#i understand why you are deem them as fresh air but that's on you

[boomingsmile]

ntftbl tiny post

Dunno what to say, honestly, the game isn't atrociously bad like bl3 was but it is of nothing good either.

Wasted hours of my life, returning back to good ol' before-2019 blands era.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

No One Would Miss Me

Pairings: Colin Bridgerton + Penelope Featherington, platonic Benedict Bridgerton + Penelope Featherington

Summary: Benedict finds out Penelope’s big secret.

"Would you excuse me, Lord Debling? I require some fresh air."

"Would you like me to come with you, Miss Featherington?"

"No, thank you, I would like a moment to myself."

Penelope curtsied to Lord Debling and made her way out of the Bridgerton's ballroom and out into the garden. Like previous years, the Bridgerton's Hearts and Flowers ball was a raving success - however, this year it was hosted by the new Viscountess Katharine Bridgerton.

Stepping out into the garden, she looked around at the decorations, before making her way over to where the swings she and Eloise once played on were. Only to see they were currently occupied by the second Bridgerton son.

"Oh, I wasn't expecting to see you, Benedict, I'll come back later," she says, turning around and just as she was about to go running away, Benedict spoke up.

"I don't mind, Penelope. You can keep me company." Penelope sighed and took the free seat next to Benedict. "Are you alright?"

Penelope shut her eyes for a moment, then looked over at him. "If I find myself marrying Lord Debling, I believe I may end up killing him not long after our wedding."

"Not well then?"

She shakes her head. "If I am to be honest with you?" Benedict nods his head. "He is dreadfully boring and rather dull. He cannot hold a conversation, he brushes off every single word I say and, surprisingly, he has more of an appetite than Colin of all people!"

Benedict watches as Penelope reaches over, swipes the cigarette he has hanging between his fingers and takes a drag. "Would not have put you down for a smoker."

"Only when Eloise stole them from you."

"I knew it was her!"

His five-word statement got a giggle out of Penelope, as Benedict looked over at the youngest Featherington daughter, he was surprised with how much he had missed her spending time with them - she and Eloise were always joined at the hip, you would never find one without the other.

"I don't mean to seem like I am prying, but whatever happened between you and Eloise?" He asks, reaching over and taking the cigarette back.

Penelope looked down at the ground. "I kept a secret from her. A very big secret, so much so she refuses to speak to me."

"What was the secret, if I am permitted to know?"

Penelope looked over her shoulder, her auburn curls fanning around her shoulders as her head looked around them - as soon as she deemed them safe from her secret, she looked over at Benedict. "I'm Whistledown," she whispered, loud enough for Benedict to hear, but quiet enough that it would be missed.

They fell into silence for a moment, as Benedict looked at Penelope in surprise. "You? You're Whistledown?" She nodded her head. "Wow, I would not have guessed it was you. Not in a million lifetimes!"

Penelope chuckled a little before the smile fell off her face.

"What I don't understand is why you and Eloise fell out? She practically worshipped Whistledown."

"She somehow worked it out. She went on a tirade about how she never believed I could do something like this, we both said some horrible things, but I knew she wouldn't believe me if I told her the whole truth, so I let her believe I am this vindictive and spiteful woman who only sees the worst in people."

"What is the truth?"

Penelope looks out into the garden, the pair haven't realised that hiding behind a tree is two of Benedict's siblings (Colin and Eloise). "The Queen was suspicious of her. She believed Eloise was Whistledown, I had to do something so she would stop looking at Eloise. If I didn't, I think Eloise would have been beheaded by now."

Benedict's eyes widen. "That might happen to you!"

"No one would miss me."

The three Bridgerton's felt their hearts break in their chests. No more than the third son, Colin Bridgerton. Penelope deemed herself so unworthy of love and happiness, that she was prepared to die alone.

"We would, all the Bridgerton's would," Benedict says, getting off his swing and crouching in front of Penelope.

Penelope shakes her head. "You might for a time, but you would all move on. You'd move away and get married, and so would little Gregory."

"What about Colin?"

"Colin made his feelings known last season," Penelope states. Colin peeks his head around the edge of the tree, seeing his older brother wiping away Penelope's tears with a handkerchief.

"Is that why you plan on getting married this season?"

"If I marry Lord Debling, I will have a title, and I'll be protected."

Benedict tilts his head, having seen the look in his brother's eyes when he poked his head around the side of the tree. "What if you marry a Bridgerton?"

Penelope looked down at Benedict, as it looked like a was currently down on one knee. "Not me!" Benedict laughs.

"If you asked, I would say yes. After your mama and Gregory, you are my third favourite Bridgerton."

Colin and Eloise share a look, they were once Penelope's favourite people, and now they are no better than her mother.

"You know which Bridgerton I am talking about."

"Gregory is far too young, I don't even know if I would be still alive when Gregory enters society."

"You know I mean Colin."

Colin lets go of the tree and stands to the side of the tree, looking between his older brother and the young woman he didn't know he adored. He watched as Penelope shook her head.

"I told you Colin made his feelings known and I have made peace with it." Benedict's confused face must have prompted Penelope to explain. "At my family's ball at the end of last season, I overheard Colin stating to half of the men of the ton, that he would not court me in his wildest fantasies. Which is odd, because I never asked him to court me."

Colin felt all the blood drain from his face. He doesn't remember much from the Featherington's ball last season, other than confronting Penelope's Uncle Jack. They always said a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. Not this sober man.

"That's not true, Pen," Colin made himself known, as his brother got up from the floor and Penelope looked over her shoulder at him, there were tear marks on her face. It broke Colin all the more that his stupid drunk words caused this.

Penelope shook her head and looked away from him. "You do not need to excuse your actions, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Pen, will you please stop calling me Mr. Bridgerton?" Colin crouched down in front of her, watching over her shoulder for a second as Benedict walked over to where tears were silently falling down Eloise's face. "I am Colin. I have always been Colin to you."

"We need not act so familiar with each other, Mr. Bridgerton. Especially if I am to marry Lord Debling at the end of the season."

Colin watched Penelope for a moment. "You know there is a name which holds more protection than that of Lord Debling?"

"Who's?"

"Mine."

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Fresh Air

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

Fresh air is needed for you and Alver is not letting you go by yourself.

content warning: blood

Working in the Palace might be some people's dream job, and you know what? You can't blame them.

The pay is good, their social insurance is a corporate slave's dream, and even though it's hectic, the integrity and honor of working within the Royal Palace is something that others might think is worth it.

But by God, the amount of conservative-minded people here is so fucking insufferable. Getting a spot to work in the Palace so easily because you're close with Alver Crossman himself along with Cale Henituse is bound to have you earn a lot of shit talk, both behind and in front of you. In a week of working here, you've heard that you were probably seducing His Highness to work in this insufferable place. Can you imagine that? Seducing someone to get you to work while you're getting so much money just from existing in the Henituse duchy?

While it is true that you got this spot because you had some of the best connections in the kingdom, it doesn't mean you weren't a hard worker and gained this amount of trust from them all because you were shaking your hips and batting your eyelashes. In fact, if you were that attractive, you would've immediately scammed some old men to get their whole fortune on the reg. But alas, you are not, so here you were, signing paperwork, making sure the budgeting for several projects isn't iffy, and looking over the public services the kingdom offers to the citizens.

Honestly, the shit-talking problem isn't that bad.

What's the worst part of working around these conservatives is...

"Of course, I doubt you'd understand how exactly it works because you're a woman."

You skim through the proposal Count Theodore has placed on your desk, glancing at the ridiculously inhumane number of gold coins they have put down in the budgeting section to fix the roads in the commoners' parts of the kingdom. "And it seems you don't understand that you need my signature to get this amount of money, Count Theodore. You need me, a woman, to agree to whatever plan you, a man, have."

Alver has entrusted you to the duty of agreeing to any proposals sent to the Palace for any building or to provide anything for the kingdom, usually applied by the workers and employees after there's a certain amount of request or petition from nobles or commoners. Alver knew of your very frugal habits over money that isn't even yours and how you're very considerate of people, so he thought entrusting you with that duty was perfect. 

"I know!" Count Theodore yells out with a hearty laugh as if you had just stated a joke and you thought truly how much these men have had their brains fried from being under the sun too long with their balding heads. "How ridiculous this situation is."

"I know. It's as ridiculous as this proposal," you responded, closing the proposal and pushing it away from you. "I'm not signing this."

Count Theodore's smile dropped and he looked at you with wide eyes, no doubt flabbergasted. "W-what? No!"

You rolled your eyes. Yet another grown man who can't take "no" for an answer. Then again, you might have been spoiling the man for quite some time now, agreeing with some of his projects whenever you deemed them as useful and not excessive. And because Count Theodore himself has had too many projects in that part of the city is exactly the reason why you cannot agree to this proposal.

"You've had at least three projects that focus on providing and rebuilding some public facilities in the area within the last two months," you pointed out, stating some of the more logical reasons first. 

Count Theodore frowned. "Then what is the problem? That's great that I have been contributing to the people!"

You sighed. "Working on the street right now will be in vain as the street is not only being used by your crew's carriages to transport goods and tools for those projects that are still ongoing but it is always being used by the public. We can't work on the street as long as it is being used and the commoners will have a hard time getting from place to place if the street is being blocked off by construction work. An accident whilst we work on it could also happen so I will not approve of this project."

"Another reason is because the budgeting for this project is way too much," you said with a frown. "You want five million gold to fix a dent on the street?"

"Miss [Name], as I've said before, you don't seem to understand," he began to explain with a tone too condescending. "You're a woman, so you don't understand how bad it is--"

"I shop frequently on this street, Count Theodore," you told him, leaning to your chair with a raised eyebrow. "I've seen with my own eyes how bad it is and most damage it has inflicted was the jolt of a carriage when it passes that dent."

"Aha, I see," Count Theodore said with a smile. "It seems you've lingered too long on those... commoner areas that you must be surprised by this amount of money, Miss [Name]."

"I have tea parties and meals with the Henituse family before I worked here, Count Theodore," you countered. "You have not seen the amount of money I've dealt with and gotten as pay while working there."

You picked up the proposal, handing it to Count Theodore with a polite smile. "Come back once you get a better project for me."

You rubbed your temple, walking along the halls of the palace toward Alver's study.

Lately, you've been cranky from the sleepless nights and insufferable colleagues and nobles. You have been becoming more and more blunt each day and you're too afraid to admit that whenever you see a nobleman hanging out by the porch, smoking a few sticks of cigarettes or maybe even with a pipe, you have the urge to go over to them and ask for a puff. You're not one to smoke, but seeing those relaxed faces as they exhaled a thin, greyish smoke had you questioning whether you should start smoking again.

'Don't.'

You stopped walking, a surge of pain overcoming your head. You placed your palm on the wall, trying your best to keep standing up. You heard the faint voice of an unfamiliar man asking if you were okay and a large hand on your back. Your vision blurs, black spots filling it slowly to the point you couldn't see that you have let go of the stack of papers in your hand, letting it scatter all over the floor.

'When will you find me?'

This was the reason for your sleepless nights. Such a familiar voice, echoing inside your head, always coming by accompanied with such a stinging ache that you would nearly lose consciousness and when you do, you'll always wake up restless and mentally drained. Is this what Cage felt whenever the God of Death talks to her? Is this voice inside your head a God or are you slowly going insane?

'You must hurry,' the voice continues, their tone urgent and anxious. 'I need you, and only you.'

"Someone, please--!"

You gripped the hand that was holding your shoulder, stopping the person from talking. You waited for a few seconds, hoping the headache will die down and your vision clears up and when it doesn't, you have the urge to ask the voice; 'What do I need to do...?'

And life -- cruel as always -- decided to help you. Your headache subsides, vision slowly returning to its original state, now capable of seeing the droplets of red that were falling from your face to the carpet and thankfully not the papers.

'Leave them all.'

You blinked, trying to comprehend what the voice was saying. Leave? Do you have to leave this place?

"Miss [Name], are you alright?" The man that had grabbed you was an on-duty guard. You looked up and his eyes widened slightly once he saw your face. 

"You're having a nosebleed, Miss," he told you, fishing out a handkerchief from his breast pocket. You murmured a small "thanks", wiping your nose with the handkerchief and holding it in place while the guard helped you by gathering the papers on the floor.

"I'm sorry for troubling you, Sir," you began apologetically, slightly distracted by the chaos in your mind. 'Leave? How far should I go?'

'I will show you the way,'the voice told you, gentle and in a way, comforting. 'Leave and I will tell you all the answers to your questions.'

The guard laughed nervously, his voice snapping you back to reality. You noticed he had sorted the papers you've dropped earlier and was now handing them back to you. "It's the least I could do to Miss [Name]. Because of you, those nobles don't dare to be arrogant in the palace for quite some time now."

"You don't like nobles, Sir?" You questioned, a bit muffled as your nose is still being covered.

The guard shook his head, smiling. "Not the arrogant ones, Miss."

"Me too," you laughed. "Thank you for the good work, Sir."

"I thank you as well, Miss, but aren't you pushing yourself too hard?" He inquired with a concerned frown. "Please get some proper rest."

You smiled, nodding. "Thank you, Sir. I'll return your handkerchief after I cleaned it."

"Please take your time."

After parting from the kind guard, you returned on your way to Alver's study, wiping your nose clean from the blood and stuffing it into your pocket. You took a deep breath before knocking on Alver's door, announcing your presence, and waiting to hear his signal to let you inside before you opened the door and strolled in. 

"Good afternoon, Your Highness."

Alver didn't even look up at you, eyes still looking down at his own pile of paperwork. "Good afternoon, Miss [Name]."

You approached his desk, placing the papers on top of the expensive mahogany desk with a sigh. "These are the reports regarding some of the progress with the projects for public facilities. Also, Count Theodore is constantly submitting proposals for a very large amount of money in a short amount of time, obviously wanting to embezzle some money. Though, all of his submitted projects, ones I accepted for plausible reasons and ones I declined, are pointed at the same area so I suspect there might be something fishy going on in that area, so I suggest checking it out."

Alver only glanced at the pile of papers you've put on his table and then did a double take. "What is that?"

"What?" You asked back, confused as you watch Alver finally sit straight. He took some of the papers from the stack, eying the sides with a frown. "Miss [Name], is this blood on the paper?"

Your eyes widened, alarmed. Instead of looking at the papers Alver was showing you, you looked at your fingers, which prompted Alver to look at you. He looked at your stained fingertips and then at your face, where he can see some dried blood around your nostrils. He hurriedly stood up, already fishing out a handkerchief to give to you, manners are thrown out the window once he concluded what had happened.

"[Name], did you get a nosebleed?" He asked.

You answered his question by taking out a bloodied handkerchief from your pocket to clean around your nostrils. "It was only a little."

"The amount of blood on that small piece of cloth is concerning," he retorted. "Use this and take some rest. I'm putting you on a leave."

"Will I still get paid during my leave?"

"By the love of Gods, yes. Now go rest."

Not much was said after that because Alver kept on pressing you to go to your room to rest. You simply went back to your room, accepting any food and treats Alver had sent your way and also the doctor that came by to check on you. He only said you were lacking in sleep and overworked so he advised a few days of rest and proper eating. After all of that was over, you spent the rest of the day in your room, keeping to yourself by reading some of the books you have.

You didn't expect to see Alver again that day but when your door was knocked and that handsome pale face and tufts of blond hair appeared in your doorway, you couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised. "Your Highness," you greeted him with a curtsy. 

He waved you off. "Let's drop the formalities for now, [Name]. May I come in?"

You stepped aside, letting the tall man in and shutting the door quietly behind you. Instead of walking ahead and sitting down, Alver stayed by your side, fixing your shawl, and placed a hand on your back while you both walked to the couch together. His voice asked you softly; "How are you feeling?"

"I feel better," you say, noting how Alver lets you sit down first before he sat across you. You smiled, wondering how were you able to befriend the man without falling in love considering your streak of falling head over heels for whoever treats you right.

"Are you overworked?" Alver asked, no doubt familiar with your circumstances, or so he thinks. "Would you like me to hand over some of your responsibilities to someone else?"

"I'm not overworked," you told him with a sigh. Nosebleeds happening in your previous life had been normal, considering the amount of work you had to deal with and the lack of sleep that accompanied it, but this time around, you weren't going to risk telling that to Alver who would immediately cut you back from the work that has been helping you keep being busy or even worse, sending you back to the Duchy. "Some people are insufferable, but what else is new? The amount of work you've placed on me is enough for me to handle alone."

"Then could you explain your nosebleeds?" Alver asked, entreating you with a raised eyebrow. "I've been asking around your colleagues to question them regarding these events occurring and they stated it has happened several times. Even the maids who had been cleaning your room have come forward."

'Shit,' you thought. 

"Tell me the truth, [Name]," he asks of you, his tone firm and leaving no room for excuses. You had a passing thought that this might be how it is to have a caring big brother, but what do you know? You were an only child between your mother and father. While you did have your half-sisters, you never truly know how to act around them as things between the three of you were awkward, most likely influenced by your mother's nasty attitude towards you.

"I just--" You began hesitantly. "There's just been a lot on my mind lately, with Count Theodore, the sexism in this workplace, and--"

"Do I have to call for Cale?"

You nearly snapped. "Why would you even call for him?"

"Because you're lying." Alver upbraided you with no remorse. "And I know you're incapable of lying to him. That's why you're here, running away from him. We both know that if you meet him, you'd have to be honest with him about your feelings."

Alver knew he was the winner of this debate once he saw your face of defeat, eyebrows scrunched up and the corners of your mouth pulled downwards. Your tense shoulders sagged as you let out a sigh, both hands coming up to rub your face and just in time, another headache came to you.

'You don't have much time,' the voice stated sternly. 'Don't you want to know why you're here?'

"[Name]?" Alver's warm hand is on your back, having moved to your side once he noticed how you haven't shown your face and didn't respond to his voice when he called for you. You easily leaned to him, your head lolling to the side almost like a corpse and Alver's blood ran cold when he saw your eyes roll to the back of your head. He wrapped his arm around you, his other hand cradling your cheek. "[Name]? Can you hear me?"

'I'll give you a few days to prepare,' the voice spoke again to your head. 'Once you are prepared, board for the ship that heads the furthest from the Western continent.'

'Is that where you are?' you were able to respond despite feeling your consciousness slowly slipping away. 'Will I find my answers there?'

There was no voice to answer you and you feel your stomach drop at the silence. Whoever it was, they have decided to give you an ultimatum and will not be speaking to you until you've done your task. Suddenly you're seven, tugging on your mother's pants and begging for her forgiveness as she turns away from you, keeping her mouth shut and ignoring your cries because you had simply forgotten to pick up your plate and put it in the sink.

"Fuck," you murmured to yourself and heard Alver's relieved sigh. Your eyelids fluttered open, Alver's handsome face slowly coming into your vision, relief and concern flashing across his eyes when they met your bleary ones. "Fuck, you scared me."

You took a moment to realize that Alver had cursed. "That's not very elegant of you to curse."

"Good to hear you have enough energy in you to lecture me," he told you, slowly releasing you once he made sure you have enough strength to sit up properly. "[Name], I don't think it's wise of you to continue working here."

"I just need some fresh air," you told him, standing up slowly. Alver frowned, standing up with you, "[Name], this is self-destructive. Please give yourself a break."

"Fresh air is break," you told him, opening your wardrobe and taking out a coat. "I will be back tonight."

"[Name], please," Alver pleaded, frustrated with how stubborn you were being. He sees you discarding your shawl onto the bed and putting on your coat before he pursed his lips into a thin line. "Fine. But I'm going with you."

Alver watched you stroll in the middle of the path, walking with no clear intention. You walked without much thought with the royal beside you, aimlessly looking around nonchalantly and sometimes Alver had to grab you to make sure you were not bumping into people. 

"Could you tell me what you're thinking about?" He quietly asks you, holding your hand. "Surely admitting your feelings for Cale is not that bad that you'd rather choose the nosebleeds and losing consciousness."

"You think so?" You murmured without much thought, your feet guiding you towards the slums.

"[Name]," Alver pressed, gripping your hand. "I'm being serious."

"Your Highness," you began, turning to look at the blond. "I'm not doing this just because I'm a coward when it comes to confrontation. I'm doing this not only to protect myself but him, too."

Alver frowned. "How? Worst case scenario is rejection, which I highly doubt will happen."

"Worst case scenario is me leaving you all."

Alver's mouth clamps shut instantly when you look at him with a frown. "Cale had the choice to leave this place and was shown the reason how and why he was here. I didn't. What if I easily accept his love, commit to him, and then find out I'm not supposed to be here? What if I don't have any other choice but to leave you all? I won't be the only one coming out of this unscathed."

Alver chewed the inside of his cheek. Was this what you had been thinking this whole time? With the whole chaos with Cale's existence and the God of Death, Alver had neglected to question whether or not you were pursuing the answers to your existence here because Cale was so nonchalant about his. 

"[Name], I--"

"Hush," you whispered, pulling Alver close as two men neared you both. You cursed at the fact that you didn't have a cloak and improvised, placing your forehead onto his chest and slowly peeking to the side to get a look at the men who will walk by you. Alver quickly understood what you were doing and lowered his face, the hood of the cloak falling to hide his face.

"Count Theodore promised to give us the money in two more days," one of them stated in what he thinks is a whisper but can be heard clearly by you and Alver. You and Alver stilled, eyes wide when you heard the name of the insufferable man who has been making your work harder. 

One of the two men glanced at you both for only a mere second before they continued, "Then I'll prepare the girls and the..."

His voice began drifting off the further they walked away. You looked up at Alver, seeing the pissed-off look on his face before you grinned. "A case of a corrupt noble?"

Alver closed his eyes and spoke in an irritated tone, "How surprising."

To think you both had walked to the area where Count Theodore was constantly aiming for in his projects was laughable. You had advised Aver to look into Count Theodore this morning and having this happen in front of Alver would push the man to do a deep dive into Count Theodore and whatever he's hiding.

"Let's go back."

[sunnyrealist]

Chapter 41: Follow Me Into the Next Life

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian and Kate are on an adventurous camping trip in the Scottish Highlands. Their goal is to explore the mysterious Blackfold Castle. Protective wards, set by a queen who took her own life, have kept curious treasure-hunters away for centuries. When the couple first arrives, Sebastian attempts to break the wards with no success. However, Kate is able to stroll past the barrier with no issue and somehow is able to bring Sebastian with her. As they approach, Kate's emotions suddenly transform to ones of fear, grief, and deep sorrow. Soon, it seems that the castle itself is pulling them inside.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x Kate Mayflower (my OC)

Content warnings: In general, this is rated 18+ - minors should not read or interact with this story. This chapter really doesn't have content warnings, but there are some sad moments related to heartbreak.

Artwork: The illustrated pictures of Kate and Sebastian were commissioned from @giselsann-opencommissions.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 41: Follow Me Into the Next Life

When the doors shut behind them, candles suddenly flicker to life, bringing the interior out of the darkness for the first time in over 500 years. Sebastian is surprised to find the air inside the castle fresh, as though someone had been here recently, though in his heart he knows that couldn’t be true. The castle has deemed them special enough to grant access, though he is not sure why.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asks gently.

Kate’s inner turmoil has disappeared - no longer terrified and overwhelmed with melancholia, she feels a sense of relief. Nodding, she replies in amazement, “I’m… completely fine now.”

Sebastian leads the way, moving cautiously inside the huge hall. It’s oddly empty, with plenty of open space. Plaid tapestries line the walls. Stained glass windows allow colored light into the hall. A wooden table lies in the center of the room and, behind it, a huge pensieve. On the table are a piece of parchment, a quill, and a pot of ink. Ornate candlesticks burn brightly on each side of the set of writing tools.

The eerie silence is only broken by their footsteps as they make their way to the table, which is clean, though it would stand to reason it should be quite dusty and dirty after many centuries.

Sebastian and Kate lean over, examining the only words written on the parchment: Ma tha an dithis agaibh an seo, bha sinn soirbheachail.

Kate glances at her boyfriend, furrowing her brow. She shakes her head. “I don’t know what that means…”

Sebastian appears bewildered. “It’s Scottish Gaelic.” He reads the words aloud fluently, then murmurs its translation. “If you are both here… we were successful.”

“You know the language?” Kate asks, surprised.

“Yes,” he replies, still looking unsettled by the message. “My father taught me Latin, Greek, and Scottish Gaelic. And then I studied some more languages on my own - I can understand Ancient Runes, Phoenician, Cyrillic, and Aramaic.”

Kate looks at him in wonder. “That’s incredible. I had no idea.” 

“‘If you are both here, we were successful,’” Sebastian repeats, his eyebrows knitting together. “I don’t understand.”

She examines the parchment once more, then the items on the table. “Why leave writing utensils and only that one sentence?”

He takes the quill, dipping it into the pot of ink. “That’s exactly the question. I have a hunch. I’m going to try something.” He scribbles two words on the paper and says them aloud in English. Feasgar math. “Good afternoon.” 

Kate gasps as their first exchanged messages disappear, replaced by another. Sebastian narrates and translates. “Tha mi air feitheamh cho fada gus an ruig thu. I have waited so long for you to arrive.”

Who are you? Sebastian queries in Scottish Gaelic.

I am you, the parchment answers cryptically.

Kate and Sebastian glance confusedly at each other.

What is your name?

Eilionoir. And yours?

“Queen Eilionoir of Blackfold Castle,” Kate murmurs. “How…? How is she doing this? It’s impossible. She’s dead…”

“Should we give our names?” Sebastian asks.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “It could be the work of Dark magic… What do you think?”

Sebastian begins scribbling again. What shall you do with our names?

I shall do nothing. I am merely curious to know our names.

Our names?

Yes. Our names. Please. And pray tell, what is the year?

1899. Sebastian glances at Kate, who nods in approval. We are Sebastian Renatus Sallow and Kate Camellia Mayflower.

I see. Much time has passed. I wonder why it took so many centuries. I have never heard such names.

What do you mean by “it?”

You shall understand soon.

Sebastian grows bolder, tired of playing games. Why did you draw Kate into this place? Do you seek to harm us?

It has been so long. I did not wish to risk losing you both. I waited for you specifically. I promise that neither of you shall not be harmed. I want you to understand. Please take note. Should you heed my instructions, you shall be greatly rewarded. You shall leave this place with more knowledge and wealth than you can imagine.

Kate and Sebastian exchange glances, eyebrows raised.

We do not understand, but we await your directions.

If you are Neacal, you surely must know how to use a Pensieve, yes?

Sebastian shakes his head. Perhaps this charmed paper is not as effective or intelligent as he was beginning to believe. My name is Sebastian. I know how to use a Pensieve.

Marvelous. Sebastian, I have left memories for you and Kate to view. You likely enjoy exploring, yes?

Yes.

You shall explore this castle, where I once dwelled. In each room of the southern wing, I left bottled memories. Collect them. If you use them in order, you shall see the story of my life chronologically. Do not disturb any of the items in the rooms - only procure the memories. When your task is complete, I shall reveal more - and provide a reward.

Sebastian is not quite sure what to say, so he ends with: Thank you.

“I’ve never used a Pensieve…” Kate tells him hesitantly.

“It isn’t difficult,” Sebastian assures her.

Kate grasps his hand tightly. “Sebastian, how is any of this possible?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “I’m not entirely certain. It would take powerful magic to link one’s conscious memory to an object, like a piece of parchment. Queen Eilionoir must have had a very important reason to do it - that would take serious determination and skill. I just… I don’t understand why she writes that she has waited for us, specifically. How could she know us?”

“I don’t know, either. But… I do not think we are in danger. Do you?” Kate asks.

“No, I don’t,” he replies. “We should see this through. I’m intrigued by the promise of this reward.”

They set off into the south wing, ready to explore.

An hour later, Kate finishes arranging the memory vials in the order in which they discovered them. 

“I wonder how long each of the memories will last,” Kate muses. “There are so many of them… We will likely be here until the evening.”

Sebastian leans over the Pensieve and gazes into the wispy, swirling basin. “Let’s not wait any longer, then. I am ready when you are.”

Kate nods. “So, what do I do?”

“Stand next to the Pensieve. I will retrieve a memory, open the bottle, and empty its contents. Then, both of us shall place our faces into the Pensieve,” he explains, walking to the table and selecting the first memory. “It will feel strange at first. You will feel like you are truly there, and you’ll see what this person experienced. You will not be able to interact with anything in the memory, but you will be able to move about and see a little beyond what the queen could see herself.” He uncaps the glass top of the memory bottle. “Does that make sense? Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” she affirms.

Sebastian lets the silvery memory trickle out of the bottle and into the Pensieve. He and Kate stare at each other, resolved. They place their faces into the basin, and their world fades away, replaced by Queen Eilionoir’s. 

At first, Kate feels as though she is falling, but she doesn’t even notice that she lands. 

They’re in a large, green field, bordered by a forest. In the distance is a tiny cottage with a pen for livestock.

A little girl runs by, chasing after a lamb. She has long, blonde, very curly hair, green eyes, and freckles - Kate notes that she almost looks like a cherub, despite her clothing - a dark brown dress with a tattered smock, along with a dark cloth wrapped around the top of her head. Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she’s panting, trying to keep up with the runaway animal. She cries out in a language Kate doesn’t understand. 

Sebastian, standing next to Kate, murmurs, “She’s telling the lamb to stop and wait. But it doesn’t look like it will. We’ll have to follow her.”

 He takes Kate’s hand, and they begin jogging towards the lamb and child. 

Up ahead, underneath a tree, there sits a small boy, about the same age, paging through a book. He has dark - almost black - hair and brown eyes, trained on a book. He appears to be talking to himself. His clothes are in much better shape. As the little girl approaches, the boy finally looks up. 

She continues shouting at the lamb as it furthers its lead. Finally, she trips somehow, falling down hard with an “Oomph!”

The young lad closes his book, stands, and pulls a wand out of his pocket, pointing it at the lamb. He murmurs something, moving the wand, and, as a result, the creature freezes in place. Then, he dashes over to the little girl, checking to see if she is alright. He helps her stand. 

“Merlin,” Sebastian marvels. “He couldn’t be much older than five. How could he do that at that age?”

The children converse with each other.

“She thanked him. Then, they exchanged names. Eilionoir Aitken and Neacal Brody. He has offered to help her to bring the lamb back to its pen,” Sebastian explains to Kate.

Little Neacal picks up the lamb with great effort, and the two begin walking back in the direction from which Eilionoir came.

The memory fades, and Kate and Sebastian find themselves back in their world as they remove their faces from the Pensieve.

Kate touches her face, surprised it isn’t wet. “Neacal… Isn’t that the name the parchment mentioned earlier?”

“Yes,” replies Sebastian. “Let’s view the next memory, if you’re ready.”

Eilionoir cannot be much more than a year older than in the previous memory. The scenery is a one-room home, a very rustic one. Eilionoir’s face is dirty; she is sitting up on a bed stuffed with three younger siblings, fast asleep. Her mother pulls a wooden chair close to the bed. Eilionoir clutches her stomach and appears to complain.

“She’s hungry,” Sebastian translates.

Eilionoir’s mother responds to her, taking a strand of blond curls in her hair.

Sebastian listens to the conversation, then tells Kate what transpired. He’s frowning. “Her mother told her that she should just go to sleep if she’s hungry, for there is no more food. She then taught Eilionoir that someday, she will save the family from poverty by marrying someone wealthy. She told her that it is a woman’s duty to marry and have children for her husband. It is the only thing women are made for, and she tells Eilionoir that she must be so pretty for a reason - that she is sure to attract someone of a higher status.”

Eilionoir smiles innocently, then asks another question. Then, the memory fades.

When Kate and Sebastian return to their world, he translates again. “Eilionoir asked if her husband will have food.”

Kate looks down, troubled by what they saw and heard. “Such poverty… and yet she ended up here, in Blackfold Castle.”

Many years pass throughout the memories inside the third bottle.

Most of the scenes take place after sunset, as it grows dark outside. Kate eventually deduces that they must only be able to meet at night, after the day’s work is complete.

Eilionoir meets Neacal at the same tree from the first memory. He holds his wand out, clearly utilizing Lumos. They laugh, running through a dark forest, side by side. They eventually come to a river, and Neacal finds a fallen tree that might lead them across, but it’s clearly not all that stable or safe. Eilionoir tries to hold him back, but Neacal climbs onto it without any hesitation. Stepping carefully and testing his weight, he makes it across the river. Then, he beckons for her to follow, and she does. The moment she is across, they run further and further into the woods.

The next memory finds Neacal seated at the tree, waiting for Eilionoir again. He reads a book using his illuminated wand. Eilionoir arrives and sits beside him. He recites the words to her. 

“A fairy tale?” Kate guesses.

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head. “Far from it.” He steps closer to the two of them, hovering close behind and examining the words on the page. “It’s a book that teaches about magical theory.” 

Kate furrows her brow. “They can’t be more than nine years old… Are you sure?”

He chuckles. “Yes, I’m certain. And look, they are both so interested…”

“At nine, I would have been reading tales of princesses and heroes,” Kate muses. “How strange.”

Sebastian smiles. “I would have, too, but I certainly would have read things like this, as well. My parents always encouraged studying serious texts along with enjoying fun stories.”

Kate gazes at Sebastian in amazement and admiration. 

The scene changes. Neacal leads Eilionoir to his home, where his parents provide her with a hot meal. Then, Neacal asks his father for something. He returns with three long boxes.

“Wands,” Kate guesses. “Perhaps his parents were wandmakers.”

Eilionoir tries out two of the wands with disastrous results, but the third produces a bright light the moment she touches it. She asks Neacal’s father if it costs money, and he shakes his head, gesturing that it belongs to her now. She beams.

Not much time passes, and Kate and Sebastian again see the two of them by “their” tree. 

Neacal takes Eilionoir’s left hand, and wraps a flower around her ring finger, whispering something in her ear. Eilionoir blushes intensely. He chastely kisses her cheek.

“He said he would marry her someday,” Sebastian murmurs with a smile, nudging Kate. “That he would take care of her.”

“All of this is so sweet.” Kate smiles.

More years go by. Most of the scenes are about Neacal reading to or teaching spells to Eilionoir, helping her to practice and hone her magic. They are thrilled with every success, hugging each other and dancing around.

Kate and Sebastian are sent back to their reality. 

“This is fascinating,” Kate says, “And I want to keep going, but perhaps we should take a break for luncheon.”

Sebastian chuckles. Without Kate, that never would have crossed his mind - he would normally have been too obsessed and enthralled to stop for even a moment, but now that she’s said it, his stomach growls. He agrees, and Kate quickly prepares a cheese and meat plate with fresh bread and grapes. It’s not much, but it will sustain them for a few more hours. 

When Sebastian tips the next silvery memory into the Pensieve, he and Kate dive right in, reinvigorated by their light lunch.

This memory isn’t happy at all.

Eilionoir’s mother lies dead in her bed, a midwife packing up tools. Her father is screaming at the midwife, as if she could have done something more. 

Eilionoir (likely twelve years old now) and her five younger siblings cower in bed, sobbing.

That night, Eilionoir sneaks out as soon as everyone is asleep. She dashes to Neacal’s house and taps at the small window she knows to be right above his bed. A few minutes later, he slips outside. The moment Eilionoir lays eyes on him, she bursts into tears. Neacal leads her to their tree, where she can actually let it all out. She sobs loudly, practically unable to breathe. Neacal holds her in an embrace, rubbing her back. 

This scene fades, and then one begins, with Eilionoir and her father. He is having a serious discussion with her. 

“He says that the family depends on Eilionoir more than ever, with her mother gone. She needs to look after her siblings and mind the house. He actually said to her, ‘Childhood is over,’” Sebastian explains. He listens to more of their conversation, then continues, “Her father is telling her that she is practically a woman now and that he will look for a match for her as soon as possible. Through marriage, Eilionoir could lift the family out of poverty.”

Kate scoffs. “A woman? She doesn’t even look like a teenager.”

Perhaps a year later, Eilionoir’s body has shifted closer to that of a young lady. At night, she and Neacal, who also looks older and more filled out, walk in the woods hand in hand, under the light of the moon. They reach the river where they once used to play as children. Neacal gestures for Eilinoir to sit on a fallen tree, and he settles in next to her, quite close. The stars are reflected in the water, and lacewing flies light up all around them. 

Neacal takes her face in his hands, leans in, and kisses Eilionoir softly. When they break apart, he begins to speak and continues for a long while. She smiles at him, and when he finishes, she presses her lips to his once more. Just like when they were children, Neacal wraps a flower around her left ring finger, whispering in her ear.

Sebastian clears his throat. “Neacal says he will marry her. He will provide for her and her family. He will properly speak to her father about a wedding as soon as he finishes his apprenticeship. He says they will always be happy, and he will always cherish her. They’ll be together every day and not have to sneak around at night anymore. He promises he will procure a real ring for her.”

Kate smiles, then frowns, realizing that she eventually becomes a queen - not Neacal’s wife. 

A couple more years pass. Eilionoir listens in as Neacal speaks to her father about a marriage. To her surprise, her father agrees but says that Neacal must prove that he can actually provide for Eilionoir and her family. Neacal shakes his hand, promising to do so. 

When Kate and Sebastian emerge from the Pensieve, Kate gestures for him to hurry up and pour in the contents of the next bottle.

A year has passed. Eilionoir is smiling, and her siblings are quite excited. There is to be a royal procession through the village. They beg Eilionoir to let them leave their chores for just an hour so that they may see it, and, after some hesitation, she agrees. 

They all stroll towards town, joining a large crowd lining the main road. They soon hear horns, signaling the arrival of the procession. 

There are musicians on horseback at the front of the procession. Then, there are knights and royal officials, riding on unicorns, no less. Eilionoir’s youngest sibling, no more than seven years old, jumps up and down excitedly, pointing at the rare creatures. Eilionoir grins at the joy this has brought them. Eventually, a carriage pulled by thestrals rolls past, slowly. There is a man, wearing a crown, inside, who waves at all of the villagers. His eyes meet Eilionoir’s and do not leave until the carriage has long passed. The procession continues on, and at the end, there is a performer who uses fire magic to entertain.

When it is over, Eilionoir pushes her siblings to return home. The younger ones skip and sing all the way back. 

When Eilionoir opens the door, there is an older man - someone who appears noble - speaking to her father. Eilionoir is taken aback and quickly pulls her siblings back around the house to their livestock pen to get back to their work.

Tiptoeing back around the house, she tries to not arouse suspicion, as she clearly plans to listen in to the conversation, but the nobleman exits, sees her, and slightly bows. Eilionoir appears confused but curtsies. She enters the house to find her father smiling and laughing. He asks her to sit down, unable to speak at first because he is practically cackling with happiness. Then, he begins sharing some news with her. Eilionoir, at first, grins but then turns pale.

Sebastian’s face falls as he listens in. “Her father says that their life of poverty is over. Eilionoir is to be married to the prince of Blackfold Castle, Luthais. He saw her, thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and immediately requested for someone to speak to her father to arrange a marriage agreement. He does not care that her family is poor.”

Eilinoir begins to tear up. She calmly asks a question.

“Eilionoir asks how her father could do this, when she has already been promised to Neacal.”

Her father shakes his head and answers her as though she is being ridiculous.

“He says that their engagement was never official and that Neacal could never offer her what the prince could. Neacal could not lift her family from poverty. Neacal could not give Eilionoir’s father a hefty annual allowance and a title,” Sebastian explains somberly.

Eilinoir argues with him, then begins screaming and crying, to no avail.

In the next scene, Eilionoir tells Neacal the news. They both cry and hold each other, realizing there may be no way out of this situation as they go through potential options. Neacal promises that, despite their dour circumstances, he will still try to find a solution.

Then, the season changes from spring to summer. Eilionoir sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night, meeting with Neacal at their tree. They immediately begin kissing desperately. Tears spill from Eilionoir’s eyes. She whispers to him.

“I do not wish to leave you. I cannot live without you, Neacal,” Sebastian translates. 

Neacal presses his lips to her forehead, tearing up. “I love you, Eilionoir. I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will.”

“Please tell me you have found a way for us to be together,” Eilionoir begs. 

Neacal looks down, his forehead touching hers. “I did everything I could. There is no solution. Not in this life.”

She is wracked with sobs. They hold each other close, moving to finally sit down. 

“Eilionoir, though I cannot make you my wife, I may have devised a way for us to be together. Not in this life, but the next. Do you trust me?” Neacal asks.

She nods, brushing away tears. “With all my heart. I trust you with my life.”

Neacal reaches into a pocket in his cloak. He gets on one knee and holds out a golden ring with a moonstone. “Will you follow me into the next life?”

Eilionoir appears confused. 

“I want you to have this ring to remember me by. However, it’s also an assurance we shall find each other someday. I have never studied so much or gone to such lengths in my life. I traveled to meet with an elder to ensure my work was not in vain. I have finally done it, Eilionoir. I have actually created a spell.” From his cloak pocket, he retrieves and unfolds a piece of parchment. “It’s… it’s a spell for reincarnation.” He gives her a serious, earnest look, searching her face for approval.

“Reincarnation? I never believed it possible,” Eilionoir replies, mystified, gazing at him. “But if you say it is possible, then I know it is possible.” 

“It will work. I know it will work.” His tone is determined, sure. 

Eilionoir kisses his hand, and then he slides the ring onto her finger - a perfect fit. 

“We’ll have another chance,” he murmurs, placing a green ring with a moonstone onto his left ring finger. Then, he shows her the parchment. “We must cast this together under the full moon while wearing the rings. Our souls will unite in the next life.”

Eilionoir scans the parchment, then gazes upon Neacal with genuine hope in her eyes.

The two, in unison, look up at the night sky, where a full moon watches over them. Neacal takes his lover’s hand and helps her to stand.

“We must use both of our wands at once, with both of our hands, and create a circle around us to bind us,” Neacal instructs. “Then, we shall recite the enchantment.”

Both of them take out their wands. Neacal places his in Eilionoir’s hand and then his hand joins hers. They turn in a circle, which somehow materializes around them in a wispy white. The moonstones on their rings light up. 

“I want to see this spell,” Sebastian insists, strolling right behind them and peeking over their shoulders. As it is a Pensieve memory, Eilionoir and Neacal have no reaction to his close hovering. He reads, “‘Geas a cheangal anaman gu bràth’ - ‘A spell to join souls forever.’” 

Eilionoir and Neacal begin to recite the spell - it sounds more like a prayer than anything, Kate thinks. “Gràdh mo bheatha, bheir sinn aghaidh air bàs gun eagal. Tha sinn gu bhith a’ coinneachadh a-rithist fon ghealach làn san ath bheatha. Chan urrainn ar n-anaman a bhith air an dealachadh gu bràth. Tha sinn gu h-iriosal a' guidhe air na diathan sinn a bhi air ar ceangal aon uair eile.”

Sebastian translates as quickly as he can, while they speak. “Love of my life, we shall face death without fear. We are destined to meet again under the full moon in the next life. Our souls can never be parted. We beg the gods humbly for us to be joined once more.”

The circle drawn with their wands lights up brightly, sparkling. It constricts around them until it disappears in a burst. Little stars, like glitter, fall all around them. 

“It worked,” Neacal whispers. He turns to face Eilionoir. “It truly did work…”

“I love you,” Eilionoir murmurs, pressing her lips to his. Their kiss quickly becomes desperate, passionate, hungry. 

The two fall to their knees, clinging to each other, their hands everywhere, as they kiss.

“Neacal,” Eilionoir pants out. “I will only ever love you. We are truly married now in my heart. Please…” She trails off, unable to finish the words.

“Eilionoir,” Neacal chokes out, his hands in her hair.

“I will not save my innocence for a man I do not love,” she finally breathes out, looking deeply into his eyes. “Please, Neacal… Make love to me… You are my true husband…”

Neacal gazes upon her for a long moment, and then they begin kissing again. Neacal gently lays Eilionoir down, maneuvering himself over her. 

The memory fades.

When Sebastian and Kate find themselves back in their reality, they are completely silent for a full minute, both of their minds spinning.

[mayullla]

Title: At the ball's balcony

[ - Cottage (Fem!reader) + Lavender (Romance) + Childe (Genshin Impact) + Icecream sandwiches (Arrange marriage au) - ] - @thecaffeinatedgirl 's Ask

Summary: Childe offered you a deal. To take revenge at your cheating and just horrible fiance you and him would act as lovers... at the balcony of a ball.

Additional warnings/tags: Manhwa villainess vibes au, cheating, many sudden choices were made here

[ - Fairytale Picnic Event - closed -]

Childe has always been the competitive type. Among the aristocrats he was known to be quite the wild person, having many fights with the more spoiled aristocrat children who thought highly of themselves. While some of them have a huge dislike towards him some can't help but look up to him for his way with the sword, weapons in general. He is famed to be a genius with these elements that many teachers can't help but praise him for his fast learning skills.

He likes to win, but even when he loses he would always pick himself up and demand a rematch the next day. What some called hard-working, others would call it brash and barbarian but those are mostly in the minority.

One of them was your fiance, the man was spoiled and had everything that he always wanted, it was one day that he got into a fight with Childe and lost. Drunk on bitterness and anger there were many times when he tried to harm the gifted aristocrat on several occasions yet always failed miserably.

It was funny for Childe choosing to look at the as just challenges for his amusement, but at one point he just had enough. Especially when it came close to hurting his little siblings.

That is crossing the line.

There just so happens to be a ball held by a marquise, a man Childe deemed to be another power-hungry man who wanted to show off his fame and power while also collecting more. And just so happens to invite Childe and him.

Childe just wanted to give the man a little warning nothing too harsh he searched for him on the balconies of the mansion. Till he happened to notice a young woman sitting alone drinking somberly and noticed who she was.

It was you, the fiance of that man. A rather dull lady in Childe remembers correctly, too quiet and shy compared to the other aristocratic ladies that acted likes foxes with strong personalities.

“Do you mind if I join” He watched you look up, surprised at the sudden arrival of someone when you were spending your time alone. You looked at Childe suspiciously as you tilted your head.

“Many others are currently occupied by many couples. It would be too awkward to walk in and I wanted a bit of fresh air.” You were quick to understand what was unsaid yet instead of calming down your eyes were still cautious of him.

“Then I shall take my leave.” You said preparing to leave almost at the door when Childe cuts you “Why are you in such a hurry to leave? You might hurt someone’s feelings if you just walk out like this.”

“Don't you know who I am?” Your eyes showed your disbelief in his words “The fiance of that rather annoying bug? I know very well who you are.” Childe smiled and just before you could defend him he cuts you, “We both know well he is a rather lousy man, gambling and playing around with women. The group of friends he associates with isn't exactly the brightest either.”

You suddenly glared at him, hatred in your eyes as your fiance was insulted by the man in front of you. “What do you want from me? Do you wish to get revenge?” that you would have to bear the burden of all your finances foolish decisions? Is that it?... No? You raised a brow when you watched the man in front of you shake his head.

“I am not so horrible as to hurt a person who doesn't have anything do to with the situation. From what I heard you tried to stop him from going after me.”

“Then what is it do you want?” You asked again, taking a step back when you saw his smile.

"Why don't we pair up?"

Pardon? You didn't understand what he just said, but your eyebrow(s) shot up as you looked at him as if he has grown a second head.

"Don't give me that look hehe. I am just saying that we should pair up!" Childe said taking a step towards you, a grin still on his face "Your lovely fairytale prince is going behind your back and dating other girls."

"I say you pair up with me and get revenge on him."

This wasn't something Childe really had in mind, he just planned to threaten the man a bit, make him pee his pants or something and be done with it. Yet here he was making this offer, even he was surprised but the more he imagined about the present the wider his grin became.

"You aren't the type to think so sly like this." You asked in mild surprise, unknowingly unable to hold your tongue. "You are usually more of a brute." You closed your mouth after what you said. While many men that Childe fought with called him names, women would usually just fawn over him and others would sing praises. Most would never outright insult this man.

Yet Childe Could not help but laugh, "A bit harsh but I can't really deny that. I planned on doing something else than this, maybe hit him a few times and toss him to the dogs for them to chase."

"What makes you think I won't go and tell you to him?"

Childe’s eyes shined, in mirth as if taking what you said as a challenge. "Well you see, as much as I prefer to be more upfront I also can be sly when I want to be." he shrugged, "And honestly, I am just giving you a chance here. You a lady who has been abandoned by her lovely fiance who has so many lovers that one could not count."

"You must be craving for a little violence sometimes when you see him smile to another girl prettier than you, or when he acts like you are just air, ignoring you when you call him out to correct him and his behavior."

There was panic in your eyes, that surprised look on your face but more alarmed than before. He was right. "How-" "Don't think I wouldn't have noticed, I saw you try to keep his pride by calling him to somewhere more private to correct him than in front of many people."

Having his arm support the other, he covered his smug smile with his hand, "He always brushes you off doesn't he going back to whoever he was with. How sad truly to be unacknowledged by your own finance."

"You don't know anything." You spat out as you look away, Childe didn't know why but he was rather disappointed when your eyes weren't on him, maybe it was because this was the first time he ever saw you being this hostile to someone? Childe was rather amused at how much you wear your emotions on your sleeve. "But dear, I do know a thing or two about this terrible relationship. And I can help you, my friend."

"So what do you say?" Childe takes a step towards you again, taking your hand he pulled to the end of the terrace. When you were right beside the door now you sat on the stone railings of the balcony. "I take back what I said before you are wild and unreasonable." Childe could not help but laugh at what you said.

"I will take that as a compli--" “Let's hope you don't regret it.”

"Dear, are you here? I have been searching-" It was a familiar voice, one you aren't too fond of neither Childe, yet could not care less when you stared at surprised blue eyes so close that your lips are almost touching.

"Huh?!?! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!"

An act. Childe was looking at you in surprise still having yet to understand that you just pulled him from his collar shirt towards your face. He was dazed as he tried to support himself on the balcony railings leaning on you.

From your fiance’s point of view, it looked like the two of you were making out, kissing while ignoring his existence.

Yet that was far from it, when you pulled his closed your other hand cupped his face and blocked his lips from touching yours with your thumb. "Wha-" Childe wasn't able to say anything when your fiance screamed at the two of you again...

"You better follow my lead if you want to make this realistic as possible. I am guessing that this is another form of revenge towards my fiance too?" Childe unknowingly held his breath when he heard you whisper on his lips. It was a burning feeling, as your words tickled his ears, how your hands were warm, seeping through your lace gloves. Childe unconsciously wondered if they would be soft.

Childe didn't remember what you said after that. Your eyes held a spark in them that he has never seen before yet it looked so alluring. He didn't see the quiet, lady who would silently suffer under her fiance while the other ladies would laugh and mock her behind the curtains. The challenge in your eyes held something that he cannot understand yet craved to know and will keep him up at night.

He liked that your eyes were looking at him, that somehow he found a secret that no one knows about. It made his stomach flutter.

He didn't hear what your fiance keep yelling about, shrieking like a pig as you replied to that man while leaving the balcony. All Childe could remember were your soft lips and fiery eyes, as he was left alone on the balcony.

Soon after there was a chuckle as Childe started to clean up his hair, pushing it back "Well, then I should better get going now." Cleaning up his collar, he left the balcony. "Can't have my lover waiting now can I."

Note: This is a smidge rushed, I was supposed to make it an arranged marriage between Childe and the reader but that changed. *sweats* Hope you like it still~!

Childe and reader never kissed here but the second last chapter was written like that on purpose. Peace *runs*

[buckysswinter]

all you had to do was stay

18+ minors dni

warnings: large age gap(implied; lee is late 30s reader is early 20s), angst, fluff, happy ending

not edited or beta’d- do not repost or translate!

any mistake i make is my own!

lee bodecker x f!reader

word count: 2,062

part two to right where you left me

here you are now, calling me up, but i don't know what to say; i've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made

lee looked at the ticket in his hand, inspecting it. it has been months since he picked up that ticket at the diner. the ink on it slowly fading the more he held it in his hands. he thought of what life could be with her. if he stayed, if he was selfish, he could be happy right now. he hears shuffling feet and he attempts to hide the one thing he has left of y/n.

-"you don't need to hide it lee," dot's voice sounds as she peeks through the door, lee sighs at her statement. he knew dot had been lurking, seeing him look at the faded ticket. he wanted to be happy with her, give her the life she deserves- but everytime he moves on a speck of y/n floods his brain. he can't help but compare them, how y/n's skin is softer, how her eyes sparkled more. lee couldn't bring himself to hurt dot too, he decided to leave y/n, to leave the restaurant with her looking like a dream with tears running down her face- tears he put there.

he left her, he shouldn't be feeling like this. he chose to leave- after weeks of mulling it over, lee decided to put an end to their relationship. albeit, he never gave y/n an explanation as to why or have her the real reason as to why. lee knew of y/n's ambitions, he knew she was more than this town, she could do better with her life than be here, than being with him. that was the final straw to his decision, on top of the silent whispers of her wasting her youth with an old fat guy like the sheriff. lee chose to leave her be, to live her life, to figure out who she wants to be, who she needed to be with. it was the most painful thing he ever had to do- but he did it in the name of love, for y/n.

dorothy's looming presence forces lee to speak up,

-"dotty, i think we need to talk" the strain in his voice surprised him and looking at her she knew.

-"i-" lee sighed continuing the need to end it, "i'm so sorry but i need to leave. i need to break this up. i am so sorry in promising you the life you needed and deserved." lee looked up at her, his eyes watering, he didn't mean to hurt this many people and as he looked up at dot, her understanding eyes looked at him.

-"lee bodecker, you are one of the nicest man in this planet, maybe the nicest man to exist in this rotten town- you taking a chance on me and my son is the best i could ever hope for. i hope you be happy with her, go after her lee- apologize and beg for her back." dot gave lee a bone crushing hug and wiped the tear running down his face. this hurt lee. the pain for leaving comfort to chase something that might blow up in his face. though for lee it was all worth it, he had to show y/n all the love he still had for her.

the bustling city still surprised her, in the two months she's moved to new york everyday she saw something that she deemed odd. yet the city air was fresh to her, different from meade. the tall skyscrapers stand with the sky instead of broken down brick buildings. the way the sun felt against her skin was different too.

it surprised y/n to see other women studying in the same college as her, everyone acting nonchalant about it. two years was all she needed to be a nurse. she’d always loved helping her dad when he got into brawls or even lee when he’d sneak into her house with a cut open lip. lee, she had missed him but it seems to be too late to vocalize it now, he’s moved on and he’s also the one to break it off. though she never got the explanation from him, she thought it was better that way.

the basking thought of him would come up late at night when she realized how alone she was in the city. how she was singled out from her friends that she had made. her mind always wandered back to lee when she thought of home. she would have sacrificed everything to be with home right now but as fate would have it lee did not want her back. the hurt from the breakup keeps her going, lee would have cheered her on if they were still together, though she might not be where she is now if they were still together. she was unsure if lee would leave the power he had back in knockemstiff. maybe if they were still together she would be content in life, in a house somewhere in brewer heights. all the maybes got to her head and tears streamed down her face.

if only lee had explained why he wanted to break up- maybe if she had a reason and maybe if he hadn't moved on she would have stayed.

y/n wiped the tears off her face and focused on her task, needing to finish her assignment which had taken her all night to do. she had to wake up early tomorrow to apply for job, her savings running low.

lee struggled when he arrived to new york, the fast paced walking and talking made him miss knockemstiff where nothing ever happened. the search for y/n was going to be tough and he knew it, a big city like new york and he hadn't got the faintest idea where she was staying or where she went to school. but lee was determined to search every corner of the city if it meant getting her back, or trying to at least. lee hadn't slept since he got to new york, sitting in the first diner he found at the corner booth on his third cup of coffee. the bell rung and something in him willed him to look up and as he did he saw her. the one he was looking for, she looked healthy, her eyes weren't as sunken in as the last time he saw her; she also looked grown, she had more confidence in her. she wasn't the innocent doe-eyed girl lee had met.

lee had taken the menu the waitress had left and hid his face, he was suddenly nervous for her to see him. would she think he was crazy? even perhaps shoo him away without him having a chance to give her an explanation? hearing her sweet voice for the first time in a while brought him back to the first time he ever heard it,

a sweet giggle lured lee back to consciousness, he had gone to church to campaign. married women were swarming him, fawning over him; yet he grew tired of this as soon as he heard her, his head turned to her and a white-like halo surrounded her figure. the dress she wore fitting her whole personality. lee had become addicted to someone he didn't know.

-"excuse me, i saw the ad on the newspaper and i was wonderin' if the waitress position is still open," she still had her accent, it was a slight drawl but it was still there.

if fates would have it, this was lee's chance to talk to her yet he seemed to be choked up on the what ifs.

y/n enters the diner and asks the first lady she sees about the ad on the newspaper and as she was looking around she sees a familiar figure hiding behind a menu. a simple menu couldn't hide his broad shoulders, or his familiar hands. the same hands that was all over her body not long ago. those hands that she loved so much, the same hands that she thought wouldn't let her go and yet it did.

y/n felt ridiculous, maybe it was a man that wasn't lee. the ghost of him was everywhere, lingering and following her around. just as she thought she moved on, he still haunts her.

yet, as they lowered the menu those familiar cerulean blue eyes stared at her. as she made eye contact with him, y/n's heart stopped beating.

why would lee be here? is he real?

as if someone was puppeteering her, y/n made her way to his table,

-"what are you doing here?" her words laced with venom and hatred, though she didn't mean for it to come out that way.

lee stuttered, he took a deep breathe before answering her,

-"i followed you here," y/n didn't even let him finish his sentence.

-"well that's obvious, get to the part why you're here." she was more snappy than he was used to.

-"i saw your train ticket fall at the diner the last time we saw each other and i realized i was wrong. i was wrong for breaking it off and i was wrong-" then again she scoffed at this interrupting him.

-"lee bodecker, i had given you more than enough time to get me back but you turn to another woman. and what's worse is that you never gave me a reason why. do you know how many nights i stayed awake staring at myself trying to look for imperfections, trying to ask myself why you left me? because maybe if i learned why then i could change it and get you back." y/n's tears were running down her face, sitting opposing to lee, she saw how his face changed.

-"do you wanna know why i broke up with you? it was because of my own insecurity, because i know you could be better without me. because you can achieve so much without me holding you down. because you wanted to go to a big city and i wanted to stay in that small town, and y/n you deserve more than me and if i had told you all of that you would have assured me that it's not the case and we would be what? together but you would be unhappy because you have so much more to offer than be in that fucking shithole." y/n never knew the gravity of lee's insecurity, they have gone over it a couple of times. first when she heard a couple of guys, younger deputies sneering and poking fun of how lee looked. you had told him to ignore it because you loved him for who he is, part of what attracted you to him was because how soft he was, how he felt when he was on top of you.

-"all you had to do was stay lee, it would've been enough for me. even if i didn't get to chase my dreams, even if it meant me being stuck in a house. that would all mean staying with you lee." her voice was meek, her heart pouring out to lee. if she had known lee felt that way then against all odds she would have figured something out.

-"i know honey, but i couldn;t. i was holding you back and i'm here now. i realized that leaving you, not being with you; it's slowly destroying me. i tried distracting myself with work, playing house with dot but nothing worked. it's always been you and only you. so here i am, as a man asking for you back. i would get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness if that's what it meant." lee got up preparing to get on his knees and y/n opened her mouth to talk before he could.

-"would you leave knockemstiff for me? would you leave all that power you've collected, that cushy house in brewer height, all for me?" it was a question that has been gnawing her brain. if the answer was yes, no hesitation she was willing to give lee a chance.

and without hesitation, with pure love in his eyes,

-"anything for you sugar. i would fight anyone come hell or high water to keep you y/n."

y/n dragged lee to her apartment, their lips clashing filled with desire for what felt like eternity yet it wasn't enough. the electric feeling between them, buzzing and keeping both of them alive. their breathes synced, bodies intertwined.

a/n: this has been postponed so many times just because i couldn't find a way to end it hehe

tags: @extremelyblackandwhite @tharros-auris-black-asimi @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @elbell20-blog @smartycherry @weirdowithnobeardo @queenofshinigamis @greeneyedblondie44 @harrysthiccthighss

[orchideae]

I have so very much to catch up on, my sincerest apologies, seriously— there's been mental madness going on behind the scenes, including this weekend. Please, let December be the month where normality starts and stays.

And on a more IC note, I often talk about solitude and isolation (and its origins in a very specific kind of loneliness) that is chosen and accepted, but I don't know if I ever talk about what that looks like exactly, and why, quite frankly, it's a little... for lack of a better word, concerning. Do me a favor, if you're in Genshin, turn your clock to nighttime, then go out into any of the cities, villages, camps, footholds and look up, no matter the nation you're in. How many characters are able to do that, and see a night sky that is nothing but void of any and all bounds and limitations? How many of them see that endless array of stars that illuminate it, and how many feel the cool fresh air that tickles their skin? For many, they can leave the four walls that house them, and experience that sight and sensation, because all of us to an extent, crave that. And honestly, so can Yelan— but she also, if not more often so, chooses to see something else. And the unusual concept of choosing that, is a driving force to my decisions for her and why I deem them so incredibly important: it's about the state of mind, it's about the mental that drives her.

On many days and nights especially, this is what she sees, and this is only if she doesn't descend further into the Chasm (which we know that she does), closer to the Abyss and to the Celestial nail itself that rests at its heart. And yes, it is beautiful in its own way, a pathway illuminated by the light of the moon and the nail, but it's also a cruel reminder of just how far the surface, and humans that live there (that she is by all accounts a part of, of course), are. But then, when she returns her gaze to the ground, her surroundings are void of light and dare I say, void of hope. The Chasm isn't just one of the places where you can get the closest to the Abyss, but it also consists of ruins of more than just one civilization. We see glimpses of Khaenri'ah (which we explore more closely through Dain's quest), but we know there is 'fauna' down there, even deeper, that is referenced as belonging to an even more ancient civilization that predated it. The Chasm is surrounded by reminders of death, ruin, and in that, it feels as if it's the direct foil of the world above it. The Chasm was almost the end of Liyue five-hundred years ago during the fall of Khaenri'ah, just as it had, apparently, once been to a civilization before it (please remember, the impact of the meteorite/fallen star that created the Chasm occurred roughly 6000 years ago), and its creatures wouldn't have stopped at its borders. The Chasm is the engulfing darkness in direct opposition to the light of life overhead, and the hope that humanity holds in the palms of its hands. It's dark, it's grim, and it's cold in more ways than one (See one, two, three, four).

And this place is a choice that Yelan makes to venture to and stay in, yes, yet calling it a choice is where it gets so interesting. Once upon a time, long before she got her vision, she was part of a team that surveyed the surroundings of the Chasm, and like many others before them that have descended into it, all members of this team, excluding her, died. The circumstances aren't clear, but following Yelan's line to Ning, I'm lead to believe that the Chasm's surroundings, which are all rather clearly threats to non-vision holders in specific (which Yelan also was at the time), were directly responsible for their demise. I'll note my hypothesis on what could have happened to them in a different post in the future, as I don't want to go far off-topic, but despite having likely witnessed what occurred to them, seeing the ruins of the Chasm, the threat of the Abyss and barely understanding what the Abyss even is, she continues to venture down there because the possibility of what could happen to the people of Liyue, is more important than her own existence and/or survival. And this bears even more weight following the events of Perilous Trail part 2, where she witnessed just how much the Chasm is capable of. Is this walking engima of a woman also drawn to equal or greater mystery than herself, much like a moth to a flame? I think that's part of it, but I definitely think it's infinitely more multi-layered.

Mostly, I think that this plays into the heart of what Fontaine has shown us that 'hydro' seems to represent: it's not merely a sense of responsibility (and/or justice) or selflessness, but a semblance of self-sacrifice either during the duration of one's life or at its end, either literally or figuratively. But keeping that in mind, what I really want to shine a spotlight on, is what kind of self-sacrifice seems to be the case with Yelan, and the way in which she seems to not just be at peace with it, but has truly accepted it almost as something akin to normality. And more importantly, note how this isn't normal behavior. An acceptance of solitude in such depressing surroundings is incredibly saddening, because it's not something that we ever crave by any means or should ever come to crave. Any regular individual, even most vision-holders surely, would find what she does insane to some extent. And yet, she walks the depths of the Chasm, of all places, with a similar routine as a Millelith guard patrols the outskirts of the harbor. Regardless of her clear reason for it— god, I have difficulty explaining what I'm trying to say; how does someone get to a point where they no longer do something so depressing out of necessity, but because it's... normal? That's her. The Chasm isn't... as eerie to her as it is to others, even if she knows better than most what these surroundings are; the Chasm it isn't as dangerous, even if she knows that it is and it's why she's there in the first place, to her as it is to others. Perhaps it's simply an acceptance that regardless of its dangers, that her fate lies in those depths as it did for her ancestors, that the Chasm's ruins will include her own legacy one day. But again, how does one come to terms with that? How do you come to make the decision that you will sacrifice yourself for others, especially when it means resigning yourself to a place like the Chasm, a place that is home to a pathway to the Abyss, which inherently holds the power to drive mortals to madness and death. Many wouldn't do this, or rather, many couldn't do this, not until they had no other choice and even then, think of Boyang, and even Bosacius, granted the latter had lost his mind by then. And that's where I think she's unique, because she technically has a choice, unlike individuals like Xiao whose... direct 'responsibility' and contract it is to do what he does. She could walk away tomorrow if she willed it, but she doesn't. Yes, responsibility plays into it, but the Chasm really hits differently when you tie it into that.

Now, I do need to note that I firmly stand against any believe that she a death wish or is thoroughly depressed. She isn't going down there over and over because she seeks an end to her life in some way or because she believes her life to be worthless. Quite the contrary, actually, and one could argue that the reasoning for that lies with her survivor's guilt. But all in all, before I get sidetracked again: Yelan embraces solitude to a rather extreme extent, and yet she doesn't seem to harbor a dissociation from the rest of humanity or dislike of it, but she does seem to place a firm line between non-allogenes and herself (and others who hold a vision). But what I mean with embracing solitude, is that while she is social, and she understands the laws and diplomacy of social behavior, she isn't one to always engage in it, simply because many don't seem to quite... share her headspace.

[caaaatoad]

Hello! I heard u needed motivation so I have a request!

Itto with a smart s/o (like someone who studied in sumeru maybe? Preferably gender neutral) :)

A/N: OO hello hello!!! OH MY GOODNESS thank you so much for the motivation this is such a cute request!! I hope you like it!! I’m sorry if Itto is ooc I haven’t written much for him!!<44

“BIG BRAINS” 🧠 (Itto x gn!reader)

Pairing: Itto x gn!reader

Genre/format: fluff (drabble - 811 words)

Warnings: petnames, fluffy kissing, physical intimacy, ooc Itto?

Summary: Itto helps his very smart s/o who studied in Sumeru with their studies.

Your boyfriend, the one and oni Artakai Itto called you many things. Despite the silliness of some of them, the fact those names parted the lips he’d greet you with a kiss against your skin, countless ‘darlings,’ ‘loves,’ and ‘honeys’ were sealed with each one—left you flustered.

It was a fact perhaps truer than in each book you had and will ever study. He always managed to pull you away from the sea of inked letters - unlearned lessons you fought everyday to understand - today, you were losing. Lifting your head above the water from drowning in your room of scattered papers for some much needed fresh air.

Literally. Your protests earned the rumble of his chest from his laughter, your head against it as he scooped you up from the chair. He was loud, but still carried you as if you were a feather - his strong, strong arms clearly deemed you as light as one.

“Itto,” you complained, squinting at the light as he marched of with you, away from your dark study. The tension you never realized left you some with each step he took - the smell of his cologne had you releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding - taking him in.

Irresistible, you thought - and there was no logical explanation your mind could warp around why his spontaneous actions felt like the norm, or his loud, cheery tones fell on your ears in a tune meant to weigh on eyelids and bring them to a close.

You snuggled closer into his chest. Or how an oni demon could feel so safe.

Itto choose a spot on the hills near the inazuman waters, propping you in his lap - grinning wildly as you laughed as his hair tickled your neck and cheek.

“Itto…. I need to—“

“I know, I know, darling-face,” he said proudly, cupping your slightly puffed cheeks. They were warm from frustration—certainly not the words he said between the kisses he peppered over your face - succeeding in hearing your laugh once more.

His lips left your skin all-too soon.

“Never fear, your Numero Uno is here to help you!”

“Babe,” you said, your tone still had a slight lilt from his antics. “I….I appreciate your offer, I really do, but this isn’t exactly your area of expertise.” You told him softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It would be like me trying to train Onikobuto.”

“True! But I do got me a great pair of ears love.” He wiggled his fingers by his horns to lead your eyes away from the devious smirk you knew he wore, wrapping his arms around you waist and leaning back with you flush against his chest once again.

The smell of sea breeze was replaced with his scent. The sun you both were under wasn’t the culprit for the heat in your cheeks or the glistening of his eyes even though it should. Even though that would make sense.

Nothing seemed to be making sense today.

“Do you know what I heard?” Itto asked you, soothingly rubbing a hand up and down your back. He let it rest when you propped your chin in your hands on his chest. Your intent gaze wasn’t returned with his lazily shot to the sky.

“I heard, that when you teach it to someone else you learn ten times as much! …Or maybe only twice? I dunno, but two’s more than one. Why don’t you give it a try?” He held you tighter so you would shuffle as he sat up slightly to meet your gaze, thick, unruly hair fell over his broad shoulders in waterfalls like the ones distantly behind you.

“I’m all horns.”

With a tired sigh, you decided to give it a go. It wasn’t his slip up of horns for ears, but how could you every say no? His smile—exposing a monstrous pair of fangs and razor bone—radiated a brightness worthy of rivalling the sun.

You began to dully recite the passages you read, giving him textbook answers as rigid as the pages you endlessly flipped through. However, his intent eyes and the nods of his head, his questions returned the passion in your voice and eyes - the only reason he was interested in this, in his words, ‘big brained stuff.’ - revealing the gaps in your knowledge.

At the same time, how to fill them.

Itto smiled at you, patting your head gently. He only needed to understand he helped you - and that was the only thing that mattered to him.

“I love you,” you told him - you always loved him; and thus you realized it always made sense, now.

His cheeks coloured, but that didn’t stop from pulling you closer. He replied into the closing gap between your lips and his.

“I love you too, big brains.”

[purrincess-chat]

I feel like I've been hit by a sledgehammer bc of this ep. Understandably so that people who didn't want pre reveal Adrienette dating are upset and I can get behind that. But I feel like I'm bummed out bc now I think that pre reveal Adrienette dating is not well and terrible. I do enjoy it, but seeing other people's opinions just made me disheartened. Makes me feel like I'm the best who's dumb or stupid for enjoying it.

So, a couple bits of advice that I find work quite well for me:

Stop reading people's salt posts because they're almost always written in bad faith from places of anger, meant to antagonize, and they pass their opinions off as fact, so of course anyone who dares disagree is a fucking idiot because they deem their opinion as the only valid one. (which people like that in general are just yikes)

Filters are your friends. Tumblr has a quite effective filtering system. You can filter words, phrases, usernames, tags, literally anything you don't want to see. If it's someone that you generally like and don't want to unfollow them because of their opinions, ask them nicely to use a specific tag for those kinds of posts so you can filter them. Now you don't have to look at them.

If fandom is stressing you out, take a break. It's the holiday season. Go visit friends and family, decorate some cookies, eat something delicious, go outside and go for a walk and get some fresh air. I am a strong advocate for taking breaks from fandom to clear your head and realign your priorities. Fandom is supposed to be fun. Sometimes people just forget that and take things way too seriously. Take a week off. If that's too much, take a day. Do something else for a bit, and I promise when you come back you'll realize how silly it is to let other people dictate your feelings.

And if anyone is angry at you for having the audacity to *checks notes* enjoy something and is telling you that you're stupid for enjoying something, then that says a lot more about them than it does about you, babe. People can vague post about me until their fingers fall off, but I have neither the energy nor desire to care because I'm not sorry for enjoying what I enjoy. Art and media are subjective, and plenty of people enjoy different aspects of the same source material based on their personal experiences, beliefs, and preferences. One idea isn't better than the other, no matter what anyone says. If you like something, that is totally and completely valid. You don't need to justify it to anyone. (not to mention arguing over the same two ass people has always been and always will be silly to me like the reveal is gonna happen and everything is going to be one dynamic anyway so why are yall pressed)

Additionally, if it helps, I can tell you the reasons why I love their development this season.

As someone who has always related to their dynamic in particular, and whose favorite part of their side is watching Adrien fall for her, the whole shift this season has had me really giddy. From the very first episode of this show, Marinette has been scheming and planning ways to get Adrien to notice her/tell him she loves him. We've seen her grow and overcome her jealousy, we've seen her put him first, we've seen her care about him when no one else did, we've seen her fight for him, which most of those he never even knew because she didn't do those things to make him love her, she did them because she loves him. I've loved the direction they took their dynamic this season with Adrien finally realizing that Marinette means so much to him and coming to understand those special feelings for her are love at the same time that Marinette is dealing with heavy trauma surrounding him. And just the absolute tender way Adrien approaches her and tries to help her through all of that is just *chefs kisses*

It shows huge development on their part for Marinette to even be able to admit that she loves him and wants to be with him (even just by raising her hand). And Adrien meeting her where she is and not putting her down for not being able to speak her mind, but instead being so incredibly patient and gentle and understanding. Adrien loves her in spite of all of her antics. He finds her quirks charming, and he sees through all of it to the girl underneath. She didn't need to go through with some crazy scheme or grand gesture to confess her feelings to him. They just needed to get down on each other's level and talk and communicate with each other and learn to understand each other. It's high time that the show brought the two of them closer and let the two of them work through her anxiety around him together. I completely love the two of them ditching their friends' ideas of what their relationship needs to look like and instead opting to figure out what works best for them together. Having the two of them date pre reveal and sort through that trauma together and learn the ways that they need to be loved is going to help them tremendously when the reveal eventually happens, and I can't wait for that!

And that's just a portion of my feelings for them this season because I don't want to spoil later episodes that people haven't watched yet, but yeah, I think their development is so sweet and satisfying to watch. And if anyone is mad at me (or anyone) for just enjoying the show, then that's their problem. I have better things to do than worry about people being mad at me for liking something because imo, that's a really dumb reason to be mad at someone. Like can you imagine someone being like:

"Hey, I really like chocolate milk."

Then someone else being like:

"Um, how fucking dare you? Strawberry milk is the only good milk, and anyone who likes chocolate milk is fucking stupid and should feel bad for liking it."

You see how silly that sounds? Don't let other people convince you that chocolate milk is gross if you like it. They can get over it or die mad, either way you have a tasty beverage. Let them ruin their own day, not yours. But that's just my approach. I am a very laid back person who's never really given a fuck about what other people think of me tho. That portion of my personality has only strengthened with age because I find that it rarely truly matters, especially when it comes to fandom. If they're not paying my bills or putting food on my table, then I don't particularly care if they don't like the way I feel about fictional teenagers. But I get not everyone is like that, so go with my 3 tips above. Subjecting yourself to salt posts is only going to warp the way you view the show and ruin your overall enjoyment of it. (trust me, I've been there) Leave the salters to their bitterness, and just enjoy the show. You'll be better off for it.

[evilwriter-originals]

What was Sol’s and Dyon’s first meeting like?

Oh, this was fun! Thank you for asking!

It had been a very long time since King Sol of Nessar had seen a human. Perhaps 80 years or so. He’d certainly never dealt with a human king before. However, this was his first meeting with King Dyon of the human land of Aborsken. They’d agreed to meet at their borders, both too wary to venture past them into the heart of the other’s kingdom. 

The meeting had started with a letter, a letter sent by Sol to Dyon and his people. He’d suggested a treaty, as they hadn’t really had any large disagreements or skirmishes in years. A decade was long enough for a human to gain some trust, wasn’t it? After all, they hardly lived as long as Nessari. 

It wasn’t necessarily long enough for Sol to give up his distrust of humans though, especially not after what had happened to his brother, but he wanted to make an effort, extend a kind hand. He could feel war looming, tensions brewing, and he would need allies if he was to win it. What that war was though? He, as of yet, had no idea. 

They were meeting in a keep that had been left abandoned for decades. For a long while, it had served as a reminder of the bitter tensions between Nessari and humans, something that was constantly fought over. But, after some time, both sides had deemed the keep not worth the fighting, and had both abandoned it to time. 

Now though, it was being warmed with fires in the dusty hearths, and it’s age being hidden by fresh cleaning, furniture, and tapestries. This would make a good meeting place for both kings.

Sol had arrived first, it had seemed. Perhaps it was faster to fly than it was to walk, or use some animal as a mode of transportation. (Sol remembered that humans often rode horses. Why the animals tolerated this: he had no idea.)

But now Sol stood in the courtyard, hands folded in front of him. He had no weapons with him, though his guards were armed. He wanted to show that he was here for peace, but not let his guard down too easily. Besides, if anything went wrong, he had his magic. 

A horn blew from the wall, a clear note in the cloudless day. Dyon and his entourage had arrived. 

“Open the gates!” Sol called. He was nervous for this, but he wasn’t going to admit it, or show it, to anyone. 

Sol got his first glimpse of a human in almost a century as the gates opened, and the king and his men came riding in. The king was a tall man, around Sol’s height, with dark blond hair and an equally colored pointed beard, (though his beard had some gray in it.) His eyes were a dark gray, his nose pointed. 

He dismounted his horse easily, showing no soreness in having been riding. Sol didn’t understand how humans did it. 

He took off his riding gloves as his men began to dismount as well, taking his doing so as a sign of being able to themselves. 

He was looking around the keep, completely ignoring Sol. Sol tried his best not to frown and keep his expression passive. 

“You call this a keep?” Dyon asked incredulously. “No wonder we stopped fighting over it.” 

Oh, he’s that kind of person, Sol thought. He knew, right then and there, that he didn’t like this man. However, this meeting wasn’t about whether they liked each other personally or not - it was about the good of their nations. 

���You call that a greeting?” Sol couldn’t help himself. He knew he shouldn’t have given attitude as a king, but Dyon had gone there first.

“My apologies, Majesty,” Dyon said, though it didn’t sound like he actually meant it. He handed the reins of his horse to one of his men, then headed over to Sol. “I see you arrived first.” He looked through the large double doors of the keep that were open to let in some air. The summer was hot in Nessar. “I suppose you’ve made the keep livable, for the time being?”

“Of course,” Sol said. “Let us talk inside.” 

He was glad that Dyon and his guards walked beside him rather than behind him when entering the keep. He didn’t trust his back and wings to a human, especially one he’d just met. 

They sat together in one of the main dining rooms. It still smelled of dust, but looked much brighter with the cleaning and the windows open. Dyon appeared to already be sweating from the heat, probably not used to it, as Aborsken was north of Nessar. 

Servants poured them drinks, but from different pitchers. Dyon raised his eyebrows at this, but didn’t ask why, which Sol was grateful for. He didn’t need Dyon to know his past with alcohol and that he only really drank grape juice in favor of wine these days. 

“So…” Dyon tapped his fingers on the table, reaching for his goblet. “You propose a treaty.”

“I do.” 

“And what would be the benefits of said treaty?” Dyon asked. He took a sip of wine, eyeing Sol over the goblet. 

And so Sol went into his speech, having rehearsed it many times. He told Dyon of the resources Nessar could provide, that they could help each other in battle if the need ever arose. 

Then he provided the last bit of it, the part he hated, but the part that was necessary: 

He told Dyon that his daughter was unmarried. He knew that Dyon had a son around her age, that, (as far as he was aware), was also unmarried. 

“And where is your daughter?” Dyon asked. “I don’t see her presence here.” 

“She is attending to my duties back in Feycrest,” Sol responded. “I see you didn’t bring your son either.” 

“No,” Dyon said, placing his goblet down a little too hard. He stroked his beard. “You think a marriage would unite our peoples?” 

“I do.” 

“And what if a human and Nessari cannot conceive?” 

Sol hated thinking about it, but he had thought of it. He’d done research with the help of the royal librarians, and had found old records about unification between Nessari and human. 

“My research has shown me that it is possible,” Sol said, trying not to grit his teeth. He had spoken to Anaria about this of course, had told her he was trying to arrange a marriage between her and a human. She wasn’t quite happy about it, but she knew her duties. She’d told Sol this herself.  

“How old is your research?” Dyon asked. “Humans and Nessari have been at odds for a very long time.”

Sol didn’t like looking like he didn’t have anything good to propose, but he needed to be honest. 

“A thousand years old, give or take a few decades,” Sol explained. He hadn’t been born then, and the records were old, even for Nessari. 

Dyon frowned, clearly thinking. 

“If your son already has a prior engagement, I understand, but-”

“He does not.” Dyon shook his head. “Girad has never really been that interested in women.” 

“Oh, well, if he isn’t, then-” 

“He will marry Anaria,” Dyon interrupted again. 

Sol didn’t like that. This man was haughty and clearly thought himself above him, though they both held the same station. Perhaps it was a farce. He knew that Nessari had magic and longer lifetimes. That was part of what had caused unrest between the two races. Humans had no - or very little - magic themselves, and distrusted Nessari greatly for their ability to use it.

Dyon sighed. “I suppose now it is time to try to draw up a treaty.”

Sol nodded. A treaty would be good, despite his distaste for the man. “I suppose it is.” 

[dadddybangtan]

Suck Torture | 05+ 🩸

Back Table of Contents Next

cw: smut, boy x boy, scratching, biting, skin sucking, bl00d k!nk/drawing bl00d, unprotected s3x, manipulation, orgasm denial, possession, cum swallowing, complete toxicity

word count: 2k

Niki had been missing for two weeks. I was the last person to see him and it was becoming quite a burden. I could feel my anxiety slowly rise with every hour he was gone. Every day he spent away felt like a punishment.

When I told my parents that Niki disappeared and I was too weak to find him, they were initially confused. Mother questioned why he'd run away. And father didn't understand how I wasn't strong enough to find him. Two questions with answers being my fault.

I overheard my parents talking at the base of the west wing staircase.

"It's almost Christmas, Leo, we need to call the council for help," Mother pleaded, "He's too young to be alone out there."

"To that the council will only criticize your value on that holiday. They see Christmas as a human holiday in which we have no business celebrating," His voice was firm, almost harsh, "The fact that he's adopted will only put Niki at an even lower priority to them. We're better off waiting for him to return."

"And what if he doesn't? He's out there roaming around with the powers he doesn't understand yet. In a town where people are still terrified of vampires let alone extremely powerful vampires. He could be in serious trouble."

"It's normal for a young vampire to leave and explore his powers, honey."

"But it's not normal for him to have those powers," Her voice raised in volume and concern, "Those wings? Those eyes? I'm afraid he may not be just a young vampire."

"Are you assuming he's something other?" That question sounded more like a threat than genuine inquisition.

My ears listening closely to this.

"I'm only looking at the facts. His powers could be catastrophic if he's not careful. And I deem running away unsupervised is quite unsafe for him."

"We are not getting the council involved in this. Niki will be fine," His tone changed quite dramatically, something he often did when he finds someone else to be right, "He knows how important this holiday is to you, he'll show up."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then we'll look for him."

"Keep your word, Leo, I mean it." Mother said sternly as she walked away into the corridor.

Father walked in the opposite direction. They left a sour taste in the air, which warranted a walk in the garden.

The fresh, crisp air comforted my skin. I looked up at the sky and admired how the sheer clouds shielded the sun from my view.

Suddenly a flying bat came into view. It was small enough for me to believe it could be Niki at a distance. But the bat revealed itself to be none other than Felix.

He looked especially handsome with his soft blond hair framing his pretty face. He wore a plain black turtleneck and equally dark slacks.

"I had a feeling you'd be out here." He said.

"So you're flying into my backyard now?"

"You left me no other choice, Hyunjin" He said, stepping a bit closer to me, "It's the only way I could get to you. You haven't returned my messages, your window is locked... But now that I'm here, I understand."

"Do you now?" My voice came out harsher than I intended.

"I do. Family issues, hm?"

"Niki went missing... It's been hard."

Felix came even closer and his pale, skinny hand raised to my cheek. He snaked it behind my neck and pulled me in for an embrace. His scent was intoxicating, so strong and sensual.

"I know, darling. Let me in." He whispered.

With only a candle flickering on a table nearby, it casted a romantic shadow over Felix's face as he hovered atop of me. He was gorgeous, truly. And dangerous. I shouldn't have feared it, but the wild flame dancing in the reflection of his fangs sent a chill down my spine.

Our lips joined together in messy ecstasy and our hands explored each other effortlessly. He caressed my arms with a passion I hadn't felt from him before. I deepened every kiss before I traveled from his lips to his jaw and to his neck.

"Don't be scared to hurt me, Hyunjin," He said breathlessly, "You know I can take it."

I knew he could take it. I couldn't control my urge to slide my hands under his waistband. He shuttered at the skin ship. I dug my nails into his hips, causing his core to press into mine. A bulge grew underneath him the more I clawed into him.

I moved him on his back with ease. A hint of color briefly blushed his cheeks. I like that.

"I know you do," I mutter, lowering my mouth to his ear, "I know you like it when I take you like this."

He arched his back so his chest met mine. I creeped my hands under his sweater and lifted it over his head, exposing his chest. He chased his nails up my arms and to my back. He clawed at my shoulders and took me in for another kiss. A low grunt sounded from me. His sharp teeth flirted with my bottom lip and I could slowly feel my core forming a bulge as well.

I ripped my shirt off and immediately felt his nails on my chest. I'm obsessed with you. A smirk grew on my face. I want you.

"Say it," One hand rested at his hip, nails digging crescents into his fair skin. The other held him steady by the neck, "I wanna hear you say it."

"I- I want you," He struggled to make out. I only squeezed a bit tighter on his neck, "And I'm obsessed with you."

"You sound so pathetic," His core twitched underneath me, "Like a worthless little fuck toy."

A whiny moan slipped out.

Please. Please, Hyunjin.

"Please what?" I growled, "Spit it out."

"Fuck me, Hyunjin," He whimpered, "Like a worthless little fuck toy."

I tore his pants off instantly along with his underwear, letting his wet, throbbing cock rest on his flat stomach. I took his length in one hand and massage him slowly while I use the other to navigate the lube. It's conveniently smuggled under my pillow per his request.

"Please," He begged, tugging at the waist band of my pants, "I can't wait any longer."

The hand I had on his dick quickly found itself on his neck.

"You'll wait."

"I can't."

"You can be a patient whore, I'm sure."

You've already made me wait so long.

My grip subconsciously loosened. If he'd said that out loud, I would've gotten angry. But his thinking it brought me out of it. How dare he hold that against me? The faint glow of the candle hit his face again. The look of longing and pining quickly turned into something much more selfish.

"Hyunjin, you want me too. I can feel it," He said, palming my bulge, "Do it less for me, but for you... Use me..."

He lured me into a kiss. With one hand at my core and the other teasing my back with his nails, I was under his spell. I blindly searched under my pillow for the lube. Once I got a hold of it, I broke the kiss and took down my pants.

It was clear that our bodies longed for each other again, his dick twitching at the sight of mine. His heartbeat quickened as he watch me stroke myself with the lubricant. He snuck his hand underneath his thigh to lift his leg up to reveal his needy, puckered asshole.

I slowly slipped a finger inside and watched his body take this small penetration. He was weak as he folded under my touch and his deep moans filled the room. His eyes rolled back as his arch caressed my finger. The dancing candlelight quickened.

"It feels so good, Hyunjin."

I could tell he was ready to take all of me, his eyebrows pulling together in want. I knew we wanted the same thing, but I couldn't bare to look at his face, his beautiful damned face, any longer. I flipped him over on his stomach and held his hips in front of me. I slipped my fingers back inside his trained asshole.

The pillows muffled his moans as my cock slowly eased into him. His breathing became heavy and erratic as I stretched him out. My thrusts were slow at first, letting him get used to me again after so long. He looked back at me, crimson eyes staring into mine. Is this how you use me?

I was taken aback by that. He even cocked his eyebrow. He was in no position to challenge me.

Despite his cockiness that teetered on the line of sexy and undeserving. I dug my sharp fingertips into the fat of his ass. He submitted instantly. With my other hand, I pushed his face into the pillow. His plump lips puckered together perfectly. I slowly pulled out of him until only my tip was inside. I waited for his panting to become so needy and desperate. Until he was near tears.

"Felix," I said lowly, milking a more dire moan from him, "This is how I use you," I dug deeper, warm red liquid pooling my nail beds, "I make you whine. I make you whimper," I pinched his neck in my hand, "Until you forget your own name. Because it's not fucking you that gets me off, no. It's the fact that you turn into a little bitch when I do.”

I slammed into him hard and deep. Until my cock was completely swallowed by him. His knees buckled beneath him, but I held him steady. That's what he wanted after all, for me to fuck him mercilessly. So that's what I did.

I let my hips control every penetrating thrust. His hands were beginning to rip at the sheets. So I grabbed his wrists and clasped them behind his back. The skin on his forearms were a bit thinner, making it easy to draw blood. And seeing the blood slowly drip down his back drew a low and long groan from me.

"Hyunjin," He sighed pathetically, "I'm gonna c-cum."

"But did I say you could?" I pounded into him harder, only making him fall apart under me.

"P-please. I can't take it anymore."

"But you waited so long, didn't you? Can't you wait a little bit longer."

"I can't."

"If you cum-."

"Hyunjin, p-please."

"Before I say-."

He whined and I squeezed.

"You'll regret it."

He buried his face in the pillow, sobbing as I thrusted inside him. I broke him.

"Cum now," My thrusts hit harder, "Cum like the whore you are."

Within seconds, a puddle of his seed pooled under him. Followed by a wailing moan.

"Are you close, Hyunjin?" He was still breathless as I hadn't stopped fucking him.

"Mhm."

I abruptly pulled out and flipped him onto his back before reentering his abused hole. His dick was still throbbing and leaking with cum. His tear stained face looked fucked out as well. He raised his arms over his head and his wrists were littered in scratches in blood. I leaned down to his neck and began sucking, my fangs sharpening to a point.

I didn't feed on him, only brought his blood so close to the surface. I merely teased my tongue with the taste.

He must've felt my cock twitching and jumping inside him because he said, "Cum inside me, Hyunjin."

I let up on his neck and looked him in the eye. I'm the only one for you.

I grabbed him by his chin and forced his mouth open. I pulled out and jerked myself off with my other hand. I slowly made my way closer to his face.

"You're the only one for me, hm," He nodded and I grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked his head back, "Then swallow."

His mouth and lips quickly became decorated in my ejaculation. He licked his lips clean and swallowed faithfully.

Feeling faint, I lied down next to him to catch my breath. I'd fucked him plenty of times before then, but never that hard. I wasn't sure what came over me. Stress? Maybe the extended time apart?

"You're the only one for me."

I looked over at his face and took in his beauty one last time before the candle died and killed the light.

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three Chapter 15

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 107k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: Only one Xiang remains and her name is Merra. She hopes to unite the land by force and plow down anyone in her way—especially the people of Agni who she deems faithless and the native people of Terra who refuse to cooperate with her.

Raine continues to serve his Lord but he has taken to alcoholism to soothe his grief—a fact he keeps out of his letters with Heidi. Baiya has returned to mercenary work in order to keep his family safe while Kira is on the warpath. He, fully, takes on the title of Chaaya and means to defeat the Xiang he sees as false.

And, in a guarded castle in Enlil, a stir-crazy Princess dabbles in the dark arts, setting in motion something even Tiandi cannot see.

Full chapter 15 under the cut

Chapter XV:

The dark hole in the air fizzled out and Kira was left staring at the trident that blocked his path and that trident’s owner.

“I can make another one,” Kira warned.

“And I will stop you again,” Raine responded with speed. He walked closer, forcing Kira to step back. “Do not run away from me! Please…”

That broken tone was back and Kira clenched his jaw. “Get away,” he yelled out, “Stay away from me!”

“Why?!” Raine demanded. “Why will you not let anyone see you? Why can I not speak to you as I once did? Why did you leave before we even laid Pangu to rest?!”

“Because I could not stand to see it!” He matched his volume. “I could not bear seeing…my best friend put in the ground!”

“I hated it too! We all did!” He stepped closer.

Kira recoiled. “You went back to your country—to your job—you are alright. You were always a good soldier, after all, so things did not end for you.”

“Hold on,” Raine interrupted him and continued his slow pursuit. “You believe I am alright? That I am happy in my work? Surely, you do not really think that everything went back to how it used to be—you are smarter than that.”

Of course, Kira knew things were probably more difficult given the current political situation but it was not so different to any other tumultuous time in history. Besides, if Kira was able to kill the Xiang and the Heavenly Princes then Raine’s worries would cease as well.

Everyone’s would.

“I understand some things are hard, but you still—”

“I am miserable, Kira!” Raine shouted and slapped his breastplate. “I am…so exhausted. I have become apathetic…drunk…I cannot stand the sight of myself. You are not the only one suffering because of what happened, Kira.”

His words stung, like salt in a fresh cut. Kira’s nerves stood on end as he looked from Raine to his trident, still stuck in the ground, debating.

Raine continued, “So…at least talk to me about it. Do not suffer alone—I will not tell anyone I saw you, I promise.”

Baiya had mentioned that Raine was tasked with bringing him in. Somehow, the thought had slipped Kira’s mind until those words were uttered.

A deep, sick sensation stirred in his gut as he began to wonder: was Raine playing at this mutual pity narrative just to lower his defenses? He would have never done something like it before but the second Kira had the thought, it was difficult to shake.

His energy flared and he took a knife from one of his sleeves before Raine could react and he threw it at him. He knew it would be easily parried so he did not falter when the man swatted it away with his arm bracer—he just kept running.

Kira grabbed the trident, wresting it from the earth and spinning the pole in his hands until the fork was pointed at Raine. He kept the length of the weapon between them.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Kira growled and gripped the pole even tighter.

But Raine grabbed the blades and yanked forward, seeming not to care about the danger of lacerating his hands in doing so. His eyes narrowed and he spoke, quietly, “You are sick. You have absorbed too much miasma…it is killing you and lying to you. Please, Kira.”

His eyes were as captivating as usual and Kira found himself stuck in their hold, so much so that he did not hear the bubble of water until it was too late.

A wave washed over him, knocking him off of his feet and causing him to release his hold on the trident. Raine, of course, stood tall through the miniature tidal wave since he had caused it. Trident back in hand, he looked ready to fight, even if that was not his intent.

Kira caught his breath and shook his head, throwing water droplets everywhere. He did not let Raine come any closer and bled out miasma into the ground, sending it on the far side of the river bank, to the trees over there. He met the man’s eyes and released the miasma vines with a fury.

They wrapped around Raine’s limbs and yanked him backward and, since they had come from behind him, he had not prepared for them at all. He yelled out in surprise and was dragged through the river.

He would be released once Kira was gone, not that he was in any real danger of drowning anyhow. Kira cast a quick glance back before opening another portal and jumping through.

Darkness greeted him, even after the trip through the portal was over. It always took a moment for his eyes to adjust, despite the nine months of returning to the same place every other day.

He had become accustomed to the layout, however, so even if it was as dark as midnight, he could walk through the halls with relative ease. Usually, he would slap a hand on one of the rock walls and trace the familiar grooves along the way to help guide him.

A sparkle of blue let him know he was headed in the correct direction. The luminescent mushrooms that grew in the caves always offered the first bit of light before reaching the main area. Even then, the mushrooms were a strong source of light along with the few candles, all melted more than halfway and surrounded by dried wax splatters.

The walls of the cave were either a dark brown or black but, with the dim lighting, it was hard to tell. A few streaks of a lighter color were lined in the rock, like stripes on a cat, and the surface was, mostly, smooth. Jagged rocks, here and there, were most always accompanied by those glowing mushrooms.

Rocks were also used as furniture and those were especially smooth—probably carved that way. And they were surprisingly comfortable. The beds as well, with their frames made of stone and only thin, down mattresses laid over top, were not terrible to lie upon.

Like usual, a few bodies were in the main room. The sight was about what Kira expected.

“Welcome back, dear,” an older woman said with a warm smile. She had a tan and a face full of wrinkles—especially around the corners of her lips where she often smiled and laughed. “Anything interesting happen?”

“I am sure he just went out and burned a few more temples,” a younger voice said.

The two hardly ever left the caves except when explicitly asked. Kira had wondered about them, occasionally, before formally meeting them a year ago. Unlike the Heavenly Princes who were always together, the Mistresses of Shadow typically worked alone.

He knew that from his firsthand experience with Kali and then, later, when they encountered Parvati. But there had always been two missing.

Sha-devi was the only one to openly welcome Kira after his “betrayal” to Shakti. She was surprisingly calm and pleasant for someone meant to be the embodiment of war and curses but Kira was not too taken aback by the contrast between her image and the truth. He knew quite well how twisted Tiandi’s religion made things.

The youngest of the Mistresses, while still being around a thousand years old and only appearing like a teenager, was Sha-chandes. She was, supposedly, the mistress of filth and disgust but she kept herself primped and loved sweets.

Really, the only mistress who seemed to coincide with her role was Sha-kali, the woman who gave Kira his Chaaya powers to begin with. She still did not love the idea of him joining their side so late but, then again, she could have just been sick of having her physical avatar killed each time she saw him.

“I did destroy a temple,” Kira finally answered and looked around for any more of the mistresses. Sha-parvati was hardly ever around, he had noticed.

“Good, fuck those places,” Chandes chided and giggled. She had, on her lap, a half rotten but animated dog. He was small, was once fluffy, and did not always live in the caves with them. But, she had adopted him in a sense, despite his owner’s frustration over the matter.

“Can I please have my dog back?” said owner asked from his spot across the room.

“Boogie likes me more.”

“His name is Browly.”

“Boogie sounds better.”

“No, it sounds like booger!”

Kira glanced between the two before pointing at the disgruntled man. “I am sorry, who are you again?”

Even if it was dark in the room, he was still sure he saw a blood vessel about to pop on the man’s forehead. “That is not funny, Kira! And it gets less funny every time!”

Chandes, however, howled with laughter, kicking her feet up into the air. That, of course, disturbed the dog and, as if he were still alive, he whimpered and squeezed himself free of her grasp. He then ran over to Kira and wagged his entire body.

The necromancer was becoming better at his craft but there was still no soul in the dog. According to the mistresses, it was an advanced technique that was required to properly bring a soul back from the beyond; one that needed a level of skill that Ziyi did not have. Still, he worked on his abilities using his dog and, since Kira had last seen him, he had gained some level of sentience. At least, he no longer needed his master’s direct commands to act.

Otherwise, he would never be at Kira’s feet, begging for attention.

“Are you sure he does not have a soul back?” Ziyi asked as he stared at his dead dog with a fixed gaze.

“If he does, it is a different soul.” Chandes shrugged.

“Is that why he wants nothing to do with me…?”

“He just senses how bad you suck.” She snickered, especially when he grumbled.

“Now, now, do not be children,” Devi soothed. “As amusing as your bickering is, it must end eventually.”

It was rare that anyone ever talked back to Devi as she was the oldest and most powerful though Kira had never seen her actually do anything, he just took their word for it. Kali was the most likely to push her to see if she could get away with anything but Devi would always calmly and politely turn her down. Like when Kali insisted they not take Kira in.

Devi had been the one to make the verdict on the matter.

Her eyes shifted over to Kira and that same smile still tugged at her lips. “Kira, dear, why not rest for a bit? Shakti wishes to speak with you when you are ready.”

“Oh, are you in trouble?” the necromancer asked with a smirk, hoping.

“Kira is her favorite, you dolt,” Chandes struck him down immediately.

Kira left them to their inevitable arguing and retired, not to his room, but to Shakti’s. Although, it was difficult to call it a room as it was more like an open space.

Down a flight of stairs, unevenly carved through the earth, there was a long hall and less and less candlelight. The darkness always looked as though it would last forever but, after a few moments of walking, a soft purple glow was born. Gentle humming accompanied the light and, slowly, shining crystals began to line the walls.

The hall opened up to a wide, circular area, filled with the same purple crystals that lifted the darkness with far more clarity than the communal space up above.

In the center a black puddle, like a spilled ink well, shimmered under the light.

Kira approached and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “I was told you wanted to see me?”

The puddle bulged and sputtered before a tall, lithe form rose, towering over Kira with ease. Her entire body was the same black color and her hair melded into her skin, shining and slick. Her eyes were the only real indicator of where her face was and those white flashes were sometimes accompanied by even whiter flashes of teeth when she spoke. Hands formed and fingers separated from one another until a defined human silhouette stood.

“You have come back sooner than expected.” Her voice was like a whisper, spoken from under the water’s surface, and it mostly reached Kira in his mind. In fact, he was never sure whether she was actually speaking aloud or not.

“I ran into some trouble so I thought I would stop by,” he explained and swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. His eyes shifted down, at the ground. “I know where the Xiang should be headed in a few weeks, however, assuming things in the political realm proceed as planned. I will meet with her there and end things. At least, I aim to wound her by taking one of her disciples away.”

Shakti lowered herself, simply returning everything below her knees to their liquid form so that she could look Kira in the eye. Her hands rested on either side of his face, a gesture he was not unfamiliar with since meeting her.

At first, her touches were overbearing and felt malignant but that had simply been his anger interfering with his views. After knowing her for a time now, there was a very different emotion attached to her affections.

She felt like what Kira assumed a mother should.

Or, to be more precise, what he remembered of his mother from his early childhood. Back when she showed glimmers of kindness and warmth, before he understood what kind of person she really was. Before she showed him just how conditional that love that he thought he felt really was.

It had been many moons now and, unlike Kira’s mother, Shakti had not twisted her love into something monstrous. If anything, she had become sweeter and her arms easier to sink into.

“You ran into him…? ...Raine?” Perhaps it was the water still clinging to his clothes that gave him away but he did not think of it in the moment. Shakti brushed back some of his hair and hummed. “I know this hurts you. You need not hide it from me.”

The way her voice resonated in his mind and the way her hands just barely cradled him…it made his chest ache. His eyes became hot and he bowed his head as she continued to brush through his hair.

“I did see him,” Kira muttered. “Baiya too…”

His throat clenched tight and he rested his forehead on the body before him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and, while he did not hold her in return, he accepted her embrace.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! This is my first ask on your blog! Can you make a Monty x male animatronic reader, who was made by Afton, but he scrapped them? (Idk why he did maybe you can come up with a reason why lol) theyre a gator like monty btw. Maybe he finds the reader in a room or something and they power up again. I just think a reader that's sort of a mentor for monty would just be cute shshdhb

Monty stumbles upon the newest addition to Rockstar Row. Among all the trinkets and other useless items out on display, something in a tall glass case catches his eye.

It’s..another gator animatronic?

You looked like an old model, with cheap plastic casing, faded rosy cheeks, and missing teeth.

He lowered his shades to read the plaque:

“[Y/n]--an alligator animatronic developed by William Afton for the Toy series back in 1987. Unfortunately he never saw the light of day due to being deemed too scary for kids-”

“Hey, what’s with us gators bein’ “too scary”?!” He chuffs, not bothering to read the rest of it. Just that sentence alone ticked him off.

“I ain’t scary!! Why does everyone think that?!!” With his temper flaring up, he kicks the plaque over before he storms off.

But the moment he turns his back, he hears a scratching noise behind him. And he looks at the case, shocked to see you activated, looking panic-striken.

He immediately smashes the glass to free you. The alarms blare but he grabs your hand and drags you to the utility tunnels to hide from Vanessa (who was currently yelling his name).

Once you’re both safe, you seem confused. So he catches you up to speed on where you are, who he is, etc.

Then you stare at him for a while before grinning. “Oh! I guess this makes me your elder!”

“Erm..uh..yeah, I guess?” Monty shrugs. “It’s cool to find another gator like me here. So what’s your deal?”

“...what do you mean?”

“Like..you were scrapped for being “too scary”? That’s real stupid if you ask me.”

You frown a bit. “It is stupid..because it’s not the truth.”

This had him curious, so you both sit down together and you share a story about a fox animatronic who bit a guard way back in 1987, the incident dubbed the “Bite of ‘87″. You were actually a witness to it.

Monty’s dumbfounded. He thought it was just a rumor. But he sees it was a very real incident.

"They had sharp teeth like me. So mine never got finished in fear I’d repeat history.” You pointed to the gaps in your mouth. “I was going to be part of an “expansion” for an aquatic attraction, but..that never came to pass. Oh well, at least now this company isn’t afraid of a gator with a lot of bite. They seem to love you here.”

“Nah..it ain’t all that great.”

“What makes you say that?”

“........” The way he sulks in silence worries you.

“Montgomery, tell me the truth. I won’t judge.” You pat his shoulder plate in comfort.

Although he’s stunned you used his full name, he gives in and admits that he’s the least popular because most kids are scared of him due to his sharp teeth, red eyes, and bad temper.

He’s never this open to anyone; not even his own bandmates knew. But meeting an animatronic of the same species was like a breath of fresh air. You could understand him and his struggles.

You’re surprised he’d say that--considering he has a whole attraction and syrup mix themed after him--though you reassure him it’s okay if some kids are scared.

“Just give ‘em time..soon they’ll love you in a few years.”

He chuckles at that prospect.

“True..they’ll see I’m the coolest.”

[kallikrein]

FAR REACH

— in which mikey silently lets you know how much you’re worth.

genre. fluff.

contains. gn!reader, possibly ooc and language errors as usual.

word count. 1.3k.

note. i thought this was just gonna be another timestamp bcos my lame ass can only do short drabbles lgmfjkf but i somehow got carried away and continued writing it as one-shot. inspired by a certain song and lmao it’s so old but i suddenly remembered how good the song was and tbh, i really think mikey would fall asleep to it.

requested.

Your mind went into a familiar state of ease as you sat down on the ground by the riverside with the blonde boy closely following you. You recognized the peaceful rhythm of your heart caused by his well-known charismatic presence, followed by the thrilling pulse that was ever so present in your bloodstream whenever he observed you, and the strange attunement you have to his improper wishes that put you outside of your bedroom again, late at night, in the first place.

You tried to understand the explanation behind it, but it was easier when you simply accepted the fact that you were very much hopeless and utterly in love with the one and only, Sano Manjiro, that you would follow him to the ends of the earth if he really asked for it. And as luck would have it, he proudly returned the same and shocking sentiments to you.

“You look nice,” Mikey chimed in, once he plopped his head on your lap and slowly adjusted his position to make it comfortable for the both of you. You didn’t expect his sudden compliment, still you murmured him thanks and out of habit, started brushing his golden locks to keep your instant embarrassment at bay.

Mikey closed his eyes when you did so, and on a chilly night like this, you would have brought your guitar to play it for him until he fell fast asleep beside you. However, as charming as a cute burglar he was, he was already rushing you to come out of the house when he came by earlier, suggesting that he wanted to go to this particular spot without his friends restlessly barging in on your love bubble, as good riddance as it was. And being the lovestruck fool that you were, you forgot all about your guitar when you hurried out, resulting in you being empty-handed and ending up combing his hair instead to keep them busy.

You also noticed how Mikey keeps on seeking for your presence every so often nowadays, as he would only ask for you to join him with just a few days apart, whereas this week he completed five days of seeing you nightly. You suspected that there was something bothering him and even though he’s usually forthright with you — may it be compliments or as annoying as mockery just to agitate you and see a different expression on your face — he was never one to be transparent when it comes down to his own worries. You also knew that only a few people could see through that high facade of his and unfortunately for you, you weren’t one of those, lover-wise or not.

Draken told you once how Mikey likes to burden himself with things that even he could not comprehend why, and coming from someone who is really close to Mikey and a mature guy like Draken, you realized it also wasn’t your place to poke and probe whatever that might be. You concluded that Mikey has to do that himself, if he did trust and love you enough to share his worries with you, and you let him know of that. You let Mikey know of your stance regarding that side of him thus, the sole reason why these late-night drives exist. You were Mikey’s breath of fresh air.

While you were pondering yourself, Mikey gazed up at you, unblinking and also deep in thought. You were subconsciously threading your fingers through his hair and if he was being honest, he was getting drowsy because of the comforting gesture, as though you were succumbing him to a lifetime of no worries, which he deemed impossible until he met you. But he wanted to hear your voice and solidify that affirmation; he wanted you to furthermore calm the rising tides that were persistently brewing on his mind and what would work but to ask you to sing it all away?

You heard the bashful way he mumbled his demand and it warmed your whole being that Mikey found his refuge with you, with your presence, with your voice; and before you could even speculate which song to sing, you were already crooning the tune the two of you were unfailingly so enchanted with.

Oh it’s so good to be underneath the same universe…

Closing his eyes, Mikey reached for your free hand, the hand that wasn’t combing his hair and put it atop his strong chest. Your fingers interlaced naturally together and you could make out the rise and fall of his chest in a restful manner that also brings you the same wash of contentment, given how relaxed and serene he was with you at that time.

Staring at the vast nothingness with you…

You continued to sing as heartfelt as you could and despite the repetitive words of the song, it always brings you the sweet nostalgia the same time you first sang it to him. Seeing him genuinely embarrassed was something you never thought you’d see and since then, Mikey never interrupted you — though usually the lullaby made him pass out into the dreamland — he would, without an exception, wake up groggy and buoyant, as if he was genuinely delighted you were still there humming and playing the guitar beside him and how he wished it would always be like that, for you to be his scenic view when he first opens his eyes.

The moon, the stars...they are all witnesses…

Yet this time, again, was different from most nights. He was admiring you as you serenaded him, instead of his usual dozing off, and you almost choked on your words, getting tongue-tied with the intensity of emotions that were pooling in his dark orbs, which regarded you as eagerly as those of an admiring child. You didn’t know why such a burning gaze stung your own eyes and you blamed it on the cool night breeze, even though you knew the real reason was Mikey’s silent but shameless message of how much he was captivated by you, as if you fully enraptured his heart and soul. 

It was just your voice. It was just you. You have never seen yourself that way, until Mikey made you aware of that fact — and in his own words, ‘how you’re one of a kind that it drives him absolutely nuts’ — to which you found yourself unbelievably believing him as well. You were just an ordinary person and yet Mikey revered your entire being, as though you held the damn universe right in the palm of your hands to which you would counter that it was him, offering you the bright heavens you never realized existed.

But as you return his gaze, with the same fervor that he has, you guessed it’s just the way it was, when two people are truly and madly in love — how every little thing feels bigger and magical than what it’s supposed to, every meaningless thought is profound and relevant, and every deliberate action pieces their whole existence because of the other. You clearly understood it now when Mikey clasped your hand tighter, how love can be both terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

They are all cosmic witnesses to our love…to our love…

You finished the sweet melody and the hand that wasn’t covering yours brushed up the tear you didn’t know trail down on your cheek. Mikey smiled at you then — a bit tender if you had to say which made you love him all the more — because he successfully delivered the same effect you were offering him without even a single ounce of effort. That is until he sighed, with a cheekier tone in his voice and it broke the current intimate ambience, as playful as he was, “Can you sing that song for me again?”

taglist. @baji-san, @keimisan, @harupill and @manjiroarchiviste.

[inkykeiji]

you be the match, i will be your fuse

fluffy anon said: dabi coming home after an absolutely horrid day at work and just needing to be absolutely BABIED by reader (i’m talking cuddling in bed, taking a bath with him and washing his hair then getting out just rubbing his back as he sleeps with his head on your chest)

genre: angst + fluff, laced with just a hint of smut (like two sentences)

notes: aaaah happy birthday dabi!!! this has absolutely nothing to do with your birthday but eeee ily | title cred: sure thing by miguel

warnings: 18+, implied/mentioned death of a child, one instance of implied past physical abuse, self-destructive behaviour + coping mechanisms, co-dependent toxic relationship

words: 3.5k

It’s thundering the day it happens, ferocious growls that rumble through your apartment—a tiny, quaint space you share with Dabi, full of faulty appliances and cracked linoleum—rolling, fluffy grey clouds blanketing the entire sky, swollen with restrained rain droplets as a storm brews within them. Little fingers idly toy with the yellowed pages of your worn pulp fiction novel, flipping through them and bending corners as your eyes search the angry sky, chewing on your cheek.

Dabi should’ve been home by now. It’s not like him to be late without calling, without letting his babygirl know what’s going on—he knows the way you worry, the way you overthink yourself into a frenzy, the way you’re so clingy and needy, teases you about it incessantly and tells you he thinks it’s cute—and a deep sense of dread takes root in the pit of your stomach, dark and bitter and unfurling, quickly spreading throughout the cavity of your chest.

His phone must be off—no, it’s never off, he doesn’t do that anymore, not since you stumbled into his life—his phone must be dead, your repeated calls growing increasingly frequent and urgent every time you’re greeted with the drone of his automatic voicemail.

Something’s wrong, horribly so.

It’s evident the moment he arrives home, scratched brass doorknob slamming against the wall, deepening the crater its left from past incidents of a similar manner.

It infects the air around him, hanging heavy and thick, its dense presence nearly suffocating. His shoulders slump under the pressure, the weight of whatever he’s carrying practically crushing, as he drags his crimson splattered boots through the front door, soles scraping against the cheap hardwood, bringing the putrid scent of charred flesh with him—his or someone else’s, you don’t know.

You swear you can almost see it, this—this thing, this aura, enveloping him in its haughty embrace as his chest heaves under a deep, controlled breath, pausing in the foyer as the door shuts behind him.

Bare feet pad against the floor, your legs moving without your explicit permission, drawn towards him in an almost instinctual manner, the desire to care for, to comfort, burning as it bubbles up in your chest, mixing with that intense sense of trepidation and invading your veins.

He permits you to wrap your arms around his torso as you nuzzle against him, body going rigid for a moment, still and stiff as marble, before he exhales again, melting into your embrace.

Several questions race through your mind at such a speed that they crash and clash together, becoming nothing more than incoherent jumbled lettering, tiny fingers curling in the fabric of his clothing as you try to pull him closer, nonsensical babbling spilling from your lips. A vacant ghost of a chuckle leaves his lips, nothing more than a simple huff of breath, and he squeezes you closer.

“Bad day?” the words are mumbled against his dirty t-shirt, what was once a pristine white now tarnished with ash and blood. You don’t get a response—you don’t expect one.

He doesn’t talk much, not on days like this.

He doesn’t need to.

Bad days—really bad, terrible, awful days such as this one—are surprisingly rare with Dabi. Sure, he’s had the typical ‘bad’ day before, where someone pisses him off, or he gets into a fight with his superior, but those bad days usually require railing you into your creaky, springy king-sized mattress until you’ve forgotten everything but his name and he’s fucked all of the anger and hatred out of his body.

They are not like this one. No, on days such as this, on days where he’s killed someone he deems to be innocent, someone who—like him—is a victim of heroism, he’s quiet, distant, unpredictable, bordering on unhinged, and you’ve learned to tread with extreme discretion.

But you don’t push, either, resolving to communicate through gentle touches, soft fingertips that run along his tense, broad shoulders and press into the hard coiled muscles, tender fingers that thread through inky tufts of hair, sapphire eyes closing as he hums and leans into the motion like a cat.

It’s only for a second, though, just a moment of weakness before he’s breaking out of your embrace, pushing past you and clearing his throat, glass door to the balcony sliding shut a moment later. 

You don’t follow. You know better than that now, a phantom sting in your cheek serving as a reminder, the resounding sharp sound of glass shattering as it’s hurled at the floor slicing through your mind with such viciousness it makes you wince. 

Instead, you sit. And you wait. Like you’re supposed to, like a good little girl, a book clutched between your quivering hands, unblinking eyes staring at the words on the page, nothing but incomprehensible symbols—lines and lines of black ink in meaningless shapes—as scorching sapphire loops through your mind.

Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl. Give him space. Let him come to you.

It’s standard procedure, really.

And eventually, he does, comes back inside with an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in a hand, along with a crumpled package of cigarettes. You don’t know how long it’s been, muscles sore and joints aching from sitting in the same position for so long, eyes dry from staring at the same page, barely moving, barely breathing. His hand is bleeding, knuckles bruised and gleaming with sticky scarlet that’s still fresh and flowing, but it could be worse. It has been worse.

The harsh clink of the bottle against the kitchen counter makes you flinch, and he sighs, heavy and full of derision, eyes flicking up to glare at your side profile.

“I can hear you thinking,”

“You’re filthy, baby,” the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable, involuntary, almost reflexive in your response, eyes snapping to his face and voice whiny, voice pleading. “Take a bath with me,”

And you can see it—can see it in the dark cobalt of his irises, what he needs, the very thing he’s fighting himself on, the very thing he’s fighting so hard against. Always so stubborn, so reluctant, so cautious.

Because, fuck, he used to be able to resist it, this pathetic ache for comfort—something that’s only managed to grow in your presence, that’s shifted and morphed from a dull smoldering to a raging fire, an insatiable longing for your fingers in his hair and your breath on his skin and your voice against his ear—a skill he’d been constructing, developing, perfecting, since he was thirteen years old. A skill you succeeded in shattering in the matter of a few measly months.

Because you—you’re different. And he hates it sometimes, he swears to the good Lord he does, but hating it doesn’t make it any less true. You break him down, you make him weak, you make him want, and the longer he spends around you, the more he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. And that’s irritating, that’s exciting, that’s terrifying, that’s new. 

Fury blisters his chest, his lungs, his throat as he holds your stare, jaw clenching twice. But you don’t falter, not like the rest of them, not like anyone else—everyone else. You never falter, always so eager to see the good in him, a snort leaving his nose at the thought. The good in him. Is there any good left in him? Was there ever any good in him in the first place? Are you the good in him, now? Does he care?

And he’s not sure he’ll ever understand it, but he’s beginning to realize that, maybe, he doesn’t have to. 

Maybe, it doesn’t matter. Maybe, it’s okay, if you love him, if he loves you.

Maybe.

It’s too much, and he can feel frustration stinging his eyes, long delicate eyelashes fluttering as he quickly blinks it away. Spears, sharp and cold, splinter your chest at the sight, but you know if you begin crying too, you’ll lose him. You know that if you begin showing what he considers weakness, he’ll pull away, even though this is what he so clearly needs most. 

So you steel yourself, swallowing hard against the pain collecting in your throat, will the tears away and force your body to stay calm, approaching him slowly as if he’s some sort of feral animal prone to lashing out. 

Apprehension is clear in his azure eyes, head tilting a little as they narrow, regarding you with skepticism, with suspicion. 

It’s bold, and dangerous, and—as far as Dabi’s concerned—fucking stupid, but you don’t care, determined to prove to him that you aren’t going anywhere regardless of how many tantrums he throws, no matter how many times he hurts you in his anguish. It’s almost desperate, really, this sheer need to prove to him that you aren’t scared of him, that irrespective of how soft he seems to think you are, you are strong, even if it’s in ways he could never understand, that you can be strong for him, when he needs it, that he can borrow some of your strength, if he needs to.

And that—that’s why he loves you. It hits him hard, as this realization always does, kicks him in the chest and knocks the breath out of him every time, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

A tiny hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Dabi regarding the offer with a wary hesitance. Wiggling fingers attempt to entice him, earning a tiny smirk—a massive victory—as sapphire flits up to gaze at you through thick lashes, an eyebrow raised.

You match his expression, quirking an eyebrow of your own and nodding at your hand, speaking a moment later.

“Let me in, baby,” the words are barely above a whisper, but they’re so raw, filled with so much unadulterated love it hurts, pure and real and everything he’s never had before. “Let me help,”

And, God, it’s fucking overwhelming, how badly he wishes to give in to this unfamiliar compassion, how desperately he desires your affection, despite the malicious voice echoing off the walls of his skull, berating him for being so pathetic, so weak, so vulnerable.

But the urge to accept, to seek out consolation in you, wins, just as it always does, that nasty voice reverberating in his mind silenced the very instant his skin touches yours.

You let him make the last move, allow him to make that final decision entirely on his own accord, to grasp your hand in his, warm and rough, and pull you towards him, crushing you against his chest as he buries his face in your hair, eyes squeezed shut against that annoying burn of tears, chest stuttered with a hitched breath, air that gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the words he wants to say.

But he doesn’t need to say them. You already know.

“Come,” you murmur to him, fingers threading through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s take a bath,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

The bathwater stings your skin, just a hint too hot to be comfortable, but you say nothing as you settle onto his lap in the cramped little tub, encompassed by frothy bubbles, dainty scent of orange citrus tickling your nose.

Heated fingertips press into your hips as he finds comfort the only way he knows how to, in your precious little whimpers and broken moans of his name as he bounces you on his cock, so vigorously you’re positive you can feel him in your tummy, the pads of his fingers searing his prints into your skin.

It’s heady, it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting, heightened emotions both pleasant and unpleasant swirling together with the symphony of your cries and his grunts as the water you’re submerged in begins to bubble and boil, to crack and pop, sudsy liquid sloshing over the side of the tiny tub as he forces you to ride him, faster and faster and faster until you’re whining and convulsing around him, and he’s filling you with thick cum, cock throbbing aggressively as he spurts load after load into you.

After, as he leans back against the cold tile, residual droplets sizzling into steam as his heated skin touches them. Gentle fingers card between his hair, water cascading through onyx strands as it pours over his head from a worn plastic cup—a faded Darth Vader staring back at you as you rhythmically repeat your actions until the tresses stick to his forehead and cheeks, drenched and shining in the low light of the washroom.

Heavy lids obscure the most brilliant sapphire from you as shampoo is massaged into his scalp, slow and unhurried and thorough, every stroke, every comb through inky clumps easing the turmoil in his mind bit by bit, calming the storm that’s been raging inside of him for hours now. Deep hums rumble in his chest as your fingers continue their ministrations, your eyes trained on your motions. And you can feel it, the tension dissipating from his body with each circle of foam rubbed into his soft hair, shoulders finally beginning to relax as he subconsciously nuzzles into your touch, following it, longing for it, aching for more.

He shifts then, after you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair, manhandling you into a position between his thighs, bare chest pressed tightly against your back. You work hard to keep your body from tensing, forcing your breathing to stay even, to stay calm as you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“He was eleven,” he says after several long moments of silence, voice low and trembling, hoarse and heavy with remorse. “This time.”

This time. That’s the third innocent civilian—innocent by his standards, at least—this month.

That’s the first time it’s ever been a child.

You don’t turn around to look at him, not yet—he isn’t finished—simply opting to lace your fingers through his and bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing each wounded knuckle, crude staples catching in the dim warm light of the tiny bathroom. 

You want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. You want to tell him anything that’ll make him feel better, that’ll absolve the guilt so evidently gnawing away at his insides, even though you know there’s nothing you can say.

“What are—I don’t even—” his voice breaks and you feel his chest stutter against your back, feel him exhale harshly, breath cool on your damp shoulder, feel him swallow thickly as he tries again. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he would never admit it, you know he needs release this from the confines of his mind—you know you’re the only person who can offer him such an outlet. “Why the fuck were there kids there in the first place? Huh? They shouldn’t—They shouldn’t have been there,”

Orphans are everywhere in this city, you murmur, lips moving against his rough skin. He knows. Orphans of heroes. He knows.

“I’m gonna kill Shigaraki, I swear to Christ. Sending us to a—a fucking place infested with fucking ch-children,” his fingers curl around yours, hand beginning to shake as it clutches you like a lifeline, like that guilt will devour him from the inside out, like he’ll disintegrate into nothingness, if he doesn’t. “I bet you he fucking knew—nah, I-I’m positive he did. Asshole only cares about himself, though. Doesn’t matter that—that the cause we’re supposed to be fighting for affects these stupid kids,”

You’re right, love.

The words leave your lips in a gentle breath, leaning your head back against his collarbone and staring up at him. Cobalt eyes stay trained on the cracked tile wall, jaw methodically clenching as his molars grind together, an attempt to quell the trembling of his chin, exhaling hard harsh breaths through flared nostrils.

“Whatever,” he huffs, voice still wavering and not nearly as self-assured as he wishes. “Th-That brat shouldn’t have been there in the first place,”

He shouldn’t have, you agree, finally squirming in his grasp, turning to face him, to straddle his hips again in the tight space of the tub. And he welcomes your affections readily this time, arms encircling your waist as he holds you tightly to him, blunt nails digging purple-tinged crescents into your flesh as he shoves his face against your neck, finally allowing those emotions he’s been fighting to leak from his eyes and absorb into your skin.

Little palms rub soothing circles into his back as he shudders against you, allowing him to empty his soul onto you as soft lips press chaste kisses to his damp hair, waiting until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are drained, azure glassy and bloodshot, nose twitching and red.

And after he’s done, when he finally pulls back, scrubbing aggressively at his nose as tiny sniffles hitch in his chest, gentle fingers begin to lather soap into his skin, washing away the dirt and grime and blood from the day. Fingertips carefully trace along the metal sutures decorating his body with immeasurable adoration, you whispering all of the things he so desperately needs to hear that he’d never dare to ask for, complimented by the tender touches that cleanse his soul with their unconditional love.

He’s bigger than you are, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to wrap him in a fluffy white towel, using another in an attempt to dry his hair as your hands move in shaggy motions, heart soaring in your chest when you pull a soft laugh from his lips, wet and wobbly and croaky, but a laugh nonetheless.

A mutual silence, gentle and comforting and stuffed full of an immense love, a special kind of love, a love words do not exist to explain, swathes your bodies as he allows you to dress him, pulling a ratty old band tee over his head and a pair of plaid PJ pants up his legs.

“You always look so cute in my clothes,” he rasps from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, glowing crystal eyes watching as you pull one of his t-shirts over your naked body.

A genuine bubble of laughter erupts from your throat as you climb into bed with him, immediately allowing him to latch onto you, to pull you towards him, to hold you close like his own personal plushie.

“Sleep,” you murmur as the two of you settle into a comfortable position, limbs tangled together, his head resting on your chest, fingers threading through his hair and then tracing down his neck, his back. “And then I’ll make you ramen,”

“The spicy kind?”

“Of course,”

I love you.

“Extra spicy?”

Laughing again, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, grip around your torso tightening. “Extra spicy. Now, rest,”

More than anything else.

“With the little fish cakes?”

“Your favourite little fish cakes,”

More than words could ever tell you.

“And the pork belly?”

“And the pork belly,” you feel his chest rise with an inhale, hastily adding, “And those little cream puffs you love so much, from that dingy convenience store downstairs, for dessert. Now sleep, baby,”

He laughs, even though his vision is blurring, even though it comes out more strangled than anything else, because he doesn’t want to cry again, because his chest stings and aches and swells and warms, full of inexplicable emotions, feels like it’s going to fucking burst as it chokes and reinvigorates him all at once, and—God, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Because even though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s willing to try—just for you, only for you—as he continually realizes with each passing day that he isn’t sure what the fuck he’d do without you, now. Because you’re too entangled up in his life, too deeply embedded in his very soul, for him to ever remove you, now. Because as petrifying and unfamiliar as it is, he doesn’t want to, now.

Because even though he’s broken, irrevocably so, and you can’t fix him, won’t fix him, you’ll still stay, to hold those pieces so gently, so tenderly in your hands, you’ll still protect those fragments and keep them from shattering further, you’ll still give them the affection and devotion they need, the affection and devotion they deserve. Because you love every part of him, even the bad ones, even the shards with jagged edges that cut into the soft flesh of your palms every time you caress them.

Because you accept him wholeheartedly, flaws and all, and that’s—he’s never experienced anything like that before, this unlimited, unreserved, unquestioning love. And although he doesn’t know how to say this, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to find the right words to communicate it, he’s beginning to learn that unfamiliar doesn’t always mean bad; that sometimes, it’s okay—it’s good—to be vulnerable. He’s beginning to learn that with you, in the warmth of your shitty little apartment, with the stove that only has two functioning burners and the fridge that’s perpetually too cold, he can be, without judgement, without fear, without trepidation.

Because you are his only salvation, and he wouldn’t trade this for the goddamn world.

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking --  and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes. 

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face. 

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay. 

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been. 

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears. 

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work. 

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise. 

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday. 

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed. 

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great. 

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep. 

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day. 

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut. 

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night. 

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason. 

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called. 

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck. 

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.  

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided. 

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly. 

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling. 

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked. 

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line. 

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear. 

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.”  Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?” 

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat. 

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again. 

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone. 

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company. 

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now. 

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad. 

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold. 

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV. 

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat. 

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps. 

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum. 

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up. 

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.” 

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo. 

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming. 

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted. 

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him. 

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room. 

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder. 

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera. 

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her. 

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table. 

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room. 

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her. 

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled. 

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling. 

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her. 

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame. 

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly. 

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again. 

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

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