#Give To Your Child which is somehow worse than what you were looking up in the first place

[lab-rat-guy]

okay i just have to make it through tomorrow and then it's all going to be fine for like two weeks maybe hopefully

[yanderismo]

Yandere Platonic Superman Concept/Idea (?)

BRO, BRO, I DON'T KNOW IF I LOVE OR HATE MY MIND FOR GIVING ME IDEAS THAT I'LL NEVER START OR FINISH. But okay, I have an idea for a platonic yandere Superfam, maybe it involves Batfam or the entire DC universe. I think this is more platonic yandere Superman. Let's go. (using the translator, be kind to me please 😭) 

— Imagine that you are originally from the Injustice universe. You were a neutral young/teen heroine who wasn't at all interested in siding with Batman or Superman. Well... that neutrality of yours had consequences, and now, somehow, Superman and Batman were in a bloody tug of war to get you on their side. And you are the cable they are selfishly pulling. And one day that cable would break, and that's what happened to you, you broke it. So broken that I would consider it irreparable. 

— But luckily for you (bro, are you lucky?), after so much physical and mental suffering, you ended up in a way that I won't explain, in the original DC universe. In other words, no superheroes is crazy tyrants. Too bad you don't know that (yet).

— You were living as if the world was a danger to you (just like it was in Injustice). But you discovered that you were REALLY in a different universe or timeline when you met Lois Lane, the woman who drove Superman insane after her death. And it shocked you, you thought maybe you had gone back in time. And as reckless as it was, you felt hope that you could stop the future of Injustice from happening, stop Lois Lane from being murdered! After all, you were still a hero, even if you had probably lost half of your original universe's neurons.

 — So you made a decision. You decided to protect Lois Lane! You practically become her protective shadow. Being noticed wouldn't do any good, and for SO FEAR of being confronted by Superman/Clark for apparently stalking his wife, you stopped watching her when Clark showed up and you went back when Clark left. (In your head, this Superman is the same Superman from Injustice, just before Lois' death happened). You were wary as hell of all the heroes. Anyway, a lot of trauma caused by Injustice.

— And I believe that Lois, even if she was a civilian, would notice that she was being watched (or maybe you're just not very good at stalking because you're a very young heroine). Whatever it is. Lois noticed and she became cautious (she is a journalist, there are many people who may not like her to the point of committing atrocities), as you could be a threat to her life. Although you haven't revealed yourself as any threat so far.

 — But let's suppose there were events in which she was in danger (actually, it was just something like shelves falling, preventing her from being run over, preventing some rabid dogs from biting her, small things), events in which you managed to remain hidden, however Lois knew it was You, her strangely protective stalker. Lois was trying to know your intentions and work it out for herself, so she didn't say anything about it. If this is something much more than she can handle, Clark can always lend a little help. 

— But on another one of those times when she was in danger, you desperately saved her (the situation was quite dangerous, more than normal), asking if she was okay and everything. Lois was surprised, you were surprised. Before you know, the idea of staying in the shadows went down the drain. You were almost begging (you were begging) her not to tell anyone that you were persecuting her (protecting her), you didn't want her to report you to some authority (that would only hinder your mission) or worse, report you to Superman. You said, stammered, that you were just protecting her. Wanting to make sure Lois didn't feel threatened and report you. 

— The desperation, the panic in your voice, seemed too young for Lois to feel comfortable. You were like a scared child, you looked very much like just a scared child, and that made Lois uncomfortable but at the same time... motherly. If you wanted to hurt her, you would have done it already. You at least accomplished one thing: making Lois not feel threatened by you.

 — The other thing you couldn't do was stop Lois from telling Clark about you. Look, I'm sure Lois didn't mean it, it's uncomfortable to be watched almost every day, but also, since she discovered you, she's been quite worried about you.

 — And Clark is all worried, like, "What?? My wife is being stalked??? Oh wait, my wife is being stalked and protected. Well, that's still very worrying, I'm definitely going to check it out for myself." Furthermore, Lois insisted that he be gentle when approaching you. And Lois saying this to him made him even more intrigued. 

— He tried to approach you just as Clark Kent, just to know how you would react around a seemingly civilian person, think of it as a method to read your character (he didn't want to confront you as Superman in a careless way. After all, who wouldn't Does he act nice or change to a more pleasant personality around Superman?)

— Needless to say, Clark was surprised and confused when you looked at him like he was the greatest terror of your life before simply running away from him. He recognized that look, only villains who were traumatized after a confrontation against him have that look (but the you look was much, much worse than that). That day, you didn't chase Lois.

 — Clark suspected you knew his secret identity. There is no longer any reason for you to have reacted like this. 

— lol, that day Lois noticed the absence of the feeling of being watched and scolded Clark for scaring you. Although it wasn't his fault, he apologized. He really didn't mean to scare you ;( You were gone for a few days after that. But of course, you still had to protect Lois in her everyday life. Even if you were scared. 

— Anyway, it didn't matter how softly, friendly Superman approached you next time. You ran, or at least tried to run. Do you really want to bet on who is the fastest? He easily caught you and held you by your forearm. And that was enough to make you scream, cry, struggle and finally, shrink as much as possible.

— And Superman was all confused, he wasn't even hurting you or squeezing you hard. His voice was also friendly. If anything, it made him even more worried. Add the fact that you appear to be very young and his paternal instincts kicked in. 

— To his surprise, you pulled out a knife. Something like that couldn't hurt Superman, of course not. But who said the knife was meant to hurt him? Let's say you picked up the knife and tried to slit your own throat as a last resort escape. (What did you go through with Superman from Injustice to the point that you tried to commit suicide just to escape him?) 

— Superman was surprised and then horrified. He immediately knocked you unconscious before you cut deeper into your throat. Now with you unconscious, you seemed more vulnerable and fragile than you should have been. Now he understood why Lois was worried about you. (You know, if Batman can adopt multiple children, why couldn't Superman...? You seem like a good kid and even Lois agrees with that. Conner and Jon would definitely like to have a sister) 

— Superman wondered what happened to you that made you reach the point where death was a usable route. He wanted to question you personally, but the moment he confirmed that you knew his identity (you acted the same way when he approached you as a civilian. He was the only one to receive this reaction from you and no one else), this matter became the subject of the Justice League. Discovering the identity of a superhero and pursuing someone close to that superhero was not going to be taken lightly. Who's to say you don't also know the identities of others? Although Superman wants to deal with you alone, he doubts he'll get any information out of you with you yelling and screaming. So he took you to the justice league. 

— Batman can definitely help you solve this.

(Imagine the anguish it would be to probably have to get used to people having the same appearance and the same voice as your captors in Injustice. Imagine them acting all soft after finding out you come from a universe where the heroes are corrupt and broke you😩)

Notas: I leave the rest to you. Or to any author who wants to use this idea (I beg you, some author write a Yandere platonic Superman/Superfam fic😭 They could even add other platonic Yanderes like Batfam, it would be so interesting 🙏😭)

(I just realized that the one who acted the most Yandere was Reader herself, lol)

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love you and all your works 🛐🛐🛐

Currently I'm fangirling over Danny Fenton's ex cuz I love stories where Bruce is a disaster lololol. Speaking of, do you think we can have more parts of it? Please?

Danny is tending to the cosmos creation and shaping when his summons digs again. He closes his eyes, reaching out to the one making the ritual and huffs at the feeling of a familiar soul.

Ugh, Bruce has been attempting to summon him none stop. It's so annoying to have a new sacerfices again and again. He mentally presses the ignore button on the runes, feeling Bruce's sadness as his calls go unanswered once more.

He reopens his eyes, trying to focus on his work. His mood is off now, though, and the soothing sensation of light bursting in darkness is sour.

Cosmos' creation was a lot like gardening to him when he was human, and the fact that Bruce is somehow ruining it makes it worse.

Why was he bothering Danny now? It's been fifteen years! Okay, maybe it had gone in the blink of an eye for a being like Danny, but it was still a long time for Bruce, wasn't it?

He was pretty sure it was longer than Bruce's oldest child.

Which wasn't that something? Bruce Wayne, the man who claimed he couldn't offer commitment but needed to "find himself", had run off only to find some bimbo and create mini versions of himself, not once, not twice, but six times.

Didn't that just sting?

Danny could do much with his power, but he was determined to give it all up to be more human for Bruce. He had been human for three years and had been Bruce's support during his youthful days.

He should have left that human flouting in the Infinite Realms. But Danny had always had trouble looking away when someone needed him. Maybe it was left over from his hero days.

Still, Bruce had only been eighteen, just ten years away from his parent's murder, and still struggling with his need for vengeance. At first Danny had only trained him, wanting to give him the edge he would need in a fight, but somewhere along the way his heart had been stolen.

When Bruce turned twenty- two years under Danny's mentorship- he had return home, but not before begging Danny to come with him. Like a fool he had followed.

It has been a struggle to remember how much pain humans endure in everyday life. He stub his toe three steps into Bruce's caves underneath his manor- the location of the natural portal that had sucked in Bruce.

The portal would close and not reopen for another fifty years, and as a human, he would not be able to return to the Realms until his death. Danny had been fine with that, even when Jazz, Sam and Tucker begged him to think things through.

You aren't human anymore. Jazz had said from the perch of her throne. This will only end in disaster.

He hadn't cared. Danny was in love, and for the first time since their home dimension vaporized with the passage of time, he finally felt alive again.

Even before his powers forced his heart to beat once more, his lungs to expand with air, and the blood to flow through his veins, Danny felt alive, and that was because of Bruce.

Bruce, whose gentle smile, could hide his pain for only so far.

He had thought offering everything he is and everything he could be- Jazz had nearly become the Queen of the Realms since Danny was busy breathing, bleeding and suffering as a human again- but maybe it was only his body Bruce liked.

Maybe it was the fact that for all of Danny's creations, he could not give Bruce a child. What were stars in the sky to humans on Earth that could not withstand their glow? What was the point of promising him enteral happiness when humans were destined to die before they could notice the passage of time?

Danny grimaces as the familiar burning sensation starts in his eyes. He angrily wipes the tears away, bitter that even now, as a full spirit of space, protection, and death, he can still linger in humanity.

He can feel pain.

Pain that no medicine from Jazz's soft hands treat, no ointment from Sam's plants can soothe, and no peace of mind that Tucker's dreams can bring.

Just pain that raddles his otherwise still heart.

The summons flairs up again. Danny can sense Bruce placing a small notepad in the circle, ovbiosuly writting on it as the runes attempt to send Danny a mental image. He grimnces as the words flash before behind his eyelides.

Please Danny, I just want to talk.

It's too late—fifteen years too late. He sends the message in green flames, hoping they burn Bruce as much as they burn Danny. He shuts the summons down before Bruce can think of replying. Just as the wards that keep Danny out from controlling the summons shatters he can sense Bruce slumping to the ground.

It reminds him of himself, slumped over the notepad in horrified confusion. Danny had awoken from the most tender lovemaking of his life only to find his lover long gone. The message had been short and apologetic, but it did nothing to hide Danny's engagement ring, which he had Alfred help him buy in secret, which had been dug out of his suitcase and flung to the other side of the room.

It did nothing to hide that Danny had no money, documentation, or life outside of Bruce Wayne. He had not been human in many years and had thought he could trust Bruce to not worry about such things.

He had paid the hotel with a few bills on his person, and the staff gave him pity glances. The hotel had not even been in Gotham or the United States. Bruce had taken them to the Middle East for a vacation- and a possible new trainer for him, something Ghul- and left with everything before Danny awoke.

He had even been able to use his powers because part of the deal to become human was to let Phantom go. Danny had been left abandoned in a foreign country with nothing but the clothes on his back, a suitcase and a broken heart.

Had it not been for Tucker worrying about him and checking on him through his dreams, Danny would have died there, and unlike before when he turned into Phantom, his soul would have faded away.

Bruce Wayne broke something in him that day. He would not have a second chance to do it again.

Never again.

[sapphoherselz]

howdy!! two literal people have asked for some andreil rec so here they are!! my most favest fics EVER in the first 50 ao3 pages (I'll keep updating tho as I read!)

Not yours to bleed:

The Pros were never in the cards. Not for an ex-medicated alleged psychotic with a dysfunctional family and an Exy career he’d rather not have. But even if it wasn't his first choice, no matter what happens, it can’t possibly be worse than that one fucked up sophomore year when he stood toe to toe with the Yakuza-and won.

At least, that’s what Andrew thinks until a familiar face shows up.

Another Raven!Neil AU. Or, the one where the boys don’t meet until the Pros.

 

**Updates every other Wednesday, whatever hell may come.**

The Sun Still Rises:

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS:

Neil closes his eyes and counts the things that he knows:

One: Death has a name.

Two: He has met Death before. Several times, in fact.

Three: Someone is trying to kill him. Permanently. But it's only kind of working.

Or, the one in which Andrew is the Grim Reaper, Neil is very, very good at dying, over and over and over again. They teach each other a few things over the centuries.

Hearthlines:

The Fae king and queens have gone away, closing the knowes behind them and abandoning their offspring to the mortal world. As the Fae have spread far and wide, their bloodlines thinning if not vanishing forever as they flee from mortal persecution... two Fae have found a way to reopen the knowes - Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji Moriyama. The Fae regroup once more, the balance of power shifted amongst them, and 'changelings' appear now and then in the mortal population.

Andrew Doe is one of those changelings, a young child suffering in the foster system, shunned by his peers for some reason and hearing voices in his head.

Alex - the latest name gifted to him by a charm - is on the run along with his mother from his father, using their talents as shadow walkers to slide between worlds and stay one step ahead of the powerful Fae. Except even that is not enough anymore. Except that's not Alex's only talent.

*******

An urban fantasy where I throw Fae, necromancy and magic at TFC characters, pretty much!

Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die):

Neil Josten goes to the Nest for Andrew, but he stays for a lot more.

~

"I'm sorry Coach," he muttered.

"For what kid?" Wymack shifted. "You've got to give me something to work with here."

Wymack watched the thin traces of sorrow as paper exchanged hands and he was looking down at a contract with the Edgar Allan Raven's.

"I signed them Coach, I'm sorry."

~

The one where Neil doesn't come back from Winter Break.

Amor Vincit Omnia:

“I said it already,” the man said, “Your cluster.”

“But what does that mean?” Neil asked.

“It means that you are no longer just you,” the man said tersely, “Congratulations.”

It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating.

A Sense8 AU where the foxes all share one subconscious and kick a lot of ass

The Real Thing:

Andrew was more than willing to turn down the Ravens' offer to be their newest goalie, unwilling to play five more years of Exy - let alone for someone with a too-sharp smile and a manic gleam in their eyes.

That was, until he realized that a member of their Perfect Court was his soulmate. (That was, until Riko Moriyama realized that Nathaniel Wesninski, the Ravens' #3 in waiting, was Andrew's soulmate.)

Andrew always knew that Fate loved tormenting him, he didn't need a reminder yet again via a too-attractive soulmate who appeared to loathe him. Yet things aren't always what they seem, especially in the Nest.

mad girl says she's wolf-proof:

Keeping her grip light on Nina’s throat, Andrea drops her gaze to her plump lips. She smiles—coldly, slowly. Fangs on fangs. Salt tombstones. It is not a nice smile, none of Andrea’s smiles are, but Nina’s eyes are stuck in it regardless. “And I will answer, all the better to eat you with.”

 

(Andrea Dobson vs girlhood and lycanthropy.)

lessons in caretaking:

Neil was acting shifty, and Andrew knew why; that motherfucker was leaving. Despite the promise between them, Neil was prepping to run. Andrew wasn't upset about that, not at all. After all, if notorious Neil "No-Swing" Josten needed to leave after Andrew admitted his desires regarding his proximity to Neil's shorts, who was Andrew to stop him. But that doesn't explain why Neil was stealing socks, or why he wanted Andrew's clothes.

Whatever. That was probably unrelated.

Sauntering Vaguely Downwards:

They’ve known each other since the Beginning. Not the Beginning Beginning—they didn’t meet until after the War in Heaven, where they kept to their own sides, or until after the subsequent Fall. It wasn’t even until after the Exodus from Eden, but only by a couple minutes. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, sampled all the cuisines the world has to offer, and weathered several very silly fashion trends.

Andrew doesn’t think they’re friends, exactly, but it is natural to become accustomed to the presence of the only other being who has been around more or less consistently for six millennia. It wasn’t anything more meaningful than that.

A Good Omens AU where Andrew is a grumpy angel, Neil is a sharp-tongued serpent, and it takes them literally six thousand years to figure out they belong together.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

I was wondering if you could make a part 2 to "the instrument"? I got invested reading it was so sad that it ended :(

I don't rlly know what I'm looking for but I loved the plot of that fic and I wanted to see it progress further (´；д；)

Like, it js ended with him giving her flowers, I wanted to see their love bloom more yknowww ಥ_ಥ

(Also is it weird that I see y/n as her own person?)

── THE COMPASS

Synopsis: You were right from the start — Michael Kaiser has always been a dog, albeit perhaps not in the way you first meant it. (part one here!)

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4.5k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, mentioned/implied/referenced abuse (both child and animal), call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: EEK i feel like kaiser is so hard for me to do romance with but i tried my best!! and LMAOO this y/n is definitely a very interesting one so i can see why you got that sense 😭 but i’m glad you liked the instrument and ty for requesting 🥹 i hope this is somewhat satisfactory??

Additional: check my pinned post to make sure i have requests open; after reading the rules, please feel free to make your own!

You are quite certain that your mother was involved in this exercise, considering she’s the only one you can think of with a spare key to your house. So, when your phone call to Michael is sent immediately to voicemail, you don’t hesitate in dialing her number, knowing she’ll pick up immediately, as she always does.

The phone rings only once, and then she’s answering. There are voices in the background that are faint and muffled, which means either she’s watching a new drama or your father is watching some sports game. Then you detect the faint sound of cheers, and you conclude it must be the latter. 

“Hello, Y/N,” your mother says. “Did you need something?”

She is very obviously trying to maintain an air of mysteriousness, as if she has no idea why you might be calling her, but the fact that she is putting on such an act makes it all the more obvious that it is just a facade. You’ve known for many years that your talent onstage is not a genetic one, though it does not stop your parents from pretending that it’s something you inherited from them.

“The flowers,” you say. “You put them there, didn’t you?”

She coughs. You don’t know if she’s disguising a laugh or if she’s just taken aback to that extent. Either way, you give her a moment to compose herself, for it’ll be a mess if you don’t. Your mother is like that, after all. If you inundate her with questions, she’ll respond to exactly none of them, so patience is the only method you have if you wish to obtain any measure of success.

“It wasn’t my own doing,” she says finally. You sigh.

“Of course, someone told you to, and I’m sure we both know who,” you say. “What did he say?”

“He meant well,” she says. “Are you angry with him? He seemed to think you might be. Anyways, he just told me to give them to you. It’s his way of saying sorry, I think. Or perhaps of saying something else. I’m afraid I can’t understand him the way you do. It’s magical, really, how you all but read his mind…”

“No one can read his mind,” you scoff. “He’s a convoluted man, and his thoughts are his own.”

“And you despise him because of that?” she prods, in a way that indicates she already knows the answer and is only asking for her personal satisfaction.

“I love him all the more for it,” you say shortly. Somehow, it’s worse saying it to your mother than it was with him. More real, maybe. Unable to be taken back. You don’t want to take it back, of course, but nevertheless, even if you did, you no longer can. It’s out in the world, now, and the world has a strange humor; it takes things one says even carelessly, without thought, and it turns them into undeniable, inescapable truth. 

“Well,” she says. “That is a predicament.”

“There’s no predicament,” you say.

“He believes there is,” she says. “Right before he left, he—”

“Left?” you repeat. The flowers on your counter are arcing towards the sun, their petals unfurling towards the light pouring from your window. It’s a behavior more typical of flowers other than roses, but these roses are blue and they are Michael’s, so it stands to reason that they behave peculiarly. “Where did he go?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” she says. “He didn’t mention where he was going, just that he had to leave for a bit. But he looked sad. I mean, it’s difficult to tell with him, given how stoic he is, so I don’t know. Don’t take me at my word and start a fight about it.”

This is all you’re going to get out of her. You’re sure of it; there’s a wavering to her voice that signals she’s out of her depth. It’ll be unproductive and all but cruel if you continue to drill her, so you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut and counting to three in your mind. Frustration is a wasted emotion, especially when the target of your frustration is somewhere far away, gone with nothing but a pot of flowers as a farewell.

That’s what it really is. Not an apology or a confession, but a goodbye. The fact that he thought to do it does mean something, but that meaning doesn’t outweigh the intention. So you make meaningless small talk with your mother and then your father, who she passes the phone to, and as soon as you can, you hang up and call another person, one who might be your only chance at finding the wandering stray that is Michael Kaiser.

Michael doesn’t really have friends, claims he doesn’t need them, but if there is one man who he might deign to bestow that title upon, it is his Bastard München teammate, Alexis Ness. They have been playing together since they were young, and so, if anything, there is an empathy between the two, although Michael will never admit it.

You’ve only met Alexis Ness a few times, at the various events which Michael used to drag you to when your relationship was still in the public eye. He’s never been anything but polite, albeit reserved, and on your third meeting, he gave you his phone number, telling you to call him if you ever ran into trouble. He had left the with Michael unsaid, but the implication had been there. You had thanked him and never called him since.

He’s quick to respond, like he was expecting the call — for all you know, he really was, though you would never ask either way. However, he does not speak first, so there is an awkward pause as you both wait for the other to say something.

“Good morning, Mr. Ness,” you say once a minute has gone by and he still has said nothing. “This is Y/N L/N. You gave me your number once.”

“Ah, Kaiser’s girlfriend,” he says. They have this habit, those soccer players, of referring to each other solely by last name. Your theory is that it’s to create distance, to avoid becoming close to a person who can be stolen by another team at any moment. You can’t fathom any other explanation. It’s a little sad to you, but you try not to judge, because there’s as many or more judgements that can be passed about your own lifestyle and habits.

“Yes,” you say. 

“Are you calling to ask me where he went?” he says. 

“I am,” you say. There’s no point in games. You don’t know Alexis Ness well enough to play them, and he seems to appreciate candidness, so the both of you are blunt in your conversations.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he says. “He swore me to secrecy.”

“I see,” you say. It’s disappointing, but it doesn’t come as a surprise. Michael is more than a little paranoid, so of course he took these ridiculous measures to cover his tracks.

“Nothing against you,” he says. “In fact, you should take it as a compliment. It sounded like there’s some messes he needed to clean up before he could bear to face you.”

“He’s horrible at cleaning,” you say.

“I don’t mean literal cleaning,” he says. It’s patient but also mocking. You roll your eyes, a silent form of retribution that he’ll never know of.

“Neither do I,” you say. Alexis Ness exhales heavily. Perhaps you’ve given him a migraine. It’s a particular skill of yours, or so you’ve been told.

“Berlin,” he says.

“Berlin?” you say.

“That’s where he is. If he asks, I’m not the one who told you,” he says, and then he’s ending the call before you can even thank him.

Berlin’s a big city, so Ness’s advice isn’t as helpful as he might’ve thought it would be, but at least it’s a start. Besides, for all his idiosyncrasies, Michael has a few patterns he follows with religiosity, so you tell your agent you’re going on a trip and silence your phone before he can call you and sputter protests about the impromptu nature of the semi-vacation.

The volunteers at the dog shelter tell you that Michael’s been there for the majority of the day. They’ve left him alone because they don’t know what to say; it’s not everyday that a celebrity wanders into such an establishment without so much as a word, and he’s remained relatively harmless, so they’ve continued about their daily business, ignoring him as best as they could when it became obvious he had no interest in speaking to them.

When you enter the kennel room, you find him sitting in front of one with a large hound in it. It has a pointed muzzle, and its tail does not wag at your approach, but it does lift its head and blink at you a couple of times before going back to sleep. 

The cement floor is cold, but still you sit beside Michael, hugging your knees to your chest in a mirror of his position, careful not to touch him, thinking that he is wild enough to flee if you do. The hound lets out a soft breath. You notice that there are pink lines cutting through the black of its fur, marring its wide torso, shiny as the skin does its best to heal.

“She was seized from her owner,” Michael says. “The neighbors called the police one night when things got too loud.”

He’s not looking at you, but it’s obvious you’re the one he meant that statement for, so you shift closer to him, placing one hand on his arm. He flinches the tiniest bit, but when you try to pull away, he reaches up and stops you, holding your hand there, though he still refuses to turn away from the dog.

“Apparently, the guy got drunk and beat her,” he says. “She belonged to his wife, but once his wife died, he became an alcoholic, and that poor dog was the only one there to see it. I’m sure she tried to keep loving him at first, though. Even when she was frightened. Dogs do their best to love you, because they can’t understand that no matter how hard they try, it doesn’t matter. If someone wants to hate them, then all of the love in the world won’t be enough to stop that.”

He’s talking about the dog, but that’s not what he really means. That’s just how he is: he speaks in circuitous riddles to avoid ever saying anything plainly. Flowers and dogs — both are just methods of avoiding what he really wants to tell you.

“We can take her home,” you say. “Give her a different name and a place where she can be happy. Even if something has been hurt before, that doesn’t mean it has to hurt forever.”

His eyes lower, and then he stands, yanking you to your feet. Steadying you when you stumble, he lets go of you abruptly, frowning and turning away from the dog, who is awoken by the suddenness of the movement, flattening her ears against her head and shrinking back.

“She’s frightened of men now,” he says. “Has been ever since she was rescued. Bites every male that comes near her. I can’t blame her. If I were her, I’d do the same. Apparently, that means she’s not really adoptable. Not by us and not by anyone.”

The dog whines plaintively. You offer her the back of your hand through the bars of the kennel. She sniffs it before licking it carefully, and then she thumps her tail against her bed in approval — only one time, though, and then she’s standing, pacing in unhappy circles around the small kennel, which can hardly fit an animal of her size.

“I want her,” you say. “I don’t care if she isn’t adoptable. I want her.”

“Of course you do,” he says. He would sound aggravated, but there is a curious delight dancing in his eyes, a childish sort of joy that so rarely sparkles in those blue irises, so he completely doesn’t. “Of course you want her. You can’t stay away from hurt things, can you? Who told you I was here?”

“No one,” you say. “I figured it out by myself.”

He purses his lips, following after you as you make your way to the front desk. Disapproval rolls off of him in waves, but also something else. Something shriveled and cowering which is fighting desperately to crawl to the surface.

The volunteers are surprised to hear which dog you insist on taking, and they try to convince you to look at any of the more appealing ones — the puppies, or the well-trained retrievers that already have waitlists of potential adopters. You’re an actress, however, so they’ll put you at the top and give you whichever one you want. You tell them you know which one you want already, and eventually they give up on arguing, only frowning as you sign the litany of documents they produce, clicking their tongues and telling you that she’ll be difficult.

You respond that it’s fine. You’re used to difficult things; in fact, you think that you prefer them. They shake their heads and then you are told that your dog — yours, miraculously she is yours — will be ready for you to get her whenever you want.

Michael’s business in Berlin is not yet completed, you can sense it, so you tell them that you will return later and then you chase after his disappearing back, catching him by the sleeve of his coat in a narrow alleyway which leads to a theater.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. He’s gazing at a poster with a woman on it; she’s beautiful, with elfin features and flowing hair the color of gold. She’s also someone you recognize. “Fuck Ness. I know he told you. I’m going to kill him when I get back.”

“Leave him alone,” you say. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Sure,” he says. “Whatever.”

“Do you know her?” you say, pointing at the woman.

“Do you?” he shoots back. He’s crabby now, snapping easily and readily, though you’ve not really done anything to provoke him.

“Yes,” you say. It’s not the answer he had predicted, which you can tell because he whirls to glare at you instead of the movie poster. “Why are you surprised? We’re in the same industry. I was almost in a movie with her a while back, though it fell through because of an issue with the writers. She’s nice enough, I guess. I went to her wedding a couple of years ago, but other than that, I wouldn’t say we’re particularly close.”

“You…went to her wedding?” he says, and then, inexplicably, his fingers are weaving in between yours. It feels like he is holding onto you for something more than affection, so you stand as still as you possibly can, only humming in agreement.

“Yes, I did. Actually, she married her childhood sweetheart, which took everyone by surprise. It was commonly thought that she’d marry one or another of her costars, you see. She’s always been good at creating chemistry…people always say that she can make even a rock seem desirable, that’s how she is,” you say wistfully, leaning your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t shove you away, enraptured by the story. “It’s amazing to watch. But isn’t it kind of sweet? That despite how excellent she is at feigning affection, how she could’ve had any man in the world, she chose the boy from her youth? I remember talking to him. He has nothing, no money or connections or investments. She really just married him because he loves her for who she is.”

“Is love really all she wanted?” he says.

“I suppose it’s all that a lot of people want,” you say. “Rumor has it that she's pregnant.”

He stiffens against you. “What?”

“Well, I think she’s a little old for it, but it’s common for women in my line of work to wait until the signs of age are beyond concealment before they have children, so it’s not a shock,” you say.

“Why?’ he says. 

“It’s the industry’s standards—” you begin before he cuts you off.

“No,” he says. “No, why is she — why does she want — why is she pregnant?”

“Isn’t it common for people to start a family eventually?” you say. “By the way, you never answered my question. Do you know her?”

“She’s my mother,” he says. The words are angry, but his tone is forlorn, his hand in yours cold and small. “But I’m — I’m not her son.”

He looks so wretched that you cannot help embracing him, and when he reciprocates in earnest and without pretense, you know that you have done the right thing. His breaths are fast and shaky, though he is not crying, and as much as you wish you had not said it, you believe deep down that it is important that you did.

Platitudes are meaningless. If you say it’s okay or something along those lines, you will be a liar, because the truth is that it’s not okay. You are not the one who can decide if it’s okay or not. You can only remain as you have been, motionless and gentle, stroking his back in the way one settles a restless infant, allowing his fingers to dig into your sides and his looming weight to collapse into you — for his sharpness is not borne of malice but helplessness, however loath to admit it he might be.

“Why?” he whispers. There’s a million questions he could be asking, and none of them are ones you can ever answer for him, but that will not stop him. “Why couldn’t it be me? Why couldn’t she be happy with me? I would have loved her. I would have been her family.”

“A lot of people don’t deserve children,” you muse. “Or love, or many other such happinesses. And still more people cannot understand the importance of these things when they are within their grasp. Your mother must’ve been very young when she had you. It’s easy to be blinded by stardom and glamor and fairytales at that age. It’s easier still to abandon everything for just a taste of the spotlight. There’s a school of thought that fame is impossible to attain without that necessary sacrifice.”

“What about you?” he says.

“I’m not an exception,” you say ruefully. “Any normal person would have hung up on you when you first called, Michael. I’m only lucky in that it was you and not anyone else on the other end of the line. It’s only because I know you that I realized there are more important things in this world than celebrity and popularity. Once I would’ve spurned the thought of obscurity, but now, if I can have you, then I wouldn’t even mind it so much. It’s the same conclusion your mother must have reached.”

“It’s too late,” he says. “She reached it too late.”

“Yes,” you say. “Yes, she did reach it too late, but it’s easier to give this kind of life up once you’ve known it than to never have it at all. That’s the only reason why. She was greedy, and you bore the consequences.”

“It’s not fair,” he says. You’ve never heard him like this. Normally, he’d laugh at the mere thought of such vulnerability, but the gray of the city has clearly twisted him into a wounded and fragile version of himself, prone to shattering, made of a glass that is already jagged at the edges and can hardly keep together because of it. “It’s not fair, it’s not — I hate her, and I hate him, and I hate her stupid new family, and I —I—”

He silences himself, obviously unsure of what to say, and then he holds your face in his hands, giving you a pleading stare. Help me, he seems to beg. Tell me what to do. He is lost, and somehow you have become a map of sorts, or a compass, one which points in a direction he has no choice but to follow.

“Why did you come here?” you say. “When you knew it would hurt you, why did you come?”

“I wanted to remind myself,” he says. “For a second, you even convinced me that I was worthy of being — you know. So I had to come back. I had to see with my own eyes the kind of person I really am. If my mother and my father and my entire damn city hate me, then why should you be any different?”

He’s scared that he will hurt you, and that you will hurt him, and that he will be alone again, as he has been for much of his life. For all his brashness, his bravado, his smugness and his smooth way of speaking in public, he’s never really been anything more than a little boy who’s frightened, who presses against the back wall of his enclosure like that beaten hound did.

“You know that I am different,” you say. “I am not your mother, nor your father. I will leave everything behind but you. In fact, I’ll leave it for you. Tell me to and I will.”

“What if I tell you to quit acting?” he says.

“Then I will retire at once,” you say. “I already have more money than I know what to do with.”

“And if I tell you to move across the world?” he tries, resting his forehead against yours. “Would you do that, despite your entire life being here?”

“Yes,” you say. “I am quick at making friends and learning new things, so I will adapt to it.”

“What about if I tell you to marry me?” he says. His lips are so close to yours that he is speaking against your mouth, but he doesn’t try to kiss you yet. 

“You wouldn’t ask?” you say.

“I don’t ask for things,” he says.

“Naturally, I’d marry you,” you say. “There isn’t anyone else I’d ever want, anyways. We’d have the most beautiful wedding in the world, and we’d only invite the people we like.”

“That’s a short list,” he says. His heartbeat is calming down; it’s a temporary solution, but if it manages to distract him, then you’ll indulge the flight of fancy.

“My parents,” you say.

“Ness,” he says.

“I always knew you liked him,” you say.

“Only because I have to,” he says.

“Anyone else?” you say.

“No,” he says. “That’s it. We can even forget about all of those people, actually. I just want it to be the two of us. Nobody else matters but — but you.”

He’s stuttering as he comes to his senses. These declarations aren’t typical of him, as foreign as French on his tongue, but he’s making them anyways. He’s been fighting the compulsion for a while, you can tell, but it’s hard for him to keep fighting on all fronts of his life. Eventually, one side will give. You are glad that it is your side, that you are the one he has given to, no matter how reluctantly he has done it.

“Is there anything else you’d like?” you say. “All of these are easy for me to do. Ask for something difficult, so that I may prove to you that I am telling the truth, that I mean what I say.”

“It’s not a request, but a condition,” he says.

“You only need to name it,” you say.

“If I hurt you, then you have to run,” he says. “Run so far away that I can never reach you. Even though it’ll hurt me, I want you to run. Even though I’ll beg for you to stay, please leave.”

That’s it, then. The most difficult thing he can imagine a person doing: leaving someone they love. Certainly he is unable to do it. It doesn’t matter if he’s suffering. He’ll suffer longer just to stay by your side, just as he suffered for all of those many years as a child. 

It’s how you know he loves you more than he’ll ever let on. He holds you in such esteem that he’ll let you leave him if you have to, though it’ll indubitably destroy him, destroy him more than staying could ever destroy you. Yet still he is giving you that permission, commanding it, even, because he’d rather destroy himself than let even the slightest harm befall your being.

You can only draw that conclusion because you know that he will never, can never, hurt you. He isn’t saying this as a warning, because it isn’t an inclination that he has. No, it’s a dark and ugly voice in the back of his mind — does it sound like his father’s? You feel that it must — insisting that he will do it, he will. He’ll hurt you. He’s the reason that his mother left and his father became something sick, and he’ll be the reason that you are broken and ruined and torn apart. He’ll do it. He’ll be the one to do it, it’s inevitable, he’ll scratch you with his thorns and gnaw at your remains with his fangs and maybe he’ll even cry during the act but he’ll still do it.

“Alright,” you say, though you want to protest that he is incapable, because it’s clear that he is testing you. Every argument which might fall from your lips, he has heard before, and if you dare utter them one more time, it’ll be the proof that you are lying. The way his thoughts work, the paths that they follow, they are winding and narrow, but perhaps your mother is right — perhaps you are coming to understand them.

“Do you think that I can?” he says.

“No,” you say. “The fact that you worry about it tells me that you won’t. You are better than that, Michael.”

“You really believe that?” he says. “With everything you are, you believe it?”

“I do,” you say.

You almost can’t believe it, but he laughs. Well, calling it a laugh is generous, it’s really more of an exhale, yet one which is unquestionably seeping with amusement, and you’re about to ask him what he finds so funny when he was so close to breaking down mere moments earlier, but he stops you before you can.

“I do,” he says. It’s an odd thing to repeat, but a second later your mind registers why he’s done it, and then the corners of your lips are curving up.

In the streets of Berlin, the two of you are alone; his mother’s poster is your only witness, but if she takes some offense, she remains smiling and silent, her gaze far away as her son — who isn’t her son, he isn’t hers at all, he’s yours and only yours — finally closes the minuscule gap between you both and kisses you fully.

[komitomi]

“Let me warm you up.” — Childe x afab!reader

synopsis: when childe takes you to his homeland, snezhnaya, you didn't expect it to be extremely cold, but luckily for you, he has his ways of warming you up.

; if you feel yourself wanting to community label this, please kindly just block me instead, it's annoying how people ignore the warnings right in front of them.

NSFW CONTENT! MDNI; afab!reader, p in v sex, porn with little plot, unprotected sex, breeding kink, clit stimulation, clitoral orgasm, cumming inside, missionary. + not proofread

By clicking read more, you are consenting to view this explicit content, you are responsible for your own experience

You shiver as you clutch the long and thick coat wrapped around you, which was given to you by childe himself when you arrived a while back in snezhnaya. You had not expected it to be this cold, it was worse than dragonstone and that says a lot.

People here are accustomed to wearing long and thick coats and going about their day, they say the nation represents the archon they are ruled by and your first impression of tsaritsa was that she is probably cold hearted and sharp minded, the bite from the environment tells you at least.

You know that childe works for her, in fact, the fatui were founded by her and there are other members, neither a friend or foe, and childe told you that he would introduce you to them when he gets a chance, he was currently gone too, probably in a meeting.

You had just finished putting his younger siblings to sleep, the eldest one helping you, Tonia was such a sweetheart, she was very nice and gentle, it seems she is used to this lifestyle since her elder siblings leave often, you have yet to meet childe's older siblings, they are absent quite often, and for days too, you felt bad for Tonia, having to take up such responsibility.

You were in childe's room, sitting by the fire as you clutched on tightly to the coat around you, in a way to warm you up, you sighed contently when your body temperature started adjusting and you finally felt warm.

You heard the door open behind you and you looked to see who it was, Childe was back and he gave you a small smile before sat down next to you and leaned his head on your shoulder, “How was the meeting?” you break the silence.

“Mhm well, we are discussing who should take up the 6th harbingers place since it has been empty for many years.” he said and you nodded, you didn't know what to tell him, you remember who the sixth harbinger was, scaramouche, specifically, childe was the one who told you that, yet it seems somehow everyone forgot about him and you didn't have a heart to remind them cause you had a sense of doom that if you were to remind them, bad things will fall upon teyvat.

You have heard about what forbidden knowledge had done in sumeru, you also remember their old God who everyone seemed to forget, so you stayed quiet, often times you wonder why you remember, wondered if you were crazy, wondered if it was only you who had memories of it but quickly you shake those thoughts away, deeming them useless to ponder about, and live in ignorance and pretense.

You shiver due to the cold once again, the cool air which entered the room when childe opened the door has lingered and finally felt it's chill, childe removed his head from your shoulder and looked at you, head tilting.

“Are you cold?” he asks and you nod, “Yeah, it seems that the weather here is quite difficult for me to get used to, I would much rather prefer the weather of mondstat or liyue, where the air is warm and crisp.” you tell him and he blinks at you.

“Quite the opposite for me, although it is nice to be in warmth and sunlight, I find myself preferring cold and cloudy skies, gives me a sense of familiarity.” he smiles and you smile back until you shiver again, you looked at the fire place and it seems that the fire is dying down, so you reach for the spare wood next to it only to find none and you groan.

“ugh, we ran out of wood, how am I supposed to survive this weather and night now? I am going to die without the warmth.” you sigh and childe looks at you in thought before a small devious smirk makes its way up his features.

“I can warm you up.” he says, tone changing as he leans forward, “How—” you cut yourself off when you realise how close he is, his breath hitting your face. Before you can process, his lips engulf yours and he lets out a satisfied groan.

“fuck, I missed these lips.” he pulls back and says before readjusting and kissing you once again, his hand cups your face as you kiss them back, coat falling to the ground, he pulls back and gets up, and you follow him to the bed.

He wastes no time in pushing you unto the bed before he slams his lips against you once again, this time the kiss was desperate as if he was controlling himself from losing control, you wrap your hands around his shoulders and pull him closer, he supports himself on one of his arm on your side while his knees rests in between your thigh, he pulls away and looks at your face.

Your eyes were dazed and you feel warm and fuzzy from the inside, he can tell you want it as badly as he does, so he quickly pulls off his clothing along with yours, the fireplace running out, your nipples harden as the now chill air bites your skin, arising goosebumps on your skin.

You feel cold but not for long when he presses his warm body against yours as he kisses your neck, leaving bite marks and he travels those wet kisses down your neck to your breasts before biting the flesh making you gasp.

His plays with your nipples with his hand, pinching them and pulling on them as you let out breathless moans, his hand leaves your nipples and travels to your exposed cunt where he finds your heat already wet. He groans against your neck when he feels your slick coating his fingers.

He brings the slick up your to clit and rubs small and slow circles making you grind against his hand, desperate to scratch that itch thats forming in your stomach as his hand gradually increases its pace.

It's only a few moments until he pulls on your clit, and your orgasm hits you, causing you to clench around nothing and throw your head back, moaning, he shuffles to place himself between your legs and grabs his now hard cock and gives it a few pumps.

You look at him and his cock, eyes darting back and forth, you gasp when you feel him line up against your aching hole, he gently pushes himself in, biting his lip when he feels how your cunt engulfs him as if it's made for him and him only, this ignites something in him.

“Holy archons— look at the way you take me so well.” he praises, causing heat to crawl up your face, he finally pushes himself inside completely and you let out a whimper, he places his hands on the sides of your shoulder and leans in to kiss you before he starts moving his lips, in and out of you.

You wrap your arms and legs around him for leverage as he ruts into you, pace increasing with time, you felt so full, no matter how many times you guys had sex you always found him too big, and he found you tight as well.

You moan loudly when childe hits the rough patch that was located inside you, which makes childe slap a hand over your mouth and hush you, “shh, not too loud, love. You don't want to wake the kids up, do you?” he asks and you nod, biting your lip to suppress your noises as he pounds mercilessly into you.

His stared at you with so much hunger, as if he had been starved for so many days, the way your eyebrows furrow, the way your eyes never leave his, looking at him half closed, it sends him over the edge.

He had noticed how you took care of his siblings, doting on them and being kind and gentle, oh how perfect of a mother you would make, he had always been a big family guy, wanting to have as many children as possible.

He wouldn't admit it to himself but he definitely had a breeding kink, disguised under the mask of a creampie kink, yet the cracks started to form once he found you laying with his siblings on the sofa, or when you would play with his brothers, running around and lifting them into your arms.

He wondered if you'd do that with your children as well, he groaned at the thought, the thought of you carrying his baby, your belly swelling round with his seed, “F-fuck i want to fill you up.” he groans out loud making you gasp.

“I want to knock you up, with my babies, you would make a good mother, I know it.” he babbles on and his pace begins to falter, indicating that he was near, you blush at his words and close your eyes when you feel a familiar coil begin to form in your stomach.

You and childe both cum at the same time, causing you to clench around him as he let's out a grunt when he feels you milking him, it almost feeling like you were squeezing out his seed to which he became even more aroused at.

You both ride out your highs before childe pulls out and flops down onto your side, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead, before pulling the sheets over your naked bodies, you close your eyes and basked in his warmth.

You wondered how he managed to keep you more warm than the fireplace, that too naked, his body heat engulfed yours and you feel warm and fuzzy, sleep coming to both of you as you guys were tired due to the events of the day.

You both fell asleep that way.

[mustainegf]

→ masterpost

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏

WARNINGS: mention of abortion, angst, breakup, slight arguing, pregnancy

My footfalls were echoing in the empty hallway, with a scent of fear hanging on my nostrils; it was strange being here, under these fluorescent lights, waiting for information that could change my life within seconds. I had already been crushed by the loss of James and now this gnawing worry about my health chewed into me like a relentless beast.

Sitting in the plain white room, I felt all of that pressing down on me. Here I am alone as James is halfway around the world thrashing his guitar and screaming into his microphone. We had just recently ended our romantic relationship with each other.

There was no worse time to end things but he’d become distant, besides we were torn apart by endless touring and my own lack of confidence. I missed him so much that it hurt, a dull pain radiating from my chest throughout my whole body.

The doctor walked into the room, her face looking grave. My heart missed a beat. This won’t go well, I thought, and prepared myself for the worst.

“Miss,” she started, her voice firm but compassionate. “The tests came back… You’re almost a month into your pregnancy.”

I felt wind knocked out of me as if someone had punched me in the stomach. Pregnant? I gazed at her without hearing anything. A surge of emotions swept over me at the speed of light while my mind raced in circles.

“But…” I mumbled to myself more than to her. “How?”

We took precautions, didn't we? Yet here I am carrying our baby.

The doctor kept talking, telling me what my options were and giving support and advice, but her words became a faint hum as they got lost in the storm of thoughts inside my mind. I responded mechanically, said thank you to her and walked out of the hospital tiredly with a haze of confusion and fear in front of my mind.

I have no memory of how I actually made it home. The city rolled by on autopilot for me in a smear of color and light while my mind was stuck in an endless loop of ‘if’ or ‘why’. How would James take it? Can we save the bits and pieces left of our relationship?

As soon as I reached home, reality hit me like a jackhammer that would slam right into my face. My legs visibly shook when I crossed the door frame. Every step I took around the place echoed. Finally, I stepped into my room, which was where I hid most of the time.

I fell onto the bed, letting the tears stream down my face. I curled up on James's side, the side still scented with him, his cologne scent faintly in the sheets. It wasn't really his side any longer. It hadn't been since we broke up. But to me, it would always be his side.

My body was soon overcome by sobs, everything kicking in. There was a baby inside me, a tiny little life that James and I had brought into this world. How could this have happened? I just buried my face in the pillow, allowing the fabric to feed on my tears.

He was halfway around the world, living the life of a rock star, and I was here, alone, carrying his child.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together, but it was no use, I was shattering.

But for now, I just lay there, crying into James' pillowcase, the smell of him somehow both a comfort and a torture. The future was wide open, and I just didn't know what was going to happen. But there was one thing I did know: I wasn't alone in this. I had a little life inside me, part James and part mine, and that was something worth fighting for. Right..?

I was beyond sobbing, but inside, the storm still raged. I lay on my bed, gazing at the ceiling; and suddenly a new thought entered my head, a thought even darker, for the first time: get an abortion.

The question hung my unspoken breath, oppressive. It had been a practical solution, one that would have made things easier, make the world make sense once more.

Was I really capable of ending this life growing inside me? The life that was made up of me and the man I loved? My stomach twisted with the thought. This baby was conceived out of a love that was deep, and real, even though it had recently gone silent. A love that was no more, at least for him.

I remembered the smiling face of James when his eyes lit up atop a radiant joy. I remembered how he held me, protectively, as if I was his world entirely. Now here I was thinking about ending a life that carried a part of that love inside it.

The more I thought about it, the more abortion sounded like betrayal. Betrayal not just to James, but to myself and my future child. I covered my stomach with a hand, and found a strange connection with the life there, growing.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't end this pregnancy. The thought of disrupting something so pure, something created from the best parts of us, made me want to crumble. Again, my eyes welled up, but this time they were not the same. They were tears of acceptance, of a decision made.

I lay in our bedroom, well, my bedroom, wrapped in silence, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this decision would determine my future and that no matter what, really, I would walk the line, for James, and for the little life inside me.

It should have been just another night. The moon was low outside, shining silver through the window and painting my pacing figure in the cramped living room. The suffocating silence of our flat closed in around me; I felt like my own personal caged animal. James was late again.

When the front door finally creaked open, I whirled to face him. He stumbled in reeking of alcohol and smoke, his eyes glassy, unfocused. There was something about seeing him like this, disheveled and far away that was the thing that broke me. My heart twisted between anger and sorrow.

"You're late," I said. My voice shook with the effort of still holding it in.

He scrutinized me, the flicker of irritation running over his features again. "Got held up," he muttered, kicking off his shoes in the direction of the kitchen.

"Held up? James, you're always held up. Touring, partying, drinking, it's always something. Do you even care anymore?" My voice was rising with each word, frustration spilling gradually.

He spun around to me, his eyes narrowing. "Don't start. I'm tired."

"You're tired? What about me? I'm tired of waiting on you, of being made to feel like I'm second best behind everything else in your life!" The tears were there, but I struggled to hold them off.

He let his breath out in a whoosh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "This again? You knew what you were getting into when we started this."

I felt his words hurt. "What I knew was that I loved you, that I believed in us. But now.now it feels like you're slipping away, like I'm losing you to this- this lifestyle."

He took a step closer and his face softened just a bit. "Baby, it's not like that. You know I love you."

I threw my head back, the tears now running down my face without hindrance. "Do you? Because I don't see it anymore. I miss you, James. I miss that boy I fell in love with. I miss my Jamie."

The gentleness touched his eyes, replacing quickly with defensiveness, his jaw ticking. "I told you, I've told you a number of times. This is my life. It's who I am."

He was lying. When I met James he wasn’t like this. He was the sweetest and shyest boy I’d ever seen. And now, we’re here…

"And what about who we are?" I sobbed, my voice cracking. "What about us? Are we just supposed to fall apart because you can't balance your life and our relationship?"

His silence was a deafening confirmation of my worst fears. He averted his gaze, looking away from me, and in that single, simple act, something inside me broke.

"I can't keep doing this," I whispered, the words almost too painful to say aloud. "I can't."

He turned back to me, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. "So what are you saying? We’re done?"

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat almost choking me to death. "Maybe. maybe we need to."

Then James just nodded, his eyes resigned. "Maybe you're right," he said softly. "Maybe we should stop. This… isn't working."

His words were final, and they hit me like a slap. We stood there facing each other, two broken people. I wanted to reach out, pull him close, and make everything better, but we both knew deep down that was much too late now.

"I love you," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "But I can't hurt this way anymore."

He nodded, letting a tear trace down his cheek. "I love you too. More than anything."

With those words, the last thread holding us together snapped. I turned away, unable to bear the sight of his pain and walked toward the bedroom. I could hear him moving there, the sound of his footsteps echoing in an empty room. He paused at the doorway, seemingly wanting to say something, but then he was gone.

I fell onto the bed, crying into the pillow. His side. That was his side, but it wasn't anymore. The bed felt huge, empty, bereft of what we had lost, and I cried until no more tears would fall, the emotional exhaustion finally dragging me off to a fitful sleep.

He was gone by morning. A note on the kitchen counter, a few hastily packed bags and the silence of an empty apartment. This was real, and it hit me harder than I could have ever imagined.

I keep the note on my bedside table.

“I love you, I’ll see you again. -Your Jamie.”

The days turned into weeks, and it didn't hurt any less. I missed him so much it physically hurt. Missed his laughter, missed his kisses on my skin. But deep in my heart, I knew we had done the right thing. I hoped.

The memory faded, and I was returned to the still quiet of the early morning. I clutched James's pillow, the faint scent of him still lingering. I missed him so much, a deep ache that never seemed to go away.

Light seeped through the curtains and filled my bedroom with its soft glow. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The now very familiar wave of nausea swept up inside me. Morning sickness was routine for me. But it had different meaning now. I knew what it was from now.

I rolled over, clutching at my stomach, and closed my eyes.

Slowly I sat up and wiped away the tears that had begun to stream down my cheeks. I had to be strong, for me and this baby. I had made my choice, and now I had to live with it.

I stood and made my way toward the bathroom. There wasn't going to be much about the path ahead that was going to be easy. That meant morning sickness in the belly. For now, one step at a time.

And maybe, just maybe, we'll find our way back to each other.

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 02

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), Brock Rumlow

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: Bucky’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and his chest grew bigger as he took a deep breath through the nose. His mouth curved into a bitter smile. He stared at Brock for a while longer, then moved away, as if he intended to leave you two alone.

On your way to a meeting with Brock Rumlow and his father, you wondered what it would cost you to jump out of a moving car. Would something like that be worse than marrying Brock and becoming part of his Family? The Family, which was mainly in the business of prostitution and drugs? Actually, drugs were an issue that you tolerated. But the vision of a relationship – arranged or not – with a pimp made you nauseous.

And all you knew about Brock was that he was hot-tempered, impulsive and aggressive, but this wasn’t uncommon among gangsters. 

You also remembered what Bucky said.

Do you honestly believe Brock Rumlow will hold up his part of the deal? Did you forget his relationship with women or are you just going to overlook it?

“Try to keep an open mind.” You heard Michael. The sound of his voice managed to stop the chaos in your head. “James can be persuasive and thinks he knows everything. But remember he is not in your situation and never will be, so try not to turn against me. Focus on the welfare of the Family.”

You restrained yourself from snorting at his words. Focusing on the welfare of the Family and business had become one big headache for you – it was giving you sleepless nights, eating you alive, and Michael was asking you for more. You were already tired, stressed and sick to your stomach. 

The car stopped outside the pub that Rumlows had proposed for a meeting, and as soon as the engine was turned off, and you realised the seriousness of the situation and how close you were to it, you felt an overpowering sense of anxiety and panic. Your breathing became uneven, the inside of your hands damp with sweat. 

You jumped uneasily as the driver opened the door for you.

“I need a moment.” You were able to focus enough to make your voice sound normal, and the words left your mouth almost flawlessly. “I’ll just fix my makeup.” 

Being alone in the car was somehow helping, but you still couldn't bring yourself to exit the vehicle – that step led straight to a meeting with Brock Rumlow.

“What is going on?” You heard a muffled voice that belonged to neither Michael nor the driver, so you looked up at the side window. Bucky was standing just by the car door, he wasn't speaking to you but to Michael. 

“She wanted a few minutes for herself.” 

Frowning, Bucky looked inside the car through the window, and you could easily see the confusion in his eyes. For a moment, you just looked at each other – you with pure mess in your head, and he as if trying to read your mind from the expression on your face. He grabbed the handle, and a refreshing spring air burst inside the car.

“Hey,” Bucky spoke gently, leaning towards you. “You okay?”

“I-” you gasped. Closing your eyes, you took the biggest possible breath you could afford right now. “I'm not sure I want to go there.”

Bucky stared at you in silence, a pained concern spreading across his face. He clenched his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” you continued in a trembling voice. “I don't normally get all-... like that. I’m not a child,” you were babbling mindlessly, fearing that otherwise he would have thought you were a spoiled hysteric.

“I know,” Bucky said immediately, cutting off your train of thought. “Listen…” he began with a hesitation. He let out a quiet sigh and wetted his lips. “We go there and it'll all be over soon. You don’t have to make any decisions yet,” he stated. “I'll be there the whole time. And I won't let anyone hurt you. Alright?” His voice was soft, delicate, but firm and decisive at the same time. “We’ll get out of there anytime you want, huh?”

The longer you stared at Bucky's face, the less anxious you felt. You genuinely believed you would be safe with him. You didn't have the head to wonder why you trusted him implicitly at that moment, but one thought automatically came to you – you needed someone like him in that situation; someone who didn't pressure you. 

You nodded, and Bucky smiled. He seemed to relax a little, as if a wave of relief had spread through his body.

“I don’t want to be late.” You sounded weak, embarrassed by the scene from a moment ago. But it looked like Bucky was pretending not to see anything.

“They set the meeting in a pub,” he said with a disapproval that was not far from disgust. “Make them wait.” 

Brock greeted you with a smile that faded as soon as Bucky entered the building. Rumlow Senior did a much better job of hiding his displeasure, but still watched him with caution. Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to be completely calm. Bored even.

Brock invited you to a booth, where you and Michael took a seat. Brock and his father sat opposite, and Bucky grabbed a chair from another table and moved it a little closer.

“Seriously,” Brock finally spoke up, indicating impatience. “What's this clown doing here?”

“You don’t know what clowns do, Brock?” Bucky answered. “They make people smile.” He reached for the knife attached to his belt. “Wanna try? I can give you one.”

You watched Bucky and your mouth went dry. You thought it was inappropriate, to say the least – you were sitting in front of, presumably, your future husband, but it was someone else who made you need to wet your throat and collect your thoughts. You had an unclear sense of how Bucky was affecting you, but you told yourself that any handsome man would make a similar impression on you. And Bucky was just that. Beautiful with his blue, sad eyes, nose perfect in every way, and pink, plump lips. Well-built as far as your eyesight could reach. He smelled nice; not as strong and overwhelming as the men you usually came into contact with. And his hair must have been really soft to touch…

Shaking your head to get rid of these thoughts, you reached for the glass of ice water standing in front of you. You stuck your guilt-filled gaze into the table top and dipped your lips into the cold, refreshing liquid.

Michael cleared his throat. “We should get to business.”

The beginning of the conversation was similar to what you had already heard that night when Timothy Barnes turned up at your house. You all knew what the deal was supposed to be about, but Michael had been going over it from the start – he wanted to make sure that there were no misunderstandings, and that the Rumlow Family would not actually use the agreement against yours.

You wondered why Brock didn't interfere; why he didn't have questions, didn't ask for correction or clarification of any issue. And when you glanced at him you noticed that he was looking at you in a way that made you even more nauseous. You couldn't compare it to the situation when John Walker was watching you. Although he was doing it inappropriately, it wasn't harmful. Brock, on the other hand, had something so rejecting and disgusting in his look that you would rather have disappeared out of his sight.

We’ll get out of there anytime you want.

Having remembered Bucky's words, you turned your gaze to him. Yet Bucky wasn’t focusing on you. Running his fingertip over the blunt side of the knife, he stared at Brock.

“How much exactly is there to take over?” Rumlow Senior asked.

“Well…” Michael sighed heavily. “An art gallery, two casinos; one here, the other in Atlantic City, three real estates, shares in the stock market, arms dealing for Mr. Anthony Stark…” he listed for formality; most of the Mafia community knew about each of these things. Except for the location of the real estates Michael had mentioned. “The territory of all activities, the protection of businesses in that area. And political influence.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief from his jacket. “As long as, of course, you take care of such friends,” he told Brock. “And I must admit that we would prefer to maintain good relationships with them.”

“Cross out the gallery,” you said. “It belongs to me only, and I decide what happens to it.” You seemed surprisingly assertive to everyone in the room, and when you noticed the perplexed looks on both Rumlows’ faces, you forced a falsely sweet smile. 

“If that's your only condition…” Brock replied.

“Not really,” Bucky interjected, casually scratching his back with the knife he had played with earlier. “Y/N will have a full view of what is happening with the things she owns. I'm talking about casinos and everything else,” he clarified blandly. “And one hundred percent decision-making in major changes.”

You glanced uneasily at Bucky. Since you had no idea about running your father's business, you didn't need all this. But you understood his strategy – Bucky wanted to secure you against Brock. 

Brock clenched his fists and took a deep breath. Looking at him, you thought involuntarily of a bull provoked by a red rag. “What's all this? A fucking prenup?”

Rumlow Senior put his hand on Brock’s shoulder. “Of course,” He smiled mysteriously, ignoring his son's anger. “Miss Y/N will have total control over her father's business. Provided that a male descendant is born within one year of the marriage.”

You were prepared to hear this. However, it seemed to you that Rumlow Senior had maliciously taken advantage of this condition because you and Bucky had got under his skin. 

“Write down your version of the agreement, we will do the same,” Michael broke the brief silence, his voice monotone. “We’ll compare both versions and reach the final one.”

Brock offered you something to drink, and hoping to still see something in him that would make the arrangement less painful, you agreed. Michael and Rumlow Senior stayed in the booth; it didn't bother you that they could have already started discussing points of the possible agreement. Bucky was sitting right next to them and you knew he would have intervened on your behalf. What you didn't know was why he was doing it. You didn't even have any grounds to guess, but you decided to go with the assumption that he wanted you in his debt.

You stood at the bar. Although the pub was closed, the bartender was behind the counter, ready to take your order.

“What are you drinking?” Brock asked. “To celebrate our new friendship?” He sized you up in a way that he probably thought was discreet. 

You didn't want to celebrate anything. You needed to numb yourself out.

“Tequila?” You smiled with pursed lips. 

Brock nodded at the bartender, and the man placed two small glasses and a full bottle on the counter, then poured the alcohol. You grabbed one of the glasses and consumed its content in one steady tilt. The fire burning your throat briefly distracted you from the situation you found yourself in. Grimacing, you slid the glass back to the bartender, who filled it without a word.

“That prenup, you know…” Brock started, taking a step closer to you. “You could've just asked nicely. And I would give you everything you want.” He shrugged. You didn't believe a word he said. But if he actually spoke sincerely, you guessed what he meant by ‘asking nicely’. “You didn't have to bring Barnes here to get it done for you. I'm even a bit discouraged now, to be honest.”

There was a sense of distaste in your mouth that you needed to wash away with another shot of tequila.

“You’re right. Sorry,” you said with insincere remorse, and only did so because it was some way of getting out of this confrontation alive. You believed that if you behaved submissively enough, Brock would leave you alone. But, actually, you felt like laughing. Yes, Brockie, you thought. You’re a genius; so smart, so perfect. And a fucking prick. 

“On second thought… You can still ask nicely. I will listen to you in private, what about that?” He moved even closer to you. One of Brock's hands found its way to your hip. Immediately the other followed, and before you knew what was actually happening, Brock was pressing you against his body.

“Take your hands off me, please.” There was no panic in your voice, just patience. 

“Why?” He didn't even pretend to be surprised by your request. “Don't you think we should get to know each other better? We don't have much time. I mean, only a year? Minus nine months or whatever,” he added, and it sounded much more disgusting than you could've imagined.

“Get your fucking hands off her, Rumlow, or I’ll break them.”

You didn't even notice when Bucky appeared nearby. The anger, although controlled, was still visible on his face. And it seemed entirely justified to you – Bucky had warned you and Michael about Brock from the very beginning.

Rumlow stepped back reluctantly. “What's the big deal? We are almost married!”

“Do you remember signing anything, Brock? Huh?” Bucky said with apparent calm. “Maybe you do because coke has fried your fucking brain.” 

Trying to intimidate him, Brock stood right in front of Bucky. But Bucky turned out to be unfazed by it. 

“It will happen. Sooner or later, ‘cause there’s no more profitable candidate on the market, and you know that,” Brock muttered. “And sooner rather than later I’m going to fuck her.” He nodded in your direction. “But don't worry, we'll name our first son James. Or maybe not, since that name seems to bring bad luck. I already know one James who put his daddy in a grave.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and his chest grew bigger as he took a deep breath through the nose. His mouth curved into a bitter smile. He stared at Brock for a while longer, then moved away, as if he intended to leave you two alone.

“That’s right, Buck. Stay out of it.” Brock turned back to you. “Where were we?” He licked his lips. 

He didn't manage to get close to you again. Two hands landed on his shoulders and jerked with such force that Brock fell onto a nearby table. Before he had a chance to do something, Bucky came at him, taking a couple heavy steps. With one hand, he grabbed his shirt and held him in place; with the fist of the other, he punched him in the face hard enough to make Brock stagger again. This, however, enraged him enough to regain some control – Brock attacked Bucky, and he took that gladly.

They exchanged a few blows; Bucky aimed his nimbly and precisely, Brock seemed to strike blindly. And that's probably why he ended up on the floor, with Bucky's shoe print on his dark T-shirt.

Brock was catching his breath and Bucky observed his work, but he didn't finish it off. He stood more or less in the same place from which he had pushed Brock. 

You enjoyed it. A lot. It wasn't necessarily about Brock getting what he deserved, but the spectacle itself. Men punching each other – the kind of violence you loved in some twisted way, especially when there was alcohol running through your veins.

Michael and Rumlow Senior were also watching the whole scene. Neither of them intended to react, and both looked as if they were witnessing a fight between two teenagers too young to control their anger and raging hormones. 

“Hey…” You turned to the bartender. “Can I get a cloth and some ice?”

Rumlow whispered something to Michael, then helped his son up. “Let’s go, you-” he growled, his mouth set in a hard line. Michael left the pub behind them, presumably to smooth things over.

The bartender placed a clean cloth and a glass filled with ice cubes on the counter. You poured them onto the cloth and folded it, making a cold compress. 

When Bucky appeared at the bar, you glanced at him without saying a word. Although the redness stretching from his temple to his cheekbone was quite clear to see, you carefully studied his entire face, trying to find something else there. You weren't sure what exactly, but you were somehow satisfied to notice in his eyes traces of cooled anger slowly turning to consternation.

Again, Bucky was allowing you to come into wordless contact with him, so without any resistance you lowered your gaze to his right hand, resting loosely on the surface of the counter. His knuckles looked much worse than his face, but it didn't surprise you – he threw more punches than he took. 

As you looked up at his face, you caught his eyes. They were bored into you.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked, breaking the silence between you.

“If it was about me, I would say it wasn't the smartest thing you could have done,” you answered, reaching for the prepared compress. You enjoyed the show, but you were worried Bucky had gotten himself into trouble because of that, and it was your fault.

You lifted the compress to his face and pressed it to the side, and he didn't even blink. 

“Well, it was about you,” he threw out casually, without making the slightest effort to convince you that this was indeed the case. 

“Sure,” You pressed the compress harder, making Bucky wince slightly. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being snarky,” he sighed.

“It’s okay. You got every right to be angry,” you claimed. “Brock shouldn’t have brought up your dad like that.” 

“You’re right,” Bucky agreed, his voice bland once again. “I could have punched him earlier. Before he even started talking’.”

You smiled slightly and tilted your head, looking at him with the least believable disapproval there was.

“How's your pain?” you asked softly, nodding at his hand. 

Bucky looked at it too, then lifted it off the counter, bent and stretched his fingers. “It’s nothing,” he stated, although you could see that the bloody wounds were making him uncomfortable.

The door of the pub slammed, so you both instinctively looked in that direction. You've never seen Michael so annoyed before.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he scolded Bucky. “Do you have any idea what you just did? Now I have to somehow convince the Rumlows not to give up on us.”

“For what?” Bucky bit back. “To sell your protege to these fu-”

“Watch your tone.”

“Michael,” you began. You intended not only to express your opinion, but also to give Bucky some space; to take Michael off of his back. “You don’t have to convince the Rumlows to anything.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “How come?”

“Well…” you hesitated, nibbling on your bottom lip. You were aware that he was trying to save your father's life's work, and you weren't making it any easier for him. But it was time to face the truth – Brock was the worst possible candidate. “I don’t think my marriage with Brock will work out. Rumlow Senior doesn’t want to cooperate, he just wants more power. And Brock couldn’t care less about business.” In reality, you had no idea if it was actually the truth. But some gut instinct told you to plant a seed of doubt in Michael. 

And you knew you had succeeded – Michael was silent, considering something.

“All right,” he said. “I will contact Rumlow Senior one last time. If they agree to our terms, we will meet with them again. If they demand more, no deal will be done.”

The situation wasn't ideal, but at least you had bought yourself some time.

“And one more thing,” Michael added. “This is the last meeting you attended.” He looked at Bucky. “Whether it's Brock or any other candidate, I don't want to see you. I will not accept you messing with Y/N's head. I want you to stay away from her. Is that clear?” 

At first glance, Bucky seemed unmoved. But there was something in his eyes – something strikingly similar to the way he looked at Brock before he came at him. 

“Is that clear, Mr. Barnes?”

“Yeah. I heard you the first time,” Bucky answered. He headed to the door, and without saying a word, or at least glimpsing at you, left the pub.

taglist:  @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446

[avatar-anna]

Anything with proff and Harry! They are my favorite couple that you write I love them!!

Happy Easter!!!🐇💐🐣

The Professor Series

"Y/n, tell him to stop!"

"Stop being such a baby!"

"I'm not a baby!"

You looked down at the five and seven year old running toward you with wide eyes, unsure of what to say or how to handle this situation. Harry's family had graciously invited you to an Easter brunch in Holmes Chapel, and since you'd never really celebrated before, you decided to attend out of curiosity.

Things were good. Harry's extended family was nice and polite, not once making you feel out of place. And that went for Harry's godchildren, apparently, who were now bickering in front of you. You didn't consider yourself someone who was great with kids, but you had yet to make anyone cry, so that had to count for something.

"Um...stop," you said, looking at the seven year old, a little boy with curly blond hair.

The five year old, a girl with a big pink bow in her hair, had big eyes filled with tears and frustrated red cheeks. "He's teasing me," she said, tugging on the hem of your skirt. "He called me dumb for saying the Easter bunny came to my house."

You opened your mouth to say what you were told at her age, that there was no Easter bunny and that bunnies couldn't even lay eggs which made this whole tradition absolutely absurd, but caught yourself. The girl was five and had the right to believe in such things. And your original statement probably would've made the situation worse.

So you turned to the boy and said, "Do you have any proof that the Easter bunny didn't go to her house?"

He seemed surprised by your question, but eventually answered. "No, but—"

"To make a sound argument, you need evidence, and it doesn't sound like you have any," you said

The boy mumbled under his breath before running off, perhaps to terrorize another child that was smaller than him. Looking down at the girl, you smiled and tentatively patted her on the head. "Okay, then. Off you go."

You walked away from the girl, unsure what you were supposed to do from there. Not quite ready to socialize some more, you went into an empty room and sat down on a couch, closing your eyes as a sigh left your lips. Harry was probably wondering where you wandered off to, but you just needed a moment to yourself. You'd been looking for a room to decompress when the two kids ran up to you.

You sat on the couch with your eyes closed for a few minutes, letting the silence settle you. Harry's family were thrilled to see you and had question after question about your job and your travels and whatnot. And you'd spent most of the day by Harry's side, but somehow you got separated, though it wasn't as daunting as you would've thought. You were familiar with enough members of his family to feel comfortable, and they were familiar enough with you to somewhat understand your humor and quirks.

As you sat on the couch, you felt the cushions dip as someone sat down. After peeking an eye open, you saw the girl from moments ago.

"Are you sleeping?" She asked, tilting her head to one side as she looked at you.

"No, I'm just resting my eyes," you replied, trying not to sound too abrupt.

It wasn't that you disliked kids, you just didn't have a lot of experience with them. And they were just so...sensitive. You had a very blunt form of communication that was probably too harsh for younger children. Your own childhood didn't give you much guidance on how to speak to them, either.

"Can I rest my eyes too?"

"I'm not going to stop you."

The girl took that as confirmation enough. You expected her to make herself comfortable on the couch and close her eyes, but she took you by surprise.

"Oh, I don't think—Please don't—"

But it was too late. The four year old was in your lap, resting her head on your chest.

Your entire body went still as she huffed out a small sigh and rested her eyes just like she said. You didn't really want her on top of you, but you didn't have the heart to move her, either. So you were stuck, trying not to make any sudden movements as the little girl fell asleep.

Harry didn't mean to lose track of you, he really didn't. He'd gotten stopped a couple times by friends and family he hadn't seen in a long time on his way back to you, and then suddenly too much time had passed and he hadn't seen you amongst the guests milling around in his mother's back garden.

He knew you probably went off somewhere to be alone. It was something you did often when you joined Harry at parties or anywhere you had to talk to people you weren't familiar with. But he normally went with you to help you wind down, or at least keep you company until you were ready to go back out again.

Stepping inside the house, he checked various rooms to see if you'd snuck off while the party continued outside. On the third try, he found you in the living room, but you weren't alone.

Harry knew how you felt about kids. Neither of you talked about it often because you weren't really there yet, but he knew they sometimes made you uncomfortable or out of your depth.

And yet there you were, sitting on the sofa with his goddaughter sleeping against your chest. Harry's heart clenched at the sight for a moment, but when he saw the slightly panicked look on your face, he couldn't help but laugh lightly.

"Make a new friend?" he asked, stepping further into the room.

You turned your head toward him, clearly not as amused as Harry was. "She just...placed herself on me."

"That means she likes you, love," he said, but sat down next to you so he could take the young girl into his arms anyway.

"Why?"

You sounded so genuinely confused it was cute. Harry leaned over and kissed your forehead. "I think you're better with kids than you think you are."

You considered what he said for a moment, quietly mulling it over in your head. "I still don't like how sticky they are."

Harry chuckled and stood up with his goddaughter and offered a hand to help you stand. "I don't think anyone does, to be fair."

You waited for Harry while he laid the four year old down in a bed upstairs. As he walked away, the only thing on your mind was, "He would make a good dad."

[thebottomfromhell]

ONE-SHOT

Female Human (later Demon) Reader becoming Muzans lover

Ok, I will be evil with this one. This is the typical "reader/oc is yeeted i to the Mary Sue role because she is oh so special" but done my own way, which is basically destroy the promt into something more in character, so it might not be everyone's taste. Also being Muzan's part from this post.

Warnings: Manga Spoilers, Sexism, Power imbalance, Non-consented body modification (being turned into a demon), Narcissistic character, and Slight yandere behavior.

Muzan would never admit humanity has impressed him more than a fingers count of times. There have been several humans he found himself amazed with, but honestly? That only makes them less special. But the fact is still the same, when a human is capable os such a thing, it means they are worth of being more. Of being... almost perfect. Because no matter how many times he finds himself linked to human, humanity is a desease. The desease of getting tired, old, injured, weak and dead.

Not that he would ever go as far as to get rid of humans completely, what would he eat if he did? And raising them as cattle seems rather cruel, not only that but he must admit he enjoys human's products. The technology, the arts, the arquitecture... it would be a waste to get rid of it.

You were, are, impressive, not at the same level of Tamayo, but still an impressive woman he met as he was passing by as human. There was something about you, something he wanted. He couldn't ignore it, even if he did try, even if he had a hard time recognizing it. Specially because he didn't know why. With Akaza, it was his strengh. With Nakime, it was his wickedness. With Enmu, it was his... oddity. With Gyutaro, it was his hatred. With Gyokko, it was his art. With Rui, it was their resemblance. With Hantengu, it was his will and madness. With Kokushibou, it was his power and pride. For fuck's sake, he transformed Douma because of his shitty eyes! But in every case he knew exactly what he was doing and why at giving them their position in the Kizuki system.

Meanwhile, you can't compare to any of them. You aren't half as strong as most humans who called up his attention, you are sane, you are normal, average. Why are you here? In his head? Why does he let you stay near him, even when he should have killed you after switching to a new life. You met Muzan as a child, an odd one, very mature and smart for his age, but also had something you couldn't describe, but it set you off. Specially as he kept staring at you while you followed your routine.

You always made sure to show him bare minimum courtesy, he was the child of someone rich, after all. You didn't really care, until a young man came to you, he was very attractive and you did consider for a few seconds asking to meet or something. You are already an adult but haven't married yet, so people talk a lot about you, mostly condensending or nosy things. Maybe getting someone would stop the talking, as, depending on particular people, can be from annoying to hurtful. But after considering a few seconds, you decided it's not worth it, since you didn't know this man. You never wanted to come off as "desperate", that would make the rumours about you worse.

The thing is that. You didn't know this man, "Hello, Y/N." and yet he knows your name. He has a sweet voice, but something upseting from... you don't even know from what. "Excuse me, do we know each other?" You ask nerviously, and every second you look at him, he somehow manages to be more scary. There is something in the air, something... almost cursed. "We do, actually. But that doesn't matter. Tell me, dear, what do you think of your life?" He asks, but honestly? It feels that this is more to make up a conversation than to actually know about you.

You answer, lying in some details, saying some things mostly because it's correct to say it. In some aspects, you don't feel like other women, like you are not like the other ladies, hence you are also treated differently, maybe that is the reason you never got a fiance, even is it's considered unsightful that a young lady doesn't get any attention at all. Most men think you are "hard to manage", so they don't. You don't really like it but at this point you learned not to care. You also tell some truths, but not really giving so much detail. You just want to leave. There is something about this guy giving you creeps.

"I see." He chuckles a bit, and while it sounded nice, melodious even, it only made you tense up. "Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting asking such a silly question. But I guess you do have something interesting, you want to scape your life." That is not odd to find, most of his demons felt that same way. Akaza wanted to scape his family's death and lack of purpose, Kokushibou wanted to scape his weakness and sense of inferiority to his brother, Douma wanted to scape the numbness of the cult, Hantengu wanted to scape his criminal record and death sentence, Nakime wanted to scape her life as a poor wife of a gambler, even Rui wanted to scape his sickness.

You are no different. You are not special. And yet, annoyingly, he can't shake off his interest towards you. Maybe, because you are not special, he should enlist you with the others. In the best case scenario, you will join the Kizuki system. At the worst? He will get bored of you when you prove to be useless. Because, while attracked, he doesn't have the patience to stay by when there is so much to do. He can only have the best and the most useful assets by his side. Prove yourself then.

You didn't even manage to blink before you feel a potent sting of pain in your skull, the smell of blood that runs through your face makes you panic, but you can't move. The pain becomes numb as a liquid, an odd liquid, is... injected to your brain. It burns, but every pain is subdued. Then you feel cold air against your flesh as he removes his hand. "Join me, my dear. Prove that you deserve to be at my side." Everything else goes in a flash, as you become more overwhealmed and your body stretches, your skin becomes ick, your blood preassure rises. Everything becomes pain for a moment... and then nothing.

No pain, no cold, no nothing. Just hunger, hunger for more blood. For him. But humans will have to do, because you are just so hungry you can't think straight. Did you ever? Because now. It's just your hunger and him what matter. "You are doing well, Y/N. Prove yourself worth it, and I will have an special gift for you." How could you reject that?

[milkywaydrabbles]

With the last kinks you did, they were hard and good!! but I was looking at your other list and I read this my god, you never told me that you knew how to cook and I remembered that it has always been said that Alucard is a good cook, but what would happen if one day after patrolling the village, he arrived to see that his beautiful wife prepared lunch or dinner for him, Alucard deserves to be cared for and fed well after so much that has happened to him 🥺

A/N: I love Adrian Tepes with my entire being!!!! I want to dote on him forever!! ;; ty for the sweet fluff I love him. I was trying to keep this lighthearted and funsies hahas but somehow it got super serious and romantic gah ;A; I loved this and I hope you love it too mwuah

"Oh my god I didn't know you could cook" x Alucard

Days were getting longer, more sunlight shining through the sky for a few extra hours, for which Alucard was grateful. The attacks on the village were still steady, however he did less and less as time went on, the makeshift soldiers amongst the property becoming quite successful at fending for themselves. Of course, Alucard would still be around should anything drastic occur. This was his castle and within the walls, he had a duty to protect the people he’d invited into his home. Some days were harder for him though, mind always floating back to his pregnant wife that he’d leave throughout his patrols to care for the village. It pained him, but you’d always be there and shoo him away saying ‘we’re fine here, Adrian, go look after someone who needs it!’ with a wink and a bump of your hip. He was so grateful for you, for how patient you are with him, how loving and caring you are with all the children around the village--Alucard truly couldn’t have asked for a better life. 

Even Trevor, the notoriously obnoxious (now father!) fighter had been reeled in, being put in his place one too many times by you and Sypha to poke and prod at him anymore. He was softer whenever you came around, in fear of another shoe being brought down on his head. (He said your ‘hormones would only get worse from here, careful Alucard’ with a snicker, before feeling the thud of a boot falling from the staircase above him. Frantic he looked up at you, to which you replied ‘I’ll show you hormones, Belmont!’ he never brought it up again.)

But now you’re seven months pregnant, and Alucard fears for your safety more and more. He wishes to be there, more present than he has been (you say he’s been present, he doesn’t feel it!) He thinks of the last moments before he walked out into the early morning light to patrol the village for the day, belly round and waddling to give him one last kiss at the door. He’s mentally drawn hearts around the picture in his mind, finishing up the patrol as quickly as he could. It was getting closer to dinner time, which means that he had to get home to cook you and the baby a meal! A few more loose conversations here and there, and he was off--back home to his doting wife and mother of his child. 

“Sweetheart I’m--hm?” The mix of delicious aromas filled his senses, warmth in the castle emitting from the kitchen. This...is new. You’d never really made more than a few scrambled eggs in the morning, hastily scrounging something up before you went on your early patrols (before you were pregnant) and now he’s smelling what could be an entire holiday meal coming from the kitchen. Slowly he made his way, poking his head through the entryway and smiling at the sight: you with an apron (that barely fit! cute) tied at your back, plopping a few bowls and pots on the kitchen table that was set already for the both of you. Your hair was messy, tied back in a ribbon and your brows scrunched, probably trying to get everything perfect. But you were happy, he could tell: the smile on your face gave it away. He knocked on the wall as to not startle you, “darling, what are you doing?”

You let out a small gasp, too concentrated at the task at hand to realize you were being watched. Your cheeks grew warm, smiling at your lover. “I made you dinner.” How simple of a statement, as if it was a normal ordeal. You had side dishes amongst dishes, a few desserts even littered around and-- “do you have a roast in the oven?” You nodded, sheepishly. “Ah, yes, about that--can you help me take it out?” You barely got the question out before it was hoisted out and gingerly placed on the table. “How on earth did you even get this in here...where did you--”

“--Well actually the nice neighbors helped me bring it back from the market, and placed it in the oven for me once I was done seasoning it.” 

Ah, that explains a lot.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to make a roast.” he mumbled to himself with a smile and you gasped, his smile growing larger. “You never let me in the kitchen!” You rebutted, tease evident in your tone. “Now go get cleaned up, it’s time for dinner.”

-

The dinner was the most delicious meal he’d ever have in his life. A display of cured meats, cheeses, fruits and soups as appetizers, the most tender roast that fell right off the fork with vegetables as the main course, and a variety of sweets--from chocolate to cheesecake to berry pies-- for dessert, Alucard couldn’t believe you did all of this in one day (you had to remind him he was gone for nearly twelve hours today). He took a bite of the roast, and audibly moaned. “Oh my god, you never told me you could cook” he would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact that he was eating the most delectable meal of his life. You simply huffed a laugh, taking a bite of your own dinner, “I never told you I couldn’t.” 

Cheeky little minx.

“Besides, you’re always taking care of me and doting on me, Adrian.” 

“It’s what I should be doing as a loving husband. You’re growing and feeding our child, sweetheart.” 

You shook your head with a small smile. “I meant even before the baby, and you know it. Since the beginning of our relationship you’ve always cooked for me, taken care of me, done any silly little thing I’ve asked of you. But I fear I don’t tell you enough that I love you. Really, I love you, Adrian. I don’t think I could ever live a life without you in it.” He sat in silence, surprise splayed on his features. “And, I want to do the same for you. I want to cook for you, and take care of you, and do every silly little thing you ask of me. So I started with dinner, and we’ll go from there.”

Alucard felt a tear roll down his face, wiping away with shock. When had he started crying? He knows you love him, he’s always known that. He can tell in the way you speak to him, speak about him, the way you look at him. You remind him every day in your words and actions. But...the way you’re speaking to him now, and seeing you so pregnant with his baby, well he didn’t realize how much those words would mean to him until right now.  You held out your hand to his, thumb sliding over the back of his hand. No words needed to be exchanged right now, just soft smiles and light touches. 

He loved you, with everything in his heart. And he’d show you every day more and more.

[sixosix]

IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH (2)

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity, happy ending

a/n wc 6K (omfg) kaveh lore spoilers and not rlly canon compliant

previous part

when kaveh is jostled awake, he dreads the pitiful expression of the forest ranger who called for him.

kaveh now stands over people hunched and bent to their knees, picking up what they can clean and batting away the aggravated fungi.

the withering, they said.

there’s nothing left. or, well, what should be his masterpiece is just dust and debris. it was so close to being like what he imagined when he could still dream. it was so close to finishing, why—why did it have to…?

he’s the only one standing over kneeling people, yet he’s never felt so small at the moment. as if he’s back to being a little kid, unsure of what to do with himself as everyone scrambled about in front of him. he hasn’t felt this need to cry since the building blocks he had spent hours stacking meticulously on top of each other all came tumbling down with one wrong swipe.

the withering struck at the same moment kaveh thought that things were going perfectly. he should’ve known—it could never be that easy.

he only snaps out of it when you come to his side, reaching for him. he doesn’t even realize he is quivering until you run your hands through his hair, and he feels like breaking inside because he doesn’t deserve it.

he should’ve known. he should’ve known.

he should’ve listened to dori.

dori is furious with him, which is somehow even worse than seeing his own creation in ruin when it was perfectly fine the day before. dori’s face is twisted in rage, screaming at him to leave this goddamn project. large, extravagant, do whatever you want, dori had said, repeating her words, and this is what happens?

“fuck,” he groans, burying his face in his trembling palms. it’s no different from a child throwing a tantrum.

“kaveh,” you murmur, and he tenses for all the wrong reasons.

you shouldn’t see him like this, so weak and pathetic. he’s humiliated, distraught, and you’re seeing all of it. his face burns in shame, his eyes growing hotter along with it.

“kaveh,” you repeat. kaveh, stubbornly, childishly, doesn’t look up. “i’m feeling tired, can we stay here?”

“...okay.”

neither of you comment on his quaver, and kaveh knows he’s the one trembling in the knees, not you. small mercies like these give kaveh the courage to blindly reach in front of him to feel your hand. you take him, and kaveh’s never felt safer despite everything.

“remember, kaveh, when i told you that mourning flowers reminded me of your eyes?”

confused, kaveh replies slowly, “yes. you gave one to me. i still have it.”

you beam at his response, encouraged to continue. “i learned about another flower, a specialty in mondstadt. windwheel asters. i want to pick one straight from the grass, tuck it behind your ear, and watch it spin around before i get distracted by your eyes again because they have the same shade.”

“we can have someone deliver it,” kaveh mumbles, his shoulders slumping. “so you don’t have to travel all the way there.”

“yeah.” you breathe in deeply, resting your forehead against his. “yeah, i should’ve.”

kaveh hasn’t realized that the rangers and construction crew started filtering out until it was dead silent, enough for kaveh to feel like he could hear the stars speaking to him. enough where your heartbeat is the loudest sound at the moment.

“it’s okay. we can stay here for as long as you need,” you assure him with the kindest smile that he knows shouldn’t be directed at him. “i’m too tired to walk back anyway.”

“i love you,” he whispers, the first time either of you called it what it was. he feels that this is the truest phrase he had ever said, even though he’s not sure you even heard it.

kaveh held you closer to him that night, afraid that the withering would creep in and take you away from him, too.

do the right thing, no matter what it costs you.

kaveh has heard this saying before, over and over again. he first heard it from his father, and kaveh fully believed that he’d do so without hesitation if ever the time came. then from old, wise scholars who told tales of how much they sacrificed to have this much success today. but dreaming about his father brings him back to himself, curled up on a dusty couch, having returned from fontaine to attend his mother’s wedding.

if the cost is his own happiness, is it still worth it? is it still the right thing to do?

he hadn’t seen his mother smile so wide since she wrapped her arms around her new husband. kaveh wonders how she was able to let go so fast, but he finds that he doesn’t blame her because this is what she deems is the right thing to do.

no matter what it costs you.

kaveh awakes with a start in the middle of the night, when crickets are still loud in his ears, and the streets are dead silent as most of everyone has gone to bed. his head is spinning, heart racing, but there’s a fire in his eyes that he thought had been snuffed out since the incident.

“kaveh…?” you rub your eyes tiredly from where you’re resting on his chest.

kaveh smiles at the tender sight of nuzzling up to him like this, soft with sleep and smelling like him. “you should go home and clean up.”

you’re slurring your words together, heavily lethargic. “but what ‘bout you?”

“i’ll be fine,” kaveh murmurs fondly, unable to resist kissing your forehead. “i’ll be fine.” because he knows now that even if he were to do the right or wrong thing, he still has you to come back to, and that’s more than enough for him to do it no matter the cost.

kaveh sells his house.

it was almost underwhelming. he was expecting a heart-wrenching realization stopping him halfway through even making that decision, yet all he felt as he talked to the buyers was this empty feeling—the same one he feels every time he comes back to it as if it’s still his home.

all that runs through his mind is that he has a new one now. and this one, he will not even think about selling off. more than a building, more than just a house.

this revelation keeps him chin-up and strong as he faces dori and tells her about his decision. he’s sure that dori’s cunning smile will haunt him for a few days.

“you’ve been so busy, kaveh.” you narrow your eyes, studying his face from all angles with your hand on his chin. “what’s up? have you been feeling unwell? someone pushing you to your limits?”

kaveh is trying so, so hard not to smile and spoil the surprise, but you’re poking his cheek and pouting again like before, and he’s weak to anything you give him. “no,” he laughs, letting you move his face around so long as you keep your hands on him.

“you’re happy,” you conclude. “something good happened. another commission?” you frown when kaveh shakes his head. kaveh kisses the point where your brows furrow, unable to help himself. “don’t give me that. even cyno isn’t telling me.”

“cyno knows that you’ll like this surprise this time.”

“the last time you hid something from me, it ended terribly,” you warn.

kaveh huffs. “not anymore, i swear on it. because it’s finished, and i’m going to show the surprise right now.”

“what?”

it’s not quite finished, the palace of alcazarzaray. there are people on the sidelines painting the walls, some digging their hands in the dirt and watering the carefully selected flowers. he watches as your eyes draw to it first, gaze softening impossibly—and this is where kaveh knew that he did something right.

“oh,” you murmur.

kaveh doesn’t take your silence as an insult—quite the opposite. he lets you soak it all in, just like he did when the building looks more like what he envisioned, even when he’s drawn this over and over in his head and on paper.

it’s not his place. he doesn’t own it, but deep down, he proudly calls it his.

“this looks like the draft you made that day,” you say after a long moment of silence. “the one you said you did on ‘autopilot.’”

“that’s because it is.” kaveh lays his eyes on it. “i sacrificed so much for this.”

you grin, turning to him. “you know what i’ll say already, don’t you?”

“that i’ve wonderfully lost my mind?”

“that there’s nothing i wish more than to see what the world looks like in your eyes.”

kaveh blushes madly. “you shouldn’t. you’d just see yourself.”

he wanted to give you a tour, but there’s not much to be done when your lips slot against his under the stars, and you’re right in front of his magnum opus as if you’re part of it.

whispers come quickly and float long enough for kaveh to pick up on it the moment he stepped foot on the hallways.

there he is, they say. kaveh built the palace of alcazarzaray, didn’t you hear? yes, yes that one. light of kshahrewar.

he wants to smile politely when they all look at him as if he’s hung the stars, but he knows it’d only come off as bitter. they aren’t wrong: he did something right and good with that project, and everything turned out safe and finished in the end—

but it doesn’t just end there. he sits in a pile not of mora but dust and a heavy heart upon the reminder that he sold off what used to be his home for this. it cost him; does that mean this is the right thing?

kaveh takes a deep breath in and knocks on tighnari’s door.

immediately, he’s greeted by the sight of his friends: al-haitham and cyno tucked in some corner playing TCG (cyno winning), tighnari pointing in his direction, and you brightening as the door closes behind kaveh.

“kaaaveehh!” you garble happily, crashing into his chest and snuggling. “kaveh, you’re here.”

kaveh doesn’t need to sniff the air to piece two and two together. “you’re drunk already?” kaveh smiles, helping you regain balance.

tighnari sighs as he trots over, ears drooping in shame. “that’s my fault. i didn’t realize y/n took my glass until i took a sip and tasted water.”

“kaveeeh,” you wail, holding onto his sleeves desperately like someone is going to take him away. “kaveh, look at you! you’re so—so nice. so pretty. i love youuu…”

“i love you, too,” he says warmly, turning his head away so you wouldn’t see the stupid grin on his face.

in this angle, he can see the judgemental stares of cyno and al-haitham, which prompts a “shut up!” from him despite them having not said anything.

you hiccup. “kaveh, i need to sit down. kaveh, can we sit down?”

he leads you to the nearest loveseat, never once separating from you—not that he can when you aren’t giving him a chance to, anyway. “can i get a glass, too?” he asks tighnari, who was holding back laughter while watching the entire scene.

when tighnari comes back with enough glasses to have kaveh know right away that he won’t be leaving this house with steady steps, they all their glasses for a toast. to kaveh, to the palace of alcazarzaray, to everyone.

“hey.” kaveh rests a hand on the small of your back, which you bat away clumsily.

“i have a boyfriend,” you grumble, “don’t… don’t…”

“what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” kaveh teases.

“ugh, don’t talk to me. go away. i feel like i’m about to hurl yesterday’s lunch. i’ll do it on you,” you threaten, head lolling as you try to sit up. kaveh helps you through it, chuckling quietly when you push him off and repeating that you have a boyfriend.

and then you start crying.

said boyfriend, of course, panics, hands flying uselessly as tears fall and keep falling from your eyes. “why are—are you crying? what happened? do we need to take you outside?”

“my boyfriend… i want to be with him forever…” you sob through sniffles, awkwardly wiping tears away with a wobbly arm.

kaveh frowns. “well, why can’t you?”

“because i can’t stay here forever. but he stays here forever. i want to stay with him forever, but i can’t. i need to go everywhere, not—not stay here. my head hurts. please, i need water.”

overwhelmed, kaveh goes to fetch a glass of water, numb. “here, water. drink it slowly,” he says.

“thank you,” you say. “don’t tell him i said any of those.”

“i won’t, i promise,” kaveh says, his voice small.

without warning, you climb over and settle on his lap, resting your cheek against his chest. kaveh doesn’t know if it’s the first sip of alcohol or if it’s just you making his heart race and placate all at once—but he already knows the answer.

“i thought you have a boyfriend?” kaveh asks, carding his fingers through your hair.

“i do, but…” you exhale slowly, your weight getting a little heavier as you relax, and kaveh smiles because how could he not? “you smell like home.”

he’ll bring it up some other time.

unfortunately, he doesn’t get the courage to bring it up. he faces his consequence when it’s too late, and you’re the one to speak to him about it.

you’re braiding his hair, slow and steady, the way he likes it. you’ve bought him various hairpins that you said match his eyes. he doesn’t think he’s met someone who’s loved his eyes as much as you before. to show his appreciation, he insists on wearing all of them, even if he doesn’t need them.

“do you remember the exchange program i mentioned briefly a while back?”

kaveh ransacks through his head for the memory. he only remembers you warning him that you won’t be staying in sumeru forever when you first got together, and some drunken conversations. “i think so, yes. you said you’ll finish there. why? what brought this up?”

“i got accepted.” the last hairpin clicks into place. there are about six on his head. “i’ll be leaving soon.”

kaveh’s eyes brighten as he turns to you, expecting you to be thrilled, but you look nervous. you aren’t meeting his eyes.

“y/n,” kaveh says softly, holding your cheeks in his palms, “what’s wrong?”

“it’s in inazuma,” you say carefully. “and if i finish there and continue with my dream, i won’t really have… all the time to go back here.”

that’s too far, is what kaveh wants to say. he doesn’t, because he vividly remembers you saying you want to go everywhere someday, and who is he to bind you to him because he is selfish and needy? in the grand scheme of things, he is no one in your life.

“will you be alone?”

“no. i’ll be with anis, and i’ll have soraya come with me to liyue when the time comes. i won’t be alone.”

kaveh nods, easing a bit. “that’s good.”

kaveh must be wearing a pitiful expression if you scramble to speak again. “we can write each other letters,” you say weakly. “or i can send gifts…”

he thinks of his mother, leaving to fontaine, writing to him on occasion. he thinks of seeing his mother again after so long, seeing how happy she is, and he thinks about how he hadn’t seen her like that when kaveh was still living with her after his father’s death.

“and tie you down to me?” kaveh shakes his head. “don’t worry about me while you’re taking on the world. too many sights to see to think about me.”

your expression looks pained. “you’re not tying me down. i love you more than that.”

kaveh’s reply is instant. “enough to not leave?”

you wince, and kaveh curses himself, flinching away from holding your face to ball his fingers into fists beside him. “no, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that, please ignore i said that. i’m sorry.”

“kaveh,” you say, and kaveh understands, more than anyone, what you’re thinking right now.

“i know.”

“kaveh, i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i don’t…”

“that’s okay,” kaveh says, “i’m glad you told me, really. no, look at me. i’m happy for you; you can be happy for yourself, too.” it feels like we had only gotten together yesterday, and it’s already falling apart.

this was divine intervention, telling him—no, reprimanding him, don’t think about it. don’t say anything else, you might as well ruin it more; toss it in quicksand, will you? this was them telling him that if things were to work out in his favor two times in a row, he’d regret it later.

kaveh takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i was planning on leaving, too. we’ve just graduated, we deserve a vacation.” he was hoping to take you with him, but only here he realizes how selfish it was. you warned him, too, so he can’t say you didn’t.

you seem relieved that he’s keeping a conversation. “really?”

“yes. just here in sumeru, though,” he says, sheepish. “you’ve set on something bigger, and i was already nervous about my choice.”

“you’ll be fine, kaveh.” you sound so sure. kaveh doesn’t know how you make it sound like you know him better than himself. “the world is so beautiful, and it can’t wait to see what part of it inspires you.”

at least, this time, he gets to say goodbye, and he gets to see you while he says it.

“so, that’s it?”

“don’t hold back because of me, kaveh,” you tell him. “if love finds its way back to you again, catch it and don’t feel sorry for me.”

kaveh wants to say it in return, but the best he can do is be selfish in silence. he doesn’t want you with anyone else that isn’t him—just thinking about it hurts him.

“i’ll come home someday,” you say. kaveh nods because he wants this promise to be real this time. “and maybe we can still be friends, if you’ll have me.”

this, kaveh realizes, is really what his father meant when he said to do the right thing, no matter what it costs you.

later, he invites tighnari, cyno, and al-haitham out for dinner.

and when they arrive at the table, the first thing kaveh says is, “i’ll be leaving next week.” his friends weren’t able to pry much from him, but they could figure it out on their own if they saw the list of the students going abroad.

things go on: too slow for kaveh’s liking, and a little unsteady from time to time, but when he pictures you living your life somewhere, he thinks he can’t let you beat him to it, so he tries his best.

it’s been a while since you last visited sumeru.

everything looks the same since you’ve last been here, but something feels different. it takes you a while to realize it’s the people walking about happily, and to you, it seems like something is missing from their ears.

you had already removed the akasha the moment you moved out, but it was still a little jarring to step into your homeland without it, and seeing people do the same. the two guards who were usually in charge of handing them out to tourists are gone from their place, too.

anis breathes in deeply, then exhales shakily. she had stayed in liyue for far longer than you had, habituated herself to it, but still, sumeru is where she looks right at home, with trees and shades of green surrounding her. “oh, how i missed this! no other region can beat the fresh and dewy air of sumeru, no matter how beautiful their architecture is.”

you nudge her. “you were the one complaining about having to leave mondstadt yesterday.”

anis scowls, huffing petulantly. “i was tired. and the goth grand hotel had funny guests. you spent all day picking windwheel asters—make a whole flower shop with them already, will you?”

“shh, don’t be so loud.” anis flails around until you free her mouth from your palm. she stares at you, scandalized. “no one is supposed to know i’m back yet.”

“you shouldn’t have come with me if that was the case, then,” anis says, and you two continue walking up the bridge of the palace of alcazarzaray.

“you were the one who begged me to.”

it’s been forever since you’ve last seen it—the pictures you took don’t compare to the real thing—and yet it feels like the first time all over again, with warmth pressed on your side and the back of your palm tingling from the feeling of someone’s lips kissing it a few seconds before.

your heart aches faintly.

anis takes note of your face with a contemplative hum. “then again, you probably missed the man behind this the most. you should be grateful that i even managed to commission him! everyone flocks to kaveh the moment they get the chance.”

“it’s because you’re also from his darshan,” you argue, embarrassed. just hearing his name makes your face heat up.

“and i’m the best friend of his ex—right, right.” anis yelps when you pinch her elbow, but it fades off into laughter soon enough. you smile, but only because her glee is as contagious as wild fungi.

passing by the palace of alcazarzaray and into a secluded hut right across it, you and anis continue catching up, recalling akademiya memories that both of you agreed never to bring up again. it was mostly groupmates you hope are still failing their darshan with their incompetence. you hear some people chiming in, telling you about how a traveler and your friends saved the entirety of sumeru. weird, but not entirely outlandish.

“al-haitham as the acting grand scribe?” anis gawks. you are probably wearing a similar expression. “what happened while we were gone?”

you sigh. “i wish i knew, too. i wish i knew.”

“oh, look!” anis gestures ahead, under a large tree that curves forward and casts enough shade for a whole garden. “that’s the place kaveh asked to meet me in. and if i’m not mistaken, that blond guy over there with the red cape…”

“oh,” you breathe.

you didn’t think kaveh could be prettier than he already was, and he was already turning heads back then. stripped off the akademiya’s uniform and into something he looks more like himself in: drop-dead elegant. you appreciate the slit on the back of his blouse. (he’s still wearing six red clips.)

anis elbows you. “you can back out. i’d rather you don’t because i know how much you missed him, but—”

“i won’t,” you say. not that you can bring yourself to turn back when kaveh is right there anyway.

“kaveh!” anis calls out; you purposefully slow your steps so you’re in her shadow, yet kaveh’s eyes still snap to yours right away.

“anis.” kaveh stands from the table clumsily, his eyes round in surprise. “...y/n. both of you are back?”

“hi, kaveh,” you greet with a wave. “you look good.” he does. too good for someone who’s currently standing a few feet away from his ex. it almost feels like revenge.

“you, too,” kaveh smiles, reluctant, “it’s been so long.”

“i like your new style, kaveh!” anis whistles appreciatively, and you want nothing more than to nod and pray kaveh doesn’t see the way you’re eyeing him. “suits you. a natural artist, even outside construction.”

“speaking of,” kaveh starts. you can’t help but notice that even when his client is right there, his eyes stray to you too often, and you’re starting to feel like some flustered teenager over it, “you’re a talented artist yourself, anis. it was a surprise to hear from you about this project.”

“i know i am, but who am i to waste the opportunity of taking advantage of my connections? i’m fortunate enough that you accepted right away.”

“of course. congratulations on the engagement, anis,” kaveh says sincerely, from one old friend to another.

“thank you.” anis smiles in return. “people in liyue were too charming. now here i am, with a ring on my finger.” she wiggles the fingers of her left hand for emphasis.

kaveh quirks a brow. “were they?”

anis grins slyly. “don’t worry, y/n wasn’t looking at all.”

you gape, incensed. “anis!”

kaveh hides a laugh behind his hand, and he’s only looking at you. “thanks for telling me.”

embarrassed, you duck your head and remind yourself that anis owes you a trip back to liyue for that. you can still feel kaveh’s stare on you, burning on your head.

mercifully, he does drop it, straightening his posture and looking more like sumeru’s most famous architect anis commissioned. you’re seeing what years and years have done to kaveh—it’s done him good. “before we get straight into it, would you tell me more about what you had in mind? along with your partner’s opinions, of course.”

and because anis is cruel and evil, she drags you along with it the entire time.

anis excuses herself to order water, saying her mouth is dry from all that talking and debating with kaveh over designs. you wonder how they even got along as group mates.

“the padisarah is clever,” you say, gaining more confidence when kaveh beams as you start the conversation. “i’m glad you learned to appreciate flora in your works. it’s perfect.”

“i’m grateful to the one who taught me all about its beauty,” he replies, eyes twinkling.

you laugh, trailing off stiffly, unsure what to say. so you don’t reply.

you want to ask him so many questions. how are you? i missed you. did you tailor this outfit yourself? you look good. do you hate me for leaving? because i do. yet looking at him, you find yourself speechless.

“where are you headed next after this?” kaveh asks, shifting his weight from one foot to another. it reminds you too much of what he used to do back in the akademiya.

“i’m not sure. i heard cyno’s in the desert right now, so i might head to gandharva ville first. say hi to al-haitham for me?”

kaveh’s expression falls. “yeah… yeah, of course. i’ll see you around.”

tighnari opens the door, his face melting in surprise. “y/n?”

“tighnari!” you greet with a bright smile, opening your arms for him. “surprise…?”

because tighnari was never really the most affectionate, he shuffles forward and lets you hug him with great difficulty. he mumbles, “since when have you returned to sumeru? you didn’t even tell me.”

“you need to be reminded of the definition of surprise, tighnari,” you laugh, stepping inside his house when he moves aside. a lot has changed in this one, brimming with more books and looking worn down than you last remember. there’s a bed on the corner, the blanket kept clean and tidy.

“have you met up with kaveh yet?”

“...of course i have.”

tighnari’s ear flicks, and he smiles knowingly. “he still loves you as much, you know.”

you grimace. is that really the first thing he’s going to talk about? tighnari was also never one to mince his words and spoonfeed it gently. “it’s been so long. you can’t assume something so absurd.”

“y/n,” tighnari says, returning to his table where he seems to be working on a concoction, “you weren’t there for when kaveh decided to leave for the desert. i’ve never seen him want to get so drunk that badly. he was just talking about you.”

you grimace. “oh.” you remember every word you’ve said clearly and his expressions that keep you up on lonely nights. “that just proves my point.”

“no. he was moping, sure. but the alcohol in his system made him all the more honest. he was just talking about you.” tighnari crushes leaves in his bowl, eyes flicking up to meet your nervous ones. “reverently, almost. like you never broke up.”

“years ago, tighnari,” you remind, face hot.

“he’s always been the most romantic one out of the four of us.”

you let the silence settle for a few moments as your thoughts wander, back to kaveh and back to the windwheel asters you kept on a pot and carried as is to sumeru. it’s never been that easy.

“well, i didn’t come here for a pep talk,” you say, clearing your throat. “is that the waterproofing oil you’ve been working on since back then? it looks much smoother than before.”

tighnari grins. “i’ve learned a lot, and i know so have you. from one amurta graduate to another, surely you know what i mean?”

he talks you through what he’s been doing for the past years. it feels like you’ve gone through a lifetime without them, but that’s coming from you, who was convinced that you wouldn’t be returning at all. if tighnari notices that your mind is far off elsewhere, he generously doesn’t comment on it.

you aren’t needed at all, yet anis still takes you to the next meeting, where kaveh will reveal his first proposal. you remind anis of this, but she only replies with:

“don’t give me that. kaveh was the one who asked to bring you along.”

you rolled your eyes at that because not even you would believe her.

but still, you come along because these quick meetings give you a chance to see kaveh without having to come up with a half-baked excuse. you’ll treasure these few days before you eventually have to see him again when tighnari—or cyno, or maybe even al-haitham—gets tired of this unbearable push and pull and forces a date. and things go south because kaveh will say he’s been happier without you, and you travel back to another region, heartbroken.

…at least that’s what you were expecting. kaveh usually hasn’t gone on for this long when dealing with clients, and both he and anis know what they’re doing. what’s more surprising than that is anis takes it all in stride, which doesn’t appease your confusion.

it’s the fifth day. usually, kaveh would be working on the building itself by now. (times change, you remind yourself, you don’t know him anymore.)

anis looks over kaveh’s nth proposal, huffing in what could almost be discerned as amusement. “oh, dear.”

you don’t see anything wrong with it. “it looks good to me…”

anis pinches your cheek, making you frown. “please, y/n. do me a favor and just ask him out already. all this hopeless pining is wearing down on his creativity.”

your face burns. “he’s my ex, anis! isn’t there an unspoken rule not to get back together with your ex?”

anis scoffs. “that rule doesn’t apply when both of you don’t act like exes in the first place.”

“i told him that if i got back, we can still be friends, that’s why…” you argue weakly.

“friends? you’re not fooling anyone, especially yourself.”

you sit under the stars and wonder if you ever went wrong, or if you’re slowly going back to the right path. you don’t regret leaving sumeru and exploring the world, but you regret ending things with kaveh like that. taking on the world had been so lonely thinking about him being happy with someone else. others from the regions you’ve visited tried their hand at pursuing you, but you’re too desperate to see blond hair and red eyes in them to let them in.

is this the right thing? being friends is better than being nothing, right?

kaveh appears from the entrance, looking around briefly before eventually—like it always does—his eyes land on you. “y/n? anis said you called for me.”

you smile at him. “yeah, i did.”

he steps forward and stops there, looking like a wary shroomboar against an armed ranger. you sigh, setting the pot aside and patting the empty space next to you. kaveh follows, sitting on the edge.

“are you scared of me, kaveh?”

“i don’t know what i can do,” he admits, and your expression eases.

you pick the pot up and place it carefully on his lap. kaveh’s hands fly out to catch it when it loses balance, brushing his hands against yours. maybe you shouldn’t be doing this sober

“a windwheel aster, for you.” you hold a finger in front of his face, feeling around in your bag to reveal another one, more crumpled and less alive than the one on kaveh’s lap, but it still spins when you blow on it. “and, uh—here, let me.”

kaveh closes his eyes when you lean in. (you’re not sure if it’s instinct.) you tuck it behind his ear, unable to help your grin when you pull away, and the breeze that catches on it makes the petals turn.

“i was right,” you say. “they look good with your eyes.”

“that’s cruel, y/n.”

your stomach drops, flinching away. you wring your hands on your lap, too ashamed to gaze at him directly. “i’m sorry, you probably didn’t—i shouldn’t have—”

kaveh reaches for your wrist, looking heartbroken. he kisses your palm, your wrist, and it’s then you realize that he’s not upset at you, but at himself. “y/n. i thought you wanted me to go easy on me and leave forever.”

“would it have been easier for you?”

“not unless you still want me to confess to you like we’re back in the akademiya, and i’m distressingly in debt.”

“aren’t you still distressingly in debt?”

kaveh breathes in the air shared between the two of you, face twisted in a way that looks like he’s barely holding back from smothering your face with kisses. “y/n, please.”

he still loves you as much, you know.

breathing hitching, you ask, “do you know what you’re saying…?”

“fate brought us together again. surely you don’t think i’ll be blind to another chance gifted to me?”

ah. tighnari is never wrong.

well, you should’ve known. you never could’ve been just friends with kaveh, not when he’s looking at you like you were never gone, and you still thought about him every night when you were.

“we can try, again,” you say. “you and i.”

“again,” kaveh agrees. “i won’t let you go this time.”

( you see kaveh there with dark bags under his eyes and his grip trembling slightly as it cuts across the page in something beyond a confident stroke—more so angry, barely held in, brimming and ready to spill.

students who pass by whisper to themselves and stare at him longer than they should’ve, but he doesn’t seem to care—or rather, doesn’t even notice that he’s in a public space. his eyes are trained on the stack of papers in front of him, eyes aflame.

anis notices your fond gaze and smirks.

she says aloud, “having this kshahrewar genius seek you out so constantly… i can’t even imagine—i’ve heard enough from my peers talking about how they regret not getting a chance to speak with him.”

“i don’t see how it’s my fault that kaveh didn’t want to entertain them.”

anis chortles. “oh, no wonder why he likes you so much.”

the collar of your uniform feels stiflingly hot all of a sudden. you hide what must be a pinched expression with a glare. “it’s not like that. it’s not.”

“you won’t be able to fight against it if it’s your fate.” anis throws an arm over your shoulder. “you should be thankful i followed your plan and made him notice you. now you’re inseparable! ah, love.” )

a/n i have never written this much before so art i hope u like it (and u owe me a xiao fic for this) <33333 but also this was actually rlly fun to write (if not for the fact that i hated writing it halfway the same reason i avoid writing long fics) rbs and comments fuel me!! ty for reading!!

[planetariumwriting]

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

Follow me on AO3: PL4NETARIUM

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚/𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐘𝐚𝐛𝐚 - 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟖

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You met two interesting men during the Jack of Hearts game and, since then, you three decided to stay together and to become more closer.

It wasn’t difficult to remember who had the idea to partecipate to another game a bit after the Jack of Hearts. You started to insist, like a spoiled child, that you wanted to have a little bit of fun - like if what happened to Matsushita wasn’t enough. Your complaints weren’t a problem though; Banda found you particulary adorable and pathetic, begging him to the point of tugging at his shirt sleeve. He would have lied if he didn’t want to see you crying to catch his attentions. On the other hand, Yaba was colder and difficult to convince too. You started to walk around him and repeat little “please” all over, but you cute sweet eyes didn’t help either. He simply looked at you and said “you have to wait” – and your reaction was simply puffing away with an angry look, which made him smile a little bit. How cute you were. The way you three paired up was really peculiar. The first rounds you simply looked at them, but too shy to interact and too insecure about the thought of them helping you. They were already paired up and, for this reason, you knew it was already a lost cause. Even if, at the end, you were wrong.

The first one who spoke to you was Banda. You were trying to reach a packet of cookies, but they were too high for you. Standing on your tiptoes was a failure – but lucky you, a hand grabbed those delicious cookies just to give them to you. When you turned around to face the kind stranger, you felt your entire body freezing up. Banda was looking down at you with his usual little smile, with his eyes devouring you and every your movements. He didn’t think twice to lean down and to whisper something into your ear.

“You shouldn’t play game like this all alone.”

You could swear that his lips touched your neck, your body from freezing melted entirely.

“You’re right…”

“But?” His face was close to yours, both your and his breath were becoming one thing. You tried with all your strenght to mantain the eye contact but you couldn’t. A part of you wanted to keep looking at his dark eyes, to expose yourself and reveal all your weaknesses – but it was too soon; you didn’t mind feeling vulnerable, but it was different in this case. Banda was enjoying himself to make you feel like your head was about to blow up because of the confusion. Oh, how much he wanted to mind-fuck even worse.

“You were already paired up, so…” for a moment you felt a knot in your throat, almost if you shouldn’t have continued the conversation, “I…I found another person to pair up with.” He simply smiled at you and left you alone with your cookies. Only before stepping out of the door, he turned around to look at you and say, “I’ll help you.” You didn’t know what to feel in that moment, it was everything so strange – you didn’t want to lie to yourself about the fact that you were happy, somehow. You had the help of one of the two person you were interested in. Of course, it was too early to trust Banda, but you had nothing to lose. The burning sensation in your belly started to grow at the thought of being submitted to Banda. You shaked your head as if you wanted to remove those thoughts; you felt dirty for it.

The game kept going and so the people who died. During all these rounds you also found yourself helping, and being helped, by a blonde guy with a hoodie. In a way you felt “safe” to play, even if nobody knew who the Jack of Heart was. You had few ideas, but you preferred to not speak about those for…some reasons. It was almost at the end of the day that Yaba decided to interact with you. You were alone, leaning against a wall, swimming in your head of thoughts.

“You are more interesting than her.” When you looked up to see who spoke to you, you were surprised. The freezing sensation coming back to your body, almost missing it. Yaba was next to you, leaning against the wall and with his hands in his pocket. He was alone too. At the first, you didn’t recall who he referred when he said “than her”.

“What do you mean?”

He kept looking at you with cold eyes, until his sight were on board that showed who was still alive. Finally you understood what he meant. Strange that he didn’t have the silent and shy woman following him – they were completely inseparable.

“What I said, you are more intersting than her.” It seemed like he didn’t care if the woman could come back and listen what he was about to say, “I also think she’s hiding something from me.”

You were shocked at the statement. Was it possible that she was the Jack of Hearts? But it was impossible considering that she was all the time with Yaba.

“I can help you with your suit,” you didn’t think twice to help him, “just to make sure she isn’t lying to you.”

He smiled at you, like if you just said what he wanted to hear, “not only interesting but sweet too.”

The burning sensation was also coming back to your body. You didn’t know what was happening to you and to your body, but you couldn’t control its strength. After telling him his suit, and Yaba doing the same for you, he left you to reach the other woman – the one he discovered that at the end lied to him. She tried to act the same, all sweet and submissive, but Yaba went colder and her eyes started to panic. She looked at you, like if she knew you both talked in her assence. You broke that contact just to find Banda intensely staring at you. You didn’t know what to expect at the end of that game – you were only hoping that they didn’t think you were the mastermind of all of it.

The cold of the cell made your body feeling stiff. You didn’t felt scared of telling your suit, but you were simply getting tired of it. Not even taking in consideration that what happened between Banda and Yaba made things even more complex (but interesting). “Heart.” You said, hoping that the end was finally coming over. There was only silence, until it was broken by the sound of a collar exploding. You were about to open the door and see who it was, but the laughing of Matsushita stopped you. You decided to see what was happening, only to see Enji getting surrounded by Yaba and Banda. So it was him the Jack of Hearts. You didn’t want to see him getting killed by the two of them, his screamings were enough for you to bear. For some reasons, though, you decided to wait in your cell. Only after a while the two men approached your cell, looking in for you.

“Come with us.” Yaba said only to proceed to walk in the direction of the exit of the prison. Banda grabbed your hand, gently, and walked with you outside where Yaba was waiting for you both.

It was since then that the “trio” was always together, even in the most intimate moments.

[artful-aries]

Genshin Headcanons: When They Get Jealous (Kaeya, Childe)

Two posts in one day? I don’t know what came over me either lol

​​​​Kaeya

​​Despite his usual cool demeanor, Kaeya does find himself getting jealous over you from time to time

​​He doesn’t care per se about random men hitting on you at the Angels Share; he knows those men don’t stand a single chance with you

​​No, what often sparks his jealousy is when you give your attention to Diluc

​​Kaeya knows you aren’t doing it to get under his skin; you just simply got along with anyone and everyone. You also hoped to bring him and his estranged brother closer together somehow, and he couldn’t hate that you cared enough about him to try, even if it brought more tension than he’d like

​​But something about seeing you smile so sweetly at Diluc, laughing at whatever conversation you two were having, made his blood boil

​​He knows Diluc isn’t interested in you romantically, but he’s still stealing the attention from HIS partner

​​Even through his jealousy he would remain cool headed, which ultimately makes things worse. He’ll saunter up to you, sliding his arm around your waist and let loose quite a few pointed jabs at the tavern owner

​​Deep down Kaeya knows he’s just taking his jealousy out on Diluc, but he can’t find himself to care. Their sharp banter goes back in volley’s until Kaeya says something particularly hurtful. The only sign that his comment cut the red haired man deep is the twitch of his eye, a sign that does not go unnoticed by you or Kaeya

​​You all but drag him out of the Angel’s Share, apologizing profusely to Diluc for Kaeya’s “clearly drunken behavior” (an excuse you’re making on his part) before getting him home and scolding him, demanding to know what his problem was

​​He never really admits why he got jealous, he’s too busy staring at your lips as you’re scolding him. Mid lecture, he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip before capturing you in a heated kiss

​​It leaves you breathless and nearly makes you forget what you were even scolding him about, which is his goal. From there Kaeya begins channeling his frustration towards you, but in a more physically pleasing way

​​It’s in the afterglow as his limbs are tangled up with yours, holding you tightly against him as though you may disappear as quickly as the morning frost that you say “Tomorrow morning you’re going to apologize to Diluc.”

​​He can never get away with anything with you, can he?

​​

​​Childe (Tartaglia)

​​A jealous Childe is a bit of a terrifying Childe to say the least. He doesn’t know how to be casual about his jealousy

​​It doesn’t take all that much for him to get jealous, he can ignore a few flirtatious comments to an extent, but the minute someone tries to lay their hands on you his rationality goes out the window

​​He will practically stalk over to the person, a shadow falling across his face as he does. You recognize the sign of impending doom before the other person does, but your warning looks go unnoticed or ignored by them

​​By the time they realize Childe is standing next to them, it is too late. He is smiling politely, but there is an uncanny look to his face, the air around him seems to drop a few degrees in temperature

​​Childe does keep in mind that you hate bloodshed, but boy, is it hard to hold back. In lieu of absolutely obliterating them, he places a tight hand on their shoulder and says, “What business do you have with my significant other, comrade?”

​​His voice sounded cheery, but it has both you AND the stranger shitting bricks. They all but run off as you sigh with relief, soothingly rubbing Childe’s arm

​​Now that it’s just you two, he does a total 180 and turns into a complete pouting child (no pun intended)

​​He’ll basically be hanging off of you for the rest of the day, making sure everyone else got the hint that you were his

​​Let’s just say that later that night you’re in for a very fun time, as he still has pent up frustration that he wants you to help him with~

​​

[qierxing]

Hear me out, Yandere twst isekai au, during the masquerade event. Imagine the drama with RSA and Rollo when you add the whole yandere aspect- just a random thought I had while rereading it tho

oooh that's fun, although I will say I don't really read in depth with future event spoilers, but I do have a general gist of how the event went down from hearsay. that said most of this may not be accurate bc I haven't played the story lmao (speaking of RSA, I have a WIP in the works with yandere heartslabyul & chenya in the isekai au >:3c) tw/cw: twst spoilers from jpn server, immolation/arson, graphic descriptions

As much as you wanted to see the City of Flowers, you did not want to see the student council president of Noble Bell College.

For many reasons, of course. There is the fact that being magic less and also quite literally from another world has its implications, and you don't want to subject yourself to Rollo's piercing gaze when he learns of this. And...even if he was beloved by others, you cannot say the same. His backstory is tragic of course, but there's something in his eyes that make you squirm. As if you were a sinful criminal before a judge, awaiting your verdict.

It is for these reasons that you linger in the back of the group, hoping desperately his cold sharp jaded eyes will pass over you in introductions. You don't even gaze at him directly, opting to instead focus on the mobs behind him. And yet, for all your efforts, his gaze still focuses on your face when he speaks of formalities and activities the following days will have.

So you decide to stay out of his way as much as possible. Screw what Crowley told you, you were not going to be a part of another mess that was about to go down. Instead of showing up to the group sessions that was meant to promote friendly relations between NRC and NBA, you indulge Grim's bad habits and ditch to hang around the quaint city. The cafes around here are relaxing to be in, and it's too easy to lose yourself in the calm atmosphere of sipping coffee and nibbling on madelines. You're ordering a plate of macarons when someone sits at the table you and Grim have situated yourselves in.

Your heart drops when you stare at an irritated Rollo Flamme crossing his arms across from you.

"Care to explain why you haven't showed up to to our activities, Prefect?"

The others give you confused looks when you're dragged in by Rollo's firm hand on your wrist. No matter how much you tug, it doesn't budge and he has the nerve to sit you in your chair like a child. And instead of trying to keep a modicum of discretion, he sits in the very chair right next to you, separating you from Grim. It's very obvious that he looks distastefully down on your furry companion, although if it's because he's a mage or because he's right by your side at all times, is something you've yet to discern.

It escalates, somehow. Somehow. He's always one step away no matter what you try to do to shake him off, always claiming that you must remain under supervision to make sure you weren't off causing trouble--as if Grim wasn't always left to his own devices as soon as Rollo put a hand to your back and ushers you to the hallways.

The holy fire that sweeps the place is unbearably hot. Not only that, you're separated from the others, pressed against the raging pyromaniac. Some have said being burned alive is somewhat similar to being frozen to death. With the heat, numbness takes over first; then an itching that urges the body to tear at the skin, to get rid of the terrible sensation. You would say that it was worse than that. Burnt flesh has a very particular smell, after all. These flames, which Rollo claims to be the height of purification, was like a rash that no ointment could sooth, forever branded into the very cells of your body.

Before you could take your nails and claw them down your throat in desperation, the heat is gone, replacing your skin with a low, raw ache. When you open your eyes again, it's not fire that greets you but Chenya and Neige's worried faces. "What...the hell...took you so long..." is the last thing you can get out before you straight up faint into Chenya's arms.

When you wake up again, it's pandemonium. You can barely understand who is saying what and what is going on. RSA came to the rescue of NRC? Yes yes, you already knew this, can someone explain why you weren't in a hospital bed, but instead in a shiny canopy bed that looks too expensive to be lying in?!

"My, my, they awake! Callooh, callay!" You scream at Chenya's head suddenly popping into existence directly above you. He snickers as you try to swipe at his head as it bobs just out of your reach.

"You--! Don't do that!" His eyes twinkle with mischief as the rest of his body materializes, still hovering parallel to yours on the bed.

"I think you guys should let the young'un rest, instead of burbling all this info to them, y'know?" The cheshire cat grins widely at the disgruntled NRC students. They reluctantly acknowledge his statement, leaving you to an empty room.

Well, a mostly empty room.

Chenya's face turns serious as he floats closer to you. "You should know, prefect, that the priest lad is also here."

At your confused look, he shrugs, body starting to de-materialize. "He wouldn't leave, no matter what Riddle and his crew would threaten. It's up to you on what you wanna do."

His chuckles echo in the air as his head disappears.

"If you decide to see him, that is."

[nonbinarypirat]

I’m catching up on Bungou Stray Dogs and I got to chapter 39 and wow… what a bad chapter. Or I should say, I VERY purely written, mishandled chapter. So I wanted to talk about why I hate this so much (even though so many people have probably talked about this here and other platforms.) Get ready for a rare known Iruma breakdown. But also I’m so mad about this chapter so this is going to be more of an unhinged rant then a well written post. Warning: child violence, abuse, abusive cycles, and sympathizing an abuser

This chapter is somehow a thousand times worse than what the anime did? I wonder if the people in charge of the anime also didn’t like this part and decided to cut it short and get through it as soon as possible and move on. Though it could also just because of how fucked up it is. No matter the reason, I went into this chapter hoping that maybe there was some context lost from the anime to manga but nope! In fact the manga goes further with trying to make you sympathize with a literal child torturer? It honestly makes me appreciate the episode just a tiny bit more for not including his oh so tragic backstory 🙄. Look, no matter what you have gone through, you don’t get the right to abuse a child. Plain and simple. Just because you were abused doesn’t give you the right to do it to someone. I get that the abuse cycle is not easy to break but once you fall down the same path you are ALSO a fucked up person! And you deserve to suffer for your actions. I wished he got a worse death than a car accident tbh 🤷.

Anyway, I hate how every character in this chapter acted like Atsushi was being irrational about not wanting to know why the headmaster was around? That’s his torturer, the man that literally made his life hell? If he doesn’t want to know, don’t force him. Like, could it give him closure, I guess. But he should be the one seeking that out. Quite frankly, once it was found out the headmaster was involved Atsushi should have been pulled from the case. Give him some distance to process everything rather having to learn about his abuser’s life story or whatever. Like I said, if he wanted to learn that info he should but only if he wanted. Idk why it treated him not wanting to know as acting irrational. I feel like every character treated him like this, from Tanizaki to Akutagawa to Dazai. Instead of comforting him in this difficult time they just… didn’t do anything? Obviously Akutagawa wouldn’t but why didn’t the other two do anything to make him feel better? Only Dazai did really and it was shitty. Full stop bad.

Which leads me into the crutch of it, I hate how they made the headmaster out to be a father figure or mentor. He’s not?? What the fuck are you on about. Like, I could see it if there was fake comfort, subtle or advert manipulation by being nice sometimes. Then it would have been a situation of, he’s the only father figure I ever had but he hurt me in the worst ways. And that’s where the ending could be. Not to say it would still be a well written depiction of abuse, it still tries to get you to empathize with the man, however, I could get where all the complication in Atsushi would lie. But this man was literally the worst human being to walk the face of the Earth the entire time we see him in the manga. So it makes ZERO SENSE. I guess that’s the angle they were going for, he’s the only adult man I know but it does NOT work at all. How is he a “mentor.” Just because he said to hate me not yourself? Fuck that shit, Atsushi does not need to feel bad for that man just because he was trying to make him strong or whatever bs excuse he has. Oh wow, he got him flowers. How ‘bout you pay for his therapy bills?!

If they really wanted to have some nuance, instead I feel like the conflict should have centered around Atsushi still not feeling safe or like he isn’t really dead. Like he can’t allow himself to relax despite the fact that he knows the facts. Especially since the headmaster was a big threat throughout his life, having him suddenly die would be a large shock to the system and go into denial mode. Thus, Dazai or someone else could help him move on and he could finally breath a sigh of relief. Or maybe he’s scared that other workers of the orphanage will try to find him. Maybe he tries to go back to normal, doesn’t give himself time to process, and it all comes crashing down and he has to grapple with the fact that he will never know WHY the headmaster treated him like this. Honestly, not having it answered would have been better because often people don’t get an answer why abusers act the way they do. This idea could add another reason why Atsushi is conflicted between happy and deeply upset because the headmaster is gone but now he’ll never understand why he was treated so horribly. And grappling with the idea that maybe he will never know or understand. Which is tragic but would be a better written and understandable conclusion.

BSD just really dropped the ball with that chapter. It had a great opportunity to bring a nuanced perspective onto why Atsushi may not be elated with his death and get further perspective on him as a character. But instead it focused too much effort on making a child abuser sympathetic because he also faced abuse in an orphanage and some people died and so he tried to make Atsushi strong or whatever. Atsushi deserved a better end in than chapter that Dazai calling that gross piece of shit his father.

Edit: I wanted to add that as much as I hate this chapter I liked the parts where we got to see how bad Atsushi’s life really was at the orphanage. I mean, it hurt for sure but getting to see this put into perspective fully why Atsushi has a hard time pushing through his trauma and past. Like, PTSD is no joke and that was reason enough, but seeing how far it got really showed that. Which makes me mad when people imply he should have gotten over it already or similar statements. Like, dude if that was me I wouldn’t have made it to 18. It’s actually impressive his resolve to live despite everything. Kind of wished we saw that in the anime as dark as it was but once again, I think it was not included specifically because of how poorly it handled this topic. Not gonna lie, it would piss me off enough to not finish the show (not that it’s too much of an improvement but it at least is like, bad writing but a pass).