#and everything is tinged in golden light even in my thoughts about it so that’s just a kinda safety this story exudes to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

callsigns-haze · 2 months ago

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His Shadow: Chp 6

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of their apartment, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The soft light highlighted the simple, yet cozy space they had made their own—a sanctuary that was their little world, hidden from the eyes of everyone else. Knox was still asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, blissfully unaware of the tension building between his parents.

YN stood near the window, her back turned to Azriel, arms crossed over her chest. Her posture was stiff, her shoulders tense as she stared out at the city, her reflection barely visible in the glass. Azriel could feel the frustration radiating off her in waves, and he knew that this conversation was inevitable. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

He had taken the week off, needing to be with his family, needing to be with her. After overhearing Cassian and Mor talk about their little spying expedition on YN, he had made the decision quickly, without hesitation. But now, as he watched YN’s back, he wondered if he had acted too impulsively.

“Why did you do it, Azriel?” YN’s voice broke the silence, cutting through the stillness of the morning. It was calm, but there was an edge to it—one that Azriel recognized all too well. She was holding back, trying to keep her emotions in check, but he knew she was upset. “Why did you take the week off?”

Azriel let out a slow breath, his wings rustling slightly as he stepped closer to her. “I wanted to be here with you and Knox,” he answered, keeping his voice steady. “After everything that’s happened, I thought you could use the support. I wanted to make sure you both were safe.”

She turned around to face him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else—something that looked a lot like hurt. “Safe?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “Azriel, we’re not in immediate danger. You’re acting like I can’t take care of myself and our son without you hovering over us.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Azriel replied quickly, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He was protective—maybe too protective, especially now that their lives were more complicated than ever. He crossed the distance between them, his hands reaching out to take hers, but she stepped back, putting more space between them.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “You’re here because you don’t trust me to handle things on my own. You’re here because you think you need to shield us from everything—even from your own family. But Azriel, I can’t live like this. We can’t live like this, constantly looking over our shoulders, constantly hiding.”

Her words hit him hard, and he knew she was right. But it didn’t change the fact that he felt this deep, unrelenting need to protect her, to protect Knox, to be there every moment in case something went wrong. The thought of losing them—of anything happening to them—was more than he could bear.

“YN, I’m not trying to smother you,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with the desperation he felt. “I just… I need to be sure. After what happened yesterday, after knowing they were watching you—I can’t just leave you both alone and hope everything will be fine.”

Her eyes softened slightly at his words, the anger ebbing away, replaced by a sadness that made Azriel’s heart ache. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as if trying to gather her thoughts before she spoke again.

“Azriel,” she said more gently, “I understand why you feel the way you do. I do. But this… this isn’t sustainable. We can’t keep living in fear, can’t keep reacting to what might happen. We need to trust each other, trust that we can handle things—even when you’re not here.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right, but it was so hard to let go of that instinct, the one that told him he needed to be there every moment to protect them. He had been living on the edge for so long, constantly aware of the dangers lurking in the shadows, that he didn’t know how to step back and just… breathe.

“I do trust you,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion. “I trust you more than anyone, YN. But I’ve spent centuries living in a world where letting your guard down, even for a moment, can cost you everything. I’m sorry if I’m overbearing—I just can’t lose you. I can’t lose our son.”

YN’s expression softened further, the tension in her posture easing slightly as she stepped closer to him. She reached out, her hand resting against his chest, right over his heart. “You won’t lose us,” she said firmly, looking up at him with a gaze full of determination. “But you have to let us live, Azriel. We can’t keep hiding in the shadows like this. I need you to believe that we can handle this—together.”

Azriel closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as he absorbed her words. She was right, of course. YN had always been strong, far stronger than he sometimes gave her credit for. And Knox—he was still so small, but Azriel knew his son would grow up to be just as strong. They didn’t need him to shield them from the world; they needed him to stand beside them, to be their partner, not their protector.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, opening his eyes to meet hers. “I’ll try to do better. I promise.”

She smiled at him then, a small but genuine smile that made the tightness in his chest ease just a little. “That’s all I ask,” she said softly, her hand moving up to cup his cheek. “We’re in this together, Azriel. Always.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the simple act grounding him, reminding him of what truly mattered. “Always,” he echoed, his voice filled with a quiet resolve.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, the tension between them slowly dissipating. Outside, the sun continued to rise, bathing the room in warmth and light, as if to remind them that there was still hope, still a future to be had, as long as they faced it together.

In the crib beside them, Knox let out a small whimper, his tiny wings fluttering as he stirred from his sleep. YN pulled back from Azriel with a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling with affection as she turned to their son. “Looks like someone’s awake,” she murmured, moving over to the crib to pick Knox up.

Azriel watched her, his heart swelling with love as she cradled their son in her arms. Knox blinked up at her, his small mouth forming a perfect little ‘O’ as he looked between his parents. Azriel stepped closer, wrapping an arm around YN’s waist as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Knox’s head.

“We’ll be okay,” YN said quietly, more to herself than to him, as she rocked Knox gently in her arms. But Azriel heard the conviction in her voice, the belief that they would find a way through this—together. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe it too.

---

River House was alive with activity as the Inner Circle gathered in the spacious sitting room. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting warm pools of light across the room’s plush furniture. Cassian was sprawled in one of the armchairs, his wings half-draped over the sides, while Rhys sat opposite him, leaning casually against the backrest of a couch. Mor and Feyre were nearby, quietly sipping their tea, and Amren was perched on the window sill, her sharp eyes watching everyone with mild disinterest.

As usual, the meeting started casually, with updates on Velaris, news from the courts, and the usual banter. But something was different this morning, an undercurrent of curiosity running through the group. Azriel’s absence was becoming more noticeable, especially given his sudden declaration of taking a week off—a rare occurrence.

"So, does anyone else find it weird that Azriel's taking a week off?" Cassian said, breaking the silence. He shifted in his seat, his brow furrowed with a mix of concern and confusion. “I can’t remember the last time that happened. Not without a reason.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flickered with amusement, but there was a hint of curiosity as well. "It’s not like him," he admitted, his voice smooth. "Azriel rarely takes time for himself. He’s always working, always looking for the next mission or lead. But a whole week off? That’s new."

Mor nodded in agreement, her lips quirking in a small smile. “Maybe he finally realized he needs a break,” she said with a light laugh. “Even shadowsingers need to recharge once in a while.”

Feyre glanced at Rhys, her brow arched in thought. "He didn't seem like anything was wrong the last time I saw him. Do you think something’s going on that he’s not telling us?"

Cassian sat up straighter, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You know how secretive he can be. But a whole week off? Something doesn’t add up.”

"Maybe he met someone," Mor suggested, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Maybe there’s a secret lover involved, and he’s just been keeping it from us.”

At that, Cassian snorted, his wings shifting behind him as he chuckled. "Azriel? Keeping a secret lover from us? That sounds about right, actually. He’s good at hiding things.”

Rhys tilted his head, a slight frown creasing his brow. “He’s been acting strange lately. Not just with the time off, but before that too. More secretive than usual. And those late-night disappearances…”

Feyre leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Do you think he’s hiding something serious?”

Rhys let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of the couch. “Could be. Azriel’s not one to share things unless it’s absolutely necessary. If something’s bothering him, he’ll bury it deep.”

Mor crossed her arms, glancing between Rhys and Cassian. “Do you think it has to do with the place we went to in the Hewn City? The woman—YN—she seemed close to him. Could it be related?”

Rhys’s eyes darkened for a moment, as if recalling the encounter at the pleasure house. “Possibly. He did seem more… comfortable there than usual. And she did say something about going back after maternity leave. Perhaps Azriel’s more involved in her life than we thought.”

Cassian shifted, his expression turning more serious. "You think he's involved with her?"

"It’s possible," Rhys said slowly. "But Azriel’s careful. If he’s keeping something from us, it’s for a reason."

Amren, who had been silently observing the conversation, finally spoke, her voice dry and laced with boredom. “Whatever it is, he’ll tell you when he’s ready. No point in speculating about his private life.”

Mor glanced at Amren, then back at the others. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on things. If he’s tangled up in something, we should know. Especially if it affects us or the missions we’re planning.”

Rhys gave a slow nod, his gaze flicking toward the window as if he were already piecing things together in his mind. “Agreed. But we give him space. Azriel’s earned that much.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, but if he disappears again, I’m dragging him back here myself.”

The group shared a small laugh, but the lingering tension remained. Azriel’s absence weighed on them more than they were willing to admit, and the mystery of his sudden break gnawed at their collective curiosity.

As the conversation lulled, Rhys’s gaze turned distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He could sense there was more to this story than what met the eye. Something was going on with Azriel—something deeper than just taking time off.

But for now, they would wait. And watch.

---

YN walked into the pleasure home, the familiar scent of incense and low hum of conversation filling the air. She had grown accustomed to the atmosphere over the years—the darkened rooms, the hushed voices, the hidden glances exchanged between patrons and the workers. Tonight, though, something felt different. Her nerves were on edge, her mind still unsettled by the feeling that she was being watched the other day at the market.

As she adjusted her black silk dress, ensuring it clung to her in all the right places, she pushed those thoughts aside. She had work to do, and there was no room for distractions. She glanced around the room, scanning the faces of the patrons lounging in their seats, drinks in hand and their eyes on the stage where the night's entertainment had just begun.

And then she saw them.

At one of the booths near the back, sitting comfortably as if they belonged, were Rhysand and Cassian. But this time, they weren’t alone. Their partners, Nesta and Feyre, were with them. The sight of the group made YN pause for a split second, her breath catching in her throat as recognition hit her. It was them—she had felt their presence before. They were the ones who had been following her at the market just the day before.

She played it cool, forcing a neutral expression onto her face as she straightened her posture. Whatever they were doing here, she wasn’t going to let them know that she had figured it out. She was already too involved in the tangled mess of Azriel’s secrets, and the last thing she needed was to attract more attention from his friends. Especially Feyre and Nesta. If they even had the faintest idea about her connection to Azriel, things could go downhill fast.

With a calm smile plastered on her face, she made her way toward their table. Her heart raced beneath her composed exterior, but she kept her movements steady, her steps measured and graceful as she approached the group.

"Good evening," YN greeted them, her voice smooth and professional as she came to a stop by their table. "What can I get for you tonight?"

Rhysand, ever the picture of charm and elegance, offered her a polite smile. His violet eyes met hers briefly, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe suspicion. Cassian leaned back in his chair, his arm draped casually over Nesta’s shoulders, while Feyre, sitting next to Rhys, regarded YN with an air of quiet observation.

“We’ll start with a round of drinks,” Rhys said, his tone casual, but YN could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as if he were sizing her up. “Something strong.”

YN nodded, jotting down the order even though she didn’t need to. She had memorized the menu long ago. “I’ll be right back with that.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her mind racing as she made her way to the bar. It was no coincidence that they were here again, especially after what happened at the market. Rhys and Cassian had come to the pleasure home with Azriel once before, and now this was their third visit in such a short time. It couldn’t be a casual night out—it had to be something more.

Harvey, her bartender friend, raised an eyebrow as she approached. "You okay?" he asked quietly, noticing the tension in her shoulders.

YN forced a smile, shaking her head slightly. "Fine. Just...unexpected company," she muttered as she handed him the drink order. Her mind was spinning with questions, but she knew better than to discuss anything in the open.

As Harvey prepared the drinks, YN leaned against the bar, trying to steady herself. She had to stay calm, keep up the act. If Rhysand and the others were here for information, she couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not about herself, not about Azriel. Not about Knox. They still had no idea about her and Azriel, and she intended to keep it that way.

After a few minutes, Harvey slid the tray of drinks toward her, and YN lifted it carefully, balancing it in her hands as she returned to the table. She felt their eyes on her as she approached, but she kept her expression neutral, her smile practiced and professional.

"Here you go," she said, setting the drinks down in front of them. She noticed how Feyre’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to place her.

"Thanks," Cassian said, his voice gruff but polite. Nesta glanced up at YN briefly before turning her attention back to her drink, uninterested in the small talk.

As YN set the last glass down in front of Rhys, she caught his gaze again. His expression was calm, unreadable, but she could sense the questions lurking beneath the surface. She had been in enough rooms with men like him to know when someone was trying to figure out a puzzle—and tonight, she was the puzzle.

Before anyone could say anything further, YN gave them a small nod and turned to leave, her pulse quickening as she walked away. She had to be careful now. Whatever game they were playing, she was already too deep in it. And with Azriel out on his week off, the last thing she needed was for his inner circle to find out about Knox—or their relationship.

As she walked back toward the bar, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. They were watching her, but she had survived worse. She just had to keep her head down, play her part, and hope that they wouldn’t dig too deep.

But the nagging thought wouldn’t leave her: Why were they here again? And what, exactly, were they hoping to find out?

YN stepped through the door of their small apartment, her body aching from the weight of the day. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, and her mind raced with endless thoughts—who had been spying on her, why the Inner Circle kept showing up, and what it all meant for her and Azriel. She had kept her cool at the pleasure house, but the constant pressure of pretending everything was normal while being watched was wearing her down.

The familiar warmth of home wrapped around her as she shut the door quietly behind her, but the tension in her body refused to ease. She dropped her bag on the floor, her gaze flicking to the couch where Azriel sat, barefoot and bare-chested, with only a pair of loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was leaning back, a book resting in his hands, though the moment she entered, his golden-brown eyes were on her, sensing her frustration without needing to ask.

“Rough night?” Azriel asked softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He closed the book and set it aside, his attention fully on her.

YN gave a small nod, too tired to speak. The weight of everything pressed down on her, making her feel like she could collapse right there in the doorway. Her shoulders slumped, and Azriel immediately got up, moving toward her with a fluid grace that belied the exhaustion she knew he carried too.

He reached for her gently, his hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it over her head in one smooth motion. The cool air hit her skin, but it wasn’t the chill that made her shiver. It was the way Azriel’s hands worked with such care, as though she were made of something fragile, even though he knew better than anyone that she wasn’t.

When he unclasped her bra and slid it off her shoulders, YN let out a long, shaky breath. Azriel’s presence was grounding, his hands firm yet tender as he guided her to the couch. He sat down first, pulling her with him until she was lying against his chest, her legs draped over his as she settled into his warmth. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was the only sound in the room for a moment, and YN could feel some of the tension in her body begin to melt away.

But she still felt overwhelmed—by the spying, by the uncertainty, by the weight of the past few days.

Azriel knew. He always did. His calloused hands moved to the scars on her back, the ridged lines that traced where her wings had been brutally clipped when she was only nine years old. It had been a trauma that never left her, not in all the years since. Even though she had healed, those scars still carried memories she couldn’t shake. And Azriel knew how much they haunted her.

His fingers brushed lightly over the scars, tracing the familiar pattern as he began to massage the tense muscles beneath. The pressure was just enough to ease the knots that had formed in her back, and YN couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped her lips. He always knew how to take the pain away—both the physical and the emotional.

"Talk to me," Azriel murmured, his voice a quiet invitation. "What happened?"

YN closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the soothing motions of his hands carry her for a moment. “I think they’re watching me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I recognized Rhys and Cassian at the pleasure house tonight, and... they’ve been following me. I know it.”

Azriel’s hands paused briefly before continuing their gentle rhythm. He didn’t ask who “they” were—he didn’t need to. He had already suspected the Inner Circle’s involvement, though hearing it confirmed made his chest tighten.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised quietly, his voice steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to worry about them.”

But that wasn’t the only thing gnawing at YN. There was more—the weight of being watched, the fear that their secret might be exposed. The fear that her past, her clipped wings, her life at the pleasure house, and everything she had built with Azriel and Knox would come crashing down.

“They don’t know about us, about Knox,” YN continued, her voice trembling slightly as she curled in closer to Azriel. “But if they keep following me... I’m scared they’ll find out.”

Azriel’s arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, a silent reassurance. “They won’t,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you or Knox. You’re both safe.”

YN buried her face against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside her. She believed him—she always did. Azriel had been her anchor, her protector, the one person who had stood by her when no one else would. But even with his promises, the weight of everything still felt like too much.

His hands continued to work at the knots in her back, his fingers gentle yet firm, easing the tension from her muscles. YN let out a shaky breath, feeling her body slowly relax under his touch. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink deeper into the safety of Azriel’s arms, the familiar scent of him wrapping around her like a cocoon.

For a few moments, it was just them—their shared silence, the unspoken bond between them. Azriel’s hands never stopped moving, soothing the aches and pains that had built up inside her. His presence was her sanctuary, the one place she felt truly at peace.

And for now, that was enough.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

There's three more chapters left and I think I might make a sequel but not with the mmc you think it is.... But the drama unfolds in the next chapter

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

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aritsukemo · 1 month ago

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I don’t know if your requests are open, but I simply love your writing! May I have a Zhongli/Venti/Xiao Prompt with a reader who’s secretly a god from another world?

Finding out you're secretly a god | Genshin Impact

( @scar8o )

Summary: After your powers are revealed in a heat of the moment decision, you and your partner have a much needed conversation..

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, and Venti

Warnings: Nothing much. Mentions of reader facing discrimination in Xiao's and slight tears towards the end of Xiao's as well.

A/N: AGHHHH this took months to finally write, but I'm glad I finally got the push I needed to finish this! I'm sorry you had to wait so long and I hope you enjoy this little collection of drabbles I put together! :D

A yellowish-orange shade was cast over Teyvat just like it would any other evening. Nothing had changed; the wind was still blowing, wildlife was as and as wild as ever, and the grass was still the same old greenish tinge.

Well, today, Xiao supposes that something has changed. For the first time in years, there was complete silence between you two. Being the chatterbox that you were, it was never like this since you're always rambling on about whatever popped into your head—whether that'd be how your day went, what you should do tommorow, or even the most trivial things like which colored cloth you should use to wipe off your weapons.

But that particular evening, you didn't utter a word. You simply sat there, knees to your chest as you gazed at the sun slowly setting upon the horizon. It felt odd for Xiao—awkward if he were to be so mundane. At the same time, he had no way of relieving this odd, awkward tension from the air. He had so many question stirring in his head that could at least fill the air with something of substance, and yet, he felt hesitant to voice any of them.

But he has to say something. If he doesn't, he fears that he'll never get his questions answered. So, without looking your way, he asks, "Who..are you really?"

You don't answer immediately and for a moment, Xiao thought you didn't hear him at all. Before he can repeat himself, however, he hears your voice, low and uncharacteristically sullen as you tell him, "Someone who doesn't belong here.."

He doesn't realize it, but upon hearing your response and looking over at you, his eyes softened—and just like the snow he used to munch down to prevent himself from starving to death, his golden hues glistened in the light of the setting sun. He didn't know what to say to that. Or rather, he couldn't think of anything to say that would be comforting to your ears.

That's one the things about you that he's fond of, but is also envious of. You always knew the right thing to say even when he thought you didn't. It's one of his favorite things about you..

"Look, I'm sorry for lying to you for so long.." You said before heaving a long, tired sigh. One that sounded as if you've been holding it for ages, "In my own world, people despised me and this power so much so that they tried everything they could to make my life miserable.."

"Adults, kids, girls, boys, women, and men.. Even when they were more different than the glaxies above, the one thing that was always the same was the way they looked at me.. That deep swirl of hatred in their eyes as they stared at me..like I was some kind of monster.. No matter what I did for them, it never changed," Xiao chooses to ignore the way your voice cracks midway through your sentence—the signal that the glass dam inside you was beginning to crack..

"When I got here, I saw this as my brethren relieving me of that pain..like a fresh start. I was so happy..and so, so scared. I was terrified of the past happening again so I swore to do everything in my power to keep that part of me hidden for as long as I was able.."

At this point, he could see those crystal tears rolling down your face, the translucent trail they left glimmering in the sun's glow. He's never seen them before. You never allowed him to and now, he's grateful that you never did because the sight of you crying made his chest feel heavy and empty, causing it to ache. The sight was painful. It felt wrong associating this feeling with something so..human, but it's the only thing to describe this black hole forming where his heart's supposed to be..

And in attempt to fill that feeling, he finally asks, "Do you think this power of yours will bring harm to the people of Liyue?" You finally glance at him, confusion written all over that tear-stricken face of yours. He merely looks at you with expectancy, so you eventually croak out a small, "No.."

"Do you ever think that you'll try to take over Liyue and force it's people under your thumb?" He threw another question at you, and this time, you answered quickly, blurting out an offended sounding, "Of course not! Do you think I would?"

"No," He answered immediately, "But as the protector of this land, I had to make sure we were on the same page before I said anything else," And he gets up. Your crystalized eyes follow after him, confusion beginning to swirl along with a headache—the result caused by your near-breakdown just now.

"Wha.." You begin, but your voice dies in your throat as he offers you a hand and looks you in the eyes like he would any other day—as if everything was normal.

"You said before that after all of this was over, you'd drag me off somewhere to 'wind down', didn't you? Well, I'm allowing you this once to do so without having any resistance on my end," He clarifies, and that's when it finally clicks in your mind; nothing has changed. The world is still spinning, the once clear, orange sky has turned blue and starry. Xiao is still willing to reach out to you, still willing to stare at you with adoration and love, and be around you. He still sees you as simply Y/n.

And you find yourself brought to tears all over again. Yet this time, it's due to sheer relief instead of anxiety and agony. It's because of the happiness you feel as you reach out your hand and let yourself be helped up like some damsel..

..And it's all becase of Xiao, who's kind enough to see you as something other than a monster. Something lesser than a divine god or goddess, but as simply another person of the land who he should protect.

"So when did you figure it out?" You asked to the man who sat across from you at the table—although to others it seemed as though you were talking to your tea from how your eyes were trained on it the entire time you spoke, pupils following every ripple it made with every slight of your hand.

The man across from you—who you've called many endearments over the years of knowing him—simply hummed at your question, taking the time to grab his own tea cup before answering just as casually, "Some time ago. I've had some theories of my own for a while now, but..outside assistance helped to point me in the right direction."

"So the traveler told you," You stated, your tone leaving no room for him to lie or say otherwise—a silent testament that it was futile to try and deny something you already seen as a fact, but he attempted anyways.

"Not exactly," He said, "It was a slip of the tongue on Paimon's part, a small one at that, I barely noticed it myself." And this time, you hum, closing your eyes as you at last take a sip of your tea—which has long since gotten cold since it arrived at your table.

You take a long, slow sip, as if you were buying time, or maybe, simply trying to collect all the thoughts swirling in your head and condense them in a coherent, civil sentence. Whatever it is, Zhongli allows you that time and patiently waits for you to finally set your cup down again..

"So? What do you plan to do with me now that you know?" The question comes off blunt—slightly threatening to the unintelligent ears, but it doesn't phase Zhongli. After all, he knows that you weren't threatening him, but more rather felt threatened. Similar to a cornered bunny who's only defense weapons are its fluffy, dull nubs.

"Nothing at all," He says, and at last your eyes cross the table to look him in the eyes. He does the same, granting you the same favor.

There's a moment of silence between you two in that moment. You silently demand an answer to his previous answer and the light thrumming of your fingers against the smooth, expensive wood gave away your impatience, your growing anxiety, and most importantly your fear. It's a discomforting sight to see of his usually calm lover, and so, he's quicker to respond to you in hopes of relieving your tension.

"You hold me in such high regard, dear. And while I'm flatter, may I remind you that I'm simply a consultant. I have no power to do anything other than grant you a comfortable resting place to lay your head when you pass," He closes his eyes, breaking eye contact with you to bless you with a small, polite smile, "A question like that would be more fit for the Tianquan, would it not?"

"In my humble opinion, though, I think it best if you didn't stir a pot that has already settled. Going to Lady Ningguang over something she knows nothing about is not needed, don't you agree?"

He opens his eyes again to look at you, only having the luxury to catch the tail end of your reaction to him deciding to sweep this under the rug before your expression smoothens out and a smile eases onto your face and your fingers move to lace around your cup once again..

"I suppose you're right. Forget I said anything then."

"Who knew my windblume could be even more extraordinary than I once thought?" He told you under that massive oak tree—The Symbol of Mondstadt's Hero—after sneaking away with you, who was just praised the entire evening for your heroic deeds.

"You flatter me," You said before letting out a chuckle. Venti chose not to comment on how it sounded drier than how the fruits up in Celestia look, "Really, I don't deserve such praise.."

"On the contrary! You were Mondstadt's savior today! Not to mention mines!" He said cheerily, "If it weren't for you, Mondstadt would've been robbed of this bard's melodious melodies!"

You found yourself huffing at the absurdity of his words before you can stop yourself. Making up for the slip-up with a half-hearted, agreeing hum.

"You're a fool.. Having a dangerous being such as myself leisurely lay on you like this.." You whisper into his thigh as you turn on your side, your voice muffling due to half of your face being smothered by the puff of his shorts. Your comment was heard nonetheless and earned a chuckle from the bard.

"Love makes one do foolish things," He simply replies, before you feel something cold and smooth against your cheek. Your eyes flutter open and out of the corner of your eyes you see the familar red hue that you would only see plastered on one of the delicious treats the Cuihua Trees so graciously gift Teyvat.

You take the apple from his grasp, once again laying flat on your back as you hold the apple above you as if to tantalize yourself.

"I'm serious. You shouldn't be this nice to me anymore, Barbatos," Another slip of the tongue—one promptly ignored and immediately pushed to back of both of your minds, "I'm nothing but a weapon of destruction."

"That you may have been in the past, but as of now, you're simply a bartender at Angel's Share who's fallen head over heels for a skillful bard; me," He replies after swallowing the chewed, sweet chunks in his mouth that came from his apple—which has already been half-eaten at this point.

And you find yourself huffing again. This time at the realization that he was right—at least the part about being hopelessly in love with him anyways..

"You had a long day, so why not you rest after you eat? I'll strum you a gentle tune that'll carry you away to pleasant dreams, ehehe~!" He suddenly suggest—an obvious attempt at deading the conversation where it stands before you say something too depressing to brush off easily. You pretend to not notice, deciding to accept your defeat for now, as you nod, finally bringing the apple down to your lips and taking a bite, being careful to chew the bite thoroughly before swallowing..

"That sounds nice.. Maybe resting my eyes wouldn't be so bad."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

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lefteagleblizzard · 2 months ago

Text

𝔙𝔢𝔦𝔩 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯

Mike Schmidt X male reader

This was requested from a really nice person on tumblr: “I completely fell in love with your Mike Schmidt x male reader, and I have an idea for part four, if you make one. So you know how in the movie the aunt hires Max and her brother to mess with Mike's job. Well, what if the aunt hires someone to break into Mike's house on a night when y/n is babysitting Abby. Idk really just seemed like an ok idea.” Hope I was able to satisfy your request.

Tags: Part 4 of this miniseries of Mike Schmidt x male reader. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Smut at the start. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Reader being called “good boy”. Blowjob (reader giving). Angst. Some small fight scenes.

Words count: 6000 words

If you have an idea for part 5, please let me know <3. I love spending time in reading others opinions

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Part 1-part 2-part 3-Part 5-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8

The evening was cloaked in a heavy, golden light, the last rays of the setting sun casting long shadows across the small, familiar space of Mike's home. The day had been long, and you could see the weight of it in the way Mike's shoulders slumped, the fatigue etched in the lines of his face. He was standing in the living room, one hand resting on the back of the worn-out couch, the other rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that spoke of his tension and exhaustion.

Abby was already tucked away in her room, engrossed in some cartoon on the television at full volume, her laughter occasionally ringing out. You watched Mike for a moment, your heart aching with the silent burdens he carried, the unspoken fears that clouded his thoughts.

He hadn't noticed you yet, his mind clearly elsewhere as he stared out the window, lost in thought. You approached him quietly, your steps soft on the wooden floor. When you reached him, you gently placed a hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his worn jacket.

His head turned to look at you, and for a moment, the stress in his eyes softened, replaced by something warmer.

You stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him, though he must have sensed your presence because he looked up, offering you a tired but warm smile "Hey," he greeted softly, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"Hey," you replied, stepping closer until you were standing beside him. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "You look like you could use a break."

Mike let out a heavy sigh, the kind that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He nodded, but the motion was half-hearted, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "Yeah, just...' a lot on my mind," he admitted, his voice low and rough, tinged with exhaustion

He let out a heavy sigh, his eyes flicking to the paperwork before meeting yours again "Yeah, it's just.. everything feels like it's piling up, you know?"

You could hear the frustration and weariness in his voice, and it made your heart ache. You knew how hard he had been working, how much he was sacrificing to make sure Abby had a safe and stable home.

But you also knew he couldn't keep going like this without burning out. He needed to unwind, and maybe you could be the spark that helped him do just that.

After all, there were better ways to relieve stress, and your lips were more than ready to offer a hands-on demonstration.

You hesitated for a moment, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you considered your next words. Despite everything you had been through together, talking about anything remotely intimate still made your cheeks flush with heat.

"Mike," you began, your voice soft, almost hesitant. He looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly in concern, and you could see the question in his eyes. “What if...I helped you unwind a bit? Maybe I could help you shake off some of that stress?”

For a moment, Mike seemed caught off guard, his eyes widening slightly as he processed what you had just said. Then, a slow, almost relieved smile spread across his face, and he let out a low chuckle, the sound filled with a mixture of affection and amusement.

“You'd think after all this time, and after all the times we've seen each other naked, you wouldn't be so nervous around me," he murmured, his voice softening as he reached out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin. "It's adorable"

Your cheeks burned even hotter at his words, and you ducked your head slightly, feeling embarrassed but also touched by his reaction. “I just... I’m not the best with words, but I really want to help you, in any way. I hate seeing you like this.”

His expression softened even more at that, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell. "You always know how to make me feel better," he said quietly, his hand slipping from your cheek to rest on your shoulder, his fingers gently squeezing in a reassuring gesture.

"And if you're offering... I'm not going to say no.”

His lips met yours. They were warm and soft, moving with a gentle but insistent pressure that made your heart skip a beat.

You kissed him back with just as much intensity, your free hand moving to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Mike's hand tightened around yours, his grip almost desperate as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lips in a silent request. You parted your lips, allowing him in, and the kiss became more urgent, more intense.

His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly in his lap, your bodies pressed together.

You reached up, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

"You're such a good boy," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something more primal.

The praise sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped your lips at the sound of it.

"It's okay," he murmured, his hands sliding down your arms to gently grasp your hands, guiding them to the waistband of his pants.

Mike's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he watched you, his gaze filled with a mixture of affection and desire while your fingers began to undo the button of his pants. The intensity in his eyes made your own pulse quicken, and you felt a rush of heat pool in your stomach as you worked the zipper down, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge beneath the fabric.

He leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. He was so warm, so solid beneath your touch, and it made you ache with need.

Your hands slid down his chest, your fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt before slipping underneath, your palms meeting the warm skin of his abdomen. He shuddered at the contact as he deepened the kiss even further, his tongue exploring your mouth with a desperation that made your pulse race.

Mike let out a low groan, the sound vibrating through his chest as you pushed his pants down, your eyes widening slightly as you took in the sight of him.

He was already hard, his arousal evident as it strained against the fabric of his boxers, and the sight of it made your own breath hitch in your throat.

"You're doing so well," Mike murmured, his voice rough with pleasure as he gently guided your hands to the waistband of his boxers, encouraging you to pull them down. "Such a good boy for me."

The praise made your head spin, your body flushing with heat as you followed his lead, pulling his boxers down until his length was fully exposed. You bit your lip, your gaze fixed on him as you took in every inch of him, the way he throbbed with need, the way his breath hitched slightly as you ran your fingers along the length of him, testing the waters.

Mike's hand slid into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided you down to your knees, his grip firm but gentle.

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you saw the hunger in his eyes. "Please, Mike," you whispered, your voice trembling with need as you leaned in and let your head rest on his thighs, your breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. "I want to make you feel good."

He let out a low, guttural groan at your words, his hips jerking slightly in response "Do it," he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

That was all the encouragement you needed.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the tip of him, your tongue flicking out to taste him.

The salty, slightly bitter taste of him filled your senses, your tongue swirling around him, tracing every vein and ridge of his cock.

You slid your tongue up one side and down the other, slowly sucking him in as you began to take him deeper.

Mike's reaction was immediate, his breath hitching as his grip in your hair tightened, a low groan rumbling in his chest. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice rough and raw with pleasure. "That's it... just like that... good boy..."

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his dick as you kept moving, taking him deeper with each bob of your head.

Mike's hips began to move in time with your motions, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps as he fought to keep control, to keep from losing himself entirely to the pleasure you were giving him. But it was a losing battle, his control slipping as he let out a series of low, guttural grunts, his hands tightening in your hair as he pushed you closer, his need for release becoming more urgent.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "You're so good... so fucking good."

You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, the tension in his body building with each passing second, and you knew he was close. You doubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, your hands gripping his thighs for support as you moved faster, more insistently, wanting nothing more than to push him over the edge, to hear him cry out your name as he came.

And then, with a low, broken groan, he did. His release hit you with a sudden, overwhelming intensity, the salty warmth of him filling your mouth as he came, his entire body shuddering with the force of it. You swallowed him down as you continued to work him through his orgasm, milking every last drop from him until he was spent, his chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath.

He leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hand gently stroking your hair as he whispered, "Thank you"

His arms wrapped around you, holding you firmly against him. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

Mike grunted slightly as he shifted, trying to get a better look at you. “I wonder if you’ll ever stop getting all flustered and shy around me.” A small, teasing smile played on his lips, a rare sight that made your heart skip a beat.

Mike sighed, his hand gently stroking your thigh as he murmured, "I should get ready for work."

You knew he was right, but the thought of letting go of him, even for a moment, made your heart ache. Still with your butt seated comfortably on his lap, you tightened your grip on his chest, your voice soft and playful as you whispered, “Stay a little longer.” You laughed lightly, the sound a mix of genuine amusement and a hint of longing, hoping he’d catch the underlying wish in your words.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss while his hand squeezed softly your waist.

“I wish I could.”

You nodded, understanding, even though it hurt to let him go.

Reluctantly, you untangled yourself from him, watching as he stood and began to gather his clothes.

When he put his security vest on, he turned to you and stepped closer, the distance between you closing as he reached out, his hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder.

He glanced over his shoulder towards Abby, who was still, in her room, engrossed in her drawing. "Listen," he began, his voice dropping into a more serious tone, one that made you instinctively pay closer attention. "My aunt... she's been pushing harder lately. She's still doing her best at making our life a living hell. I wouldn't put it past her to try something drastic."

You frowned, your concern deepening. "What do you mean? Do you think she'd actually do something?"

Mike let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of his stress. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "But I've got this bad feeling. Just be careful as always, okay? If anything feels off, anything at all, promise me you'll call."

You nodded, doing your best to project confidence. "I will. Don't worry, I'll keep Abby safe."

Mike's expression softened, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over his features.

"Alright," he said, his voice steady but still carrying that undercurrent of worry. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing against your hair as he whispered, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Stay safe."

The door opened with a soft creak, and Mike stepped outside, disappearing into the twilight.

Abby was already in her room, her small frame bent over a large piece of paper, crayons scattered around her like a rainbow explosion. The television murmured softly in the background, playing one of her favorite cartoons, but her attention was fully captured by the world she was creating with her drawings.

As the clock ticked closer to her bedtime, you suggested a quieter activity to help her wind down. You decided on a movie, something light and fun that wouldn't keep her up later with nightmares. She chose one of her favorites, and you settled down on the couch together, the soft glow of the television illuminating the living room.

But as the minutes passed, you started to notice something strange. It was subtle at first-barely noticeable-but it grew more persistent with time.

A faint noise, like the creaking of floorboards, echoed from somewhere in the house. You dismissed it at first, telling yourself it was just the old house settling, but then you heard it again, louder this time.

Your heart skipped a beat as you strained to listen, but the noise stopped as quickly as it had started. You glanced down at Abby, who was completely engrossed in the movie, blissfully unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Not wanting to alarm her, you kept your concerns to yourself.

Then, you heard something else.

footsteps.

They were faint, but distinct, coming from outside the house. You tensed, trying to discern where they were coming from, but they seemed to move too quickly, as if someone was running around the perimeter of the house.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Abby," you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady, "I'm just going to check on something, okay? I'll be right back"

She nodded absently, her eyes still glued to the screen. You gave her a reassuring smile before slipping off the couch and heading toward the front window. The footsteps had stopped, but you still felt uneasy. You moved carefully, peering out the window into the darkness beyond.

At first, you saw nothing, just the faint outline of the trees swaying in the night breeze. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw movement. A shadow, darting quickly between the trees. You blinked, trying to focus, but it was gone before you could be sure.

Your heart was pounding now, your grip tightening on the curtain. You leaned closer to the glass, scanning the yard for any sign of life, but the night was still, save for the rustling leaves.

You were just about to pull away when the phone rang, the sudden noise causing you to jump.

You cursed under your breath, feeling foolish for letting your nerves get the better of you, and hurried to answer the phone. "Hello?" you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"Hey, it's me," Mike's familiar voice greeted you, instantly soothing some of your anxiety, "Is everything okay?"

You exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "Yeah, everything's fine," you replied, though your voice still held a hint of the tension you'd been feeling. "What about you? How's work?

Mike sighed, the weariness in his voice evident even over the phone. "Boring. Me and the cameras tonight, keeping an eye on everything." He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. "I- I was thinking about you," he added, his tone shifting to something softer, more intimate.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Oh? And what were you thinking?"

There was a brief silence on the other end, and you could almost imagine him fidgeting, trying to find the right words. "Well, I was wondering if, you know, maybe later on, when Abby's asleep, you'd be up for... helping me out a bit? Like you did before I left."

You felt a spark of excitement at the idea. You knew exactly what he meant, and the thought of it made your pulse quicken.

"You mean... like phone sex?" you teased, keeping your voice low so Abby wouldn't overhear.

Mike chuckled softly, and you could hear the relief in his voice. "Yeah.. something like that. Only if you're up for it, of course."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a grin. "I think I could be convinced," you replied, letting a playful edge slip into your tone. "Though I'm not sure you'll be able to focus on your job afterward."

"Who says I'm focused on it now?" he quipped back, his voice carrying that familiar blend of affection and humor that you loved so much.

You laughed quietly, feeling more at ease now than you had all evening. "Alright, you've got a deal. But I should probably warn you, Abby's still full of energy, so it might be a little while."

"That's okay," Mike said, his voice dropping to a lower, more suggestive tone. "Just thinking about it will keep me going until then."

There was a brief pause, and then Mike spoke again, his voice tinged with affection. "I love you, you know that?"

You felt your heart swell at his words. "I love you too, Mike. I'll see you soon."

You hung up the phone, feeling both relieved and anxious. The house was quiet again, but the sense of unease hadn't entirely dissipated. You quickly went around, double-checking that everything was locked, before returning to the living room where Abby was still watching her movie.

She looked up at you with a smile and you forced a smile back, trying to appear calm.

You couldn't help but glance at the window again, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure standing there.

But there was nothing. Just the dark, quiet night outside.

Eventually, Abby yawned, her small hand rubbing at her eyes. You glanced at the clock, realizing it was getting close to her bedtime.

"Alright, little artist," you said with a playful smile, gently taking the crayon from her hand. "I think it's time to start winding down."

You helped her gather up the crayons and paper, placing them neatly on the table for her to continue tomorrow. Then, you guided her to the bathroom to brush her teeth, her small hand warm in yours as you led her through the bedtime routine.

Once Abby was ready for bed, you tucked her in, pulling the blankets up to her chin as she snuggled into her pillow.

"Are you okay, Abby?" you asked softly, wanting to make sure she wasn't picking up on any of the tension you were feeling.

She nodded sleepily, a small smile on her lips. "I'm okay. I like when you're here," she said, her eyes earnest as she looked up at you.

She snuggled deeper into the blankets, her eyes never leaving yours. "Because Mike smiles more.”

The statement caught you slightly off guard, but you smiled gently, curious about what she meant. "He does? What do you mean, Abby?"

Abby nodded earnestly, her face serious as she explained. "He doesn't smile a lot, you know. But when you're here, he does. Sometimes it's just a little one, like he's trying to hide it. But I can see it."

"He talks about you a lot too," Abby continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if she was sharing a secret. "Like when we're having breakfast or when he's helping me with my homework. He misses you when you're at college," Abby added, her brow furrowing slightly as she recalled something else.

"He gets grumpy sometimes when you're not here. He doesn't say it. He doesn't laugh as much, and he's more quiet."

You reached out and gently squeezed her hand, feeling an overwhelming sense of love for both her and Mike. "Thank you for telling me that, Abby. It means a lot to hear that. Sweet dreams, okay?"

"Okay," she murmured, already drifting off as her eyes fluttered shut.

You stayed there for a moment, watching her breathe softly, her small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. There was something so peaceful, so innocent about her in that moment, and it only made you more determined to protect her, to keep her safe no matter what.

Finally, you quietly slip out of the room and close the door behind you.

The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the lamp in the living room.

You made your way back to the couch, intending to relax for a bit, maybe read a book or watch something lighthearted to take your mind off things.

But as you settled onto the couch, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that had been growing since Mike left. It wasn't anything specific, just a gnawing feeling in the back of your mind, like something wasn't quite right.

You tried to push it away, focusing on the book you'd brought with you, but the words seemed to blur together, your mind too distracted to make sense of them.

After a few minutes, you gave up, setting the book aside and leaning back against the cushions with a sigh. And that's when you noticed it. A flicker of movement outside the window, just at the edge of your vision.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes darted to the window. For a moment, there was nothing, just the reflection of the room in the glass.

But then you saw it again, a shadow passing by, quick and almost imperceptible.

You stood up slowly, moving towards the window with cautious steps, trying to convince yourself that it was nothing, maybe just a trick of the light or an animal passing by.

But as you reached the window and peered out into the darkness, you saw it again this time, clearer.

A figure, moving through the shadows, too close to the house to be anyone just passing by.

Your heart began to race, your pulse pounding in your ears as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing.

You backed away from the window, moving quickly but quietly through the house to check the locks on the doors. The front door was secure, as was the back door, but the uneasy feeling in your chest only grew stronger.

You returned to the living room, trying to decide what to do next. Should you call Mike? The police? You didn't want to overreact, but the thought of someone lurking outside the house, especially with Abby asleep in the next room, was enough to make your blood run cold.

And then, as if to confirm your worst fears, you heard a faint scratching sound, like something sharp scraping against wood.

It was coming from the back door.

Panic surged through you, your hands trembling as you fumbled for the phone.

You quickly dialed the number of the eerie place Mike was working in, your heart racing as the phone rang in your ear.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"There's someone outside," you whispered, your voice shaking with fear. "I think they're trying to get in."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a soft curse. ""I’ll call the police and then head over. Don't open the door for anyone except me, okay? I'm on my way.” Mike instructed, his voice firm despite the worry you could hear.

You hung up, your mind racing as you quickly moved towards Abby's room. The scratching at the back door grew louder, more insistent, but you forced yourself to focus on getting Abby to safety.

"Abby, sweetheart, wake up," you whispered urgently as you shook her gently. She stirred, blinking sleepily up at you.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"We're going to play a game," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear that was threatening to overwhelm you. "We're going to hide, and you have to be really, really quiet, okay?"

She nodded, her wide eyes staring up at you, filled with trust. Her innocence made your heart ache, but you pushed that feeling down, focusing on the task at hand. You gently move towards her "secret fort."

You helped her crawl inside, making sure she was comfortable and well-hidden under layers of blankets. The space was cramped, barely big enough for her small frame, but you knew it was the safest place for her. You reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, giving her a reassuring smile even though your insides were twisting with fear.

"Stay here, Abby," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "No matter what happens, stay here until I come back for you. Don't make a sound, okay?"

Abby nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line as she did her best to be brave. "I'll be really quiet," she whispered back, her voice trembling slightly.

You smiled at her, trying to mask the fear you felt, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Good girl," you said softly, your heart breaking as you closed the fort, hiding her from view.

You stood there for a moment, your hand resting on the top of the dresser, as the reality of the situation began to sink in. The house was too quiet now, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribcage as you strained to hear any sound that might give away the intruder's location.

You knew you couldn't stay in Abby's room, it was too risky. If the intruder found you, there was a chance he would discover Abby, and you couldn't let that happen.

He seemed to know how to move in this situations, locking her room from the inside would just trap you in it.

You had to draw him away from her, give her as much of a chance as possible to stay hidden.

With every muscle in your body tensed, you quietly slipped out of Abby's room and moved toward the hallway. The shadows seemed to shift and dance around you, the darkness feeling thicker, more oppressive than before. You paused at the door, listening intently.

The scratching had stopped, replaced by the sound of footsteps moving through the house.

He was inside.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body tense as you listened.

The footsteps were getting closer, each one sending a fresh wave of fear crashing over you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to decide what to do.

You moved quietly but quickly down the hallway, each step measured and precise. You didn't dare make a sound. The house now felt like a trap, each corner a potential hiding place for the intruder. You reached Mike's bedroom door and slipped inside, closing it gently behind you.

Mike's room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the thin curtains.

You pressed your back against the wall beside the door, your breath shallow and rapid. You could hear the intruder's footsteps growing louder, closer. The sound sent a chill down your spine. Your mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, but every idea seemed more desperate and hopeless than the last.

And then the footsteps stopped, just outside Abby's room.

Your heart lurched in your chest, your breath catching as you realized the intruder was inside Abby's room. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you searched for any possible thing to hit the man.

You knew you had to stay hidden,but when you heard the faint rustling sounds coming from Abby's room, your heart sank. You peered through the small crack in the door, barely daring to breathe as you saw the intruder crouching down beside Abby's bed, carefully placing something under it. The glint of metal caught your eye. A knife, long and sharp, was placed there deliberately.

Your blood ran cold as you realized what he was doing.

He was planting evidence.

Trying to make it look like Mike was keeping dangerous items where a child could find them. He wasn't just trying to scare you, he was trying to destroy Mike.

The intruder moved with an unsettling calmness, methodically working through the room as if he had all the time in the world. He opened Abby's dresser and placed something inside, something small and white that you couldn't quite make out.

Pills, likely. Perhaps the prescription Mike had mentioned in passing, the ones he rarely touched now but kept for nights when the insomnia got too bad.

Anger flared in your chest, hot and consuming, as you watched the intruder desecrate Abby's room, turning it into a scene of fabricated neglect.

How could someone do this?

How could they be so heartless, so cruel?

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes darting to where Abby was hidden, ensuring she was well-concealed. As your foot stepped down on the floor, it creaked loudly, shattering the silence.

His covered head snapped up instantly, and your eyes locked for a heartbeat before you jerked your head back inside the room.

The sound of his footsteps grew louder, each one faster and more urgent than the last, echoing ominously through the hallway.

Panic surged through you. There was nothing here, nothing even remotely close to a weapon. He was getting closer.

The door creaked as it was slowly opened, the movements of the man careful and deliberate. You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

But it was too late.

His eyes swept the room, and in the dim light, they locked onto you.

For a heartbeat, time stood still. Your eyes met the intruder’s, and in that instant, you saw the raw terror flicker in his gaze as he realized he was caught. The silence was shattered as he lunged at you, his movements frantic and desperate. His hands, cold and clammy, reached out to stifle your scream.

The force of his attack sent you crashing on the floor, your head slamming into the floor with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in your skull, your vision blurring as you tried to fight back, your hands pushing at him, your nails clawing at his arms in a desperate attempt to break free.

His hands found your throat, squeezing with a terrifying intensity, cutting off your air.

You gasped, your lungs burning as you struggled to breathe, but his grip only tightened.

The world around you began to spin, the edges of your vision darkening as your strength started to fade.

You fought with everything you had, your survival instinct kicking in as you tried to pry his hands off your neck, but it was no use. He was nearly double your size, his weight blocking you down on the floor, his strength overwhelming.

Your vision tunneled, and the last thing you saw before the darkness claimed you was the cold, unfeeling eyes of the intruder. Your hands fell limp, your body going still as the fight drained out of you.

The pressure on your throat increased, and then...

nothing.

A loud crack echoed in the room, followed by a muffled scream of pain.

The intruder convulsed violently as a muffled scream of pain erupted from behind his mask. He stumbled backward, away from your lifeless form, writhing on the floor as the electrical current tore through him.

Mike stood in the doorway, his face twisted with fury. He held the taser that Vanessa had given him for protection after Abby was taken at Freddy's, and he was already moving towards the intruder, who was writhing on the floor, his screams of agony muffled by the mask he wore.

He lunged forward, pushing the intruder back on the floor with his body as he tried to get back up. His fists rained down on the intruder’s face with ferocity, each punch fueled by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation.

His grunts filled the room, each one punctuating the brutal force of his blows. There was no mercy in his movements, only the desperate need to protect, to punish.

The intruder's attempts to fight back grew weaker with each passing second, his body limp and barely responsive under Mike's relentless assault. His fists were driven by something primal, something that transcended reason or logic.

The world had taken too much from him already, and he refused to let it take any more.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as Mike continued his brutal assault, his rage all consuming.

But then, as if from a great distance, something cut through the fog of his anger. A small, almost imperceptible movement, a gentle touch on his shoulder. His body tensed, but he hesitated for just a fraction of a second. The rhythm of his punches faltered, the force behind them weakening as a different kind of awareness began to seep into his mind.

Mike's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with exertion. His fists hovered above the broken, bloodied form of the intruder, shaking with the effort it took to hold back.

His vision was blurred, the world around him slowly coming back into focus. The room was a mess, blood staining the floor and the walls, and there, just within his line of sight, was you watching him, your eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place.

Mike turned to you, his hands trembling as they reached out to touch your face, as if to make sure you were really there, really okay.

"I thought... I thought I lost you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Without another word, he pulled you into a deep, desperate hug, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him as the adrenaline slowly faded.

Mike buried his face in your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "you’re okay... you’re okay...”

Mike pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze searching your face as if needing to see for himself that you were really there, that you were really okay. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your cheeks.

His eyes flicked to the bruises on your neck.

"I'm okay," you reassured him, though the pain in your throat made it hard to speak.

"I love you," Mike murmured into your hair, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache

"I love you too," you whispered back, feeling a sense of peace wash over you despite everything that had happened.

After a few moments, Mike reluctantly let go, his gaze shifting to the unconscious intruder on the floor. The man was still breathing, though barely, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths.

You moved back to the fort where Abby was still hidden, her small form curled up under the blankets you hide her in. Gently, you knelt down beside her. She was asleep, her breathing soft and steady, unaware of the terror that had unfolded just outside her door. You carefully scooped her up into your arms, holding her close as you carried her out of the room.

Once the intruder was tied up and secure, Mike returned to you, his expression softening he saw you with Abby and he reached out, brushing a hand gently over her hair. "She's okay?" he asked quietly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, smiling softly. "She slept through the whole thing. She doesn't know."

Mike let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension drained from him. "Good," he murmured. "That's good."

The sound of approaching sirens filled the air, growing louder as they neared the house.

The authorities arrived quickly and the intruder was taken away. He soon confessed to being someone hired by Mike's aunt in a desperate attempt to discredit him.

The police officer's words felt distant as you replayed the night's events in your mind. It was only when you felt Mike's hand squeeze yours that you were pulled back to the present.

"Let's get you checked out," Mike said softly, concern still evident in his voice as he led you to the waiting ambulance.

You nodded, exhaustion finally catching up to you as you allowed him to guide you outside. The cool night air hit your face, a stark contrast to the warmth of Mike's hand holding yours.

The paramedics were gentle as they checked you over, their hands moving carefully as they assessed the bruises on your neck and the minor injuries you'd sustained during the struggle. Mike stayed by your side the entire time, his presence a comforting anchor in the chaos of the night.

When they were finished, Mike helped you into the back of the ambulance, where you sat together, the silence between you filled with a thousand unspoken words. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close.

His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of what could have happened was too much to bear. "I couldn't lose you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not you, not Abby. You both mean everything to me."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to gently touch his face, your thumb brushing against the stubble on his cheek. "We're okay, Mike," you said softly, your voice filled with a quiet strength. "We're safe. And we'll get through this together."

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

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writingforstraykids · 27 days ago

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Letters Of Love - Jisung🖤

Pairing: Jisung x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 896

Summary: Your next message is for Jisung, about a day where all he needed was some rest in your lap.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, comfort

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Your gaze lands on a photo that makes your heart ache in the softest way possible. It’s a picture of Jisung, curled up on your lap, his face completely relaxed in sleep, his body almost melting into yours as if seeking comfort. His cheek is smushed adorably against your thigh, one hand curled loosely over your knee, the other hidden beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. The angle of the photo captures just the side of your face, a gentle smile on your lips as you gaze down at him. His hair falls messily across his forehead, still slightly damp with sweat, and there’s a faint pink tinge to his cheeks, as if he’s finally let go of the tension he’d been carrying all day.

The living room around you is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp beside the sofa. The evening light outside filters through the curtains, casting a golden sheen over everything. You can almost hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, the way it had been so shallow and uneven at first before it slowly evened out, settling into a steady, comforting beat. In the picture, his expression is completely peaceful—no trace of the exhaustion and strain that had marked his features just a few hours earlier.

That day had started off as a whirlwind for him. He’d had to attend several social events—all of which required him to be “on” for hours, smiling and interacting with people. It wasn’t until he came home, his shoulders tense and his smile strained, that you realized just how overwhelmed he really was.

You’d noticed it the moment he walked through the door, his gaze dropping almost instantly as if even making eye contact felt too much. You hadn’t said a word, just opened your arms, and he’d melted into you, his face buried in your shoulder as he released a long, shuddering sigh. Without a second thought, you’d guided him to the sofa, coaxing him to lie down with his head in your lap. It took a while for him to settle, to stop fidgeting as if he couldn’t let go of the day’s weight. But you ran your fingers softly through his hair, whispering soothing words, letting him know it was okay to rest. That he didn’t have to keep up the act with you.

Gradually, he’d relaxed, the tension bleeding away from his body until his breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering closed. It wasn’t long before he was fast asleep, the worry lines on his forehead smoothing out, leaving him looking so young and vulnerable. You’d stayed like that for a long time, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his scalp, marveling at how someone who shines so brightly on stage could look so fragile, so in need of shelter.

You smile softly as you attach the photo, already imagining the way Jisung’s cheeks will flush when he sees it. Fingers poised over the keyboard, you let your thoughts pour out, the love and admiration you feel for him filling each word.

---

Message to Hannie🐿️🩷:

Hannie,

I found this picture of you from the other night, when you fell asleep in my lap after that crazy long day. I know how hard it is for you to be around people for so long, even when you put on that brave smile. You always push yourself so much, and I just… I want you to know that it’s okay to rest. You don’t have to be the beloved ace all the time.

Seeing you like this, finally relaxed and at peace, made me realize something. I love every side of you—the bright, energetic Sungie who lights up every room, but also the quiet, overwhelmed Sungie who needs to just hide away for a little while. I love that you trust me enough to show me both. You don’t always have to be strong, you know? I want to be the place where you can let it all go and just… breathe.

Thank you for letting me be that for you. For choosing to lean on me, even when you’re too tired to say a word. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know, and I hope you never feel like you have to carry it all alone.

Happy anniversary, my little quokka. Here’s to more naps, more quiet moments, and more nights when you don’t have to be anything but yourself.

Love you forever,

One of your safe places

---

You read over the message again, feeling the words settle deep in your heart. You know Jisung will probably get flustered when he reads it, that he might grumble something about how he didn’t want you to see him so drained, but you also know that he’ll treasure it. Because that’s who he is—someone who loves fiercely, who feels deeply, and who sometimes just needs to be reminded that he’s loved for everything he is, even on the days when he feels like he’s not enough.

You hit send and lean back, closing your eyes as you remember the way he looked in your lap, so small and tired, but so beautifully at peace. Because even though he always says he doesn’t want to be a burden, he’s never been one to you. He never could be. He’s your dear Hannie - bright, beautiful, and perfect just as he is.

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shanastoryteller · 1 year ago

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happy pride! god zagreus, please?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

It's not that difficult to find the bright, blazing light of Zagreus above the surface and pull himself there. He didn't even go very far - he's still on the same mountain as the entrance to the underworld.

Except when he appears, it's nothing like the mountaintop he remembers. All his angry words die on his tongue, replaced with a tentative sort of wonder.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Zagreus asks, beaming as he gestures to the lush forest and garden, full of plants and fruit that he's never seen before, in colors that shouldn't exist.

It's wild, but cultivated. They're in front of a fountain and there's a cobblestone path winding deeper into the forest, and even a hammock and a fishing pole near the pond, which is the part that he focuses on because it's the part that's connected to the Zagreus that he knows. He can easily imagine him lounging in that hammock for hours, pole held in a lazy grip that flicks back whenever he feels a bite.

"Prince?"

He turns and there is a woman coming up the path. She's beautiful, for a mortal, and just as lush as the greenery surrounding them. Zagreus's power is all around them, but she glows with it, giving her a subtle golden aura that any immortal could pick up on.

"Eliana," Zagreus says warmly. "Your father is taken care of. He was bragging about you to Sisyphus when I left."

She smiles, and it's tinged with sadness, but she says, "Thank you. You're all he talked about at the end. He was so excited to meet you."

He ducks his head. "Well, I hope I lived up to his expectations."

Zagreus had said that he wasn't married, but what else can this mortal be, who is cloaked in his power and speaks to him so casually? Thanatos's stomach flips then fills with acid.

"You never disappoint," she reassures, voice warm and fond and familiar. She flickers her eyes in his direction and raises an eyebrow.

"Ah," Zagreus's grin widens. "There's someone I want you to meet. This is Thanatos, the god of death, and, more importantly, he is my oldest and dearest friend."

She bows to him deeply, although she does not fully prostrate herself, which he feels uncharacteristically miffed about.

"Thanatos, this is Eliana. She is my high priestess. She oversees my the building of my temples and my orchards and is charged with discharging blessings in my name."

Ah.

No wonder she had not gotten to her knees before him. That level of devotion is reserved only for the god who's power she wields.

"You're a god," he says, staring at Zagreus, trying to reconcile everything he thought he knew with what's in front of him.

He smiles, teasing. "I've always been a god."

Yes and no.

He was always a god, but one without a domain. One without temples or worshippers or tributes. Even Thanatos doesn't have temples in his name.

"What are you the god of?" he asks, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat.

Eliana answers, "Our Prince is the god of life and the god of blood. Only he can provide shelter against the endless winter."

Thanatos blinks, because out of everything he's been told, this is the most unbelievable. "You - you're trying to stand against Demeter?"

"I have been standing against Demeter," he says, that familiar arrogance in every line of his body. "Who besides me? I am the son of the Lord of the Underworld and the Goddess of Spring. I will stave off death and call forth spring, for I am the god of life."

Fuck.

Thanatos misses a couple minutes ago when he thought they just had a civil war to deal with.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #hades game

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ginxyy · 20 days ago

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The First Kiss

The first kiss between You and Wonwoo Shouldn’t have happened but looking out at the city anything became possible.

It was a balmy summer evening when everything changed between us. The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the slightly open curtains, draping the living room in a warm, ethereal glow. I had been invited to the band’s apartment once again, a place that had started to feel like a second home. Music flowed from the speakers, intertwining with the laughter echoing from the kitchen where the members busied themselves with dinner preparations. My heart fluttered with excitement a mix of exhilaration and a sense of something more forbidden that lay beneath the surface.

Mingyu, my boyfriend and Wonwoo's best friend, moved about with effortless charm, playfully stealing bites of the food he was meant to be cooking. I watched him with fondness as he insisted I try a new recipe he was perfecting. It was moments like this that strengthened the bond we shared; yet, tonight, something about the atmosphere felt charged. I couldn’t shake the feeling of longing an inexplicable pull toward Wonwoo, who was leaning against the wall, observing the chaos unfold with an amused expression.

Wonwoo had always been mysterious to me. His quiet, observant demeanor held an allure that was impossible to ignore. While I had come to adore Mingyu, there was an unspoken chemistry between me and Wonwoo that lingered in the air whenever we were together. Our playful banter during late-night conversations had often left me wondering if there was more to our connection. My heart raced at the thought, electricity coursing through my veins every time our eyes met.

As the evening advanced and laughter filled the room, we drifted apart from the lively chaos of cooking and wandered outside to the small balcony that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking, the skyline punctuated with vibrant lights that twinkled like stars. I leaned against the railing, inhaling the warm summer breeze, enjoying the moment and the feeling of freedom.

Wonwoo joined me, his presence making the air around us shimmer. I could feel the familiar weight of his gaze upon me, a combination of warmth and intensity that sent shivers down my spine. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he remarked, his voice low and melodic. Just as I turned to reply, he moved closer, the distance between us diminishing, drawing me into a world where only we existed.

“It is,” I whispered, my breath becoming shallow as the heat of his body enveloped me. The way he looked at me, with those dark, expressive eyes, ignited something within me something I tried so hard to suppress. But like a tidal wave, my heart surged, longing for a closeness that felt just out of reach.

Suddenly, our laughter faded, replaced by a more profound silence, charged with unspoken words and shared breaths. It was in that moment that everything shifted. We were on the precipice of something intoxicatingly forbidden, a reality that threatened to unravel the delicate tapestry of our lives.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with hesitation yet tinged with hope. My heart raced as his words echoed in my mind, but before I could summon a response, he leaned in, closing the space between us, and pressed his lips against mine.

That first kiss erupted into a whirlwind of heated moments soft and tentative at first, but quickly devolving into something more fervent, more consuming. I melted against him, surrendering to the wave of emotion that crashed over me, taking my breath away. My hands found their way into his dark hair, pulling him closer, wanting to lose myself in this heated embrace. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of longing, urgency, and unexpressed desires.

But even in that moment of sheer bliss, my heart wrenched at the thought of Mingyu, his laughter still echoing in the back of my mind. The weight of my choices threatened to drown me in guilt. Would he understand? Would he forgive me for crossing that line? My heart battled within my chest, torn between loyalty to Mingyu and the undeniable spark that ignited between Wonwoo and myself.

Just then, the door swung open, and in walked Dino, his expression morphing from surprise to horror in the blink of an eye. Time seemed to freeze as our eyes locked mine wide with shock, Wonwoo’s with panic. The world around me blurred into nothingness, the joyous laughter of the kitchen quieting to an eerie hush as reality crashed down like thunder.

“W-what are you guys doing?” Dino stuttered, his face morphing with confusion and disbelief. The warmth of our earlier passion evaporated, leaving nothing but a chill that crept in with the abrupt intrusion.

I pulled away from Wonwoo, the warmth of his body suddenly feeling like fire against my guilt-ridden skin. My eyes darted between the two boys—the innocent, curious Dino and the conflicted Wonwoo, who had opened this door I never intended to go through.

“I—” I stumbled over my words, searching for something to say that could untangle this mess, but no excuse felt right. The truth lay heavy on my tongue, yet the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I felt nothing but shame and regret. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for… this to happen.”

Dino’s expression shifted from shock to disappointment, the playful sparkle in his eyes replaced with hurt. “Mingyu is going to be heartbroken,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of those words landed like a stone in my chest.

Wonwoo’s hand slipped from mine, and the disillusionment settled in. “We’re going to talk,” he said, clearly struggling to maintain a semblance of composure. He turned to Dino, who stood frozen, as if trying to understand the complexity of it all. I wanted to reach out, to explain, but all I felt was the suffocating panic of what I had put into motion.

As Wonwoo and I slipped back inside, the laughter from the kitchen seemed distant, like echoes of a life I was suddenly unsure of. Our moment, charged with possibility and passion, had quickly spiraled into something messy and painful. I was left standing on the edge of a precipice, feeling the ground beneath my feet beginning to crumble.

In the heavy silence that followed, I realized that our blissful moment could not be reclaimed. Choices had been made, and the consequences were now weaving paths I couldn’t control. As I caught a glimpse of the life I had envisioned with Mingyu the laughter, the warmth, the love I couldn’t shake the realization that I had momentarily stepped out of that life and into a world of desires that would forever linger in the shadows.

I had to face the heart I had unwittingly fractured. In that moment, I understood the weight of the kiss shared with Wonwoo, a fleeting encounter that had opened a door to endless possibilities, yet trapped me in a web of complexity I wasn’t ready to confront. I could only hope that whatever lay ahead wouldn’t shatter the bonds we had all intricately woven; bonds of love, friendship, and the dreams of young hearts entwined.

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won4kiss · 5 months ago

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⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— LOML

𝜗𝜚 ༘⋆ ⋆˙pairing. husband! park sunghoon x fem! reader synopsis. park sunghoon was once the love of your life, and now he would be remembered as the loss of it. genre. angst ,, wc. 1600. 𝐥u𝐧a notes ⋆.˚ inspired by this song, i strongly advise u to listen to it as you’re reading<3 🫧 — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂

if you enjoyed reading, please reblog and like !!

our field of dreams, engulfed in fire. your arsons match, your somber eyes. and I’ll still see it, until I die. you’re the loss of my life.

the sun had barely risen, casting a soft, golden light through the sheer curtains of your shared apartment. the faint glow illuminated the room, making everything look almost ethereal, like a scene from a dream. but this morning, it felt more like a nightmare.

you and sunghoon had been arguing the night before. it started over something small – he had forgotten to pick up groceries on his way home. but like all unresolved tensions, it escalated quickly. the argument spiraled into something neither of you had anticipated, touching on deeper, more painful issues that had been boiling up inside of you beneath the surface for months.

“i don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” sunghoon had said, his voice tinged with frustration.

“it’s not about the groceries, hoon!” you had snapped back. “it’s about you never listening to me anymore! you’re always so caught up in your own little world that you don’t even notice when i need you.”

he had run a hand through his hair, a gesture that showed he was trying to keep his temper in check. “that’s not fair, y/n. you know how busy i’ve been with work.” he said shaking his head at you as you felt yourself getting angrier.

“busy? we’re all busy! trust me, i’m busy too! but we make time for the people we care about. or at least, we’re supposed to.”

the argument had gone on for hours now, voices raised and accusations thrown cracking each of your hearts more by the second, each word cutting deeper. by the end, you were both exhausted and emotionally drained. sunghoon had retreated to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, leaving you alone in the living room, tears streaming down your face.

you stared at the door, contemplating on making up with sunghoon, but you shook your head. you were done with the way he had been treating you, now he could deal with the consequences of his own actions.

the next day, in the early morning light, the weight of last night’s argument hung heavy in the air. you sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a cold cup of coffee. you replayed the argument over and over in your mind, feeling the sting of regret with every bitter word exchanged.

sunghoon emerged from the bedroom, dressed for work. his face was pale and his eyes red-rimmed, a stark contrast to his usual composed self. he paused in the doorway, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read – a mix of regret and something else, something you couldn’t place.

“i’m leaving for work,” he said quietly, almost whispering. “i’ll be back late tonight. we can talk then.”

you didn’t look up. you couldn’t. the words were stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was a stiff nod.

sunghoon hesitated, then walked over to you. he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “i love you, y/n,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

“mhm.”

that was all you could say, his words from last night were still clouded over you.

you were still too hurt, too angry. you didn’t respond. you didn’t even look at him. he lingered for a moment, as if waiting for you to say something else , anything else. when you didn’t, he straightened and walked out the door, the sound of it closing echoing through the empty apartment.

as the silence filled the air once again, you felt a churn in your stomach. a bad feeling, maybe you should’ve said something else, you thought.

the day passed in a blur. you went through the motions, trying to focus on anything other than the gnawing ache in your chest. but everything reminded you of sunghoon – his favorite coffee mug, the jacket he left draped over the chair, the photo of the two of you on the fridge, smiling and happy, a contrast to the misery you felt now.

you kept checking your phone, hoping for a text, a call, anything from sunghoon. but there was nothing. the silence was deafening.

It was now late in the evening, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, you had been sitting on your couch, waiting for sunghoon to get home, yes you were angry but you had missed him much more than anything else.

and suddenly, there was a knock at the door. you excitedly opened it expecting to find sunghoon, but except finding two police officers standing there, their faces solemn.

“are you park y/n?” one of them asked gently.

your heart dropped to your stomach, you knew whatever the man was going to say next probably wasn’t going to be good.

“yes,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

“i’m afraid we have some bad news ma’am. your partner, park sunghoon, was involved in a car accident this afternoon. and.. i’m sorry, he didn’t make it.”

the world seemed to stop. everything around you faded into a blur, and all you could hear was the deafening roar of your own heartbeat. you felt like you were drowning, the weight of their words dragging you down into a dark spiral.

“no, no, you’re mistaken.” you whispered, shaking your head. “no, that can’t be true. i just saw him this morning, he was here- he can’t be...”

the officers exchanged a glance, their expressions filled with pity. “i’m very sorry for your loss. if there’s anything we can do...”

but their words were lost on you. the room seemed to spin, and you clutched the doorframe to keep from collapsing. sunghoon was gone. your sunghoon.

the last thing you had said to him – or rather, hadn’t said – echoed in your mind, shadowing down on you as if it was mocking you, a cruel reminder of your silence.

“i love you, y/n.”

the memory of his soft voice, so soft and full of longing and love, cut through you like a knife. you had ignored him, let him walk out the door without a word. and now he was gone. forever, and you couldn’t help but think he died not knowing how much you had loved him.

in the days that followed, you moved through life in a daze, present but not really there. the apartment felt unbearable, each corner filled with the ghost of sunghoon. you couldn’t escape him, and the memories – his laughter, his touch, the way he used to hold you when you were sad. every moment was a painful reminder of what you had lost.

you found yourself replaying that final morning over and over, wishing you could go back, not arguing with him, holding him a little longer, asking him to stay, and telling him how much you had loved him, but it was too late. the chance to make things right had slipped right through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but regret and a heart shattered into a million pieces.

sunghoon’s funeral was a blur of black clothes, tears and somber faces. you stood by his casket, staring down at his peaceful face, wishing with everything in you that he would open his eyes, with that gentle smile, and tell you everything would be okay. but he didn’t. he was gone, and nothing would bring him back.

as you stood over the casket, you held his hand. it was cold, it wasn’t the same warm hands holding you at night- the same hands holding you only two weeks ago.

glistening tears ran down your cheek as the people surrounding you watched in pity and despair for you.

“poor girl.. losing her husband at such a young age, i can’t imagine.” they whispered.

as the weeks turned into months, the pain didn’t fade. it settled into your bones and became a part of you, a constant ache that you couldn’t escape. you tried to move on, tried to live your life, but the weight of your loss was always there, a heavy shadow that followed you everywhere.

you couldn’t possibly forget him, he was your everything, he was the love of your life- and now he’ll be remembered as the loss of your life.

every night, as you lay in bed, you would hear his voice in your mind, whispering those final words. “i love you, y/n.”

you’d feel the absence of his comforting embrace, the arms that would coax you to sleep, his kisses, the feeling of his hair tickling your neck.

you remembered the wedding vows, you remember how sunghoon had promised you a lifetime with him, how you were supposed to grow old together.

you would give anything to hear him say his last words to you one more time, to have one more chance to say it back. but all you had were memories, and the haunting realization that the love of your life was gone, leaving behind a void that could never be filled.

@won4kiss

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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The Price of Fire (16)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 15

- Next part: 17

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The late afternoon sun bathed Starfall in golden light. From the highest balcony, you and Arthur stood side by side, gazing out at the distant horizon. There, far in the distance, Terrax’s massive form circled in the sky like a dark storm cloud, his wings beating with a power that sent shivers through the earth. The dragon had grown, impossibly so, his shadow vast against the fading sky. Every time you saw him, you were reminded of how unnatural his presence felt, how he didn’t quite belong in the world as it was now.

Arthur stood silently beside you, his arms folded over his chest as he watched Terrax with an expression of quiet contemplation. His brow was slightly furrowed, his eyes sharp, thoughtful. He had always been steady, the calm in the chaos, and yet even now, you could feel the weight of his concern.

“He’s grown much,” Arthur murmured after a long silence, his voice low and filled with something that bordered on unease. “Far more than I expected. In such a short time too.” He shook his head, his gaze never leaving the dragon as Terrax dipped low toward the horizon before rising again, his golden eyes gleaming like fire. “It’s almost… unnatural.”

You sighed softly, your own gaze tracing Terrax’s massive wings as they cut through the air with terrifying grace. Arthur wasn’t wrong. The dragon had grown faster than any natural creature should have. He was now a force that even the skies seemed to fear. His presence was both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling. And yet, you had known from the very beginning that Terrax was never meant to be something natural.

“His whole existence is unnatural,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with a sadness you hadn’t realized was there. “From the moment he hatched… he was never meant to be.” You paused, the memory of that night in King’s Landing creeping into your thoughts, like smoke winding through the cracks of your mind. “Aerys made sure of that.”

Arthur turned his head slightly, watching you now, his concern deepening. “You’re talking about the ritual,” he said, though it wasn’t a question.

You nodded, your throat tightening as you forced yourself to remember, to speak the words you so often tried to push away. “Aerys used wildfire, you saw it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind that tugged at your hair. “He had three men burned alive… sacrificed, right in front of us. And then he cut my hand—my blood mixed with his, with the fire.” You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the memory of the green flames, the screams of the dying men, the thick scent of burning flesh that had filled the air that night.

“And from that madness, Terrax hatched.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his hand brushing against yours in a gesture of quiet comfort. “He forced you to take part in that... horror,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet anger that he rarely let slip. “It wasn’t your fault. Aerys twisted everything he touched. Even this.”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and pain. “I know,” you said, though the weight of it still lingered in your chest. “But that doesn’t change what happened. Terrax… his very existence is tied to death, to fire and blood. He’s a product of something dark, something that should have never been.”

Arthur’s gaze softened as he gently took your hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “He’s also tied to you,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “Whatever madness Aerys used to bring him into this world, Terrax chose you. You’re the reason he’s here now, and whatever darkness lingers from his birth, it’s you who will shape what he becomes.”

You looked back out at the dragon, who had landed now on a distant cliffside, his massive wings folding against his body as he settled in for the night. Terrax’s golden eyes flashed, and for a brief moment, you felt the bond between you stir, the connection that had always been there since the moment he hatched. It was a bond forged in fire and blood, yes, but it was also something deeper, something more profound.

“I just wonder,” you murmured, “if Terrax will always be bound to that darkness, if he’ll ever be free of it.”

Arthur didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, his voice was filled with quiet certainty. “We all have darkness in our pasts,” he said softly. “But it doesn’t define us. And it won’t define him. Not while you’re by his side.”

You leaned into Arthur, resting your head against his shoulder as you both watched the distant figure of Terrax in the fading light. There were still so many questions about what Terrax’s existence truly meant. But in that moment, with Arthur beside you, the weight of it all seemed a little lighter.

“I hope you’re right,” you whispered, closing your eyes and letting the wind carry your thoughts away, at least for now.

The library in Starfall was vast, a labyrinth of ancient knowledge and forgotten histories. Shelves upon shelves of dusty tomes and scrolls stretched endlessly before you, the dim light from the high, narrow windows casting long shadows across the stone floor. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where the echoes of the outside world could not reach. Here, the weight of your fears, your questions, and the haunting memory of Terrax’s unnatural birth seemed distant—at least for a time.

For days now, you had spent hours combing through the texts, pouring over the writings of old Valyria, desperate to understand what Aerys had done to bring Terrax into this world. The dragon was growing stronger, larger, more volatile. There was something unnatural about the speed of his transformation, something that gnawed at you. The bond you shared with him was deep, yes, but there was an unease within it, as though the threads of his creation still lingered in the shadows of your mind.

You sat now at a wide, ancient desk, a heavy tome of Valyrian magic open before you. The language, though familiar, was still difficult to decipher, and your eyes strained as you traced the lines of ink across the yellowed page. The text spoke of blood rituals, the summoning of fire, and the forging of bonds between dragon and rider. But even as you read, there was a feeling of something slipping away from you, a truth hidden just out of reach.

Your hand moved absently to your abdomen, where the quiet life you carried had yet to make its presence fully known. The thought of your child—the child you hadn’t expected, but now felt fiercely protective of—filled you with warmth, but also fear. The voice had spoken of death before, taunting you in your nightmares. And though you had tried to push it away, there was a part of you that couldn’t forget it. That couldn’t let it go.

As you read on, your mind wandered, your focus slipping. And that’s when it came again—the voice, faint at first but unmistakable, whispering like a thread of shadow in the back of your mind.

"Rat tails, cat tails, coat tails, all tales."

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as the words wound through your thoughts like a taunting riddle. You tried to shake it off, to ignore the voice as you had before. But it was persistent, threading itself through your concentration, pulling you away from the words on the page.

"Mother. Father."

Your blood ran cold. The voice had spoken of them before, but now… now it seemed to carry a different weight, a different meaning. You slammed the book shut, the sound of the heavy cover closing echoing in the quiet library. Your breath came faster, a tightness forming in your chest as you tried to make sense of it.

"Mother. Father. You know."

The voice whispered again, insistent, and for the first time, you realized with a sinking dread what it meant. Mother and Father weren’t just idle words. They weren’t abstract references to some distant force. The voice wasn’t speaking of your parents, at least not in the way you had first thought. It was speaking of you and Aerys.

Your mind reeled as the truth began to settle in, as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The ritual. The wildfire. The mingling of your blood and Aerys’s. It had been done to hatch Terrax, to pull him from the egg and into the world. But it wasn’t just a dragon that had been created that night. There was something deeper, something darker.

The bond you shared with Terrax wasn’t just forged in fire and blood—it was something more twisted, something connected to the very essence of the ritual that had created him. Your blood, Aerys’s blood, had mingled in that terrible moment, and now it seemed that the dragon’s mind, his very existence, was somehow tied to both of you.

You stood abruptly, knocking the chair back as you did so. The voice whispered again, quieter now, but still there, still winding through your thoughts.

"Father melts like the moon. Mother will see."

Your hands trembled as you pressed them to your temples, trying to block out the insidious murmurings. The realization hit you like a wave, cold and suffocating. Terrax wasn’t just your dragon. His mind was intertwined with yours and Aerys’s, connected by the dark ritual that had given him life.

The dragon’s growing volatility, his unpredictable behavior—it was more than just his nature. It was a reflection of the madness that had brought him into the world. And now you were certain that somehow, through the ritual, Aerys’s madness had left its mark on Terrax.

You sank back into the chair, your thoughts racing, your breath shallow. You had always known that Terrax’s birth had been unnatural, but this… this was beyond anything you had feared. Aerys’s mind, his madness, was tied to the dragon. And now, it seemed, through Terrax, that madness was reaching out to you.

The voice quieted, leaving behind an unsettling stillness in the library. You glanced down at the book before you, its pages full of knowledge you had once hoped would give you answers. But now, all you felt was dread.

How far did Aerys’s madness reach? How deeply had it seeped into Terrax? And how much of it would come for you?

You pressed your hands to your stomach, feeling the faint stirrings of life within. The child. The future. You had to protect it, no matter what dark forces sought to twist the bond you shared with Terrax. You would find a way. You had to.

But in the quiet of the library, with the whisper of the voice still echoing faintly in your mind, you knew one thing for certain.

The dragon’s mind was not his own.

Oberyn Martell rode across the dry plains of the Dornish borderlands while the heat of the day was still clinging to the air. His sand steed moved with a smooth, swift grace beneath him, its hooves barely stirring the dust as they traveled toward the meeting point. Behind him rode his men, the finest warriors of Dorne, their spears gleaming in the fading light. The golden sun of House Martell blazed proudly on their banners, snapping in the desert wind.

Ahead, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his forces waited in the shadow of a rocky outcrop. The banners of House Targaryen and their loyalists fluttered in the breeze, the dragon sigil stark against the crimson and black. Rhaegar sat astride his white horse, a figure of calm amidst the gathered soldiers, his silver hair catching the last rays of sunlight. The contrast between the two princes was striking—Rhaegar, regal and composed, and Oberyn, wild and fierce, with the dangerous energy of a man who thrived on the edge of chaos.

As Oberyn approached, a smirk played at the corners of his lips. He had heard the rumors, the whispers of King Aerys’s plans. It seemed the Mad King was preparing to march on Dorne, a thought that amused Oberyn to no end. The idea of Aerys, mad as he was, thinking he could invade Dorne and conquer it as easily as the lands to the north was laughable.

Rhaegar dismounted as Oberyn reached him, the Dornish prince swinging down from his saddle with a fluid motion. The two men approached one another, their respective forces hanging back, watching the exchange with keen interest.

"Oberyn," Rhaegar greeted, his voice calm, though a shadow of worry lingered in his violet eyes. "It’s been too long."

"It has," Oberyn replied, flashing a wicked grin as he clasped Rhaegar’s arm in greeting. "Though I hear the king is eager to rectify that. Word has it he plans to march on Dorne. He must be feeling bold."

Rhaegar sighed, shaking his head slightly. "He’s feeling more than bold. He’s feeling desperate. My father’s grip on the realm slips further with each passing day, and now… now he turns his sights on Dorne, convinced that if he can destroy you, the rest of the realm will fall back in line."

Oberyn chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Destroy Dorne? Let him try. We’ve fought off dragons before, and we’ll do it again if need be." He glanced over at Rhaegar, his expression turning more serious for a moment. "But you and I both know this isn’t about Dorne. This is about your father’s madness."

Rhaegar nodded, his jaw tight. "It is. But my father’s madness is no longer something I can control. Aerys sees enemies everywhere now, even in his own family. That’s why he declared me and Arthur traitors after we took Y/N away from him." He paused, his expression softening as he looked toward Oberyn. "How is she? My sister?"

Oberyn’s smirk returned, though it was tempered with genuine warmth. "She’s safe, Rhaegar," he said. "She’s in Starfall, with her knight, and, if reports are to be believed, with her dragon as well. It seems Terrax found his way back to her, which is no small thing."

Rhaegar’s relief was palpable, though his face remained composed. "Terrax..." he murmured, a touch of awe in his voice. "It’s good to know he’s with her. And Ser Arthur?"

"Still the same loyal knight he’s always been," Oberyn replied, his tone light but his gaze sharp. "He watches over her like the Sword of the Morning he is. Starfall has become a sanctuary, of sorts, for your sister. No one will touch her there, not while Arthur stands by her side."

Rhaegar nodded, though the weight of his worry still hung heavy on his shoulders. "I’m grateful for that, Oberyn. I am. But you know as well as I do that Aerys’s reach is long. He won’t stop hunting her. Not while he still draws breath."

Oberyn’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his grin turned sharper, more dangerous. "Then perhaps it’s time we make sure he stops breathing." There was a flicker of challenge in his tone, as if he were testing Rhaegar, pushing him to confront the reality that had been building for months.

Rhaegar didn’t rise to the bait, though his gaze hardened. "We’re not there yet," he said quietly, though there was no denying the truth in Oberyn’s words. The day would come when Aerys’s madness would need to be dealt with, but for now, Rhaegar’s focus was on the safety of his sister, and the growing rebellion against the crown.

Oberyn shrugged, his expression turning nonchalant once more. "Perhaps not. But when that day comes, know that Dorne will stand with you, Rhaegar. We’ve had enough of Aerys’s madness to last a lifetime."

Rhaegar looked at the Dornish prince for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them, a silent acknowledgment of the war that loomed on the horizon. "Thank you, Oberyn," he said, his voice softer now, filled with genuine gratitude. "For everything."

Oberyn waved a hand, dismissing the thanks with a grin. "Think nothing of it. Besides, this rebellion of yours is far more interesting than sitting idle in Sunspear. I’m always happy to stir the pot, especially when it involves sticking it to that madman on the Iron Throne."

Rhaegar allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips, though his thoughts were already turning back to the war ahead. "Let’s hope we can end it before it consumes everything."

The two princes turned their gaze back to the distant horizon.

King Aerys II sat at the head of the long table, his pale eyes gleamed with danger, darting between his advisors as though searching for an invisible enemy. The Iron Throne’s shadow loomed over him from the adjacent room, a constant reminder of the power he believed was slipping through his fingers.

Seated around the table, his small council waited in uneasy silence. Qarlton Chelsted, still the Hand of the King, cleared his throat nervously, shifting in his chair as he prepared to deliver the latest grim news. His face was drawn with the exhaustion of serving a king whose madness only seemed to worsen with each passing day.

"Your Grace," Qarlton began, his voice tentative. "I bring troubling news from the front lines. Most of the lords who fought under Prince Rhaegar’s banner have now joined Robert Baratheon’s forces. They are determined to see the Targaryens removed from the throne. The rebellion grows with each day."

Aerys’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his thin fingers gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He muttered something under his breath, the words unintelligible, but his body trembled with barely contained fury.

"And Rhaegar?" Aerys snapped, his voice cracking. "Where is my treacherous son?"

Qarlton hesitated for a moment, knowing the answer would not soothe his king’s madness. "Prince Rhaegar was last seen in Dorne, Your Grace. His exact whereabouts are unknown, but the rebellion spreads, and his movements have become difficult to track."

At this, Aerys let out a low growl, the sound vibrating in the room like the distant rumble of a storm. His eyes darted to the other members of the council, seeking out their reactions, searching for any sign of betrayal.

Varys, seated at the far end of the table, observed in silence, his expression unreadable as always. The Master of Whisperers had a talent for fading into the background, his presence a shadow among the more vocal members of the council. His spider-like gaze flitted between the king and his advisors, though he said nothing, content to listen for now.

Grand Maester Pycelle, his beard brushing against his chest, cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly, his voice oily and condescending. "If Prince Rhaegar is indeed in Dorne, it would confirm what we have long known—that the princess, Your Grace’s daughter, is also somewhere in Dorne under their protection. Terrax has been seen in the region, as well. The dragon’s movements suggest a connection."

Aerys’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling back to reveal his yellowed teeth. "My daughter," he hissed, as though the very words burned him. "She is the key. I care not for Robert Baratheon’s petty conquests or the rebellion’s foolish dreams. My daughter is the only thing that matters now. She must be brought back to me."

Lucerys Velaryon, Master of Ships, leaned forward, his sea-green eyes flickering with unease. "Your Grace, if Terrax has been spotted in Dorne, it is likely that the princess is being sheltered at Starfall, the ancestral home of House Dayne. It would make sense. The Daynes have always been loyal to your son, and Ser Arthur is no stranger to defiance."

Aerys’s expression twisted into something darker, more dangerous. "Starfall," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. "Ser Arthur Dayne. The Sword of the Morning. Traitor. They think they can hide my daughter there? They think they can keep her from me?"

The tension in the room thickened as Aerys’s madness grew more palpable, his voice rising with each word. His hands trembled as he gripped the table, his long nails digging into the wood.

"They cannot," Aerys seethed, his voice rising to a fevered pitch. "I will burn them all if I must. I will have her back. She is mine—my blood, my dragon. No one will take her from me. We will march on Dorne, as it was discussed."

Symond Staunton, the Master of Laws, spoke up, his voice cautious as he tried to steer the conversation back to the grim reality of their situation. "Your Grace, with respect, we do not have the forces to fight on two fronts. The rebellion swells with each passing day, and while the Dornish might be sheltering the princess, we cannot afford to divide our armies between Dorne and the Riverlands. Baratheon is a greater threat than any one stronghold."

Aerys turned on him, his eyes blazing with fury. "You dare speak of threats to me?" he spat. "Baratheon is nothing but a dog barking at the gates. My daughter is the prize! She is the one who will save us all, and I will have her back!"

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the weight of Aerys’s words hanging over the council like a sword waiting to drop. No one dared speak, not even Pycelle, who had always been quick to flatter the king. Even Qarlton shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing full well that the king’s obsession with his daughter had long since crossed into unforeseen danger.

Varys, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his soft voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Your Grace, it is true that the princess is of great importance. But if I may suggest, we must be careful in how we proceed. Rushing into Dorne, even with the full might of the crown, could push more of the realm into rebellion. The Dornish are a proud people, and if they feel threatened, they may rally against the throne. We must act with caution."

Aerys glared at Varys, though the spymaster’s calm demeanor did not waver. "Caution?" Aerys spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "I will not be cautious! I will be decisive—ruthless. The flames will take what is mine, and they will burn all who stand in my way."

Tywin Lannister, who had remained silent for most of the meeting, watched the exchange with cold, calculating eyes. He had long since learned that challenging Aerys directly would only end in disaster. But even he could see the madness spiraling out of control, threatening to consume what remained of the Targaryen dynasty.

Qarlton cleared his throat once more, trying to regain the king’s attention. "Your Grace, we must also consider the safety of the capital. Baratheon’s forces grow bolder with each victory. The longer we wait, the more vulnerable King’s Landing becomes."

Aerys slammed his fist on the table, his eyes wild with fury. "Let them come! I will meet them with fire! I will meet them with dragons!" He leaned forward, his face twisted with a manic grin. "They think they can destroy me? They think they can win? I will burn them all! My daughter will return, and with her, the dragon will rise again!"

The council chamber fell into silence once more, the king’s declaration hanging in the air like the scent of wildfire. None of them spoke, but they all knew—this madness could not be sustained forever.

But for now, they could only watch, helpless, as Aerys’s fury consumed him, inching the realm closer to its own destruction.

The evening sky was painted with hues of deep purple and fading gold as the last light of the sun retreated behind the distant mountains. The warm, gentle breeze that usually brought comfort felt heavier tonight, as if the air itself had grown anxious. Arthur stood beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his gaze fixed on the clearing ahead where Terrax waited, his massive form barely discernible in the twilight.

Arthur’s face was tight with worry, his eyes shadowed with doubt. "Are you sure about this?" he asked softly, his voice a mixture of concern and fear. His eyes flickered to your abdomen, where your child—his child—rested, still hidden beneath the folds of your riding leathers. "It’s not just you anymore, Y/N. It’s our child. I can’t let you take unnecessary risks, not now."

You met his gaze, your heart swelling with the weight of his love and worry. Arthur had always been your protector, your anchor in the storm that had engulfed your life since you fled King’s Landing. But you were resolute in your decision. The bond between you and Terrax was something deeper than fear or doubt. You could feel it, pulsing beneath your skin, a connection that had been forged in blood and fire, and now tied you to something beyond the natural world.

"I’m sure," you whispered, reaching for his hand and pressing it gently. "Terrax won’t harm me. He knows." You looked back toward the clearing where Terrax stood, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the growing darkness. The dragon’s massive form was still, but you could feel the energy radiating from him, a simmering power just beneath the surface.

Arthur let out a slow breath, his hand slipping from your shoulder to rest on your abdomen, his fingers brushing gently over the fabric of your tunic. The tenderness of the gesture sent a pang of emotion through you. "I trust you," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn’t stop me from worrying."

He leaned down, kissing you softly, his lips lingering against yours as if to etch the moment into his memory. When he pulled back, his hand remained on your stomach for a moment longer before he let you go, stepping aside to allow you to approach Terrax.

You turned toward the dragon, your heart racing with both anticipation and a deep, primal connection that surged through your veins. Terrax stood in the clearing, his black scales shimmering like liquid obsidian in the fading light. His eyes followed your every movement, unblinking, intense. His tail swept the ground behind him in slow, measured strokes, but he remained still, waiting for you.

As you took the first step toward him, you felt the bond between you strengthen, humming like a distant, ancient song in the back of your mind. Terrax shifted slightly, lowering his great head just enough to bring his massive eyes level with yours. He was huge now—far larger than he had been when he first hatched—and the sight of him took your breath away.

You reached out tentatively, your fingers brushing against his warm scales. The sensation was both familiar and foreign, a strange comfort in the face of something so powerful, so unnatural. Terrax did not move, his gaze locked onto yours, the silent understanding between you growing stronger with each breath.

"I’m here," you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the wind. Terrax’s chest rumbled in response, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath your feet. He waited patiently, as though he, too, knew what was about to happen.

You moved closer, your hands sliding over his massive flank as you positioned yourself near his shoulder. Terrax’s scales were rough beneath your palms, hard as iron but with an almost living warmth to them. You grasped onto the ridge of his spine, your breath catching as you swung yourself up, settling into the space between his massive wings.

As you mounted him, Terrax shifted beneath you, and you winced as his scales bit into your riding leathers. The sharp edges cut through the fabric with ease, slicing into the skin beneath. The sting was immediate, but you gritted your teeth and held on, feeling the blood trickle from the shallow wounds. Terrax’s breath came in low, steady huffs, his body quivering with restrained power as he prepared for what was to come.

Suddenly, with a powerful push from his hind legs, Terrax launched into the air. The force of his takeoff was like nothing you had ever experienced before, your body jerking as his wings beat furiously, lifting you higher and higher into the sky. The wind whipped at your face, tearing at your clothes, and the pain from the scales pressing into your flesh intensified with every beat of his wings. But you held on, your fingers gripping tightly to the ridges of his spine as the world below began to shrink into darkness.

As Terrax soared through the air, you heard the voice again.

"Father said you. Runoff. Blood brings the vicious beast."

The words were nonsensical, echoing in your mind like fragments of a forgotten dream. You knew now, without a doubt, that the voice belonged to Terrax, some strange remnant of the ritual that had bonded you together. The dragon’s mind was not entirely his own—it was tied to you, and perhaps to the madness of Aerys as well.

"Father melts like a moon now, Mother dances in the firelight."

The words were disjointed, strange, but they filled your mind with an unsettling clarity. Terrax was speaking to you, though not in words that made sense, not in a way that could be easily understood. His mind, his thoughts, were a reflection of the dark magic that had brought him into this world, a mix of ancient knowledge and insanity.

You pressed your forehead against Terrax’s warm scales, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as the wind whipped through your hair. "I’m with you," you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were speaking to the dragon or yourself. Terrax let out a low, rumbling growl in response, his wings cutting through the air as he carried you higher, farther from the earth below.

The pain in your side flared again, but you pushed it aside. The bond between you and Terrax was deeper than flesh, deeper than blood. Whatever dark forces had tied you to him, you would not let them control you. You would master them, and you would master him.

The wind roared in your ears as Terrax flew, his massive wings slicing through the night sky with powerful strokes. Below you, the land stretched out like a shadowy expanse, dotted with darkened mountains and silver rivers that glistened in the moonlight. The stars above twinkled faintly, distant and indifferent to the drama unfolding beneath them. You clung to Terrax's back, your body pressed against his warm, obsidian scales, though the jagged edges had torn deeper into your skin with every beat of his wings.

The pain was sharp, but it had become a part of the experience now, a constant reminder of the unnatural bond you shared with the dragon. You could feel the blood from your wounds soaking through your riding leathers, seeping into Terrax’s scales. The cold night air did little to soothe the sting, but the pain was secondary to the growing sense of unease gnawing at your mind.

The disjointed words in your head had returned, each syllable drifting through your thoughts like scattered leaves on the wind.

"Dragon’s teeth, widow’s wail, broken scales, all fail."

The voice echoed, distant yet persistent, each phrase making less sense than the last. It was Terrax, of that you were certain, though his words were fragmented and distorted, the remnants of the twisted ritual that had brought him into the world. You tried to block them out, but the more you focused on silencing the voice, the louder it became.

"Mother cries, Father burns, falling sky, all returns."

Terrax banked sharply, pulling you out of your thoughts as he adjusted his course. You could feel the shift in his movements, the way his body tensed as he descended toward a particular patch of land far below. You blinked, your heart racing as you scanned the ground beneath you, trying to understand where he was taking you.

The terrain changed as Terrax descended lower, the familiar mountains and rivers giving way to a barren, desolate expanse. The earth here was scorched, the soil blackened as though the land itself had been seared by some ancient fire. It was an unforgiving place, devoid of life, and as Terrax flew lower still, the jagged remains of what once must have been a powerful fortress came into view, crumbling under the weight of centuries.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening with an inexplicable sense of dread. This was no ordinary place. You recognized it from the old stories, from the histories whispered by your ancestors. This was where Meraxes, one of the great dragons of House Targaryen, had fallen—brought down by the Dornish during Aegon’s conquest, her body crashing into the earth, ending a dragon’s reign and shattering part of the Targaryen hold on Dorne.

Terrax circled the ruins once before landing with a heavy thud, his talons digging into the charred earth. The impact sent a jolt through your already aching body, and you winced, feeling the sting of your wounds intensify as his jagged scales pressed harder into your torn flesh. Your breath came in shallow gasps, the pain now constant, a deep pulse of fire beneath your skin.

As Terrax folded his wings and settled into the ruins of Meraxes’s final resting place, you took a moment to steady yourself, your hands still gripping the dragon’s ridged spine for support. Blood trickled down your side, hot and sticky, but you forced yourself to focus on the present, to push past the physical pain and confront the growing confusion that had taken root in your mind.

You could feel the weight of Terrax’s gaze on you, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the moon. He was waiting for something, watching you with a patience that felt unnervingly sentient. The disjointed words still whispered in your mind, more insistent now, though they made no sense.

"Falling towers, broken wings, Father’s voice, Mother sings."

You swallowed hard, gathering your courage, and spoke aloud, your voice shaky but firm. "Why did you bring me here, Terrax?"

For a long moment, there was only silence, the heavy stillness of the ruins pressing down on you like a weight. The dragon’s massive form loomed over you, his breath slow and steady, but there was something in his eyes, something that felt more than animal. Something that felt like understanding.

The words in your mind grew louder, more frantic, as though Terrax was struggling to communicate something deeper, something beyond the fragmented phrases he had been repeating.

"Mother bleeds, Father burns, fire rises, all returns."

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of those words settling in your chest like a stone. You shifted, your vision swimming slightly as the pain from your wounds deepened. Blood stained the leather of your armor, the cuts now too deep to ignore, but you clung to your determination, refusing to let the agony overpower you.

"Why did you bring me here?" you asked again, your voice firmer this time, your eyes locked on the dragon’s glowing golden gaze.

Terrax rumbled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath you. The words that had been swirling in your mind fell silent for a moment, the sudden stillness more unnerving than the chaotic whispers. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Terrax lowered his head, his snout brushing the blackened ground where Meraxes had fallen centuries before.

The message was clear. He had brought you here for a reason, though what that reason was remained maddeningly out of reach. You looked around the ruins, your mind racing. This place, this moment, was significant. It was tied to something ancient, something forgotten, and yet, in Terrax’s mind, it was as though the past and present were colliding, merging into one.

As the realization settled in, the whispers returned, but now they carried a different weight.

"Blood brings fire, fire brings flight, Mother calls, Father’s fight."

You pressed a hand to your side, feeling the warm stickiness of blood beneath your fingers, the pain now throbbing with every beat of your heart. Terrax had brought you to the place where one great dragon had fallen, and now, it seemed, he was asking you to understand something beyond the bounds of human comprehension. Something tied to the blood you shared with him, and the dark ritual that had brought him into the world.

Your vision blurred again, but you forced yourself to remain upright, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Terrax waited, his massive head still lowered to the ground as though listening for something deep beneath the surface, something you couldn’t hear.

"Father falls, Mother rises, all returns."

The words echoed through your mind as the pain deepened, but you knew now, with a terrible certainty, that Terrax’s connection to you was not just forged by blood. It was something darker, something that had been written long before you were born.

And as the moon hung high over the ruins where Meraxes once fell, you felt the weight of that truth settle over you like a shroud.

The cold wind lashed against your face suddenly as Terrax’s wings unfurled, and before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he launched into the sky with a powerful beat. The sudden movement jerked your body backward, and a sharp cry escaped your lips as his jagged scales sliced deeper into your already torn flesh. The pain was searing, hot and merciless, as you clung desperately to the ridges of his back, blood soaking your riding leathers and dripping down Terrax’s obsidian hide.

Your vision blurred, and the world below became a swirl of shadows and stars, the ground falling away as Terrax ascended higher into the night sky. The wind howled in your ears, drowning out your thoughts, but the voice—the disjointed, fragmented voice—remained, echoing inside your skull like a broken song.

"I smell a rancid grave."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, a cold dread coiling around your heart as Terrax climbed higher still, the pain in your side growing unbearable. You gasped for breath, trying to force the words out, trying to understand.

"Terrax—why? What are you trying to—"

But your voice was lost in the wind as the dragon soared through the sky, his body moving with a fluid grace that belied the danger that pulsed through his every movement. The sky seemed to close in around you, the stars growing distant and dim as the dragon carried you farther from the safety of the earth below.

"Blood and bone, fire and stone," the voice whispered again, disjointed, like fragments of a long-forgotten memory. "All things return to ash."

Tears stung your eyes as the pain sharpened, and your grip on Terrax's spine faltered for a moment. You screamed as another jagged scale tore into your side, the sensation like fire searing through your flesh. Terrax’s flight did not slow—if anything, it grew more frantic, more erratic, as though he was searching for something, though you couldn’t understand what. You pressed your forehead against his warm scales, trying to make sense of it, but the madness of the moment overwhelmed you, and the voice in your mind continued its relentless whispers.

"I smell the grave. I smell the fire."

Far below, in the darkened halls of the Red Keep, the sickly green light of wildfire flickered ominously. The council chamber was eerily silent, save for the crackling of the flames that licked hungrily at the edges of the stone walls. King Aerys II stood at the center of the room, his eyes wide and gleaming with insanity, his fingers twitching with excitement as he watched the scene unfold before him.

Qarlton Chelsted, the former Hand of the King, knelt before the king, his face pale and drawn, his body trembling as the heat of the wildfire burned closer. He had resigned his position, refusing Aerys’s demand to set King’s Landing ablaze should Robert Baratheon’s army reach the city. He had hoped that by stepping down, he could avoid the wrath of the Mad King, but it was clear now that there would be no escape.

"Please, Your Grace," Qarlton murmured, his voice hoarse with fear. "I beg of you—don’t do this. King’s Landing does not deserve to burn. The people—"

Aerys’s face twisted into a grotesque smile, his eyes gleaming with a madness that seemed to radiate from his very soul. "You think you can defy me, Qarlton? You think you can walk away from your duty? You would deny me my fire, my justice? You are a fool, a coward, and now you will burn as all traitors must."

The wildfire hissed and crackled, its sickly green light casting eerie shadows across the room. Qarlton’s breath quickened, panic rising in his chest as the heat intensified. "Your Grace, I only wanted to save—"

"Silence!" Aerys screamed, his voice shrill with fury. "You are no Hand of the King! You are nothing but ashes now!"

A figure stepped forward from the shadows—Wisdom Rossart, one of the king’s pyromancers, his face illuminated by the ghastly glow of the wildfire. He carried a small brazier of the deadly substance in his hands, his expression grim but obedient. The pyromancer knelt before Aerys, waiting for the command that would seal Qarlton’s fate.

Aerys’s twisted smile widened as he raised his hand, gesturing to Rossart. "Do it," the king whispered, his voice dripping with anticipation. "Let the flames take him."

With a single flick of his wrist, Rossart tipped the brazier forward, and the wildfire spilled onto Qarlton’s body with a sickening hiss. The former Hand barely had time to scream before the flames engulfed him, the green fire consuming his flesh with horrifying speed. His cries echoed through the chamber, but they were quickly drowned out by the roar of the wildfire, which crackled and flared, eager to feed on its victim.

Aerys watched with wide-eyed delight, his hands trembling with excitement as Qarlton’s body was reduced to little more than ash and charred bone. The king’s laughter echoed through the chamber, high-pitched and manic, as if the sight of death brought him the greatest joy in the world.

When the flames finally died down, leaving nothing but smoldering remains, Aerys turned to Rossart, his eyes still gleaming with madness. "You," he said, his voice dripping with a sick kind of approval. "You understand the power of fire, the justice it brings. I name you my new Hand of the King."

Rossart bowed his head, his expression solemn. "It will be my honor, Your Grace."

Aerys grinned, his eyes darting around the chamber as if he could already see the flames that would soon consume the city. "Yes, yes," he whispered, his voice filled with a twisted kind of joy. "The fire will cleanse everything. The fire will take it all."

#game of thrones #got x y/n #got x you #got x reader #got #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #asoif/got #arthur dayne x y/n #arthur dayne x you #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne

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nenestansunsthings · 2 years ago

Text

"Hey. You're Joe Hills, right?"

The man who turns to him to looks far too normal, a casual guy with long hair and green glasses and gloves. Quackity can't imagine why they beat Wilbur. Why her people campaigned so hard for him, why they had hundreds in the lead for hours upon hours until the polls closed and Wilbur lost to her. When the guy smiles cheerfully towards him, the question only becomes more poignant.

"Yup! That's me! Joe Hills, from Nashville, Tennessee." He offers their hand to shake, and in a flash Quackity takes it. Her grip isn't strong, and he blinks in surprise when Quackity's own is firm. "And you're Quackity, right? Good job with your poll!! That was a real close win, but your people pulled through right where it mattered!"

Quackity waves it off. "I never had a doubt. Of course my fans wouldn't let me lose! I'm the sexiest red bird around here, after all!" Unbidden, his wings flutter. "But heyyy, that's not what I came here for. I came here for you! We had an alliance, didn't we? Come on, hi-five, amigo, we did well today!"

Joe blinks. "We had an alliance?"

"Uh, yeah? What, don't tell me you didn't know." He scoffs. "Your fans didn't tell you? I heard you were out there campaigning yourself. Posting shirtless videos and everything! Just my kinda guy." Cheerfully, he slings an arm around Joe, pleasantly surprised when the guy doesn't even flinch. "I thought you agreed to the alliance yourself!"

"... Oh, that alliance!" Their eyes light up in recognition. "Yeah, I saw a few people talking about that. People get really excited in my chat, y'know? Though they were pretty torn." He shrugs. "I mean, Grian's a friend of mine, even if I have no clue how he thinks. But yeah, that was all them!"

Quackity can't help but stare. "You didn't know they were allying against a friend of yours?!"

"Nope! They just kinda do what they want." Joe laughs, the sound tinged with fondness. Something in that makes Quackity's gut churn uncomfortably. They just… do that? Ally against friends? Work with people who they think will stab them in the back later? And all in the name of someone who doesn't even know what they're planning? "I think it's great that they all got together to support you! But hey, there's only one person I'm hoping will win, and you know who it is! I wouldn't be campaigning for myself if I didn't want that win."

"Ha! Yeah, I know how it is." He grins back, golden tooth gleaming brilliantly. "Don't feel too down when I thrash you, alright?"

"We'll see about that!" Normally, Quackity would be on edge from that kind of declaration, but there isn't a shred of hostility in her vice. There's only delight, friendly competition. "I have faith that my viewers will pull ahead, and that I can campaign hard enough to convince people! I've been working really hard, after all. Even bought some new rainbow eyes, just for the occasion!"

"Wait, what."

Joe blinks, and when their eyes open again they are joined by a hundred others, flickering with a thousand colours and all seeing- staring- beholding. Just before he can think the word watching, they flutter shut.

"That's not the right word for me, just to be clear," Joe chastises him. "Watching. I'm not a part of that group."

Quackity has no goddamn idea what she means. So after a moment of stunned silence, he continues.

"... Do your fans think the eyes are hot?"

"I think they're sexyman enough to win the contest," he says, which clears up nothing. "But, most importantly, I think they'd vote for me anyway! Even without my beautiful, glowing, rainbow-checked eyes. Which are, by the way, divinely beautiful, and should be appreciated."

"Hey, man, if you're the kind of guy to buy new eyes for a competition, they'd better vote for you." Quackity shakes his head. "What, did they bribe you for it? Say they'd vote for you if you blinked in rainbows? That's not a healthy relationship, man, you gotta get out of there."

Joe snorts. "No, this is all for me. But thanks for worrying! If my people ever start demanding I grow new eyes before they tip me, I'll just find new people." He waves a hand nonchalantly. "I don't think my viewers would do that, anyway."

"... Hm." Quackity hesitates, settling a few feet away from Joe. "... I dunno, man. I mean, they made that alliance without you, didn't they? Hard to think you could trust 'em after something like that. Not a lot of unity in that kind of campaign, especially if there was some kind of in-fighting about voting me over your friend."

Some tiny, tiny part of him feels a little sick at the thought. But it dies down quickly enough. This isn't the first time he's brought people to blows over loyalty, after all.

But Joe looks unbothered. "They're good people. They'll figure it out for themselves. And they understand why people would vote you over Grian, or why their friends would support you."

"Oh?" Quackity raises an eyebrow. "You talk like you've seen it yourself. Did they shake hands and make up and write songs about their reconciliation? I'd love to see that- you encourage their poetry, it looks like. They've gotta have some skills."

"Nah, nothing like that. You're thinking too big, Quackity HQ." Their sunny smile shifts, softening at the edges. "They're just friends. They don't hate each other for wanting a different person to win. If this was something important like politics- which is very important, remember to vote on both a local and national level to support what's best for your community!- then it might be different. But this is fine."

He scoffs. "Please. I've seen the posts. Some of those guys came out swinging against me."

"And they know it's an exaggeration!" she assures him. "Just look around. All across this great land of Tumblr, there are people reminding each other to be kind. To be civil. To watch whether their feelings are turning into hate, and to take a step back and breathe if things go too far. Sure, things have gone too far. But that happens in all kinds of events, not just this one. And mostly, our viewers want to be kind."

"Man. You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you." Quackity looks away. "But that's not really what I mean. It's more…"

He's not sure the words are right on his tongue. He says them anyway.

"They're supposed to be united," he tries. "I know you all wanted a Hermitsweep. Your people rule the polls. Doesn't it scare you, that they can split so much behind your back? Isn't it weird, to trust them with this?"

For a second, Joe is silent. Quackity grits his teeth, turns- but the faint green glow of his checkmarks is dim, and there's a twinge of honest fear in his eyes.

"... To be honest, it feels weird." He rests his head on their knees, fingers wrapped tight around her arms. "Just a little bit. I didn't expect this much. And the competition last round was a lot, let me tell you."

Quackity snorts. "I was there, man. No need to tell me. So much voter fraud…"

"And bribery! Don't forget bribery." Joe laughs. "But I do trust them. Whatever they do. I'll be disappointed if I lose, obviously, but it happens. It's hard to really be angry when you think about the core of all this."

"Popularity?" he jokes.

"Well, a little. I've been told Scar is not a sexyman, just a sexy man. Still not sure what criteria people are voting by. But mostly, I think it's love."

"Love?" Quackity raises an eyebrow. "What made you think that?"

Joe sighs. "I dunno. It's just… it's the only thing that it could be, really. This contest doesn't mean anything. There's no prize. All it is is just people wanting the entertainers they love most to win. And look at everything they've created for that goal."

Quackity knows. He's seen the swathes of art, the stories, the people getting out drawing tablets or phones or paper and camera to thank people who voted in their favour. He's seen old artworks shared years after their making. He's seen silly powerpoints, walls of text, analysis and promotions of videos from the starts of careers. It's a little terrifying, really, in the same way angels are.

He's pretty sure Joe would know, too.

"Yeah, not every one of my viewers joined your alliance. Even with my personal campaigning, none of them brought it up to me. But whoever they voted, whether it was Grian because he's someone they fought to see this high up or you because they wanted to share the support your people offered me, they voted out of love. Because they love me, or they love you, or they love whoever else they wanted to win."

"... They love you, huh?"

It's an odd thought. Quackity's well used to heartbreak, to abandonment. To people only staying because he had something to offer. But in this silly contest, with tens of thousands of people cheering for him…

"They love you too," Joe says with a smile. "So I'm happy you won. I'd say you're a pretty worthy opponent."

Quackity barks out a laugh, turning to Joe with fire in his eye. "A worthy opponent? You'll be taking those words back when I win. My people love me, don't they? So I'm sure as hell they'll put their money where their mouth is."

"Oh, we'll see." A thousand eyes open, turning a rainbow gaze upon him. He meets their stare head-on. "After all," Joe Hills says, "You were right about one thing. We want a Hermitsweep."

#quackity #quackityhq #joe hills #joehillstsd #quackity fanfic #joe hills fanfiction #mcyt sexyman propaganda #mcytblr sexymen poll #sun art #hi guys. guess who is SO normal about the quackity joe poll #i have. emotions #also im so sorry if theyre not written right i did my best

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j23r23 · 4 months ago

Text

Unfinished Business

Tangerine x Reader

The moon hung low over Rome, casting a silver glow on the ancient streets. The air was thick with the aroma of Italian cuisine wafting from nearby restaurants. It was a beautiful night, but for me, it was just another job.

Or so I thought.

I made my way through the narrow, cobblestoned streets of Trastevere, one of Rome's oldest and most charming neighborhoods. The pastel-colored buildings, adorned with ivy were illuminated by warm, golden streetlights and created a scene that felt almost timeless. The murmur of conversations in Italian floated through the air, interspersed with the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter from the outdoor trattorias.

I was dressed in a beige canvas jacket over a loose white shirt, paired with dark jeans and my trusty Doc. Martens. A thin golden necklace adorned my neck, its sun pendant glinting in the moonlight. My dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a pair of small, discreet earrings completed the look.

As I walked, I blended in seamlessly with the crowd of locals and tourists. Aware of my surroundings, I take in every detail. I checked my reflection in the glass of a nearby shop window. My eyes scanned the people behind me, looking out for anything unusual. I adjusted my jacket, feeling the comforting weight of my guns hidden underneath it.

Walking again I turn onto Via della Lungaretta, I could see the bell tower of the Basilica di Santa Maria in the distance. The basilica's facade, stood out even in the light of the evening. I had a rendezvous at a small café just a few steps away from the church.

The café, tucked in a quiet corner, was almost hidden from view by a canopy of wisteria. Its outdoor seating area was filled with round, wrought-iron tables, each adorned with a single candle flickering gently in the night breeze. I slipped into a seat at the far end, my back to the wall, giving me a clear view of the entrance and the street beyond.

I ordered an espresso the bitter aroma mingling with the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce. It was almost enough to make me forget why I was here.

Almost.

As I waited, I couldn't shake the feeling that this night, this job, was going to be different from any other.

I had been summoned last minute for an assignment, an urgent backup situation. The briefing was vague, a hurried phone call from a handler I hadn't heard from in years. The pay was enough to make me pack my gear without asking too many questions.

Little did I know, this job would take me down memory lane. The very streets I walked; were the same ones I had left behind years ago. Memories began to surface—another time, another life. A mission that ended sour, and bonds broken. The weight of those memories loomed over me as I glanced around the café.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, my phone buzzed softly in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a message from an unknown number. The screen illuminated with a new set of coordinates and a brief message: "Location changed."

The abandoned warehouse was a cavernous space, its corners swallowed by shadows. I stepped cautiously inside, the light filtering through cracked windows casting eerie shapes on the concrete floor. The sound of my boots echoing in the vast emptiness.

"Looks like our backup has arrived," Lemon's voice cut through the silence, tinged with his usual dry humor.

"About time," Tangerine muttered, his tone gruff and annoyed.

The moment I heard Tangerine's voice, my heart skipped a beat. Memories of our teenage years flashed before my eyes—times filled with reckless adventures, stolen goods, and countless nights in jail cells. We had been inseparable, the three of us, until everything fell apart.

We were in a seedy motel room, we had just returned from a grueling mission, one that pushed us to our limits and tested our resolve. But instead of celebrating our success, the atmosphere crackled with frustration and anger. Lemon had left to procure some essentials—food, clean clothes, and the like—leaving Tangerine and me alone, a situation that had become increasingly uncomfortable over the past few months.

I stood by the window, staring out at the neon-lit streets below, trying to gather my thoughts. Tangerine paced the room, his movements agitated, his jaw clenched in a way that signaled trouble brewing.

"You can't keep doing this," I finally spoke up, my voice low but edged with frustration.

"Doing what?" Tangerine snapped, stopping in his tracks to glare at me. "Trying to keep you alive? Making sure you don't get yourself killed because you're too damn reckless?"

His words hit like a slap across the face, igniting a fire within me. "I'm not a child, Tangerine! I can take care of myself. I don't need you constantly hovering over me, questioning every move I make!"

"You call this taking care of yourself?" Tangerine shot back, his voice rising. "You nearly got us both killed back there! If it weren't for Lemon and me cleaning up your mess—"

"You don't get to decide what risks I take," I shot back, my temper flaring. "We're supposed to be partners!"

His jaw tightened even more, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Partners? A partner thinks about the consequences!"

"Oh, and you do?" I interrupted, standing up to face him squarely. "You act like you're the only one who cares about the consequences. Well, newsflash, Tangerine, I've had enough of your lectures!"

He took a step towards me, his voice low and dangerous. "Maybe if you listened to me once in a while, we wouldn't be in this mess every damn time!"

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief.

The room seemed to shrink around us. We had faced danger together countless times, but this argument cut deeper than any knife or bullet.

"You're not the same person I used to know," Tangerine said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "You've changed, and not for the better."

His words struck a nerve. "I've changed? You just think of me as an annoyance," I said bitterly. "And the one that has changed is you! You've become controlling, possessive..."

"I'm trying to protect you!" he exploded, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don’t you get it?"

"You're smothering me," I replied, my voice raw with emotion. "I can't breathe with you watching my every move."

Tangerine looked away, his jaw working as he struggled to find the right words.

"I can't do this anymore," I whispered finally, the admission hanging between us like a death sentence.

Tangerine's gaze snapped back to mine, disbelief and hurt warring in his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't do this anymore," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'm done, Tangerine. I can't, I..."

The silence that followed was deafening. Tangerine stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, conflicting emotions flickering over his face—anger, hurt.

"Fine," he said ultimately, his voice clipped and cold. "Go then!"

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. "What the hell are you doing here?" Tangerine's voice was sharp, filled with disbelief and anger.

I turned to face him, my eyes locking with his. "Got a call. Backup needed. Guess they didn't mention who it was."

Tangerine's jaw tightened. "We don't need you."

Before I could respond, Lemon stepped between us. "Oh, for crying out loud, can we save the drama for after the job? We're on the clock here."

I ignored Tangerine's sour demeanor and turned to Lemon, a genuine smile spreading across my face despite the tension. "Lemon!" I said, pulling him into a hug.

Lemon chuckled, returning the embrace, almost breaking my bones. "Hey darling. How are you doing?"

"Better, knowing I’m working with you." I admitted, glancing briefly at Tangerine, who was busy checking his weapon with a scowl.

Lemon sighed, shaking his head. "You two need to work this shit out after this."

Tangerine shot Lemon a glare, but I could sense his frustration. Lemon had always been perceptive, the one who could see through our tough exteriors to the complicated feelings underneath.

As we geared up for the mission, the tension between Tangerine and me simmered just beneath the surface. We moved with practiced efficiency, that came from years of working together, each of us slipping into our roles seamlessly. Despite our issues.

Between gearing up and going over procedures, Lemon found a chance to pull me aside. "You know, Tangerine hasn't been the same since you left," he said quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

I nodded, my gaze drifting towards where Tangerine was meticulously checking his equipment.

"He's not good at expressing it, but he missed you," Lemon continued, his tone earnest. "We both did."

Lemon placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Before I could respond, Tangerine called out, snapping at me. "How many times have you gotten yourself into trouble since you left us?"

"Not as much as you two, I bet," I shot back, unable to resist the jab.

Lemon chuckled, the sound echoing in the warehouse. "Touché."

"Speak for yourself," Tangerine muttered under his breath, though loud enough for all of us to hear.

Lemon laid out the blueprints of the building we were about to infiltrate, his finger tracing the paths we would take. While I was listening Lemon explain the plan, I checked my weapons, my movements precise and controlled.

"You still using that old piece?" Tangerine teased, nodding towards my gun.

"It gets the job done," I replied curtly, my focus unwavering. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

Lemon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You two are unbelievable," he muttered, though there was a fondness in his voice that we couldn't miss.

As we finalized our plan, the tension in the warehouse shifted. This job was risky, the stakes high. The mission was straightforward: infiltrate, retrieve, and eliminate if necessary. But the emotional undercurrent between Tangerine and me was palpable, a distraction we couldn't afford.

"Alright, let's do this," Lemon said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet that settled over us.

With a nod, Tangerine took point, leading us towards the back entrance of the building. The night air turned darker as we moved, shadows melding with shadows, our steps silent.

I couldn't help but feel his scrutiny as we moved through the shadows. "You still relying on brute force for everything?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the comms.

I shot him a sideways glance, irritation creeping into my tone. "At least I don't shadow your every damn move like you do mine," I retorted, adjusting my gear with unnecessary force.

Lemon, sensing the escalating tension, sighed audibly. "Focus, both of you."

Tangerine rolled his eyes, but I could see annoyance in his expression. "You’re still as thickheaded as always," he jabbed, his voice laced with frustration.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. "And you waste too much time analyzing my every move."

Lemon glanced between us. "You two are like an old married couple," he muttered under his breath, though his words were loud enough for us to hear.

Tangerine and I shot Lemon a glare. "Shut up!" We both hiss.

With a reluctant nod from Tangerine, we pressed forward. The night air grew colder as we approached a courtyard, each step bringing us closer to the heart of the operation. Despite our differences, our training took over, and we moved with practiced efficiency.

As we reached the back entrance, Tangerine signaled for us to halt. He checked his watch, then glanced around the corner cautiously. "Two guards up ahead," he whispered, his tone sharp.

I nodded, my annoyance with him momentarily overshadowed by the need for precision. "I'll take the one on the left," I replied, already moving into position.

Tangerine shot me a skeptical look but didn't argue. "Fine. Just don't screw it up," he muttered.

I smirked, unable to resist the urge to tease him. "Careful, Tangerine. You don't want me to accidentally shoot you in the foot" I quipped, before focusing back on the task at hand.

Tangerine just glared at me with annoyance.

With a silent countdown from Lemon, he and I sprang into action. The guards were swiftly neutralized, our movements synchronized despite our bickering.

We moved as a unit, knowing each other's moves without needing to speak. The emotional walls we had built seemed to soften, if only for the duration of the operation.

As we breached the targeted room, the unexpected happened—a flurry of gunfire erupted from all sides. The air filled with the sharp cracks of bullets ricocheting off metal, and the acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy.

All three of us instinctively took cover. It was chaos, the plan unraveling. We moved swiftly, communicating in terse commands and covering each other's positions as we fought our way through the ambush.

"Cover me!" Tangerine shouted over the din of gunfire, his voice cutting through the chaos.

I nodded, providing suppressing fire as he maneuvered to flank the attackers. Bullets whizzed dangerously close, the adrenaline pumping through my veins heightening my senses. In the midst of the firefight, Tangerine and I found ourselves back-to-back, a position from countless missions past.

"On your left!" I shouted, spotting an approaching enemy.

Tangerine spun, his movements fluid and precise. With a series of controlled shots, he neutralized the threat without hesitation.

"Thanks," he muttered, the words barely audible over the continuing gunfire.

While Lemon retrieved the crucial files we needed from the secure server, Tangerine and I methodically cleared the warehouse floor by floor.

As we regrouped outside the warehouse, the agitation between us returned, like a storm cloud on the horizon. Our previous exchange of curt commands and coordinated movements had been efficient, but now we were back to our old ways.

"You were reckless," Tangerine yelled, stepping closer, his jaw clenched in anger.

"Reckless? I was doing my job," I countered, meeting his gaze defiantly. "I was covering your ass! If it wasn't for me, you'd be Swiss cheese by now," I retorted sharply, pushing my index finger against his chest.

Lemon, sensing the rising tension, attempted to intervene. "Hey, let's all take a breather here," he interjected calmly, trying to diffuse the escalating confrontation.

But Tangerine wasn't backing down. "Your "job" almost got us pinned down there," he insisted, his voice rising with each word.

I felt a surge of indignation. "And what would you have done differently, huh?" I shot back, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

"I would've followed the plan!" Tangerine snapped, his frustration palpable.

"The plan went out the window the moment we were ambushed!" I argued, my voice rising to match his intensity.

Tangerine turned away abruptly, pacing a few steps as he tried to rein in his temper. "You’re still the same!" he protested, his voice strained.

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my own emotions. "But we made it out, didn't we?" I said, trying to reason with him.

Lemon's pointed look spoke volumes, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. "You two need to sort this out. Now!"

Tangerine and I stood in the cool night air, as he finally broke the silence. "Why did you leave?"

I took a deep breath, the words heavy on my tongue. "Because you were driving me crazy. You wouldn't stop criticizing me, watching my every move."

He looked away, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what?" I demanded, my voice breaking. "We were partners. I didn't need protecting. I needed you to trust me."

He met my gaze, his blue eyes filled with an intensity that took my breath away. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Because I—" He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

Lemon's voice cut through the tension. "For the love of God, just say it already. You love her. It's been obvious for years."

Tangerine froze, his gaze locked on mine.

The world seemed to stand still in that moment. My heart raced, emotions swirling in a tumultuous whirlwind. A statement I had never expected, hung now between us.

"Lemon..." Tangerine started, his voice thick with emotion.

Lemon stepped forward, a knowing smile on his face. "I've known for years, Tangerine. You're not exactly subtle."

Tangerine shot him a glare, but there was gratitude in his eyes. "And you never said anything?"

Lemon shrugged. "It wasn't my place. But it's about time you two figured it out."

I turned back to Tangerine, my heart pounding. "I... I thought..." I stood there, comprehending what is happening.

Tangerine took a step closer to me, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do love you. More than I can put into words."

Relief washed over me, mingled with a surge of emotions I had kept buried for so long. "Then why..."

Tangerine reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. "I was scared," he confessed, his voice raw with vulnerability. "Scared that if I admitted how I felt, it would jeopardize everything. Our partnership, our friendship..."

"Our sanity," Lemon chimed in, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Tangerine ignored him, his focus solely on me. "But tonight, seeing you again, after so long. I can't deny it anymore. I need you, not just as a partner, but as..."

"As something more," I finished for him, my voice trembling with emotion.

He nodded, his thumbs brushing lightly against my cheeks. "Yes. As something more."

Lemon cleared his throat, breaking the intimate moment with a smug grin on his face. "Well, now that we've got that settled, can we please get out of here before the authorities decide to crash your little make-up session?"

We chuckled softly, the air around us at ease now. Together, we made our way through the deserted streets of Rome.

As we walked, Tangerine reached out and intertwined his fingers with mine. It was a simple gesture. I reciprocated the act, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into my skin.

Lemon walked a few steps ahead, occasionally glancing back with a satisfied expression. "You know," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. It's about time you two got your act together."

Tangerine rolled his eyes but didn't let go of my hand. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the nudge, Lemon."

Lemon grinned. "Anytime. But seriously, keep it together, I can’t handle more drama."

Something i put together on a whim...

#tangerine x reader #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine 🍊#tangerine fic #bullet train tangerine #aaron taylor johnson #aarontaylorjohnson #tangerine fanfic #lemon and tangerine #lemon bullet train

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zerun0 · 18 days ago

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"Where Love Flows Like Water" — Viktor x Y/N (Female)

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I more than happy to receive suggestions, and advices on how to improve my work.

Inspired by my own personal experience. — !SFW! — Established relationship, Fluff, Flirting, Aquarium, First kiss. — Word count: — 2,5k (Full uncut version on AO3)

The streets of Piltover had a soft glow in the afternoon sun, casting warm light onto the city’s elegant architecture. The Academy loomed large behind Y/N as she descended the steps, her heart racing in her chest. She had spent the entire day thinking about this moment — her very first date with Viktor.

Viktor, the enigmatic, brilliant student, whose mind seemed to work on levels beyond most. His quiet demeanor and thoughtful nature had always intrigued her. Y/N had been unsure if he even noticed her amid his busy research and invention-filled life. But here she was, walking toward the Piltover Aquarium for an afternoon together. A gentle breeze toyed with the strands of her hair as she neared the entrance, where Viktor waited.

Dressed in his usual simple, well-worn jacket and gloves, Viktor’s warm, golden eyes lit up as he spotted her. His crutch was resting against his side, and he gave a slightly shy wave as she approached.

"Y/N," he greeted, his voice soft but tinged with nervousness. "You look... lovely today... so lovely."

A slight blush warmed her cheeks. "Thank you, Viktor. You look... thoughtful, as always."

He chuckled, his gaze lowering for a moment, the tips of his ears tinged pink. “I suppose that’s a compliment.”

Y/N giggled as entered the aquarium together, the grand, dome-shaped building humming with a gentle energy. A calm, serene atmosphere filled the space, enhanced by the soft gurgling of water and the shifting colors reflected from tanks.

— In the aquarium —

The first display they passed was a large circular tank filled with a school of shimmering, silver fish. Their scales caught the light and reflected it in an iridescent cascade, creating patterns that danced across the room’s walls.

“These are Glimmerfish,” Viktor said, his voice calm but tinged with the excitement that came when he spoke about something scientific, as he tried to start talking to Y/N to make things less awkward. “They reflect light in a way that creates optical illusions — see how the patterns change as they swim? It’s fascinating.”

Y/N leaned closer to the glass, watching the fish move in unison, creating a mesmerizing effect. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass slightly. “I can see why they’re called Glimmerfish.”

Viktor stepped beside her, his presence warm and comforting. There was something undeniably charming about how he talked — always quietly, as though each word mattered. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and Y/N could feel his gaze. She smiled, turning toward him, catching him mid-look.

His eyes widened, and he quickly glanced back to the fish, fumbling for words. “Uh, yes, they… they’re quite interesting. Their patterns... ah, tend to shift based on light conditions.”

Y/N let out a small giggle, the sound soft and affectionate. “You know so much. I love how passionate you get about these things.”

Viktor cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing as he looked at her. “It’s hard not to be, when the world is so full of things to learn. But I… I’m glad you enjoy hearing about it.”

They moved on, walking side by side through the halls of the aquarium. The soft glow from the tanks cast a blue light over them, making everything feel dreamlike. As they wandered deeper into the displays, the conversation between them flowed easily, even if both of them were slightly nervous. Y/N found herself relaxing more with each passing minute, feeling more comfortable in Viktor’s presence.

As they reached the next exhibit, a wide tank filled with a variety of colorful, exotic fish, Viktor hesitated. “May I… hold your hand?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, laced with the vulnerability of someone unused to asking for such things.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected question. She blinked, looking up at him, her face warming. His hand was outstretched slightly, hovering between them, as though he was unsure if he should pull it back or continue forward.

“I...I’d like that,” she said, her voice soft and sincere.

With a tentative smile, Viktor gently took her hand in his. His grip was light, delicate, as if he were afraid of hurting her, but Y/N squeezed back reassuringly. They stood together for a moment, both looking down at their intertwined fingers, the silence around them broken only by the soft splashing of water and the distant hum of life inside the tanks.

The tank before them was teeming with vibrantly colored creatures. Fish of every shape and size darted through the water, weaving between the coral structures that had been painstakingly recreated to mimic an ocean reef. There was something playful and innocent about the way the fish moved, as if they were dancing just for the two of them.

One particularly striking fish caught Y/N’s attention. It was small and round, with long, delicate fins that billowed like silk in the water. Its body was a soft pastel pink, and it had a curious expression on its face, like it was examining them as much as they were examining it.

“That one looks like it’s judging us!” Y/N said, pointing at the fish, a light laugh escaping her.

Viktor chuckled beside her, his thumb gently brushing over the back of her hand. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Some of these species are known...well... for their intelligence.”

The fish hovered near the glass for a few moments, its wide, unblinking eyes following their every move before it darted away, disappearing into the coral. Y/N sighed contentedly, leaning slightly into Viktor’s side as they watched the rest of the tank’s inhabitants swim lazily by.

“It’s nice,” Y/N said softly after a while, her gaze still on the fish but her thoughts clearly on something else. “...Being here... with you.”

Viktor’s grip on her hand tightened just slightly, a silent acknowledgment of her words. “I feel the same,” he admitted quietly. “I… wasn’t sure if this would be something you’d enjoy. I know I’m not exactly the most… exciting person.”

Y/N turned to look at him, her expression soft and earnest. “Viktor, I like you for who you are. You don’t have to be exciting or different. I like your quietness, your thoughtfulness. This—” she gestured to the aquarium around them, “—this is perfect. Being with you is perfect.”

Viktor’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. The soft glow of the tanks, the gentle hum of water, everything faded into the background. It was just them, standing close, hands entwined, hearts beating in sync. Viktor’s face softened, a rare smile gracing his lips — one that was just for her.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, the warmth in his eyes filling her with a sense of closeness she had never experienced before. She could feel the faint tremor in Viktor's hand, the same nervousness that fluttered in her own chest, but there was something else, something tender and unspoken in the way he looked at her.

"Viktor..." she whispered, barely able to form the words as her throat tightened with a surge of emotions she couldn't quite name.

His name, on her lips, seemed to anchor him. He took a breath, slow and measured, as if the weight of the moment had finally settled around them. Viktor's fingers tightened slightly around hers, as though gathering the courage to act on the emotions swirling between them.

The area was empty, dark, lighten up only by the artificial lights from the tanks... it felt like the perfect moment.

He trailed off, his eyes dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments, then returning to her eyes, asking a silent question. The air between them crackled with tension, but not the kind that pushed them apart. It was the kind that pulled them closer, like a magnetic force drawing them together in ways neither of them had fully anticipated.

"Viktor..." she whispered, barely able to form the words as her throat tightened with a surge of emotions she couldn't quite name.

“I…” Viktor began, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze locked with hers. “I don’t always know how to express what I feel, but right now…”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she felt Viktor lean in, the space between them growing smaller, the warmth of his presence enveloping her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a rush of excitement and nervousness overwhelming her senses. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, they were closer than ever, his forehead resting lightly against hers. The soft scent of him, the subtle smell of his cologne, woody and floral, surrounded her.

“Is this… okay?” Viktor asked softly, his voice barely audible, his breath warm against her lips.

Y/N’s heart swelled at the care in his words, the quiet hesitation that made him so uniquely Viktor. She nodded, her lips parting slightly as she whispered, “Yes.”

That one word was all it took. Viktor closed the remaining distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in the softest, most tentative kiss. It was a gentle, fragile thing — as though he were afraid she might pull away, afraid to break the spell that had woven itself between them. But Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her free hand finding its way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

The kiss was sweet, unhurried, and filled with all the emotions they had both kept locked away for so long. Viktor’s lips were warm, slightly chapped from the long hours he spent working in his lab, but they moved with a tenderness that made Y/N’s heart flutter. There was something so intimate in the way he kissed her, as though he were discovering a part of himself he had never known existed until this moment.

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor pulled back, his lips hovering just inches from hers. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling with the weight of what had just happened. His hand was still in hers, fingers gently intertwined, as if he were afraid to let go.

They stood there for what felt like forever, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment, the soft hum of the aquarium filling the space around them. It was as if the world had shifted on its axis, and all that mattered now was the connection between them, the unspoken promise that whatever had just bloomed between them was something worth nurturing.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t always know how to express these things. But I’m… happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Y/N smiled back at him, her heart swelling with affection. “I’m happy too, Viktor.”

"Shall we continue.. our little date?" - Y/N said happily, holding his hands tightly

"YES ! " - Viktor spoke, his voice louder than he intended - "I am sorry, we should...continue" - He said nervously, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

They continued their walk through the aquarium, hand in hand, the soft light reflecting off the tanks painting their skin in hues of blue and green. Viktor pointed out more fish to her as they passed by — some tiny and darting quickly through the water, others large and slow-moving, their scales shimmering under the dim lights.

At one point, they reached a tank filled with jellyfish, their translucent bodies glowing softly in the darkened room. The jellyfish floated gracefully, their long, tendril-like appendages trailing behind them like ribbons in the water. Y/N and Viktor stood in awe, watching the way the creatures moved with such effortless grace.

“They’re so delicate,” — Y/N whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the sight.

Viktor nodded, his gaze fixed on the jellyfish. “Yes. But they’re also resilient. Some species of jellyfish can live for hundreds of years, regenerating themselves over time. They’re a fascinating example of nature’s ingenuity.”

Y/N smiled, marveling at how Viktor could see the beauty in even the smallest things. His mind worked in ways she could barely comprehend, always seeking to understand, to learn. It was one of the things she admired most about him.

They stayed there for a long while, watching the jellyfish drift lazily through the water, neither of them feeling the need to speak. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that they didn’t need to fill the air with words to enjoy each other’s company.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” Viktor said softly, his voice tinged with the uncertainty that always seemed to accompany his thoughts. “But I know that… I want you to be part of it.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, a wave of warmth and affection flooding through her. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with the same sincerity that had always drawn her to him. “I want that too, Viktor.”

— Outside —

As they left the aquarium, the evening sky above Piltover had turned shades of pink and orange, the sun setting over the horizon. They walked side by side, still holding hands, their steps slow and unhurried. The cool evening air was refreshing, a pleasant contrast to the warm glow that still lingered in Y/N’s chest.

“Thank you for today,” Y/N said softly as they reached the steps of the Academy.

Viktor smiled at her, his eyes warm and filled with a rare sense of peace. “No. Thank you, Y/N. For making it… special.”

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to break the quiet, lingering closeness between them. Finally, Viktor lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a soft, shy kiss across her knuckles.

Y/N pulled him by the tie, and closed a passionate kiss on his soft lips. His eyes were wide as he stared surprised at what just happened, but only took him seconds to relax and reciprocate the kiss.

#viktor #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane fanfic

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k-nayee · 1 month ago

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Phantom Code Alien Romulus | i

wc: 1.4k a/n: Just a heads-up! This mini-series was originally a one-shot but ended up longer than expected. So once I post the final chapter (when Andy chases Navarro and Bjorn after the facehugger incident), that will be the end of the Phantom Code series. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

You barely remember the sunlight.

It lingers like a half-forgotten dream, a distant warmth that fades with each passing day. Hard to even believe you ever felt it.

Sometimes, when you close your eyes, you can almost feel it: soft and golden, brushing against your skin like the wind.

But here on Jackson's Star, the sun is nothing more than a ghost. It's a myth—a wishful story where the only source of light is from the cold, artificial glow of machinery.

This planet—this forsaken mining colony—is all you've ever known; your prison and your home. You don't remember how you got here, and never really understood why.

Your parents were never meant to be here, that much you knew. They were once something else—Weyland-Yutani engineers and technologists, people who made things better.

Specifically, they worked with androids.

Seeing first-hand the abuse and mistreatment of the synthetics, they tried to change the way they were treated. They spoke out against the horrors, fighting to stop the androids from being nothing more than tools and trash.

But the world doesn't like change, not when it threatens the order of things.

And so for their efforts, your parents were stripped of everything: their titles, their work, their lives as they knew it. Sent away to this death trap of a planet where they could be forgotten.

They never spoke much about the past. But in the quiet moments, when they thought you were asleep, you'd hear them whisper about it—about the life they once had, about the things they lost.

And you'd feel the weight of it, heavy and suffocating, until it was hard to breathe...

Hard to remember what life was before.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

You were already half asleep when your mother tucked you into bed, her hands gentle but worn from the day's work.

The faint hum of the machinery outside your small window was a lullaby you'd grown used to, a constant presence that wrapped around you like a blanket.

As she leaned down to kiss your forehead, the shadows deepened the lines on her face.

"Sleep tight, my little Byte," she whispered, her voice tinged with a weariness that you couldn't quite place. "Dream of better things."

You nodded, your eyelids heavy from the weight of the day. Yet your mind was still awake, filled with thoughts that always seemed to follow you into sleep.

Why were you here? What had happened to the life you once had? Why did it all feel like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from?

But soon sleep came, as it always did, pulling you under with the promise of oblivion.

Until the whispers woke you.

At first, you thought it was part of a dream, the murmurs blending with the darkness. But then you heard it: harsh whispers and a heavy thud that filtered through your half-open door.

"...please...have to help me..."

The voice was unfamiliar, but there was something desperate in it that sent a shiver down your spine. Your heart pounded as you slipped out of bed, your feet barely making a sound on the cold, metal floor.

Creeping towards the door, you peer out, straining to catch more of the conversation.

"...can't keep here...it's too dangerous..."

"...kept hidden for this long...don't know where else to..."

There, in the small dimly lit sitting area, stood your parents with their backs to you; instead facing a man who looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

He was tall, deep lines etched into his face. His eyes were dark and tired, pleading and desperate. There was something about him that tugged at your memory, a vague recognition.

Mr. Carradine. You'd heard your parents mention him a few times in passing.

He was the man you'd occasionally see walking with your father, their heads bowed in conversation as they made their way back from the mines.

But seeing him here, in your home, with that look in his eyes—it was different. He seemed older, more worn down, as if whatever burden he carried had finally become too much to bear.

Your father's voice was tense as he spoke, "Carradine you know we can't... it's too risky."

"Please," Mr. Carradine interrupted, his voice breaking. "I'm begging you. She's all we have. I can't do this alone."

The room fell quiet, air thick with the weight of unspoken words. You saw your father glance to your mother, his expression torn as his shoulders sag in defeat.

Deciding you've snooped enough you move to go back to bed. But your arm brushes against the door as you did, causing it to creak. Three pairs of eyes turns toward you.

Your mother's eyes widened at the sight of you. "Sweetheart," she whispered, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, "you should be in bed."

You stepped forward, unable to keep the question from spilling out. "What's happening?"

Mr. Carradine fumbles. You immediately catch his movements, his hands swiftly pulling down on a tarp to cover whatever's underneath—a tarp you don't recall seeing before bed.

Seeing your interest piqued, your father hesitates for a moment before ultimately letting out a resigned sigh.

"Sweetheart," your father starts, voice cracked. But he stops, glancing at Mr. Carradine.

The man's gaze softened in understanding before nodding. "It's alright," he said quietly. "She deserves to know."

Your father meets your mothers gaze once more, another silent conversation passing between them.

"Alright, sweetheart," he motions for you to come closer, a weariness in his voice you couldn't refuse.

You approached them slowly, your eyes flicking between the three adults before landing on the tarp-covered object on the kitchen table.

When you were close enough, your father gently placed a hand on your shoulder, as if grounding himself before he spoke.

"Mr. Carradine found something," he explained, his words heavy with meaning you didn't fully grasp. "Someone, really. He... he's an android, one that was meant to be scrapped."

Your heart skipped a beat. An android?

You knew what androids were—machines made to look like people, to work like people, to serve people...but weren't people at all.

They were always treated as less than human, as nothing more than tools. You'd seen the way people talked about them, the way they were discarded when they were no longer useful.

"Why is he here?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Carradine gave a nervous hum as if to keep himself from crying.

"Rain...my little girl....she has no one but me an' her mom," he said, voice cracking on the words. "I've been hiding him, but I can't do it alone. I need your parents' help to keep him safe...to keep her safe."

He steps forward and pulled back the tar—

your breath catches in your throat.

There, lifelessly sitting in one of your dining chairs, was the most beautiful android you'd ever seen.

The synthetic skin that covered him was a soft, smooth and flawless warm shade of brown that almost glowed in the dim light.

His hair was short and tightly curled, sitting perfectly in place with each strand meticulously crafted to maintain its natural look.

His broad shoulders were relaxed, but there was a strength in his posture. Large hands rested on his lap, fingers curled as if they might twitch to life at any moment.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was human.

His face is what got you, it held a sort of softness that was disarming: full lips that were slightly parted as if caught mid-breath, closed eyelids framed by dark lashes that rested against his cheeks like shadows.

It made his appearance oddly serene —like he was simply sleeping, not powered-down.

He made your mind fuzzy in a way that it shouldn't, but it did.

"What's his name?" you whispered, awe and confusion trembling your voice.

Mr. Carradine's expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Andy," he said quietly. "His name is Andy."

Andy...

The name echoed in your mind. The longer you looked at him, the more something stirred in your chest—a spark, a connection you couldn't explain.

But in that moment, none of it mattered.

All you could do was stare, your eyes fixed on his face. Your heart pounded as you whisper his name under your breath

Andy.

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fanficsiwillneverwrite · 8 months ago

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On my umpteenth rewatch of lok, I had a sudden interest in old Zuko…. And let’s just say another wip is brewing in my brain now about Zuko and his involvement in book 3 :/

Zuko looks in the mirror and sees only a face he no longer recognizes: old, long past its prime. An old wound haunting him, even how many years later. It happened so long ago; only yesterday. Shaky hands rub the rough skin as the memory takes hold. It was for the better, he once told himself long ago. It led him on the path of good, toward the light. But the thought of giving such a punishment to Izumi… He admittedly was not perfect when it came to raising her, but he was no Ozai.

Through the reflection, he sees Akari, the Firelord’s senior aide, emerge from the golden doors. “Lord Zuko,” she says with a respectful and low bow. Her voice is distant, muffled, despite being so near. Just a reminder of his aging body. “The Firelord will see you now.”

He nods, acknowledging her, but his focus remains on the stranger–no, the old man–staring back at him, copying every move he makes. Akari backs away to give him space. And he touches a few wrinkles. Uncle always said they were a sign of living, far better than the alternative. His laughter still echoes in his mind; the steam of hot tea still lingers around him.

He moves away from his reflection and into the throne room where his daughter sits high above him in all her glory. Zuko smiles as he bows–and his old bones crack as he bends. Another reminder that the old man in the mirror and the boy who thought his destiny was to capture the Avatar were one in the same. “The Firelord has requested an audience with me. I would be interested in knowing what for.”

“Hello Dad,” greets Izumi gently as she stands. She approaches him, a familiar look of care mixed with concern permanently captures her face each time she looks at him. He knows it well. Old age brings on pity. No, Uncle would say, old age brings on care. They hug and, suddenly, he is drunk with the scent of familiarity. Once Mai’s favorite perfume worn now by a grieving daughter who wants only to keep her mother close. “How are you?”

“I am fine, daughter,” he assures, his hand squeezing her shoulder as if to emphasize the fact. Sadness lingers around them with Mai’s passing just over a year ago. “Though, perhaps it is I who should be asking you that very question. Avatar Korra has led us into a new age where spirits and mankind must now live together in harmony. As the Firelord, it is your duty to make her decision a reality. With some guidance from me, of course, if it doesn’t interfere with my nap time.”

She rolls her eyes as a smile forms. “I think sometimes I can make better sense of your snoring than your political babble,” she teases.

“Be careful what you say next, daughter,” he shoots back. “I still have claim to the throne, you know.”

“Like I’d give it back,” she tells him playfully. But her face turns serious. And like a stuck bandage, the news of why she has summoned him is ripped open quickly to ease the anticipation: “I’ve just received word from President Raiko in Republic City. It seems… Harmonic Convergence has brought back the Airbenders.”

His heart feels as if it has sunk. The Fire Nation’s greatest burden, their deepest regret—now, so suddenly, fixed? He would have to see it to believe it, especially if Raiko is the one reporting it. All the man cares about is the votes. “What?”

“I haven’t yet received word from Tenzin, but there has been at least one Airbender sighting in Caldera alone. Most, it seems, are in the Earth Kingdom.”

“That could mean trouble.”

The Earth Queen remains bitter over land now the United Republic of Nations and everything surrounding it, Air Temple Island included: Earth Kingdom territory, she makes false claims. While her father was timid, mostly oblivious as a leader, Hou-Ting is loud, demanding, and a complete tyrant.

Zuko turns, hurrying out the room. There is no time to waste. “I’ll head straight to Ba Sing Se—”

His daughter is quick to stop him. “The Fire Nation should not have any involvement there, dad. You know this.” His intent would be to liberate this new wave of Airbenders from the grasps of great tyrannical power, but the world might view it as another Firelord’s attempt to again dismantle the Air Nation. He blinks, seeing clearly now as his daughter faces him again. “Furthermore,” Izumi continues cautiously; they’re always dancing around his state of retirement. The nation is hers–it is her birthright–but he makes diplomatic trips around the world to assure peace, to continue what he and Avatar Aang started so long ago, yesterday. “A man your age should really be fretting over pai sho and gardening. Not the state of the world.”

The man she is describing is Uncle. Not him, never him. “I will not turn my back on the world when it still needs me,” Zuko insists. His reflection shows an achy old man with a story long ago completed, but as long as his heart still beats and the fire still burns, he can be useful.

“I know,” she says, “but… you can only do so much before it becomes too overwhelming for you.” She adjusts her glasses as a sigh escapes her. “Dad, I care only for your safety–”

“I am still capable–”

“–which is why I think it perfectly sensible for you to take in a ward.”

He stops, hurt–offended. “A-a ward?”

“One of Master Muromachi’s young pupils,” she continues. “Someone who can be your companion. Someone who will watch your back and defend you when you’re unable.”

Zuko huffs, rubbing his forehead in frustration. His daughter thinks him unable, an invalid of his craft now just because of a few wrinkles. Spirits! He is Lord Zuko, Leader of the Fire Nation and the Avatar’s Firebending Master. And she thinks he needs a sidekick? Some noble boy defending his honor? “No, absolutely not. I don’t need some child protecting me.”

Izumi rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a suggestion, dad. Master Muromachi is expecting you. We’ll go down there this afternoon.”

He stomps away stubbornly, like a child not getting his way. The roles were reversed long ago, just yesterday when he was still in charge, when he was still capable. “I can choose my own ward, can’t I?”

“Of course–”

“Then I’ll go on my own, if it pleases the Firelord.”

He exits before she can answer. Anger boils within him. He hates being the man who is old, the man who needs help. Most of his friends are gone now and this new generation is perfectly competent, his daughter being one of them, but the fire still burns inside him. The face in the mirror is the face he saw long ago–yesterday–when there was no scar.

The Fire Nation Academy for Gifted Boys is a secondary school for sons of nobles. It teaches Nonbenders how to fight through the art of swordsmanship. Only the best, or most wealthy, can attend. And the training is rigorous, not for the faint hearted. Tom-Tom became one of the academy’s pupils when he came of age, mastering sword fighting at the age of fourteen. Firelord Ozai always dismissed the school’s teachings, saying Nonbenders could never truly be masters without the ability of bending. In his final years, without his bending, his father learned the way of the sword, though he never tried to understand the relationship between a man and his blade, thus never becoming a full master of the craft.

These days the school is just as rigorous with Master Muromachi, a stern and, dare he say, cruel man, in charge of this new generation of fighters. The boys stand straight in a line when Lord Zuko arrives. Eyes forward, not one hair out of place, not a single crease in their suits. Their movements are in sync as they all bow low when Muromachi introduces him to them.

“You have honored this school with your presence, Lord Zuko,” Muromachi says with a bow of his own. He moves aside for Zuko to properly examine his students. “Please, choose anyone you think is worthy.” He gestures to the tallest of the group: tan skinned and golden eyed, Zuko sees a darkness in him that brings only suspicion. The way the boy eyes him; it’s not like the others. “Eigo here is our star pupil.”

“Is that so?”

Muromachi gestures again and Eigo assumes a fighting stance as he draws his sword. He dances with it around Zuko–impressive but, still, there is something about him that he doesn’t quite like–before returning to his spot in line.

“Very good,” Zuko tells him, “though I find your lack of moderation rather… unsettling.”

The boy’s expression darkens at the criticism. Not suitable for his company at all. Muromachi moves on without a visible reaction: “Pao,” he calls. And the next boy moves skillfully around the room with his blades. A mindless routine, practiced over and over again until perfection. He does what he is told and nothing more.

“Your moves, though highly skillful, lack originality,” Zuko notes. He will find something wrong for each of them. He does not need a protector, nor does he want one.

Muromachi becomes more tense as they move down the line, each boy weaker than the last. This Academy is a show and these so-called warriors are nothing more than performers this day in age, not like how they used to be, he will tell his daughter later over tea. That is why he did not choose a child today. That is why he should not have a ward.

Finally, they arrive at the last: the smallest of the group. A softness exists within him that the other boys do not have. Short hair above his ears cut in a wonky bowl shape and fierce blue eyes with a sparkle in them that shows he is ready, not to win but to fight for what is right—he knows those eyes. It hits him, suddenly. A girl, disguised as a young boy.

“Lee!” orders Muromachi, sweating profusely at this point. Zuko instantly understands the name is false, an alias to hide her true nature.

And the girl disguised as a boy begins her dance around Zuko. Her movements are hesitant. She nearly trips over her own two feet. Her two swords do not move together as one but rather as completely separate entities. An amateur compared to her peers. Muromachi is visibly appalled by her performance, but remains silent out of respect for his guest. Zuko, admittedly, is intrigued by the girl. Why would she openly go through such turmoil?

#zuko #prince zuko #lord Zuko #old zuko #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #legend of korra #lok #lok fanfic #atla #avatar the last airbender #also like I’m sorry for all the wips I’m pumping out but life is just up and down right now so

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dat-town · 10 months ago

Text

blood red and snow white

Characters: Beomgyu & female reader

Setting & genre: dark fantasy, (horror-ish?), Red Riding Hood (2011) and Hansel & Gretel (2013) vibes (or at least the way i remember them)

Summary: The woods was Beomgyu’s home. It might be his grave too.

Warnings: mentions blood and bleeding, crossbow as a weapon, werewolf attacks, non-sexual nudity, implied deceased parents, minor character death, (temporary?) major character death, honestly people in this just keep dying, one mention at the cliché power of true love

Words: 5k

Author’s note: this is not the “if you ever write fluff Beomgyu” that’s been on my to write list for ages but here, take something darker, sorry and love you @lily-blue <3

Inspired by TXT’s Gayo Daejeon performance

Header photo credit: 13thStars

The snow felt crispy under Beomgyu’s boots. The crunching sound was loud in the quiet forest, and it scared some birds off the tree branches as he got closer. But not close enough. He didn’t have much time to reach his grandmother’s wooden guesthouse; sunset was already dancing on the horizon, painting the whitewashed scenery in hues of golden and carmine.

The boy hardened his grip over the bag over his shoulder and yanked the hood of his red robe over his head with the other, protecting his curly locks from snow frost. He panted hard, his cheeks rosy from the cold and urgency as he crossed the frozen creek, counting down the steps he still needed to take to reach safety.

He should have left the village earlier, he should have known that he would be slowed down by the snow and dead branches along the way. He should have known better than to accept Yeonjun’s mulled wine and listen to his sob story about a girl that got away. Too late. It was already too late to wonder about what ifs and wrong decisions, he needed to hurry.

Between tree trunks, the outline of the snow-covered wooden structure finally appeared within reach. Beomgyu let himself look around and behind, feeling paranoid even because of the small noises of the animals finding shelter just as hastily as him. He was almost there. He was almost out of time.

He sped up his steps, his boots leaving ugly imprints in the snow while his panting became panicky loud. It was getting darker with each step he took.

Just three more. Two. One…

For exactly one moment, eerily long and quiet, the world stood still, stuck in the limbo between night and day, day and night. And then, all the light went out as the Sun disappeared beyond the woods. The stars barely flickered without the light of their companion, the Moon. It was the darkest night of the month.

The boy shakily drew in a breath, the puffs of his breathing visible in the dark. His hand lingered over the doorknob, frozen in place, trembling from the cold. Quiet. He needed to stay quiet and calm.

Beingyu gulped, weighing his chances, before he reached out and twisted the knob. The metal cracked and just then he heard footsteps behind him.

When Beomgyu was younger, he didn’t believe the woods was a dangerous place like other kids his age did. This was his home, his playground, his childhood. He had visited the old guesthouse more often than he could count on his tiny fingers. He thought that all those terrible stories were only his grandmother’s way of scaring him like how she said he wouldn’t grow taller if he didn’t eat his veggies or that evil fairies would kidnap him if he didn’t lock his door well. He didn’t believe in any of those silly warnings.

But then everything changed when he met you.

It was a scorching hot summer and you almost killed him.

The arrow pierced into the tree trunk barely centimeters away from his shoulder as he got up from the raspberry bush he was trying to clear off the sweet fruit. He got away with only a scratch on the back of his hand because in his startled state he managed to get caught up in the branches. He was so taken aback, he didn’t even notice the ting of pain as blood dribbled from the thin wound onto the ground until you pointed it out.

“You okay? Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Oh, shit, you’re bleeding.”

Beomgyu was probably more shocked about the fact that a girl his age, not more than sixteen, appeared by his side than the pain registering in his brain. He hissed as you took his hand and blew on the wound, mesmerized by how practiced you looked as you took a handkerchief out of your little bag and wrapped it around his palm. He felt his pale cheeks bloom into a rose garden. It was like a scene from one of his grandmother’s beloved romance stories, only that it was usually the other way around: a gentleman treating a lady’s wound and the boy, raging with teenage hormones, didn’t know how to feel about being forced into the role of a damsel in distress. But looking at you next to him, he knew there would be no doubts about these roles. After all it was him with a bucket full of sweets and you were the one holding a deadly weapon and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“What are you doing out here with that?” He finally found his voice and pointed at the crossbow in your hand. It probably wasn’t the best thing he could have said but this was what he was the most curious about. What was a girl like you doing in the woods instead of being at home, helping your mother with dinner?

“Practicing,” you shrugged as if it was normal to walk around with a deadly weapon. “My brother is teaching me to hunt.”

Oh, that made sense. Beomgyu had only ever seen huntsmen with that kind of thing. But he had known every huntsman in the village since he had lived there his whole life and he was sure that he had never seen you before. The next one was miles away, on the other side of the woods, so he wondered whether you and your brother were from there. Or maybe you were one of those families living in the woods, hunting for a living from meal to meal?

“Hunt what? Rabbits?” The boy found himself asking, feeling silly, because you didn’t look like you were malnourished, struggling to find something to eat, nor did you look like you could have hurt a fly with that easygoing smile on your cherry lips. Even your eyes shone like innocent stars when you laughed at his question.

“Nah. The kind of things that would kill us first if we didn’t kill them.”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyebrows, feeling stupid and out of place. The wound on the back of his hand started to pound as his heartbreak picked up. Did you really just say kill?

“Like wolves and bears?”

“Yeah, exactly like wolves,” you chuckled, somehow finding his reaction amusing and took the crossbow into your left hand, letting it fall next to your body as you extended your right towards him. “I’m Y/N by the way.”

“I’m Beomgyu,” he said as he tentatively took your hand and shook on it. Your hands felt rough against his skin. It tickled.

“I have to go before my brother starts looking for me but it was nice to meet you, Beomgyu. Be more careful next time. The woods is a more dangerous place than it looks,” you looked him deeply in the eyes, way too serious for a sixteen year old and the boy couldn’t look away. He was stuck in those dark orbs and wondered whether it was you who stole the stars from the sky every month.

He was dreaming of your bright eyes later that night.

Beomgyu’s grandmother told him that your family was bad news. That he should have kept far away from you. Easier said than done. The boy felt himself gravitating towards you like a moth to flame, not afraid of getting burnt.

He wandered around in the woods, humming folk songs to himself, hoping to catch a sight of you again. You were unlike any other girl he knew from the village. The boy kept your handkerchief tucked neatly in his pocket. He had washed the blood off it until it was white as fresh snow and smelled like nothing but chamomile. He thought it would give him a good excuse why he was looking for you. Just common courtesy, he tried to convince himself but the handkerchief was long forgotten when one day he finally saw you in the middle of the valley.

It was full of poppies and daisies, their petals painting the green scenery with red and white dots. You wore a simple pastel brown dress as you sat in the middle of the colorful cavalcade. From that distance he couldn’t tell what you were doing but as he got closer it became obvious that you picked up flowers and put them into your basket. It reminded him of his tasks when his grandmother needed ingredients for her creams.

Beomgyu was still a good ten meters away when you must have noticed his approach because you turned and looked straight at him, suspicious at first but soon recognizing him.

“Oh, hi!” You greeted him with a smile, casual and kind. Sure, your heart must not have been doing excited little jumps in your chest like his. He still couldn't believe his luck. After long weeks and even longer months passed, seasons changed and the spring bloom came, you were right in front of him again.

“Are you not practicing hunting today?” He found himself asking a bit awkwardly but you didn’t seem to mind. Your smile was still the same as you shook your head.

“No. My brother is sick, so I’m collecting marigold flowers. It’s good for the body, you know,” you told him, reaching for the next bright-colored piece.

Actually Beomgyu knew, his grandmother taught him well, so for once he believed it was a useful knowledge because this way he could sit down next to you and tell you all about the other herb and plant health benefits that he knew of.

Beomgyu told you about his village too. About how the Sunday market was the most eventful thing over the week. Or how the baker’s daughter ran away with a boy from the next town and it had been such a scandal. You seemed invested in his stories. Sitting cross legged in the middle of the meadow, you smiled at him like he was the Sun. It made him a little shy, just like when your fingers touched over the basket. Just a small yet thrilling feeling.

“We only visit the villages when we need to buy something or have something to sell. I rarely meet new people,” you admitted, your fascination with his boring stories suddenly making more sense to the boy but he couldn’t help but wonder why you lived so secluded from other people.

“Are you living in the woods then?” He inquired, watching intently as your long, messy hair fell into your eyes after you nodded.

“Yeah. Me and my brother with a few others.”

Beomgyu furrowed his eyebrows, confused. Others? Strangers? His grandmother had told him about people at the edge of society who lived together despite not sharing a blood relation. Beomgyu had always imagined them a little wild.

“Your parents?” He blurted out with a closed throat.

“It’s just the two of us,” you shook your head, keeping your gaze on the flowers in your lap. You removed the tiny orange petals one by one. “He’s more important to me than anything.”

The boy hadn’t had siblings of his own, so he didn’t know whether that kind of devotion was normal or not but he could understand the importance of having only one living relative and the co-dependence of it. So he told you about why it was his grandmother who brought him up and when you put your hand on his, his heart fluttered.

It became a habit to meet at the meadow.

You sneaked away from your brother and he always took a detour on his grandmother’s errands.

Sometimes you walked over to the trickling creek or fed birds in the middle of the woods. Sometimes you just lay side by side in the shadow of the trees, watching the white puff of clouds move over the perfectly blue sky. Over time you found more and more to talk about, more things you unexpectedly had in common (like the preference of apple pies over cherry ones or the smell of chamomile over lavender) and Beomgyu was too enamored already to notice the signs. That the blush on your cheek was a bruise or that it wasn’t a joke when you said you would become a hunter like your brother.

The first time Beomgyu had seen one of your preys, he was nineteen and already irrevocably in love.

It was already dark by the time he left the guest house but he knew the path by heart. He could have probably found his way with his eyes closed around that area, thus he wasn’t wasting the matches his grandmother had given him nor did he need the full moon to light the road for him. He knew where he was going and yet, he stopped short when in the eerie silence of the woods he heard a strange voice. It sounded like broken sobs, like somebody crying.

He wasn’t sure what came upon him. Whether it was recklessness or his endless feeling of safety in the woods which he felt at home in. But he changed his direction and slowly he started to walk towards the strangled voice. It was only later when he realized it was you. He had never heard you cry before after all. You had always seemed so sure of yourself and so brave, he had no idea what could have triggered such a reaction from you, not until he saw you lit by the moonlight with tear streaks on your cheeks and blood on your hands.

He stepped on a branch accidentally, it snapped under his weight and in a moment you were on your feet, aiming your crossbow at him before recognizing him and collapsed to the ground again. That was when he saw it: your grief and your sin.

On the ground only a few steps away from him laid two bodies. One of them looked every bit of a hunter Beomgyu could have imagined but the young man’s body was shredded so badly by a wild animal that the boy had a hard time looking at him. But it wasn’t much better as he looked further either. First he thought it would be another victim of the animal attack but the other man was naked on the muddy ground, covered in dirt and blood. His hands and face was full of redness that couldn’t have been his because the only place he was severely wounded was his back where a single arrow hit him right through the heart.

To say that Beomgyu was having a hard time processing what he saw, convincing himself that it was reality and not just a nightmare was an understatement but he willed himself to pull it together. You needed him, he thought as he looked over at your shivering, weeping form as you gently brushed the sweaty fringe of the clothed man away. The boy knew without needing to ask that he must have been your beloved brother. The one you would have done anything. And now he was gone.

“What happened?” He whispered into the darkness, still in shock, not knowing what to do. Should he have called the ranger from the village? Or a doctor maybe?

“I was too late. He killed my brother,” you muttered, sounding only physically there with him. Beomgyu gulped.

“Did you kill him?” He asked, tentative and innocent, just to be sure. Your eyes burned like fire when you looked up at him again. Conviction burning through them.

“He was a monster.”

You told Beomgyu about werewolves after that and he helped you bury the bodies.

He let you cry on his shoulder, held your hand and promised to never bring it up.

The first time Beomgyu actually saw the true form of the monsters you hunted, it was already that time of the year when tree leaves dried up and fell. The ground was swimming in colors of caramel, sunset and blood. In the rain soaked frontyard he almost didn’t notice it: the drops of crimson over the leaves.

“I’m home,” he called, sniffing into the air that was crispy with the scent of freshly baked apple pie, a bit burnt, too sweet, just how he liked it. “Grandma?”

Beomgyu put his basket down on the wooden table in the kitchen. It was a mess and his grandmother never left chaos behind. She was meticulous about cleaning. She was proud of being civilized ‘unlike those savages’. She was… never this quiet. She liked singing as she moved around in the house, she talked to either her plants or the little animals of the woods. Beomgyu had always thought it was a weird habit but the house suddenly felt empty without it. He started looking for his grandmother more frantically, feeling in his guts that something was wrong. He looked everywhere in the house but the old lady was nowhere to be found, so he even skipped putting his hooded robe back on as he stepped out into the cold air, wondering if his grandma had gone to the creek without leaving a message behind. He only took a few steps when he heard the growling.

Shakily, Beomgyu sucked in a breath, his heart battling his head whether he should have made a run for it or turn around but his body decided it for him. He felt rooted to the ground, unable to take another step, so running was out of the question. He reached into his pockets, hoping to find something useful there but he only came up with a matchstick box. With his heart beating like a horse race, he slowly, carefully turned his head to look over his shoulder and he had to swallow the strangled noise forcing its way out of his throat because what was behind him was the largest wolf he had ever seen. It had dark, messy fur and clenched teeth, its eyes glowing golden while cherry liquid dripped down its jaw. It was every bit as terrifying as you had warned him. A creature that would kill him without a second thought if he didn’t act first.

The animal growled again, more threatening this time and behind the layers of fear, Beomgyu remembered what you told him: werewolves were afraid of fire. So the boy gripped the small box tighter in his hand and lit a matchstick just when the wolf pawed closer, baring its teeth, ready to jump. The little flame reflected in gilded eyes and the animal took a staggered step back, giving Beomgyu just enough time to get his bearings and start running after throwing the match to the ground. A part of him wished the leaves would catch on fire to help him escape but another was grateful it was all too wet to happen because he wouldn’t have wanted to see the guest house burn down. Not even at the price of his life.

Hence, the quickly dying flame of the match didn’t do much of a job of keeping the wolf away. Beomgyu could hear it chase after him as he stumbled and raced ahead. He headed towards the village knowing that his best chance was to get to a crowded place where maybe the animal wouldn’t be able to follow him but it wasn’t that close and he could feel the puffs of warm bloody breath just behind him.

When he fell in a tree trunk, the pain didn’t register at first. He might have twisted his ankle but he was too busy trying to fight off the weight of the animal on top of him. Realistically speaking, Beomgyu knew he didn’t stand much chance: he was weaker, smaller and based on your stories, it was almost impossible to fight against a werewolf with bare hands but there must have been something about survival instinct because he just couldn’t give up, he couldn’t just wait for death with open arms.

That was when you came. Like a vengeful angel, as if his subconscious prayers have been answered. Your arrows hit the animal straight ahead and its painful howl almost made the boy feel some king of empathy for it. Hunting was in their nature, wasn’t it? Maybe they couldn’t help it. Not that Beomgyu felt any kind of remorse as he watched the wolf drag itself away, injured.

“Are you okay?” You knelt beside him after the animal was out of your view and you deemed the area safe enough to lower your guards and put your crossbow down.

Beomgyu winced as he tried to sit up. Some of his ribs might have been fractured just by the sheer weight on top of them, but he was grateful for your help when you helped him up even if he felt slightly dizzy from the sudden movement. It was like the ground was unstable under him and your hands felt cold against his feverish forehead. He was covered in mud, dry leaves and drops of blood, yet suddenly he felt so cold.

“Beomgyu…”

He had always liked the way his name fell off your lips but this time there was something wrong about it. Your tone was nowhere near as fond or amused like usual. There was something akin to dread laced among the syllables, something like fear.

Through the hazy fog that was in his mind, Beomgyu tried to concentrate on your words. Or on your eyes. He had always loved your eyes.

You were looking down at him, more specifically, at his feet where his ankle was bare and bloody. He only registered the pain then, the needle-like sensation that he mistakenly thought of as muscle pain. Looking at the clear teeth marks, torn flesh and blood dripping down, he suddenly felt the phantom sensation of getting bitten.

Beomgyu found your eyes again, your name leaving his mouth like a plea, hoping that you would tell him that he was just hallucinating, that everything would be alright but you yanked yourself away from him so fast and so roughly that he stumbled again, his weak body lying feverish on the muddy ground.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard you whisper or he might have been imagining that too. “I… I will have to kill you if you turn. So please…”

Beomgyu was too tired to make sense of what you were saying or what you were asking. It came to him a lot later that he wasn’t sure whether you meant to tell him to survive or to die, to leave or to stay.

Ironically, everything he knew about werewolves was because of you.

It helped him survive, to stay alive, to keep his humanity. He hoped that it would mean something, that it would make a difference if you were ever to know. He had never killed anybody since he had turned. Sure, he had gone crazy the first few times when the full moon controlled his wolf more than him but even then he only hunted forest animals and he felt bad even after that. He hoped the fact that he hadn’t seen you had also meant that you cared but the worst part was that he wanted you beside him. He missed seeing you. He missed daydreaming in the depth of the woods or out in the valley. He missed play fights and hide-and-seeks. He missed your smile. He missed you.

But you were the type who kept their promise.

Beomgyu didn’t even have to turn around to know that it was you behind him. He would have recognized your scent from miles away. He had always loved the peachy undertone that usually hugged him like a blanket, reminding him of hugs and warm pies. He had known you were dangerous from the day you had met yet he had never associated coldness with you. Not even in the unforgiving winter as the two of you stood now: his hand on the door handle and your finger on the trigger of your crossbow, aiming at him.

“You left tails, Beomgyu,” you spoke up, hoarsely, no greetings, no courtesies, straight to the point. It was a jab to the boy’s weak heart. “The others… The other hunters know about you too. They will come for you and they won’t make it quick or painless.”

There was nothing about it that was painless. It had been so long. Beomgyu ached with his whole body because he wanted nothing more than to run to you and pull your body to his, sniffing your hair, and never let you go. Wishful thinking.

“So you came to kill me before they could?” He found himself asking, not so naive anymore, not asking whether you came to warn him or to check on him. He knew you better than that.

Your heart was full of hatred towards his kind ever since you had lost everything to them. There was no way you would have forgotten. He must have been a monster in your eyes despite your past. And yet, Beomgyu had always thought that he could avoid hunters because he was behind closed doors after the sun had set. You had told him before that you weren’t hunting in daytime with the group you lived with, so he assumed he should have been safe then. Staying indoors during the night, tying himself to the ironclad tubes during full moon, he thought that was what kept him alive but as it turned out it was that you kept quiet about him. But now you were coming for his throat, breaking his heart.

“You should have left when you could,” you whispered, resigned and Beomgyu wished he could have seen you better in the darkness in his human form.

“This is the only home I have ever known,” he said and it was as much of an answer as any. Yes, he could have left but he would have had to live in hiding anyway, so why would he have left the one place that he considered his home? You sighed, probably not understanding it but he didn’t expect you to.

“Then this is where you will be buried.”

Without any more warning, you pulled the trigger. It was his newly developed wolf sense that helped him jump aside in time, then he started to run.

Funny, wasn’t it? His kind was supposed to be the superior predator yet when it came to you, he became the hunted. He would have never hurt you no matter how strong his murderous instincts were.

That’s why it was both a blessing and a curse – and probably a careful calculation on your part – that you had come to him on a new moon when the wolf’s pull was the weakest, so Beomgyu’s rationality was more in control but it meant he was more vulnerable too.

You both knew this part of the woods like the back of your hands and it felt like a twisted version of your old hide-and-seek. Snow and branches cracking under his feet, Beomgyu could never hide where he went, so he wasn’t surprised when one of your arrows passed by him, grazing his upper arm, drawing blood. He hissed as his blood dirtied the white snow and he tasted iron on the tip of his tongue. His wolf was fuming, urging him to hurt, to avenge but he didn’t give in, not even when it turned out it was exactly what you wanted.

“Change, Beomgyu, come on! Don’t just run away! Fight me,” you yelled after him, clearly frustrated, but the boy couldn’t understand your reason. He just didn’t want to hurt you.

“What would it change? You will kill me anyway,” he panted, gripping on his injured arm as he hid behind a tree.

“Coward,” you hissed.

Then the others showed up. Beomgyu cried out in pain when a bullet hit him in the shoulder and the pain made him lose the last of his control over his new animalistic instincts. The red hooded robe fell into a puddle of blood over the fresh snow as a wolf took the boy’s place. A wolf growling with anger at the humans approaching him from all directions, four or five of them. He attacked the one that shot him, going straight for the throat after pushing the guy off his feet but that only earned him another bullet wound in the back.

A pathetic little moaning sound escaped the animal and you cried out, tears running down your cheeks, begging for the hunters to stop, to leave him to you because despite everything you had done you never wanted to see Beomgyu in pain.

You took out one arrow from your sachet and dropped your crossbow onto the ground. Your hands trembled but it wasn’t from the cold as you approached the wounded wolf lying on the ground.

“Please come back to me,” you pleaded through shivers.

There was a legend, a folktale claiming that a werewolf had two hearts: one human, one wolf. And if it was killed in its wolf state, the human heart could still survive.

But only if they were killed by somebody who loved them.

You had told Beomgyu before that you didn't believe in such silly things and there was no way you would ever loved a monster anyways, so it was useless asking what ifs but as you drove the sharp arrow through the wolf’s heart, you couldn’t help but wonder whether your love would be enough for a miracle or you were about to lose the last person important to you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered as more crimson was spilled on the winter blanket of the woods, on the ground that birthed and buried all of you.

Your tears were falling over the wolf as Beomgyu started taking back his human form. You sobbed harder when you saw those curls you had always loved so much and the pouty mouth and button nose. You laid down over his chest, praying, hoping to hear a heartbeat until you were dragged away.

The snow would melt in a week but not even forever could erase his blood from your hands.

#txt x reader #txt angst #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu angst #red riding hood au #stories

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