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ittybittyfanblog · 24 days ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry. (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment.

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream.

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off.

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black.

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications.

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending.

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts.

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

… You cave on the fifth day.

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment]

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours.

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me.

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word.

Dont shut me out.

Please.

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams.

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them.

You set your phone down.

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops.

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered.

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb.

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling.

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out.

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space.

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then.

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll.

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will.

––––

“Hey, you okay?”

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.”

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Anytime, darling.

I mean it.

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?”

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store.

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath.

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent.

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain.

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor.

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back.

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most.

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make.

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes.

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button.

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless.

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision.

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized.

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing.

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does.

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope?

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far.

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin.

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red.

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark.

And unread mail. So much unread mail.

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you.

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you.

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being.

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps.

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red.

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues:

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating.

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you?

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break.

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you.

You’re afraid of what’ll come next.

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him.

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you.

As if he’d allow such a thing.

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

…

And just like that, he concedes.

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other.

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even.

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?”

“Of course.” Whatever you want.

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head.

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound.

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him.

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other.

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact.

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched.

“My lo—”

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.”

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt.

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?”

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?”

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine.

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily.

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke.

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption.

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks.

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling.

I love you.

I love you in ways that consume me.

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you.

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.”

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop.

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading.

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone.

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.”

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise.

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?”

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did.

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his.

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time.

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent.

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating.

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you.

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours.

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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arc-misadventures · 2 months ago

Note

Hey I have an idea for an AU I saw on YouTube a Guardian Beast au do you think you can pull this off

Lord of Beasts

Ozpin: Alright students... You are the lucky few who have been granted the powers of a, Spiritual Beast. Now, you've all come here to learn to control your powers. An untrained, Spiritual Beast Master can be a danger both to themselves, and others. So before we begin your lessons, please show us your, Spiritual Beast's.

Jaune: W-Wait... w-w-we gotta show our beasts...?! Why?!

Glynda: It is best if we know what your, Spiritual Beasts are so we may best help you learn to master their powers. Some, Spiritual Beasts require more precise training to master. As well we will know what dangerous those particular beast may entail.

Jaune: But, do we have to show you who they are...? I-I mean you know I have spiritual powers, why do I have to show you any more than that?

Glynda: For ours, and more importantly your safety, Mr. Arc. We need to prepare for whatever incidents may occur because of your, Spiritual Beasts powers.

Jaune: Curse you, and your sound, logical reasoning...

Ozpin: Alright, let us begin then... Ruby Rose?

Ruby: Sir!

Ozpin: Will you please summon your, Beast please?

Ruby: Okay!

Ruby put her hands together as a swirl of black clouds whirled around her, before she thrust them forward, a shouted her, Beasts name.

Ruby: Zwei! I summon you!

From within her shadow emerged a beast before darting around, Ruby, and appearing in front of her. What appeared was a silver, black wolf, who barked at the ensembled teachers.

Oobaleck: A Shadow Wolf? Impressive, Miss Rose.

Port: Ahh yes, we will have to teacher her all about shadow, and wind magic then. This shall be most exciting!

Ozpin: Well done, Miss. Rose. Now then, Miss Xiao Long?

Yang: On it!

Yang did the same as her little sister, and held out her hands, but instead of a black mist red flames flying in the wind swirled around her. She pushed her hands out, and shouted:

Yang: Come forth: Ember Celica!

A plume of fire appeared before, Yang, that flew up in the air, before a bird of fire landed on her out stretched arm.

Glynda: A phoenix... no, an, Eternal Flame Phoenix!

Ozpin: It's rare to see such a bird, since they are so passionate, and noble they rarely choose a master. Well done, Miss Xiao Long.

Yang: Thank you, Sir!

Ozpin: Alright, on to the next...

~~~

Port: I must say we, have a most promising crop of, Spiritual Masters this year!

Peach: I must agree! We have a vast array of magic to be taught this year! I am especially looking forward to all the healing, Spiritual Beasts, and their masters I must teach this year.

Glynda: Yes, I am looking forward to teaching, Miss Schnee's, Nine Tail Fox, and Ms. Nikos's, Spiritual Dragon.

Port: I am looking forward to teaching, Miss Valkyrie's on how best to use the powers of her, Thunder Lion. Will you be teaching, Mr. Ren's, Shadow Tail Fox, and Miss. Belladonna's, Shadow Jaguar?

Oobaleck: Yes. As well as, Miss Rose's, Shadow Wolf.

Ozpin: Yes, this is looking to be a most promising year. But, before we start making schedules on these students lessons we have one more student to evaluate. So, then.. Mr. Arc?

Jaune: Y-Yes...?

Ozpin: Can you show us your, Spiritual Beast?

Jaune: Uhhh...?

Jaune looked over to the side, and then back to the, Headmaster Ozpin.

Jaune: No...?

Ozpin: Are... are you refusing to show us your, Spiritual Beast?

Jaune: Yes...?

Ozpin: You sound uncertain?

Glynda: Is something wrong, Mr. Arc?

Jaune pocked his fingers together, as he was nervously looked around.

Jaune: Kinda...?

Ozpin: What's wrong, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: She uhh... she doesn't want to come out...

Port: It doesn't want to come out?

Peach: No wait, 'she?'

Ozpin: So, your, Spiritual Beast doesn't want to be summoned?

Jaune: Uhh... no... She doesn't want to show herself...

OGPOP: ...

Ozpin: She... She doesn't want to show herself. Does that mean you’ve already summoned her?!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Yes...?

OGPOP: WHAT?!

Glynda: You've already summoned your, Spiritual Beast?!

Port: How did we not see you summoning it?!

Oobaleck: How is it concealing it's presence?!

Peach: Why do you keep referring to it as a female?!

Ozpin: And, why doesn't it not wish to show itself?!

OGPOP: TELL US NOW!

Jaune recoiled in shock as his teachers all collectively bombarded with questions as they also shouted at him.

Jaune: ...?!

Jaune: Okay... I've only summoned her the one time...

Peach: Why only the one time?

Jaune: Because when I first summoned her, she just never left...

Peach: What?!

Port: To maintain a summoned, Spiritual Beast, consumes a persons. Aura, you must have a massive aura amount of aura to maintain a summon for... h-how long has your, Spiritual Beast been summoned, lad?

Jaune: I-I've only summoned her the first time, and that was when I was... four...

Oobaleck: F-Four...?!

Jaune: So, thirteen years...

Oobaleck: WHAT?!

Peach: You've kept a steady summoned, Spiritual Beast up for thirteen years?!

Jaune: Yes...?

Peach: THE HELL?!

Glynda: How vast is his aura?!

Oobaleck: Im... Immeasurable...?!

Ozpin: WHAT?!

Glynda: A-Answer the other questions, Mr. Arc...

Jaune: Okay... T-To answer your questions... Uhh... I call her a her because that's what she calls herself?

Peach: It self identifies?! That means she's a high class, Spiritual Beast... A very high class one...

Jaune: And, she's hiding her presence with her powers. And, she's doing it, because she... she doesn't want to show herself...

Jaune: More precisely... she doesn't want to show herself to you...

Jaune then pointed at, Ozpin as the group of teachers looked at one another then at, Ozpin who looked back at them, and shrugged his shoulders, before addressing, Jaune.

Ozpin: She does? But, why does your, Spiritual Beast not want to appear before me?

Jaune: Uhh...? Why don't you want, Headmaster Ozpin looking at you?

Jaune turned to look to his left, it seemed that he was looking at nothing, but they all assumed that he was talking to his, Spiritual Beast.

Jaune: H-He did what?!

Jaune: When did that happen?

Jaune: Two thousand years ago?!

Jaune: How is he...? He can reincarnate?!

Jaune's face when through a kaleidoscope of emotions until he stopped, and turned to look at, Ozpin while taking a step back.

Jaune: Why is this man allowed near children...?!

Everyone, from the teachers, the students, and their, Spiritual Beasts all stopped to stare at, Ozpin.

Glynda: Ozpin...?

Ozpin: Y-Yes... Glynda...?

Glynda: H-How does this, Spiritual Beast know you're the, Ageless Hermit...?

Ozpin: T-That's a good question... Mr. Arc... can you please tell your, Spiritual Beast to show itself...

Jaune looked to where they assumed his, Spiritual Beast was. They all looked at, Jaune before they saw his face fall.

Jaune: No... please don't make me say that...

Jaune: Because it's embarrassing, that's why!

Jaune looked to his silent companion, before his body slumped over as a defeated sigh escaped his lips. He then straightened out his back as he turned to addressed his teachers.

Jaune: May I present her majesty, the Lord of Beasts, the Matriarch of the First Born, and High Chancelloress of the Beastkin: The Oni Queen, Salem

One expected a flash of white light, a shimmer of silver to appear before them, but as fast as one could snap their fingers, Salem the Oni Queen appeared before them.

Everyone shouted in alarm as she suddenly appeared before them. Everyone's Spiritual Beasts suddenly bowed before her, Majesty. Some marveled in her beauty, others in her raw power, but out of everyone there, Ozpin wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now.

Ozpin: Ohh... Fuck...

Salem stared at everyone as she floated above the ground. Oobaleck, and his crazed scientific habits made him move closer to her with an out stretched hand. An action, Salem noticed as she scowled at his hand before floating behind, Jaune, and wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulling him into her sizeable chest.

Jaune: Yeah... So this is my, Spiritual Beast summon... Salem... The Oni Queen...

Glynda: Wha... but...?! Mr. Arc... How did you become...? How...?

Glynda's question was just a generalized question as to how all of this had happened.

Jaune: Oh well... I didn't have any friends as a kid... Everyone was mean to me, and didn't like me... And, I heard getting a, Spiritual Beast get's you a best friend forever! S-So I went to the local shrine in the woods near my home. And, I prayed for a friend, and... Salem appeared...

Glynda: R-Really...?

Peach: That seriously can't be how it happened...?

Port: Well, she is here so...?

Oobaleck: So you summoned a, Spirit Deity by accident? And, formed a contract with her...?

Jaune: Yeah... something like that...

Peach: What do you mean by that?

Jaune looked around nervously, before pulling off the fingerless glove on his left hand, and holding it up for all to see. Meanwhile, Salem showed of her left hand, and wiggled her fingers at them.

OGPOP: ...

OGPOP: WHAT?!

Glynda: You're married to a, Spirit Deity?!

Jaune: Technically we're engaged... but, we pretty much are...

Ozpin: And, how did this happen, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: Well we...?!

Jaune was about to answer when, Salem moved in front of him, and placed her finger on his mouth, while shaking her head. Salem then moved over to, Ozpin with a kind warm smile across her face. While, Salem exuded warmth, and love, Ozpin started to shake in absolute fear, that fear only grew as she held up a hand in front of his face.

Ozpin: Please be gentle...?

Salem smiled as she shook her head, and flicked, Ozpin on the head, sending him flying through the walls of, Beacon Academy until he was falling into, Forever Falls.

Everyone watched in stunned amazement as, Sale effortlessly sent, Ozpin flying. Glynda was the first to speak, as she addressed the, Oni Queen.

Glynda: D-Do I want to know why she did that to him...?

Jaune: No... No you do not...

Glynda: Okay...

Port: Well... we certainly have plenty of question to ask about... all of this. But, I must say we'll certainly have the most interesting school year this year

Glynda: Yeah...

Glynda turned to see, Salem, the Oni Queen affectionally rub her cheek against, Jaune's.

Glynda: That's one way to say it...

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #ruby rose #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #lie ren #rwby ozpin #glynda goodwitch #bartholomew oobleck #peter port #professor peach #rwby salem #jaune x salem #salem x jaune #rwby grimmknight

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zivazivc · 6 months ago

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What was Ish and Lena's relationship?

I made so much for this ask, don't look at me 🫣

The two trolls had a short summer romance at a "no boarders" music festival called Fusion Fest. Back then it was a pretty new and small thing, and the point of the festival is for trolls from all genres to come together and enjoy each other's music and company; celebrating togetherness and acceptance.

(Yes, I made a logo. 😅 This festival is a major annual event for the mixed trolls in my AU.)

Ish and his friend group went to check it out because they're already a colorful ensemble of different genres, and they were curious to see what it was about.

Lena and her friends somehow caught wind of the festival in their backwater village where nothing new or exciting ever happens, and they decided to go to rebel against their closed-minded, racist parents and community, but mostly because they were bored teenagers who'd never seen any trolls other than Rock Trolls before. Despite them wanting to experience something new, their reason for going was very much NOT the point of the festival; They were treating it more like a freakshow to stare at, and them rebelling against their parents was more just to anger them and not because they were any better...

In my mind Lena is very attractive (in a trashy, grunge kind of way), and a 16-year-old Ish immediately got a crush on her from across the room.

He put his Funk moves on her and left her completely flustered from how forward he was. I imagine he was really charming and smooth, but also I can't stop cringing and comparing it to bird mating dances lmao.

(The song Ish is singing to Lena. It makes it feel extra perfect because I just happened to learn the singer was also a 16-year-old when recording it!)

Lena didn't fall for him as hard as he fell for her at first, but she's one of those girls who will go for any bad boy that looks intimidating, and she thought funk trolls were scary and intimidating, because she was subconsciously racist herself too. 🧍 She did really start to like him after they hooked up though, and started liking him for him (so at least she was learning...)

But then they were faced with an unexpected surprise one morning after waking up from a night of concerts and partying (and mixing of substances that shouldn't be mixed)...

Ish panicked hard, he even tried getting rid of the egg, claiming it had to be a dud given the circumstances, but Lena stopped him saying she felt it move. Thank god, because Leslie hatched only minutes later.

Ish was so freaked out that he abruptly left and headed back to Funk Kingdom in the same day, and just abandoned Lena with the baby.

Lena was also very scared but she immediately warmed up to little Leslie and had no intention of dropping him off at an orphanage or doing something similar, despite her friends' encouragement to do just that, claiming her parents were going to kick her out if she showed up back home with a mixed baby.

I'm thinking Ish did try to reach out to Lena by sending her a letter a few weeks later (he got her address before the egg thing happened), but the letter never reached her because she really was disowned and kicked out of her parents' house when she came home and refused to give her baby up...

So Lena never heard from Ish again, and the next time Ish heard about Lena was about 9 years later when Leslie turned up looking for him with his baby brother, and he learned that she was gone...

(Ish having a weird day where he went out after Kymani poorly relayed a confusing phone call from the police station, and later came back home as the sole caretaker of two neglected kids.)

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salparadiselost · 10 days ago

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For the ask game, magic girl bruce intro 👀

Magical Girl AU

This was developed with @jube514 a bit, though this writing is mine.

TW for mentions of spinal injury

It had a price.

Bruce had so easily paid that price when he was younger. It had felt light. A dangerous life for dangerous power. The possibility that he could be killed at any moment in exchange for the possibility of being so much more than himself.

His parents had died.

What had he had to live for anyways?

So he paid.

He didn’t feel that price until years later when he was crawling through rubble and ash and calling his name over and over and over again. Broken glass cut into his palms, and he hadn’t even felt it over the shattering pain from within his heart.

He had screamed his name until his pleas became sobs, and the truth of it sank in.

It was a heavy price, after all and here he was considering on whether he should make the small body in the hospital bed pay it too.

“What’s his prognosis?” he asked the nurse who was not-to-subtly gaping at him from a few feet away.

He was used to the stares at this point.

He had become a Magic-Given almost two decades ago and wore all the trappings that came with it when he donned his magical Ensemble. “Magic-Given” was a more modern term, especially as it became clear that magic could be given to both males and females. The phenomenon was originally discovered in Japan and passed between young girls until eventually it was spread out into the rest of the world. “Magical girls” they had called them, a cute name that didn’t fully capture the amount of danger they were plunging into. Their Magical Ensembles, so iconically clad with bows, ribbons, and corsets, were just pretty frosting on lots and lots of pain.

Bruce’s Magical Ensemble was a revealing number that showed a large amount of skin to signify both his maturity and power level. Ensembles tended to do that, starting as very modest little outfits for the younger Givens and eventually becoming tighter and scarcer as their bearer grew more mature. Bruce’s Ensemble was a collection of luxurious blacks and golds that twined around his body. Ribbons and lace cut across his body like lingeries, curling along his curves and hinting at the pale skin underneath. His pants were tight, and cut-outs were strategically stretched across his hips, exposing the v of his bones and the expanse of his muscled thigh. His stomach was basically completely bare, only covered by sheer fabric that really left nothing on his top half to the imagination. His shoulders were covered in armour (because, of course, that’s what deserved armor) and dripped gold jewelry down his chest. A long cape flowed out from his shoulders and rippled around his ankles, even when there was no wind. It started as a pitch black near his upper shoulders and then gradually lightened into a gold that dispersed into glimmering stardust that trailed behind him wherever he went.

It was a powerful Emsemble and the skin exposure spoke to how much time Bruce had had to grow into his abilities. Many of the Given would have killed to don such an Emsemble.

It was also lewd and Bruce hated it. Especially when he was supposed to be taken seriously like in this moment.

He crossed his arms over his chest, covering his nipples with his arms.

“His spine was broken in seven different places,” the doctor said softly at Bruce’s elbow. She was a tiny Black woman who was probably about two feet shorter than Bruce. Her hands, though, had so much power. They had tried so hard to knit the boy’s spine back together. “He should be dead,” she added after a few breaths. “It’s a miracle he’s even alive but…” She trailed off, worrying her lip with the coming bad news.

“But what?” Bruce prompted. He felt so out of place in the sterile theatre of the hospital. Everyone was bustling around with coats, gloves and masks while his belly button and hipbones were on display. Not for the first time, he wished his Emsemble came with a hoodie. Or even just a shirt.

"He will need attendant care for the rest of his life. The fall affected all of his lower half, so he will be bedbound and need help with the toilet. He will be incontinent so the care will need to be constant to keep him clean. He won't be able to walk again."

Would an orphanage even pay for that amount of intense care? Certainly not the ones in Gotham. Not the one the boy was scheduled to be transferred to in a couple weeks time.

Being a Magic Given was no life for a child and yet... and yet...

#kay speaks #bruce wayne #dick grayson #magical girl au #wip tag game

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callsigncurse · 1 year ago

Text

meet me in the woods (jake seresin x reader)

Evergreen Falls, Oregon. A small town with a mysterious past and strange folktales, surrounded by forest and ocean. You're here because of your best friend, Natasha Trace, but it feels as though something else drew you to this picturesque little town. Pairing: Jake Seresin x Fem!Reader Warnings: This is an AU where mythical creatures exist. Werewolves are the main characters presented, but others are mentioned and may make an appearance later in the series. There are mentions of death (parental; reader's and Rooster's) and use of pet names, such as "pretty girl", "sweet girl" and "darlin'." Words: 4.7K

[part one of the evergreen falls series]

From the moment you crossed the border from California to Oregon, you knew that this was where you belonged. The forests, the skies, and the overall vibe were different from anything you'd ever known, and you wanted more than anything to stay.

However, it was easy to get lost. Your GPS had all but given up on you, and it took you until it was nearly too late to find your exit. It was hidden in the trees, and when you merged onto it, you wondered if this was a mistake and if it was leading you right off a cliff or something.

Despite that, you kept driving. The highway exit ended up leading you to a gravel road, and that gravel road led you to a sign. It was white with dark green writing, pointing you forward.

Evergreen Falls, 3 miles ahead

Population: 5,135.

A Great Place to Be!

You'd breathed out a sigh of relief, because this was exactly where you'd needed to go. You were excited; you had been driving for hours, and your body ached from sitting in your car for too long. You couldn't wait to get to town and get out of your car.

Thankfully, those three miles streaked by, and a break in the trees led you to the most beautiful little town you'd ever seen.

Nestled beneath the Pacific Coast mountain range, Evergreen Falls practically sparkled. The buildings all looked like they'd been freshly painted, with red brick inlay that hinted at them being a little older than this century. The streets looked new, but the streetlamps were definitely older and well taken care of.

The road took you to a street sign labeled Main Street, and you pulled your Jeep to the side of the street to park. After taking a moment to study your surroundings, you noticed the little businesses up and down the street. A boutique, a coffee shop called Top Bean, a realtor's office, and what looked to be a vintage record store. It really was a lovely little town, and you smiled to yourself.

Climbing out of your car, you grabbed your bag and stretched. It was cooler here than when you'd gotten into your car to leave California, but it wasn't too bad. Refreshing, even. It was a change, and that's exactly what you needed. You let yourself relax for a moment, feeling the wind ruffle the skirt of the sundress you'd thrown on back in California.

"Well, I've never seen you around before."

You whirled around, pressing a hand to your chest as your heart leapt inside your chest. You hadn't seen anyone on the street when you'd gotten out of your Jeep, so the voice had startled you.

He's standing with his hands in his pockets, a rather lanky gentleman wearing a godawful Hawaiian shirt over a white t-shirt. The ensemble was completed by a pair of grease-stained blue jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. You knew from your best friend's description of her friends that this was Bradley Bradshaw.

His lips twitched, making his mustache move in an amusing way. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. We just don't often get folks traveling through here. 'Specially not beautiful ones."

Cocking an eyebrow, you studied the man for another moment before you spoke. "So, you're Rooster." You had the pleasure of watching him narrow his eyes, staring at you suspiciously. "Or do you prefer Bradley?"

"How in the hell?" He steps closer, peering at you like he's trying to figure out who the hell you are. "How do you know my name? Have we met before?"

You just laugh. "It's nice to finally meet you, Bradley." You take a look around, your eyes drifting back over to the coffee shop. "Natasha told me all about you and your flirty ways."

"Goddammit, Phoenix. And you," He points his index finger at you and says, "You little shit, you scared the hell out of me." He gripes and then gestures for you to follow him. "She's working at the coffee shop today, and so is Coyote."

He opens the door for you, and you're met with the scent of coffee and the sounds of soft chatter. Natasha is behind the counter, and when the bell above you chimes, she finally looks up, locks eyes with you, and says your name. And then she's coming around the counter to launch herself at you, and the two of you almost tumble to the ground in a mess of flailing limbs and excited screams.

Bradley and the other barista are watching all of this with amusement, and neither man makes a move to get between you two.

"I can't believe you're finally here!" Natasha pulls away first, looking at your face like she's afraid you'll disappear if she looks away. "When did you get in? How are you? I thought you were still in California; you're weeks early!"

"I wanted to surprise you!" You explain excitedly. "I just couldn't wait anymore, so I packed everything up and headed straight here. The movers should be somewhere behind me; I think they said they're like forty minutes behind."

Nat's face is bright; she's basically glowing as she pulls you tight to her. It's the first hug you've gotten in days, and you tuck your face into the crook of her neck. She smells like baked goods, coffee, and the perfume she always wore in college when you first met her.

"God, I missed the way you smell. It's like the best thing ever." You tell her, pulling back so you can see her face again. "I'm so glad I'm here. I missed you so fucking much."

She laughs, and Bradley clears his throat from behind you. When you turn around, his arms are crossed over his chest, and he's looking at the both of you with amusement. "Guessing you two go way back?"

The barista that Nat was working with—Javy, it says on his nametag—snorts. "Obviously, Rooster." He smirks when Rooster's answer is a quick flash of his middle finger.

"We went to the same college." You explain, "Nat was studying business, and I was studying to become an English major. We bumped into each other at the campus coffee shop and became study buddies for the rest of our college years. I recently went through some changes, and I wanted to find somewhere new to live. Start over fresh, you know? So I decided to come here so I could live near my best friend."

Nat's hand slips into yours and squeezes gently. "It's seriously been way too long. That was mostly my fault; I got so busy trying to get this place up and running that I never had time for anyone or anything else."

"I can forgive you if you make me a Red-Eye Special." A concoction the two of you had come up with your junior year, the Red-Eye special was a latte with two extra espresso shots, mocha sauce, and topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

She lets your hand go, a big smile on her beautiful face. "That's actually one of the most popular drinks here. I put it on the menu to make sure I always remember the best friend I ever had."

Bradley huffs indignantly at that, and it sends you both into a fit of giggles. While she goes to make your drink, you move to the bar top to sit and watch her. Bradley follows, taking a seat beside you. "I'll take a mocha frappe, Phoenix."

"You got it, Rooster."

You sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, taking in the coffee shop. It's exactly Nat's aesthetic, you think to yourself. There's band posters everywhere, a vintage jukebox in the corner, and the walls are all painted different and funky colors. The furniture is all well-worn but clearly loved. The pictures she'd texted you when she first opened didn't do the place justice. It was amazing.

"Hey Nat, how come you never told me about your absolutely gorgeous best friend before?" Bradley pipes up from beside you, prompting an eyeroll from you and Nat.

"I've mentioned her a lot over the years since I got back from college, Rooster. You're just a terrible listener."

They were still squabbling amongst themselves when the bell above the door suddenly chimed, announcing the arrival of a newcomer. Curious, you lean back on your chair slightly. Peering around Bradley's back, you catch sight of the person walking in through the door.

He's tall—ridiculously so. Like way over six feet, taller than Bradley's type of tall. His golden hair gleams under the soft light coming in through the windows, and his skin is a beautiful shade of tan. He has a slight beard, and the hair is a few shades darker than the hair on his head. More honey-colored than gold, you think to yourself. He's wearing a gray t-shirt with a dark green flannel; the sleeves are rolled up, and you take a moment to study his strong arms. His hands are massive too, and you know they'd dwarf yours. He's incredibly attractive, nearly angelic in his perfection.

Nat looks over her shoulder, offering a bright smile to the absolute god that just walked into her coffee shop. "Hey, Hangman. Want your usual?"

The man they call Hangman nods as he steps up to the counter, already pulling money out of his wallet. He slides a small stack of bills across the counter to Javy, dropping another bill into the tip jar afterwards.

He doesn't say a word as he passes behind you to the very last bar stool to wait for his order. You can't help but turn slightly in your seat, watching as he walks past you. Something about him seems so familiar to you, but you know you've never seen him before. You'd remember that face.

It's like he can feel your eyes on him because he turns his head, and suddenly you can see his eyes. They're green, a gorgeous shade of worn seaglass, or maybe green like the evergreens the forests around here were thick with. But whatever shade they were, they stole your breath.

He doesn't say anything at first; he just watches you, and the corners of his perfect pink lips lift. He's not totally smiling, but it's enough to get your pulse hammering wildly.

Your own answering smile is sweet, and he swallows thickly as he studies you. He seems to be contemplating something, and then his beautiful lips part. "Hi."

Everyone around you freezes. Bradley and Nat stop their good-nature squabbling, and Javy is openly staring with his jaw dropped. They'd only heard this man talk a handful of times in the last few years, and here you were, the newcomer, drawing him into a conversation.

You're paying zero attention to what just happened around you because you're too busy looking at him to notice. "Hi."

"I've never seen you around before." He remarks, his voice soft. It's got a nice gravel to it, deep and warm. "Are you new to town?"

You find yourself nodding, "I just got here. I came from California. San Diego, to be more specific." Your heart is still thrumming, and it's almost like he can hear it because he smiles. It's wide and boyish, and you're breathless.

"Will you be staying for long?" He gets up from his seat at the end of the bar and moves closer. You have to tilt your head back in order to see his face, but you don't mind.

"I'm moving here, actually." You explain, "I'm now the proud owner of the cottage over by the river. The one on Meadow Lane."

He nods slowly. "I know it. Nice place, not too far from the falls. I remember when the previous owner moved away to a bigger town; he just gave the place to the realtor, Beau Simpson. His office is across the street, in case you need to talk to him about anything."

Nat clears her throat, sliding your coffee across the countertop to you. "That place is nice. But are you sure that's where you want to live? There are plenty of houses here in town that aren't surrounded by the woods, you know? That place is kind of creepy looking at night."

You shrug, breaking eye contact with the beautiful man to look at your best friend. "I fell in love with the house, Nat. It's perfect for me—just the right amount of secludedness, but close enough to town that if I need anything, I can just run and get it. So yeah, I'm sure."

You turn your head again, and he's still watching you. The small smile returns to his lips when your eyes catch his once again. Holding your hand out to him, you say your name, and that smile widens. It's devastating in its beauty.

His hand dwarfs yours when he takes it, and it's unbelievably warm. His palm and fingertips are rough from work, you assume, and you love the way it feels against your soft skin. "Jake Seresin, but sometimes the others call me Hangman. I think I'd like it if you called me Jake."

There's a moment where you're so lost in his eyes that the rest of the world fades away. Something between you snaps into place—something entirely ancient and primal. It almost feels like something is now tying you to him, like a silver, shining chain stretching from somewhere in you to a similar point in him.

It feels like you loved him before, in another life.

"Hello, Earth, to space cadets." Javy is snickering, and Bradley is waving a hand between your faces to catch your attention. "The two of you just went someplace else."

Something that sounds eerily like a growl comes from Jake's direction, but when you look back at him, he just offers another soft smile. He looks suspiciously innocent, but you don't comment on that fact.

Nat comes over just then, sliding a small bag and a to-go mug across the counter over to Jake. "There, here's your order, Hangman. The scones are fresh, just how you like them."

Jake makes a sound like a happy little hum. "Thank you, Phoenix. Much appreciated."

He stands up from his seat next to you, the bag and cup cradled in his large hands. "I have to be getting back now. I'll see you around, right?" He's looking down at you, those bright green eyes searching your face. His expression looks strangely anxious, like he's afraid he's never going to see you again.

"Yeah, of course." You stand too, looking up at him. "Maybe you can show me around town sometime?"

He quickly switches the coffee cup into his other hand, balancing his to-go bag of baked goods on his arm. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out what appears to be a partially crumpled business card.

Jake Seresin Woodworker & Carpenter Office: 75 South Pine Ave. Evergreen Falls, OR

"Here, my cell is on there. Call me when you get settled, or if you just get bored and need a break from Bradley's terrible jokes."

Bradley makes another sound from behind you: "Fucking rude."

"That sounds good." You answer softly. "I'll see you around, Jake." Your heart flutters when his smile grows wider, and you think maybe you'd like to keep seeing that smile every day for the rest of your life.

"Bye, darlin'." He murmurs, turning away and making his way out of the coffee shop.

When he's gone, you turn back to the stares of your friends.

"What?"

It doesn't take long for you to receive the keys to your new home. The realtor that Jake had mentioned, Beau Simpson, "Cyclone to my friends," he'd said with a wink, was a helpful guy. He'd made the process of buying your cabin extremely easy, and you'd bunked with Nat for a few days while he got the place ready for you. You had the keys in your hand just four days after arriving in Evergreen Falls.

Night was falling, and you had just brought in the last box of your things from the moving truck. Nat's friends—Javy, Mickey, Bradley, Reuben, and Bob—had introduced themselves to you and offered to help you move in. Even Bradley's godfather—Maverick, he'd told you to call him—had taken a quick look around the place in case anything needed fixing.

Luckily, the place had come somewhat furnished, so you didn't really need to buy anything besides a new mattress. The rest of your stuff from your tiny apartment fits easily in your new home.

Bob and Bradley had already carried your new mattress in; Javy and Mickey were arguing over the way your bed frame was supposed to be put together; and Reuben and Maverick were looking over a leaky faucet in your bathroom. Nat and Maverick's wife, Penny, were putting away dishes in the cupboards of the kitchen.

Bradley was perched on your couch, trying to figure out how to get your WiFi to connect to your smart TV while Penny's daughter watched. She was giggling at him while he was muttering something to himself about 'stupid fucking technology' when your phone chimed.

Jake: It sounds like a circus over there.

What Jake had failed to mention was that when you moved in, the cabin half a mile down the road was owned by him. Not that you particularly minded, but it was nice to know that a friendly face was close by in case you needed something.

You'd texted him your number the night you'd met him, and it was a nice surprise to see him reach out. You smiled to yourself, worrying your lower lip between your teeth for a moment before you answered.

You: They mean well. I'm almost all moved in; I just need to get my bed together and fix the hole in the floor of my front porch, and I'll be all good to go. Jake: I can fix that, if you want. I can drop by tomorrow morning after my run. You: That'd be great! Thank you so much, Jake. Jake: No problem, pretty girl. You: Pretty girl, huh? That's sweet. And thank you again; that was sweet of you to say. See you tomorrow, Jake. Jake: Sleep tight.

The rest of the evening was spent tidying things up, sharing pizza, and goofing off with your newfound friend group. It had been pretty late when they all filed out of your new home, and you'd dragged yourself to your room and onto your new mattress for some rest. It had been a long week.

Maybe it was just the whole 'being alone in a new home' thing making you anxious, but before you fell asleep, you could've sworn you heard howling from somewhere out in the forest behind your new home. Before you can really think anything of it, sleep grabs ahold of you and drags you down deep.

The sound of knocking ends up dragging you out of a dream. You can't quite remember what it was about, but then you remember the howling from the night before, and you wonder if it has to do with that. The sun is filtering in through the window, but from the look of it, it is definitely still early.

You're still sleepy-eyed when you go to answer the door, and your hair is a little messy. You assume it's Natasha, or maybe Bradley, coming over to bug you. But when you open the door, you're met with the strong and tall frame of Jake Seresin, standing right there in your doorway.

Shit. You'd forgotten he was coming over to fix the porch.

You brush a lock of hair away from your left eye and tilt your head back, immediately melting when you see his face. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." He answers. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes, but he's smiling faintly. And then you watch as his gaze falls to your shoulder. Your too-big sleep shirt had slipped down, revealing more skin to him. His gaze is appraising as his eyes drift over your form, down to your bare legs. He must've liked what he saw, because the apples of his cheeks were pink now.

After clearing your throat, you could feel your own face heating up. "I woke up a little late and forgot you were coming. Sorry about me looking all, you know, messy."

"You look beautiful." He says in response. "I like this just as much as I liked that sundress you were wearing the first day I met you." He says it sweetly, and you can feel your pulse fluttering in your throat.

"Thank you, Jake." You murmur, "You're very kind." Your face is shy and pink. You wonder where this guy has been hiding himself all your life. "Um, I'll just run upstairs and get dressed. Feel free to come in if you want."

You don't wait for him to come inside; you just open the door a little wider and scurry away toward the stairs. It's not that you distrust Jake—just the opposite, in fact—you trust him a lot. Probably too much, considering the fact that you'd only had 1.5 conversations with the guy. Standing around in your little PJs is probably not the best move. You know you should probably look semi-decent while a man is working on your home.

You hurry into your bedroom, quickly swapping out what you're wearing for a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a t-shirt. It's the middle of summer and warm this time of year, but it's not nearly as bad as California. You hurriedly tug a brush through your unruly hair, trying to get it to settle down, and then hurry into your bathroom to brush your teeth. Your face is flushed when you look in the mirror, and you do your best to settle the sudden onslaught of nerves you're feeling.

When you come back down the stairs, Jake is standing in front of your fireplace with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He's studying the photographs on the mantle above it—the photos of your family. Your mom and dad were in the majority of them, and Jake muses over how much you look like them both.

"Are you close with them?"

Stepping into the living room, you wrap your arms around yourself. It hurts you to think of them; the pain is still fresh even months later. "I was." Your voice is tinged with sadness, and he turns his head when you come up beside him. "They died earlier this year in a car accident. They were on their way home from a concert when a drunk driver hit them head-on."

After a long moment (where you think you've said the wrong thing), he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently toward him. You go to him without question, resting your head against his chest while his hand rubs your back in slow, soothing circles. You can feel his sorrow; he doesn't pity you, but he is sad for you.

You let yourself be comforted. You've only known him a few days, but it feels like he's always been with you. It's strange and probably insane, but you feel like there could be something there.

You really hope there's something there.

There's a feeling of light pressure against your skull, and you tip your head back so you can see his face. The smile he gives you is sweet, and your heart feels a little less heavy than it had a moment before.

"I should get started on the porch. Maybe after I'm done, I can take you out to breakfast? The hole isn't too big; it shouldn't take me more than an hour to fix it." He's smiling at you, and you can tell that he's nervous, too.

You nod, your eyes meeting his, and there's that feeling again. That pull between you is like a long chain connecting you to him, and it feels like it's always been there, even though you just met him for the first time a few days ago. You can't help but wonder if he feels it, too.

You let him go, and he grabs the tool bag he'd left by your front door. Not knowing what else to do, you drift out behind him with the intention of sitting on the porch swing. You just want to be near him, plain and simple.

You settle down on the swing, one leg bent on the seat while the other works to push you slowly back and forth. Jake is already at work, measuring and cutting things with a precision that amazes you. He's shed his flannel, leaving him clad in only a black t-shirt that looks worn and soft. You watch the way he moves, his arms when he lifts, and the way his chest and back fill out that t-shirt in a way that makes your mouth dry.

You haven't dated in a long time. You had so much going on with school, finding a job in your field, and then your parents' deaths that it was hard to make a solid connection with anyone around you. Plus, a lot of the time, the guys you met were either total jerks or just really weird. But Jake? Jake seemed different. He was quiet, kind, and helpful, and there was something there. Something deep-seated and amazing is just waiting to be unlocked.

Your phone chimes from where it's sitting on the porch swing next to you, and you pick it up to see a new text from Bradley.

Bradley: Hey, you. Are you up yet? You: Yeah, I'm awake! What's up? Bradley: The group is planning on going on a hike this afternoon to the falls, maybe swim a little, and have a picnic. You interested? You: Sounds awesome. Who all is going? Bradley: Everyone, just about. Maverick sometimes tags along, but he's taking Penny and Amelia out for their own day trip. You: Jake's with me; should I ask if he wants to come with me? Bradley: Good luck with that. Jake is kind of a lone wolf. Bradley: Also, why is Jake Seresin with you??? You: Carpenter services. He's fixing my front porch. I bet I can convince him to come with us. Wanna meet up at my place so we can all walk there together? Bradley: Yeah, we'll get there around 12. Javy and I are bringing food; Nat's bringing drinks. Think you could pick up some paper plates and napkins? You: On it.

"Hey, Jake?" He hums, looking up from his handiwork to meet your eyes. "The group is planning on coming over today at noon so we can all go to the falls and swim. Do you think I could convince you to come with?"

He looks like a deer in headlights for a moment, his eyes wide when he stares at you. "You... want me to go with you?" He asks slowly, his tone strangely disbelieving. It was like he couldn't quite believe that you'd extended the invitation to him.

"Well, yeah. Of course I do. And I'm sure everyone else would love to see you, too." You stop swinging, your head tilted in a way that kind of reminds him of a little deer. "Please? It'll be a good chance for you and me to hang out for a few hours. Plus, socializing would be good for you. I hear that you can be quite the recluse."

He snorts but doesn't say anything for a long time. You're almost afraid that he's going to say no to you, and then he sighs. "Alright, I'll go. But as long as you make me a promise,"

"Hm?"

"Never go into Evergreen Forest by yourself, especially at night." He seems anxious when he says it, standing up from where he's been working to cross over to you. "It's easy to get lost if you're not familiar with the area. People have up and gone missing because it's so easy to get turned around in there."

He crouches down, laying his hands on your knees. Even crouching, he's so tall that he's face-to-face with you. You're a little distracted by his eyes, and by the way his hands are deliciously warm and rough against your skin. "It's okay to go if at least one of us is with you, but you should never go alone. Okay?"

Normally, if a man tried to tell you to do something, you'd immediately roll your eyes and do it anyway. But there's an edge to his voice, and it sounds strangely desperate. So you look him in the eye and nod. "I promise."

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun!au

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yaniluvs · 3 months ago

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𝒾𝓋 ┆ ᙆz (승민) : STARS AND RAINDROPS “ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖’𝑑 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑚𝑦 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢. ” ── your crush-best friend asks for your precious help to confess to his crush.

prev. | index | next ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

𓍯 bsf!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 2.2k ── ༯ SERiES, angst, mature, fluff, comfort, petnames, unrequited love, melancholy, one sided, skz ensemble, music students, happy ending, trio of seungsung and reader, uni au. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY. /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ love making myself cry of sadfics hshsh. not too motivated to write a lot for now (personal things, relationships and family) :c, will be posting my drafts for a while, hope you guys understand! taglist for all fics/this series is open, so are requests. i'll try to stay as consistent as i can ;3. comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

the girl sat cross-legged on her bed, fingers delicately strumming the electric guitar as her macbook sat open beside her. the soft hum of the amplifier filled the room as she plucked out a melody that had been swirling around in her mind for days.

her loungewear, a pair of loose grey shorts and a snug white camisole, clung to her skin comfortably. her hair was messily pulled back into a bun, a few rebellious strands slipping free, brushing against the black frames of her glasses perched on her nose.

the faint glow of her side lamp illuminated the clutter around her. scattered pages from her journal were splayed across the bed, some scribbled with music notes, others filled with bits of lyrics and ideas. the scent of lavender lingered in the air, wafting from the diffuser on her nightstand. it was a cozy, creative chaos—her safe haven from the world outside.

a soft knock on the door jolted her out of her focus. she blinked, glancing at the door, and then back at the document she was working on. the knock came again, more insistent this time.

“come in,” she called out.

the door opened, and standing there, in his typical nonchalant style, was her dear dorm mate. he was dressed casually, dark trousers and a faded band tee, hair slightly tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

but there was something in his expression that made her pause – a slight hesitation that didn’t usually accompany his presence.

“hey,” he greeted softly, dragging himself over to her bed, where a mess of sheet music and notebooks were scattered across the duvet. with a half-hearted attempt, he shuffled some papers to the side before collapsing onto the bed, resting his head on his hand as he lay on his side.

his eyes darted briefly to her glasses before flicking back to her face. “am i interrupting?”

she barely glanced at him. “mmm, no. just working on a music file.” her gaze was glued to the screen, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as her brows furrowed in focus.

he nodded, glancing around at the organised mess. the soft, rhythmic strumming of the guitar still lingered in the air, mixing with the sound of the rain that had finally begun to patter gently against the window.

“well, don’t you look extra gorgeous today!” he awkwardly cheered, to which the girl simply raised an eyebrow, knowing the look all too well ; despite the slight hue of crimson heating up her cheeks.

“what do you want, lover boy?” she groaned, glancing at him over the rim of her glasses.

“can’t i just wanna spend some time with the bestest dorm-mate of mine, yeah?”

“quit it.”

“fine, fine.”

there was a brief pause as he gathered his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the floor before he looked up and met her eyes. “i wanted your.. help..?”

“with?” she spoke, her words slightly muffled as she held the cap of her black pen between her teeth, scribbling down onto her journal, eyebrows knit.

“i was thinking of asking eunha out tomorrow. at the beach.”

her heart stuttered in her chest. the words felt like a blow, knocking the wind out of her lungs, but she kept her expression neutral.

she blinked once, twice, processing what he’d said. seungmin asking eunha out. the very thought made her stomach twist into knots, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if the ache in her chest was physical or emotional.

probably both.

“oh,” she finally managed to say, her voice more steady than she expected. “that’s… great.” she forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

he didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. instead, he let out a small breath of relief.

“yeah, i’ve been thinking about it for a while, and… i don’t know. tomorrow feels like the right time, you know?”

she nodded absentmindedly, her mind elsewhere. she was zoning out, slipping into that space where everything felt surreal, like she was watching a scene play out from a distance, detached.

of course, it made sense. he had feelings for eunha, everyone knew that, and she knew herself that one day he would ask her out, right? the way he looked at her, the way his attention always seemed to gravitate toward her whenever they were together.

“right… tomorrow,” she echoed, her voice light, almost too casual.

seungmin shifted closer to her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “i’m not really sure how to ask, though. i mean, you’re better at this kind of thing than i am.”

the girl’s fingers stilled on the guitar strings, the last note lingering in the air before it dissolved into the soft hum of rain outside. she stared at seungmin for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses as she processed what he had just said.

seungmin, oblivious to the subtle change in her mood, shifted on her bed, his dark eyes scanning her face with an expectant look, waiting for some words of wisdom. "come on," he prodded. "you've always been good at reading people. and you're honest. just tell me what works and what doesn't."

the girl blinked, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from letting her real thoughts slip out.

honest? you really want honesty, seungmin?

she sighed internally, glancing away from him, her heart tightening as if someone had tied a knot around it. she didn't need to think twice about why it bothered her—why the thought of him asking eunha out made her stomach churn.

but instead of voicing the frustration bubbling beneath the surface, she offered him a deadpan, shifting gears into sarcasm to mask the internal turmoil.

“seungmin,” she began, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her index finger, “i’ve rejected three guys and dated one only to break up with him in a week. i’m hardly a pro in romance here.”

not to mention my agenda and immense love for unrequited love.

seungmin chuckled awkwardly at her words, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, but maybe those rejections were, like, super graceful. maybe they thought they were better off without you.”

she shook her head, stifling a laugh. “sure. if by ‘graceful’ you mean brutally honest to the point of soul-crushing.”

“oh, come on, y/n,” seungmin groaned, flopping back dramatically against her pillows, arms folded behind his head. “okay, maybe you’ve not always been the most… tactful when it comes to feelings, but you’re a woman. eunha’s a woman. you know what women like!”

y/n blinked at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. she scrunched her nose at his fumbling attempt to appeal to her supposed “womanly wisdom,” but decided against commenting. there was no need to kick a puppy when it was already down.

“don’t look at me like that,” seungmin whined, covering his face with one hand. “i’m serious. i really, really like her, y/n, and i swear i have no idea what to say without fumbling every word. you’re the only person i love and know who’s smart enough to help me not look like an idiot. jisung is not helpful by the way.”

he met her gaze then, his eyes softening, and she felt the familiar sting in her chest.

“please?”

y/n sighed, closing her laptop with a soft click and finally turning to face him fully. “you’re cheesy as fuck.”

he grinned, grateful for her surrender. “so? what would your ideal proposal be?”

she stared at him, her lips twisting into a wry smile.

she sighed deeply, glancing away from his eager gaze. the question hung in the air, and she wrestled with the urge to give an honest answer, one that would reveal far more than she was ready to admit. she swallowed hard, pushing her emotions back down where they belonged.

“i don’t know,” she spoke, her tone more casual now as she leaned back into the pile of pillows on her bed. “maybe something simple. people overthink this kind of thing.”

he watched her intently, his brows knitting together as he waited for her to elaborate. “simple?” he asked, as if the concept was foreign to him.

“yeah, like…” she paused, staring at the ceiling as she thought. “you know, no big speeches or anything. just… be honest. be yourself. you’re not bad with words when you’re not trying so hard.”

he chuckled, his expression softening. “you think so?”

she nodded, smiling faintly. “yeah. you tend to overcomplicate things when you get nervous. just keep it real.”

seungmin’s lips twitched into a frown, “are you sure?”

“i mean, you asked me for my advice, romeo. i’m no love guru, don’t come crying to me if she rejects you.” she deadpanned.

seungmin rolled his eyes, his tone turning mockingly dramatic. “hey, don’t give me the ‘just be yourself’ line. i need specifics! should i bring her flowers? maybe a pick-up line? what’s the game plan?”

the girl groaned theatrically, leaning back against her headboard, her guitar resting beside her. “you’ve been watching too many rom-coms, min.”

she sighed, “this isn’t a drama. you don’t need a ‘game plan.’ just… talk to her. you’ve known her for, what, a year and a half now? you’ve already got the foundation. just build on that.”

seungmin looked thoughtful for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "but what if i say the wrong thing? what if i—"

“–what if she morphs into a werewolf and eats you alive mid-sentence?” she interrupted, deadpanning.

"i'm serious!"

“i am too. you’re overthinking this, as usual. just tell her what you feel—straightforward, no fluff. trust me, she seems like the type who’ll appreciate that more than some grand gesture.”

he looked at her, his expression softening. “you really think so?”

her heart gave a painful lurch, but she ignored it, nodding. “yeah. i think she’d appreciate you being honest with her. no pretence. no gimmicks.”

“or you could try serenading her, by maybe one of your own songs or– any song of an artist she likes?”

the room fell into a brief silence, save for the soft pitter-patter of the rain outside and the faint buzz of her amplifier. her gaze drifted to the window, where droplets of rain clung to the glass, streaking downward in winding paths. she found herself wishing, absurdly, that she could melt away into the rain—disappear, if only for a moment, to escape the conversation she wasn’t quite sure she could handle.

“wait, you’re a genius!”

seungmin sat up, ruffling the girl’s hair. “i’ll sing and play one of my songs during the campfire at the beach tomorrow, then ask her out when we’re alone!”

she briefly nodded, her gaze shifting to her guitar.

“okay,” he said after a long pause, his voice steady now. “i’ll do it. tomorrow. i’ll ask her.”

she forced a smile, her chest tightening once more. “great! you’ll do fine. now get out.”

he flashed her a grateful grin, his whole face lighting up in that way that used to make her smile back reflexively—but now, it only served as a reminder of everything she couldn’t say. "thanks, y/nnie. you always know what to say."

“yeah, yeah,” she muttered, picking her guitar back up and absentmindedly plucking at the strings again.

she nodded, her focus turning back to the guitar, fingers gliding over the strings. seungmin watched her for a moment, the soft strumming of the guitar filling the silence between them.

“i don’t get how you do it, you know,” he mused, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. “you’re always so… put together.”

“didn’t i tell you to get out?”

“hey, no, i know, just–” his hand went through his hair, as he continued.

“you just seem… unaffected by everything. like, no matter what’s happening, you’re always calm. always in control.”

she swallowed, keeping her gaze fixed on the guitar. “yeah, well, i guess i’m just good at hiding the cracks.”

there was a pause. “we all have cracks, don’t we?”

she shrugged, her voice carefully casual. “maybe. but some of us are better at covering them up than others.”

he didn’t respond, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her in that quiet, observant way he sometimes did when he was thinking about something important. she kept strumming the guitar, letting the music drown out the unspoken tension that hung between them like a thick cloud.

“y/nnie,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than before, “i appreciate you, you know that?”

she glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “of course,” she replied lightly, masking the flutter in her chest with a small smile. “who else would put up with you?”

he chuckled, but there was a gentleness in his gaze that made her stomach flip. “i’m serious. you’re always there for me. even when i don’t deserve it.”

he smiled, standing up, ruffling her hair once again, before waving his hand and leaving her room with a quick good night.

she felt the weight of his words settling into the space that the two once shared, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if things were different—if the words he had spoken weren’t for someone else.

but reality, as always, came crashing back down, and she pushed the thought away with a quiet sigh.

“like i said,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the strings, “i’m good at covering the cracks, even when they’re not mine.”

the rain continued to fall outside, a steady rhythm against the window, as the girl continued to just.. continue, to exist.

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onlyonetifosi · 1 year ago

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Behind the camera -> chapter 8

<- previous series masterlist my main masterlist next ->

author note1: more yn/joris fluff 🥹🥹 based on charles los angeles vlog here

The warm California sun welcomed Charles Leclerc and his entourage as they stepped off the plane at Los Angeles International Airport. The city's vibrant energy and palm-lined streets signaled the beginning of a much-needed break for the Formula 1 driver and his companions.

"Ah, Los Angeles! It's good to be here," Charles exclaimed, stretching his arms wide.

Andrea, Charles’ trainer, nodded in agreement. "Sì, Los Angeles è sempre bello. È il momento di divertirsi" ( Los Angeles is always beautifuI) (t's time to have fun)

Joris, Charles's best friend and Yn's boyfriend, grinned. "Time for some fun, my friends!"

As they settled into their luxurious villa, Charles couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. "This is exactly what I needed, guys. A break from the racing world and some time to unwind," he said, a genuine smile on his face.

The group, which included Charles, Andrea, Joris, Charles's girlfriend Alexandra, Riccardo, and his wife Marta, as well as Antoine, Charles's photographer and videographer, headed to their hotel to drop off their bags. Charles couldn't help but glance at Yn, his twin sister, who was engaged in lively conversation with Alex.

"Hey, Yn, ready for some LA adventures?" Charles teased, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

Yn rolled her eyes. "Always ready, Charles. As long as you don't embarrass me too much, big brother"

The group's first activity was a friendly basketball game at a nearby court. Charles, not known for his basketball skills, tried his best to dribble and shoot hoops.

"Mon dieu, Charles, maybe stick to racing, tu es vraiment nul au basket!" Yn teased him, earning a laugh from the others.

Alexandra chuckled, also teasing him, "Yea, mon cher, maybe stick to the racetrack. Your skills on the court are... how do you say... not impressive."

Charles smirked, replying in kind, "Eh bien, at least I'm a world-class driver, not a basketball player. And Yn you think you’re very funny, Yn. Let's see you try" Charles replied, passing the ball to her.

After a few failed attempts, Yn admitted defeat. "Okay, maybe basketball is not my forte either, it's a twins thing"

The group decided to cool off with some ice cream, sharing laughs and stories. Charles couldn't help but admire the way Joris and Yn interacted—the subtle glances, the shared jokes. It was a reminder of the strong bond they all shared.

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The following day, the group rented bikes and explored the iconic Venice Beach boardwalk. Charles and Alex shared a tandem e-scooter, while Yn sat on Joris's lap and with Andrea on another.

"Vous avez l'air tellement mignons ensemble!" Alexandra grinned. (You two look so cute together!)

Yn couldn't help but giggle as Joris wrapped his arms around her waist. "Looks like you guys are having fun," Charles shouted from behind them, causing them all to burst out laughing.

Yn blushed, playfully swatting her brother's arm. "Ignorez-lui, il est juste jaloux" Joris calms her before the two siblings start bickering (Ignore him, he’s just jealous)

"Bon, let the race begin!" Charles declared, revving the e-scooter engine.

Andrea struggled to keep up, and Yn couldn't stop giggling at his attempts. The Venice Beach adventure ended with a mini-race, with everyone enjoying the wind in their hair.

Next on the itinerary was a trip from Malibu to Universal Studios. Yn couldn't contain her excitement, especially when they entered The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

"Charles, we need to buy wands!" Yn exclaimed, practically dragging him into Ollivanders.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Yn whispered, holding her wand and exploring the magical surroundings and Charles chuckled, indulging his sister's enthusiasm "You really are a fan, aren't you?"

Yn winked. "Always."

"Charles, you have to try the butterbeer! It's amazing!" she exclaimed, dragging him toward the Three Broomsticks.

"Alright, alright, I'll give it a go," Charles chuckled, letting Yn lead the way.

Meanwhile, Joris and Alexandra rushed behind them, especially behind Yn. "I can't believe we're here," Joris whispered

"Me neither, but it's magical and they seem so excited," she replied, high fiving him.

"Look at her, she's like a kid in a candy store," Alexandra remarked, her arm intertwined with Charles'’ when they finally reached the twins in a merchandise shop.

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The group also spent another day at Six Flags, where Charles, Alex, and Yn attempted to persuade Andrea and Joris to go on some thrilling rides.

"I prefer the safety of solid ground," Joris insisted, while Andrea nodded in agreement.

Charles, not one to be deterred, grabbed Joris and Andrea by their arms and playfully dragged them towards the rides.

"Come on, guys! Live a little!" Charles exclaimed.

"Non, non, pas question," Andrea protested (No, no, out of the question)

Joris nodded in agreement. "We'll pass, thanks"

"Come on, Andrea, we'll hold your hand the whole time," Yn said with a grin.

Yn, ever the persuader, looked at Joris with puppy-dog eyes, "Allez, mon amour, just one ride!"

"Yeah, come on, guys! It's all in good fun," Alexandra urged, exchanging a glance with Yn.

Joris resisted, but Yn's persistence paid off. Andrea, on the other hand, was tougher to crack. Charles, feigning violence, grabbed Andrea and Joris by the collars, threatening with a smile, "You're coming with us, whether you like it or not!"

Andrea finally relented, and the four of them headed to the ride. As they waited in line, Charles couldn't resist teasing Andrea about his fear.

"Don't worry, Andrea, I'll protect you," he joked, wrapping an arm around his trainer.

Andrea rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the smile on his face.

The group's day ended with a whimsical game at the carnival section of Six Flags. A victorious throw won them two enormous plushie bananas. Gleefully, they engaged in a playful banana battle, filling the air with laughter and the occasional thud of soft impacts.

"Attention! Incoming banana attack!" Charles shouted unexpectedly.

Laughter echoed as bananas flew through the air, hitting targets with precision. Alexandra threatened Charles, "If you hit me one more time, you're sleeping on the couch tonight!"

"Banana warfare!" Charles laughed, dodging plushie projectiles.

And they engaged in a hilarious banana fight, Joris and Andrea being the main targets.

The evening continued with board games and ping pong. Charles and Andrea engaged in fierce ping pong battles, while Yn and Alexandra shared laughter and girly moments.

"Hey, Yn, let's go shopping tomorrow before we leave," Alexandra said, breaking Yn out of her thoughts.

Yn grinned. "I would love that"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following morning, Alexandra and Yn set out for their much-anticipated shopping trip in the heart of Los Angeles. The city's famed boutiques and exclusive shops awaited their exploration. The sunlit streets beckoned them as they strolled, laughter and excitement filling the air.

Their first stop was a trendy boutique showcasing the latest in Los Angeles fashion. Racks adorned with colorful dresses, stylish accessories, and unique pieces lined the walls. Alexandra and Yn eagerly sifted through the racks, exchanging opinions and approving nods.

"I can't believe how different the styles are here," Yn remarked, holding up a vibrant sundress.

Alexandra nodded in agreement. "It's a whole new world of fashion. I love it!"

After finding some stylish additions to their wardrobes, the duo headed to Shepora, that promised exclusive and makeup brands that are not available in Europe.

Yn's eyes widened as she discovered the vibrant array of products, including makeup from House Glass, and other niche brands that had yet to make their way across the Atlantic.

"Alex, look at this! I've heard so much about this and now we can finally try it" Yn exclaimed, her excitement contagious.

Alexandra, equally thrilled, added a few items to her basket. "And House Glass! I've been dying to get my hands on their products. This is like a beauty paradise."

The duo then ventured into clothing stores that were exclusive to the United States. American Vintage, Brandy Melville, and Forever 21 were on their list, promising a unique shopping experience with styles not commonly found in their European wardrobes.

As they explored the racks of clothes and tried on various outfits, the two friends couldn't contain their joy. Yn found a bohemian-style dress at American Vintage that perfectly suited her taste, while Alexandra discovered a trendy jacket at Brandy Melville that she couldn't resist.

With bags full of fashionable finds and exclusive makeup and after a successful shopping spree, the duo met with the rest of the group for a leisurely lunch. They chose a charming outdoor cafe with a relaxed atmosphere, where the California sun cast a warm glow over the scene.The vibrant energy of Los Angeles seemed to follow them, making the meal even more enjoyable.

Charles, Joris, Andrea, Riccardo, Marta, and Antoine were eager to hear about the shopping escapades of the two ladies.

"So, how was the shopping spree, ladies?" Charles asked with a grin.

Yn laughed, "We may have gone a little overboard, but it's all worth it."

Yn and Alexandra couldn't stop sharing their excitement, showcasing their newfound treasures and makeup finds. The group laughed and exchanged stories, creating an atmosphere of camaraderie.

Charles, Joris, Andrea, and the others eagerly greeted Yn and Alexandra, curious about their shopping spoils. The table quickly became a showcase of vibrant fabrics and makeup palettes.

"Wow, those dresses are stunning!" Joris exclaimed, eyeing the bags.

"And look at these makeup goodies! You two are going to turn heads," Charles added with a grin.

"Looks like the shopping trip was a success," Joris remarked, his eyes twinkling.

As they settled into lunch, the conversation flowed seamlessly between bites of delicious California cuisine. Yn and Alexandra recounted their shopping adventures, sharing anecdotes about the unique styles and products they discovered.

"Next time, we're all going shopping together!" exclaimed Marta, glancing at the fashionable purchases.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the city of angels, the group bid farewell to the vibrant streets of Los Angeles. Early the next morning, they would embark on the next leg of their journey, heading to the Vegas Grand Prix.

The excitement in the air was palpable as they boarded the plane, their hearts still buzzing with the memories of the Californian adventure. Ahead lay the glittering lights of Las Vegas, where the roar of engines would once again take center stage in the world of Formula 1.

i hope you liked it and if you want to know more about joris and yn and the adventures they are going to follow stay tuned (drama coming soon)

taglist: @love4lando @gcldtom @im-mi @topguncultleader @celesteblack08 @reblog-princess @sunf1ower16

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yoursinisforgiven · 21 days ago

Text

FANGIRL ──

pairing: elias x reader (barista/boss)

cw: smut, afab reader, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, denied orgasm, band au, elias is the bassist, reader is the band manager, a few sexual jokes, reader is implied to be slightly older than elias.

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Hollow! Hollow! Hollow!

The crowd’s chant reverberates like a heartbeat, pounding in unison and growing louder with each repetition. The air is electric, pulsing with anticipation, and the floor beneath your feet seems to vibrate with their collective energy. You cringe slightly at the heavy stench of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne swirling around the venue. It’s a sensory overload—bright, flashing lights, the roar of voices, and the faint hum of feedback from the stage amplifiers.

You’re barely catching your breath, trying to wrangle the chaos backstage, when someone slams into you. Hard.

“Hey—!” you start, spinning around, your voice sharp and ready to cut.

It’s the drummer, Lex, bent over and gasping like he’s just run a marathon. His black tank top clings to his skin, drenched in sweat, and his wild blonde hair sticks out in every direction like he’s been struck by lightning.

“Lex,” you snap, narrowing your eyes. “What the hell are you doing? Watch where you’re going—”

He cuts you off, his voice rasping, “Elias. He’s gone.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

Lex straightens slightly, his breathing still ragged. “He’s gone. Like, I-can’t-find-him kind of gone. We’re supposed to be on in five minutes, and he’s not answering his phone.” He fumbles with his drumsticks, tapping them nervously against his thigh. “I swear, if he bailed to hit up some dive bar or chat up some random girl—”

“Not helping,” you snap, already pulling your phone from your pocket. Your hands tremble slightly, whether from frustration or the gnawing anxiety clawing at your chest, you’re not sure. You dial Elias’s number, pressing the phone to your ear, but it rings and rings before going straight to voicemail.

The crowd outside continues their chant, louder now, more impatient. Hollow! Hollow! Hollow! The venue manager pops his head backstage, his expression tight with irritation. “Three minutes, people. Get your lead singer on stage, or I’m cutting your set.”

You grit your teeth, slamming your phone back into your pocket. “Lex, where did you last see him?”

The drummer hesitates, glancing toward the green room. “He was back there, messing with his guitar… but then he said something about needing fresh air.”

Your jaw clenches. Fresh air? Seriously? You spin on your heel and march toward the green room, throwing the door open. It’s empty, save for a few scattered beer cans and Elias’s leather jacket draped over the couch. His guitar leans against the wall, untouched.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath. You’re already halfway out the backstage exit, scanning the alley outside. The night air is cold compared to the stifling heat of the venue, and the faint glow of a cigarette catches your eye.

There he is, leaning against the wall, his head tilted back, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air. He’s dressed in his usual all-black ensemble, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos winding around his forearms. His guitar pick dangles from a chain around his neck, catching the dim light.

“Elias,” you bark, your voice sharp enough to cut through the night.

He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he turns his head lazily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, boss.”

“Hey, boss?” you repeat, seething. “Do you have any idea what’s going on in there? The crowd is losing their minds, the venue manager is about to kick us off the lineup, and you’re out here—what? Having a smoke break?”

Elias stubs out the cigarette against the wall and shrugs. “Relax. They’re not going anywhere.” He pushes off the wall, taking a step toward you. His voice drops, smooth and annoyingly calm. “The crowd always waits for what they want.”

You glare at him, crossing your arms. “And what they want is the band. On stage. Now.”

He grins, brushing past you toward the door. “Then let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

You follow him back inside, your pulse pounding. The chant grows deafening as the stage lights dim and the band takes their places. Elias steps up to the mic, his presence magnetic, and for a moment, the chaos melts away.

Then he looks back at you, winks, and leans into the mic, his voice low and commanding:

“Let’s make some noise.”

The crowd erupts, and you can’t help but think, This is going to be one hell of a night.

──

The bus ride back to the hotel was oppressively quiet—exactly as you’d demanded it to be. It wasn’t unusual for the band to chatter and laugh after a show, buzzing with the adrenaline of the stage, but tonight, you’d made it clear there would be no celebrating. Silence hung thick in the air, a punishment for the utter chaos backstage.

You could have lectured them further. God knows they deserved it, especially Elias, who had strolled on stage with seconds to spare like nothing was wrong. But you hated the idea of subjecting the poor bus driver to your tirade—it wasn’t his fault your job felt like herding a pack of unruly rockstars.

Instead, you leaned back against the plush leather seats, the faint hum of the engine a poor attempt at soothing your nerves. The bus, sleek and luxurious, was one of the many perks funded by the band’s revenue. Of course, most of the money didn’t come from ticket sales or merch—it came from Elias’s father.

You hadn’t met the man in person, but his shadow loomed over everything. A “big company owner,” Elias had said once, in that dismissive way of his, waving off any further questions. It was only later, after some digging of your own, that you learned the truth. Weapons. Elias’s father sold weapons.

To whom? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. The implications alone were enough to make your stomach churn. Still, you’d made the decision to keep this knowledge buried. The public didn’t need to know, and neither did the band. The scandal would destroy everything, and despite their flaws, you cared about them too much to let that happen.

The bus hit a small bump, jostling you out of your thoughts. Across the aisle, Lex was slouched in his seat, his headphones on as he stared blankly out the window. Milo and Kai were half-asleep in the back, their heads bobbing with the motion of the bus. Elias, of course, was stretched out in the seat directly across from you, one leg casually draped over the armrest.

He caught your eye, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re awfully quiet, boss. Is this the part where you give us the ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ speech?”

You shot him a glare. “No. I figured I’d save it for the morning, when you’re sober enough to feel guilty.”

Elias chuckled, tipping his head back against the seat. “Fair enough. But you know, the crowd loved us tonight. All that yelling backstage? Just part of the charm.”

“Charm?” you repeated, incredulous. “You call almost missing your set charm?”

“I call it keeping things interesting.” He grinned, the kind of grin that made you want to scream and laugh at the same time.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away. His confidence was infuriating, but damn if it didn’t work. That stage presence, that magnetic pull—it was why the fans chanted his name like a prayer.

The bus finally rolled to a stop outside the hotel, the neon lights of the marquee reflecting off the windows. One by one, the band members filed out, their energy subdued after the long night.

As you stepped off the bus, Elias lingered at the door, holding it open for you with an exaggerated bow. “After you, boss.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you muttered, brushing past him.

He laughed softly, falling into step beside you. “Always a pleasure.”

The night air was crisp, and the faint sound of city traffic hummed in the background. You glanced up at the towering hotel, already dreading tomorrow’s chaos. But for now, you allowed yourself one deep breath, savoring the fleeting calm.

You didn’t notice Elias watching you, his smirk softening into something almost unreadable.

──

“What do you mean there’s not enough rooms?” you snapped, your patience worn thin.

The receptionist, a weary-looking woman with dark circles under her eyes, sighed and once again repeated the same tired line. “We apologize for the inconvenience, but there’s simply not enough rooms available. We can offer you a refund if you'd prefer, but we can’t ask anyone to leave their room.”

You felt your jaw tighten as you fought the urge to snap back. You were already tired of hearing the same excuse, and the band’s growing frustration only added to the weight of the situation.

“Just give me the damn keys,” you muttered, holding out your hand.

The receptionist hesitated for a moment, before slowly handing over the key cards, her eyes flicking nervously to the group behind you. You could feel her wanting to be anywhere else, but right now, you didn’t have the energy to care about her discomfort.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice clipped, before turning sharply on your heel to lead the way to the elevator. The boys followed, trailing behind like a pack of reluctant puppies, the tension between them palpable.

Once inside, the elevator doors closed with a soft thud. The usual hum of its ascent filled the silence for a moment, before you turned to Elias, who was leaning casually against the back wall, arms crossed and eyes studying the buttons.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you said, your voice low but pointed.

Elias blinked, momentarily shocked by your tone. Then, without skipping a beat, he let out a dry laugh. “Really? How so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play dumb,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “If you hadn’t decided to pull that stunt during the show, you would’ve performed sooner, meaning we would’ve been here earlier and could’ve gotten our damn rooms.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but Milo’s voice suddenly chimed in from behind you. “She has a point, man.”

You felt a small spark of satisfaction, but it was short-lived. Kai shushed Milo with a sharp glance, and the supporting bassist immediately fell silent, his eyes darting between you and Elias.

Elias grinned, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah, but you can’t blame me for the crowd’s energy. It was their fault they were so loud—just trying to keep them on their toes.”

Before you could respond with a biting retort, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. You stepped out immediately, leading the way down the hallway toward the rooms. The boys followed, their footsteps echoing softly in the otherwise quiet corridor.

Elias caught up to you, his usual cocky demeanor back in place. “You’re really gonna make me sleep on the floor, huh? All because of a little ‘punishment’? I thought we were past this.”

You shot him a sideways glance, not breaking your stride. “Don’t push it, Elias. You’ve already caused enough problems for one night.”

The band fell into a quiet rhythm behind you as you navigated the maze of hotel hallways. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the thought of spending another night dealing with their antics. But despite all the chaos, you couldn’t deny the bond that had formed between you and the band, even if it often felt like you were the only one trying to keep it all together.

Once at the rooms, you made sure they were all lined up in a neat row, your version of damage control after the debacle at the front desk. Three rooms—there should have been four, but luck clearly wasn’t on your side tonight.

You turned to the boys, eyeing them with the scrutiny of a drill sergeant. “Alright,” you said, holding up the key cards. “Kai, Milo—these are yours.”

They each stepped forward to grab their keys, Kai muttering a quiet “thanks” while Milo gave you a sheepish grin before retreating toward their respective doors.

That left two keys, two boys, and one very significant question: Who do I trust more to have a room to themselves?

Your gaze flicked between Lex and Elias. Lex, the walking ball of nervous energy who could probably use some alone time to decompress. And then there was Elias—smirking, leaning casually against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world, radiating the kind of chaos that could start a fire just by walking into a room.

With a reluctant sigh, you handed the last key to Lex. “Here,” you said, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t argue. He took the key and quickly disappeared into his room, leaving you alone with Elias.

You turned to him, your glare sharp enough to cut steel. “You’re sleeping with me.”

Elias’s grin widened instantly, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “I don’t have any condoms,” he said, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

You scoffed, biting back a retort as you turned on your heel and unlocked the door to your shared room. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him—didn’t want to see the satisfaction practically radiating off him, or worse, let him see the flush creeping up your neck.

The door clicked open, and you stepped inside without a word. Elias followed, sauntering in with that infuriating swagger like he owned the place.

The room was modest but inviting—plush white bedding, a small sitting area, and soft lighting that bathed everything in a warm glow. The faint scent of fresh linen and lavender hung in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night.

You dropped your bag onto the armchair by the window, finally allowing yourself a deep breath. When you turned around, there he was, sprawled across the bed like a cat in a sunbeam, his phone already in hand. His legs hung off the side, one arm tucked behind his head, completely at ease.

“Elias,” you said, your tone sharp enough to cut glass.

“Hmm?” he replied absently, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“Get the hell up,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “You need to shower.”

He finally glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “What, now? I’m comfortable.”

“You reek of sweat, alcohol, and bad decisions,” you shot back. “I’m not spending the night breathing that in.”

Elias smirked, setting his phone down on his chest. “Oh, come on, boss. I thought we were bonding.”

“Bonding?” you echoed, incredulous. “If you don’t get in that shower right now, you’ll be bonding with the hallway carpet.”

He laughed at that, a deep, warm sound that somehow managed to be both infuriating and contagious. But instead of arguing further, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching lazily.

“Fine, fine,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Anything to keep you happy.”

You stepped aside as he made his way to the bathroom, mumbling something under your breath about how his definition of ‘keeping you happy’ involved doing the bare minimum.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and the sound of water running soon followed. You let out a long sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly.

For the first time all night, the room was quiet, and you allowed yourself a moment to sit on the edge of the bed, your gaze drifting to the window. The city lights sparkled in the distance, a constant reminder of the world outside this bubble of chaos.

But the peace was short-lived.

The bathroom door cracked open, and Elias poked his head out, steam billowing around him. “Hey, do you want me to leave you any hot water, or…?”

You glared at him. “Just shower, Elias.”

He grinned, disappearing back into the bathroom. You shook your head, half-exasperated, half-amused.

──

After your shower, you stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung over your shoulder, ready to give Elias a piece of your mind. The lukewarm water you’d endured was enough to rile you up, even if you hadn’t explicitly told him to save any hot water.

But as you emerged, the words caught in your throat. Elias wasn’t sprawled across the bed like you’d expected. Instead, he stood by the window, the curtain pulled back, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the city lights and the vast expanse of the night sky beyond.

“What are you looking at?” you muttered, your annoyance momentarily forgotten as you approached him.

He didn’t turn right away, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “The sky,” he said softly.

You raised an eyebrow, stopping a few steps behind him. “I can see that. Why?”

Elias finally glanced over his shoulder at you, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Because it’s peaceful,” he replied. “Doesn’t it feel like... no matter how loud or messy the world gets, the stars stay the same?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. Gone was the cocky, teasing demeanor he usually wore like armor. This Elias was quieter, contemplative, almost vulnerable.

“I guess I’ve never thought about it like that,” you admitted, stepping closer to stand beside him.

He motioned toward the window, and you followed his gaze. The city’s glow didn’t drown out the stars entirely; a faint scattering of them still twinkled against the dark canvas of the sky.

“Back when I was a kid,” Elias began, his voice low, “I used to sneak out at night and climb onto the roof of our house just to look at the stars. My dad would yell at me if he caught me, but I didn’t care. It was the one place I could just... breathe.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the candidness of his confession. “I didn’t know you were into stargazing.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he said, his smirk returning briefly before fading again. “But yeah, it’s always been my thing. Makes me feel small, in a good way. Like all the stuff that feels so big and important down here—it doesn’t really matter up there.”

You leaned against the window frame, the cool glass pressing lightly against your arm. “You’re not wrong,” you said, your voice softer now. “Sometimes it’s nice to remember that the world doesn’t revolve around us.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in comfortable silence, the hum of the city below blending with the quiet of the night.

“You ever wonder what’s out there?” Elias asked suddenly, nodding toward the stars. “I mean, really out there?”

“All the time,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I try not to think too hard about it. My brain starts hurting.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough.”

You looked at him then, his profile softened by the dim light, his usual sharp edges smoothed out in the stillness of the moment. It was rare to see Elias like this—unguarded, thoughtful, human.

“Thanks for sharing this,” you said quietly.

He turned to you, his gaze meeting yours for a beat longer than expected. “Thanks for not kicking me out of the band yet,” he said, his smirk returning, though there was a hint of sincerity in his tone.

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward. “Don’t push your luck.”

Elias chuckled again, turning back to the window. “Deal.”

You moved to the bed, your feet sinking into the plush carpet as you grabbed one of the pillows and placed it firmly in the middle of the mattress. You sat down on your side with purpose, patting the edge of the pillow barrier as if to emphasize its importance.

“This,” you said, pointing to one side, “is your side.”

Then you pointed to the space beneath you, your expression unwavering. “And this is my side. Don’t cross it.”

Elias, still by the window, turned his head to look at you, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “A pillow wall? Really? What are we, twelve?”

“Call it whatever you want,” you said, sliding beneath the covers. “But if I wake up with so much as a toe on my side, you’re sleeping in the hallway.”

He laughed, finally moving away from the window. “You’re so dramatic, boss,” he teased, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“And you’re so annoying,” you shot back, fluffing your pillow and lying down.

Elias clicked off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. You could hear the rustling of fabric as he climbed into bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and amused. “I’ll stay on my side.”

“You better,” you muttered, closing your eyes.

For a moment, there was silence, the kind that felt heavy but not unpleasant. The kind that allowed you to hear the subtle sounds of his breathing, steady and calm. You were almost convinced he’d settled in for the night when his voice broke the quiet.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You cracked one eye open, though he probably couldn’t see it in the dark. “What?”

“You trust me, right?”

The question caught you off guard, and you turned your head slightly toward him, though the pillow wall still kept you apart. “Why are you asking me that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his tone lighter now, as if trying to downplay the seriousness of his question. “Just wondering.”

You frowned, debating your answer. “I trust you to stay on your side of the bed,” you said finally, your tone dry.

Elias chuckled, the sound soft and warm in the darkness. “Guess that’s a start.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to face the ceiling. But as you lay there, you found yourself thinking about the way he’d stared at the stars earlier, the quiet vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

“Goodnight, Elias,” you said after a beat, your voice softer than before.

“Goodnight, boss,” he replied, and for the first time since the chaos of the evening began, you felt a sense of calm settle over you

──

The warmth of the sun beamed against your skin, coaxing you from the edges of sleep. You groaned, squinting against the golden light flooding the room. Elias hadn’t closed the curtains last night—of course he hadn’t. Typical.

The heat was oddly comforting, blanketing you in a way that made you reluctant to move. You shifted slightly, intending to pull the covers over your face, when you noticed something strange. The warmth wasn’t just from the sun—it felt heavier, closer, alive.

Your eyes flew open, and your breath caught in your throat.

Elias.

He was right there, one arm draped over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His dark hair was tousled, brushing against your skin with each soft exhale. His body pressed against yours, radiating heat that explained why you’d felt so warm.

“What the—” you whispered, your heart pounding as you froze in place.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, trying to piece together how this had happened. The pillow barrier you’d so carefully constructed was nowhere in sight, discarded on the floor like it had never existed.

Elias stirred, his grip tightening slightly as he mumbled something incoherent. His voice was rough with sleep, and the sound sent a strange jolt through you—part irritation, part... something else entirely.

You swallowed hard, torn between shoving him off and pretending you hadn’t noticed. But when his eyelashes fluttered and he began to wake, the decision was made for you.

“Elias!” you hissed, shoving at his chest.

He groaned, his eyes cracking open just enough to meet yours. For a moment, he looked confused, then amused as a lazy smirk spread across his face.

“Morning, boss,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “You’re warm.”

You felt your face heat, and it wasn’t just from the sun. “What the hell are you doing on my side of the bed?”

“Your side?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you’re in my arms, which makes this my side now.”

You shoved him harder, finally breaking free from his hold as you scrambled to the edge of the bed. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “I knew this would happen.”

Elias sat up, stretching with an infuriating lack of shame. “Relax. It’s not like I planned it. You must’ve rolled over in your sleep and decided I was more comfortable than that pillow.”

You glared at him, your cheeks still burning. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He grinned, leaning back on his elbows as he watched you with that infuriatingly smug expression. “Don’t worry, boss. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him. He caught it easily, laughing as he flopped back onto the bed.

Almost as quickly as the moment came, it ended. You bolted out of the bed, your face still warm, and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you. Leaning against the sink, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the mortifying memory of waking up tangled in Elias’s arms.

After washing your face and throwing on a simple outfit, you stepped out of the bathroom, only to freeze mid-step.

There was Elias, standing in the middle of the room in nothing but his boxers, pulling a shirt over his head.

“Elias!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly as your eyes darted anywhere but at him.

He glanced at you, entirely unbothered, as he tugged the hem of his shirt into place. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?!” you sputtered, gesturing wildly. “You’re dressing in the middle of the hotel room—our shared hotel room!”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression perfectly deadpan. “You told me to dress. So, I’m dressing.”

“In the bathroom!” you hissed. “Like a normal person!”

Elias smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “You didn’t specify where. You gotta be more clear with your instructions, boss.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’re impossible.” You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you grabbed your bag and followed him out of the room.

──

Downstairs, the hotel’s dining area was already bustling with activity. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, mingling with the chatter of guests and the clinking of cutlery.

Kai and Milo were already seated at a table near the buffet, their plates piled high with an assortment of food. Kai was mid-bite into what looked like his second waffle, while Milo was carefully crafting the perfect stack of pancakes. Lex was nowhere to be seen.

“Morning,” Kai greeted through a mouthful of food, waving you over.

“Charming,” you said dryly, taking a seat across from him.

Elias plopped down next to you, grabbing a menu despite the obvious buffet setup. “Where’s Lex?” he asked, glancing around.

Milo shrugged, not looking up from his pancakes. “He said he’d be down in a bit. Probably still doing his hair or something.”

“Of course,” you muttered, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “Heaven forbid Lex shows up without his signature ‘just rolled out of bed but still perfect’ look.”

Elias grinned, leaning back in his chair. “The fans love it. Gotta give the people what they want.”

You shot him a look. “Speaking of giving people what they want, maybe try showing up to rehearsal on time for once.”

Kai snickered, earning a glare from Elias. “You’re really gonna start lecturing me before I’ve had my coffee?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, taking a sip of your own.

Lex finally appeared, his hair styled immaculately as predicted, and slid into the seat beside Milo. “Morning,” he said smoothly, as if he hadn’t kept everyone waiting.

“Nice of you to join us, Your Majesty,” you said, earning a chuckle from Kai.

As the band dug into their breakfasts, the conversation shifted to plans for the day—a mix of rehearsal schedules, sound checks, and your relentless reminders to stay on track. Despite the chaos they brought into your life, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride as you watched them bicker and joke around the table.

You made your way to the coffee bar, Elias trailing close behind like a curious shadow. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you picked up an empty cup and began pouring. You felt his eyes on you, but you ignored him, focusing on your task.

Elias leaned on the counter beside you, watching as you moved to the foam dispenser. With precise movements, you tilted the cup, swirling the foam into an intricate design—a blooming rose topped with a delicate swirl of caramel. The golden drizzle glistened under the soft lighting, and for a moment, even you were impressed by your handiwork.

“How the hell are you doing that?” Elias asked, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

You glanced at him, your lips twitching into a small smile. “I used to be a barista,” you said simply, grabbing a lid and snapping it onto the cup.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You mean to tell me you’ve been holding out on us this whole time? You could’ve been making coffee like this instead of yelling at us every morning?”

“Yelling gets results,” you shot back, handing him the cup. “Here. Drink up. We leave in five—and don’t drink too much. It might infect your piercing” You’d been there with him when he got his tongue pierced, the memory being a small smile to your face.

Elias took the cup, still staring at the caramel swirl as if it held the secrets of the universe. “You’re full of surprises, boss,” he murmured before taking a sip.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, already walking away toward the front desk to return the keys.

The hotel lobby was bustling with early risers checking out and staff hurrying to assist. You handed over the keys to the receptionist, exchanging polite smiles, before turning to see the rest of the band loitering near the doors.

Kai was scrolling on his phone, his duffel bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. Milo was fiddling with a zipper on his backpack, looking uncharacteristically frustrated. Lex, of course, was preoccupied with his reflection in the glass doors, adjusting his sunglasses despite being indoors.

“Let’s move, people,” you called out, clapping your hands once for emphasis. “The van’s waiting, and we’ve got a schedule to keep.”

──

Hollow! Hollow! Hollow!

The chant of the crowd echoed through the venue, relentless and deafening. Even in the quieter backstage corridors, where the chaos was muffled by layers of concrete and insulation, the energy seeped through like an unstoppable tide.

Another city, another show, another headache pounding away at your temples. You massaged your forehead in frustration, the din outside doing little to help your mood. New city, same people, you thought grimly, the words looping in your mind like a mantra. The idea of enduring this for another three months made your stomach churn.

No more tours for a while, you resolved silently. They need a break. I need a break.

The band wasn’t due on stage for another twenty minutes, and you had just enough time to check in on Elias. He’d been acting strange all day—quieter than usual, more distracted. Even for him, it was odd.

You turned sharply, weaving through the labyrinth of backstage hallways. The crew was buzzing with activity: someone shouting about a misplaced mic, another hauling coiled cables over their shoulder, a group discussing last-minute adjustments to the lighting. You sidestepped all of it with practiced ease, your focus locked on Elias’s dressing room.

Reaching the door, you knocked twice—a warning—then pushed it open without waiting for an answer.

Elias was sprawled on the small couch, his legs stretched out and his phone in hand. The dim light of the screen cast a faint glow on his face. He didn’t even flinch at your sudden entrance, though the way his eyes darted up at you screamed guilt.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

He hesitated, his thumb hovering over his phone’s screen. “...Ordering food?”

“Twenty minutes before you’re supposed to be on stage?” you snapped, your tone sharp. “No. Absolutely not. Wait until after.”

Elias groaned, slumping further into the couch like a teenager being scolded. “Come on, it’s just a quick order. I’m starving.”

“You’ll survive,” you shot back, striding over and snatching the phone from his hand. “Perform first, eat later. That’s how this works.”

He sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes like a child who’d been told they couldn’t have their way. You shook your head, the exasperation clear in your tone as you moved to sit beside him on the couch.

“Find something to eat on set or wait until after,” you said firmly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Elias was quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with a slow, almost theatrical breath. You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he contemplated his options.

Finally, he shifted, lifting his arm just enough to peek at you through his fingers. “If I find something... you promise you’ll let me eat it?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness to it, as if he was daring you to break your word.

You furrowed your brows, confused at what he was getting at. “Yes?” you replied, not quite understanding why he was making such a big deal of this.

Elias sat up, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re not going to stop me, are you?”

The room feels charged, the air thick with tension as Elias doesn’t wait for any acknowledgment. He’s already moving, slipping off the couch with an ease that makes your pulse quicken. Before you can even fully process it, he’s kneeling in front of you, his hands sliding slowly up your thigh, his touch warm against your skin.

He lowers his head to your lap, his gaze locking with yours, dark and intense. You can feel his breath warm against your skin as he rests there, his body close enough to make your heart race. His eyes, always so full of that familiar intensity, flicker with something deeper now. Something that makes your pulse race in a way that is both thrilling and dangerous.

“Elias–”

“Please…” he murmurs again, and the word wraps around your chest like a coil, tightening with every breath you take. It’s a simple request, but the way he says it—like it’s something he needs, like it’s something you have the power to give him—sends a shiver through your body.

His lips brush against your inner thigh as he shifts, the whisper of the touch almost enough to break your composure. You try to maintain control, but his presence, his proximity, it’s suffocating in the best way. You feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the pull toward him. The need to give in, to let him have what he’s asking for.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice low and laden with something darker now, something that makes your body ache with anticipation.

Elias's hands slid higher, his fingers curling around the waistband of your pants. With a wicked glint in his eye, he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly, teasingly, began to peel them down your hips. You lifted your bottom off the couch to help him, your heart pounding as the cool air hit your bare skin.

"Elias, what are you doing?" you gasped, a thrill of anticipation and nerves fluttering in your stomach as he revealed more and more of your most intimate area. The damp patch at the crotch of your panties was growing, the evidence of your arousal staining the delicate material.

Elias didn't answer, his focus solely on the task at hand. He tugged your pants down your legs, tossing them carelessly to the side once he had them off. Leaning in, he nuzzled against your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing against your sensitive flesh. You could feel the slight stubble of his jaw, the softness of his lips as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your skin, slowly working his way upward.

As he reached the apex of your thighs, Elias paused. You could feel his eyes on you, dark and intense as he gazed up at you through his lashes. Without warning, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against your clothed sex, his tongue emerging to trace the outline of your slit through the damp fabric.

A jolt of pleasure shot through you at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily. At the same time, you felt a unfamiliar hardness against your thigh - the cool metal of a piercing, nestled in the warmth of his tongue. The sensation sent a shiver running up your spine, a sudden rush of arousal flooding your core.

"Oh god, Elias," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as he began to lapped at your clothed sex with increasing fervor.

Elias hummed against your pantie clan flesh, the vibrations only adding to your burgeoning pleasure. He licked and suckled at your cloth-covered folds, his tongue piercing toying with your sensitive pearl through the damp material. The scent of your arousal filled the air, the musky aroma of your desire thick and heady.

You could feel your juices beginning to seep through the fabric, your essence coating Elias's lips.

Elias's tongue, adorned with its cool metal piercing, continued its relentless assault on your most intimate area. He lapped and suckled at your cloth-covered sex, his mouth growing slick with your arousal seeping through the damp fabric. The sensation of the hard, smooth metal against your sensitive flesh sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins with each pass of his tongue.

He grasped your thighs, his fingers sinking into the soft skin as he parted your legs further, opening you up to his hungry mouth. Elias's eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark with lust and a primal, almost feral hunger as he watched your reactions to his ministrations. A wicked grin tugged at his lips, revealing the glint of his piercing, before he ducked his head and sealed his mouth fully over your clothed sex.

Elias began to suckle in earnest, his lips parting to draw your damp panties into his mouth. He suckled hard, his tongue delving into the hollow of your clothed entrance, seeking out your hidden pearl. The combination of his hot, wet mouth and the cool metal of his piercing against your aching, swollen nub was almost too much to bear.

He could feel your essence, hot and sticky, beginning to soak through the fabric, coating his lips and chin. The taste of your arousal, the scent of your desire, only seemed to drive him to suckle harder, to lap and lick with greater fervor. Elias's hands slid up to grasp your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on your sex, determined to taste your nectar directly from the source.

With a low, muffled groan against your flesh, Elias released your panties from his lips. Hooking his fingers into the damp material, he began to peel it away, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly revealed your glistening, needy sex to his hungry gaze. Your swollen lips, slick and shining with your juices, quivered in the cool air as Elias drank in the sight of your desire laid bare before him.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice a low, reverent rasp. Elias paused, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh as he gazed up at you with hooded eyes. "Can I take these off, baby?" he murmured, his fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. "I want to taste you properly”

His voice was low and rough with desire, sending shivers down your spine. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, your core clenching with anticipation. You knew you should feel shy, exposed, but the raw hunger in Elias's gaze only fueled your own arousal.

"Please," you breathed, your own voice trembling slightly." A slow, wicked smile spread across Elias's face at your words. Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down your legs, exposing your dripping sex to his heated gaze. The cool air hit your overheated flesh, making you gasp and your hips twitch.

"Fuck, look at you," Elias breathed, his eyes roving over your glistening folds, taking in every inch of your swollen, needy sex. "So fucking wet and ready for me already. I've barely touched you and you're already dripping, baby."

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Then, without warning, he pressed his mouth against your dripping folds, his tongue delving deep into your heated core.

You cried out, your back arching off the couch as Elias began to feast on your sex like a starving man. His tongue explored every inch of your dripping channel, swirling around your swollen walls and lapping up your essence like it was the finest nectar.

Elias's piercing added a delicious edge to every pass of his tongue, the hard metal sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. He focused on your aching, throbbing clit, suckling and flicking the sensitive bud until your thighs trembled and your toes curled.

Elias's hands slid around to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes as he pulled you harder against his mouth. He could feel your thick, slick arousal coating his chin and dripping down onto his chest as he suckled and licked with increasing fervor. The scent of your desire filled his nostrils, driving him wild with lust.

He focused his attention on your aching, swollen clit, flicking and circling the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he plunged two fingers deep into your clenching, gripping channel, pumping them in and out at a steady, intense pace. The combination of his fingers stroking your inner walls and his tongue teasing your clit pushed you closer and closer to the edge of your release.

Elias could feel your body tensing, your breathing growing ragged and shallow. He could sense your impending climax in the way your walls fluttered and clenched around his invading fingers, in the desperate, needy sounds spilling from your lips.

"Yes, that's it," Elias encouraged, his voice a low, lust-filled growl against your sex. To add to your pleasure, Elias lightly grazed your clit with his teeth, applying the slightest pressure as he sucked hard on the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that special spot deep within your core that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head.

The sudden knock on the door feels like a bucket of ice water poured over you, snapping you out of the haze Elias had expertly woven around you. The sharp sound of it reverberates in the room, pulling you back to reality in an instant.

“Five minutes until performance, Elias! Come on, what's taking so long?” Kai’s voice cuts through the thick tension, full of impatience but laced with an undercurrent of amusement. You can hear the faint rustle of him shifting outside the door, and the frustration in his tone only heightens the pressure in the room.

Elias lets out a low, reluctant groan, his body stiffening as if the moment was yanked away from him too soon. He pulls away from your lap, his eyes lingering on you for a moment, dark and full of unspoken promises. His breath is ragged, and his chest rises and falls in rhythm with the heavy tension between you.

He looks up at you, and there’s that smirk again—the one that’s both mischievous and knowing, the one that makes your pulse spike despite yourself. “I’ll make it up to you after the performance,” he says, his voice low, but carrying that unmistakable edge of playfulness. He stands, leaning down just long enough to grab the waistband of your panties, fingers brushing along the fabric before he shoves them into his pocket with a decisive motion.

“For later,” he adds with a wink, his grin growing wider as he straightens up, clearly pleased with the power he holds over you in this moment.

A surge of heat floods your chest, a mix of frustration and arousal, but you hold your ground. “Wipe your face!” you call out, voice sharp as your fingers move to smooth your hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Elias chuckles softly, not bothering to hide the amusement in his eyes, but there’s something about the way he moves—slow and deliberate—that betrays the lingering tension between you. He runs a hand across his lips, wiping away any trace of the moment you shared, but the mischievous glint never leaves his eyes.

“You’re lucky Kai's timing is impeccable,” he mutters under his breath with a playful tilt of his head. “But don’t forget, you owe me now.”

Your heart skips a beat, and despite yourself, you can’t help but wonder exactly how he plans to collect on that promise.

──

It doesn’t take long for you to regain your composure in Elias’s dressing room, the cool air of the space a welcome contrast to the heat that still lingers from your encounter. You take a deep breath, steadying your pulse before you finally step out, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one sees you slipping away. The last thing you need is anyone catching wind of what just happened—or what’s still hanging between the two of you.

When you make it to the back of the venue, you slip behind the curtains, taking up a position that allows you to watch the performance unfold without drawing attention. The familiar melody fills the air, the one they'd practiced on the drive here, and you can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your lips. Proud, you hum along under your breath, your eyes following the rhythm of the show. Every move, every note—these people, Elias included, had worked so hard, and it’s clear in the way the crowd reacts.

But then, your gaze lands on Elias, and your smile falters. There, practically hanging out of his pocket, is your pair of panties, a sight that’s all too obvious in the spotlight.The heat in your chest flares, your gut sinking as you watch Elias, completely oblivious to the spectacle his little keepsake has caused.

You groan under your breath, already calculating how to explain this to the press. You can see the headlines now—whispers of scandal, rumors of an affair, and God knows what else. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of believable story to shut it all down before it gets out of hand. But no matter how many scenarios you run through in your head, none of them seem to make this mess go away.

Elias, of course, seems completely unfazed, still performing with that confident swagger, unaware of the storm brewing behind the scenes.

You glance around, trying to gauge the mood of the backstage crew, and your eyes briefly meet Kai’s. His expression is unreadable, but you can tell he knows exactly what’s going on. Sighing, you lean against the wall, your arms crossing over your chest as you try to hold it together. The night’s not over yet, and despite the chaos unfolding around you, you know one thing for sure, this is going to be a hell of a story to explain.

──

author's note: all credit to @meraki-kiera for the band au!

#zsakuva #sakuverse #zsakuva fandom #elias zsakuva #zsakuva elias #elias x reader #elias x barista #barista

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beanie-baby-0218 · 2 months ago

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My PJSK Fantasy AU !!

I’ve been writing a pjsk fantasy AU and wanted to share some of the stuff I’ve made for it so far :))

It’s Niigo and Shinonome Siblings focused. If I had to name a protagonist for it, it would be Ena but it’s generally more of an ensemble affair.

I’ve been writing it on AO3 so here’s a link to that if anyone is interested

There are who I’d consider the “main cast”:

Characters are marginally aged up but mainly to make the fact that some of them have jobs as knights and whatnot make more sense. Mizuki especially given she’s been a knight for a few years. I just can’t imagine having a 13yo be a knight lol.

World Building:

There are three main kingdoms. The Tenma Kingdom, the Hinomori Kingdom and the Ootori Kingdom

10 years before the events of the story, the Tenma and Hinomori Kingdoms found themselves engaged in war with each other. Things have since calmed down, but relations are still tense

There are humans and there are magical creatures

Magical creatures include anything and everything that can naturally use magic including witches, fae, pixies, etc etc. Humans can also become magical creatures through curses, such as one which turns its victim into a demon

On the other hand, magic does not come naturally to humans. In order to use magic, they lose small amounts of blood. Generally this results in nose bleeds but if used recklessly it can cause internal bleeding

There’s also dark magic, which are spells drawn using blood. These can be cast by both humans and magical creatures

Many humans seek to be able to control magic, thus they often outlaw and hunt magical creatures. Those who can’t hide their magic are typically pushed to the outskirts of society, whether that be slums or forests. They’re very rarely welcome in human towns and cities

Characters:

Kanade:

Kanade is technically half-witch, with her father being human and her mother being a witch

Her father attempted to experiment with music-based magic in order to improve his music which backfired on him both because he was reckless and because he was human

Kanade walked in the moment it backfired, winding up with a curse

Its effects are mostly minor. Her hands are covered in dark, vein-like lines and will often lock up or go numb. This usually happens as a result of stronger emotions, but can also happen randomly. It’s usually painless but sometimes it does hurt

Generally, she can only ever seem to recover when turning to music. Usually this means attempting to play a song on her lyre

Mafuyu:

As mentioned previously, humans often get injured upon using magic

Mafuyu comes from the Hinomori Kingdom, being the child of Lord and Lady Asahina. Her father is an advisor for the royal family whilst her mother is a housewife

He originally picked up healing magic as a way to heal the small scratches and bruises his friends would often receive whilst playing

When her mother noticed this, she began to encourage Mafuyu to keep practicing and getting even better at healing magic. For a while it became Mafuyu’s single focus and it took both a physical and mental toll on her

Things remained that way until Mafuyu’s friend, Princess Shizuku, offered him an escape through becoming a knight. This gave Mafuyu peace of mind for a while, until an encounter with an innocent young orc he was expected to kill, in which he began to question the morals of the kingdom he worked for

She ended up abandoning her post that day, later being found by Ena who convinced Meiko to let her live with them

Ena:

Ena was ten when the war between the Tenmas and the Hinomoris began. She got separated from her family and ended up being fatally injured, believing herself to be as good as dead

Instead a strange boy with a set of horns appeared and held out his hand to her. When she took it, those horns transferred onto her head, turning her into a demon

This gave Ena the magic to heal her wounds enough to survive and she was soon found by another demon - Meiko - who took her in

Whilst neither Ena nor Meiko know too many details about their curse, they know that it makes their magic volatile and incredibly responsive to emotions. Ena fears both that, if she tried to return home, she may hurt her family with her magic given she is quite the emotional person, and worried that her family may not accept her in this new form

Mizuki:

Mizuki became a knight at a relatively young age due to King Tenma’s insistence

She generally dislikes her job, but knows that if she were to abandon her post it would put both her and her older sister in danger

Mizuki believes they owe a lot to Yuuki for how she took care of Mizuki when they were younger, so is willing to take on the burden of keeping them both safe

She met Ena and the others during a stroll in the forest (where they live). The three of them were on a walk when they bumped into Mizuki, and immediately assumed she was some sort of threat. To her surprise, once she was able to reassure them all that she wasn’t a threat, they became surprisingly friendly and a bond formed between them

Niigo are some of the only friends Mizuki has and they’ll do anything to keep them out of harms way. This includes almost exclusively visiting them at night and occasionally going on errands for them so they don’t have to enter the capital city

From this point on I have nowhere near as many lore additions to add about each character lol

Akito:

Used to be friends with the young Lord Toya. A young boy who was so close to Prince Tsukasa and Princess Saki that they saw him as their brother. Much like Akito’s sister, Toya has gone missing and is presumed by many to be dead

Also not lore related but I’m so annoyed because I just realised that some of his text is in a different colour

An:

Comes from a family of bards

Her dad owns a café which she often visits during the work day to get some coffee to give her an energy boost

Her close friend Kohane works there as a waitress

Rui:

Not gonna say anymore about him than there already is. He’s meant to be very elusive

Meiko:

Whilst she has never confirmed or denied it, Ena assumes that Meiko’s deadpan nature is her way of controlling the curse. She never expresses any strong emotions, meaning she struggles with losing control of her magic much less frequently than Ena

She also has ties to a mischievous fae who lives in the forest and enjoys pulling pranks on its residents

Omg that spiralled out of control a little. It’s not even all the content I have for this AU but I feel like this is already wayyy too much of a ramble as is

Maybe I’ll make another post for art/card edits I’ve been making for it

Also any future posts about this will be under the tag ‘#narcissus and marigolds’

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aziraphales-library · 7 months ago

Note

hi there,

i was wondering if you had any recommendations for ineffable wives '60s au fics? specifically fluff / angst?

thank you so much!!

Hi, here are some 1960s ineffable wives fics...

girl's girl by orphan_account (G)

Crowley thinks the 60's are her favorite decade to date. She can wear pants as a woman without being shunned from scoiety, She can order fancy little drinks with colorful tiny umbrella's, and she can see Aziraphale in a dress, looking drop dead gorgeous - but not in a romantic way, more like a girl's girl way, definitely.

New York City, 1969 by theparanoidandroid (G)

Oh. Oh, dear. Crowley’s head has turned in her direction. Aziraphale’s forgotten her manners, and now she’s been caught staring. She drops her eyes—far too late, of course—as Crowley levels a red grin at her, and is further mortified when the serpent excuses herself from the bar and saunters over. “Aziraphale!” Crowley’s voice is warm and direct in a way that suggests she’s, shockingly, mostly sober. Her eyes rake over the angel’s ensemble, still terribly old-fashioned despite being of a different persuasion. Stuck in her ways, she is. Crowley perches on the edge of the table she’s sitting at, drink in hand. “Crowley.” She’s awfully unsure of how to act. Crowley’s doing what she does best, acting like nothing happened. Should she follow suit? “You look well.”

when hearts like ours meet by feel_alright (T)

During the height of the second-wave feminist movement, a drunken Crowley causes problems and gets a ride back home.

Letters From Eden by MyFriendsAreFictionalCharacters (NR)

60s Human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley are friends and neighbors but much changes when Aziraphale finds an advice column in the paper from a mysterious Miss Eden.

The Female Experience by SonnetSterling (NR)

Heaven wants to know why the Pearly Gates are opening to more women than men. Hell is almost certain that God is playing favorites. So they send their representatives on a bit of an undercover mission to figure out what *exactly* is going on- what are women doing so much better than men?

The Long and Winding Road by elfbowie (G)

Aziraphale reluctantly agrees to accompany Crowley to a Beatles concert in 1965, resigned to an evening of rowdy music she's certain she'll hate. Upon listening to the lyrics of the songs, though, she finds that some of them are unexpectedly relatable. Will the angel and demon acknowledge the growing emotional tension between them as the night goes on?

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable wives #1960s #through the ages #mod d

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justporo · 7 months ago

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Fouetté

Fouetté: “whipped”, quick whiplike movements in ballet (e.g. for turns)

A/N: So, this is something that came about on a Discord server. Suddenly a ballet AU was born in which Astarion is one and certainly the most tragic and beaten of dancers in Cazador's company. Thanks to @silmaryel especially and some others on the server who gave me this brainworm!

Warnings: implicit/past physical and emotional abuse, ptsd Wordcount: 3k

~~~

The rays of light shimmering through the giant windows were golden in the morning sun. Little particles of dust sparkled, drifting in and out of them. Soft piano music was drifting through the air, setting the background for the dancer twisting and arching in the middle of the studio.

He felt the warmth of the benevolent sun as he turned and turned in the middle of the polished wooden floors, a slight but confident smile on his lips. His movements seemed effortless and elegant, free and perfect. The moment itself seemed timeless, ethereal in its beauty.

But even all good things must come to an end.

The last pirouette was coming to a close. He assumed end position with a content sigh, chest heaving, illuminated by golden light.

Hard work, but the kind that pays off. Pain of exertion that in the end is crowned by reward.

With one knee on the ground and his torso bent back so far it seemed like he’d been decapitated, he remained in his position. Only the rising chest was now a sign of life.

Like a wind up puppet in a music box at the end of its little show, its head already torn off, waiting for someone to wind it back up again or close the box - because there was nothing else it could or wanted to do.

With the loud clack of the door to the studio falling closed, Astarion was violently whipped back to the real world. His head swivelled around to see Petras enter; late as always. His fellow dancer threw him an annoyed look as he caught the other staring. Astarion stared back, nose scrunched up in distaste at the lack of diligence.

Gone was the golden, serene scene in his mind already, replaced by grim reality once more.

He had been up for a good while already. A quick freezing shower after a handful of hours of sleep and it had been back to work: training in the mostly dark studio, only lit up by the emergency lights and his phone flash. Trying to get in as much training before someone else arrived.

Hours later, he was standing at the barre in the windowless room, crammed between the other dancers. The only light source were the harsh halogen tubes up above. Even the piano playing as the ensemble of dancers warmed up for a long day of training sounded shrill, every note a violent reminder of the rhythm they were supposed - no, forced - to follow.

Astarion looked at himself with his hand gripping the wooden bar, stretching to warm up for the ensemble work. He realised the bright relentless light from above cast the circles beneath his eyes even darker than they already were. It fit the drawn down corners of his mouth, the flat look in his crimson eyes and the hollow of his cheeks - all painted in shades of grey rather than gold after all.

He went into another stretch, fingers still tightly around the barre, bending at the waist so his gaze dropped from his gaunt face to his feet.

Better not to dwell on things, neither past nor future. Like dreams he allowed himself to have sometimes, foolishly. Or remembering when the last time was that he had smiled, when he had slept more than five hours or his body had been void of pain.

He stared at his feet as he felt the burn of his muscles groaning under the impossible strain he put them under, sinking deeper into his stretch. Eyes were trained on his feet, trying not to think at all.

But it wasn’t working. Looking at his feet made him self-aware of the constant pain they were in. And what mutilations were neatly hidden beneath the white satin.

Remaining low, he stared at his unmoving feet, not ripping the gaze of his unblinking eyes off them, up until they began burning uncomfortably. He didn’t even know if that or the ache in his toes was the reason behind almost tearing up.

At least this made the pain of other parts of his body disappear for a moment.

With a sigh he eventually closed his eyes, sinking deeper into his stretch still. He tried to ignore his surroundings as much as possible, just like he had done before, dreaming of a better, alternate universe. One in which dancing still brought him the joy he had once felt.

But Astarion’s somewhat tranquil state was quickly disturbed.

Beneath the shrill piano music he heard a familiar, rhythmic tapping. It became louder steadily, closing in.

Immediately, the atmosphere in the studio changed as if a switch had been flipped. Dancers quickly changed out of their street clothes, redid their hair into tight buns, took up a spot at the barre and began stretching eagerly, shoulders squared so much, it hurt to even look at. All conversations had stopped, replaced by a tense, anticipating silence.

Everyone knew what the increasing sounds meant. The polished ebony with the silver tip and the bone handle that made them. And whom it belonged to.

It was the same rhythm every morning, a cruel sort of routine.

Astarion had made the habit of counting along: Tap, one two, tap, one two, tap. At least it was reliable in the cruelty it brought.

Only, today it wasn’t the same rhythm: TAP, one tw-, TAP, one t-, TAP.

This already meant very bad news. Astarion felt the lump that immediately clogged his throat. Still in his stretch his brows drew together. An echo of pain ran down his spine and he felt how, along with his hands getting clammy, his heart began to gallop. His breath became ragged from the tapping growing louder, much more rushed and even more threatening than usual.

The door to the studio flung open with a force that made everyone flinch more than was normal.

In rushed the tall, imposing figure of Cazador Szarr, immaculate down to the last hair on his head. Szarr, known formerly as Vellioth’s star pupil, dancer extraordinaire, light of a new generation of ballet. And now after his tragic maiming injury, famed as acclaimed choreographer and teacher of his own ballet company.

A star, a genius, a legend beyond everyone else’s league.

His dancers and students though only knew him as the thing that plagued them, every night and every day. A constant shadow trying to grip their ankles. Even when he wasn’t there.

But truly it was worse, when he was there. When those eyes bored into you and you heard the clacks of his omnipresent cane. And it was worse still when he was angry. Like today. Or like that night several weeks back, Astarion remembered all too well.

Cazador had taken exactly the right amount of steps so the door fell closed just behind him, the loud noise of it closing almost remnant of the lid of a sarcophagus sliding in place, dooming someone still alive to be forever entombed.

He was wearing a fine red coat today, fur trimmings at the hems, the same colour of his eyes that were already wandering around while his coattails still swung to a halt around his slender form. He had placed the cane before himself, long, spindly fingers wrapped around the bone handle.

The cane had belonged to his “master” as he liked to tell people. Albeit not with this kind of handle. Although, as he enjoyed adding, while watching the listener’s creeping horror, the bone had very well belonged to his own teacher as well. After a bit of stunned silence people then usually laughed uneasily, not deeming it true, while Cazador remained silent, caressing the handle of his stick.

Even with the injury that had permanently crippled and left him needing that cane, Szarr knew how to cut an imposing figure to most and a frightening one to few especially. His tall frame alone, the always perfectly slicked back black hair and the seemingly all seeing eyes, the barely hidden threat.

All his dancers knew this well.

But unfortunately, Astarion, his favourite dancer, his prodigy, knew it all best; from the blazing eyes posing a threat to what could manifest into unbearable pain. He still felt the phantoms of the last time he had to endure it.

Perfectly on time, another wave of aching ran through the pale dancer as he, along with everyone else, was staring intently at his master. Teacher surely was too light a word for the power he held over him and the others.

Cazador kept eyeing his dancers, fingers starting to tap on the bone end of his cane while around Astarion the others got restless, not knowing how to feel about this somewhat unfamiliar silence from their master.

Astarion knew though. It meant trouble.

When eventually someone at the back had the audacity to start whispering, Cazador broke his silence:

“It is only a few weeks until the debut of the production,” Szarr began flatly.

More silence, more tapping of his index on the bone.

“Is there a reason behind why I don’t see you train already?”

A well portioned dose or rage had entered his voice while his brows drew together, eyes glaring. But everyone still seemed under a spell, not daring to move.

“Do I need to lash at your feet before you will start dancing?” Szarr shouted then, making his dancers flinch.

His words stung sharply like a whip - or the end of a cane.

Quickly, everyone scurried around to get into position for training now. Everyone knew exactly with which part to start with, where to stand. Cazador had made sure of it.

While Szarr’s eyes narrowed, impatient about the last people getting in place, Astarion fought with his ragged breath as he assumed position among the others.

It had been weeks since Szarr had entered the training studio with so much barely contained rage. The last time it had meant a visit to the ER for Astarion and flashes of pain down his spine ever since, no matter if he was standing, dancing or sleeping.

Then finally the master waved to the pianist to start with a single twist of his index.

It began.

Astarion immediately forced his mind out of its increasing state of panic as best he could as he followed through his steps. At least he could feel the echo of what this once would have felt like. The stretching, turning and arching, at least it still quieted down his mind as he concentrated only on the music and his body in accord with it. Even if it didn’t gift the same warmth anymore. There was only cold, honed, lethal precision left.

Too late he realised that the music had stopped along with everyone else. Coming out of a turn, Astarion noticed Cazador’s ruby eyes burning into him while he stopped with a jolt. His squared shoulders folded in immediately, slouching, wishing he could disappear instead of having to face his master.

The atmosphere was tense and ready to snap, the dancers awaiting the verdict for their performance.

Szarr’s form of feedback was quite easy to decipher: three taps with the cane “good”, two “acceptable”, one “unsatisfied”, none - there would be consequences.

The silence was deafening today.

Szarr’s eyes wandered over his dancers, while Astarion felt the drumming of his heart up in his throat. The pain in his back was almost unbearable now. But best not to draw more attention to himself.

“Astarion.”

His pulse increased by what felt like a tenfold.

Cazador’s voice was terribly silent, one could have almost mistaken it for something less than deadly.

“Astarion, will you come here?”

It wasn’t a question.

As if controlling himself from somewhere outside his own body, Astarion stepped forward while he heard silent gasps around him. With every step feeling like he needed to rip them off the floor, the pale dancer stepped in front of his master. He saw the small, cruel smile play on his lips while he awaited his pupil. The way his fingers drummed on his stick now seemed almost cheerful.

“Don’t slouch before me, boy, turn around,” Szarr purred when Astarion had come to stand before him. The tone nearly sounded like he was whispering a sweet nothing to him and not a threat. He obeyed immediately, no matter what, feeling more uneasy with Cazador’s threatening presence behind him, but out of sight.

“Remove your shirt, boy.”

The dancer flinched, throat closing up completely as he sensed the intention behind his master’s words. But his arms moved of their own accord while his mind screamed at him to run. But his body was too attuned to obeying blindly by now.

As he pulled up his thin shirt over his head, his mind raced.

Truly, he wouldn’t harm him in front of the others, would he? Usually this part was reserved for behind closed doors. For when he was called to Szarr’s office alone, and the others sent home for the day. Everybody knew what happened behind closed doors. It was just that no one ever dared to address it.

The sigh leaving Szarr’s lips truly shouldn’t have been this content when his eyes fell upon his previous work. Neither should the smile have been as proud as he eyed the scars, the still healing bruises.

“Now, turn again for me. You do that so well, don’t you?”

Barely able to swallow with how parched his throat felt, Astarion turned around again, breathing shallow. But yet again his body was way quicker than his mind. Just obeying, turning, moving, arching, aching - that was what he was best at. It was true.

Cazador welcomed him with a toothy grin. Then he stepped closer. So close, in fact, that Astarion could smell him. The same unpleasant, musty smell that hadn't left his nose ever since that night several weeks ago. The last time Cazador had come this uncomfortably close.

He kept staring straight ahead, trying not to notice how the way his master looked at him had become almost lovingly as he reached out with long, boney fingers, as if trying to reach for his chin. Only shortly before making contact, he stopped. Instead he threw up his cane, catching it again, gripping further down, making Astarion wince.

He kept staring straight ahead, right over Cazador’s shoulder as his master and tormentor leaned to him, even closer than before, musty smell becoming almost unbearable.

But what made his heart almost stop, was when he felt the bone handle wander down his back - and the scars there. Almost caressing past traces of injuries that would leave him marked forever. And fresher ones that still must be a sight to behold. The sickeningly gentle touch made his muscles spasm and burn more than the actual pain from being touched there.

“See how well the little lamb dances?” Cazador spoke silently as Astarion was thrown back to when the cane had last made contact with his skin, albeit with the other end and wholly different fashion. It took every last bit of his power to not collapse. His eyes were torn wide, yet again unblinking and burning.

He was barely aware of his present surroundings by now. Only his master’s voice still connected him to the present, oddly enough, as his mind was doomed to relive a night from before.

“See how well he does after I have given him a much needed reminder of how he ought to be grateful and work hard to achieve his dreams?” Cazador murmured.

Another stroke of bone on skin. Astarion’s back twisted unwillingly.

Cazador cocked his head to the side, noticing his reaction. So he used his cane pressed against Astarion’s back to make him step even closer, leaning down to him. Until they almost seemed ready to embrace each other.

Astarion forced himself to endure it, fearing the consequences if he shouldn’t. He knew this was a test.

And Szarr took his time testing him before he took a step back with a click of his tongue. The master glanced at the rest of his timid sheep.

“You better give me no reason to give you the same reminder,” his master finished, cane withdrawing, taking another step back.

Finally. With more shallow breaths, shoulders slacking and eyes watering so much so he couldn’t see clearly, Astarion couldn’t believe his luck of having gotten off the hook. Until-

“Why are you almost wailing?” Szarr snapped. The edge to his master’s voice betrayed how cheerful seemed to have found something to latch onto after all. Once more he stepped close, noticing his pupil’s state. Cold, sinewy fingers gripped his chin forcefully, bruising his pale skin immediately by how violently he tugged on his jaw.

He didn’t dare breathe as his master leaned close, passing every line from before. Way too close to be anything but desperate love or blazing hatred. Fingers were clawing into his skin.

“Didn’t I just praise you, boy? This is how you thank me?” His voice was almost a growl now while Astarion felt his heart hammer in his throat. The fingers dragged him closer to Cazador’s face until their faces almost touched.

“Look at me,” he demanded. So he did.

Cazador’s eyes were burning. Astarion didn’t flinch.

Through the haze of tears he saw a wild mix of emotions in his master’s eyes: loathing, hate, rage - and deep down, even a kind of twisted admiration? Adoration? He didn’t want to think about it. But he didn’t break eye contact either.

“Ungrateful,” Cazador exclaimed and shoved him away, tone almost unbelieving to Astarion’s own surprise.

“Again, from the top,” he barked at the pianist while Astarion with stiff limbs assumed position again.

Pain kept searing through his back, his scars now on full display for everyone. Astarion didn’t even bother putting his shirt back on. Instead he held his back straight, chin stretched high.

He kept dancing. His own rage was dulled by lingering panic. But it was there. And it kept him going.

Rage and a bit of undying, defiant pride. He felt it as he turned, eyes landing on Cazador with every time he came around again. But his master didn’t dare meet his eyes for the rest of the day.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #bg3 #cazador #ballet au #alternate universe #cazador szarr

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nerdraging4point0 · 5 months ago

Text

Blood of Eden // Bad Omens Urban Fantasy AU (Chapter Sixteen)

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @mysticdoodlez @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @cookiesupplier @meliferafaerie @concreteemo @itsafullmoon @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @spicywhenspeaking @somewhere-diamond @iknownothingpeople @darling-millicent-aubrey @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @darkmxgician

The sway and jostling of the armored truck was enough to make her stomach churn and bile rise in the back of her throat.

The constant lurching and bouncing as the heavy vehicle rumbled over the uneven, potholed roads created a nauseating rocking motion that threatened to overwhelm her senses. With only the meager, bitter-tasting wheat grass shakes she had been subsisting on for days sloshing around in the empty cavern of her stomach, she knew that one more good tossle of the tank-like truck would likely cause her to erupt in a violent display of retching and vomiting all over the armed, imposing figure sitting next to her. The close confines of the armored personnel carrier, combined with the stale, recycled air and the pungent odor of sweat and gasoline, only exacerbated her unsettled stomach and heightened her nausea.

She swallowed hard, willing herself not to give in to the overwhelming queasiness, but the relentless sway of the vehicle made it an increasingly difficult battle to maintain her composure. Gripping the edge of the hard metal bench beneath her, she braced herself against the constant lurching, praying she could make it to their destination.

Rosa’s gaze wandered to the tall, striking blonde woman sitting across from her. Her intense green eyes were fixed intently on Rosa despite the sway as they navigated the winding city streets, stopping and starting again with a sense of purpose. Rosa couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease, noticing the occasional flicker of what seemed to be sadness or regret that would flash across the woman's features. Gone were the sharply tailored suits Rosa had become accustomed to seeing her in - instead, she was dressed head-to-toe in sturdy, form-fitting leather, an ensemble that gave the impression she was prepared for battle at a moment's notice. Rosa had been offered the same outfit, having bern in the same clothes for several days with only rags and bowls of water to sponge bathe in, it was nice to wear something clean for a change.

She felt lightheaded, exhausted, but to afraid for her life to sleep. Visions had begun to return, flashes of an old style home that looked like its foundation was cracking and the roof fallign in begain to flash across her mind. She had never seen this place before, but the faces in it were familiar. Jolly, Maria, Oli along with several other guard members and their masters all huddled around laptops and take out containers. They all looked bleary eyed, bags hanging from their eyes boring lines into their cheeks. of Jolly from Noah’s perspective and the glimpses of himself as he’d stare in the mirror made her heart ache. Despite being able to see him she couldn’t connect to him, the shots of poison she’d been given daily by the Magistrate-poison she herself had made-kept her powers limited.

Exhaustion had begun to set in, her head feeling light and dizzy from the ordeal, but the overwhelming fear for her life kept her from succumbing to sleep, lest she leave herself defenseless against whatever fate had in store. Visions had began to resurface, flashing across her mind's eye in vivid detail.

Glimpses of an old, ramshackle house materialized, its foundation cracked and crumbling, the roof sagging precariously overhead. Though she had never laid eyes on this dilapidated dwelling before, the faces of its inhabitants were strikingly familiar. There was Jolly, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a weary, drawn expression, dark circles bruising the delicate skin beneath his eyes. And Maria, her brow furrowed in concentration as she hunched over a glowing laptop screen, takeout containers scattered haphazardly around her. Oli was there too, his posture slumped with exhaustion, joining several other shadowy figures - members of their guard, and their elusive masters - all gathered in this forgotten place, their collective gaze fixed on the technology before them.

It was as if the very walls of this crumbling shelter were imbued with the weight of their collective burdens, the foundation threatening to give way under the crushing pressure. Yet, despite the dismal surroundings and their haggard appearance, there was a resolute determination that burned in their eyes, a silent acknowledgment that whatever task lay before them, they would see it through, no matter the cost.

Her heart ached with a profound, visceral pain as the tears began to well up in her eyes, blurring her vision. The uncertainty of the situation weighed heavily on her, the unanswered questions gnawing at her mind. Would she ever see them again - her friends, her loved ones, the people she had been separated from in the chaos?

She hadn't laid eyes on Nick, since that fateful day, and the haunting fear that the worst had befallen him consumed her thoughts. Was he even still alive, or had he suffered a tragic end?

She couldn't be sure if the images in her mind, the visions of them escaping to safety, were real memories or simply the desperate fantasies of her hopeful psyche. Perhaps they had all been captured, and these flickering, ethereal impressions were nothing more than the mind's attempts to cope with the trauma, to envision a better outcome than the bleak reality.

The uncertainty was agonizing, the not knowing eating away at her resolve, as she struggled to discern truth from fiction, to separate the real from the imagined. All she could do was cling to the glimmer of hope that somehow, against all odds, they had made it to freedom - but the lack of any confirmation left her wracked with doubt and overwhelming sorrow.

As her eyes slowly drifted shut, a kaleidoscope of vivid new visions began to dance and swirl behind her lids. Faded century-old castles, their crumbling stone walls and turrets silhouetted against a sweeping night sky filled with constellations she had never seen before, their strange patterns and unfamiliar celestial arrangements captivating her. Then the scene shifted, and she found herself running breathlessly through a shadowy, labyrinthine landscape, her feet pounding against the ground as she fled from some unseen pursuer, yet no matter how hard she ran, she felt like she was getting nowhere, the scenery unchanging around her. Fragments of her childhood then came flooding back, the old haunting nightmares she used to have as a little girl - dreams where she was always being chased, hunted by some malevolent presence, her friends by her side as they desperately tried to escape, only to wake up in a cold sweat, tears streaming down her face as she cried out that she just couldn't get away. Those had been such frightening, visceral dreams, the kind that linger long after waking.

As she replayed the haunting images of her nightmare, a tiny detail suddenly stood out to her, one that sent a chill down her spine. Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, one of the women's eyes had caught her attention - they were achingly familiar, as if she had stared into them before. It was more than just recognition; there was a profound connection, a glimpse into the very depths of this stranger's soul. Though she had only just met this person a few days prior, the intensity of the eye contact in her dream felt like she was seeing a part of them that she had never meant to uncover. It was as if the veil had been lifted, exposing a vulnerability and intimacy that shook her to the core. It was a tiny detail, easy to overlook, but one that had the power to unravel the very fabric of what she thought she knew.

A sudden surge of adrenaline coursed through Rosa's veins, igniting an intense, visceral reaction within her. Something was undoubtedly off - no, not just off, but something was actively coming, approaching with an ominous and foreboding presence. Sitting upright in her seat, Rosa's heart began to pound thunderously in her ears, drowning out all other sounds around her. A strange vibration reverberated through the air, sending a prickling sensation across the back of her neck as the fine hairs stood on end, her body instinctively going on high alert. Just as she frantically tugged at the seat belt strapped tightly across her chest, a violent jolt ripped through the vehicle, lifting the wheels clean off the ground in a terrifying moment of weightlessness. Rosa's stomach lurched as the truck was violently wrenched from the road, her mind racing to comprehend the perilous situation unfolding around her. Something had gone horribly, catastrophically wrong, and she braced herself, heart pounding, for the inevitable impact that was to come.

The sudden and unexpected reversal of gravity sent the vehicle tumbling end over end, its passengers helplessly thrown about like ragdolls. Rosa felt her body lift off the seat as the vehicle flipped, her arms and legs flailing uncontrollably in the air around her. Weapons and other loose objects scattered chaotically, flying up towards the ceiling before crashing back down in a disorienting display of chaos. The experience was utterly disorienting, like being trapped in a never-ending, dizzying spin cycle. Just when it seemed the ordeal would never end, the vehicle slammed back down to the ground, the roof crumpling inward. Rosa's body lurched forward, and she felt a sickening jolt as her seatbelt caught her, the impact sending a sharp pain through her chest.

As the vehicle came to a rest, Rosa found herself surrounded by the motionless forms of her fellow passengers, one body sprawled across her feet, a trickle of blood oozing from the victim's nose. Dazed and disoriented, Rosa's ears were ringing and her vision blurred, but she could make out shadowy figures approaching the wrecked vehicle. The doors were suddenly wrenched open, and the figures began pulling bodies from the wreckage, climbing into the mangled interior. Rosa's seatbelt came undone, and she felt herself falling forward, only to be caught by the shadowy figures. Blinded by the bright sunlight as she was carried from the vehicle, Rosa let out a small cry of pain, her eyes clamped tightly shut against the glare.

“Easy, sunshine,” the soft tones made her nerves settle instantly, despite her pain she reached out blindly for him. Her hand clasped his warm fingers encasing her weak digits, “We got you now. You’re safe.”

****

As Noah approached the overturned vehicle, his heart sank at the sight of Rosa's limp, battered form. Frail and bruised from the violent accident, her eyes were sunken in and her cheeks hollowed out, giving her a haggard, worn appearance.

What had they done to her?

Noah knew the team had spent hours carefully planning this raid, but he had been uneasy about the decision to flip the truck, fearing the potential consequences. Still, it had seemed the only way to ensure the other guardians would be disoriented enough that they couldn't fight back properly, if they even chose to do so at all. As Noah watched the black box tip over three times before finally righting itself, his stomach turned with a sickening dread. Wasting no time, he tore open the doors and charged inside, desperate to extract Rosa as swiftly as possible and get her the medical attention she so clearly needed.

The normally vibrant, strong-willed woman now looked a complete wreck, her body battered and her spirit seemingly broken by the ordeal. Noah could only imagine the terror and pain she must have endured, and he vowed to get to the bottom of what had happened and ensure those responsible would pay for their cruelty.

Noah's heart raced as he carefully carried the limp form of Rosa in his arms, her body feeling unnaturally light and fragile. With a sense of urgency, he rushed towards the dilapidated safe house, its crumbling walls the only refuge they could find in this perilous world. Gently, he laid Rosa down on the old, bare mattress, the springs creaking under her weight. The mattress offered little comfort, the coarse fabric scratching against her skin, but Noah knew it was the best he could do to keep her safe in this moment.

As soon as Rosa's head hit the mattress, Maria came rushing to her side, her eyes wide with terror and concern. Bending over the bed, she tenderly pushed the tangled strands of hair away from Rosa's pale, lifeless face, a choked sob escaping her lips. "Oh god, what did they do to her?" she cried, her voice laced with anguish.

Before Noah could even begin to formulate a response, Morgan, one of the magistrates who had been on the transport truck, approached them, her expression grave. "It was some kind of serum they created," she explained, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Joshua had explained there had been a celestial hidden among the magistrate but Noah had never imagined it would be someone so high up. Morgan had always been ruthless as a leader, angry and fearsome, but only when pressed. Otherwise she would sit silently in the corner. “They seemed to find it in the storage on your computer,” her face turned to Jolly as Noah saw the shadow fall across his face.

“They experimented with it. It was more potent this time around. I managed to sneak in a potion with her food. Without it she’d be dead. But it did very little to combat the serum side effects.” Maria sniffeled as she bent down to kiss Rosa’s forehead.

“What do we do now?” Jolly asked sitting cross legged on one side of the matress taking their girls hand in his.

“They dosed her every morning, she got one just before we packed up. Wait it out for the night. She will need food.” Morgan leaned against the door frame folding her arms across her chest.

“We will take care of that,” Joshua came up behind her, “In the meantime we need to look for a bigger safe house. With the casualties of the accident the magiatrte will be out looking for us.”

The two celestials drifted down the hallway deep in discussion. Their centuries-old friendship was evident in the comfortable ease of their conversation as they exchanged ideas and made plans, their voices a melodic cadence that seemed to reverberate through the very walls. Meanwhile, Oli quickly squeezed past them, his focus intent as he hurried into the room. Without a word, Oli wrapped his strong arms around Maria’s trembling shoulders, offering comfort and support.

"Come on, love," he murmured, gently pulling her to her feet. "She is safe now. And I need your help." Maria nodded mutely, her face streaked with tears, as she allowed Oli to guide her from the room, the couple disappearing down the hall.

Noah carefully crawled onto the mattress, tenderly pulling the unconscious Rosa close to him. Relief and joy etched across his features - she was here, she was home, and heaven help anyone who dared try to take her from them again.

#bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens band #noahsebastian fanfic #noah sebastian smut #jolly karlsson fic #jolly karlsson fanfic #joakim jolly karlsson fic #joakim jolly karlsson #blood of eden #urban fantasy #alternate universe #bad omens au #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

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