luculia003

Latest Posts by luculia003

Diabolik Lovers [ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS MASTERLIST]

THIS BLOG IS NO LONGER ACTIVE. IF YOU ARE INTO GENSHIN IMPACT, YOU CAN FOLLOW ME ON MY LUMINE ROLEPLAY BLOG OVER HERE -> @viatrixtravels​

Important notes

-> I will only be including my OWN translations on these list.

-> This list is a WIP and new links will be added as I translate more content. I will put it as a pinned post on my blog, so please check back regularly. 

-> Completed projects will be tagged as [COMPLETE], ongoing projects will be tagged as [WIP]. 

For the drama CD section, I have added [WIP] to any major sub-series which I have done at least one translation for. This does NOT include the Tokuten CDs (also known as the ‘silly/funny drama CDs’) since those are scattered across the different sections.

-> Guide on using my translations

ll GAMES ll

001. DIABOLIK LOVERS Haunted Dark Bridal [COMPLETE]

002. DIABOLIK LOVERS More, Blood [COMPLETE]

003. DIABOLIK LOVERS Vandead Carnival [COMPLETE]

004. DIABOLIK LOVERS Dark Fate [COMPLETE]

005. DIABOLIK LOVERS Lunatic Parade [COMPLETE]

006. DIABOLIK LOVERS Lost Eden [COMPLETE]

007. DIABOLIK LOVERS Chaos Lineage

General Prologue

Violet Prologue / Laito / Subaru / Kou / Azusa / Carla

ll DRAMA CD ll

001. DIABOLIK LOVERS Do-S Kyuuketsu [COMPLETE]

002. DIABOLIK LOVERS VERSUS I  [COMPLETE]

003. DIABOLIK LOVERS Character Song [COMPLETE]

004. DIABOLIK LOVERS More, Blood [COMPLETE]

005. DIABOLIK LOVERS Limited V Edition [COMPLETE]

006. DIABOLIK LOVERS VERSUS II [COMPLETE]

007. DIABOLIK LOVERS Vandead Carnival [COMPLETE]

008. DIABOLIK LOVERS More, Blood Limited V Edition [COMPLETE]

009. DIABOLIK LOVERS More Character Song [COMPLETE]

010. DIABOLIK LOVERS Dark Fate [COMPLETE]

011. DIABOLIK LOVERS Bloody Bouquet [COMPLETE]

012. DIABOLIK LOVERS VERSUS Song [WIP]

013. DIABOLIK LOVERS Lunatic Parade [COMPLETE]

014. DIABOLIK LOVERS VERSUS III [COMPLETE]

015. DIABOLIK LOVERS Sadistic Song [COMPLETE]

016. DIABOLIK LOVERS Lost Eden [WIP]

017. DIABOLIK LOVERS Eternal Blood [COMPLETE]

018. DIABOLIK LOVERS Para-Selene [COMPLETE]

019. DIABOLIK LOVERS Grand Edition [WIP]

020. DIABOLIK LOVERS Zero [COMPLETE]

021. DIABOLIK LOVERS VERSUS IV [COMPLETE]

022. DIABOLIK LOVERS Chaos Lineage [WIP]

023. DIABOLIK LOVERS Born to Die [COMPLETE]

024. DIABOLIK LOVERS More, More Blood [COMPLETE]

025. DIABOLIK LOVERS Daylight [COMPLETE]

ll MISC. ll

001. Official Tweets 

002. OTOMATE PARTY & REJET FEST Mini Drama [WIP]

003. DIABOLIK LOVERS  Visual Fanbook [COMPLETE]

004. DIABOLIK LOVERS Anime Official Fanbook [COMPLETE]

005. DIABOLIK LOVERS More, Blood Official Fanbook [COMPLETE]

006. DIABOLIK LOVERS Vandead Carnival Official Fanbook [COMPLETE]

007. DIABOLIK LOVERS 5th Anniversary Book [COMPLETE]

008. DIABOLIK LOVERS Short Stories [COMPLETE]

009. DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, MORE BLOOD 4-Koma Manga [COMPLETE]

010. DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT 4-Koma Manga [WIP]

011. DIABOLIK LOVERS YOUNG BLOOD [WIP]

012. DIABOLIK LOVERS Fan-made Manga/Comics

013. DIABOLIK LOVERS ZERO Voiced Interviews [COMPLETE]

Undoing Fate

neglected to regressor batsis! reader x platonic batfam

what if after 20 years of neglect from your family full of vigilantes, you face an unfortunate death, only to find yourself regressed back to when you were 16?

⤷ lots of emotional neglect, reader was batgirl, reader was a tryhard and an overachiever, reader had no social life in her first life, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, regression themes, toxic and unhealthy relationships, dysfunctional family, toxic mentalities, reader and everyone else needs therapy…, canon divergence, major character death(s) | tba | based on this

⤷ info! (background) 1 | 2 | read this first to understand the plot and each batfam better :)

⤷ art!!! 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

⤷ if you’re bored m.list—under reconstruction

00 | And she cried over nothing

01 | Sixteen again

02 | A quitter? | ?

03 | Everything is awesome…

04 | Until it’s not | .

05 | Untouched memories

06 | Another suffocating day | .

07 | 1–Paranoia at its finest

| 2–To care or not to care

| 3–Sneaky link?

08 | Tricks and Riddles (TBC)

taglist is closed‼️

(1/3): @.fangxout @.dusk-muse @.quethekillerqueen @.isupportorbitalbombardment @.nxdxsworld @.vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @.jason-todd-fangirl-14 @.redsakura101 @.what-0-life @.idkwhattoputhete @.secretyouthcomputer @.witch-waycult @.allycat4458 @.dazed-lavender @.eclecticfurylady @.wizzerreblogs @.marsmabe @.daddysfangirls-dc @.hoeinthehouse @.beeweensblog @.ilxandra @.agent-nobody-knows @.thethingwiththefeathers @.mochiivqi @.pix-stuff @.narration-ator @nebulousmoon3990 @delias-stuff @froggy-voidd @jjsmeowthie @kore-of-the-underworld @nen-nyy @juthesillylesbain @vikkus-main @emilylouise123 @blueiones @horror-lover-69 @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wassupbroski55555 @reallyromealone @plsfckmedxddy @sea-glasses @203moonysello @luvly-writer @dovey-quacks2332 @love-theangel @hotdinoankles @vebbiewuzhere

(2/3) @animegirlfromvietnam @estreiiuh @simply-lovely78 @twismare @ssak-i @g4bbi3xx @buddee @alor-thes @kiyoramen @weirdothatreads @bat1212 @actuallysleepingrn @k1arar3 @zelabee @just-pure-trash @mindless-rock @heartjwonie @nickey-diano @goldfishsmemory @infirebaby @thephantomdanny @madkill44 @w31rd3rg1rl @fishstcks @yvesnoteve @otterluver05 @lilithskywalker @vanilliona @definitely-not-sammie @strwberryglass @f0rtunej @cottage-worm @darkfaethedestroyer @cloudserenity @bigchungusdrinksspritecranberry @cooldeermagazine @fightmebissh @fantasyhopperhea @sirenetheblogger @dind1n @stupidvodkka @lilithquillete @unamused-boss @insomniaccorner @paastaboi @octavius-world @yukixies @imguce @jellyedkazoo @jsprien213 @bad4amficideas @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog @rissareader @itsberrydreemurstuff @i-am-here3 @eyeless-kun @jayjayjayson @rosy-myhouse34 @verypersonadazzel @ehh-im-just-here-to-read @thesehandsarerated-e

(3/3) @glitchmshade @prongs-moon @jjllmx @thegothamsiren @v3vina @levi-09 @leovergurl @dazailover4ever @sofiaswrittendelusions @yukinaabutlazy @sbrewer21 @ryuushou @batboygirlie @simp-hub

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓) (or let me know if i accidentally spelt ur user wrongly 😭💀)

the most unlikely – pomeclaw.

bro isn't having it. Get him out please!

I have no idea what the Bats would yell as they transform but I like to think they would be puns or at least themed around their hero titles except Batman himself who make it about justice 🙄

Ex:

Nightwing: Nightwing and Flamebird reference

Signal: “Light in the Dark”

Each Robin has a different phrase but they’re all Robin or bird related

And that’s it… that’s as far as I got

My version vs my ref

We all know how flustered Battinson would be as a first time dad, but can you imagine him when half the rogue roster AND JL members come to them after Jason gets adopted?

Naturally, they assume he’s Bruce’s biological kid. And chaoes quickly comes knocking.

Harvey is VERY ready to be a dad. Too ready. “Don’t even worry about it, even if we’ve had our problem, OBVIOUSLY I’m the father, and I’ll be there every step of the way.”

“What.”

“There’s no need to hide the truth, Bruce, I’m not mad. I’ll be the best dad I can be. I won’t even let Two Face show him how to shoot a gun.”

“I already know how to do that :D”

“WHAT?”

“What did I tell ya?” The seamless switch is blink-and you miss it, but not for Bruce’s sharp eyes. TF just grins, switchblade sharp, ruffling at Jason’s hair, “That IS my boy.”

Clark sheepishly approaching Bruce one day, sitting down at the JL cafeteria table. His handsome face fashioned a bare earnestness which only confuses Bruce MORE.

“Hey. So, we should probably talk about Jason, right?”

“What.”

“I’m really sorry if I did something that made you feel like you couldn’t tell me. But I’m ready to step up. So when should I move in?”

“We haven’t slept together, Clark.”

“Bruce, I think I’d know my kid when I saw him.”

Hal can’t take this anymore. “HE’S A MAN?” He pauses, “Also, why am I not questioned? I could be the baby daddy! I could SO be the baby daddy!”

“Go away, Hal.”

“Yeah ok.”

before concert ~

Ref : Helmut Newton Woman into Man, 1979

Turning around an idea in my head recently :)

Lost Shepherd (Time Travel) AU

In which Truthless Recluse doesn’t experience rebirth and awakening upon shattering his soul jam, but the explosion of his and Shadow Milk Cookie’s combined power in a twisted space where all time coexists as one sends him back in time to his childhood.

When Pure Vanilla Cookie searches for his lost sheep, he finds a lost shepherd to take home as well.

There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?” 

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.” 

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.” 

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.  

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.   

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too. 

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while. 

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips. 

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?” 

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.  

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…” 

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job

Giorno's Autumnal Wardrobe 🍂🦋

I haven't drawn him in while. Floral patterns are such an essential part of his style, I always associated him with spring. How about fall?

I thought about doing a spooky/glamour version for Halloween 🤔

❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.” 

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all. 

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips. 

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly. 

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest.  “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting. 

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number. 

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.” 

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.” 

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.” 

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock.  “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life.  “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.” 

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”  

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.” 

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup. 

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.” 

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.” 

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy. 

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.” 

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few. 

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.) 

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire. 

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster. 

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.” 

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother. 

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.” 

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?” 

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.” 

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?” 

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.” 

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?” 

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks. 

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.” 

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think. 

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance. 

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends. 

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?” 

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.” 

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.” 

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work. 

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf. 

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes. 

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance.  “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.” 

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.) 

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless. 

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand. 

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight. 

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins. 

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position. 

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children. 

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?” 

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls. 

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally. 

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the  emptiness of your unbroken charade. 

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.) 

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots.  The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you. 

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.” 

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?” 

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks. 

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the  hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter. 

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably. 

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.” 

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?” 

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!” 

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?” 

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.” 

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?” 

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it. 

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow. 

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear. 

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.” 

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought. 

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion. 

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails. 

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must. 

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor. 

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes. 

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.” 

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!” 

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.” 

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side. 

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second. 

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?” 

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?” 

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.” 

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you. 

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt. 

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.” 

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?” 

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.” 

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders. 

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms. 

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly. 

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.” 

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.” 

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background. 

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!” 

Turns out, you are not fine. 

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen. 

 —

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly. 

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.” 

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly. 

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin. 

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you. 

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.” 

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius. 

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half. 

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.” 

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds. 

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!” 

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights. 

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!” 

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick. 

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.” 

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.” 

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close. 

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair. 

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.  

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.” 

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors. 

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.” 

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.) 

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.” 

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase. 

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.” 

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway. 

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling. 

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you. 

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior. 

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?” 

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly. 

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others. 

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern,  as well.” 

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades. 

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.” 

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself. 

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you. 

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?) 

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House. 

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?” 

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.” 

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.” 

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more: 

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!” 

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets. 

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary. 

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?” 

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?” 

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?” 

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.” 

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.” 

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.” 

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses. 

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders. 

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes. 

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words. 

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them. 

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell? 

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive. 

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.” 

You want to go to sleep already. 

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport. 

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.” 

You miss your cat. 

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.) 

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself. 

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus. 

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument. 

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under. 

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!” 

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms. 

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger. 

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask. 

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters. 

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included. 

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy. 

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva. 

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose. 

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone. 

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.) 

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands  rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena. 

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire. 

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!” 

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands. 

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes. 

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain. 

But there is nothing. 

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom. 

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes. 

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” 

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.” 

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat. 

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. 

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.” 

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile. 

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side. 

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you. 

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms. 

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor. 

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever. 

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books. 

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to. 

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic? 

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons. 

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else. 

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!” 

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.” 

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw. 

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated. 

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.” 

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold. 

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time. 

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another. 

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies. 

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you. 

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.” 

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?” 

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare. 

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.” 

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.” 

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye. 

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”  

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones. 

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival. 

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy. 

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in. 

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”) 

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane. 

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor. 

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S. 

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?” 

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his. 

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing. 

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl. 

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.” 

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie. 

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.) 

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her. 

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?” 

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.” 

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching. 

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.” 

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . .  I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground. 

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home. 

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak. 

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.” 

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!” 

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.” 

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room. 

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle. 

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents. 

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.) 

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?” 

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.” 

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans. 

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain. 

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”) 

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time. 

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely? 

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all. 

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders. 

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to. 

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!” 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.” 

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!” 

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!” 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!” 

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!” 

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?” 

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.” 

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life. 

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor. 

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne. 

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.) 

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks. 

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard. 

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.” 

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death. 

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.” 

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!” 

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation. 

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.” 

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?” 

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word. 

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name. 

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.” 

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills. 

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. 

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.) 

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours. 

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one. 

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed. 

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams. 

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even. 

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm. 

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him. 

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.) 

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.” 

“I promise. . .  you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.” 

You pass out in her arms. 

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes. 

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream. 

You are tired. 

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give? 

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this? 

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now. 

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you? 

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back. 

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit. 

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.” 

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest. 

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with. 

You let your weight shift over the window. 

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly. 

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?” 

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.” 

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.” 

You stay silent. 

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice. 

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.” 

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion. 

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days. 

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then. 

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve. 

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation. 

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother. 

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands. 

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her. 

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!” 

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands. 

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!” 

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.” 

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.” 

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.” 

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake. 

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s. 

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!” 

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor. 

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

Sakura Haruka's Weather Contact

Synopsis: You're from Sakura's hometown, and though he wasn't your friend when he lived there - you tried really hard to be. When you both got cell phones you knew he wouldn't just give you his number, or accept yours... so you lied, and offered to put the "weather" contact in his phone for him. You've been texting him the weather forecast everyday for about 3 years now. WC: ~7.1k TW: nothing but fluff

Around 5th grade your dad was stationed in Japan, which meant that you were the new kid again. Honestly, it was pretty rough to move to a completely new country, learn a new language, customs, etc… But, surprisingly the town you moved to wasn’t so horrible - to you. A young boy by the name of Sakura Haruka got the brunt of the abuse from just about everyone in town. Though he had an interesting look - split black and white locks with one gray and one amber eye - you didn’t quite understand why everyone was so cruel to him.

Of course you tried to make friends with him despite everyone in your class warning you not to, and at first you thought they might be right since he immediately snapped at you to leave him alone. Unfortunately for him, Pollyanna had been your comfort movie that year, so you just kept trying. For the entire year.

By 6th grade, you had finally pestered him into at least speaking to you. Alas, he wouldn’t admit the two of you were friends, but he had started sitting with you during lunch hour even if he didn’t talk to you much. A few months into the school year he would respond to your hellos and smiles in the hallways with a deep blush and a gruff hey. Halfway through the year he got a cellphone, which was when he finally spoke to you freely.

“Oh cool! Did you get a cellphone Sakura?” Chirping from where you stood behind him sitting on the bench in front of you. Whipping around with a notch in his brown, and a deep red already burning the tips of his ears - his fists slightly raised for a fight.

“Do-don’t sneak up on me like that!” He snapped while swiftly pocketing his phone. Stifling a giggle, you came around to sit next to him on the bench, to which he immediately stiffened by your proximity.

“Do you know how to use it?” Raising the question in a voice an octave higher than your normal pitch. Sakura muttered something you couldn’t quite catch in return and refused to meet your gaze. Shrugging lightly, you pulled out the phone you just got for Christmas. 

“I just got this one, but I’m still learning how it works,” laughing lightly at yourself as you held the pastel pink piece of plastic out in front of you.

“That’s the only pink thing I’ve ever seen you have,” Sakura responded pointedly, throwing an incredulous look at the device. Immediately you threw your head back, releasing boisterous laughter to Sakura's surprise.

“My mom said the same thing when I opened it,” you replied while wiping the tears from your eyes. “My dad got it for me, but he hasn’t figured out that I got out of my ‘everything pink’ phase in like 3rd grade,” informing him on the color as you studied the grooves of the pink folding into the blackened screen. “I still like it though,” adding gingerly while folding your hands into your lap.

“That’s fair,” Sakura mumbled awkwardly while rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t strike me as an ‘everything pink’ person, but you’re also not a ‘no pink’ kind of person either,” he spoke slowly - piecing the thought together as the words left his mouth. Tittering faintly at his awkwardness, you bobbed your head in agreement.

“I think so too,” you spoke softly with a wistful smile. Then you did something you didn’t usually do - you lied. “So, um, did you get the Weather Contact on your phone?” You inquired with a curious tilt of your head. A notch formed in his brow as he cocked his head at you.

“I-I don’t think so,” he tentatively pulled his phone back out, “I don’t know how to check.” He admitted shamefully as he held his phone out to you. Smiling brightly, you took it and immediately navigated to the contact list.

“Oh no, you didn’t!” Sakura jumped a little at your exclamation as he leaned closer to peer over your shoulder at the little illuminated screen. “It’s okay, mine didn’t either, my mom had to add it. Everyone’s phone is supposed to come with one so you can text it for the weather and it’ll send you the daily forecast!” You explained quickly as you typed in your phone number under the contact name ‘Weather’. Once you were done, you handed his phone back with a big grin, and Sakura - for once - uttered a low ‘thank you’.

Like clockwork, the next morning Sakura texted you for the weather. Your hands trembled as you swiftly searched for the forecast, and then you quickly texted him back, “Partially sunny. High of 70, low of 58. 30% humidity with a chance of light rain in the evening. Bring a light jacket!”

Of course, you never told him in case he would suddenly stop texting you, or hate you for lying to him. All the while you and Sakura got closer bit by bit, never enough for him to call you his friend, but enough for him to tell you about the homework when you were absent; or remind you of a test coming up; or telling you when the Konbini restocked on your favorite snacks; or walking you home when your clubs ran late. 

Close enough that he told you when he was moving to Furin. Only you. Though you were thrilled for him to get away from such a horrible place, you were also a little heartbroken to see your friend leave. 

A lot of that heartbreak was quelled the first day after he moved when you received his text for the weather. Without missing a beat, you looked up the weather for Furin and sent it to him. You usually never got a response, and this time was no different, but it was nice to still have some connection to him.

As the year progressed, rumors of a 1st year Furin student was getting all the way to your town, and you immediately knew it was Sakura. Especially after they spoke of his fighting prowess. Eventually, scrolling instagram one day, you saw a post from Kiryu Mitsuki that showed a familiar head of two toned hair in the far corner of the photo.

Like a stalker, you immediately followed him, and Kiryu instantly perused your profile since he saw you're from Sakura’s hometown. On the surface you seemed kind enough, so he followed you back. Then, several weeks passed of you checking his posts for Sakura anytime he made an update. Of course, you didn’t get anything, but fortunately Sakura did. 

He, Kiryu, Suo, Nirei and Tsuguera were chilling in the wrestling themed restaurant in Furin when Kiryu got a notification that you made a new post. When he opened his phone to reveal a bright, sunny photo of you with your parents under a spray of cherry blossoms, Sakura choked on his drink.

“Do you know Y/N?” He demanded immediately, to which Kiryu jumped and shook his head at the 1st year captain. Tension emanated from the table as they, mostly Kiryu, waited to see what Sakura would divulge about you. Kiryu’s nerves strung the tightest out of fear that you weren't as kind as your profile led him to believe.

“She just followed me one day, so I followed her back,” Kiryu explained calmly as he pulled up your profile to show Sakura. Gingerly he took his friend’s phone and scrolled through your posts about traveling, volunteering, and most notably of late - running. It looked like you were becoming a track and field prodigy from team and trophy photos. 

“She looks like she’s doing well,” Sakura finally concluded as he handed the phone back to Kiryu to find all of his friends staring at him intensely. A blush crept up his forehead as he blurted out a gruff, “what?”

“I think we’re all wondering who Y/N is?” Suo responded with a serene smile while Nirei nodded vehemently at his two toned captain - notebook and pen at the ready. Then with an arch of his brow, he added, “a friend perhaps?”

Sakura sputtered on his drink, grabbing his napkin roughly to wipe his mouth before glaring at Suo. Then an unsure look came over his face while he struggled to find the right words. “We never said we were friends, but Y/N was really cool,” was all he offered with a shrug - ears burning at the tips.

The rest of his friends let it go - for now. On the down-low Kiryu messaged you and asked if you would be interested in paying Sakura a visit, and though you wished you had - you didn’t play it cool for a second. Less than a minute after he messaged you, his phone chimed with an emphatic yes! And so, the plan was set for you to come to Furin and pay Sakura a surprise visit, while his friends put together a Furin tour for their two toned captain to take you on.

About a week later you hopped on the train for the day trip to Furin. Though it wasn’t an area you were familiar with, it was certainly welcoming when you turned onto the main strip and were immediately met with smiling shopkeepers. They waved and offered their greetings as you passed, and you smiled brightly in return. 

Once you got about halfway down the street though, some shopkeepers were quickly moving inside and shutting their doors - you were a little taken aback since peak hours would be starting soon. But then you heard a terrible clash of metal on pavement as you ventured a little closer, passerbyers swiftly skirting around you - carrying groceries or dragging children to a safe area. When the majority of them had cleared, you saw a crowd of men in leather jackets fighting high schoolers dressed in black and green uniforms.

You were shocked to say the least, but then you spied a familiar mop of two toned hair in the thick of the mob so you stepped to the side until the scuffle resolved. Intrigue didn’t quite cover everything you felt as you watched not just Sakura, but a slew of guys all wearing the same uniform landing kicks, punches and some fully grabbing members of the mob and throwing them to the other end of the street.

As Sakura grabbed one blonde brute who had been going off at the mouth while wildly swinging his bat, and tossed him towards the alleyway several feet away, he finally spied you and stopped dead in his tracks. Immediately you flashed him your brightest smile, and just as quickly his face turned beet red while he processed your presence. Suddenly, one of the incapacitated attackers rose up behind Sakura with a bat poised to swing down on his head. You had to stop yourself from lunging forward and frantically pointed behind him instead.

"Ahh-uhh, Sakura - behind you!” the shout barely passed your lips before the bat began its downward descent. Luckily Sakura was faster as he spun, his foot landing on the guy’s jaw and sending him flying away. “Nice job! You can kick a lot higher now,” you commented as he spun back around to find you grinning proudly at him. Still mute, all he could do was blush and stare at you in utter disbelief until Kiryu finally came over to officially introduce himself.

 Sakura watched in complete silence as Kiryu spoke to you as if he knew you, and then introduced you to all of their friends. How you laughed and talked so casually, so comfortably with them, and yet he couldn’t even say a simple ‘hello’. Even as introductions finished and you all turned to him in unison, all he could was stare dumbstruck - anxiety filling his lungs and stilling his heart.

After a moment of awkward silence, you spoke to the bewildered first year, “I wanted to come see how you're doing... I hope that's okay?"

In true Sakura-style, the ruddy blush overtook his face, neck and ears before he looked like he was about to snap, but then he shoved his fists in his pockets before averting his gaze and muttering, "yeah, that's fine."

Kiryu and the others watched your reaction to Sakura’s standoffish nature so closely it was obvious to anyone passing by, but you just beamed back at him. Then, with all the gumption of an iconic teen girl - you rapid fired questions at him.

“So, Sakura - how’s the new town? Do you like it? And how’s Furin? Also was that, like, a team fight? Oh, are you on a team now??” Quizzing him in one breath as you bounced on the balls of your feet, as Kiryu and the other’s looked on in horror - knowing this was far too much for Sakura. Who, like clockwork, looked beyond tomato red as he physically took a step back from your onslaught of questions, but after a moment he released a sigh and responded. Not even snapped, but actually responded.

“The new town is ni-nice - I like it, and Furin’s goo-good.” He spoke out of the side of his mouth while rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, it was a… team fight - I’m a part of Bofurin now,” his voice sounded strained as he divulged the tidbits of information while your smile only grew. Kiryu and the others glanced between the two of you, completely astonished as to how you got Sakura to answer without barking from overwhelm.

“Haha that’s good to hear,” you chuckled lightly, and then waved your hand at Sakura apologetically. “Sorry for the interrogation - you’re as kind as you’ve always been,” you offered cheerily. Sakura just rolled his eyes lightheartedly, his blush lessened to a light dusting of pink.

As you strolled down the rest of main street with Sakura and the others, he couldn’t help the nostalgic feeling he got from your questioning earlier. Something you would often do, because you knew it flustered him, and yet he would always suck it up and answer you honestly. Or how now, you were inquiring about anything and everything to do with Sakura and his friends in that same curiously disarming way.

First they took you by Furin to show you the school - you had about a million questions about the graffiti and the tree growing out of the roof. Sakura was the one who actually spoke first, informing you about Umemiya’s rooftop garden. Then, he answered your inquiries about who Umemiya is - by the time you all were walking away you had learned about the hierarchy of Bofurin. Of course you noticed the way they all seemed to hold the leaders of their school in high regards, but what surprised you is that Sakura did too. 

After the school, they showed you the typical routes they patrol around town, telling you about the different shops and elders who lived there. To your shock and delight, you saw that a lot of the town was ecstatic to see Sakura, tell him hello, as well as offer him treats. Though he still blushed at all the attention, you could tell he was trying to accept it in his own way. 

At one point, an older woman by the name of ‘Granny Sato’ came by and complained about her hip at length, and asked Sakura for a piggyback ride to the cafe nearby. You had to stifle your giggles when your former classmate shot her a glare, but still kneeled down and lifted her onto his back with ease. Granny Sato was kind, maybe a little brash, but overall funny. She quizzed you about yourself, where you came from and how you know Sakura - all of which you divulged with an easygoing smile. 

When you all entered the cafe you couldn’t hide your astonishment when Granny Sato hopped down with ease. Sakura immediately shot her a look and grumbled about how she complained about not being able to walk, to which she laughed and threw him a wink.

“Hahah I tell you every time it’s my hip,” she corrected him as the brunette girl working behind the counter came around to help her into her seat. “Though I will say you are a Furin boy through and through,” she turned her gaze to you before speaking again, “not once has he refused to carry me here y’know?” She laughed, followed by several guys wearing the same uniform as Sakura sitting around the cafe.

“Oh yeah, he’s always been like that,” you puffed out in a laugh as you nodded in agreement. Then you added in a cheery tone, “It’s really no surprise that he fits in so well at Furin.”

Granny Sato beamed up at you, but you didn’t realize it was because Sakura’s cheeks sported a fine dusting of pink as he just stared at you in a daze. Of course the others noticed as well - Kiryu and Suo shared a knowing glance, and at the back table of the cafe Tsubaki inconspicuously tapped Hiragi’s wrist excitedly, who gave the other King a firm shake of his head. Though the shark toothed captain was having a difficult time hiding his own knowing smile at the first year’s reaction.

“Sakura,” Kotoha piped up after she returned behind the counter - pulling him from his stupor as he turned to meet her expectant gaze, “who’s your friend?” 

The two toned teen looked downright feverish with how badly he was blushing, his hair seemed to stand on end as he opened his mouth - prepared to snap. But then he paused, a look of unbridled uncertainty crossed his face, but he didn’t dare look at you.

He’s still not ready to say we’re friends. You mused, a touch of melancholy pressed its nails into your heart before you shoved it far, far away. After a moment, you cleared your throat quietly, earning Kotoha’s attention as she turned to you with raised brows.

“I’m Sakura’s old classmate - we grew up in the same town,” you explained in a light tone, “I just came to see how he’s doing.” 

Of course everyone noticed that Sakura did not refer to you as a friend, and you didn’t either. But Sakura was too absorbed by you, since for the first time since you arrived, he saw your head bow slightly - shrinking is how he always thought of it - something you’d do when you felt shy or nervous. It only lasted a moment before Kotoha smiled coyly.

“And?” Her tone inflected slightly, but you only raised your brows in response. “What do you think?” She clarified her question with an arch of her brow, to which you immediately threw a wide grin her way - Sakura’s heart stuttered at the sight.

“I think he’s doing great,” you declared with a confident nod of your head - Sakura could feel the air punch from his lungs, but what you said next just about killed him. You glanced at him before you spoke, which only made him stiffen before you stated in a sure tone, “I think this is the perfect place for him.” 

Post Sakura’s almost spontaneous combustion, you all sat at a back table across from the Kings. Conversation swayed between you asking them questions about Furin and the town, and them inquiring about you. Mostly track, school, and some about your parents. Nirei and Tsugeura excitedly told you about the fights they’ve seen Sakura in - Tsuguera mentioned the one where he and Kiryu got to fight with his captain, while Nirei told you at length about the Shishitoren ordeal and how Sakura fought their 2nd in command. You couldn’t help how wide your smile grew just at how happy the two boys seemed just to be in his presence. 

Luckily they all seemed to pick up on the fact that neither you or Sakura wanted to talk much about your hometown or middle school, so they let it be. All the while, the first year captain had become mute as he watched you converse with his friends so easily - like you already belonged. He would be lying if a part of him didn’t feel a touch of elation for you to get along with them. His friends. 

Eventually Kiryu brought up the class group chat, and you couldn’t help the delighted look that flitted across your face as you shot Sakura an excited glance. But then conversation led to the weather contact being the only one in his phone before the group chat, and you could feel the heat rush to your cheeks as they all tittered together.

“He-hey i-it’s useful!” Sakura shot back defensively, a bright red hue tinging his cheeks as he averted his gaze towards the wall to his left. To your horror, Kiryu spoke up next - a good hearted suggestion that meant you had some explaining to do…

“Oh Y/N, why don’t you and Sakura exchange phone numbers while you’re here?” The pink haired boy piped up, a coy smile tugging at his mouth - matching the one on Suo’s face. Turning in unison, you met Sakura’s startled gaze to find that you were both beet red and speechless. A chorus of quiet chuckles passed through the cafe as Sakura stared at you expectantly. 

Oh… he actually does want my number? The shock was evident on your face as the thought stepped to the forefront of your mind, though Sakura only took your hesitation as rejection as he shrunk away slightly. An awkward tension settled over the cafe as everyone held their breath for your response. Oh, wait, no!

“U-uh,” stumbling over your words as the gears turned at hyper speed - Sakura opened his mouth, you knew to tell you not to worry about it. You had to speak now - you wouldn’t get the chance again. “I-I would, but we already did…” you admitted in a hushed tone - a crease formed in Sakura’s brows over your next words as you shrunk in on yourself, “years ago.”

“No we didn’t,” Sakura responded immediately - not missing a beat. The tension thickened as the air started feeling tight in your lungs. He clocked your change in demeanor immediately - the anxiety plastered across your face, and the way you bit your lip - it’s how you looked whenever you were in trouble.

"Well," you began awkwardly, swallowing thickly before you continued, "I'm actually the weather contact in your phone..." Your words were met with stunned silence all around, but you couldn’t look anywhere but at Sakura’s bewildered face. After an excruciating moment of silence, you added, "I just didn't think you'd want my number back then. And I was kind of scared to ask for yours," you chuckled lightly, though your nerves bled straight through - straining the sound. Sakura turned beet red, brow creased deeper as a scowl set into his face, his friends watched closely for how he'd react since you did lie to him.

"You've been texting me the weather for three years!" Sakura shouted, eyes wide in disbelief as you shrank even more - knowing full well that you messed up. "Why would you do that?" He demanded - eyes narrowing the same way they would before a brawl - you took a deep breath before trying to speak again.

"I-I'm sorry," you started quietly - slowly - as you tried to grapple for an explanation. Everyone, most of all Kiryu for inviting you, stiffened at your ensuing words, but then Sakura cut you off.

"Why would you keep responding after I moved?" The first year captain demanded in utter dismay. This time no guilt ate at you though as you just blinked repeatedly at the question - a notch forming in your brow as well.

"Be-because I was worried about you," you responded simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your admission halted Sakura in his tracks as he blushed three shades deeper and sputtered for any words. "I'm sorry I lied - I just really wanted to be your friend, but I didn’t know how at the time... And then you moved, but you told me where, so I just kept sending you the weather cause that meant you were still alive at the very least," using the opportunity to clarify, you reasoned it out to him meekly. Everyone was stunned by your genuine concern, but you were only focused on how the blushing boy in front of you would receive the information. After a moment the ruddiness dissipated - swiftly to be replaced by a deep scowl.

“Have you lied about anything else?” He posed gravely, and your eyes went wide as you earnestly shook your head at him.

“No,” you whispered earnestly, but when he searched your gaze for deceit you quickly added in a hushed voice, “I promise.” Gradually he relaxed, the stiffness in his shoulders ebbing as his hardened gaze softened considerably - because of course he believed you. You were always so honest.

"I guess that's alright," he finally relented, speaking out of the corner of his mouth as a red hue crept back over his cheeks - spurring you to perk up. But then his aggressive tone came back in full force along with a deeper flush across his face, "I'm not texting you for the weather anymore though!" He declared, and your face fell at his words. The onlookers couldn’t help but stare and hide their smiles at the awkward dance before them.

"Tell me about track, or school, or just your day," he instructed in a gentler tone, averting his eyes to the wall on his left while scratching the back of his head. Words escaped you while you tried to work out what he meant. But then his bicolor eyes met yours apprehensively as he added, "be-because I'd like to know." 

"O-okay, I will!" You chirped back immediately, beaming brightly at him. Sakura could feel heat rush to his face at that signature smile lopsidedly tugging at your mouth. After a moment, Suo cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the rest of the cafe as he smoothly transitioned to quizzing you more about track. Without missing a beat, you told everyone about how you’ve beaten your time 3 times this year, and that your team was slated to go to nationals.

Sakura listened, off and on, as his thoughts drifted through the countless texts he’s received from you over the years. The kind words and emojis all encased in the subject matter of weather… in the next moment he just couldn’t stop his mouth from moving as the thought synapsed directly to his lips sans filter.

“Does the weather service usually send messages like ‘wear a light coat!’ or ‘it’s a good day to walk by the canal,’ or ‘don’t forget to look at the cherry blossoms,’...?” Inquiring in a purely curious tone, but you only blushed a deeper red at each phrase. The whole cafe took notice and had to stifle their giggles at how absolutely caught you looked. 

“U-uh, well, the weather man will say that stuff on TV sometimes, and that’s where I got the idea…” you trailed off in a small voice, steeped in embarrassment.

“Is there even a text weather service?” He demanded in a tone soaked with befuddlement. At that several cafe goers' faces broke as titters filled the pause - you could feel your ears burning by now.

“Uh-haha, I don’t know…” you admitted sheepishly, shrugging lightly while you willed the heat to dissipate from your ruddy cheeks. Finally, the cafe broke into an all out chorus of laughter at the display before them. Now that basically everything was out in the open, conversation swayed back towards you and Furin as the ping ponging of subjects recommenced. Until Sakura spoke up out of the blue once more.

“Wait,” he interjected suddenly, earning a glance from you to find him staring you down while his friends threw him curious glances. “You did that when I moved to Furin too,” but when you just tilted your head in question he elaborated, “the little messages about where to go and what to do.” His voice was lower this time, apprehensive almost as his bicolored irises silently willed you to explain. 

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed out awkwardly, “I-I googled some of the local shops before you moved. I called them to ask about what areas were safe to visit, and things to do in different weather conditions.” You informed quietly, but when he just continued staring - arching his white brow slightly, you chuckled awkwardly and shrugged at him. 

A hush fell over the cafe while Kotoha cocked her head at the memory of a call from a very sweet, young girl who wanted to know how people from out of town were typically received. She also remembered the sheer relief in your voice when she told you that she was actually from out of town, but this place was her home now. Then you asked her all about the local shops and things to do, the sound of shuffling papers and graphite scratching faintly in the background.

“Why?” Sakura demanded, but there were no teeth gleaming behind his bark - just sheer bewilderment, and perhaps a dash of vulnerability.

”Oh, well,” you paused thoughtfully before nervously confessing, “I guess I really shouldn’t have been, but I was just worried, um…” crossing one arm under your chest, you held onto your bicep for comfort - desperately searching for the right words. 

“I really wanted your first impression to be good, so I just told you to go to the areas where the shopkeepers were, because they seemed really, um, nice…” you trailed off slightly as you noticed everyone was staring at you, astounded. “Uh, I just wanted to be sure I was directing you somewhere safe, but I knew you could take it from there…” you asserted gently with another awkward smile and shrug. Before Sakura, or anyone else could respond, your phone pinged with a notification about your train departure in 30 minutes.

”Oh man I didn’t realize it was getting so late,” you murmured, a touch of melancholy leaching into your voice. Everyone clocked the change in your tone, and the look of disappointment that crossed Sakura’s face before you turned back, “I gotta get to the train station. It was really good to see you though, and meet all of you.” You said while rising to your feet and bowing respectfully to Sakura’s friends. 

”I-I’ll walk with you,” Sakura blurted out as he rose to his feet shortly after you. You peered up at him, brows raised in surprise, but then you smiled and nodded.

”Thank you, I’d like that,” you murmured as you turned and bid the upperclassmen and Kotoha goodbye. The other first years offered to accompany you as well, and you gratefully took them up on it.

On the way, Sakura brought up your profile picture of the weather for your contact and you sheepishly admitted you did that so as to not give yourself away. At that Sakura actually laughed - muted, blocked behind his hand - his classmates were stunned, but you already knew what it looked like. You made him laugh once back in 6th grade and you memorized every detail that you could in those few short moments.

“Are you gonna change it to something else?” He inquired, and you immediately pulled out your phone and chose a new photo. What showed up on Sakura’s phone was a wonky painting that was abstract but still looked like you.

”I made it,” you elaborated in response to his confused expression, earning a stunned glance from him. 

”You paint?” He shot back quickly - dumbfounded since you never talked about art back in middle school.

”Not very well,” you laughed out, “but yeah. I started a little after you moved actually - I’ve really liked it so far!” You mused happily.

”No, it’s good - I like it,” he remarked decisively with a nod before pocketing his phone. When he glanced over he saw your wide eyes and ruddy cheeks, except this time your lips were parted in surprise instead of that typical smile. For a moment Sakura was entranced by you - by the fact that maybe for once he made you feel how you perpetually made him feel whenever in your presence.

When you all arrived at the train station, Kiryu led the goodbyes near the entrance as the other first years told you how good it was to meet you. Swiftly you told them the same in return, though when you turned to Sakura you felt a touch of sadness to say goodbye so soon. From the look on his face he seemed to feel the same way.

“Why don’t you see her off Sakura?” Suo suggested with that perpetually serene smile of his. The others quickly nodded in agreement - Kiryu shot the auburn haired boy a look of approval. “We’ll wait over here for you,” Suo added, answering Sakura’s questioning look, as he gestured for the two of you to go ahead. 

Awkwardly the two of you glanced at each other before you smiled reassuringly - ready to tell him he didn’t have to, but Sakura just turned and started walking towards your platform without another word. Under his collar a tinge of pink crept up the back of his neck.

The silence ensued between the two of you as Sakura peered down the tracks for your train while you could only peek out of the corner of your eye at the two toned teen. Memorizing different details - how his hair has gotten longer, his jaw sharper, or how his shoulders have grown wider since you last saw him - since you had no idea when you’d see him again. The first years stood pensively at the entrance of the station, not so subtly watching the awkward tension grow as the seconds ticked by. Finally, your voice cut through it, as your soft timbre echoed towards the entrance where the others stood.

“So, Sakura,” you began, apprehensively meeting his expectant gaze. “Does this mean that we’re like… officially friends?” You implored in a lightly joking tone, but only Sakura could see the vulnerability in your eyes - the fear of rejection that you failed to hide. For a moment he hesitated, but when he saw the fear ebb and morph into hurt, he stumbled over himself to speak.

“Ye-yes.” He declared with a firm nod, and in an instant the hurt vanished without a trace. In its place was unbridled joy as you grinned wide up at him while clapping quietly in excitement.

“Yay!” You chirped happily. Sakura felt a fluttering deep in his gut as his heart lifted from how thrilled you were to finally be considered his friend. Before he could say anything else, the screeching of metal against metal drew both of your attention to the bright lights bending around the track. 

The two toned teen couldn’t hide the look of pure disappointment that crossed his face as the train halted in front of your platform - the metal doors screeching open. A garbled voice came through on the intercom announcing the stops, and that the train would be departing in three minutes. Panic prickled under your skin as you and Sakura met each other’s gaze again - it was time to say goodbye, but the word wasn’t coming to either of you.

Swallowing thickly while the minutes waned to the doors rumbling shut, suddenly you couldn’t stop yourself - stepping forward and wrapping your arms around Sakura’s torso. A choked noise escaped the boy as you buried your face into his chest - inhaling that familiar, comforting scent that now lived several towns away.

“Take care of yourself Sakura - I hope I get to see you again soon,” you murmured tenderly as you lessened your grip around him - pulling away to meet his stunned gaze. The garbled voice came on the intercom, announcing the train would be departing in one minute. Sakura blinked rapidly as you continued to back away, he didn’t know why he suddenly felt the urge to move. He honestly didn’t think he had it in him, but he followed you fluidly - wrapping you tightly in his arms, eliciting a squeak from you.

“You too,” he mumbled, and then his voice turned a little shaky, “co-come back anyti-time - you’re always wel-welcome here…” he said, releasing you from his embrace as the garbled voice announced the doors closing.

Before you missed your train completely, Sakura gently spun you around and pushed you towards the doors. Hopping lightly onto the elevated train floor, you grabbed a pole and turned in time to call to him, “see you later, Sakura!” 

“See you later Y/N,” he called back, just loud enough for you to hear over the groaning door sliding shut, followed by an awkward wave and a light dusting of pink crawling back over his cheeks. Then the doors sealed as the train started to pull away, you swayed with the motion as you continued waving at Sakura, and then his friends as you passed by them before taking your seat.

Slightly stunned by his own actions, Sakura ambled back towards his friends with a perturbed expression etched into his face. Kiryu and the others heard every echoing word of your conversation, and seemed to immediately pick up on the fact that Sakura absolutely likes you as more than a friend. They also understand that he was nowhere near prepared to face that fact, so they talked about patrol, video games, and just about anything other than you on the way back. That is until Sakura spoke up in a small voice.

“Do-do you guys think Y/N will actually visit again?” He didn’t look at them, eyes cast to the ground and hands shoved deep in his pockets. Silence fell over the group as their pace slowed to a halt, Nirei and Suo shared a concerned look.

“O-of course she will,” Nirei stated after a moment, nodding his head assuredly. Immediately followed by unanimous agreement of the group. But Sakura still looked unsure, the grips of anxiety creeping over him as he played back the events of today.

“We’ll invite her to my favorite restaurant the weekend after next!” Tsugeura suggested after a moment, earning a hopeful look from Sakura. “She even said she wanted to try it out, and I’m sure she would wanna meet the owners after calling them,” he continued while nodding his head vigorously. 

“Text her and tell her to let you know when she gets home safe,” Kiryu instructed. His captain just blinked in thought, but swiftly pulled out his phone and sent you the text - excitement quickly overshadowing his nerves. “When she does, you should ask her about getting lunch with us,” the pink haired boy advised with a confident smile.

“Wh-what if she says no…?” Sakura murmured, fully leaning on his friends to help him traverse the sticky pathways of the heart.

“Then ask her when a better time would be,” Suo piped up in a calm tone. “If she says no it’s probably just because she’s busy anyway - nationals coming up and all,” the auburn boy reassured his friend. Sakura released a breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding as the group continued their walk home.

When they arrived outside of Pothos, Sakura’s phone pinged with a message from you, and the entire group gathered around him to see. The upperclassman watched from inside, curious but remained in their seats so they could laugh freely at the spectacle. Scrawled across his screen read:

Y/N L/N: I’m home! Thank you for checking - I had a really good time today btw :) 

Sakura inhaled deeply as he readied to type out his question, when a second message popped up from you:

Y/N L/N: Will you let me know when you’re home safe too please?

The two toned teen’s heart sputtered and mouth ran dry as he peered over the earnest request. His friends shared knowing glances as they waited for Sakura to start typing, but he was stuck reading and re-reading the message. Has anyone asked me that before? Was the only thought flitting through his mind. Just when Kiryu moved to nudge his captain, his phone pinged with a third message from you:

Y/N L/N: Also, I know we just hung out, but I’ve really missed you! Do you wanna hang out again soon?

Sakura jumped the second the words came through, which caused him to screenshot the conversation. As the light flashed in his face, he blurted out, “wha-what did I do?” 

Kiryu and the others chuckled lightly as the pink haired boy explained, “you took a picture of the screen - it’s called a ‘screenshot’ - it should be in your photos now. Here I can show you how to delete it.” He held his hand out towards his captain, who hesitated looking back down at the conversation.

“U-uh,” he stuttered, and then shook his head lightly, “that’s okay. Ho-how should I ask her to lunch?” He solicited instead, peering around his friends’ amused faces.

“Just say, ‘do you wanna get lunch with us at that restaurant Tsugeura mentioned the weekend after next?’ and see what she says,” Kiryu instructed calmly, though the excitement of the situation was palpable all the way to the back table in Pothos where Umemiya and the Kings looked on.

Sakura typed out the message at hyper speed and hit send - they all stood by pensively until his phone pinged a moment later. When Sakura read the message he held his phone close so he was the only one to read it first, eyes scanning the message once, twice, then a third time as his face flushed bright red. Then his expression turned soft as a small smile curved along his mouth before he turned his phone for his friends to show them your response:

Y/N L/N: Yes, of course I would love that!! Actually I was wondering - and if this is weird don’t worry about it - but would it be okay if I visit you around Obon? I miss hanging out with you during the celebrations, and I’m not from here originally so it can get kind of… awkward lol 

“Well?” Kiryu asked with an arch of his bubblegum pink brow. Sakura just blinked at him with a tilt of his head, so he elaborated with a sly grin, “what are you gonna say?”

Sakura just blinked again as he peered back down at his phone screen. She missed me… he thought while inhaling deeply - striking the keys slower this time. Ardently typing out the words as they came to him, backspacing multiple times before he actually hit send:

🌸Sakura Haruka🌸: Yes, I’d like that. You’re always welcome here.

Master List (I have no rights to these characters, the works they come from, or the art/screenshots/manga panels used in this post. Screenshots taken from pinterest, so if you know the creator please lmk! Pink Cellphone divider is from @sweetmelodygraphics and cloud divider is from @saradika-graphics)

Update: tag list (I’m so sorry I forgot!!): @nymphsdomain @darknoir24

Time magic shenanigans and MC’s kids from the future come to visit them. Though something is off. While all the kids do share some features with MC, they all look different. One has draconic features, one has lion ears, one is incredibly beautiful etc

All the kids are from different timelines where MC ended up having kids with someone different.

That begs the question: What timeline are they in now?

cw: fem!MC who has children (in alternate timelines)

Bro imagine a MOB of children, like 20 whole kids, rushing onto NRC’s campus in a mad dash to find you. A whole kindergarten worth of kids tugging your skirt, calling you mom, asking where their papa is. Personally I would run, that’s literally the most terrifying thing I could ever think of.

The kids don’t know each other so you quickly rule them out as siblings (and your coochie sighs in relief). So, how can they all be your kids and how did they end up here?

Eventually Vargas helps you round up all the children and Crowley stages an intervention. The dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders are there, and of course your first year friends tag along. Unable to be left out of anything, Cater and Floyd are also there, and at the behest of Lilia, Silver also shows up.

The children scatter to their respective ‘fathers’ immediately. Some take it better than others (Cater “I’ve only known my kid for 30 minutes but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself” Diamond immediately starts snapping photos for magicam with #meetmykid ; meanwhile, Leona is 2 seconds away from throwing his out of the castle window).

“Well, the most reasonable explanation is a case of time travel magic gone wrong,” Crowley begins, perturbed by the scene in front of him. “We must find a way to send them back immediately - I simply don’t have the funds to support twenty children! I shall contact the Royal Sword Academy for their collaboration posthaste.”

You’re about to open your mouth in protest- Crowley’s enthusiasm for finding the children a way back home already outmatched any effort he had put into finding your way back home- but Crowley is already out of the door, leaving you and your children and your babydaddies in the room alone.

“Maybe we should just kill them.” Leona mumbles under his breath, swatting at the curious hand that pulled at his tail.

“Moral implications aside, have you ever heard of the butterfly effect, you oafish buffoon? Anything we say or do could disrupt the current timeline.” Vil spits. Despite this, his fingers are tangled in the blond locks of his child, braiding their hair with care.

“This is just like that new spring anime My Harem’s Children Came To Find Me in My Own Timeline*!” Idia’s voice rings from his tablet. His child is poking through the settings proficiently, able to find and download a rhythm game on their own.

“Shut up about your hentai.” Ace scoffs, “Literally no one wants to hear about that.”

“I-It’s not a hentai! It’s way more complex than that.” He huffs, a ‘not like you normies would know the difference’ muttered under his breath. “It’s humorous, romantic, and tragic! Only one child is a part of the prime timeline. The heroine will never see the other children again!”

A hush falls over the room, save for the babble of some of the more talkative children.

“Prime timeline, hm?“ Azul muses, hair ruffled and hat commandeered by his miniature counterpart. “That means only one of us will end up with _______.”

“Well, it’s obviously me.” Vil starts, to which Leona scoffs.

“Yeah right. Why’d they want to be with someone with a perpetual stick up his ass?”

Malleus gives a dark chuckle. “As if you’d have any better of a chance, Kingscholar.”

“What’s that supposta mean, you overgrown lizard!?”

The boys are fighting. It would almost be funny if it weren’t equal parts terrifying.

So, who’s the winner in this timeline? Find out on the next episode of *MHCCTFMIMOT!

everyone has one unfinished fic that they cling to and reread 1000 times and mine is Soul Fishing by lunessie on quotev. every time I remember it I reread that bitch, I wonder where the author went, I don’t even know this person but I love their work so much I have read it countless times since 2020 and it hasn’t even been updated since 2019. I crave more endlessly please come back and write more of ur funny words lunessie I miss you

after replaying a thousand times to confirm every word, cross referencing and asking my japanese friend specifications (because some words in japanese that are in the dictionary just. dont exist in english in some cases) THIS is i think the closest i could get to a near perfect dictionary, if you wanna try it and you find anything odd feel free to tell me since i'm using it along with the jpn dictionary as a base for the mod i'm making. i tried to explain any that were confusing but tbh playing this game on english is truly hard mode lol! And yes! Some words are redundant, it's a japanese translation issue, i tried to give them nuance?? Both honestly some words are so simmilar it may as well be the same in english..

Notes: 'resident' is their specie, it's the fan given name so i used it

'Weak' is moreso untalented (to be bad at something)

'Frail(weak)' is more like vulnerable, physically weak/brittle, subject to damage

'Affliction' is because it can be disease or a curse, something that eats away at the health/body/mind, that needs to be 'cured'

'Incapacitate' is something like 'weaken', to make someone unable to hurt or move for example, or to lower their autonomy

'Like' can also be 'love', japanese doesn't really differenciate

All the verbs are placed in neutral forms (ex: to search, to find, to go, to lead, to want, etc)

Libby Frame x Casetify https://www.casetify.com/LibbyFrameIllustration/collection

  — ★ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓!

☆ — “WHOA, I’M REALLY GOING AGAINST THE UMEMIYA HAJIME IN HIS FULL GET UP? COAT AND ALL?”

SYNOPSIS: You spend too much time on TikTok looking at those martial artists who give out fighting tutorials. And what’s a gang member boyfriend for, if not as a punching bag for you to try out your new moves? FEATURING: Umemiya Hajime, Togame Jo, Takiishi Chika x f!reader

UMEMIYA HAJIME

The rooftop door is slammed wide open, causing UMEMIYA HAJIME to jump slightly in alarm. He angles his neck to check out the source of the noise, fully expecting it to be Sakura in another one of his bad moods, but it turns out to be you.

A smile blossoms on his face as he gestures for you to come over. “Heeey, my pretty girl!” 

You’re in front of him in an instant, looking at him intently. Umemiya blinks, confused. He can tell that you’re trying hard not to explode with excitement, but why?

“Hajime!” You point at your boyfriend, determined, “Fight me!”

A long silence follows. He bites his lip and tilts his head, trying to figure out if he heard that correctly. The Bofurin leader has received his fair share of challenges and offers for a duel, but never from his own girlfriend. “Um… wha-?”

“I said, fight me!” You yell out, a smile plastered on your face. “My sensei says that the best way to learn is by doing!”

“Since when do you have a sensei?”

“Well, my TikTok sensei.” You casually shrug as Umemiya stares at you in amusement. “Anyway! I have mastered the art of a 540 kick, and you shall be the first person to witness my glory!”

After practicing messily in your room and hitting your foot in all the sharp edges of your furniture, you feel like you’ve finally perfected your flashy jump kick. It took you perhaps hundreds of tries (mostly ending up with you tripping or falling down) but you finally manage to land a successful hit against your plush toy.

Umemiya whistles. “540 kick, huh? That’s fancy.” He sets down the pot of plants he has been holding while grabbing his coat in one swift motion. “Alright, come at me.” He smiles, getting into a very intimidating stance.

You gulp, not expecting him to actually take you seriously. Your boyfriend still gazes at you with the same gentle look as always, but man is he intimidating. “Whoa, I’m really going against the Umemiya Hajime in his full get up? Coat and all?”

At this, Umemiya chuckles. “Well, it’s not like everyday my girlfriend challenges me to a duel! I have to make sure to humor her thoroughly, right? Don’t worry, I won’t fight back.”

“Okay! Wait! I have to do my warm ups so this one will land! I’ll tell you when I’m done!” You hold up a finger, gesturing for him to wait as you kick at the air, trying to power up your legs. Umemiya watches in interest, his hands folded behind his back, letting out occasional “ooh!” and “aah!”s when you successfully kick high enough. 

You feel quite ready now, your legs feel as light as a feather. Glancing at Umemiya, who’s still watching you intently, an idea flashes through your mind. You know that there’s no way in hell you will be able to beat Umemiya in a fight, but what if you catch him by surprise?

Without notice, you quickly take a step forward and immediately rotate your hips, taking advantage of the momentum it gave you to lift up your other leg and kick it upwards. It feels good when your leg manages to fly up high enough to collide with your boyfriend’s torso… but the impact never came.

Umemiya holds your leg effortlessly before it can come into contact with the side of his chest, giving you a wide smile. “Not bad, you’re pretty flexible! But you didn’t tell me that we’re starting!”

“L-let go!” Flustered, you try to retract your leg but Umemiya keeps it in his vice-like grip.

“Huh? But our fight’s not over yet?” He cocks his head to the side, giving you a playful grin. “If I let go, won’t you try another dirty trick again?”

This man! You try to jab at him in the hopes of him letting go of your leg, but he dodges your fist. “All’s fair in love and war, Hajime!” You swirl your body backwards, trying to pivot your way out of his grip, but Umemiya pulls your leg forward slightly, causing you to stumble. You yelp, closing your eyes, knowing that you’ve lost your balance and you would certainly crash to the ground.

But of course, Umemiya catches you, pulling you into his embrace as he caresses your hair. He laughs in satisfaction when he sees you turn as red as the tomatoes he’s been growing. “You’d make a pretty good fighter! Do you want me to train you?”

“You can’t pull my leg like that! You’re cheating!” You protest, but he merely laughs harder.

“All’s fair in love and war, pretty girl.”

You hide your face in his chest, feeling the tips of your ears burning. You can’t lie, you had wished to successfully kick Bofurin’s strongest at least once after all that training, but being held like this isn’t half bad.

“One more time! I’ll kick you this time!”

TOGAME JO

Not a single thing in this world can prepare TOGAME JO for the absolute sight in front of him at this very moment. With a bottle of ramune in his hand, he stares at you open mouthed as you crouch down and jab at the air randomly, jumping up and down all around him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here we have,” You punch the air next to him while your boyfriend remains unaffected, “a new challenger trying to take the title of Super Champion from the reigning Togame Jo!” You are breathing heavily as you narrate, still jumping up and down, trying your best to replicate those boxers you saw from a highlight video last night.

You’re actually not a big fan of martial arts with flashy moves and big kicks because you thought they looked too showy, but that one highlight video has opened your eyes to the beautiful world of boxing, as you spent all night looking at more and more fighting videos. The fighters look hella cool and their punches look hella deadly. No big showy moves, just precision and killing intent.

“What champion..?” Togame has so many questions running inside his head right now, but he’s distracted at how adorable you look with those weak punches.

You finally stop jumping, huffing to catch your breath, “W-well.. I know you’re technically the second-in-command, but you’re like a champion compared to me!” You put up your fists again, eyes shining playfully, “Anyway, let’s brawl!”

Togame’s jaw drops. “Did you just say brawl?” He runs a hand through his hair, already exhausted by your antics, “As in, you and me?”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean!?” Taking offense in his words, you punch his chest, but your boyfriend doesn’t even flinch. “Yes, you and me! I’m trying to be the next boxing super champion, keep up!”

Togame sighs, finally putting two and two together. You had sent him random links of boxing videos to him all night, waking him up repeatedly. So it’s because of another random hyperfixation. “Yeees, yeees..” He places his ramune bottle on the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t complain to me if you get hurt.”

You shiver a bit at his warning. What the heck is that supposed to mean!? You watch as Togame cracks his neck, now feeling a bit scared. “Uh, you know that you don’t have to actually fight me, right? Like… let me land a few hits or something..?!”

Togame stares at you teasingly. “Don’t tell me I managed to intimidate you already?”

You’ve always had a competitive streak in you. You know that it’s going to be the death of you. “HELL NO! Come at me!” You shout without thinking, and instantly let out another scream in terror when your boyfriend dashes towards you with the speed of light.

“JO!” You yell, just in time before he can push you down. “That doesn’t count! I was, like, totally not ready! Doofus! Idiot!”

Togame snickers. You totally flinched. And hey, he’s actually enjoying this a lot more than he thought he will. “Okay, okay, you go first then.” He holds up his hand in mock surrender.

At that moment, you want nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk off his face. You charge at him with newfound confidence, punching and jabbing with all your might. He dodges you each time, even making sure to use the palm of his hands so as not to hurt you.

“Okaay, you need to move faster. Don’t punch in the same two spots~”

Annoyed, you step back, trying to think of a way to give him a single powerful punch. Getting an idea, you finally take a step forward as Togame watches you in interest. After feeling your entire weight rest comfortably on your left foot, you pivot your body towards him, feeling the force gather in your right fist. Oh? That felt good.

This time, Togame catches your fist with his hand, gripping it tight. “Hoo~? That one’s pretty good~” He muses, “Is it my turn now?”

Your boyfriend has the most annoying shit-eating grin as he tackles you down, holding an arm below your body to shield you from the impact. Nevertheless, it knocks the air out of your lungs as you gasp, hands shooting forward to grip the hem of his jacket.

Togame looks down at you, a sadistic look in his eyes. “Oops, looks like today’s not your day. Better luck next time, future super champion~”

Blushing at the close proximity between you two, you can only sputter out insults as your boyfriend laughs.

He’s totally going to make you do this more often.

TAKIISHI CHIKA

Honestly, you don’t know how you even got the courage to challenge TAKIISHI CHIKA in a fight. It is for the laughs and giggles, yes, but since when has your stoic boyfriend been able to differentiate between a joke and a real challenge?

“Okay, come.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. You’ve tried many times to get him to do weird trends with you, but your boyfriend is usually quiet, only looking at you with the stare he always gives you when he’s done with your bullshit. (If you beg for it hard enough, he still does it, though.) 

But this time, when you tell him that you want to try out a kick at him after watching tutorials from those TikTok martial artists, you’re just saying it randomly, because there’s no way you actually wish to challenge The Strongest Man in Furin History in a fight. Surprisingly, he agrees immediately.

“R.. really? B-but…” You hesitate, unsure of the look he’s giving you right now. As stoic as he may look, there’s an unmistakable glint in his eye, something that only happens when he’s intrigued by something. “Chi-kun, you don’t love me anymore, do you?!” You yell in exasperation, wondering if today is going to be your last day on earth. Why would you even suggest such a thing towards your beast of a boyfriend?!

“Do you seriously think I’m going to hurt you?” Takiishi asks in a resigned voice.

“Okay, you promised! Don’t go back on your word!” You’re still panicking but your boyfriend returns to his quiet self, blinking at you. Sighing, you decide to take a leap of faith — your boyfriend has never so much as pushed you in the time you’ve been together — and take huge strides towards him, heart beating out of your ribcage. 

Takiishi towers over you, looking at you calmly, but his gaze only makes you more nervous. “Come.” He states once more when he sees that you’re still rooted to your spot. “I’ll keep my hands behind my back.”

Huffing, you decide to fuck it and take a big swing at him. He dodges to the side. You take another swing. He dodges that too. Another swing, another punch, but he dodges those as well, his hair barely swishing. He shows no signs of moving, patiently standing with his hands behind his back. At this, your courage grows and you decide to try riskier moves.

You lift up your leg and shoot it towards his hip. To your surprise, he doesn’t move an inch, taking your kick fully. Boy, does it hurt. For your leg, that is. The man is well-built underneath his layered clothes. There’s another glint in his eye when he watches you yelp in pain and crouch down to clutch your leg, your back facing him. 

“Come.” He says again, and you don’t need to be told twice. Still with your back facing him, you rise to a standing position and lift your leg high up before kicking it back towards him.

But your foot comes into contact with the air.

The next thing you know, Takiishi sweeps your footing, catching you as you fall straight into his arms. You look up at him, eyes wide and heart beating like crazy, but your breath instantly gets caught in your throat when you see a rare small smile playing on his lips. “Never turn your back on the enemy.” He states, tightening his grip around your waist.

This is the most chatty you’ve seen Takiishi Chika. And, true to his words, he doesn’t use his hands at all, except for catching you. You slowly start to smile, hooking your hands around his neck. You’re about to tease him that he does love you, after all, when he unexpectedly asks, “So, can I use my hands next time?”

“H-huh!? There’s a next time?!”

NOTES : This may be a bit OOC (especially Chika because the man barely says anything in the manga) but still I hope I can convey the love I have for these boys!! (these three are my favorite hee hee).

Wind Breaker characters have a theme to their names, a thread, part 3:

we will discuss Noroshi, a group that appears later in the manga, so, spoilers under the divide, click with discretion!

(part 1: Bōfūrin and part 2: Shishitoren)

Noroshi / 烽

the group antithesis to Bōfūrin is aptly named signal fire. with a fire radical / 火字旁, their name easily invokes the fire imagery that Endō frequently quotes

as we have established, Bōfūrin is associated with trees/plants, so it is unsurprising that a group that broke from them and wants to destroy their ideals would want to set fire to them

interestingly enough, the leader of noroshi and his second-in-command (and biggest fan) have both wood and fire in their last names:

焚石 矢 • Takiishi Chika: 焚 / to burn (with fire)

the kanji 焚 is literally made up of 林 (two wood/木 side by side, "forest/trees") on top and 火 ("fire") below it,, very straightforward

棪堂 哉真斗 • Endō Yamato: 棪 / (archaically) a red fruit of a tree that looks like crabapples

the kanji 棪 is made up of 木 (wood radical) and 炎 (two fire/火 stacked on top of each other, "flames"),, again, very straight(?)forward

other named members of noroshi:

they have elements of wood in their last names, likely a leftover from their previous association with Fūrin, but they are specifically wooden tools instead of living trees:

盤杖 奏音 · Banjo Kanon: 杖 / (wooden) walking stick

(he looks like scaramouche from genshin i say this and run tf away so fast)

杓子 千宙 · Shakushi Chihiro: 杓 / wooden ladle

樽味 清太郎 · Tarumi Seitaro: 樽 / wooden barrel (for alcohol/soy sauce, etc.)

柱尾 修士 · Hashirao Shuji: 柱 / (wooden) column, pillar

(yup the same kanji 柱/Hashira that's used in Demon Slayer; also this is why i kept calling the hashiras "pillars" and had to explain myself when talking about KNY with my very confused English-speaking friends)

梳地 弦治 · Sugichi Genji: 梳 / (wooden) comb

(he's weirdly Grease coded makes sense he has "comb" in his last name lmao)

that's what i got so far! hope you found this interesting. ty for reading if you got this far!!

#. THE RAIN THAT I WISHED UPON

featuring 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗸𝗮 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼

fluff. sometimes when you want to surprise someone, they can surprise you instead.

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 158 !

No call, no message, no warning. You hated waiting, especially when it rained and you would get all wet... Just perfect. Those two hadn't told you anything, at least you expected Endo to tell you if something came up. Instead, you found out at the last minute that everyone from Noroshi will face Bofurin and guess who is responsible for everything.

"Stupid Endo ... Ruining my plans to surprise Takiishi." sitting under a parking lot canopy in the middle of the night alone, a large gift bag that was luckily untouched by the drops in one hand, while you kept texting and calling the tattooed idiot with the other, but he didn't answer. You will kill him. Maybe Takiishi too for doing this to you. Outfit and make-up were ruined, the night too and you decided to go somewhere else, there was no point sitting in the cold any longer. 

Putting the phone in your bag, you had planned everything perfectly for Takiishi's birthday—cake, gifts, a small celebration—yet here you were, soaked to the bone, no Endo, no Takiishi, and no explanation. How could they leave you in the dark like this?

Standing outside Endo’s apartment, you heard footsteps approaching. Turning, you saw Endo carrying Takiishi on his back, both covered in blood. Your anger disappeared as you ran toward them, dropping the gift bag because now you were worried about them. "Endo, what happened? Takiishi, are you—" He interrupted with a soft chuckle, despite the blood on his body and face. “Nothing, you are just cute,” he said. “We’ll explain inside.”

Once inside, you exploded. “YOU WHAT? Seriously, was this even necessary?” Takiishi hadn’t moved since being laid on the couch. “Necessary? Maybe not. But worth it? Absolutely,” Endo replied with a smirk. You grabbed first aid supplies and began cleaning Takiishi’s wounds. He hissed but let you work, too tired to resist. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep me out of this?”

The tattooed boy sighed. “Takiishi wanted to handle it alone. His fight with Umemiya wasn’t just about us. It was personal.” He sighed, leaning back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "Because this is something he wanted to handle on his own. I didn’t want you involved. He didn’t want you to see this side of things, especially not tonight." 

He said everything you wanted and needed to know, but that's who they were, and even though they made you angry most of the time, you'd always be there for them. So when you handed him the gift bag, of course you had to say “Happy Birthday, Takiishi!” expecting him not to respond, after all, he was tired and would take whatever you gave him, as usual, he would pay you no mind.

“L/N Y/N… thank you,” 

“D-did he–?” you turned to Endo, who nodded, giving you a soft smile, still sitting on the floor. “Yeah, he did,” he said, clearly finding your reaction adorable while Takiishi, still exhausted, gave a small, tired smile.

You froze. The words hit you harder than anything else that night. Takiishi never called you by your name. Are you dreaming? Never in a million years would you have expected it, especially not now. Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling.

Happy birthday to me, huh?

taglist :: @kiurona @nyxypoo @stunies @ryescapades

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

Asymmetry

an anonymous commission <;33

Haitani Ran x female reader x Haitani Rindou

wc 3.8k

tw infidelity(ish?), yandere vibes, implied violence, toxic relationships

The idea of soulmates sounds so lovely in your head. 

The name that graces the skin of your forearm is supposed to be a gift. A blessing bestowed on the few; a partner born to love them in a way nobody else could ever hope to match.

That’s certainly how it was for your grandparents, for the sweet couple who live down the hall from you. 

A shame then, that your reality is far less rose tinted.

—

The woman behind the counter doesn’t ask any questions when you arrive ten minutes early, cash in hand and a nervous expression on your face.

“There’s no undoing this once it’s done,” she tells you, leading you out into the dingy back parlour, complete with yellowed, flickering fluorescents overhead. “And it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

Undeterred, you nod. “I know.”

There’s a lone seat in the centre of the room, an old school style barber’s chair, covered in worn red leather and stretched out into a reclining position. Not for ease of access or to make you more comfortable during the procedure, but because once she injects the serum into your arm, the pain’s more than likely going to cause you to pass out.

At least, that’s what you’d read. 

No one bothered to sugar coat this. The process of removing one’s soulmate mark isn’t to be taken lightly – the few genuine articles you’d managed to scrounge up had painted a grim picture. You’re ripping away a piece of yourself, obliterating a bond you were born with, or at least any visible sign of it; of course it’s going to hurt. 

It’ll be agony. 

Jerking her chin towards the seat and watching you awkwardly clamber on up, the woman sighs, “You know, if this is all ‘cause you and the boyfriend had a big, blowout fight–”

“It’s not,” you hasten to assure her, though you doubt she genuinely cares one way or the other. More likely, she just doesn’t want you coming back and complaining if in two weeks you suddenly decide you’re blissfully in love again. 

Fat chance of that happening.

—

You sent him a message once. 

Late at night, at your best friend’s giggling insistence. It was only a line or two, a tentative hand reached out across the internet.

I know this is kinda out of the blue, but I think you might be my soulmate?

If he ever saw it, he didn’t bother to reply. 

—

“Holy fuck, you’re Rin’s girl!”

The delighted cackle doesn’t put your heart at ease, nor do the fingers tightly gripping your wrist, wrenching it back at an awkward angle to get a better look.

“W-what?”

In your defence, nothing about this situation makes much sense. 

Your date is lying hunched over and moaning on the pavement, having made the mistake of accidentally knocking into the tattooed blond currently cutting off circulation in your arm as the two of you were exiting your train. 

And you’re sure that he’d been about to hit you too, a wild look in his eyes as he’d whirled – only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of your forearm. Or, more specifically, the shimmering letters of the name etched into said forearm. 

Haitani Rindou.

“The fuck you doing with this asshole?” he laughs, easing his grip only when a small, discomforted noise escapes you. That amusement, however, fades when he regards your date once more, “You blind or something? Messing ‘round with a taken woman – one who’s got a damn soulmate at that? You that fuckin’ desperate to get your dick wet?”

Another vicious kick to his midsection, and your date grunts while you watch on in mute horror.

The blond spits on him for good measure, turning back to face you with a wide grin. “Ignore him. Name’s Madarame, you wanna come meet your soulmate?”

In hindsight, the massive red flags there should’ve been your first sign to run. 

You hadn’t, though. Partially because the arm Madarame slung over your shoulder gave you very little choice in the matter, but mostly because despite everything, you couldn’t deny that there was a part of you that wanted this.

How could you not? 

It occurs to you, as the blond leads you through the streets of Shinjuku, that there’s every chance he’s lying, that you’ve essentially followed a violent, quite possibly unhinged delinquent off to god knows where, and if you end up dead in an alleyway tonight you’ll only have yourself and your stupid romantic idealism to blame. 

Thankfully, though, the two of you arrive at a neon lit bar near Kabukicho. Apprehension flutters in your stomach, a potent mix of fear and excitement, and it must show on your face because Madarame winks, holding the door open for you. “Ladies first.”

You’ve dreamed of meeting your Rindou a hundred times before, thousands. Of meet cutes where you’d stumble over each other in a coffee shop, or on a night out dancing with your friends. Maybe he’d track you down somehow, and you’d find him nervously waiting for you out the front of your work one afternoon, flowers in hand. 

The specifics were always up in the air, ever changing. The one thing that remained a constant was that you’d recognize him the moment you saw him. You’d just know. 

And you do. Sitting in a booth towards the back of the bar, nursing a glass of clear amber liquid, violet eyes meet yours and you physically feel the pleasant zing of electricity that shoots through you as your heart skips a beat.

It’s as if the rest of the world falls away. You’re not sure if you’re even breathing, standing there, softly gaping at your soulmate from across the room. Doesn’t matter, you don’t need oxygen. 

You don’t need anything.

He’s… beautiful. There’s no other word for it. Hooded, violet eyes with long, fair eyelashes that sweep along his cheekbones. His jaw’s sharp, lips a soft cupid's bow. Even his hair – blond streaked with pale blue, carelessly pulled back into a bun – isn’t as jarring as it should be. It suits him. 

So swept up in the moment, you fail to notice the long legged, dark haired beauty who saunters across the floor and settles into the booth beside him. Until painted red lips press against his jaw in a sultry kiss, that is, her hand slipping beneath the table to stroke at his thigh. 

“Rin, baby, I’m bored,” she pouts.

Your stomach flips, the bright smile that’d appeared unbeknownst to you freezing upon your visage. 

“Aren’tcha gonna go say hi?” Madarame snickers, giving you a little push that has you stumbling awkwardly forward.

People are staring now. Your mouth opens, then closes, cheeks burning as you glance between the two of them.

You need to do something – move, leave, speak; anything – and yet the longer you stand there under the weight of that bored gaze, the more you flounder.

Rationally, you know you have no right to the hurt that tightens in your chest at the sight of another girl pawing at him. You don’t own him anymore than he owns you, soulmates or not you’re still strangers, and you can hardly criticise him for doing something you yourself were guilty of.

You know all that, and it doesn’t lessen the sting any.

“Shion, don’t be rude,” a new voice interrupts. Dragging your eyes from your soulmate, you notice a taller man with braids approaching, a grin tugging at familiar looking features.

Rindou’s brother, you guess, judging from those startling, violet eyes boring into you. 

“It’s not every day we get to meet Rin’s lovely little soulmate.”

You think it might have been better if someone just came up and slapped you across the face instead. 

He… knows who you are? Which would mean that–

Jerking your head back to Rindou and the woman (his girlfriend? Lover? Fling?) you don’t know what you’re expecting to see. Cold apathy, however, isn’t it.

“I–” you begin, unsure of what exactly it is that you’re trying to say. 

In the end, it makes no difference. He’s already turning his attention back to the girl to mumble something in her ear that has her giggling, brushing you off without so much as a word. 

As if you’re nothing.

Something within your heart cracks, jagged edges catching with every breath you force into your lungs. It’s not merely a dismissal, it’s an outright rejection – of you, your bond, everything. 

He doesn’t want you.

He doesn’t even know you and he doesn’t want you. 

Your whole life you’ve waited for this moment, built it up in your head, imagined it every which way. How it would feel to see him for the first time, the conversations the two of you would share, the life you’d lead together.

Dreamed of what it would be like to be loved like that, unconditionally, unwavering, with every inch of their being. 

This is more than cruel, this is the shattering of your very foundations – and it’s playing out like a tragedy for his friends at the bar to drink down and revel in. 

Hot, fat tears well up, glistening at your waterline, a thick lump of choked back emotions sitting heavy in your throat. 

Making a split second decision, you try to step back, to flee, taking your bitter, burning humiliation with you, only Madarame seems to have anticipated the move, placing himself between you and the door, blocking your exit. 

Rindou’s brother, now directly in front of you, smiles delightedly at your stricken expression. “Don’t be shy, now,” he says, extending a pale, long fingered hand. “He’s just dying to meet you.”

—

The universe, you decide, is a cruel, hateful thing.

You’d spent hours stuck at that bar; Rindou ignoring you in favour of the voluptuous brunette on his lap, his brother Ran pouring you drink after drink, perfectly content with carrying on a one-sided conversation with you whilst you sat hands balled into fists in your lap, willing yourself not to cry.

Without a doubt, it was the single worst night of your life, and still, upon returning back to your apartment and collapsing into a fit of heart wrenching sobs, you resolved that you’d find some way of coming to terms with it. 

Your soulmate didn’t love you, didn’t want you. That didn’t have to mean your life was over. Plenty of people found love and happiness without a soulmate, who’s to say that you couldn’t do the same after the dust and tears settle?

Perhaps the universe chose wrong and the mark on your arm was never meant to exist in the first place, like a calf born with two heads, destined to die through the night.

You weren’t going to beg for love, not from someone who so clearly wanted nothing to do with you. What else was left for you to do but pick up the broken pieces of yourself and move on as best you could?

That’s how it was supposed to have gone. One awful night you’d strive to forget, a name on your arm that didn’t truly belong to you. 

And perhaps it might have, if not for Haitani Ran.

—

You’re burning from the inside out, mouth locked open in a soundless shriek, violently thrashing against the chair’s restraints.

They promised you’d pass out.

Oh god, why won’t you pass out?

—

There’s a mark on Ran’s arm too, elegant script laying out another girl’s name. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his arm dangling from your shoulder, it’s hard to ignore. 

Once upon a time, either in the days following your initial message or at some point before that, Rindou had looked you up. 

(Decided you weren’t worth it.)

You wonder distantly whether Ran’s done the same for her. Whether he cares at all about the girl – woman, you suppose – bound to him, because he certainly doesn’t act like it when he’s around you.

“I lost my job today,” you murmur, staring vacantly off in the direction Rin and this week’s fling had disappeared.

This one had the nerve to throw you a smug little grin as she passed, as if it was some big victory to be fucking your soulmate. He won’t remember her name once they’re done, if he bothered to learn it in the first place.

She, like the string of others before her, will be gone before long, nothing more than a pretty set of holes for him to fuck and forget about.

Perhaps more surprising was that Rindou had also glanced your way, expression tight, the faintest hint of agitation showing in the set of his jaw. 

An agitation that remained, even as his features shifted into an arrogant smirk at having caught you looking back.

Ran, having been in the midst of scrolling through your phone, sets it down upon the table and raises an eyebrow, “Mm?”

You nod, “Yeah. One of my coworkers was jumped last night, two guys broke his leg, beat him up pretty bad. Turns out he’s my boss's son, and they seemed to think it had something to do with me.”

“Huh,” he says, making no attempt to hide the mirth that dances in his eyes. “Two birds with one stone, colour me impressed.”

You’re not seeking confirmation, you already know it was them. 

Just like when one of your best friends had been mysteriously attacked on his way home from the gym. Or your neighbour, who used to smile and strike up a conversation whenever you’d pass each other in the hallway. 

Your jaw tightens, so too does the grip you have on the drink he’d poured for you. “Why?”

“Why what?” 

And like a cord wound too tight, the pressure of the last few weeks suddenly explodes without warning, and you roughly shoulder his arm off of you. 

“Why all of it!” you cry. “Why you hurt them! Why you care who I talk to or what I do! Why you’re obsessed with hanging around like an overgrown parasite, ruining my life when Rin–” you break off with a shuddering gasp, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you furiously blink back tears.

When Rin’s made it so abundantly clear he doesn’t want you. 

Long, lithe fingers grab at your chin, forcefully turning your head towards his. 

Nestled into his side, close enough that the warmth of his breath kisses your neck with every exhale, he nudges his nose against yours, a wry smile twitching at his lips. 

“There really isn’t a single brain cell in that pretty little head of yours, is there,” he says, flicking your forehead for good measure. “Why do you think?”

—

Caught between a soulmate who doesn’t want you, and the brother who keeps you leashed regardless, you learn very quickly the kind of men the Haitani brothers are.

Their sadistic, violent impulses of course come as no surprise, but you soon realise that that’s only the very tip of the iceberg. 

Extortion, assault, drugs, robberies, prostitution, senseless, rampant killing; it seems there’s no limit to the lengths they’ll go to in the name of expansion. They don’t try to hide it from you. No, you’d go so far as to say the pair get a kick out of seeing you flinch and baulk over the grisly details.

As much as hearing about it chills you to the bone, what truly scares you isn’t the crimes they’ve already committed.

It’s the knowledge that no matter how much power or territory they gain, they’ll always want more. That one day they plan on running this city, and to achieve that they’ll inevitably – gladly – do so much worse.

It’s the thought that you might end up trapped here between them, forced to bear witness as your soulmate warps and twists into something wholly unrecognisable. 

—

The final nail in the coffin comes the day you’re walking back to your apartment, and you realise that you’re being followed.

A big guy in a dark hoodie, tattooed hands stuffed into the pockets, an ugly scar slashed across his cheek. 

You’ve seen him before – watching you on the platform at Shibuya station a few days back, and again yesterday as you were exiting the 7-Eleven a block down from the Haitanis’ apartment. 

And it’s enough to have your blood running cold, fear taking root deep inside of you. 

Enough that you’re frantically swiping open your phone, quickening your pace.

The phone rings once, twice–

“Ran’s busy. What?”

The voice isn’t the one you’re expecting; your heart leaps at the sound of it. “Rin, I– there’s some big, tattooed guy following me. I-I think I’ve seen him before.”

You’re not sure what it is that you’re expecting him to do. Rindou could be anywhere in the city, tied up with other, more important things. And that’s assuming he’d care enough to lift a finger in the first place. 

Ran would, you think. 

He’d almost snapped a guy’s wrist the other night for trying to cop a feel of your ass. Whatever fucked up kind of relationship he imagines he has with you, it’s certainly edged with a streak of possessiveness. 

You’re not so sure the same can be said of your soulmate. 

Images flash to mind; your body, lying bruised and battered, hooked up to beeping monitors in hospital. Worse – found in a back alley dumpster, used and discarded with yesterday’s trash.

On the other end of the line, Rindou curses softly.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” and the call goes dead.

He… hung up.

Your soulmate hung up on you. 

There’s a noose around your neck, tightening with each passing beat. Your heart hammers so violently against your rib cage that you physically feel sick.

You called him for help, terrified, and he’d hung up on you.

Spying a 24-hour FamilyMart on the other side of the street, you dart across the road as quick as your legs’ll take you – barely managing to dodge the car that slams on its breaks to avoid hitting you. 

The teenager restocking the shelves gives you an odd look as you scramble inside, shaking and nearly in tears. It shifts quickly when she follows your gaze and catches sight of your bona fide stalker, lurking on the other side of the glass, sliding doors.

Yet rather than entering the store, the man simply grins, gold teeth glinting in the low light, lifts two fingers to his temple, and salutes.

—

Rindou’s waiting at your apartment when you return, furiously pacing back and forth inside your living room.

Wastes no time in asking if you’re okay, or offering up comfort, merely snatches at your chin, roughly tilting your face this way and that until he’s satisfied with whatever it is he sees.

“Tell me everything,” he grits out, and once you’re finished, voice trembling and your nerves shot to pieces, he makes you tell it to him again.

He leaves, as he always does, without a goodbye, the sound of the locks on your front door clicking into place echoing in his wake.

—

You used to think disappearing would be enough.

Rindou wouldn’t care to stop you, and if you were meticulous in your planning, Ran wouldn’t have the chance to try.

You’d leave Tokyo, pick up a life somewhere else. If anyone asked about the name on your arm, you’d tell them your soulmate died before you met him, an accident, or a terrible childhood illness. A tragedy yes, but nothing insurmountable. 

You could find another way to be happy.

Now, you know better. As long as those letters grace your arm, you’ll never be able to escape the Haitanis influence. There’ll always be a target on your back, a chain around your ankle, trailing right back to Tokyo and the brothers you left behind.

So you found a way to erase them.

—

“You trust us, don’t you?”

The question’s posed to you by the elder Haitani, perched at the foot of your bed, one foot idly dangling off the side of your mattress. His brother leans casually up against the open door frame. 

Startled awake in the middle of the night, you lacked both the time and the foresight to hide your arm from their prying gaze. Your deception – your betrayal – laid bare for them to discover while you slept on, blissfully oblivious. 

Now, cradling it to your chest, your knees tucked up close, you eye the two warily. Nothing about this situation puts you at ease, least of all the conversational tone he’s adopted. 

Ran doesn’t want an answer, at least, not a genuine one. For all their faults, neither he nor Rindou are delusional to the point of believing that you in any way trust them. That you’ve gone to such lengths in the first place speaks plenty to that.

No, he wants to draw this out, a cat toying with a mouse before it strikes the killing blow. And like that mouse, caught between sharp claws and vicious grins, the only option you have left is to play dead in the hope that your predators soon lose interest.

Swallowing down the nauseating fear creeping up your throat (or is that bile?) you offer a tiny nod. Ran smiles approvingly, but it’s Rindou, pushing himself off the wall with a huff, who speaks next. 

“You know I felt it – when you went through with it,” he tells you, stalking over to your bed. His eyes are cold, hard. And it’s ice, you think, not fire that burns in those pretty, violet hues as he braces an arm on the wooden headboard and leans in, “Knocked me flat on my ass, honestly thought I was dying there for a sec.”

As if in response, the skin where his name used to lie prickles, goosebumps rising to the surface.

“I-I’m sorry.” Clumsily, the words spill from your mouth – an impulsive attempt to appease them. “I didn’t think–”

He snorts, “Yeah, that much is obvious.”

The petty insult finds its home despite your best efforts to ignore it, blood heating your cheeks.

Once again, it’s his older brother who jumps to your so-called defence; “Aw, c’mon Rindou, don’t be so mean.” Ran clicks his tongue in mock sympathy, “Poor little idiot just made a mistake, that’s all.” 

“A… mistake?” you echo.

The amusement fades from his features, the look in those dark, hooded eyes near caustic as they slide back to you, “She knows she fucked up, and she’s gonna let us fix it, aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-yeah,” you manage to utter, tongue darting out to wet your lips. 

But it’s Rindou, lips brushing along the shell of your ear, who hammers the final nail home, “You try leaving us again, and next time it won’t just be some tattoos marking up that pretty skin, understand?”

Akemi Homura

Cr.@MihifuHi

BITE

18+ / mdi

summary: keeping appearances as an idol was already hard enough, but it becomes even worse upon finding a forlorn jeonghan with need of assistance with the company's faulty security system, instantly becoming endeared with the idol who refused to take no for an answer — not that you'd ever want him to.

content: idol!jeonghan x hybeidol!reader, f2l, meet-cute, very unrealistic schedules for idols lol, jeonghan is a menace, a lot of will they wont they, reader plays hard to get, afab reader, small age gap implied, one mention of the word oppa as a honorific (sorry</3), reader is mentioned to be international (no specific race, just not born in korea), smut, dry humping, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 11.7k

a/n: this fic is based on this scenario, except i decided to expand on it and make it into a full fic!!

masterlist | patreon

"Hey, is that Yoon Jeonghan from Seventeen?", asked Minji as she patted your shoulder, finger pointing towards your right.

"Who?", you wondered, attempting to make sense of the distressed man standing in front of the main artist elevators in the building, "Oh, yeah, I think that's him," you said once you spotted his face, deeming it impossible to not recognize a face such as his.

"Why is he just standing there?", she wondered, holding onto your arm in the affectionate manner she usually did, "Do you think it's that elevator thing again?" she faced you to ask.

"What elevator thing?"

"Apparently he went on a variety show and complained about the company's security system. It was a whole controversy, but I guess the facial recognition doesn't work for him for some reason," she informed you before chuckling at the sight of Jeonghan sighing in defeat at yet another failed attempt at utilizing the aforementioned system, "I thought it was a bit, but I guess he was for real."

"Huh," you hummed, having been unaware of the issue. The system worked just fine for you and all your members, so you never had any motive to question it. Your senior, however, had clear issues with the system. Within the two minutes you had noticed his presence, he had already attempted the facial recognition three times, getting rejected every single one of them.

"You should help him," your groupmate suggested, "I would, but my manager will be here soon for my shoot. You only have rehearsals today, right? You're heading that way anyway."

"What? No!" you declined, "I always get anxious around our seniors. I've never even met him," you added, far too shy to even face the pretty boy during his predicament.

Disconnecting from you, she grabbed onto your shoulders, scolding you, "Dude, just go help him! This is how you make connections. You give him a hand and then he gives you one back," she said, physically turning you around so you could face his direction, hands still on your shoulders, "Go! My ride's probably already here anyways. Good luck," she encouraged as she pushed you forward, making you absentmindedly begin walking towards the boy.

Taking a breath, you began to walk towards the boy who seemed to grow more and more frustrated at the faulty security system. The closer you got, the more you could hear his whines in complaint. It appeared that he had taken up a phone call during the time you'd been talking to your friend, frustratedly arguing with whoever was on the other line.

"Seokminnie, c'mon! Just come down! I'll buy you soju after practice," he whined, groaning at whatever response his groupmate had given him in return, "My manager already left ... Yeah .... No! Stop! Just come down! I'm your senior and- Wait! Don't hang up!", he groaned at last upon hearing the classic sound of a disconnected line invade his ears.

It was only then that he seemed to notice your presence, widening his eyes momentarily before offering you a brief bow to acknowledge your presence. Moving aside, he gave you enough space to stand in front of the elevator, quietly awaiting for you to utilize the security system, likely assuming you had not heard his prior predicament. He gestured for you to move forward, acting as if he were being a gentleman in allowing you to go first.

You approached the small facial recognition screen, about to scan your face before turning to him, finding the boy staring at you expectantly, "You need me in order to use the elevator, don't you?", you asked him, amused.

"Huh?", he gaped at you, tsk'ing afterward and making an odd 'Eyyy' sound, "I'm just being a gentleman. Go ahead," he gave you a tight yet amused smile.

You chuckled in return, "Liar," you were surprised at how easy it was to be informal with him, but he was immediately likable, "Ask me to help you and maybe I might," you added, giving him a satisfied smile.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I'm your senior — Whatever happened to respect?", he joked, tsk'ing at you once more. He proceeded to walk towards you, pushing his face onto the scanner and ignoring your presence altogether, "I'll do it, see," he practically challenged, attempting the scanner once more.

Unsurprisingly, he was met with a red X and a beeping sound that indicated yet another failure to be recognized by the system. This caused him to stand there in silence for a few seconds before whining 'Yah!' and cursing out the security system.

Clearing his throat, he straightened up again, facing you once more, "Sorry about that. Your turn," he gestured to you to move forward again, stepping out of your way.

Both amused and surprised, you decided to finally utilize the scanner on yourself, smiling at him with a satisfied look when it immediately allowed you in. Turning to him, you nodded at him to get in before you, only for him to gesture for you to go first. Something about 'ladies first.'

"You owe me one," you said once you were both in the elevator again, standing side by side as you faced the closing door.

"Nuh-uh. This was just a coincidence. You needed to head upstairs anyways," he rebutted petulantly.

"Yeah? So you don't need me to help you get to your floor, then, right?", you questioned mockingly, knowing he would also have to work the scanner in order to get the door to open to Seventeen's designated floor. There were far too many steps to get to the artists' floors, but it made sense to you by now.

Upon the realization, he groaned, letting himself throw his head back against the wall behind him as he earned a giggle from you. He frowned in your direction at your laugh, though he joined you with a chuckle just mere seconds later.

"Okay, fine. I owe you," he gave up, still leaning against the wall behind but turning his head to look at you, "What can Yoon Jeonghan do for you?"

You pretended to mull over it for a few seconds, finger on your chin as you thought it over, "I have no idea. I'll let you know," you finally responded, "Okay, so, what floor?", you asked as your finger moved to the buttons on the elevator door.

"13th," he responded, now casually leaning back against the wall.

"Oh? The second highest floor. You're an important man, aren't you?", you teased, pressing his button before moving onto your group's number 9.

"Nine?," he gaped, "Seems I'm higher on the company hierarchy than you, yet you show me no respect," he joked back.

"Shut up. I'm going out of my way for you. Senior or not, you owe me. Those are the rules of all civilized society," you argued back.

"Okay, how about," he began, pressing his hands together as if making a proposition, "I see you downstairs every morning bright and early with a fresh cup of coffee in exchange for your face — y'know, for the scanner. How's that sound?", he proposed, a pleased smile on his face at your agape mouth.

"Every morning? Do you not have any friends?", you asked as the elevator continued to move up.

"Do you see anyone here? They all get here before me. You seem pretty friendless. C'mon. Free coffee, good company. I'll even play one of your group's songs in my next Welive. See? Can't get any better than that," he continued to sell his idea as the elevator came to a stop, now at his floor but demanding yet another facial scan to even exit the elevator.

"God, the security's too much," he groaned upon noticing the prompt on the small screen inside the elevator, "C'mon!", he turned to you, "Try to tell me that's not unnecessary."

You gave up, nodding as you chuckled, though not making a move to scan your face.

"Say yes. Please," he dragged the e for an annoyingly long amount of time, grinning when you rolled your eyes but laughed, "I'll keep going. Just agree. What better way to spend your time than with Yoon Jeonghan?"

"What makes you think I even knew that name before today?", you challenged.

"You do. Don't lie to me, it won't work," he smirked back before going back to being annoying again, "Come on-"

"Fine! I'll meet you downstairs every morning expecting a fresh matcha in hand — I don't drink coffee. But you still owe me," you agreed, extending your hand to him to solidify the agreement.

"No coffee? Ew. But okay, deal," he returned your handshake, holding onto your hand for an annoying amount of time, pretending as if he were unaware of when to let go and waiting for you to pull his hand off yours with another eye roll. He chuckled any time he managed to get a reaction out of you, leading you to realize he must be an absolute menace to every person he comes across. Sadly, he was charmingly entertaining, leaving you with no complaints.

Finally, you scanned your face on the screen, letting him walk in front of you to head out. Before the elevator doors could close and separate again, he held his arm out to stop them, nodding towards you.

"What's your name? I like you," he said plainly, head tilted in curiosity.

"Y/N," you said, "Please don't introduce yourself again-"

"Yoon Jeonghan," he interrupted anyways, "Remember that. We'll be having fun in the near future," were his last words before removing his hand and allowing the elevator doors to separate you, likely heading over to his groupmates upon leaving your line of sight.

Silver doors closed in front of you, now leaving you to your own company. Dumbfounded yet amused by the interaction, you stood there as you waited for the elevator to arrive to your floor, robotically scanning your face on the door once you made it there and exiting the square-shaped room upon arrival. There, you stood with the remnant of a shocked smile on your face, surprised at how easy it had been to put any concept of age or seniority aside when interacting with Yoon Jeonghan. While you always had the tendency of being overly formal with your seniors, you had spoken to Jeonghan like you would any guy your age, disregarding formalities as soon as he'd spoken to you.

You didn't truly need any convincing to agree to see him again. On the contrary, had he not suggested as such, you would've remained with an itch to find a reason for a re-encounter. Like any other junior idol at a company with big names such as BTS and Seventeen, developing a slight crush on your seniors was the normalcy — your groupmates Minji and Lila had crushes on BTS' V and Seventeen's Vernon, respectively — and it appeared that you were now joining them in the list of girls with unrequited crushes.

Jeonghan was, what, maybe five or so years older than you? The age difference alone was enough for you to chalk this up to a mindless crush. That, and the kindergarten teacher voice he had put on while speaking to you — clearly he made a very obvious distinction about your age difference right off the bat.

As of now, all you could do was hope to see him again (which, thankfully, you would) and retain the fun back and forth he'd welcomed you in on. Friendzone was one thing, but junior-zone? At least you now had a story to let your members in on next dance practice.

"Hey, it's you again."

"God, announce yourself next time," you groaned, hand clutching your heart at the short-lived shock of Yoon Jeonghan suddenly bumping your shoulder whilst walking down one of the many endless hallways of the Hybe building.

"I said 'hey,'" he shrugged, continuing to walk by your side, "So, where are we going?"

"Who's 'we,'" you scoffed, "I'm going to buy lunch," you said, continuing to walk as he remained by your side.

"Great, I was thinking of getting something to eat too," he agreed, humming to himself afterwards.

"Okay, so I guess we're having lunch together, then," you hummed back, resigned to your senior's company.

"You catch on quickly, I like that," he gave you a closed-lip grin, "We're going to be seeing each other quite often, might as well start now."

Crossing the doors to the cafeteria, you headed to the lunch area to pick up something to eat, Jeonghan following right behind you and annoyingly picking out the same exact lunch as you, piece by piece. You simply looked back at him with a menacing stare, only causing a bigger grin out of him. Once you made it to the cashier area, your hand made its way to your bag with the intent to pull out your card only to be stopped by one Yoon Jeonghan who had been quicker to scan his own. You had had no plans of preventing him from buying his own meal, but you had also not expected him to pay for your own.

"Wait, you don't have to-"

"Too late," he grinned, walking past you before looking over his shoulder and nodding at you to follow him.

Heading over to a two-seater table, you followed him, taking a seat right across from him. The place was empty sans another duo of two idols eating on the opposite side of the large cafeteria, so you didn't feel too strange at the idea of being spotted with a senior idol.

Sitting across from him, you took note of how lax and confident his demeanor was. It must be nice, you thought. It was quite the opposite for you, especially considering the dynamic between you. This wad a first for you — the whole sharing a meal with a senior from one of the groups that inspired you to become an idol in the first place. You had interacted with some of your seniors before, but you had not had the chance of befriending any of them thus far, much less grab their attention in the same way you had caught Jeonghan's.

It made you feel anxious to be one-on-one with him in such an exposed setting. You knew that within the walls of Hybe, interacting with idols was not seen as odd nor would it lead to any sort of scandal, but you also worried that it might seem strange due to your gender and age difference. However, Jeonghan somehow managed to make you feel more relaxed and less proper than you likely would with any other idol.

"What are you thinking about?" he nodded at you as he sipped at his water, interrupting your thoughts.

"Nothing," you replied, beginning to pay mind to the food in front of you, "You didn't have to pay for my meal, by the way."

"You're clearly thinking about something. I can hear those thoughts cooking in there all the way from here," he chuckled, " — and I'm a gentleman and your senior, of course I had to pay," he shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing.

"Don't you have friends?", you asked bluntly, forking at your meal as he snickered at you.

"This is the second time you come after my social life, okay ... Ignoring your disrespect, I do have friends. Twelve of them, actually, maybe even more," he informs you in a 'ha, told you so!' type of tone.

Now was your turn to laugh, unable to take him too seriously, "So, does their facial recognition not work either? Are you so annoying they won't share a meal with you?," you tilted your head mockingly.

"You're better company," he shrugged at you, "Not sure how I never noticed you before, but hey, never too late, right?"

"You barely know me," you grumbled.

"Yeah, and I'm working on that. Keep up!", he chastised, tapping the table.

"You're gonna get me into a scandal for hanging out with me so shamelessly," you reminded him, but made no attempt to leave the situation.

"Who's going to see us?", he looked around, spotting the two other people (sans staff) in the room, "Hanjin from TWS? That's my junior, he'd never say a word. Plus, this is just innocent senior-junior fraternizing, don't worry too much," he tsk'd, leaning back against his seat in a relaxed manner once more.

"You're too relaxed for your own good. How have you never been in a scandal before?", you gaped at him, swatting his hand when his hand made its way to your plate, grabbing at a fry, "Are you like this with all your juniors?"

"Oh? You've been keeping up with me? How do you know im scandal-less? And nope, I already told you — I like you."

"Is it surprising to you that I'd keep up with one of the biggest groups in Kpop?," you feigned disinterest, "Okay, if you like me so much, can I drop the honorifics, then?", you tried, matching the amused grin he gave you.

"Hmm," he pondered for a moment, "I'll let you speak to me informally if you make a compromise with me," he paused, waiting for you to nod for him to continue, "I want you to call me oppa," he grinned.

His shit-eating grin reached all the way to his ears, making you scowl at him. Due to your age difference and the overall senior-junior dynamic of your relationship, it was not an ordinary request for a senior to ask you to call him oppa, thus causing his amusement at his own request. Usually, you'd call seniors like him sunbae or by their full name considering that you were nowhere close enough to him to call him oppa, but his grin told you that he'd be far too pleased to have you calling him by that honorific rather than a more formal alternative.

"No," you deadpanned, "Anything else, just-"

"Fine. Since we're officially friends now, you can call me what all my friends call me; Jeonghannie — Hannie if you're feeling particularly friendly," he continued grinning at you with a pleased look in his eye.

"Hold on, since when are we friends?", you chuckled slapping his hand away from your plate once more, "God! Was there any point in buying my meal if you're just gonna keep eating from it?", you groaned, not truly annoyed but still bugged by the man.

"You've got a short fuse," he noted, "That only makes this even more fun, you realize that, right?" he said as he chewed on what were formerly your fries.

"You're going to be trouble for me at some point, aren't you?", you wondered out loud, chuckling at how pleased he was.

"No, you are — trust me," he said almost to himself.

God damn him, was he flirting with you? Throughout the past few hours of knowing him, you'd been pretty sure he just enjoyed banter by nature, not that he was just singling you out in order to flirt with you. Maybe he was just a flirtatious person by nature? Regardless, your original statement was correct — he was going to cause you trouble one way or another.

Unfortunately to all, the rest of your day was not nearly as eventful as the first few hours (courtesy of Yoon Jeonghan). Leaving the artist designated floors did not require face-scanning, so your duties for the man ended quickly after your lunch together.

For the remainder of the day, you engaged in your diligent idol duties as you practiced and recorded with your groupmates. You'd hoped to catch another glimpse of the flirtatious boy who had caught your attention earlier, but you went home without any more contact. You would've been disheartened by this had you not known he'd be waiting for you by the elevators the following morning.

You had chosen not to tell your bandmates about your interactions with Jeonghan. Although he had been right about you being safe to interact with each other inside the walls of Hybe, you were only on your first year after debut, so the paranoia of insisting your first scandal was far too big to risk anything. Still, you were not about to actually deny him of more time spent together; you'd grown to enjoy his company too much for that.

In your seemingly endless train of thought, you're startled by the sudden presence next to you as you stand by the Hybe elevators. You'd arrived at the same time you had yesterday, assuming Jeonghan would also be present as he was the day prior. After waiting for ten minutes, you were rewarded with another mini heart attack caused by him.

"You're kinda skittish, aren't you?", he laughed, hand giving you a pat on the shoulder as a form of greeting, "Waited for me long?"

"Nope," you responded, turning to look at him, finding him holding two cups on a single, strangely large hand, "Is that my matcha?", you asked, hand reaching out to grab it from him only to be met with resistance from the boy.

"Aht aht," he chastised, "No 'good morning'? No 'you look really handsome today, oppa'? Where did your manners go?", he bit his lip in amusement at himself (and likely at the scowl that formed on your face).

"Yoon Jeonghan, if you don't give me that damn drink I'm leaving you stranded down here," you threatened, snatching the drink from his hand and sipping it with annoyance.

"You wouldn't," he mocked, "Anyways, go on," he gestured for you to step forward in order to scan your face, raising his eyebrows when you didn't make a move to help, "I can get even more annoying," he threatened.

"Fine," you grumbled, scanning your face and stepping into the elevator.

Once settled inside the small box, Jeonghan stood next to you, taking micro side steps in order for his shoulder to brush against yours. When that didn't get your attention, he opted to clear his throat, chuckling at the glimpse of an eye roll he got from where he was standing. As a last effort, his shoulder bumped yours in a more notorious way, finally grabbing your annoyed attention.

"What?," you hissed.

"Okay, first of all, let's calm down. Second of all, I need your face for a little longer today," he winced at your reaction, "I know, I know, but you promised," he reminded you.

"I never promised anything," you scowled, although interested in the idea of seeing him outside of the elevator again, "What do you want?"

"Just need to stop by to see Mingyu in floor 11 for a few minutes — Mingyu, you know him, right? All your friends are probably crushing on him, everyone is. Anyways, it'll be just five minutes and then I'll leave you alone," he went on, hand on your shoulder as he gave you those gigantic and irresistible bug eyes of his.

"What if I'm busy?", you asked, knowing you truly weren't.

"You're not. Senior or not, you would've already told me to fuck myself if I were getting in the way of your work," he said with confidence.

"Fine," you sighed as you dragged out the e, pressing the correct button in order to take Jeonghan to his destination. The elevator ride was short but taken up by Jeonghan making short quips in order to make you laugh. Unfortunately, he was too naturally charismatic for his own good.

Finally stopping at the correct floor, Jeonghan got off the elevator while you remained inside, thinking that maybe it was a good idea to just wait for him in there. This wasn't a common hour for other idols to head in or out of the building anyway, so the elevators would likely remain unused while you waited.

Jeonghan had a different idea, however, standing at the entrance of the elevator as he looked back at you expectantly, nodding his head for you to follow him. When you silently shook your head at him, he groaned annoyingly, reaching to grab onto your hand and pull you to him.

"If you wanted me to hold your hand so badly you could've just said so," he mocked, squeezing it as he pulled you to him. You attempted to let go of his hand, but his grip was too harsh. It's not that you didn't want to hold it, but more like you were too nervous to do so, which he likely caught on to but didn't care for.

"What, scared someone will see us?", he snickered, "Would it be that terrible to be spotted holding hands with me? I'd be the best dating scandal of your life," he giggled, voice growing louder when you laughed along with him, "Oh! A smile? So you do like me, huh?"

"God, are you this flirty with everyone?", you groaned, squeezing his hand extra hard until he winced, giggling at your attempt to harm him.

"You're just fun to rile up," he confessed, leading you to a door you'd never seen before, "This is a shared studio a few Seventeen members use. Ever met any of them?", he asked as he stopped in front of the door, still not letting go of your hand.

"Am I meeting them now?", your eyes widened, "We did a dance challenge with Seungkwan and Vernon, but that's it," you revealed, using the correct honorifics for both that you did not use for Jeonghan.

"So formal. Cute," he snickered, "Well, you're about to meet a few more. Don't be nervous," he started, "If you're able to keep up with me, they'll like you. You're hard not to like," he smiled in a comforting way, not snickering at you for the first time ever.

Before you could respond, the door opened from the other side, revealing who you knew to be Boo Seungkwan of Seventeen with an annoyed scowl on his face, only dropping it upon seeing you.

"Yah! Yoon Jeongha- Oh, hi!", he interrupted himself halfway through his nagging as soon as he saw you, eyes going from Jeonghan's to yours to your interlocked hands, causing his head to tilt in curiosity, "We've met, right?," he bowed, uttering your name and offering you a smile, "Are you holding her hostage?", he asked towards Jeonghan, noting his tight grip on your hand.

"This is my new friend," Jeonghan introduced you despite Seungkwan having already said your name, gesturing towards your interlocked hands, "She's helping me out lately."

Without further explanation, Seungkwan moved aside in order to let the two of you in. Throughout it all, Jeonghan refused to let go of your hand, toying with your fingers at times. Inside were three more members who you could recognize to be Kim Mingyu, Jeon Wonwoo and Lee Jihoon. As a fresh junior in the company, the name of every single senior was common knowledge to you. Not only was Seventeen a huge name in the industry, but they were one of the biggest names within the company itself. You'd also spotted their loud interactions throughout the building a few times in the past.

— This was one of the reasons as to why your heart began going a mile a minute the moment you walked in to the room to find the three men (along with Jeonghan and Seungkwan) staring at you with a curious look in their eye.

Bowing at every member, you meep'd out a quick 'hello' and stalked behind Jeonghan, who only chuckled at your shy demeanor, "Don't be shy. They don't bite," he squeezed your hand.

"Uh, Jeonghan? Do you have a hostage?", asked Wonwoo, reaching out to you to shake your free hand in introduction, "Hi, I'm Wonwoo. Sorry about him," he gestured towards Jeonghan with a chuckle.

"Your emotional support toys weren't enough? Upgraded to a human now?", Mingyu joined in, also offering you a handshake, "I saw your group's last comeback. Great job," he praised, offering you a genuine smile.

Jihoon remained silent as he sat with his eyes glued to his equipment, simply humming and nodding along to every statement leaving their lips. He seemed slightly disinterested, but not rude about it. Jihoon appeared more so amused by Jeonghan's shenanigans, not questioning your presence whilst remaining welcoming of it.

"I'm just here to record my part. Jihoon's been nagging me for a week," he whined, moving to drop himself on the couch and pulling you along with him by the hand. Your interlocked hands began to become clammy, but Jeonghan made no move nor mention to fix that, so you simply ignored it too.

"You're mean," said Wonwoo, "Be mindful of your junior, she looks nervous," he scolded lightheartedly, "You okay? Want a water or something? Did he just steal you or is there a story behind this?", he nodded towards your hands, voice soothing your nerves.

They were all overly likable, which made sense considering their decade-long career as idols. Their fan service must be amazing, you thought to yourself.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan interrupted, "I'm borrowing her face for the scanner in the artists' elevator," he explained, "It's an exchange of goods and services, no hostages here," he nodded to himself, "And we're new best friends, clearly," he grinned as he gestured to your hands, squeezing once again.

Seungkwan chuckled, "There'd be no need for that if you just rode with me in the mornings," he rolled his eyes, taking a seat to the other side of you on the couch.

"You get up at four in the morning, I'm not insane," whined Jeonghan, "and this way I get to hang out with my new friend. Win-win."

You gave a tight-lipped smile in response, rolling your eyes at him and earning a chuckle from the other boys in the room.

"You're going to have to let go of her hand to go into the recording room," Jihoon spoke up, turning around on his chair to look at Jeonghan on the couch and chuckling lowly when his reaction was an exaggerated groan.

"I take what I said back; you are a hostage. Don't leave, I'll be right back," he turned to you before heading over to the small recording room located inside the studio.

Laughing, you nodded, settling comfortably on the couch as you watched him from your spot. The other two men who remained standing made their way to the couch sitting near you as Wonwoo handed you a cold water bottle with a smile. Meanwhile, you watched Jeonghan head into the room, making his way to the mic and putting on the large headphones hanging nearby.

With a few coughs to clear his throat, he began harmonizing with the melody Jihoon turned on as soon as he stepped foot in the small room. Jeonghan's voice immediately flowed perfectly with the music, following Jihoon's directions to perfection as he recorded the lines instructed to him. You were completely distracted by the sight of him in his element that you were unable to pay attention to your surroundings. There were no nerves in you at your current predicament when you were so absorbed by him.

But as soon as he started singing, he finished, letting out another loud cough before exiting the room and making his way to your side again, practically demanding your hand once more.

"They were right," he nodded once you gave him your hand, looking down at you from your seat on the couch, "You're my new emotional support object, sorry," he shrugged, helping you up by pulling at your hand.

With goodbyes as quick as your introduction had been, Jeonghan led you to the door before being interrupted by Jihoon speaking up, "Bring her around more often. You were way more efficient and less annoying this time," he hummed to himself, laughing when Seungkwan began to laugh at his statement. Before you could leave, Seungkwan offered you a hug, though your hand remained on Jeonghan's.

Once in the hallway, Jeonghan turned to you and laughed, "They like you," he sing-sang, "Guess I get to keep you around."

"Is it up to me at all?", you huffed half-heartedly.

"Nope. Let's go," he grinned once more, pulling another laugh from you.

Jeonghan's shenanigans and your daily meetings every morning continued very consistently. It was rare when you'd show up at the elevators at the exact same agreed time and not find him there waiting for you with a drink in hand.

Your interactions only grew more and more friendly with time, with you rolling your eyes at him time and time again and him insisting on dragging you with him for other errands every so often. Fortunately, the news of you two being on friendly terms did not seem to go past a few other idols in the building. Strangely enough, it was rare to actually bump into other artists in the vast space that Hybe covered.

Only a few weeks into knowing Jeonghan and the annual Hybe Game Caterers event came up. This was something he brought up occasionally whilst sharing an elevator ride with you — and even through text every so often, as he had charmed you for your phone number just a few days in.

Being Hybe's newest group, you couldn't help the nerves you felt in appearing at Hybe's second ever Game Caterers event. With big names such as Seventeen, BTS, TXT and such, you felt completely out of your league even being present. You knew it was an amazing opportunity to get new audiences interested in your group, but you barely knew any other groups or idols on a personal level. It wasn't as if you could stalk behind Jeonghan during the event, which meant you'd simply have to rely on your own charm in order to gain some screen time.

Jeonghan, in the meantime, insisted you team up with him in any games that may allow for it. Despite your insistence that he pretend not to know you during the event, he'd cackle and promise he'd make sure to gift you some of his own screen time — how? he didn't explain, which made you even more anxious at the idea.

Once the day of the games came, you felt far more relaxed. This was your first time seeing such popular faces so up close, not having had the chance to attend any comeback shows nor award shows at the same time as the bigger names in Kpop. However, despite all nerves you could've felt, they were all far too charismatic, making you realize that Jeonghan's personality was simply an outlier; he had his own charm, but overall he was a menace to your sanity.

He continued to prove this to you throughout the event, constantly keeping his eyes on you and winking any time it was his turn to do something that might entertain you. Unfortunately for yourself, it worked every time, making you cackle at all his dumb acts for your attention.

That was not where he stopped, however. It seemed as if Jeonghan wanted people to know he was seeking out reactions from you. Occasionally, he'd walk over to your group's table, sitting with you all too casually, earning some nervous giggles from your group mates. He played this out by dragging Seungkwan with him and hitting a few other tables afterward. However, you knew his goal had been to be in close proximity with you.

The worst of all had been when teams were assigned randomly, in which Jeonghan had somehow managed to cheat in order to be placed in your team. You were unsure how exactly he had managed to do this, but from your understanding it seemed like his groupmate, Joshua, had gotten assigned to your team, only to be nagged into giving away his spot to Jeonghan.

And so now you stood in a single file line with a red vest laying on your chest, matching with that of Yoon Jeonghan's, who was standing right behind you with a pleased smile on his face.

"Jeonghan," you groaned, turning around to finally acknowledge his presence.

"What?", he feigned dumb, doing his classic cackle at your annoyed expression.

"You really want to ruin my career, don't you?", you scowled, squinting your eyes over the heavy sun shining from behind Jeonghan.

Detecting your discomfort from the sun, Jeonghan grabbed onto your shoulders, side stepping the two of you until it hit his face rather than yours. No word is uttered about his act of kindness as he continued to grin at you in a satisfied manner.

"I'm helping you, c'mon," he tsk'd, "Ever watched Going Seventeen? Well— Okay, don't make that face, I know you've seen it, all of Korea has seen it. I can win you any game and get you all the screen time possible," he held his pinky up to you, nudging you until you budged and intertwined yours with his own, "Then you'll be, uh, what are you, fourth gen?," he waited for your reluctant nod, "Okay, you'll be fourth gen's It Girl," his hand went up to ruffle your hair, earning something akin to a growl from you, "We'll be the inter-generational It Couple."

"Couple?," you tilted your head in wonder, "You're an idiot," you murmured, having a hard time hiding your smile at his masterplan.

"It was bound to happen. This whole 'will they won't they' thing we have going on is too good to pass up on," he continued, "C'mon, let's use today as a test-run," he insisted, earning another annoyed reaction from you, this time in the form of a half-hearted fist bump. With one last 'Eyyy' from him, he turned back around to pay attention to the rules of the following game.

Various games came and went, with some being in co-ed groups and others within your already-established groups, but with all of them (without fail) involving some sort of interaction between you and Jeonghan. Continuously aware of the cameras recording, you worried about how your constant interactions would be taken by audiences once the show was edited and posted, but his easy-going disposition made it difficult for you to actually do anything about it.

By the time the recording was over, Jeonghan had made it clear to all his members and yours (and anyone who was paying attention, really) that he had some sort of interest in you. No words nor statements had been needed as his actions made his intentions extremely obvious. You'd received a few teasing glances from his group mates at times (though you were sure they were probably meant for the man in question), making you shy away from Jeonghan, but he never strayed away for too long.

The aftermath of the show was different for everyone involved. Some groups left for other schedules while others went out for a meal with a few staff members. Then there was Jeonghan, who had decided to skip out on a meal with his friends and staff in order to stalk after you and your own group, not saying a word as he followed you to the entrance of Hybe, disregarding any teasing giggles coming from your groupmates. You'd occasionally look back at him, rolling your eyes at him as you held back an entertained smile.

Even as you got into the elevator, he silently followed with a pleased smile, still not speaking a word to justify his presence. It wasn't until your groupmates got off the elevator that Jeonghan actively tried to catch your attention by physically holding you back from exiting the elevator, waving your friends goodbye for you as the doors closed behind them.

With his arms wrapped around your middle, he practically bear-hugged you in order to keep you from leaving, laughing when you half-heartedly attempted to make it out of his hold in order to escape.

"You don't really wanna leave, stop fighting it," he whined, letting you go when you finally halted your attempts, groaning jokingly at his victory.

"Why'd you kidnap me this time?", you asked once you turned around to face him.

He shrugged, "I dunno. Company? Take us to my floor. I have some ramen and beer stashed away in the dressing room," he coerced, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"You're bribing me with food again," you noted, crossing your arms as you pretended to mull it over.

"Well, it appears like that's the only way to get you to hang out with me," he booped your nose, giggling when you scowled at him.

"You have that hard of a time getting girls to give you attention?"

"Hah," he exclaimed, "Girls love me. Not my fault the one I'm into needs to be coerced into spending time with me," he said as the most casual statement uttered by man.

He appeared entirely unaffected by his statement, as if this was not news to you. His flirting had gotten more and more blatant throughout the short time you'd known him, but he had never professed his affections so blatantly. It made sense for him to be so forward now that he had shown everyone his clear interest in you, but having the words said to your face still made you lose your breath for a short moment.

"Ah, speechless, huh?", he grinned, "You can't tell me this comes as a surprise to you," he tilted his head to the side in curiosity, "You're a smart girl, c'mon," he took a few short steps to you, hand coming to push your hair out of your face as you continued to stare at him with a semi-shocked look in your face.

Still inside a closed, yet unmoving elevator, you smacked his hand away in a friendly yet bratty matter, making him chuckle, "Stop, you're gonna get me in trouble," you complained.

Stepping even closer to you, he backed you against a wall, the grin on his face never leaving him. Meanwhile, your brain was overriding itself in figuring out how to react. You let him back you against the wall whilst his hands remained to his sides, not actually caging you and allowing you escape if you really wished for it. Leaning down a bit, he stood face to face with you, once again pushing your hair out of your face before running a lone finger down your cheek as he pouted down at you, cooing in a way some may read as condescending, but actually loving coming from someone like Jeonghan.

"You know that if you actually tell me to fuck off, I will, right?" he muttered, eyes fluttering for the first time ever. His eye contact was usually unmatched, but this time his eyes seemed to begin getting hooded; likely due to the proximity of your faces.

"Yes," you nodded quietly, breath caught in your throat.

"And you know if you stop me right now, I won't go through with this, right?", he followed up, face somehow even closer.

"Uh-huh," you nodded again, eyes matching his own hooded ones.

Nodding to himself, he grinned for a split second before closing the gap, soft and slow in his movements as he pressed his lips to your awaiting ones. The kiss was a mere peck at first, lacking any fluidity or movement. It took your reciprocation for it to become something more, as Jeonghan waited for your arms to make their way to his flat chest before he finally put his hands on you, wrapping them around your waist and pulling you to him.

Finally, his lips moved, opening and wrapping around yours, tongue entering your mouth and coaxing yours to play with his own. Soft yet high sighs left his lips as he hummed into your mouth, kissing you in a way far too sensual for an elevator located in your shared workplace.

A large hand went up to your cheek, holding it delicately as he tilted your face upwards in order to gain optimal access to your mouth. Similarly, your hands traveled north, finding their way to his long hair and pulling at it every time he did something particularly enticing with his tongue. Without your hands on his chest, the empty space between you was reduced when he pulled you closer in order to press your chests together, sighing when he felt your hardened nipples through your lack of bra.

Before it could go too far, however, the menace of a man decided to pull away, chuckling when you followed his lips, still in the daze he'd put you in.

"You didn't push me away," he whispered with a breathy laugh, thumb playing with your bottom lip up until you childishly nibbled at it, getting a 'Yah!' from him and another laugh.

"Count your blessings, I still could," you challenged, knowing you did not mean it at all.

"Are you sure?", he leaned close once more, "So you don't want me to do this again?" he murmured as he lightly pressed his lips to yours again, immediately putting you in another daze.

He pulled away even quicker this time around, laughing at the defeated look on your face at your lack of ability to staying true to your word when it concerned him.

"That's what I thought," chuckled Jeonghan, finally putting some decent space between you, "So, ramen and beer?", he asked, holding his hand up as an offer for you to hold it, humming with a smile when you grabbed it and intertwined your fingers.

"Ramen and beer," you agreed, unable to hold back a smile as you stood side by side once again.

"Ever gonna let me take you on a date outside of this place?", asked Jeonghan a few days after that day in the elevator.

No more kissing had occurred between the two of you, though hand holding remained pretty present in your relationship — though that was a strong word to use. His flirting continued to get worse, and so did the attention he gave you around staff and other idols, but he had not kissed you again nor had he done anything you'd expect from someone who had been quite adamant about his intentions with you.

You hadn't questioned it, simply enjoying it when he did things slightly out of your comfort zone in order to demonstrate his interest. Could you be blamed? It was The Yoon Jeonghan who was after you, after all.

But a few days had been more than enough to drive you up a wall.

Spending almost every day in that elevator with him, at such close proximity, — pondering about when the next kiss would be — was driving you insane. It was obvious to you by now that he wanted you to make the first move when it came to that area of your relationship. As far as he was concerned, he'd simply continue to buy you meals and take up your time (and mind) as much as possible.

This was why you completely ignored his initial question and rebutted with your own.

"Date? When are you going to explain that kiss?," you practically defied him, staring him down as he gave you one of his usual satisfied smiles.

"Explain it? I wanted to kiss you, so I did," he shrugged, popping a grape into his mouth before mouth-feeding you one, "If you want more of that, you're going to have to let me take you on a date."

"Jeonghan," you began, "You know we can't do anything outside these walls. If we get spotted, we're fucked," you stated the obvious.

"C'mon, just let me make you dinner in my apartment. I'll even kick Seungkwan out so we can have some privacy," he smirked, hand reaching out to yours in order to try and entice you further.

"Are you propositioning yourself to me?", you smiled at him, mouth open and tongue touching the roof of your mouth in amusement.

"Good, you're catching on," he smirked to himself, taking a short pause to cough as a way to clear his throat, shaking his head and trying again, "I meant as a date. I'm not that crude."

You sighed again, "Fine," you began, rolling your eyes at the way his face suddenly lit up, "but you have to actually make me dinner. If I show up and there's no candlelit dinner on your table, I'm leaving," you threatened jokingly, unable to picture Jeonghan hosting a date so fancy. He pegged you more as the casual date type of guy.

"Candlelit? I can work with that. Wear something pretty for me then," he added as a condition, poking you with his chopstick to emphasize his point, "If I'm making a fancy dinner, then we need to look the part.

"Okay, then wear something other than sweats. I swear I've never seen you wear anything that's not three times your size," you pointed out his usual fashion style, even referring to this moment in which he was wearing an oversized shirt and oversized sweats to match.

"I'll dress up for you, baby, no need to beg," his lips drew up into a smirk that seemed to never leave his lips for too long, putting down his chopsticks in favor of offering you his pinky, "I'll have my driver take us tomorrow after you're done at the company," he said as you linked fingers, pressing his thumb against your own.

"You better not ruin my career, Yoon Jeonghan," left your mouth, though with mere entertainment in your tone.

~

"God, you took it really seriously, didn't you?" you gaped at the dapper Yoon Jeonghan standing in front of you, holding the door open as he reached for your hand in order to let you in.

At the end of the day, your plan had changed a bit, deciding that Jeonghan needed some extra time to get the meal and himself ready for you, and that he wanted you to have time to 'doll yourself up for him' (his words, not yours). And so you went home the following day, took an embarrassing three hours to dress up as pretty as you could — as that strange feminine urge to groom yourself to perfection took over — and had your driver drop you off at the luxury apartment you knew Jeonghan and Seungkwan shared at around 8pm.

The first thing that welcomed you into his home was Jeonghan himself, except he looked very different. You had seen pictures and videos of him dressed to the nines for music videos, awards shows, you name it, but you had never seen the man so insanely put together in the flesh until this moment. Yoon Jeonghan was always a sight to behold, no matter if he was makeup-less and donning a messing man-bun, but the sight in front of you left your mouth agape. He had decided to go for a three-piece suit (too fancy for your taste, but that was likely his intent), chuckling when you rolled your eyes at the bowtie. His makeup was done and his hair beautifully styled. The jury was out on who had out-dressed the other (though it was likely it was Jeonghan).

"Okay, so no bowtie?", he giggled as he closed the door behind you, ripping it off with an ease that was only achievable due to the fact that it was apparently a clip-in and not a real bowtie. As per usual, this caused you to laugh, achieving the goal of its presence.

His hand made its way to your lower back, leading you further into his house as he walked you. It took him an appalling thirty seconds to move closer to you and whisper in your ear how beautiful you looked, granting you a moment of full sincerity with zero banter behind it.

You'd chosen to don a red slip dress, with a red lip and winged eyeliner to match. It wasn't too elegant of a look, but it was perfect for either a candlelit dinner or a night clubbing; you went for versatility, unsure of Jeonghan's unpredictable behavior.

Before you could thank him or blush at his comment, you'd completed the short distance to his dining room that had been just one room away from the entrance. The sight made any other reaction from his compliment leave you, distracting you completely.

It wasn't too elegant nor abnormal for a candlelit dinner, but it still surprised you that Jeonghan had actually followed along with what you'd meant as simple banter — he had actually cooked you and amazing-smelling dinner and lit a few candles throughout the room.

"Dude, this is too much," you gaped, turning back to him, only to be trapped by his arms wrapping around your waist. There was a pleased smile on his face at your astonished reaction.

"You challenged me," he said, eyes squinting at you, "You know better than to challenge me," it was said in a serious tone, though fully in jest, "Can I tell you that you look beautiful again, or would that be cheesy?"

"You can say it as many times as you want," you gave into him, wrapping your hands behind his neck, pulling him a little lower in your direction. He accepted this with no complaint, intertwining his own hands around the small of your back.

"God, stop looking at me like that," he groaned at the smile you were giving him as you looked up at him, his hands continuing to run up and down the small of your back, clearly picking it as a favorite part of your body at the moment.

"Why? What are you gonna do about it?", you challenged him.

"It might've taken me two hours and one extinguisher to cook that dinner, but I'd be willing to let it go to waste," he warned, front teeth digging into the plush of his bottom lip as he stared you down with defiance in his eyes.

You pouted petulantly at him, giving in to his banter for the nth time, "Oh, so you really were propositioning yourself to me the other day, huh?", you cocked your head to the side, raising your brows in challenging manner, "I thought this was meant to be a date and nothing more?"

His hands tightened around you, pulling you close enough for your chests to rub together, huffing out an annoyed breath, "Believe it or not, I don't have enough ingenious in me to keep this conversation going forever. Are you going to let me kiss you or are you going to force us through a subpar dinner I burnt three separate times?", he whined, chuckling halfway through when you giggled at his statement.

"I'm not stopping you," you murmured, leaning up and rubbing your nose against his own as if to dare him to take action.

Never a man to back away from a challenge, Jeonghan's speech ended there, closing the gap between you as his lips landed on your own with a mixture of sensuality and roughness. Loyal to their fidgeting habits, his hands remained on your hips, fingers squeezing the plush there every so often as you let out tiny breaths into his mouth.

It was embarrassing to count the times you'd thought about kissing him ever since that first time, having it invade your mind more often than not in the short period of time between then and now. The soft sounds he'd made into your mouth and the touches of his hands had been imprinted in you, making you silently and pathetically yearn for more as he continued his usual flirtations. Finally arriving at a point where he finally had you completely alone and with no distance imaginable, you let yourself go into the kiss, hoping it would go further than last time. The circumstances were more than agreeable this time around, anyway.

Seemingly, Jeonghan agreed with your silent pleas, slowly walking you over to the couch located somewhere in the large combination of dining room and living room inside his apartment. No words were exchanged, as they would've interrupted the consistent locking of lips, but your gasp was still registered by him when you suddenly felt yourself dip and be manhandled into lying horizontally on the couch.

Now lying down, it was easy for Jeonghan to truly invade all your senses. Still fully clothed, he laid on top of you, knees settling on both sides of your hips as to not lay his entire weight on you. The locking of lips did not seize, continuing as you pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt. The cocky man chuckled into your mouth at how insistent you seemed in kissing him, but that was the least of your worries at the moment. He had opted for close-mouthed kisses, making you groan at every silent denial for you to deepen the kiss.

"Stop being a little shit," you groaned when he refused to let your tongue enter his mouth for the nth time.

"You want me sooo bad," he grinned, kissing at your cheek as your eyes rolled once more.

"Are you going to be this annoying when you're inside me?," your head turned to the side, making you be the one to avoid his kisses this time around, but that didn't bode well for the boy.

"Yah," he whined, "It's not fun when you do it. Just let me kiss you," he slurred, repositioning himself slightly to let his hips find the height of your own, finally kissing you how you'd been wanting. He disconnected his lips momentarily just a few seconds after, pushing his hips against yours decidedly, "And, for the record, I'll be everything but annoying while I'm fucking you," he murmured as his last words.

That's when his kiss became intense and decided, exploring every inch of your mouth while his hips chased your own with a passion you did not believe Jeonghan could possess. He'd always seemed like the lazier of his members, like he'd he the type to lay back and unbuckle his pants for whoever was lucky enough to get him in bed. However, he had proved to you time and time again that he was actively interested in pursuing you — especially now as he held onto your legs, wrapping them around his waist to ensure his hardness could hit perfectly against the very thin cloth of the panties under your ridden up dress.

"Fuck, you already feel so good," he rasped, lips finding your neck, "Take this pretty dress off for me, yeah?", he nudged at the strap of your dress with his nose, kissing the bare skin he found there.

With only a nod and a whine from you, he got to business, hands reaching behind your back as you arched it to grant him access, blindly unzipping it and lowering the straps from your arms whilst still laying down. An uncharacteristically low groan left him upon discovering your lack of bra, making him look to you with a pained look in his eye before dipping down to kiss at your breasts.

Nimble fingers graced the length of your arms, creating goosebumps in their wake as they one of them reached your breast while the other squeezed at your hip intermittently. One of your breasts was trapped by his hand, the nipple tortured by his thumb while your other breast suffered through licks and nips from his mouth. Heavy sighs were breathed out against your tit m, mixed with the occasional groan as his hips continued canting onto your own. Your dress was uncomfortably bunching at your middle, but it remained in the back of your mind as Jeonghan occupied the rest of it.

It didn't take long for you to grow frustrated at the lack of nudity demonstrated by the man on top of you. Your hands mindlessly pulled at his suit jacket and began pulling it off, only getting it down to his elbows due to his lack of aid in removing it. Next was his button-up, which you fully unbuttoned as his lips came back up to your own, chuckling at your insistence. Once almost undressing him, he finally disconnected your lips, hastily throwing off his top and unbuttoning his pants. He looked down at you with heavy lids as he pulled his pants low enough to uncover his thighs and remain in nothing but his boxers. Next came your panties, which he slowly traced his the tips of his fingers, toying at your puffy cunt through the fabric long enough for you to release a few tortured whines.

"Jeonghan!", you scolded, getting a snicker from him before he actually aided you in the removal of your panties. Lifting your hips, you silently instructed him to throw off your dress the rest of the way, now fully nude under him.

The last piece of clothing separating you were his boxers, much to your despair. Your ached to reach up to a kneeling Jeonghan who continued to stand almost completely still above you, hand pressing at his cock through the cloth as he peered at you as if he wanted to swallow you whole.

"Are you going to do anything?", you complained from under him, hands attempting to reach his cock but being prevented by him, too occupied in taking you in to allow you to touch him.

"I'm enjoying the sight," he hummed, eyes taking turns between your open legs, damp breasts and desperate eyes, "God, I don't even know where to start," he groaned, sounding genuinely pained.

Pained? You could work with that. Maybe this was your turn to tease him as he always did ti you.

Sitting up as best you could whilst under him, you reached up to him, running your hands from his pelvis to his chest, fingers shyly pinching at his nipples. Your mouth found his neck, licking its way to his ear to nibble at the lobe. Within seconds Jeonghan was putty under you, with one of his hands wrapping around you to pull you closer. You kissed sensually at his ear, whispering unspeakable filth into it that had him groaning. Tilting your head to the side, you took a peak at his face. He had a satisfied yet pained look painting his pretty features. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth agape, hiccuping a groan at your words.

"Should've known you were filthy," he grunted, burying his face in your neck, helping you back into your lying position so he could truly bury himself in you, "It's in your eyes ... Always looked at me like you wanted me to take you right in that elevator," he added, hands coming down to messily rid himself of his boxers.

His hips were leveled with your own, almost touching your cunt but not just yet. Without thinking, you canted your hips upward, managing to get his hardness to grace at your cunt just perfectly. This drew a matching groan from both your lips, making Jeonghan cough halfway through his dirty talk.

"Oh, you're that desperate? Okay, pretty, I'll fuck you. Don't need to beg me so much," he mocked, positioning himself to finally enter you, but unable to help himself in teasing your clit with his tip for a few moments in order to draw just a couple more cries from you. With a chuckle, he finally began entering you, gasping a silent groan at the feeling of finally being enveloped by you.

"God," he grumbled, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure, "Tell me when I can move," he practically pleaded.

"Just move," you whined, "It's already good."

Your green light was all he needed to begin pumping in and out of you, gasping out praise every so often. His hands remained on your hips, squeezing at the skin whenever it felt extra good to fuck into you. Clammy skin and lewd sounds of slapping took up all your senses, making you almost miss Jeonghan's words as he began low rambles into your ear.

"Do you even know how long I've wanted you?", he started, breath heavy against your ear, making you want to bury yourself in his skin, "Always wanted to talk to you, but- fuck- but the guys told me I shouldn't as- as your senior," he stuttered in between groans, "But I couldn't let my chance pass when you helped me that day ... We just clicked," he confessed, groaning loudly when you tightened at his unexpected confession.

"Han ...", you sighed, gripping his shoulders as if your life depended on it, "I, fuck, really?"

He nodded against you, kissing the skin he could reach, "I like you so much, you have no idea," he continued, speeding up his hips, "Tell me you like me back," he whined with a bit of humor in his voice. It was impossible for him to let things become too serious for too long — something you really liked about him.

"I like you, Hannie," you humored him, using the nickname he'd asked you to use all those weeks ago, giggling in between sighs of pleasures when he groaned at it.

"Don't call me that right now, you're so mean," he whined, biting lightly at your skin in defiance, "I'm trying to make this fun for you."

"Then keep fucking me," you insisted, "Hannie," you couldn't help but add with a girlish and exaggerated moan.

"You're provoking me? Really? Again? Okay, brat," he huffed, hands finding the back of your legs to wrap them higher on his waist, ensuring his cock could now piston in and out of you in a way that had your eyes rolling back.

Despite his lazy persona, he was a beast as he fucked you, specially after you'd invoked that bratty side of him that couldn't allow you to out-brat him. It was toe-curling to think about how having you under him provoked this side of him to come out; the side that made him lose all inhibitions and break him down to his most animalistic desires as he fucked you. Any lack of energy was replaced by a stamina that made the slapping of skin so embarrassingly loud you couldn't help but blush. That, combined with his nonexistent shyness in letting out every moan threatening to leave his lips made it the most pleasurable experience for you.

"Sound so pretty ... You're driving me crazy," he grunted in a pained chuckle, "Gonna make me cum ... Fuck, come with me? Yeah, pretty? Need to feel you cum around me before I fill you up," he rambled, hand suddenly sneaking between your bodies and attacking your clit without any warning. You could no longer banter with him, too drunk on the feeling to vocalize anything other than mewls of pleasure.

Jeonghan's hips combined with the feeling of his fingers assaulting your clit were all you needed to lose yourself to your orgasm, almost dragging him down with you as you tightened around him.

"F-fuck, you're cumming? Is it that good, baby? Shit, took it so good for me, hmm?", he continued talking you through it, humming back a groan when you tightened just enough for him to reach his own high, "O-oh, God ... C-cumming, shit. Where?", he was frantic in asking, his gigantic eyes growing two times bigger as he looked to yours for guidance, eyebrows furrowing further at every passing second his orgasm threatened to take him down.

"Inside, H-hannie," you sighed out, mellowing out from your former orgasm. Another whine exited your lips at the breathiest cry leaving the pretty boy above you, whining out desperate praise at the privilege it was to cum inside you. It was likely Jeonghan knew about the birth control idols were usually put under, but his reaction told you he was appreciative nonetheless.

"So fucking good .... God, you're so good, so pretty, so perfect," the praise was endless, making you want to be the sole cause of his pleasure until the end of time.

Once finally emptied out, his energetic persona died out quite quickly, instantly morphing himself to your side as he nudged you aside to make space for him on the couch. Being large enough to fit you both, you snuggled together, Jeonghan nuzzling that pointy nose into your hair as you two regained consciousness. It was amusing how easily he morphed into his usual touchy and lazy persona just seconds after fucking you an inch of your life.

"Hmph," he hummed into your skin, nuzzling so much it seemed he was trying to enter your skin, "You're soft after sex, y'know that?", he thought out loud, leaving mindless kisses behind.

"You're so weird," you huffed, jokingly pushing him away but adoring the warmth that pooled in your heart at his whine in complaint, accompanied by him pulling you even closer.

"Yeah, but you like me weird," he reminded you.

You allowed a beat or two of silence to consume you before turning further toward his side, cuddling into him in as the comfort between lovers after sex invaded the room.

"Did you mean what you said?"

He hummed questioningly, too lost in the comfort to think back to what you meant.

"Did you like me before we met in that elevator?", your voice was meek, reminiscent of those mere five minutes of shyness you felt when you first met Jeonghan, soon overtaken by the natural comfort his presence brought upon such a short time.

"Yeah," he stated simply, "Seungkwan sent me a video of your group covering one of our songs in your debut showcase and I thought you were cute," he chuckled fondly at the memory, "Then I saw you at the company a few times and thought you were the cutest thing," he booped your nose annoyingly, "I wasn't planning on doing anything about it, but like I said, we clicked. You looked shy, but the moment I spoke to you, you were fed up of my shit. I liked that about you," he hummed.

You couldn't help laughing at that, "You liked me because I was rude to you?"

"I mean, it's not often that my juniors speak to me like that. It's always so formal," he blegh'd in an exaggerated manner, "I can't really explained it. It was just a gut feeling, y'know?"

You thought back to how comfortable you felt in his presence that first day, nodding in agreement, "Yeah, I know," you smiled as you reached over to find his lips, pecking them sweetly.

"Dinner's probably gone bad by now, by the way," he spoke up after the kiss, guiding your hand to his head for self-indulgent scratches.

"You didn't actually invite me over to have dinner," you reminded him humorously.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I didn't."

to read short 2.4k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my svt monthly tier on patreon!

content: smut, afab reader, lots of banter with the rest of seventeen, jeonghan is bullied by you and his members, mentions of oppa (only once and in a teasing way), small age gap, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1004 (teaser); 2484 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"You're going to get me in so much tro- Stop!", you couldn't help the girlish squeal that left your mouth at Jeonghan's careless roughhousing.

His hands wouldn't leave your waist, glued to the dip of your waist as he followed you around Seventeen's floor as you attempted to leave.

After the ruse to keep you around for his elevator rides died down, now becoming Jeonghan's official girlfriend (his words), the menacing boy continued to play dumb, insisting that there was just no one else he entrusted with the task of helping him up and down the elevator. It was a dumb inside joke between you, but it made your insides giggle like a madwoman every time you thought about his insistence to keep you around as much as humanly possible, even now as you engaged in a formal and exclusive relationship.

Hanging out with him in the comfort of your group's floor was fine. Your group was a mere few months old, meaning there wasn't too much traffic from other groups or any outsiders there. However, the halls of Seventeen's floor always made you nervous. You always insisted on being behind closed doors when it came to Jeonghan's floor, knowing that Seventeen were incredibly popular, which resulted in their floor of the building being far more trafficked than your own.

As far as you were aware, only your respective groups, managers, and a few staff members were aware of your relationship. Many simply assumed there was something going on, but due to any lack of announcement of your relationship, there was no way to confirm it. That, and the many people who ended up shipping you after the release of Hybe's Game Caterers due to how insistent on sticking by your side Jeonghan had been during recording (damn you, Yoon Jeonghan).

"Bunny, c'mon," he whined, nuzzling his head in your neck as you continued to walk down the hallway, attempting to reach their practice room, "What's the point in dating if I can't even enjoy you at work?", he protested, feet bumping into yours due to the continuous proximity between your bodies.

"Han, if someone catches us-"

"I don't care. You know that," his touches finally halted as soon as you made it to the door, holding it open for you in a classic act of gallantry often displayed by him. It was always unspoken and casual, but you came to learn that Jeonghan was naturally caring for those around him, especially you. Doors were opened, oranges peeled, laces tied, you name it.

"Sure, you don't care," you started, crossing the small dressing room that connected the hallway and the practice room, Jeonghan behind you, "You're like fifty, you've been in the industry forever now. A measly dating rumor with your junior would do nothing to your career. I'd get accused of sleeping my way up and fuck everything up for my members," you argued back, not seriously mad nor argumentative, just continuing the thread of conversation.

Finally in the practice room, Jeonghan gaped at you, amused yet offended, "Fifty?", he gasped, getting the attention of a fellow Boo Seungkwan and Lee Chan who just so happened to be sitting by nearby, "You're calling me old? I'm 28!," he insisted, whining at you and pulling at your arm as a child would.

Feigning annoyance, you held in your laugh at his childishness, knowing that this was always the result any time you attempted to tease him back. Before you could retaliate again, you were interrupted by the other men present in the room, having interrupted whatever conversation they were having with Jeonghan's loudness.

"You're the most lethargic man I know," said Chan with complete seriousness in his face, causing Seungkwan to burst laughing.

Dokyeom seemingly compartmentalized out of nowhere, also joining in as he crossed the door you'd just come in from, close enough to have heard the conversation, "Cradle robber," he teased as he walked by, sticking out his tongue at Jeonghan as the elder did it first.

Jeonghan gaped at all four of you, exasperated in his response, "We're like five years apart!," he whined in reference to your age difference, "If I'm lethargic, then what are you?", he yelled, pointing at Seokmin who had already walked away, still grinning in satisfaction at Jeonghan from his side of the room, beginning to join other members in their stretching.

Laughing throughout it all, you relished on Jeonghan's members ganging up on him, knowing it was usually him who teased the others. Ever since your relationship had become official, you spent more and more time around his groupmates — groupmates who found great enjoyment in teasing him over your relationship. You were never the butt of the joke. On the contrary, they'd encourage you to join in, knowing you were Jeonghan's one and only weakness.

Suddenly, Jeonghan turned to you, annoyed scowl on his face, "You! You don't get to join in and mock me. They're insulting your boyfriend, defend me!", he demanded, pouts and whines never leaving him.

You huffed, "Why should I defend you? I'm your junior, oppa," you used that term very strategically, only ever saving it to tease him or make him embarrassed in front of whoever was around.

Seungkwan all but cackled at the way Jeonghan stopped his annoyed rambling with a swiftness, gaping at you with his eyebrows all the way to his hairline. His mouth opened and closed, likely pondering a comeback for you. Within the short time you'd dated, Jeonghan's insistence that you call him by the correct honorific only got worse, but your denials remained. You calling him oppa at this moment meant only one thing to him: You wanted war.

Without further words, he grabbed you by the wrist, ignoring your surprised yelp as he pulled you with him towards the door you'd barely crossed mere minutes ago. Not really fighting him, you stumbled as you trailed behind him, waving a quick bye to his friends while Seungkwan whined at Jeonghan for his sudden exit.

...

find the 18+ continuation on patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

Artbook collection Master-post

Dorohedoro MUD AND SLUDGE + Dorohedoro Sketch Book 'Day Dream Hour' Artbooks 1-5 by Ryōko Kui (Dungeon Meshi) Delicious in Dungeon Adventurer's Bible world guide

Witch Hat Atelier Special Edition Volume 02 + 06 Artbooks Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou - Book of Paintings + Postcard Book "BLAME! and so on" Artbook

The Art of Ponyo The Art of The Wind Rises The Art of Kiki's Delivery Service

The Art of Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind Miyazaki Moebius exhibition catalog The Art of Moebius

"Der Mond" Neon Genesis Evangelion Artbook "EYES ONLY" SPY×FAMILY Official Fanbook The Art of Fullmetal Alchemist 1 + 2

Elden Ring Art Book Volume 1 + 2 Dark Souls 1-3 Design Works Bloodborne Official Artworks

SEKIRO - SHADOWS DIE TWICE Official Artworks Grimoire Nier + NieR Art – Kazuma Koda Art Collection

The art of Alice Madness Returns SCORN The art of the Game The FLCL Archives

The Art of Metal Gear Solid I - IV - Gallery Works and Studio Works Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse -The Art of the Movie Spider-Man Across the Spider-Verse The Art of the Movie

The Artwork of Berserk Alphonse Mucha's "Figures Decoratives" AKIRA Club

The art of Nimona

Here's a link to the entire collection, in case any of the individual links are broken.

This post will also be edited as more Artbooks are added, check this link for the up-to-date version.

He's a feral child and I love him for that

So I did like three more headshots cuz I got sidetracked during a comm Anywaysssss

Presenting Malachi first :33 my beautiful lovely baby boy who is most definitely the prettiest boy in the village. Definitely would be more of a heartbreaker if like. He didn’t accidentally speak like Phoenix Drop’s equivalent of a medieval poet trying to converse with like modern day folks.

Also I gave him a bandana because everyone and their mother has a green scarf and it gets far too confusing and aggravating after awhile

Erm next is Molly :33 I do have a Molly design page I never shared and I won’t ever share cuz I never finished it ♡ anyways to me she definitely is like a waitress/head lady at a tavern with an inn on the second floor in Phoenix Drop, at least I believe she met Dale there and sparks flew between the two or something. Idk I like drawing her holding two big glasses of beer and having some level of charisma even if she’s like overbearing and shit outside of work.

And lastly Yip :3 tbh I looked at my whole doodle sheet and realized I accidentally like drew blondes vs brunettes so I ended it off with yip even tho he technically has black hair and not brown hair I like to think he has a pretty ample amount of body hair and thick wavy hair from the werewolf genes and also just cuz he’s gorgeous or whatever. The town’s big brother and I don’t really remember much sorryyyyy lol

I also think he has sharpened and slightly elongated ears but not in the way elves/half elves do but more of a weird shape idk I’ll draw it better later just guess for now

Oh and like one final thing I accidentally mistook Alexis for having a crush on Malachi and not Yip so I drew this to show how he just effortlessly sparkles before Cal told me I was wrong <\3

My beautiful boy with gorgeous lashes and droopy sparkly eyes or whatever. I would’ve drawn him with his hair tied but he would’ve looked too much like vylad to me and I would’ve gotten mad so unpractical hair it is!!!

Ehe thats all for today and probably the next couple of weeks so toodles ☆

Don't know where else to put this but I just realized that Trish is the only woman in all of Vento Aureo outside of backstory moms.

araki why

Omg totally agreed! I really wish Part 5 had more female characters. Actually when I first read the manga, I thought Narancia was a girl all the way until near the end, and was very confused when they were using "he/him" pronouns out of nowhere LOL.

In general I think Araki's biggest weakness as a writer (especially early on) is how he treats female characters. He's gotten WAYYY better at it over time (especially with Part 8, Yasuho is one of the most complex and interesting characters in the entire series). But in earlier stuff (Parts 1-5) it's a bit rough. Glad he's gotten much better though.

I talked about it a short bit in my Jojo Iceberg series, but Araki initially wanted Giorno to be female, but people he worked with dissuaded him away from that idea. Apparently Araki consistently made jokes about having Giorno being revealed to be a girl the whole time in a "big twist", but again, never did so.

Eventually we got Jolyne, which is great but man. How crazy would it have been if Giorno was actually a female character (especially at the time). Fem Giorno being the child of Dio AND a main character of a Shonen series at the time would have been insanely cool.

Hey there! So I've been wondering: is there any actual significance to Giorno's name sounding rather feminine, something which is pointed out more than once by Koichi in the early chapters of Part 5? (Also, how does 'Haruno' sound anything like 'Giorno', even in the Italian pronunciation? 'Shiobana' and 'Giovanna', I can see - the 'jo' in Jotaro's name can even be read as 'sho' - but the only thing 'Haruno' and 'Giorno' seem to have in common is that they both end in 'no'.)

Giorno’s Japanese name, Haruno Shiobana is written like this: 汐華 初流乃. Kanji can have multiple readings in Japanese, called the on and kun readings (with some kanji having a third reading when applied to names). The usual reading of the first kanji of Giorno’s name (初) is usually “ha”, but in its less common on reading, it’s read as “sho”. Haruno Shiobana then becomes Shoruno Shiobana. 

Shoruno Shiobana –> Joruno Jobaana

Or if we write it in katakana:

ショルノ シオバナ –> ジョルノ ジョバァーナ

In Japanese both sounds are incredibly similar. Hence Koichi’s realization that Haruno was in fact Giorno: he just read the kanji of his name with their secondary pronounciation.

As an aside, when I heard Giorno’s Japanese name, without seeing the kanji, by the sound of them alone I thought his name would mean something like “salt flower of spring”, but looking at the kanji used in his name it means something more like “(he who is) born from the first tide” (if you try to tie the meaning of all the kanji into a coherent sentence), which given the fact that Dio emerged from the sea I find quite appropriate.

Koichi points out that Giorno’s birth name “sounds like a girl’s but he’s a boy” once, when looking at Giorno’s picture given to him by Jotaro; and even after his change of name, that part of femininity subsists in his surname “Giovanna” (which is a first name rather than a last name, and is the feminine counterpart of the name Giovanni)

Now I’m not saying this is 100% what Araki meant to do, but it is my interpretation of it. Araki is a pretty big fan of Italian culture, and of the Renaissance period. I remember an interview where he mentioned he took inspiration from elements of Michelangelo’s David to design Giorno - his donuts were always stylized tight curls to me (something I believe is even more apparent now with the introduction of this massive cutie in Jojolion). In the JOJOmenon artbook there was a small article explaining how a lot of Giorno’s imagery and poses for his illustrations were inspired by themes from the myths of Eros and Apollo (respectively the gods of love and of light - both described as being exceedingly beautiful in many stories. A lot of Japanese fans picked up on it because they chose this illustration to accompany a text explaining how Giorno was essentially love and light incarnate). With so many direct references to mythology, I think Giorno’s name (both in Japanese and in Italian) is another slightly more discreet one.

I mentioned up there that when you try to form a sentence out of Haruno’s name meaning, it gives you something like “born from the first tide”. There is actually another divinity who is also known for being beautiful enough to cause wars and who was also, very literally born from the sea: Aphrodite. Because at this point Araki is basically hitting the reader over the head with a mythology book while saying “Giorno. Is. Beautiful!!!” Just like Dio, whose beauty was also emphasized. They’re both quite literally super-humanly attractive, although one of them because he’s a monster whose lore focuses on the seduction of unwitting victims while the other is seen as something more godly, even if ultimately both of them use their charm to seduce people into joining their causes. 

So I personally think that is why Koichi makes that small comment about Giorno’s name being girly. The reference to Aphrodite is certainly not an obvious one, and hell, maybe Araki didn’t even mean to make it, but it ends up being yet another way in which you can effectively compare Giorno and Dio, and see how similar yet different they are at a glance.

i think mista would be trish's biggest fan post-gw