curled up on her lap, and cried until you could turn a desert into an ocean. When the burning in your chest hadn’t faded and the tears had failed in putting the fire scorching your heart out, you had taken your wand and burned your thigh just to feel something other than the ache. 

Not even that helped. 

You sent a number of owls after that. More than anything you were worried about Draco. Had he been eating enough? Had he slept at all that weekend or was he much like you? Maybe you just weren’t reaching out enough. You inquired after him but his replies never came. You grew sicker each day, your bedroom now your biggest comfort as you waited on any word from him. 

After two weeks had passed you decided to ask Blaise, Theo, and Pansy. Blaise said Draco seemed fine when he’d played quidditch with him three days prior your letter arriving and Theo wrote of how Draco had just sent him a letter asking to meet at Hogsmeade three days before the new year was to begin. And then Pansy wrote back. 

You’d never had anything against the girl, you’d grown up with her and learned that her bark was much louder than her bite and usually she just needed someone resilient enough to take the verbal abuse and patient enough to wait until she confided in them. Now, however as your eyes skimmed over her slanted letters you couldn’t help but hate the girl. 

“Draco spent the night two weeks ago, the thirteenth I believe,” She’d practically gloated and you prayed that her including the date wasn’t a way to ground your heart into an even finer powder. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. He was supposed to come see you on the thirteenth... 

You stared at your bed curtain an arm’s length from your face and let your eyes wander across the pattern absentmindedly, the same thoughts circling through your mind. The doubts and loathing and blaming were so common that it was just the new normal for you. 

If he’s happy, nothing else matters. Maybe if I was better he would have talked to me. Would he notice if I was gone? Probably not. If I was someone else maybe he’d still consider me his best friend. If I didn’t do anything wrong, why did he stop caring? Maybe he never cared at all. 

The thoughts bit deep and were anchored to your mind, making every breath labored and every smile a difficult task to achieve. 

“I understand I’m probably the last person you want to hear from,” You wrote carefully on the parchment, biting back your tears. “I’ve missed you terribly. I don’t mean to make you feel guilty by saying that- not that anyone could ever make you do or feel anything- I just thought you should know. I heard from Blaise that you and Pansy are together, that’s great.” 

You  had to take a steadying moment. It hurt but if Pansy made him happy, if your love and friendship wasn’t enough, then he should be with her. 

“He said you were happy and that is all I could ever want. I’m not sure what happened to us, but if this it’s good for you- not having me around- then I can’t complain. I’m sorry my thoughts are so disjointed I’ve just had so much I’ve wanted to say over the past four months and now it’s all being tossed onto a page. It’s piss poor timing and I know nothing can or will change but I love you and I like you, Draco Malfoy. I love you more than any friend I’ve ever had. I’m sorry I want more than I can have and I’m sorry if I’ve ruined any chance of you coming back to me. I love you with everything in me and you will always come first. Please don’t think this means I expect you to put me first, I don’t even expect a letter back. Just know you are always in my heart and forever will be. I truly hope you are happy and if there ever comes a day where you think you’d like to see me again or write me a letter I will anticipate it greatly. I’m going to be selfish and ask, beg, that you at least tell me why we fell apart but I leave that choice to you. Love, Y/N.” 

The letter had been your last ditch effort, written the first week you’d arrived at Hogwarts and realized Draco wouldn’t even spare you a glance, his arm still over Pansy’s shoulders. You had watched as his tawny owl glided overhead, dropping the neat letter into his lap. Pansy had turned her head to watch you but you had kept your head down in shame, only peaking out of your peripheral. 

You watched as Draco opened the letter, expression as bored and stony as it had been before. His eyes raked over the minimally tear stained parchment, taking in every word that you had spilled from the depths of your heart. 

And then, Draco too your letter and folded it back up before storing it within the torn open envelope. Pansy said something you couldn’t quite hear and he simply shrugged, eyes still cold. The envelope sat opened and ignored at the table with him and the friends you missed but couldn’t face anymore. 

For a spiteful moment you wished Draco Malfoy hated you. That he would stroll up to you and mock you, target every insecurity and doubt you had confided in him about and tell you that he could never want you-not even as a friend. Hatred would put you more at ease than this icy indifference but you knew now that you couldn’t coax an emotion out of the man you still considered your best friend. To him, you had become nothing- and why would he ever feel anything over someone who didn’t matter? 

Head hung low, you  let that familiar ache settle back over you. 

“All right?” Lavender Brown asked a week after Draco had decided your questions would not be answered. 

“Of course,” You tried to smile but even to you it lacked conviction. The girl let it go however, knowing as well as anyone who had seen you for the past six months that nothing could lift you from whatever ocean you were drowning in. 

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #angst #draco x friend!reader #I put my current situation into words to help me heal #and that #my friends and mutuals #is why i write #heavy angst guys #tw #tw: depression #tw: depressive thoughts

[wowtobio]

pls feed me with ur incredible writing. Iwa angst bc I haven't cried in a while lol.

Cheater! Iwaizumi x reader (angst)

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a/n: haha this made me laugh, ur too kind my writing is not that good so i cannot guarantee tears

It’s been awhile since I wrote my guy iwa and angst, hopefully this doesn’t turn out too bad eheh this is also sort of like an 800 followers special. Thank you all so much for following and reading my works, i cannot express it any other way :)

warning: angst, cursing, slight mentions

Part 1 | Part 2

You expected this to happen, as hard as it is to swallow the bitter truth that threatened to burn down your whole marriage. This man, what happened? The time he would sacrifice in order to spend just some time with you, only now consumed by his company forcing him to work overtime presumably. The words he spoke to you, full of meaning were now void of emotion and as cold and sharp as icicles hanging from the rooftop edge during winter nights. The love and adoration his eyes used to hold catered only for you.

Where did it go?  

Suddenly, the golden band adorned with emerald jewels did not shine as brightly as it used too. Though you kept yours on, it seems his own band was often absent. But you bit your lip, afraid to voice out queries that could end up in another pointless argument. 

The door shut hard, yet you do not jump from your seat like you used too. Keeping your blank eyes forward staring at the static of the television. No words, no welcomes were heard. 

The calming night breeze coming from an open window only served to add more coldness in the living room.

Recently, all the nagging you did would not serve you both justice. You were only worried for your husband, why did it seem like all he did was yell at you? A simple question concerning what was for dinner would always end up in heated words. 

“You can eat alone.” 

“But, I just wanted to eat dinner with you, I waited so lo-”

“And why should I care? Just leave me be I’m too tired to deal with you right now.”

But, you always seem like you don’t want to deal with me..

Soon, it all ceased to exist. Any conversation or fight in this matter, it all scurried away as fear of more spiteful words would dig deep into your chest and sting greatly. 

But tonight was different, you just missed him so much.

Standing slowly, you trudge behind him wordlessly wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your face into his broad back. He stands frozen, you wish you could see his facial expression. Iwaizumi’s gaze is casted down at the arms enveloping him.

You guessed your arms were pretty skinny now, when was the last time you even had a proper meal? 

You tried to ignore the feminine, floral fragrance that lingered on his button up, a scent you know for sure you did not use. 

Minutes passed, what felt like hours. After Iwaizumi snapped out of his state, he easily shrugged you off and continued to your once shared bedroom. And all you could do was hold out your now empty arms and stare at his receding form.

No tears shed, you ran out of them awhile ago. However, that familiar aching pain still stirred deep within your gut.

Another night on the couch it seems.

When was the last time you were happy? Your friends voice concern for your well-being, the sparkle in your eyes now dulled to a mere dull light. Eventually you stopped hearing their distressed voices when you started to decline their offers of going out.

There was no point in forcing yourself to go anywhere anymore. It was more convenient to mask yourself as to not cause anymore worry.

But, this one night you decided to go out. Maybe it was to escape the realms that reminded you of your dying relationship. You texted Iwaizumi, it’s been awhile since you clicked on his contact. And of course, no response. Probably didn’t even glance at the notification. 

Whatever, you gulped down another shot, your step wobbled slightly. Things did not change, your friends held the same hidden worries for you. 

Was it a coincidence that his best friend was there? I mean he was quite the party animal nowadays. His casual, flirty tone ignored by you. Until you voiced heading home early, not wanting to keep your husband waiting. Oikawa’s eyes darkened, he knew something you didn’t. 

And that something was met with you when you quietly open the door to your shared apartment. The thumping of your heart was probably louder than the one heard from your shared bed. 

Suddenly, your surroundings were starting to blur in your vision. Was it the alcohol? Or have you finally lost it?

Hands shaking, you grasp the golden doorknob. Nothing to lose now, as you swung open the only barrier hiding the ugly truth. A shriek, a barely audible gasp and a sob. 

He didn’t even react, he didn’t scramble the way that busty bitch did when she made futile attempts to pick up her clothing and leave. He didn’t even look at your trembling form. 

After the woman hastily left your apartment, taking your dignity along with her. All you could do is silently stand there, hot tears streaming down your pale complexion. Hajime’s eyes, as always casted down at the sheets he committed great sin in. 

You make eye contact with him one last time. It was only a second, yet you saw it all. All the lies he hid, the hatred he held for you. He hid it so well, and you were a fool to not notice how obvious it was.

No more, you ran out of the apartment in the same fashion that woman he indulged with did. 

Days passed. Weeks as well. No apologies, no contact, no moments of crossings, nothing. This is what your marriage has come too. Months of drowning in tears and alcohol.  

The feeling of worthlessness, ugliness, everything negative consumed your being during this dark time. Your phone untouched, flooded with texts and calls from friends and family. But you didn't have the energy to respond back with empty lies. It didn’t matter, out all of those messages his name never popped up. 

How could he do this to you? How could he love you to the point of marriage only to ignore you til the downfall? How could he steal everything away from you like this? Your first kiss, your first time, your hand in marriage. And to just take that all away and leave you with absolutely nothing but heartache and painful thoughts. 

You pondered this, who knows how long you will continue too. And as you scroll down your social media feed for the first time in awhile, Oikawa’s constant post flooded your timeline, one particular caught your eye. A candid selfie of the pretty setter, your ex-husband and a girl clad in a white sundress and sun hat. The girl had perfect wavy, long brown hair that complimented her hazelnut eyes. A body of a goddess and a beautiful smile. Her delicate and dainty arms wrapped around the bicep of your ex-lover. 

Hajime’s face was caught off guard, yet overall he did not seem the least bit effected by the events that happened just months ago. 

It broke you, why was he happier now without you? Though he left you all alone to wallow in your own sadness and selfishness. 

You did not get it, and you never will. As you sobbed deeply into your arms on that cold night, the stars shone brightly into the room barely enveloping your quivering body, all you could ask yourself is where did it all go wrong?

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a/n: idk abt y’all but i think the most painful heartbreak is watching someone fall out of love with u. but once again thank you for reading my blogs you guys :’) i seriously cannot thank you enough 

masterlist

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi angst #haikyuu!! #haikyū!! #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu headcanons #oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #hajime iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi x reader

[marmolady]

Her Reason

Main Pairings: Shamir x Catherine

Summary: In the wake of Lady Rhea's death, a lost and grief-stricken Catherine frets after Shamir.

Word Count: 2542

Warnings: Grief and loss. Also, I haven't written FE3H before, so don't expect a masterpiece.

*throws at @greengroove and runs away, hiding face*

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The rainstorm that had rolled in further shrouded Garreg Mach in gloom. The downpour came as if to wash away what had been, whether those left behind were ready for that change or not. A sombre atmosphere hung within the monastery’s ancient walls, and nowhere was it more potent than in the audience chamber; where weeping prayers in hushed voices were magnified in their number. Save for the distinct air of mourning, it could have been a scene from before the war. And… save for the absence of the church’s most prominent figure. Where Lady Rhea once stood, a wall of flowers and wreaths paid her tribute.

Few felt that absence more than the archbishop’s most loyal knight. It had been a long time since Catherine had found herself so aimless… bereft. More years than she’d worry herself to count. No doubt it had been noted by her partner, for it was a long time as well since Catherine had been so quiet.

Shamir’s sadness was different. It wasn’t for Lady Rhea-- a fact that she’d never hidden-- it was for her, Catherine. Just this morning before heading out on the mission, Shamir had referred to Lady Rhea with the proper and respectful honorifics, clearly not out of any reverence for the late archbishop-- no way!-- it had all been about treading carefully with Catherine’s emotions. From someone so stubborn…. Well, Catherine knew a thing or two about stubbornness herself, and she knew that some small, subtle acts against the unyielding grain held a lot of weight. If it weren’t for that weight, Shamir’s lack of sorrow for the passing of Lady Rhea might not have been bearable. It wasn’t fair, Catherine knew that, but it was what it was. At least Shamir was honest. She’d take that over the falseness of some of the nobles in ‘mourning’ any day. On a practical level, it meant that Shamir had been able to step up; proving to be a vital force amongst the knights during this period of transition, while others had been made undeniably vulnerable in the wake of their profound loss. It was no secret that this situation was not to last; Shamir, like Catherine, was at a cross-roads. All either of them knew was that it was a transition they would ride out together.

To be honest, Catherine wasn’t sure why she’d come up here. Perhaps it was just a habit that refused to die; when she was lost, Lady Rhea had the answers. But all she found here now was a dull sense of finality. Her purpose for so many years simply no longer existed.

The sound of the rain suddenly became a roar upon the high-vaulted roof. Catherine had to stop herself from flinching. As much of a hindrance that she might have been, and however much both Alois and Shamir might have protested, she’d rather be in the thick of a mission than waiting behind; not knowing what battles were being fought in her absence… not knowing how her partner was faring. She and Shamir were a team for good reason. It was a rare foe that could best their potent combination of belligerent force and sharp precision. There was no doubt that Shamir was perfectly capable without Catherine-- hell, no one could argue against that prowess with the bow-- but… some things were too important to be gambled. Shamir was too important. In this storm, visibility would be compromised….

“Oh, Catherine--”

“Flayn! I didn’t see you there.” Catherine startled, but recovered masterfully. One would have thought being partnered with Shamir for years would have made her immune to being snuck up on… apparently not. Or, she was really off her game.

“How wonderful to see you! It has been a few days… I do not believe I have even glimpsed your face in the dining hall. Not that I…. Well, it is hard not to struggle with one’s appetite in the wake of….”

As Flayn trailed off, her warm smile became sorrowful, but no less kind and genuine.

“Nah, appetite? I don’t even know what that is anymore. It’s a strange feeling for me. All the fire’s just… fizzled out. It’s as if I don’t even know which way is up.”

That was certainly true. It was the same shock that had been so staggering when Lady Rhea had disappeared all those years ago, but the glimmer of hope that driven the fight was now extinguished. And after tasting the sweet relief of finding her alive and-- not well, but alive counted for something, didn’t it?-- but they’d saved her, and then…. It wasn’t just a bitter pill to swallow; it was gutting. Catherine was totally lost. The only thing that made sense anymore, the one thing in all this chaos, was Shamir. How strange that, from the right person, some well-placed snark could court a smile-- even though it be a shaky one. And behind it all, the aloof quietness and the deadpanned jibes, Shamir cared for her. Right now, it made all the difference.

Just get your ass back here safe, partner.

Flayn’s expression was full of concern; no doubt picking up on Catherine’s worry. “If you feel yourself at a loose end, you could do worse than to take the time to care for yourself,” she said gently. “I find a good meal is fine place to start.”

If she could hold anything down…. Actually taking the time to eat a proper meal would, however, kill some time. And maybe she was hungry? Probably just the dread she was feeling, but a bite to eat couldn’t hurt.

The dining hall was bustling; apparently the wild weather had made the lure of a steaming bowl of onion gratin soup simply irresistible. Next to the mournful quiet that permeated the rest of the monastery it was jarring. Well, Catherine had wanted to be distracted.

It was all too easy, though, for the layers of voices to become just an unintelligible roar. The smiling faces grated on Catherine. This was just too normal. It was best she didn’t talk to anyone; just eat her fill and get out of there. She was in no mood for mincing words with anyone who had the nerve to gab away over a meal as if everything hadn’t changed, as if everything wasn’t wrong. These people could take a leaf out of Shamir’s book….

There it was. All of five minutes, and guess who’s on your mind again?

In the wake of Lady Rhea’s passing, it probably only made sense that she was fretting over any possibility that she might lose the other shining light in her life. You could never assume you were going to win any battle, but out of action, Catherine could do nothing except to assume everything was fine. That Shamir was safe. And she couldn’t just do that; the uneasy feeling wasn’t shifting.

She’d just have to deal with it. Thinking about Shamir. All through this wretched storm.

And there was a lot to think about. The proposition that Shamir take Catherine’s hand in marriage had not been forgotten-- not remotely. She cared for her partner deeply, she loved her, and the only future she could see out of this wreckage was the two of them together. There was nothing truly left for Catherine here-- her devotion had not belonged to the church, but for its head--; to disappear with her blunt and prickly Shamir into the sunset was a tantalising lure. But it wasn’t fair. How was Catherine to trust her own judgement when the throes of grief had her on the edge of snapping? That grief-- the price of it-- was not Shamir’s to bear. It would be all too easy to give in to comfort and spare the forethought….

But, a little voice in Catherine’s head stubbornly insisted, you know who you are. You know who you are with her. Any ‘doubt’ is an excuse. You’re just afraid to feel too much; afraid of giving everything and being once again left with a jagged empty space in your heart. Like the one left by Lady Rhea… the one left by Christophe.

If she hadn’t gotten so flustered and just said ‘yes’ then and there, would she be sitting here now? Imagining all that could go wrong on the field of battle in her absence? Perhaps Shamir would have stayed behind with her. Perhaps they’d be huddled together in a quiet corner, sharing a pint… Catherine mourning and Shamir commiserating. And they’d tentatively map out a future. A future different to what Catherine had seen for herself, but not in that they’d be together. That was something she could still believe in. She’d been presented with the perfect opportunity to express her feelings. Why hadn’t she just said ‘yes’?

Soup downed as quickly as possible-- no doubt indigestion would follow-- Catherine made a beeline for the front gates. The sun was going down, the rain slowing; the chances of the mission stretching out any longer than nightfall were slim. Even in a tempest, how long did it take to put down a few wolves, monstrous proportions or not?

As if by clockwork, from out the now-drizzling rain trudged a small group returning from the mission, mud-splattered and --in some cases-- bloodied.

Shamir was not among them.

No, no, no, no no….

Dread hit Catherine like an icy fist to the gut… clenching until she was totally winded. Too roughly, she pulled Byleth aside as they stepped through the heavy doors.

“Where’s Shamir?”

“The group became separated in the downpour--”

Of course it did. Damn it! Not waiting to hear more, Catherine strode off. “Fuck, Byleth! Well, it looks like a nice evening for a walk. I’m going for a bit of… fresh air.”

One hand on Thunderbrand’s hilt, ready to smite whatever creature had lain waste to her partner, Catherine powered on in the direction of the mountainside village the beasts had been threatening. Her angry panting breath caught in her throat, unable to move past the cold, hard lump there.

This was her fault. This was her….

--Thnk--

An arrow whizzed in front of Catherine’s face, finding its mark on a tree at the side of the path and making her skid to a halt.

“Is there a reason you’re striding off alone into the forest?”

And Catherine breathed. There she was, sheltering in the trees… perfectly fine. Safe. Thank the goddess. Thank the fucking-- She ran. She ran and took Shamir in her arms.

The force of the embrace swept Shamir clean off her feet and left her winded. Always nice as it was to see Catherine, this was somewhat excessive. Nevertheless, she hugged back firmly. All this upheaval… to be swept up in the arms of the person she loved most in all the world was admittedly a most wonderful comfort.

“...Anyone would think you’d convinced yourself I’d got killed out there….”

Catherine stepped back, and shifted her weight, sheepish.

Sheepish? Catherine? Oh.

Shamir shook her head in disbelief. Jeez, Catherine was really not okay. “Do you think Byleth would have left me-- would have left anyone-- if the beasts had not already been dispatched?”

“What--? Am I the Byleth-whisperer now? Even they don’t know what’s going on in their head!”

Though admittedly, Catherine realised, Shamir had a fair point. There may have been a smidgeon of unnecessary panicking. What was wrong with her head? It was just the thought of her partner fighting off some slobbering beast alone, compromised by a storm…. If anything had happened because Catherine had been too caught up in grief to be there backing her up….

Shamir brought her numb, wet fingers up to Catherine’s cheek, cradling her there.

“If you need me to remain close, then close is where I’ll stay.”

… then kissed her, slow and deep.

When Shamir pulled back at last, she was met with a dumbstruck expression and without a doubt the fiercest blush she’d ever seen across her partner’s face. Oh, the satisfaction. It was not every day the great Thunder Catherine was rendered speechless. Shamir made a note to remember that trick. Not that she’d ever need an excuse to want to…. It had been a long time coming. Too long.

Catherine swallowed hard. She could feel her mind short-circuiting, but she wouldn’t let it happen this time. Not when that had felt…. She leaned forward, touched her forehead to Shamir’s. It did… feel like coming home. Something joyous, impossibly joyous was rearing up inside her, some swell of certainty and desire and love… a feeling so vast she could not cut it down with even the mightiest swing of Thunderbrand. Why would she even try anyway?-- this was glorious.

“I thought I could always read you…,” Shamir said as her partner seemed to return to her senses, “but I was never quite sure if you understood that I meant it. When I suggested we marry.”

“I wasn’t expecting it!” Catherine defended herself, arms raised. Her face still was a glowing red, she could feel it burning. “Trust you to be the one to take me by surprise.”

Shamir held Catherine’s gaze, trying not to get lost in those startling blue eyes, so alight with fire. She had so feared that fire might fizzle and fade. She’d protect that fire, tend it as she would the spark of her own life. She needed Catherine to know that she’d meant it.

“Someday we might lose this,” she said, voice hoarse. “Actually, scratch that ‘might’; we're not naiive. All things end. But for as long as I’m breathing, all I am is yours. We’re in this for the long run…,” A sparkle came to her eye, as she met Catherine’s, an adoring smirk to her lips, “…partner.”

“It’s a relief that you meant it-- it would have been a wickedly cruel trick in light of the fact that I love you.”

“You…?” Shamir’s breath hitched.

“Love you.” Catherine affirmed. “I… love you.” Was it normal for her heart to be beating this hard? It was going wild, as though she was storming recklessly into a battle of impossible odds. She could hear it over the goddamn rain…. But it was nice. Oh, it was nice. “Heh,” she chuckled. “It actually feels pretty good to say it out loud. You should try it sometime.”

The vulnerability behind that dare wasn’t lost. Shamir could almost hear Catherine holding her breath.

“Catherine. I love you.”

Sputtering a breathless laugh, Catherine pulled her partner-- her lover-- into another embrace. Holding her like she’d never let her go. Because there was not a fucking chance in hell she ever would. She had her reason to keep fighting there in her arms.

“We could take a further dive into blatant sentimentality,” she said. “There is a chance I alarmed Byleth enough that they’ll come searching, and see how hard I’m blushing right now. My reputation will be destroyed forever!” She pulled away, painful as it was. It was, though, in aid of something bigger. “Or you could always just… kiss me again.”

The day’s last rays of the sun pushed through the clearing clouds, creating a sparkle on a rain-drenched land.

And Shamir kissed Catherine again.

#fe3h #cathmir #catherine rubens charon #shamir nevrand #fire emblem three houses

[writeblrfantasy]

here it is!

my pride and joy, the piece that has completely hijacked my brain and my life for the past 24 hours. this is the prologue, some might say, to TDOSA, featuring the vibes of an endless, sunny summer, the sense of floating through time and space, and a lot of lesbian yearning and projection, i present: the summer of seret ashling.

cw implied sex, blood

word count around 6300

one time tags of interest @ashen-crest @ettawritesnstudies

tdosa taglist (lmk to be added/removed) magic-is-something-we-create @hysteriwah @imjustalonesomewriteblr @a-forgotten-dusk @bronwennjames @metanoiamorii

Lysandra Fleming’s summer begins like this: a lonely night in Briar Bar, sipping a warm mug of cherry syrup. Not because she is cold—the heat in Vashiri Valley does not begin with summer, nor does it end there. Cherry syrup is vile and bitter and sweet at the same time, made worse warm, but the smooth way it goes down reminds her of childhood, the strange days when she actually liked this stuff.

Not home. She has not had a home since she was a child, when the supposed charm of the palace still worked on her. What were once silky ribbons in her hair became the invisible chains and rules of her parents, tying her down.

Lysandra, you can’t do this, it will reflect badly on us, or Lysandra, you can’t speak to that person, can’t smile at them, can’t see them, don’t you know what they did ten years ago? Don’t you know who their parents are? Vashiri Valley is struggling for power enough without you mucking it up.

Lysandra stopped smiling altogether.

Now, she comes to Briar Bar to be left alone with her cherry syrup, to melt into the crowd, to be normal, for once. Instead, others smile at her the way her parents always encouraged she smile, fake, polite enough, with an ulterior gleam in their eye. So many eyes watch her in want, but she does not feel seen at all by any of them.

The room’s quiet conversation dims and dissolves into whispers, prompting Lysandra to glance over at the reason. The reason is facing away from Lysandra, wearing a tall black hat and a black suit that nearly blends into the darkness of the walls, if not for the white shirt the woman is wearing underneath.

Lysandra didn’t see her come in, and all eyes turn to the tall, dark stranger, wondering the same thing. Her companions across the room point her in Lysandra’s direction, who braces for another meaningless smile, another delighted to meet you, Highness.

The woman turns, and Lysandra sees brown skin, black hair falling in long, loose curls, a subtle, close mouthed smile that draws her attention instantly. Brown eyes meet Lysandra’s green.

“Seret Ashling, my princess.” Seret Ashling leans down, never breaking eye contact, and kisses the top of Lysandra’s hand, holding her fingers delicately, but not like she’s glass. She treats Lysandra like she knows, instantly, her boundaries, how far she can safely push, what Lysandra can take—which is a lot more than most people guess.

Already, Lysandra likes her.

Lysandra is not her princess. She knows the name of every person in this valley, and she knows she’s never even seen Seret before. Even the name is foreign to her. Seh-reht.

That makes it all the better.

She moves her stool a little farther from the empty one beside her, raising an eyebrow in an invitation Seret accepts, removing her hat and tucking it under her arm to smoothly mount the stool. Seret sits with a straight back but ankles curled around the legs of the stool, adding enough humanity to her presence to make Lysandra smile.

She does not prop her elbow on the table, she does not order anything, but she does stare at Lysandra like she’s the most interesting person in the room. Lysandra can tell, somehow, that this gaze is genuine, not hastily crafted and practiced to impress her.

She offers to buy Lysandra another mug of cherry syrup, and Lysandra lets her.

***

Everywhere Lysandra goes, Seret seems to find her. She’s the talk of the valley, enrapturing them with her tall, dark, handsome aura, her small smile, the way the sun shines off her hair.

Finally Seret takes the leap and asks her out to places in Vashiri City Lysandra has been a thousand times, but somehow Seret’s presence paints color to her world again instead of the dull greens and golds the valley has become.

Their connection is instant, from Briar Bar to the lane of potion shops to the muffled awe in Seret’s face when she sees the Academy. At some point, Seret takes Lysandra’s hand, and they stroll through the town like they are not a princess and the new obsession of Vashiri Valley.

Everyone has been asking Seret about herself, where she’s from, what family she has, but she slips out of answering like a snake from a trap. Her smile is quite persuasive. Lysandra doesn’t even try to pry the answer out of her, though she might be the one person to succeed. Seret still looks at her every time like she’s the sun and the moon and the stars.

Lysandra’s heart thrums with nerves every hour before their dates, afraid of messing things up and driving Seret away, but the moment Seret enters the room, her heart calms. Seret gives her a warm hug that envelopes her whole soul, tells her she missed her dearly, and Lysandra wonders why she was ever worried. Seret seems impossible to offend.

“I am going to buy you a gift,” Seret announces on one of their dates in town, in a tone which makes it clear this is non-negotiable. Lysandra only nods. Seret pauses between two shops, one being the most popular jewelry store in the city with a line out the door, the one across the street being an adorable but little known competitor.

Lysandra waits for Seret to get in line for the popular jewelry store, but instead the woman lingers in front of the door of the other shop before opening it. “Don’t peek,” she says with a little smile, shutting the door and triggering the little bell. Lysandra stands there gawking like a fool until Seret emerges ten minutes later holding a little square box.

When Lysandra opens it with trembling hands, she finds a little heart shaped necklace, gold with a silver center on a golden chain. The gold probably isn’t real, probably just paint, but the pink paper wrapping the necklace and the little thank you card inside the box make her smile when the shop across the street wouldn’t.

The plain red and blue shelves in the windows of the other shop, where her family’s jeweler gets his jewels, have nothing on the soft pinks, greens, and browns of the cheap shop owned by twins. They keep flowers in their windows, pink carnations, and prices written in loopy court script.

“Do you like it?” Seret asks nervously, and Lysandra realizes she hasn’t said a word.

“I love it. Thank you.” She offers it up to Seret to clasp around her neck. Seret’s warm fingertips brush the back of her neck, and shivers run down Lysandra’s spine. This is special, her heart keeps telling her, like she doesn’t already know. This is different.

“How did you know?” Lysandra asks.

“Know what?”

“That I’d like this better than the shop across the street.”

“You’re a princess, you’re used to expensive jewelry, and you’ve publicly and loudly denounced royal life. Also, I’d rather give my money to them, seems like they actually need it. Don’t you agree?”

Lysandra has to take a deep breath to keep from blurting out something stupid. “Yes. I agree.”

Their first kiss a day later is a ray of light and a shadow of darkness, colliding and exploding in a glorious show of white and black, settling as ashes and debris into serene, calm gray. They are not the sun and moon. Lysandra is too sharp to be the sun, Seret too dim to be the moon.

It is the death of something. The birth. Lysandra can’t define what.

***

When Lysandra asks, Seret says she came to Vashiri Valley to visit and experience its delights, after which she meets Lysandra’s eyes and kisses her hands.

Lysandra hangs around the city apartment Seret rents. It’s close to Wynn’s cabin where she sleeps. She hasn’t slept in the palace in months. The layers of security and scrutiny she has to pass to enter are not worth the temporary comfort of a soft bed and her favorite meals.

She’s sleeping beside Seret before long, unable to bear being apart from her for that long, wondering how she behaves during such a precious time. Seret’s arms are even warmer around her under cool sheets, and in the morning, Seret brings her coffee before disappearing behind a white door.

She reappears in a cloud of steam, smelling like sweet flowers and honeysuckle. Lysandra gets to kiss her good morning and wonder how she got so lucky.

They’re invited to plays, the nights at the bars for amateur bards, the travelling witches who perform at the amphitheater. Lysandra has been to every event in this valley at least once, usually at the request of her family, but Seret loves going. Like the city and the shops and the Academy, experiencing Seret’s joy secondhand is intoxicating.

Everywhere they go, every table they sit at, whether it’s the theater or the bar or a café for a simple breakfast, people are fawning over Seret. The entire valley is enamored with Lysandra’s new lover.

Seret seems to find it amusing, the way they pat her arm and show a comical amount of interest in everything she has to say, just waiting for an opportunity to ask questions that they must know will go unanswered.

Lysandra sits quietly, burning from the way Seret entertains them, smiles at them in her private way. She wants Seret all to herself. She’s used to sharing things with the public, she’s had to share herself her whole life, but Seret is different. Lysandra doesn’t care if it’s selfish, Seret is hers.

When everyone finally seems like they’ve gotten their fill of Vashiri’s new inhabitant, Lysandra takes her to the edge of the forest and the dead tall grass fields beside it. She gets to watch the exact moment Seret falls in love.

Seret has never grinned, never raised her voice louder than a murmur, but her hitch of breath and the way she reaches for Lysandra’s hand is all she needs. Pride blooms in Lysandra’s chest at the realization she’s learned Seret’s little tells like that.

“It’s just a field,” she laughs. She’s laughing more, now, thanks to Seret. Stoic, cynical, unpleasant Princess Lysandra, laughing. This is why she hasn’t let Arlin near Seret yet, she’d never hear the end of it.

“No, it’s not,” Seret breathes, radiating darkness and mystery in a way that is curious, enticing, instead of harmful. Lysandra just wants to follow her into the shadows where no others can see them, hurt them, touch them. “Can’t you see?”

Lysandra strains her neck, but it’s not the fact that Seret is taller than her that’s the problem. “No.”

Seret pulls her along and begins running instead of answering. Lysandra yelps in surprise and stumbles along, staring enviously at Seret’s long legs—long legs, long arms, long face, long fingers, everything about Seret is long. She sweeps Lysandra up in her arms and spins her around, feet in the air, Seret’s strong arms keeping her up.

Seret is grinning for the first time, showing perfect white teeth, her joy the only reason Lysandra doesn’t scream in shock. She trusts Seret utterly, she realizes in a paralyzing moment of clarity, the sun warming her back, the wind blowing through her hair. Seret has never given her a reason not to.

“What’s the matter with you?” Lysandra asks, though she can’t keep the joy out of her own voice. Seret is infectious. Anything she feels reflects on Lysandra.

“We had fields exactly like this in the city where I grew up. I can’t believe I haven’t seen these yet.” She finally sets Lysandra down and immediately kisses her, as has become a habit the last week. Lysandra gives in, gives over entirely.

She has twisted and forced a key into the lock of her heart, but now, she hands the broken key to Seret and wishes her lucky trying to fit it in the rusty, damaged old lock. Lysandra knows she’ll unlock it fast, her eyebrows pinched and frowning in concentration, long fingers working quickly.

She doesn’t tell her that, of course.

Even then, Lysandra knew.

***

They find a cabin at the edge of the fields and the forest which they quickly move into, abandoning Arlin and the boys and Lysandra's family and Vashiri Valley for themselves. Lysandra has no remorse.

Seret shows her how to live in darkness, in quiet, in peace. They prepare coffee in the mornings before the sun floods the fields with light, arms brushing and using only using their sleepy voices when they need to, not wanting to disturb the holy peace of the morning.

They bathe in the evenings indoors where the fading sun doesn’t reach, sitting close in a tub of river water that Lysandra heats.

They spend all day laying on their backs in the fields, one of them lying on the other while someone’s hair is stroked and someone speaks over the wind.

When the afternoon heat turns the sunlight from pleasantly warm to scorching, they move to the shade of the big oak tree near their cabin to eat.

The shadows are their friends in this haven, where no one and nothing else exists but them. Seret trusts them like they trust each other, content to close her eyes and lay her head back against the trunk when she’s done eating.

Lysandra loves the warmth of the sun, but she hates the harsh white spotlight of her family, the prickly rules tying her down, the sense that she can’t ever escape their restraining eyes. She can hide in the darkness from Seret. They’ll never catch her.

Lysandra has never been so invincible, light enough to be picked up on a cloud every time the wind blows. Seret is the only magical thing she’s met that doesn’t have a drop of magic within her.

Seret is ineffable. Unknowable. Larger than life. Lysandra can never hope to understand her fully, but she can try, she can watch and observe, attempt to learn the inner workings of Seret’s mind.

“Seret?” Lysandra asks one afternoon just like every other, where the peace and warmth of their retreat cannot be broken. “Where are you from?”

It is the first time she has asked. She holds her breath, waiting for Seret’s answer, which takes a long time to come. Seret chews on her lip, her expression as guarded as always, until she finally smiles. “Wherever you want me to be from. North, south, east, west, I’ve visited them all. Pick one and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Lysandra’s chest opens to swallow an ache of emptiness. “Maybe later.” It’s not what she wanted, and they both know it. Lysandra inches mere breaths away from Seret’s side, but it won’t go unnoticed. She thought Seret might actually tell her. She rubs the small gold heart between her fingers and sighs.

“Hey,” Seret says, turning Lysandra’s chin towards her. “It’s not because I don’t trust you, because I do. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone, more than you know.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?” Need, embarrassing and whiny, sneaks into Lysandra’s voice, but she ignores it. She’s entitled to this answer, at least.

“I don’t want to shatter your world.” Seret sighs and shifts to take Lysandra’s hands in both of hers. “I am from the south. I ran away from home at a young age to travel because my upbringing was hell, and I’ve never stopped since.”

Lysandra breathes out.

“None of that changes how I feel about you,” Seret continues, pleading, the most passionate Lysandra has ever heard her. “I have never met anyone like you, even with everywhere I’ve been. I do not want anyone but you.”

No one has ever said anything like that to Lysandra, and hearing it now gives her pause. The way Seret’s eyes burn on her skin with their dark intensity is exquisite. Lysandra will never get used to it. She does not want to.

“I would not want this with anyone else.” It does not mean the same thing, but Seret smiles, close mouthed, anyway. At times like this, Seret’s secretive nature makes Lysandra’s blood boil, unvoiced screams rise in her throat. She has given so much of herself already, why can Lysandra not know of her past, her family, her ugliest emotions?

She never wants Seret to treat her like glass. The first day they met, Seret got it right. Lysandra can’t bear the thought that Seret is any less perfect than she thinks, that would shatter her, not knowledge of the world beyond the valley.

Lysandra has gotten all she will today. She is content to sigh deeply and lay her head on Seret’s arm. Seret will stroke Lysandra’s hair, and the wind will ruffle her own, and Lysandra’s urge to push it back will fight the warmth settling into her bones. They are fine. They will be fine. Nothing more.

***

On lucky occasions, Seret shares stories of her travels from who knows when, who knows where. She has been everywhere, she said, and Lysandra believes her. She asks about the north, the far east, the west, and Seret’s homeland, the south.

The south could mean any number of things. Lysandra has never been out of Vashiri Valley, and her family have always been vague about what lies beyond their mountains, but Seret describes an actual ocean, the cold water wrapping around her ankles, the hot sand burning her feet.

She takes Lysandra to a desert in her mind, great, sprawling cities, icy lakes and snowy mountains to the north. To the east, she says, more ocean with great brown ships. Lysandra doesn’t care if she’s lying.

She lays in the grass on her side and lets the wind blow her skirts while she travels the world in her mind. Seret closes her eyes and traces mountains, rivers, canyons on her spine, unconsciously pointing in those directions. Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat.

Seret opens her eyes briefly to ask, “Am I boring you?”

Never. You couldn’t if you tried.

Lysandra shakes her head. Seret’s slow, easy smile returns, and the warm fingers on the skin revealed by her backless dress whisk her away to a thousand new worlds so big she can’t even imagine them.

***

“Does it ever bother you that I’m a princess?”

Seret smiles. “That isn’t something that would bother most people in my position.”

“I’d disagree. As the lover of a princess, you have no privacy, there’s expectations, rules you have to follow, harassment…I suppose a better word would be faze. You met and introduced yourself and spoke to me as if I were normal.”

“I called you my princess. the day we met.”

At Lysandra’s withering look, Seret chuckles. “Who said you aren’t normal? You didn’t have any control over what family you were born into. I would still feel the same if you hadn’t rejected your family and your role, if you were princess first and person second. It would be a bit harder to get to you, though, in that stronghold. To me, in that bar, you were just the prettiest girl in the nicest dress with the most captivating eyes. They told me you were a princess—so what? I love you anyway.”

Lysandra’s cheeks burn hot, and she chokes on saliva. The wind picks up, and she feels like she’s falling. How can Seret just say things like that and expect Lysandra not to explode and melt into the sun? “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Seret smiles again. “I’m not looking to get anywhere. I’m not like those people at the bar when we met. I’m not trying to be like anyone. I’m not not trying to be like anyone. I’m not looking to impress you, honestly. I’m just being honest.”

Lysandra’s breath catches in her throat like a branch stuck in a river, unfazed by the powerful oncoming waves.

Seret is clearly not looking to hear it back, but Lysandra gathers all her courage and quietly says, “I love you, too. I--”

She shies away from Seret’s intense gaze, burning on the back of her neck. “I’m not good at, uh. Saying things like this. Like you. But I want you to know that you’ve changed my life. I don’t know how to thank you for all that you’ve done for me, given me. This place is nothing short of perfect. Every minute we’ve spent together has been nothing short of perfect. I’m sorry I haven’t given you anything back.”

“My dear, you are quite mistaken. You’ve given me the ultimate gift: yourself. The opportunity to know your heart, your mind. You’ve let me in when I can tell you have trouble doing so.”

She kisses the back of Lysandra’s hand, looking up at her through her eyelashes, as she often does. It still makes Lysandra’s entire being heat like the sun itself came down to lay its rays gently onto her, powerful but careful with her.

“You are my entire world,” says Seret, the sun. “The most precious creature in all the places I’ve visited, all the creatures in this valley alone.”

Lysandra smiles. “You haven’t met Wynn Scylla’s dragonlings.”

Deflect. Defend. Dismiss. Seret sees through it.

Lysandra lays their lips together, hoping to convey without the painful process of words said aloud just how much Seret makes her hurt. Seret makes her burn and ache in the best of ways, like a satisfying stretch after waking up from a stiff nap.

Seret challenges her to face things she loves shying away from, things like the swelling of her heart which she hasn’t felt in years. Seret is terrifying, all consuming, but Lysandra can’t imagine a world without her. Much of her allure comes from her mystery, however infuriating her secrecy is.

Hours later, when they’re full and sated from dinner, after they wash the dishes side by side at the river and after they’ve bathed in the tub in the house, Lysandra hears a faint hum, high and low, continuous, lulling and soft. She turns her head and discovers it’s Seret, humming to herself as she drapes the wet towels out to dry. “What’s that you’re humming?”

Seret pauses her sweet melody. “Hm? Oh, just some music from the east. If I had the proper instruments, I would play the tune.”

Lysandra chokes on air. “You can play music, too?”

Seret smiles. “I can do many things.”

“Oh?” Lysandra doesn’t know where her sudden burst of courage comes from. Perhaps she’s the one looking to get somewhere. She raises an eyebrow and crooks a finger, hoping a low tone will convey her point. “Come here and show me.”

Seret is quiet, face blank. Lysandra wonders, belatedly, if she does in fact have unknown boundaries.

When Seret desperately searches her eyes for consent, Lysandra realizes it was shock and not disgust that rendered her speechless. “You mean—” Seret asks, hoarse, never breaking eye contact. Lysandra shivers. She had that effect on her?

“Yes.”

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment, Seret’s hungry gaze fixed on Lysandra’s pale shoulders, the towel wrapped around her middle. Then they’re both moving at once, mouths moving in the same pattern of Seret’s melody, a symphony of hearts beating in time.

If Lysandra is Seret’s world, Seret is the center of Lysandra’s.

***

At long last, Lysandra’s family gets wind of Seret. Lysandra doesn’t want to know how. Maybe Wynn and Petrus spread it around by accident—she loves those boys, but they couldn’t keep a secret if they tried. Maybe it was Arlin, who Lysandra finally let meet Seret.

All she does know is that her family is demanding to meet their middle princess’s lover, which means they’ll clarify if they’re allowed to be together or not.

“I’m sorry,” Lysandra whimpers, on the edge of tears in Seret’s arms. “I don’t want them to touch us with a ten foot stick, but if we don’t go, they’ll send someone out here to find us and disrupt our world. I’m so sorry.” Something about her family interfering in her and Seret’s affairs makes Lysandra boil like nothing else.

“It’s okay, my princess,” Seret murmurs into her hair, cupping the back of her head, rocking them back and forth. “We’ll go, I’ll tell them what they want to know, we’ll come right back here. It will only be a few hours. Their opinion won’t change how I feel about you, but I’ll do whatever you feel is best.” The sorrow in Seret’s tone implies too much.

Lysandra pulls back. “Don’t you ever think I’d leave you for my family. Right now, I’m thinking much the opposite.”

Seret purses her lips. “What objection would they have to me? The whole valley seems to like me, why wouldn’t they?”

“You’re not a noble, you don’t have a title, you have nothing to offer them, you won’t even tell anyone where you’re from, and you’re the lover of their middle child.”

Her voice is bitter, matching her heart. Seret’s arms tighten protectively around her. Lysandra switches from bitterness to anger to guilt in a second. How dare her family do this to them? What makes them think they have this right?

They control Vashiri Valley, but Lysandra can’t remember the last time they appeared in public, and their power is distant at best.

They control Vashiri Valley, but they can’t control her.

“No matter what they say,” Lysandra says into Seret’s chest, “I am never leaving you. You’ll have to pry me away. Whatever polite, diplomatic accusations or insults they throw at you, ignore them. You don’t have to tell anyone, especially them, about yourself. You’re with me because I love you, and that’s all we care about. Okay?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one who needs reassuring, Lysandra.”

“Shut up. I’ll be fine.” She pulls back from warmth to wipe her eyes, hot shame from crying coating her face, but Seret pulls her back in.

“There’s no shame here,” she whispers, kissing Lysandra’s temple. “Comforting you is my pleasure, though I wish you didn’t have a reason to cry. Everything’s going to be okay, my princess.”

Lysandra breathes.

She wears the gown she wore when she and Seret met, soft pink with a low neckline, tiered ruffles reaching down to her ankles, frilly short sleeves. Maybe familiarity will give her some comfort, whether that’s Seret’s hand on her thigh or this dress pinching her arm.

Seret wears the same black slacks, white shirt, and black jacket she always wears, thoroughly combs her hair, but leaves the hat at home.

At the dinner, she is perfect. she speaks only when spoken to, sits with that straight, enviable posture, praises the food like it’s the substance of heaven itself, the best she’s ever had.

She’s gracious, thankful, answers every question they ask. If she had a title, Lysandra knows her family would be simply begging them to marry.

Things start out pleasant, her family treating Seret with the polite, arm’s length attitude Lysandra expected. Finally, the dreaded question comes.

“So, Seret,” Lysandra’s mother asks, folding her hands, “where are you from?”

Lysandra clutches her necklace, the one Seret gave her, and prays. Please don’t let them be the first ones you tell. They don’t deserve that.

Seret smiles. “This soup is delicious, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, thank you, you’ve said so already.” Her mother is reaching the end of her patience—Lysandra has been on the other end of that short patience dozens of times. Her blue feathered hat and perfect red lips cover up a much nastier woman. “Please tell us about where you live.”

“Well, Lysandra and I have been living next to the forest all summer. The fields there are positively peaceful, you should visit them sometime.” She pauses to let horror sink into the hearts of luxury groomed royals. Lysandra bites down on a smile. “But I am technically still renting an apartment in the city.”

“Where you came from,” Lysandra’s father adds, sharp, on the end of his patience as well. Lysandra wonders how much Seret prepared for this. Seret is smart, she must’ve known she couldn’t wiggle her way out of the question with her usual tricks. “Maybe who your parents are.”

Seret appears to consider the question. “I’d rather not say,” she says, stirring her drink with her spoon. Silence falls onto the room. Lysandra holds her breath.

Her mother nods her head tightly. “Very well. In that case, we’re going to have to insist you stop seeing our daughter.”

Seret bows her head in humble acceptance, but Lysandra stands up, every fiber of her being filling with inexplicable rage. She told herself she wouldn’t display a reaction, she would just accept the denial and then ignore it, like Seret will, but hearing it so frankly from her mother’s lips is different from imagining it.

“You don’t have the right to tell me who I can and can’t see just because you feel like it,” she spits. “I’m an adult. I haven’t lived here full time or done the duties you ask of me for years. You should disown me. Save yourselves the trouble of dealing with me any longer.”

Seret’s hand lands firmly on her knee as if to say no, don’t. Lysandra captures her hand and holds it above the table for the whole family to see.

“You’re the one who chose to come here,” Lysandra’s mother says.

“Yes, because I knew you’d hound us if we didn’t.” Lysandra can feel her chest being ripped open from the top down. Seret’s fingers squeezing hers is the only thing tethering her to herself. She pulls tightly on Seret’s fingers, who takes the hint and stands. They walk out without another word, without a glance back.

When they get back to the cabin, Lysandra sinks onto the couch in their living room face first, and immediately begins to cry. The seconds it takes for the door to click and Seret’s boots to march across the wood are far too long, until warm arms wrap around Lysandra’s back and Seret buries her nose in the back of her hair. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, which only makes Lysandra sob harder.

“I don’t know why it still matters. I knew this was exactly what they’d say. I didn’t want it to affect me. I want to move on from them.”

Seret stays quiet, just letting Lysandra exist and holding her through it. They don’t speak about it again.

Things are different after that. The fields and the cabin have been tainted with mere mention of the royal family’s presence. The spell has been broken.

The wind comes less, the sun seems to burn in a way it didn’t before. Lysandra doesn’t treasure dawn and dusk the way she used to, and baths are just baths. The only thing that hasn’t lost its magic is Seret, as kind and loving as always.

A week later, Seret begins taking trips into the city to gather everything from her apartment and bring it to the cabin, everything of Lysandra’s from Wynn’s cottage.

No matter how many times Lysandra offers to help, Seret insists she’s fine, she doesn’t want Lysandra to come into the city and get hounded and harassed by the usual people dying to meet the princess.

Arlin and the others come to visit a few times to keep her company while Seret’s gone, to speak about the upcoming Academy year, their last year, to learn the place Lysandra disappeared to the entire summer.

She’s happy to see them, happy for the company, but her heart never stops aching for Seret, wondering what she’s doing. Arlin and the boys stay for dinner well after Seret’s back, so she’s never given a moment alone to think.

This continues for a month.

Arlin and the boys become as intimately familiar with the cabin, the fields, the river, and the forest as Lysandra was with Wynn’s cottage on the forest’s other side.

Lysandra flies toward the end of summer in a haze, perpetually afraid to break the peace, shatter the dream, feel the cold seep into her bones once more. She has grown so used to the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin, the safety of Seret’s arms and her soothing voice.

Seret is never too loud, never jarring. Seret seems to float on the wind; sometimes her mind is lost to Lysandra as she stares into the sky at nothing.

Seret is—

Seret is many things. Nothing at all. Everything all at once.

Ineffable.

On what Seret says will be her last day of moving, she kisses Lysandra’s cheek and says, “I’ll be back,” like always. Lysandra thinks that’s rather silly—of course she’ll be back, that’s a given—but it’s sweet.

Arlin and the boys won’t be over since they have to collect their books for school in two weeks and otherwise prepare. Lysandra spends the day in the river, letting the water suck all the thoughts from her head.

By the evening, as Lysandra waits on the porch with dinner ready, Seret is still not back.

She probably got held up with the loading carts she’s been using, Lysandra tells herself as she gathers her shawl, puts on a dress fit for the town’s eyes, and begins the long walk there. She stopped to have dinner, or something. Maybe she met Wynn’s dragonlings at last.

Seret would’ve run back here herself to tell Lysandra she wouldn’t be back until later because of the dragonlings, or she would’ve sent a magical letter, or something. Seret has told her over and over how much she hates to see Lysandra in pain, and how she’ll never, ever be the cause of even the slightest worry.

Dread sits heavily in Lysandra’s chest.

The area near the school is in chaos, looking for her. No one she meets will tell her what’s going on, why they refuse to meet her eyes, why they offer faint smiles in place of explanations.

When Lysandra is shown the rooms in the Academy Seret broke into, the bizarre circles drawn on the floor in chalk, the thick books lying open, the blood splattered all over the floor, and finally, Seret’s body lying on the floor with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, Lysandra falls to her knees and doesn’t get up.

Her entire being is shattered with a force she didn’t know existed, with waves of invisible pain too strong for this realm. Everything feels empty and quiet, but not quiet in the serene way of Seret’s.

She screams, and it rips her open. It rips every part of good out of her and replaces her with numb, muffled, faint feeling. Later the waves of pain will come back, the longing for Seret’s warm arms to wrap around her and make everything all better, but now, she’s able to look at the body with only thin trails of tears streaming down her face.

Seret’s white shirt is soaked through with a circle of bright red blood. The whole scene is almost unreal. If not for the blood and the cold feel of her hand, Lysandra’s Seret Ashling looks the same. Her hair is neatly arranged, her face free of the splattered blood.

Death is too simple a word for what happens to Seret.

She is gone, says a voice, Seret’s voice, her smiling face haunting Lysandra behind her closed eyes. The ghost of Seret’s fingers cup her jaw, stroke her cheekbones, brush soft lips over her forehead, push her spectacles up.

I love you, my princess, Lysandra hears when she touches her ear to the floor, soaking the front of her dress with her blood, such a cruel reminder of Seret’s humanity. She was brutally, unfortunately, unbelievably human. She may have reached beyond this realm to grab a fist of love for Lysandra, a greater capacity than any human could hold, but that couldn’t save her from her own humanity.

I’ll be back. Seret’s last words to her.

She wasn’t just going into town to move.

Lysandra clutches the necklace Seret gave her and squeezes until it hurts. It fits easily in her palm, hangs right over her heart. The death of Seret Ashling is going to hit Vashiri Valley like the rare storms, unforgiving and violent, bringing destruction that takes years to recover from.

Lysandra squeezes the necklace, closes her eyes, and breathes slowly, steadily. The storm will wipe her out faster and harder than anyone else, but she’s the one who has to control it singlehandedly, and that will be about as easy as trying to capture an actual storm from the ground.

She won’t survive this, but she’s known for months that if anything ever happened to Seret, she never would. She can only submit to the darkness—the bad kind, this time—awaiting her, return to reality behind this door.

#writing #writeblr #my wip #my writing #fantasy writing #fantasy writeblr #fantasy #lila's wips: dosa #bean's excerpts #lila's short stories

[beaubokuto]

━ i. what you broke

pairing: tobio kageyama x f!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au, angst

summary: prince tobio kageyama is cruel. he was known to be vindictive, revengeful, other synonyms for anger’s embodiment. you were not quite as interesting: a simple village girl with a knack for stealing things and will to kill the prince.

a/n: my first published fic on this account! i do hope you enjoy~~

tags: angst, royalty, swearing, medieval, fantasy, enemies to lovers, all characters are aged up, minor depictions of violence and death (no major character death)

glossary

next chapter

There was little to no effort as you weeded you way through the crowded streets. Though the sun shone brightly in the sky, you were nearly invisible. You needn’t a distraction as your hands skimmed the villager’s pockets and bags. You needn’t a disguise as you pocketed a fine gem from a shopping lady.

Not when you were in good relations with the general’s family.

You quickly swept through the streets and into a more quiet part of the town. The part you most disliked. There was not enough sound there, not enough places to run your hands through.

Still, it was home nonetheless.

You crouched to a stray cat and handed it a small cup of milk you had managed to obtain.

“I can’t stay long, kitty.” You whispered to it as if it could hear you. As if it understood.

The town square now behind you, you were walking towards the castle. You were not going to the actual castle, although the thought of stealing from them is incredibly tempting in a way only your mind could fathom. You were walking to a nice series of houses a little further down the hill from that.

The Castle of Kageyama sat perfectly structured on the top of a large hill. Nearly a mountain, but you were hesitant to call it as such. With towers of varying heights casted around it, the castle was almost as terrifyingly dark as the prince inside.

Below the castle were the High Order. The general and his family, knights and theirs. Cooks, messengers. Those in favor of the castle and those who work for them. 

And below that, the villages in which they rule. Dusted in browns and poverty, surrounded by lakes no one dares swim in lest they be drowned by sirens. Guarded by goblins and ogres and soldiers alike. 

They were kind if you were to them.

You were not fond of the prince. If you were being blatantly honest, you hated the man. He had no honor.

You watched as he clipped the ears of an elf who dared not bow to him. You watched as he called the city you lived in, the city he were soon to rule, filth. You watched from afar as he pointed his sword at your sister’s neck for your father’s disappearance.

And you watched as he killed her.

One day, it would be your blade at his neck.

The creaking of the door was the only sound that gave away your presence. The general peaked from the kitchen, bowl of something delicious in hand. 

“I imagine I do not wish to inquire what you have been doing?” The general asked you after you closed the door.

“You would only be delighted.” You joked. “And where is Kiyoko?”

“She’s in her room. She was at a ball this evening, so I believe she’s changing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The general was a kind man. He welcomed you whenever you arrived, happy to allow you to eat with them in the Shimizu house. In the beginning, he was hesitant to let a foreign village girl into his home. But your friendship with his daughter quickly let him forget about that.

Kiyoko was beautiful. She was two years older than you, dark hair and bright eyes that shined beneath lenses. And one single mole under her lip. You could only imagine how many men danced with her at the ball. Women, too.

“What did you sneak this time?” She asked as soon as you entered her bedroom.

She was slipping out of a gorgeous blue dress. You paid that no mind, sitting on the edge of her bed in your (rather dirty) black cloak.

“Look!” You fanned out your items of the day.

An antique fan, a shoelace with a rubber nub at the end, varying food, a small bracelet made of braided rope, and the blue gem.

“All of this from walking from your house to mine?” She raised a brow. You nodded. 

Her eyes immediately lightened at the gemstone. “That’s a sapphire! You could sell this to Tanaka and Nishinoya for an incredible amount of money.”

“I figured it would be much, but how much?”

“At least... at least a moonful.”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie. You know that.”

You were grinning ear to ear. One single gemstone may be cause of your fortune. You could apply to be a knight in the high order with a moonful.

“Put it away.” Kiyoko hushed, placing the gem into your palm. “I will phone the boys and see when they can meet. You’ll be a great knight.”

She pressed a kiss to your cheek and headed for the stairs. You followed suit, adjusting the sword that hung at your hip under the cloak.

The first time you had picked up a sword was when you were three years of age. You were a tiny thing, smaller than most and malnourished from your father’s lack of... well, everything.

You were running through the streets, playing with your older sister. Her long hair passed behind her, your three year old legs having trouble keeping up with her six year old ones.

But everything stopped when your eye caught on a sword on display at a shop.

The blade was made of pure silver, the handle carved into false blue vines that twisted into the actual blade itself. It was beautiful.

The vendor noticed your childlike wonder and smiled down at you. He came around the side of the table, picking up the blade. 

“Do you wish to hold it, little one?” He offered.

You nodded instantly. You hadn’t even noticed your sister’s return to your side, watching your infatuation with the object.

The second the sword touched your palms, you wanted to swing it. You wanted one your size. Your toddler arms could barely hold it up despite you holding it in both arms bridal style.

“I may have one your size.” He winked.

The man went behind the counter only to return with a small wooden one with a dull blade. It was not nearly as beautiful, but you could hold that one. 

“How much for it?” Your sister asked, looking through her pockets for any money she may carry.

“Worry not.” The vendor placed the blue and silver one back to his stand, and then proceeding to crouch in front of you. “You can leave with that one.”

Your sister thanked him, bowing and asking again if it were really all correct if you took it. But you were already swinging the thing around, the air around you feeling lighter and a smile on your three year old face.

“I don’t see why I must go wonder the village.” Tobio Kageyama argued. “Why must I go walk a place where I rule? This is why we have advisors.”

“You will be crowned in a month’s time, Tobio.” The king spoke. His voice was loud, booming. It commanded respect to any who hears. 

The king had the adoration of most of his kingdom. He was worried for his son, who already had a reputation of irritability and anger. He knew that he would be all correct, all kings had a different way of gaining respect.

“And tell me why we cannot crown Miwa instead?” 

“Because she is overseas. Because she is studying and to marry the sea king.” His father rubbed the space between his brow. “We have been over this many times, Tobio. No matter your rebellions, you will be crowned.”

“May I take a friend, then, if I must trudge through the grime?”

“Fine.” He huffed. “Watch your words. This grime will be your kingdom soon.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You will be kind to be careful of your tongue if you wish to keep it.”

“Yes, father.” Kageyama corrected through bared teeth. He turned to the nearest servant. A human standing at the entrance to the hall. “Call for Shoyo Hinata. Tell him to make haste, we’re going on an adventure.”

The sun was setting against the horizon. Some days, you wished that you could see it; watch the sun set over a line of a horizon. But the sun always disappeared beneath the forest’s trees that circle the town.

You imagined that the castle had the perfect view.

Kiyoko and you had dueled for a while before you left. Being the daughter of the general, she was skilled with a sword. Though she was better with daggers, she still gave you quite a fight. 

Near the end, you both were sweating. You had almost managed to overtake her. 

“Good job. Soon you’ll be better than I.”

“That is incredibly doubtful, you’ve been doing this since you were born.”

She only smiled, saying, “There is a difference, though. I was born without talent and taught to battle, trained to be this way. You were born with talent and continue to train that talent. One day, you will best me. I can bet on it.”

You were still thinking of her words as you walked through the brown paths home. Most people were doing the last of their daily shopping, reading to head home before the ghosts come out.

Kiyoko had given you a little bit of money, telling you, “For on your way home. You won’t be suspicious if you buy things on occasion.”

She was correct, of course. 

You stopped to get cheese and bread. You had some fruit still in your pockets, but food was better warm.

You thanked the vendor. You plastered your best fake smile to them, bowing your head a little in respect. 

You hated common courtesies. 

You caught a glimpse of a bracelet on a woman who was looking at a basket shop a couple of yards from you. You could leave it, return to your mission home. 

Your hands tingled in anticipation. You could not help yourself.

Before anyone could see, before anyone had the chance to even acknowledge your position at the shop, you had the bracelet unclasped and in your palm.

You truly had to give yourself the credit for your talent. 

Perhaps it was the fear of never stealing again once you enter in the knight program. Perhaps it was the adrenaline you never fail to feel when you snatch something in plain sight. No matter; you could not help but smile to yourself.

That is why your heart seized in it’s chest when you found yourself face to face with the prince.

“I do not see why you are not enjoying yourself more, Tobio.” Hinata spoke. He rode his horse a little behind Kageyama. Kageyama figured it was out of respect, but Hinata just had a slower horse. 

Hinata’s orange hair was nearly glowing. It could be from his powers, but he was sure it was from the setting sun.

“I do not wish to prance through poverty.” Kageyama told him. “Why must I get my hands dirty when we are not supposed to leave the castle for prolonged periods?”

“You get to meet people.” Hinata smiled, looking ahead. They were close enough that he did not have to use formalities, honorifics. “Don’t you wish to see what the people are doing in the place you rule?”

Scoffing, Kageyama dismounted his horse. Hinata followed suit.

It was ridiculously symbolistic, their horses. Kageyama’s was a slick black, donned in dark metal armor and piercing eyes. Much like himself. Hinata’s horse was palomino, light with white hair and white saddle and an almost smile.

They walked beside their horses as they entered the town. Almost instantly, they could feel the atmosphere change. Whispers ignited through the people. As they walked by, each one bowed in honor.

Except you.

You were too busy looking at something in your hand, eyes agleam in something Kageyama could only claim as mischief. 

He had viewed the same look in his own mirror.

When you looked up, you caught his eye. You didn’t bow, you didn’t even mutter an apology.

No common person had ever looked him directly in the eye before.

“Where is your respect?” Tobio Kageyama asked you. His voice was deep, dark. A warning.

You had to hold back a roll of your eyes. “Not with you, my lord.”

masterlist

#anime #manga #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu one shots #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu au #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #tobio kageyama #tobio kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama x you #tobio scenarios #tobio x y/n #tobio headcanons #kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama x you #kageyama x y/n #misha🦋writes

[sxngshine]

Siren

Request: AU: supernatural au! (surprise me) Trope: unrequited love, Prompt: "Sometimes I sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different" [you don't have to do this if you don't like- but I thought it would be fun to submit an entry😅]

Captain!Felix x Sea Creature!Reader

Word count: 3.5k (idk wtf happened lol)

Warnings: Kinda angsty(I suck at angst though so idk if it'll be sad or not 😭), mentions of blood and death.

Description: In which Captain Felix sails a new course unfamiliar in order to return back home, only to enter the territory of someone who’s been eyeing him the moment she sees his ship. 

A/N: I’m not sure if the terms I’m using are correct or if anything I’m talking about concerning manning a ship is correct or not, pls forgive me if it’s incorrect but for the sake of this fic we’re gonna pretend it’s right lmao. Also! Our lovely reader will also be played around with cause she was gonna be a siren but like not a siren if ya catch my drift. I'm not as happy with this as I wish i was but that's Okay.

happy reading!!

“Get up everyone! We got a long day ahead of us,” Felix yelled as he walked out of his cabin. The sun had barely risen but Felix was determined to leave as soon as possible so that they stayed ahead of schedule. 

The crew slowly rose from their hammocks while the rest trudged out of the crew's cabins, all groaning because of how early it was. The quartermaster, Chan walked up to Felix. 

“Morning cap’,” Chan yawned, throwing an arm over Felix’s shoulder. Felix grunted and gave Chan a distasteful look. “No one’s around Hyung, don’t call me cap’.” The shorter blonde pushed Chans' arm off him and walked up to the quarterdeck. All of Felix’s men were to address him as Captain or Sir, but since Felix had known Chan since they were kids, he preferred to be called by his first name when they were alone.

 Most of the crew was already on the main deck, getting themselves ready for the day and eating breakfast. Felix walked up the edge of the deck and let out a loud whistle, catching the attention of all the men.

“Rise and shine everyone! We set sail for Korea in 30 so hustle! We still got crates waiting to be loaded!” Felix instructed and was answered by a loud “Yes sir!!!”. He then called over Minho, the ship's helmsman to discuss the route they were taking. Chan clapped Minho on the back before and messed up Felix's hair (much to Felix's dissatisfaction) before he left to supervise the main deck. 

By the time everything was loaded and ready, the route was set and everyone was working to sail the ship out to sea once again.

“Captain!” I.N yelled from his position in the nest. Felix poked his head out to see who called him, his attention turning to the boy who was sliding down the rope from the nest and running towards him. “There's a storm up ahead! And it looks like a nasty one,” the boy reported. Felix took out his telescope, and just as I.N said, there was a dark grey cloud heading their way. 

There was no way they could go back right now, but it was too risky to try and ride out the storm. Felix walked up to where Minho was steering the ship, looking at the map beside him. “We’ll need to take a detour, are we near any land?” Felix asked, running a hand through his hair. He was positive that the weather wouldn’t be bad for the next few days.

“There should be some land northeast from where we are. But we’ll have to take another route home if we break course right now.” Minho explained and Felix sighed. “Very well,” he turned to Chan who overheard the conversation, giving him the signal. Chan nodded and ordered all the men to get into position, everyone working in sync to turn the ship.

It took a good hour of sailing for them to find land. “LAND AHOY!” I.N yelled from the nest, pointing to where a small island was. Felix was confused, there weren’t any islands on the map where they were. But his confusion turned into relief once they docked the ship. He had been worried for a while, thinking that they broke off the initial course only to not be able to find any land. 

The island looked like it had been untouched, which made Felix suspicious, but he moved it to the back of his head for now. “Listen up men! We’ll stay here for the night till the storm passes. Rest up cause we’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.” Felix called over Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin, the 3 men walking up to him. 

“You three will come with me, we’re going to see if there’s anyone else around here.” He explained and began to walk into the forest of trees. “MINHO AND JISUNG! You guys are in charge till we’re back.” Felix called, continuing when he heard a faint yes sir. 

The four boys walked deeper into the dense forest, looking for any sign of human life. Suddenly, the four boys stopped when Felix heard a voice. “Did you guys hear that?” he asked, looking around. The other three looked at each other and shook their heads. 

Felix could’ve sworn that he heard a voice, but he figured it was nothing and carried on. Felix was walking in front of the others looking around but in the end, nothing was found. However, they managed to find some fruit and snagged some on the way back. Felix still couldn't stop thinking about that voice he heard. It almost sounded like someone was singing, and Felix couldn't deny that although it was really faint it sounded beautiful, almost like it was calling out to him.

Felix was snapped back into reality when he saw Minho and Jisung holding back one of the crewmates from possibly beating the other that was on the ground into a pulp. Felix sighed, groaning internally.

‘You two had only one job...’ 

Night had fallen over the island and Felix was glad that they decided to take a detour, there was no way they’d be able to survive this storm if they were still at sea. Felix was lying down on his bed wondering where that voice could’ve come from. He didn’t understand why he was so curious, but there was something about what he heard that kept him wanting to check it out. Having had enough, Felix got up and put his coat on, quietly walking out of his cabin into the pouring rain and ran down the ship into the thick forest. 

When Felix was in deep enough, the rain had practically stopped, only coming down in little droplets. Felix took the same route he did just hours ago, but this time instead of a smooth path, Felix found himself walking normally one second and then the ground disappearing beneath him the next.

He went sliding and tumbling down a rocky ground, managing to grab onto a tree root that thankfully stopped him from falling off the ledge he was now dangling off of. Felix quickly pushed himself up and sat down, groaning in pain. Then he suddenly heard the most beautiful voice singing. 

I've been watchin' you for some time

Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes~

Ignoring the throbbing in his body, Felix stood up and began to make his way down the ledge, blindly following the voice until he was in a large open cave, lit by beautiful shining crystals. 

Burning cities and napalm skies

Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes~

Felix’s head snapped in front of him, eyes widening when he saw what looked to be a woman sitting on a rock that was surrounded by a pool of water. She looked almost ethereal sitting there, combing her luscious dark brown locks that cascading down her back. 

Your ocean eyes~

The woman turned towards Felix, motioning for him to come closer with her long delicate fingers. She had large innocent-looking eyes, a cute little nose, and plump pink lips. By this point, Felix thought he fell in love at first sight. He slowly walked towards her, stopping when his eyes went lower to where her legs should’ve been. Instead, he was met with a green scaly tail. But rather than being scared, he was more curious. The woman looked confused when she saw that Felix stopped. Seconds later, the woman was jumping into the pool, and before Felix could even blink she was floating by his feet.

“Hello there,” Felix greeted the half woman half creature, crouching down to her level. He noticed that the water looked very shallow, but by the way the mermaid looking creature dived into the water, he was positive that wasn’t the case. “What’s your name?” he asked, hoping to get an answer.

The woman stared at him dumbfounded, slightly startled by his deep voice before answering. “Y/n,” 

Felix smiled, glad that he got an answer. “Are you a mermaid?” Y/n snorted when she heard that, shaking her head. “Those stuck-up wannabes don't live around here,” she said, resting her cheek on her hand as she examined the boy before her. “Then what’re you?”

Y/n ignored his question, instead asking him a question. “Shall I sing you a song?” she asked. Felix wanted to ask why she wouldn’t answer him but then he found himself nodding instead. Y/n began singing once again.

I've been walkin' through a world gone blind

Can't stop thinkin' of your diamond mind

Y/n reached for Felix’s hand, which he allowed her to take, too entranced by her voice to care. 

Careful creature made friends with time

Y/n tugged at his hand, lowering his head till their faces were inches apart.

He left her lonely with a diamond mind

She snaked a hand around Felix's neck, pressing her lips against his, kissing the boy softly. Felix instantly reacted, kissing her back. When Y/n was sure he was distracted, she lifted her other hand, fingers turning into sharp claws. Felix deepened the kiss, holding Y/n’s jaw in his hand and sliding his tongue into her mouth. Y/n was glad, this boy was going to be a piece of cake.

She brought her hand down, ready to kill the boy in front of her but what caught her off guard was when Felix grabbed her wrist with his free hand. Y/n froze, but Felix continued to kiss her as if it was nothing. When he pulled away, Y/n stared at him with wide eyes. Felix stared back into her what he now noticed were dull eyes, but he managed to catch a hint of guilt in them.

“Not today sweetheart,” Felix whispered, deep voice slightly raspy. Y/n couldn’t understand why he was able to react so quickly. She’d killed many men within minutes of meeting them, but for some reason, she just couldn't seem to kill Felix.

Chills ran down Y/ns back when she heard the pet name roll off his tongue. She switched to her last resort, gripping onto his neck and pulling him into the deep water. 

Felix struggled to remove her grip from his shoulders, trying his best to remain calm. Y/n stuck her sharp claws into his shoulders, causing the deep blue water to turn a deep red. When she was sure that Felix was dead, a few tears left her eyes. 

And those ocean eyes…

Y/n removed her claws from the now dead body, watching as he came afloat, still and unmoving. A sob left her mouth, more tears falling. It happened every time she killed someone, Y/n would start sobbing like crazy, shaking and afraid. She pulled the body out of the water, laying him onto the ground, and ran her fingers through his blonde hair. He was handsome from what Y/n could tell from behind her tears. The freckles splattered all over his face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, laying her head on his chest. 

“I don't have anything against you… but if I didn't do this then they’d come and kill you instead. It would’ve been pure torture to be killed by them. This was the only way to save you.” Y/n said, propping her head up using her elbow, she traced the boy's lips. “It’s a shame I never got your name. I bet it would’ve been pretty like you,” she whispered, leaning down to press one final kiss to the boys' lips before she discarded the body. What she didn’t expect though, was for the boy to kiss her back.

She pulled away and shrieked, moving as far away as she could from the body. “Y'know, it’s not nice to kiss someone the way you did and then try to kill them.” Felix rasped, turning to the side so he could cough up some water. Y/n's eyes filled with tears and she covered her mouth. “H-how’re you still alive? You just d-died,” she stuttered.

“You must’ve killed most people the first time only, cause the third time really wasn’t the charm.” Felix chuckled. Y/n stayed silent, shocked because how could he be laughing and acting like she didn't just almost kill him. “Nonononono you’re supposed to be dead. They’ll sniff you out and it’ll be the end of the both of us why didn't you just die-” y/n mumbled and began to shake.

Felix noticed her shock, sitting up and scooting closer to her. Y/n’s mumbles seized when he pulled her into a hug, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances about how he’ll protect them both. 

Felix pulled away and placed a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Hear me out..” he said quietly. Other than the dull burn all over his body, Felix's chest had tightened the moment he heard the cries of the creature in front of him and it warmed when he heard her laugh. Not to mention the flutter and increase of his heart rate when they kissed. 

“I love you,” Y/n stared at the boy in front of her like he was crazy. “I know for a fact what love is, and what it’s like to be in love. I can tell you 100% what I feel for you right now is love,” Felix tried to convince her. 

Y/n scoffed, pushing the boy off her, but he wasn't through yet. “You’re out of your mind.” 

“I am, but that's not the point here.” Felix countered, holding tightly onto her hand. “Please just give me a chance-” he tried to say but he was cut off.

 “STOP! Do you hear yourself?? I don’t even know your name-” Y/n said but then was also cut off. “It’s Felix,” he answered.

“Well FELIX, you’re clearly out of your mind. Look at me, I’m a goddamn monster. I’m not capable of feeling love or being loved.” 

“Yes, you are! I know you love me too! I heard you crying and everything you said before you kissed me again. I know you didn't want to and you did it with good intentions. Please Y/n, we both love each other we-” 

“FELIX! You know nothing. I don't love you and you don't love me either. I didn't say anything after drowning you and I kiss all my victims after they die. It’s my goodbye to them and then I throw their bodies away. You were no different.” Y/n was about done with Felix, why couldn’t he get the message? 

“I know I was, cause if you didn’t have any feelings towards me then you would’ve killed me by now. I’d be long gone yet here I am. I don't care about whoever you said is trying to kill me, I can protect myself and I’ll protect you too. I promi-” Y/n gasped, covering her mouth as she sat frozen in place.

“You heard that? Nononono this just makes everything worse they-” Y/n tried to say but then her eyes began to glow a bright blue and her brown hair was now as deep blue as the water sitting beside them. 

Felix stared and her frozen position, about to shake her out of worry but then she was back to normal right after. 

“They’re coming.” was all she said. Felix saw the change of y/ns mood. She looked like she had given up. Her eyes were duller than before if that was even possible. Her shoulders were slumped. She looked Felix in the eyes and he froze, she looked like she was dead inside. 

 “Who’s coming back-” Felix would’ve finished his sentence if it wasn’t for the big rock y/n threw straight at his head, knocking him out. Felix’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell to his side, staring at Y/n as black spots began to take over his line of sight. “Please... Y/...n.” and with that Felix was out like a light. 

“He’s waking up!” “Get more water and ice!” 

Felix heard faint voices yell. He opened his eyes slowly only to be met by the concerned face of none other than Chan. 

‘Wait… Chan??’

Felix suddenly shot up, looking around. He was in his cabin, Chan, and Minho sitting by the side of his bed. “Nononono where’s Y/n?!” He asked frantically, trying to get out of bed but Chan stopped him. 

“Woah there bud, take it easy. Who’s Y/n?” Chan asked calmly. 

“What happened? How did I get here?” Felix screamed, tears forming in his eyes. 

“When we woke up you weren’t in your room so we assumed you went out, but then we saw you lying face down in the water and you were all bruised and beaten looking. So here you are now.” Minho explained. “Now don't you think we deserve to know what the hell happened to you? You’re the most skilled person out of all the men we have, so how the hell did you end up like this?”

Felix opened his mouth to explain but then he felt a sudden rocking underneath him. “Did we start sailing again?” he asked, feeling a sudden panic arise in him. Chan nodded and pointed outside. “We set sail just a few minutes ago.”

Felix used all his might to push Chan and Minho out of the way and ran out of his cabin, rushing up to the quarterdeck and crying out when he saw the island was growing smaller by the minute. 

He stared dejectedly at the island which was now just a dot in the distance. Felix saw something move in the distance and when he squinted he saw the luscious Brown locks he could never forget. “Y/n? Y/N!!!!” He yelled. She smiled sadly at him and waved, then 6 other creatures emerged and no matter how much she tried to fight them off, they had pulled her under.

“Y/N NOOOOO!” Felix cried, falling to his knees. It didn't matter to him that he fell in love with someone at first sight; what did matter though, was that the person who managed to take his heart in one night also managed to crush it not even a few hours later. 

3 years later. 

Felix and his crew had set sail once again for another voyage. This time setting course for the United States. Night had fallen once again but Felix wasn’t sleeping. He sat where he did every day for the past 3 years during the night at the very back of the ship where he last saw Y/n, hoping that he’d see her again someday. Even to this day, he waited and waited. 

“You waiting for her again?” A voice asked from behind him. Felix nodded at the Aussie who threw an arm around his best friend. 

“Y'know, I don't know if I ever told you this but, Sometimes I sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different. What if she was human? Or whoever tried to kill her didn't exist. What if I was like her? We could’ve been together if that was the case,” Feliz sighed, running a hand through his hair. Even to this day, he still remembered how heavenly her hand felt running through his hair, how soft her lips felt against his, how cold yet comforting her skin was. 

“Maybe in another life, you two will end up together.” Chan comforted his friend. 

“Maybe...” Felix agreed.

600 years later

“Felix hurry up! We’re gonna be late again!!” Chan yelled from the kitchen. Felix practically flew downstairs on one foot as he attempted to put a shoe on the other. “Let's go! We have 10 more minutes!” 

Both boys rushed to Chan's car and drove to their university in record time. They ran as fast as they could and were halfway to class when Felix realized he left his book in Chan's car.

“Chan, I left my textbook in your car!” Felix groaned. Chan smacked him upside the head and threw him his keys, running to class while thinking of good ways to distract their professor. 

Felix ran back to Chan's car and grabbed his textbook. When he was running back towards the building, he being the idiot he is, ran into someone and fell back onto his butt. The person in front of him held their hand out which he gladly took. He stood up and finally looked at the person he bumped into. She was really pretty, with large innocent looking eyes, a cute little nose, and plump pink lips. But there was something about her eyes that was really dull like they had lost the light in them. “You okay?” she asked. 

Something about her voice sounded so alluring to Felix but he couldn’t pin why. “Oh-UH yes! Yea I’m okay, sorry for bumping into you,” Felix apologized. “It’s fine,” the brunette said before turning and walking towards the building. Felix followed her and decided to introduce himself. 

“My name’s Felix, What's yours?”

“Y/n,”

Fin.

#skz au #skz scenarios #skz fluff #au #bang chan #chanlix #lee felix fluff #felix x reader #Siren au #felix imagines #felix angst #skz fanfic #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #straykids #stray kids angst

[the-crows-typist]

Finally, we arrive at the fifth and final installment of our Valentine’s Event and closing with Cater Diamond paired with the word ‘Sunset’ which was requested by my good friend @twistinghearts​​. Please enjoy this, albeit, very late gift.

CW: Slow burn, OOC, minor mention of forced labor themes (in passing), minor mention of death (in flashbacks), mentions of blood, and Angst and Comfort under the cut. Please proceed with caution.

Word count: 6384

Other works: Chocolates Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd, Kiss Feat Vil, Flowers Feat. Kalim

A Heart From Me To You

A Diamond shines in different angles, in different light. It was sought after and cherished by those around him. Like the jewel his family was named after, Cater Diamond was one such person sought after by many. His skin smooth as silk, eyes teasing and bright like emeralds, and hair the shined in the sun like amber. He was a beautiful man.

“My diamond, come here.”

His lips pressed into a straight line in a moment, hesitant but readied. His green eyes look up to the aristocrat with a smile, the red birthmark on his cheek brushed by oiled fingers made a shiver rise up his spine.

“Look at me, darling. Smile at me.”  

Cater waited for the disgust to leave and his eyes to flutter closed.  What should have been a shared kiss became the swift plunge of a sword through the back, its tip barely grazing the beauty's skin with red droplets.

The clank of metal, the barking of orders; knights and guards rampaged the room in droves with arms taking him and pulling him down to the ground onto his knees. “Halt.” Came the voice of the attacker, your blade oozing at the tip as the fallen aristocrat crumples to the floor with labored breath.

Heavy footsteps come along, your eyes scanning the area of any more potential threats. Your step on the dying aristocrat on your way in yet you never regarded them with an apology, instead opting to look to the doll, to Cater.

“State your name.” You say, voice oozing with authority “What is your affiliation with this pig?” And like the namesake, the aristocrat squealed under your heavy foot. Even with the air of authority, your voice brought him a sense of calm. Freedom.

“Cater Diamond…”

There were murmurs, whispers, and looks towards him in awe, in surprise…In pity.

“Diamond?” Whispered one of the guards to another. “A jewel family?”

“That poor thing, I can’t bear to think about what has happened to those before him.”

“We can’t leave him here.” Said one of your comrades, Sebek. “This is no place for him to stay.”

“Bring him with us.” You turned to leave the room, sheathing your bloodied blade and making sure to step over the dying socialite again on your way out.

"And the pig?" Asked one of the knights who lightly kicked them in the face with a steel-toed boot.

“Do what is needed.” A cruel line brought on cruel laughter, Cater was pushed away from the room sparing him the cruelty of the knights in question. Though deep down, the diamond would have loved to see every second of it.

The trumpets sound in song at the return of the knights; Malleus Draconia, the ruling monarch, descended from his throne, and just as you had been taught and trained you knelt before him. "Your highness, we have returned safely.”

“Stand up dear one, remove your helmet.” Said the king whose fingers delicately held your helmet like a father giving affection to his child. You do so under his command, removing it to reveal your battle-torn face and with a flick of his finger and gentle caress, your wounds disappeared like dust to the wind.

“I do not doubt your abilities one bit,” He says, holding your chin and inspecting your face for any scratches he may have missed. All your life, you were taught to be the kingdom’s shield, its protector, its hero no matter what the task may be. Yet, when the Draconia family took to the throne things had become more different. “But you must be less careless.”

“It is only right that I do what I am told.”

Under a veiled sigh, he commanded you with the tone of a king. “Tell me what has been done.”

“We have eradicated one of the North’s primary figureheads and dealt surrounding the kingdom, they will no longer be a threat to us,” There was a moment of hesitation in your voice, remembering what might have been had you come in a second too late. Malleus’s eyes that shined with life could have cracked and dulled right in front of you. “We also found a doll and was able to safely remove them with no resistance.”

There was a time when those in power cast a reign of fear and greed on those they were meant to protect and a sick practice was born out of the treacherous tar of corruption.

It made Malleus’ stomach crawl knowing how many families were separated and made to kowtow to the needs and of those in power, forced to take up precious jewels as their names as a way to strip them of their identity, their humanity, their being. 

“And what of the scoundrel?”

"Squealed like a pig and died like one."

A cruel punishment meant for a cruel creature, the king nods his head sagely. “Good. And what of the doll?”

“He is currently resting in the private quarters we have provided. His name is Cater, born from the Diamond family.”

“Diamond…” His heart sinks and eyes closed, your eyes looking down to your feet when the air changed. Malleus shook his head “To think they still exist, those poor souls.”

His hand rests on your shoulder, rubbing it lightly. “Rest easy, dear one. I will request for your audience soon.”

You bow your head, sweaty soaked hair framing your face. “Thank you, your highness.”

As he gazed from the window of the small room, Cater's hands pressed against the warm glass while the sun began to set on the horizon casting an orange hue towards him. In his old room, the windows were small and high above him, only ever depositing rain or frost.

Here, however, he sees everything. From the bustling streets below to the laughs of children and adults alike. This world was warm as the orange hues of the setting sun, he liked it. His hand slid down the glass with a squeak, his mind going back to you the moment you killed the aristocrat that was coming onto him.

Even if the conversation was brief, your voice was gentle and soft, unlike the barking guards the encompassed you and held him down. If it were possible, he wanted to meet you, to speak to you again, to thank you for what you did.

A soft knock on the door and a small man emerged from behind the heavy door, his uneven hair revealed bits and pieces of magenta red that matched his playful yet worn eyes.  

“Greetings, your name is Cater Diamond correct?”

“Yes, um. Who are you?”

“Ah,” The smaller mind held a hand to his chest. “My apologies, dear one. I am Lilia Vanrouge, the royal advisor to the king.”

Cater’s body froze as scrambled to get to his knees. “F-forgive me, I—!”

“There is no need for that. A polite curtsey will do next time.”

“I came here to discuss something with you, Mr. Diamond. Please, stand up and sit on a proper chair. Though the weather is pleasant, the night brings a very bad chill to the floor, you might freeze if you continue like that!" Lilia pats his shoulder and lets out his hand for the beautiful man to take and hold.

When Cater sits down on the bed, Lilia pulls out a chair and begins to speak not long after he is seated comfortably. “As you know, the kingdom you once knew as home—.”

“That place is not my home.”

Eyes of fuchsia widen at his sudden outburst. “It was a prison and I don’t want to go back there. Ever.” His hands ball in his lap through the small giggling fits of the advisor “Then that settles one concern, on to the next.” Lilia says with a laugh, his hands on his hips and eyes narrowed to a teasing glance. “Tell me, Cater, where do you want to live from now on?”

With grunts, you hurled your ax over a block of wood and easily split it in half, adding itself to a large pile. It had been days since your last conversation with the King and you were only biding your time until your next assignment.

Your home was a comfortably small cottage near the foot of the forest isolated from the townspeople with a nice dining room that bled into the living room and the second floor being a neat storage of items to the cellar where you kept your food. Life within it was slow and boring, and you were fine with that.

You wouldn’t call your life boring nor would call your life adventurous either. It was all about duty, you were trained to be a knight, fought like a knight, and bore the pain of being so. As extreme as it may sound, you knew you deserved this life. You were born for it.

Out of habit, you pull your gloves tighter against your fingers.

Tightening your grip against the handle, you pulled it out with a huff and inspecting the sharp edge for any damage.

“It seems that you are stocked to the brim.”

Silver stands before you in comfortable attire, he had been a sort of brother-classmate as you grew together. He stood up for you as you did for him, he meant a lot to you despite the long time you were apart. "The nights get colder each passing day." You say, setting the ax down onto the ground. "I just want to be ready."

“Do you need some help carrying this inside?" Inquired the silver-haired man.

“Please.”

Inside the cottage, Silver nodded off against the warmth of the fireplace even after you set a mug of tea next to him. "Any reason you came to visit me, Silver?" The charred wood crackled against the flames that cast a comfortable orange into the room, like warm miniature sunset. In a few minutes, Silver regained his bearings; shaking his head to rid himself of the sleeping spell put over him.

Even years after he was hit by it, there had been no progress to remove it.

“I heard you came back from the North." He said. "I just wanted to know if you were doing alright. That place…" He drawled off, eyes hanging halfway down. "That place hasn't changed one bit." You say, holding the warm mug to your hand. "The winters are still perilous and the frost remains where it last sat on."

Silver hums, head lolling about, and with a sigh you stand up from your seat. Taking a blanket, you drape it over the Silver to allow him to get comfortable. Sitting back down, you try to focus on the sound of crackling fire against the cold winds that blew against your window.

By the time you awoke, Silver was already gone and the warm rays of the morning sun seeped through frosted windows, the fire long put out and now cold from water and sand. Pushing yourself off the chair, the blanket slipped off your body.

Opening the door, you were met by a world unhindered by snow. Green spread where frost would bite, birds would sing where the wind would whistle, and warmth where the unforgiving cold would settle. A carriage would soon stumble on the horizon, the royal family's insignia shining like gold. Malleus and Lilia disembark, their feet protected with layers of flowers and dewed grass.

“Your Majesty.” You say as you bow.

“It is good to see you, dear one.” The king stated, regarding you with a smile. “Lift your head for me.”

Behind him, Lilia helps down another person from the cart. Hair as bright as amber, eyes twinkling like emeralds, and lips as pink as rose quartz. Cater Diamond stood behind the royal advisor unsure of what to do but admire the scenery before him, his bare feet fiddling with the grass under him.

“What brings his majesty to this part of the kingdom?” Malleus’ hand touches your head, like a father consoling his child.

“Your final assignment.”

You didn’t know what to feel even after Malleus dropped off Cater at your home. All your life, you were taught to be a knight…And yet,

"You've done many great things for this kingdom, dear one. You are a great knight and a great leader, I am prideful of that…”

You could still feel the weight of his hand atop your head.

“But it is time that you finally found peace and through this final assignment, I hope to see that to fruition. Take care of Cater for he has chosen you as his home.”

Even with the kind words spoken onto you by the King, you feel as though you have failed in your duties as a knight. It was no wonder Silver decided to visit you, he was coming to see if you were ready for what was to come.

That one, really, ever a worrywart for his friends.

“Um, I’ll set my things here.”

Cater’s footsteps were tittering, gentle and unsure as he set a single sketchbook and pencil down onto the table. “Feel free.” You say and sit down near the fireplace. His grumbling stomach cut your thoughts, his fingers fumbling and then it hit you; your pantry was empty after you’ve been away for so long. Grimacing, you let out a sigh and starched the back of your head. You weren’t able to go on a supply run…

“…There’s a bakery not too far from here,” You say suddenly. “I can get something for you there so please make yourself at—.”

“Can I go with you?”

You didn’t answer for a moment prompting Cater to further explain with fidgeting fingers. “I was never allowed to roam outside of my room s-so I want to see the world, the Valley of Thorns! At least to an extent I can copy.” Cater holds up his sketchbook again, a warm yet sheepish smile on his lips.

Something within you popped like warm water against ice, fizzling through your body and without another word, you nodded your head at his request. “I’ll lend you my shoes, the dirt path is painful to walk on.”

You set some treats on the counter before you while Cater sat and watched the activity from a bench outside. “Oh, you’re usually alone when visiting. Who’s he?” Asked the shopkeeper, collecting the coins you set from your satchel.

"He's…Someone I've begun living with."

“Oho, I see. Well, you look like you’re in the age to begin that stage of life.”

“What, no. I—.”

Chatter echoed from beyond the glass door, a sizeable crowd gathering to Cater as he sketches the face of a woman before him. “No need to be shy about it, dear one.” He sets a few more bags of bread yet declines the offer for more coins.

“You have been a good customer since your arrival here and it doesn’t hurt to buy something extra. Besides, I’ve been wanting to try this combination out. Stewed meat in bread sounds pretty good, don’t you think?”

His smile wrinkled his face in glee against the sounds of amazement as he showed the portrait to her.

“I’ll be sure to let him taste it. Thank you very much, shopkeeper.”

“Anytime.” He winked, “You got yourself a keeper, there, dear one! Don’t let him run away.”

Shaking your head, you pushed the door open and see Cater smiling at the crowd with his sketchpad to his chest. You think back to when you first found him, how dreary he looked before he was brought to the valley.

He looked beautiful.

“Cater, let’s go.”

Emerald eyes look your way and his smile grew even larger as he got up from his seat. “Okay!” He bid farewell to his following, walking with you side by side.

“You leave the fire going through the night?” Cater asked, munching on some bread lined with melted goat’s cheese. “The valley gets cold so it’s best to keep warm as much as possible.” You add more wood to the fire and settle on the chair adjacent to it with Cater sitting across from you.

“The people here are very nice.” He said, setting down the bread on his lap. “A curious bunch, those lot.” You say while fishing out some foods from your satchel and stumbling upon the special wrapped bread handed to you by the shopkeeper. “It’s not every day they get to see someone new.”

“Is the valley that inaccessible?”

“For now, at least. His Majesty is looking for ways to open the kingdom by constructing roads leading out. Though it will take some time before it can be finished and used.” Taking it out of its packaging, you set the special bread on a heating pan above the fire carefully with a pair of long tongs.

“What’s that?” The doll asked, eyes twinkling in curiosity. “It smells good.”

“It’s a special bread from the shop. Give me a few minutes to properly warm it.”

He nods his head and waits patiently as you set the heated bread onto a plate and handing it to him. "I get to eat all of it?" He asked and you nodded your head still poised at looking into his green eyes that shined with life. "The shopkeeper wanted you to have it."

A moment of hesitance and Cater took a bite, what could only be described as pure happiness came rushing down his face in a flurry of pleased sounds as he began to eat more than his cheeks could hold. In your state of panic, you quickly got up from your seat and quick to run for a mug of water.

“Slowly now,” You say. “You’ll choke yourself if you eat so quickly.”

He drank his fill, cheek tinted red from choking and glee. Upon returning the mug, Cater wiped his lips that were swollen from the spice of the meat. "It's good." He says, holding the bread up to eat. "It's very good. Try it!"

The bread was shoved into your mouth, the spice of chili made your insides churn with burning flames. The diamond laughs at your reaction, his hair framing his face and the looming fire casting a glow of yellow as if under the light of a looming sunset.

“Do you ever explore the forest around your home?”

The fire was no longer lit and the two of you opted to spend the day out in an empty brush of grass where you continued to chop wood until your hands began to ache. "It's only when I look for herbs that I do." You reply, Cater's hand fiddling with a charcoal pencil and old-looking parchment.

It had only been a few days and this assignment was proving to be difficult for you to adjust to. Given Cater’s disposition to being isolated for long, he had the yearning to walk around and explore his new world while you would rather chop wood and wait for time to pass.

The both of you were total opposites.

“Oh,”

His eyes were downcast, pencil poking dots onto the paper absentmindedly. You look to your ax then to the large pile of wood you had created…Perhaps this will last you through a few nights. “There is one place I like to go to. It will take a few minutes to find.”

“What is it?”

You offer your hand for him to take, lifting him from his sitting position. “You will find out when we get there.” You say and with a few adjustments to your comfortable clothes, the both of you set off towards the forest clearing near your cottage. “Do we have to hold hands?” Cater asked and for a moment, your grip faltered almost to loosening.

“You’re not accustomed to the forest so I thought it was best to do so as a precaution.”

Cater smiles, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m teasing. It’s nice to hold hands.”

The silence lasts a few but long seconds and you keep going. Past a fork and through the logs, Cater’s hold on your hands never left nor did his presence disappear. A pang of indescribable warmth settles on your chest, you look to Cater again whose eyes look the canvas of green over with wonder.

“There aren’t many trees like this back there. You’ll only see a blanket of white. Does it snow here?”

“Only a few flakes if we’re lucky. The snow gathers more north of the valley.” The both of you ascend towards your destination, the ground acting like stairs. “Perhaps, when it’s possible to acquire a horse for personal use I can take you there.”

Cater’s hand tightens against your gloved ones.

“…I’d like that.”

With one last step, the warm winds of the valley blow against you as you approach a cliff bearing down the landscape of your home and Cater’s. When the wind had settled, you begin to speak. “I come here to get some peace and quiet whenever the town’s noise gets too much for me to handle.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You let Cater move on his own, taking a few steps to look at the sea of green and bright pastel before him. He turns to you, a blush of excitement on his face. “Can I draw this? “

“You don’t need to ask, just do whatever you like.”

Blades clashed, labored breathes, the smell of death lingers through the cold. Your armor feels heavy and your hands are worn. Your opponent attempts to swing at you yet your movements are precise, your blade quick and deadly as it pierced and plunged through the armor like melted butter.

Your body burned against the cold and frost did little to cool your warm and labored breathing. The horns of a distant song blast softly into your ears, the roar of a dragon whose flames green like envy never quelled against the permafrost.

Horses rounded the perimeter, the horns of a tall man come into view. Malleus’ glowing eyes looked to yours in a glance, his royal guards outnumber you easily and push you to your knees and arms spread out.

“Your majesty.” Said one of the guards, Silver hair peeking from his helmet. “Their hand…”’

The winds beyond the cliff became a comfortable breeze and the afternoon sun began its descent into the earth, the trees hiss like rain and branches groan softly. Cater’s sleeping form lay motionless next to you, his sketchbook set between you.

Curiosity peaked and you took it into your hands, flipping through sketch after sketch. From sketches of the townsfolk to the cliff beyond…

“Hm?”

But one stood out. A sketch of you, your face is worn and sweat dripping from your chin. Your body was hunched as if you had been delivered a blow from above yet it was the eyes that hit you the most. It held meaning, a sort of peace. ‘The King Knight’ it was titled.

“Do you like it? “

Cater pushed himself up, yawning and stretching his limbs. “You had a good pose while you were chopping wood so…”

“Is this how you see me, Cater? As kind?”

"Well, you rescued me, didn't you? I think that's enough to say that you are kind."

You give him back his sketchbook and stand up. You help Cater up, his leg going limp. “Ahaha…My leg fell asleep, how embarrassing.” Your actions were sudden, going to your knees for him to hop onto your back. “O-oh, um…I might be heavy.”

“I’ve carried many people while in full armor. It’s alright.”

And soon, the both of you descent the steps carefully with Cater resting on your back and arms wrapped around your neck. “I was just doing the right thing. Anyone would have helped you in that situation.”

“And many people opt not to. You’re kind, knight. You really are.”

The sun sets over the horizon, allowing the dark colors of the night to seep through on your way back to the cottage.

The horse-drawn carriage stopped within the lush greenery of the Vanrouge estate, Lilia smiling as you and Cater disembark with the help of the horseman.

“Welcome, both of you.”

“This place is huge!” the former doll exclaims, his voice echoing through the large hallway. “Is this the treatment of the King’s favorite?” He turns to you suddenly, wrapping his arm around your neck and your eyes go wide in embarrassment. “N-no, it’s just…”

Over the months since Cater came under your care, the two of you grew closer and closer each passing day. What was once a very shy and confused doll became lively and bright, like the sunset the both of you came to enjoy together by each other’s side.

He had become important to you, very important.

“My son used to be in the same class as them in the past, they have remained connected long after," Lilia explains, walking up to them while Cater greets with a curtsy.

You couldn't say much about your own growth but you were sure that Cater was adjusting greatly to life within the valley. Being able to see the sunsets with him after a day’s worth of shopping was enough for you.

You tug at your gloves out of habit.

"Your son?" Cater wondered Lilia's magenta eyes narrowed in the same teasing glance. “Oh, you think I’m not a father Mr. Diamond? I’m older than I look, you know.”

Cater shrinks back earning a biting laugh from him.

“I merely jest, dear one. Silver is not my son by blood, I found him as a babe a decade ago during my own excursion in the North.” The royal advisor opened the large mahogany door with ease as if it were made of clay. “He’s been living with me ever since.”

“…Was he a doll too?”

Lilia was silent at that moment, stopping just short of where his son was sleeping comfortably on a chair that sat before an intricate-looking coffee table. Cater gulped, opening his mouth to apologize only for Lilia to chuckle with eyes distant in remembrance.

“From the Goshenite family. Not that it matters now, though. Silver is my own and he always will be.”

The small man walks over to his son, shaking him awake sleeping spell. A discolored mark shows itself against Silver’s neck, the birthmark of a doll. Silver stutters awake, looking at Lilia who smiles at him from above.

Cater touched his cheek, feeling for the mark against his fingers. “Goshenite…How come I’ve never seen him.”

“Some dolls were not kept in castles but put in battlefields.” You explain while Silver slowly stood up, rubbing his eyes while Lilia holds his arm to steady him. “Silver was rescued before he was put out but they couldn’t easily break what he had already learned.”

Cater watches Silver smile, the warm morning sunlight highlighting his features almost making him and his birthmark glow.

“So he was made a guard here, in the estate? In hopes that it would break the teachings.”

Father and son hold hands, Silver’s eyes rising upon seeing you. A friend he came to cherish. You tug your gloves before Silver embraces you.

The picnic by the pond was both boring and contently, you and Silver staying behind on the mat while Lilia and Silver had their fun by the water. “He seems to be having fun.” Said the former doll, his eyes slowly blinking. In your hand was a sweet drink, the citrusy aftertaste bringing a sigh of relief to your warm body.

“He is.”

The long hours spent at your leisure was something you had to slowly get used to, from going shopping with Cater to enjoying the sunsets with him just outside your small cottage. You hear Cater laugh when Lilia splashed some water at his son, soaking his hair into a messy mop. “What about you?”

Tugging your gloves, you look to the horizon of lush green fields tended by Lilia’s help. “I can’t say much. It has been a time since I’ve held a shield, much less a sword. To just hold a drink like this feels so different to me but…It feels good to just sit down, I think.”

Cater huffs a small laugh, leaning onto your shoulder. “You’re so talkative now.” A hand is brought to his hair, his form melting to yours when you massaged his scalp. “I always talk to you.”

“But this is different.”

You hear a scream of thrill on the horizon, Lilia had been pulled to the ground soaked with water. The worrying attendants ready with towels but hesitant to approach in fear Lilia would pull them in as well.

Slowly, your hands intertwine with his as he rests against your shoulder, comfortable to take a nap. The sun’s afternoon rays make Cater shine, his emerald eyes shine brilliantly as he looks to you hiding beneath the shade, his birthmark a stark red against his cheek. He was beautiful. A pang of heat burned in your chest, a heat you could not describe.

While Lilia and Silver changed out of their wet attire and Silver had collapsed back into the couch because of his sleeping spell, you stood by the door of the estate and watched the sun turn orange as it descended the sky.

“There you are, and here I thought you left without saying goodbye.”

Lilia joined you in your leisure gazing towards the sky, from within his oversized coat he pulled out a pack of cigars, offering you one until you refuse. “Cater never leaves your side at all, does he?”

You tug at your gloves again. "Cater enjoys being outside so having him visit this place is a treat for him. He enjoys you and Silver’s company, even if he doesn’t show it.”

“I don’t doubt his sincerity, Cater is lively and a treat to be around. It’s a vast difference from when we first met all those months ago.” The cigar is lit and the general takes a whiff, letting smoke puff from his mouth. He offers you one which you decline politely.

"I will be honest with you, dear one, I did not expect you to accept Malleus' assignment." The cigar hung off his fingers, the ash falling to the ground little by little. "Then again, I never thought I'd be taking care of a child with all that I've done."

You tug at your gloves just as he takes another whiff. “Dear one, does Cater know?”

“No.”

“Will you tell him?” Your gloves cut into the skin between your fingers in one sharp pull.

“…He doesn’t need to know.”

Through his nose, Lilia sighed the smoke out. “Then perhaps I should do that same. It took a long time for Silver to finally calm down, I do not want to see him suffer.” The sunset shines a bright orange over the horizon and you knew well that Cater would be watching.

Lilia’s damp hair rustled when the wind picked up, his nose taking in the fresh breeze. Magenta eyes look down to the ground. “I cannot help but think I have awoken a flame that will continue to burn me for as long as I live.”

He smiles at you suddenly, broken and vulnerable. “Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your burns, dear one.”

“I’m not burning.”

Lilia continued to smile, taking a swig of a cigar and enjoying the sunset in silence by your side.

The fire crackled yet you couldn't sleep, the wind had ceased and the bitter winter turned into a breeze of the evening air. Cater slept peacefully across you, his hair pushed behind his ear carefully by your fingers; leather against soft skin. You stare at his birthmark for a moment, noticing how pale it had become since his arrival.

“Perhaps the permafrost had numbed you from your own flames, dear one.”

You sit back, allowing yourself warmth against the fire next to you. It had only been months since you took up the assignment given to you personally by the king, yet you felt as if you lived your whole life with Cater. It was peaceful, so different from the day you met.

You remember the path you took and the fights that needed to be fought to achieve your mission. You remember the soldiers who blocked your path, the birthmarks on their skin.

White iridescent, Opal.

Cloudy green, Jade.

Dull and vibrant browns and black, Rutile.

You remember a young soldier, their movements sloppy and readable. Their breath labored and hold soft, it was an easy battle.

“Padparadscha…”

They whispered before crumpling to the ground, their wounds far too great to be healed or ignored. Their helmet loosened, a round blue birthmark on the back of their neck. Sapphire.

“Padparadscha…!” A hand holds your ankle, a bloody hand reaching out to you.

How long had it been since you were called that?

Your moment of hesitance was cut by another sword that put the poor soldier out of their misery. Sebek looked to you, taking your hand. “We have a mission to finish. We can’t stop here.” And you were pulled away quickly.

The fire crackled next to you, the flames licking at your skin. You wonder if that doll had a family waiting for them to come home, you wondered if all of them did…Even Cater. Even dolls had people to return to, had people they cherished. Had promises, had love, maybe even a twisted sense of happiness…

And you destroyed that; a pain hit you from the bottom up threatening to release itself from your throat. You discard your gloves into the fire, the marks against worn hands popping out the more you look.

Cater's murmurs rang through you, his hand reaches over for yours. He was gentle with you no matter what. He brings your hand closer to his face, the presence of you close brought him peace. The heat from below began to bubble again, molten against your skin.

With all you’ve done, with all you’ve killed…Why did he choose to stay with you?

“I’m burning.” You lean close to Cater, throat hoarse from silenced sobs. “I’m burning.”

Cater once thought he could never sleep an entire night through, not with the sounds his ears could hear nor the silhouettes those perceptive eyes of his picked up in the night. He never thought he could walk around his room nor see beyond the high window that only brought in rain or frost.

He never thought he would see the world before him with someone by his side. From the rise in the east and its fall in the west. He spent every peaceful second with you, and he enjoyed it. He loved it. He loved…You.

“Where are you?”

Getting off his resting place, Cater opened the door to an empty space, and with feet tickled by grass he ran; ran through the forest with wind wild against his hair. The frost wasn’t there to mist against his mouth nor was the snow a detractor for his speed.

The trees filed past like green walls and the sun peaked through the cracks, acting as a compass. You were his freedom, his life.

He loved you.

“Where are you?”

In a flurry of leaves and wind, Cater’s breath stilled at the vast stretch of land that bore green and brown. The valley of thorns’ domain was a nest of life, a warmth from the cold. The wind picks up, the flurry of birds rising higher with the wind current.

“Cater?”

In the flurry of feathers, Cater’s green eyes stared into yours, swollen and red. He bound towards you, pulling you into an embrace and sighing into your shoulder; your hands come up around his waist returning the embrace. “What are you doing out here? It’s too early.”

“You weren’t in the cottage.”

“You could have waited.”

He tightened his hug, burying his head into your neck while rubbing smooth circles around his back. The wind blew wildly at your faces. "Why did you choose me, Cater? Of all the places to choose as your home.”

“You’re kind.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Cater,”

“Stop lying to yourself.” He begged. “If you weren’t kind, you wouldn’t have helped me.”

You sigh, pulling away. “Do you really think a person like me can be kind after what I’ve done?” You raise your hands, your birthmark a bright red against your skin; like a bloodstain that will never go away. "I am a doll of the battlefield, Cater. I was born to do it. I am a doll born to take lives, I am Padparadscha.”

“I don’t care!” He leans his weight on you, your back thumping against a tree trunk. “I don’t care what jewel you are, you’re my home!!”

He pushes you again, thumping the wood “I don’t care what you did before, you were forced to do it, you didn’t like any of it and shows!”

“You’re not a doll anymore, you’re human, you’re my home.”

Fingers loosely pull your clothes, Cater’s nose on your shoulder with breath shaky. “…I know it is because when I look at you, I can feel. It—.” He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in. “And—and when I look at you, I’m home.”

“Please, I don’t want that to go away Padparadscha.”

Your hands move again, raising to card through Cater's amber hair. "…Would you like to stay here a while longer and watch the sunset?"

Cater nods his head, the both of you sliding down and let time do its course, the sun slowly inching down towards the earth with the sky bleeding yellow and purple. His thumb brushes over your birthmark and your fingers intertwine.

“Cater?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He nuzzled into you, his beautiful features highlighted against the sun. No matter where he was, his beauty resonated with you. The beautiful man leaned in, lips brushing to yours in a kiss. 

“Thank you.”

#works from the typewriter #disney twisted wonderland #twsited wonderland #cater diamond x reader #gn reader #g/n reader #cater x reader

[mlqcconfessions]

hi! can i request the guys realising they’re in love with you/mc? how would they react to it and when would the realisation happen? just something a lil cute for the quarantine ✨

SUGAR SWEET not really, this got really dark

Warning: Backstory spoilers (with some alterations!)

MLQC Headcanon - When I First Realized

Victor

He still remembers the day when you first walked into his office

He hadn’t thought much of this new producer (just that she seemed like a dummy)

A few more meetings with you, and he realized that his initial impression of you was wrong (something that doesn’t happen often)

You didn’t seem like a dummy, you were a dummy

He’s never seen someone so all over the place, barely able to collect herself sometimes

At one point, he found himself almost looking forward to your visitations

As a CEO, he’s learned to control his emotions quite early on in his life

He forbid himself from showing any weaknesses (but he knows everyone else’s?)

So when he realized he was acting like a human being abnormal, he became irritated

He assigned more tasks, and required more proposals from you

By giving you more work, he eventually gave himself a chance to divert away from you (drowning in paperwork meant distracting his mind)

But for some reason, he just couldn’t seem to forget you

Maybe it’s the way you act tough

Maybe it’s how you avoid his eyes, but glare at him when you think he’s not looking (Victor knows everything)

Or maybe it’s your smile, and how you never show that in front of him

So he started wondering, what could he do to make you not so afraid of him?

As he got lost in his thoughts, his eyes gravitated to the pile of papers on his desk (he hasn’t so much touched those yet)

“Huh, unbelievable” (he then quickly passed off any interferences with his work)

A considerable amount of time has gone, and he’s escaping an abandoned building with you

He can feel the tension in the air, as the currents electrify his surroundings

Victor looks over to you, weary and frail from constant running, and clenches his fists

Whoever is behind this, they’re aiming for you

Before he could think of a plan of action, he suddenly catches you as you leap out in front of him (you’re writhing with pain as the bolt lashes against your back)

In his arms, you’re there, limp without consciousness, unaware of the turmoil inside his heart

He thinks back to when he was just a boy, and that brave girl who jumped to save his life (he had made it his lifelong goal to find her, but to no avail)

Now he knows it was you all this time, and he won’t let anyone hurt you ever again

Even if he has to break through time.

Kiro

He was a celebrity for as long as he can remember (one of the most popular child stars of his day!)

But it’s not like he desired to be in the spotlight for fame

He needed to find her (and that was his mission since the start)

“For you, I’ll reach even greater heights”

This was the only way he could possibly search the entire city to find her

By stranding himself in the public eye

He has never forgotten about her (she was on his mind everyday)

Whether he wants to or not, flashbacks of the experiment table run across his mind

He can picture the little girl next to him, seeming to be about his age, her eyes closed into a peaceful slumber

The red thread connecting the two of them continued to circulate, and he was forced to watch it all

If only he could rip out the needles binding him and escape this orphanage with her (he eyed the room for any possible routes)

She was so close to him, yet unreachable

He tried to grab hold of her hand, so as to stop this nightmare from consuming her

But one of the masked figures noticed his activity, and nonchalantly increased his dosage

The boy tried so hard to keep his eyes open, to fight back, but what power did he have?

He was only five

Many years passed, and Kiro returned to Loveland to boost his career as a superstar

He was now known as everyone’s sunshine, radiating with bright energy and beauty

Friendly with all, it’s not difficult to disclose your personal information with him (but no one really knows the darkest parts of the sun’s shadows)

Even now, he was still trying to find her

She must be around my age (but how would he know what she looked like now?)

With doubts in his mind, he takes a walk in his disguise to momentarily hide from the flashes of cameras

There was no destination in mind, just a desperation to be somewhere

He felt lost in this world where everyone knew who he was (but who would be able to rescue me?)

His eyes drift towards a supermarket, with a young lady stationed near the chips aisle

She should be around her age, maybe the height too?

As he walks past the store, he got a good look at her face (his heart nearly stopped beating)

Although the features were more mature compared to his memories, it was still the same shining smile as the little girl’s

How could he ever forget that smile? (the sole ray of light that shone on him in the darkness)

Without hesitation, he marches towards the market, nearly slamming into the automatic doors

He grabs the bag of chips she was reaching for, in hopes of getting her attention (in a relatively gentle way)

As she was about to yell his name, he quickly covered her mouth, allowing him to look clearly into her eyes

Ah....it was really her

“Shhh...I don’t wanna get noticed”

Lucien

In his world, everything was ordinary

Bland, boring, and lifeless

It has been this way for as long as he can remember, and he’s grown accustomed to this lifestyle

There was nothing he could do about it, nor did he want to waste efforts trying

It was easier to ignore the impossible, and focus on more important matters at hand (and this continued for years)

He had heard that a producer from a company was looking for him, and that she should be arriving any minute now

He had no plans to involve himself with television, so he decided to politely decline the offer to join her

Lucien wandered around his office, organizing his desk to welcome the unwanted visitor

He looked at his bookshelf, colored with a dull grey all around

It wasn’t anything new, just a little depressing at times

He noticed a butterfly floating past his windows (colorless like everything else in his sight)

Then he saw her, the visitor

Suddenly his eyes began to burn (his muscles started pulsing at the temples)

Why....

There was no explanation that he could think of

He trusted his eyes enough to know that this was not a dream, yet can he see color?

What makes her so different?

His original plan was to refuse her offer at the door, but instead took out his china set and began to brew some tea

Meanwhile, you arrive at the floor Professor Lucien should be on (you ask around, but no one knows where he is)

You ask a younger-looking gentleman, who leads you to an office a few doors down

You enter cautiously, but the professor is nowhere to be seen

As you’re about to leave, the gentleman pushes a cup towards you (it’s steaming with freshly poured tea)

As she grabs the cup, her touch reveals its true colors, never-before-seen

It puts a smile on his face at the sight of the extravagant change

....how beautiful

“Um, do you know when Professor Lucien will be returning?”

“I can go ask the researcher next door, if you’d like”

“Oh, that would be great!”

He can’t help but let out a chuckle as he calls his colleague next door, to which she replies with absurdity

“What are you talking about, Lucien?” (he can’t help but feel amused at the producer’s shocked expression)

He peers curiously into her blushing face, his first time seeing such a flattering hue

Gavin

He wasn’t always sure about when he first fell in love with you

He just knows that he did

At one point, you were the only thing on his mind

“Bro, you’re in love with her!”

Despite Minor’s annoyed words, he just couldn’t understand (love? what a joke)

He was sure that this wasn’t love, just a fleeting spark of a moment’s interest

He shielded you from the rain with his umbrella, but it’s not love

He stared at the picture of you in the school newspaper for hours (Minor had to take it away from his hands), but it’s not love 

He goes to your every recital (on the roof so you don’t notice him), but it’s not love

No matter which way he looked at it, he WAS NOT in love with you (Minor is slamming his head into the table)

But looking back, he does have an idea as to when this interest started

It was late spring, just on the border to becoming autumn

He was starting to lose conscious, surrounded by knife-bearers

Gavin was cornered on the school roof, blood flowing out at a dangerous rate

Then, he heard a soft melody encompassing the air around him (piano...?)

As he tried to locate where the sound was coming from, one of the gang members pushed him off the edge

His world spun around as he outreached his arms, desperately trying to grab onto anything available

Nothing.

All energy left his body, reverting him to a corpse (maybe my next life wouldn’t be so bad....)

Suddenly a heavy, rapid, surging melody sounded (taken from Campus Date!)

Gavin’s life flashed before his eyes, and the next thing he saw was the entire city beneath his floating feet

“....! What...is this..?”

While he was trying to collect himself, the roaring notes of the piano continued, as if they were in agreement with his adrenaline rush

He quickly regained control, letting the booming wind merge with this foreign power inside him

He gravitated towards the window, where the school’s music room was located

His ears soon landed on a beautiful voice, accompanied by the rhythmic taps of the keys (it was her!)

He still wasn’t sure how this Evol awakened inside of him, and is still wondering if this was love, but one thing’s certain:

He, for all eternity, would dedicate his life to protecting her (cue the Minor squeals!)

Shaw

He never thought of himself as a stationary being

Too much of a hassle

With his skateboard, he cruises around the city at his own pace, looking for any amusements in the area

Unable to find anything worth pursuing, he returns to his alleyway to finish the graffiti piece he was working on earlier

He recalls the time when he briefly met his brother, at the airport a while back

He laughs just thinking about that moment (he’s never seen his brother so furious)

Come to think of it, he was protecting a girl that day

Determined to make his day fun, he decides to go find her himself

You waited in the bus, hoping that your precognition doesn’t come true

“If we just get past this block, it’ll be fine”

You’re almost sent out of your seat as the driver brakes at the bus stop, one before your destination

A tall guy, occupied with his headphones, steps in

Shaw immediately is able to spot her, and promptly places himself in the seat next to her

The bus was nearly empty, yet he chose to sit next to you instead (just why..?)

As for why he sat there, Shaw couldn’t think of a reason either

He simply thought whatever happens next might be fun

He glanced over at the girl, who fidgeted nervously next to him

He cracked a silent smirk as he adjusted his headphones (he could feel her gaze on him)

“Wanna listen?”

“N-no..”

You couldn’t get your head around this guy, and exactly what he was planning

But you had your own problems to worry about, and it arrived much sooner than expected

Shaw noticed the girl was clutching onto her dress tightly, and glanced at her face

She looked like she was in pain for some reason, but there was nothing he could do to help (Do I wanna help in the first place?)

He jolted as she suddenly got up and yelled for the driver to stop the bus

The driver, of course, passed her pleas off (the bus wasn’t at the stop yet, anyways)

He inquisitively looked at his surroundings

There was nothing off, which means there was no reason for her to get so panicky

He became very interested in what she was going to do next, so he willingly gave her a hand

In the blink of an eye, the sky became dark and rain started to pour outside

Your eyes go wide at this unusual happening, but waste no time in rushing out the door (the driver gave up on running the bus in this weather)

He discreetly follows the girl as she runs towards the crosswalk

He’s a little taken back as she plops down on the cement, a sigh of relief across her expression

Without saying anything, he hands her a transparent umbrella (he tries hard to not laugh at her conflicted face)

“You’re welcome”

He decides not to ask her what that was all about

He could sense that they will be meeting again in the future soon

WOWZERS. This took me a lot longer to complete than expected.... (it’s so long!!!!) I did alter some details, just to fit what I want more.

I guess I took this a different route than what the request was, so I hope anon who submitted this is okay with it

I went for a more “when was an important turning point in their relationship” compared to “when did they fall in love” (because I think it captures the essence of the game better)

Hope you enjoyed. I’m now going to cry at all the hurt ;_;

#mlqc #mr love #mr love queen's choice #mr love queens choice #elex #papergames #headcanon #mr love headcanon #mlqc headcanon #victor #li zeyan #kiro #zhou qiluo #lucien #xu mo #gavin #bai qi #shaw #ling xiao