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sleepymarimo · 1 year ago

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𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤

summary: he didn't mean to push you away so harshly, to build his walls so high, but he didn't expect you to go running to someone else... pairing: zoro x reader, slight law x reader cw: unrequited feelings (or are they?), angst, no comfort an: set in wano, with some minor tweaks! thought of this last night and had to share my pain...oops also, i plan to have some fluffy straw hat stuff out this weekend ♡( ◡‿◡ ) wc: 3.4k

you'd been harboring feelings for your vice captain, for a while. you never acted on it, his aloof nature making you too nervous to make that jump- to try. even then, you were sure that he had more pressing matters to attend to.

so, you kept it under wraps. you trained and laughed and did everything you were supposed to, did everything right, without letting your feelings get too much in the way. it was manageable, and it made you feel good that you could support your crew, even if it meant holding onto your feelings.

it was the little things that gave you away to him. how your eyes darted away a bit too quickly when he met your gaze, how you sometimes intentionally stood farther away from him in a bid to look inconspicuous, even though it made it so much more obvious. he was as dumb as a rock sometimes, yeah, but not when it came to his crew, not when it came to you. he knew. of course he knew, but he had no reason to call you out on it. clearly you didn't want to discuss it and, as long as it wasn't getting in the way of anything major, he could bear it. it was when your emotions served as a distraction, that things became complicated.

the land of wano brought with it many challenges. most where physical, be it sneaking around the shady capital or handling some rowdy criminals. having crew members split up also made you worried, only heightening your senses and making your brain run rampant with what ifs. it all comes to a sudden standstill when you and brook, on your way to the safe house, walk in on zoro. one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen is snuggled right into his side and you feel a twinge of envy.

your heart does a somersault in your chest, something twisting in your gut at the unusual sight. a part of you, the rational side, knows very well that zoro didn't let people into his personal space with such ease. yet, even with her explanation, your mood can't help but sour. it only worsens when you all sit down and discuss more pressing matters.

the stresses of wano, this whole hiyori situation and her ever present enthusiasm towards the swordsman has you itching to escape. your responses become curt and your hands twitch in your lap. it's not how you should be acting, not given the circumstances, but you can't help it. finally, when there's a break in the conversation, you politely dismiss yourself.

once outside, you take a deep breath and collect your thoughts. leaning against the wall of the safe house, you let out a sigh and stare off at some random point in the distance in a bid to quell your passive aggressive behavior. the sound of the door opening catches you off guard, your arms crossing over your chest as the swordsman approaches you with a hardened expression.

"the hell is up with that look on your face?" he'd grumble, his cold demeanor matching the chill in the air. his arms are crossed, his posture tense. while zoro was one to take things as they came, focusing on the present, he couldn't deny that wano and its secrets were gnawing at him as well. he was irritated, wondering why you'd even bother to think about something as miniscule as feelings while there were enemies and actual threats lurking about. when you don't answer, when he figures you wouldn't even have the guts to bring it up, he huffs. "you think I asked to be cuddled up to like a damn toy?" his eye narrows and he takes a step closer, challenging you. "I don't have feelings for her, or anyone, got it?" the lump in your throat is too large to swallow and you nod, incapable of much else. a torrent of sensations swirl in your chest: embarrassment that he'd been aware of your feelings this whole time, guilt for letting them get in the way, and a bitter resounding sting that came with rejection. with a click of his tongue, he turns back and heads into the safe house, mumbling something about pulling yourself together and focusing on what's important.

you're almost glad when zoro ends up splitting off with hiyori later on, your mind flooded with thoughts. in a bid to defend yourself from further pain, you get your act together and squash down those feelings. you do well to put on a brave and happy face, deciding that, yes, there are some more important matters to attend to.

despite that, it's still hard not to see the samurai a bit differently. you knew he was blunt, even harsh at moments, but his approach to such a sensitive topic was a little much for you to handle. even if his words held some truth, that there were more pressing matters to attend to, the delivery of it just made you feel uneasy and hurt. the rest of your encounters are just as quick, your words just as clipped. if you acted any differently towards him, it wasn't out of malice. subconsciously, you defend yourself from further embarrassment and give him the distance you think he needs. while the chaos ensues, your defense mechanism only serves as a temporary solution. once the dust settled, it would be a different story.

finally, when the horrors of wano are dealt with, you can breathe a minor sigh of relief. in the flower capital, alongside your crew mates, you patiently wait for luffy and zoro to awaken from their slumbers. when they finally do, the air feels lighter

in the wake of it all, your emotions catch up to you, which makes you feel worse since this was supposed to be a joyful moment. it's hard to fight that initial instinct, to head over to zoro and ask if he's alright or if he needs anything. yet, you force yourself to take a step back, even if it does look like his bandages need tending to. it's a lot easier to do so once hiyori reveals that she was the one to help bathe him while he was unconscious, your stomach churning as you look away and walk to a different corner of the room. clearly he had someone looking out for him already. with a polite and slightly forced smile on your face, you find yourself heading over to law, who sits in the corner and chooses to observe the moment rather than partake in any conversation. you'd gotten along well with the surgeon, your relationship only growing stronger as he spent more time with the straw hats. he respected your skills and your perceptiveness, your ability to adapt to the needs of those around you and make them feel at ease. when he hears you approaching, he's naturally wary, but relents and gives you a nod, saying your name as a way of greeting you. satisfied, you take a seat next to him and raise a hand to gesture at his arm. "I know you're a surgeon and all, but d'ya think I can help you with your bandages?" you ask him, sincere and with a soft smile. "y'know, before this whole alliance thing is over and all..." he wants to say no, but the genuine kindness in your eyes has him huffing and looking away. a reddish hue tinges his cheeks and he holds out his arm. "go ahead." his tone fights to maintain its usual indifference, though there's a hint of appreciation laced in. on the opposite side of the room, where hiyori 'fixed' his bandages much too tight, zoro glances over at you. he notes the way you visibly relax around the surgeon, an action that has him growing irritated. he was your crew mate, your nakama, someone who would keep you safe, not that second rate captain. when the bandages cut off his circulation, he growls in frustration and tears some of them off. why weren't you over here doing this for him, when you knew exactly how he liked his bandages? why were you tending to law so gently and giving him that smile, the one you hadn't given him in ages? the swordsman isn't blind. he's been aware of the distance you've put between the two of you, how your 'smile' drops as soon as you turn away from him. as the battles had come to an end, he's now forced to recall the events which occurred at the safe house. he curses as his own shortcomings, his inability to think twice about his actions and how they'll affect the future. turning his attention towards something else, he mentally chides himself. what did he care, after all? he didn't do the whole relationship thing, the whole soft and squishy feelings. he was a swordsman, he had a goal and a crew to protect, including you. his thoughts do little to fight off the twinge of possessiveness he feels when he instinctively looks in your direction and catches sight of you holding law's hand as you secured his bandage. something gnaws at his pride, but he pushes it aside for the sake of maintaining his stoic front.

once everyone is healed, a festival, a grand one, is thrown to celebrate the liberation of wano. lanterns illuminate almost every corner, the scent of food wafting through the air as citizens and samurai and pirates all gather around.

dressed in a lovely kimono of your choice, you're more than eager to join in the revelry. the two bottles of sake that you carry in your hands only highlights your enthusiasm. you'd been hanging around with the crew for a while, smiling and laughing, but your mind was elsewhere. zoro thinks, for a split second, that you'll hand him a bottle. despite his aloof nature, he'd always find himself sharing a drink with you at times like this. yet, when you walk in the opposite direction, your smile beaming, your words have him gritting his teeth. "m'gonna go have a drink with law!" you chirp, your excitement palpable.

zoro's jaw clenches as he watches you walk off, his eyes lingering on your figure before he looks away. something simmers beneath the surface, but he keeps it at bay. it's nami's offhand comment that his frustration threatening to boil over.

"don't have too much fun!" she teases, throwing a cheeky smile your way. the others have the nerve to laugh, to egg you on, all while the swordsman relishes in how the alcohol burns his throat.

his knuckles turn white as he grips the neck of his sake bottle, the glass straining against his hold. a plethora of unfamiliar emotions rattle in his chest, but his bullheadedness and pride have him unwilling to budge, even if he wants to grab your arm and pull you back. it wasn't his place.

even when you're out of sight, his eyes subconsciously work to peer through the crowd in an attempt to catch a glimpse of your kimono, your hair, anything. once again, he scolds himself. he had no place to be so... so what? envious? possessive? he was the one to turn you away, after all. regardless, he can't get your smile out of his head. memories of you flood his mind: the banter and the sparring matches at sunset. all of it. just as quickly, he catches himself, bringing his lips to the bottle in a bid to drown out the bitterness on his tongue.

it's nearly a full hour later when you return to the crew, more than buzzed and clinging to the arm of the raven-haired surgeon. he doesn't seem to mind, his furrowed brows and his apathetic expression doing little to hide the blush dusting his cheeks.

glad to be in the company of your crew mates once more, you turn to law and wrap your arms around his waist, your smile so genuine and radiant it makes zoro's chest ache. "thank you traffy!"

the laughter of the rest of the crew echoes in zoro's ears alongside his own thundering heartbeat and boiling blood. what the hell were you doing? a knot forms in his chest, the unfamiliar sensation bringing him a great sense of unease.

he has to force himself to look away, before he realizes that it's not enough. without excusing himself, he stands and walks off towards a more secluded part of the festival. he needs to get away from whatever all that is. he needs to clear his head and heart and steel himself because he shouldn't be focusing on such things.

if you were any more sober, you would've kept your distance. however, it's in your nature to care, to worry and ensure that your crew mates are okay. that's why, as soon as you register the fact that the swordsman is gone, you release your hold on the surgeon and follow after zoro.

it's almost silent, save for the sounds of the festival off in the distance. the streets in this part of the capital aren't as illuminated, but cast enough of a glow for you to see zoro up ahead.

"zoro?" you mumble, attentive despite the alcohol in your system. "what're you doin' all the way out here?" your words are so genuine and full of concern, which makes it all the harder for zoro to respond.

"huh? what does it look like?" he roughly replies, not even bothering to fully face you as he turns his head to the side. "needed a break from all the noise and drunken idiots."

something bubbles in his throat, a lump of guilt that he swallows for the sake of self-preservation. he knows he has no right to be so callous, but can't help the passive-aggressive comment that slips past his lips. "why don't you just go off with that surgeon of yours? seems like better company."

your stomach drops and you take a step back. something wedges itself into your chest, a sense of anxiety and confusion as your mind briefly flickers back to that moment at the safe house. you'd done everything right, hadn't you? you'd given him space and pushed your feelings aside for the sake of the mission, so why this?

your heart starts to race, unable to look him in the eye as you focus your gaze to the side.

"why're you bein' so mean to me...?" you murmur, your hands nervously fidgeting as you await his answer. you just wanted to make things right.

he has to turn away once he catches the hurt on your face. if you were any more sober, you would've caught how he was the one that was truly nervous. the way you threatened to break down the walls he had built for himself has him needing to take control, even if that meant pushing you away.

"m'just being honest." he says, sharper than he means to. "leave me alone. go and enjoy the rest of the damn festival."

regret and longing make his chest throb, but he keeps on his mask of indifference as he takes a step forward and away from you. he wouldn't budge, couldn't.

meanwhile, you stand there, your inhales slowly turning short and ragged. your lips tremble and you fight to hold back sobs, but shortly after, you start to sniffle.

you hated crying, really crying. the crew had seen you shed silly little tears before, maybe over something cute or emotional, but not this. it's something you usually hide away and display in private, but the nature of the situation and the influence of the alcohol have you shedding an uncontrollable amount of tears.

though you shouldn't be, the utter vulnerability of the moment has you feeling embarrassed. you find solace in your sleeves, the kimono becoming damp with tears that don't seem to end. your cheeks sting, rubbed raw as you hide away from him.

zoro's heart drops.

the sound of your sobs is devastating. guilt claws at his chest, threatening to crack him open. when he turns around, all he can feel is regret. the weight of his words, how he treated you, is almost unbearable and makes him feel disgusted with himself.

his mind is racing, wondering what he should do or say to fix this, but he can't come up with an answer. before he can do anything, his mind goes blank at your next words.

"I wish I never got feelings for you." you choke out, unsure if your words are genuine or if you simply wanted to hurt the swordsman. with your shoulders trembling, you continued to cry into your sleeves. "I should've figured that there was nothing in that heart of yours."

deciding that you couldn't stand being in the same vicinity as him anymore, you run off.

he watches you go, his heart screaming at him to go after you, but he can't. the walls crumble and he can't hide anymore, forcing himself to realize that he cares for you so much that it terrifies him. the air is thick with tension, your sobs echoing through the air until they fade away, replaced by the distant sounds of the festival.

regret, self-loathing and longing all swirl in his chest, a torrent of emotion that threatens to swallow him whole.

you don't make it back to the ship that night.

you're too embarrassed and ashamed, not feeling safe enough to be vulnerable. you mentally apologize to the crew, hoping that they aren't too worried.

it isn't until the next morning that you return, or rather, you're returned.

the sun barely peeks over the horizon when law walks aboard the thousand sunny go with you cradled in his arms. you're in a deep sleep, completely exhausted and hungover. you're dressed in some of his clothes, your expression peaceful despite what occurred the night before.

other members of the crew gather around, worried about your well-being, but law is quick to say that you were just hungover and must have gotten lost. however, zoro can tell by the sharp look that law gives him that there was more to the story.

the vice captain grits his teeth, shoulders tensing as he watches law gently carry you over to your quarters.

a part of zoro wants to force law to give him answers, to tear you out of his arms so he could cradle you in his. he should've been the one to care for you, to protect you when you were vulnerable, but he hurt you instead. something else nags at him, the fact that you sought solace in someone else's arms.

law comes out of your room, quietly closing the door before walking down the deck. as he walks by zoro, he doesn't stop, but he shoots him another hardened glare. "you're an idiot, roronoa-ya."

oh, zoro knows.

when you finally awaken, you put on a brave face and tell the rest of the crew that you were sorry about your little slip up. you do well to cover it up with a laugh and smile. you build walls of your own, adamant on not getting hurt again.

it's once the crew is happy and satisfied that you make your way back to your room, your head hanging low as you walk by zoro.

your legs come to a stop and you can only hold his gaze for a second before you look away, just wanting to put this chapter behind you. the ache in your chest grows as you wonder what could've been. your voice is small. "look..." you start, hands bunching up into the borrowed shirt you're wearing. "let's just forget this ever happened and stay friends... alright?"

'forget?' he thinks. 'how can I forget that look on your face? the sounds of your sobs? do you think i'd let you go so easily?'

yet, despite the war raging on inside of him, the words stay stuck in his throat.

"yeah." what am i saying? "just friends."

as he watches you walk back to your room, he feels defeated. pathetic. he wants to say more, to show you that he can be the man you deserve, but for now, he sinks back into his usual habits and wonders what could have been.

he knows that he let something precious slip away.

steeling himself, he holds his heavy heart high. a sliver of determination cuts through his clouded mind and he hopes that, one day, he can make things right.

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader

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jasminumdew · 7 months ago

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Bear & Honey

Bear!Price x Beekeeper!Reader

Tag: fem reader, bear shifter John Price Word count: 638

It’s the second winter you’ll spend in this town. This one seems quite more brutal, with snow filling the ground in the beginning of November. Your beehives are all wrapped up, prepared for the bitter season. The bees started to become less active than in the warmer seasons since there were no flower fields blooming within this town in this temperature. To assist them, you mixed some sugar syrup and left it on the hive-top feeder. The beehives have been here for only half a year, so you’re not the most experienced when it comes to taking care of them. But your neighbor - John Price - was a great helper. You didn’t miss the way his crinkle eyes deepened when you asked him for help building the beehives. He sometimes stops by after work to check the frames or just to have some tablespoons of honey from you. He always offers to help you out, cause “that’s what neighbors are for, right?”.

However, recently you’ve been quite concerned over his health. John seems to be vulnerable to the cold, you thought, for last winter you never saw him go outside. At first you thought he went out of town, but the dim yellow light of the heater through his windows says otherwise. The only interaction was that every two weeks he texted you, pleading with you to buy him some food and a big jar of wild honey. You didn’t mind driving a few extra miles to help your hot, older neighbor a bit. Poor guy, too sick to take care of himself, so you cooked an extra portion every meal then left it at his front porch.

Last Sunday morning John went over your fences. There are bears around in this area lately, he said, though you’ve never seen or heard one, but John’s been living here for so long, so he must be right. Little did you know, the beehives are all destroyed by this early morning. All the honey was licked and devoured, even the frames were chewed and left the scattered debris all over the yard. You choked out a cry, throat tightening and eyes burning red, seeing months of your hard work dying out in front of you. It cannot be fixed, with the majority of the colony being eaten like this. The fences that John set up himself were also smashed by its massive weight.

You immediately call John to come by, in fear of bears still lurking around. The phone keeps beeping but he never answers. Your heart was beating like a drum in your chest, since your houses were so close to each other, could it be that John has already encountered the bear and was attacked by it? You instantly grab the nearby uncapping knife and run to his house. The front door was wide open, deep scratches on the wall and his wallpaper being torn, the smell of grass and honey lingers in the air of his house exposing the presence of the unwanted intruder. Your body shivers, you slowly head to his kitchen where you heard his voice.

“John? Are you okay?”. Before you finished your sentence, you saw John shape-shift into a giant brown bear just a few meters from you. His head snaps to your direction and runs towards you immediately. Before your head can even process what to do next, he pushes you to fall on your back, using his big furry body to pin you down. “Shh, don’t yell, calm down love”. Your lungs are burning from lack of air as you struggle to push him off of you. “I’m sorry for your hives, darling. I was starving, you’ll understand, right? You’ve been such a good girl for me. I can fix it in the spring, but for now, you’ll stay here with me”.

Note: this is my first time writing fiction so I know it's not really good, but I hope you guys had fun reading this.

#john price #captain john price #bear price #john price x reader #john price cod

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merbear25 · 8 months ago

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A still beating heart

Dread and turmoil mix into a deadly elixir which is drunk by the masses. Whilst two wandering souls seek out refuge in this unforgiving world, finding each other by chance feels too good to be true. You’ve started crumbling at the feet of your health complications, and although you are in need of his support, distrust deludes the gift of his companionship.

a/n: This is heavily inspired by the movie Repo! The Genetic Opera because it’s a masterpiece and Caesar would thrive in this world. Divider made by me.

CW: Repo man AU, gn!reader, angst, horror themes (mentions of gore, murder), yandere undertones (kidnapping, possessiveness, Stockholm Syndrome), reader has health conditions, some romance and fluff, no sexual themes.

The city bathed in the moonlight, but even still there were crevices that remained absent from its rays. Having been traced and hunted down, the shadows were the only things to bear witness to the woman’s pleas. Choked cries painted the cold bricks, now weeping for her when no one else would, for the hands that played as judge doubled as her executioner. The predetermined verdict being brought on by a lack of funds had sealed her fate after contracting her life in the hopes that something more would come of it.

Others shared the same lack of foresight: choosing to turn a blind eye to the repercussions if they failed to keep their end of the bargain. Even so, they all willingly gave these cosmetic corporations an ungodly amount of power, which in turn had these lost souls collapsing like dominos—each spreading the word of such wonders being gifted to them all while deluding the dangers which came with it.

As the sprouted weeds in the pavement drank the spilled life, the blood would only stain the hands of the reaper who’d slain and even then, the deed would bear little weight on his conscience. With the sobs of the recently departed fading into the late hours of the night, they received no pity as the man’s hands collected the organ for bounty money.

With such negligence making these companies swell to the brim in cash, it was no wonder why they relied on repo men such as him; casting down on them swiftly while also being morally numb to the horrors they were unleashing were qualities scarcely coupled. However, once found, they would be cherished, perhaps flourishing under the watchful corporal eye.

Trudging through the bleak city, even the sun peeking over the buildings did nothing to relieve this world of the melancholy plaguing it. With such a tarnished reputation, there were few other prospects residing outside this one, whether career wise or personal.

Finding yourself in an elongated hallway, the lights above were dim, just barely giving you leverage to see what lurked beyond. Calling out, there was no answer—there never was, and yet you kept trying to connect with someone, anyone.

The chill pricked at your exposed flesh, making you wince. As you wandered down the hall, you noticed the walls were bare—stripped of the potential portals you could’ve unlocked. With only being given two possible directions, the gravity of the decision was weighing you down, sinking you into the floor. The further you sank, the dimmer the lights were. Isn’t there anyone there? Despite all your might, your words fell silent.

Couldn’t there be a reason for this? Why were you given the short end of things time and time again? The self-loathing only pulled you down deeper into the floorboards, making you gasp for air as you dipped below them.

Drifting in the void of your own dismay, you made one last attempt to cry out, “Who am I meant to be?” The doubt of being able to live in this world without acquiring the essential brutality cascaded on you, further forcing you into the depths of your awaited despair. In a shrill voice, you shrieked, “Isn’t there anyone who can tell me who I am?” Although faint, your desperation made its way to the surface.

A beacon of light lifted your head, enticing you to follow, but the closer you got, the top remained out of reach. With your arms tiring and your will running on fumes, you debated whether or not to push forward. Before being given the choice, your eyes shot open.

Parting your curtains, you were met with thick clouds of smog obstructing your view of the park, albeit the grass and flowers had browned and wilted long ago. Despite promptly reclosing them, it didn’t change the dread that awaited you. No matter how many times you shielded yourself from the reality you were born into, the cruelty of the world persistently seeped through the paned glass with doubts of it ever changing poisoning your already rocky optimism.

In spite of the climbing bills regarding your medication, it was still better than opting out for a heart transplant. After all, going without your medication could be risky, but it paled in comparison to the organ being ripped from your chest. With that in mind, today of all days when the smog seemed to be the thickest it’d been all month, venturing to the pharmacy to retrieve your medication was a necessity.

Even with taking precautions, the polluted air restricted your breathing, tightening your chest as your heart struggled to fight against the harsh conditions. Pushing forward, you kept reminding yourself that the pharmacy wasn’t far, meaning you’d be able to regain your composure once entering. However, upon reaching the door of your temporary sanctuary, the bolt was fastened and no one was inside.

Panic at the unforeseen turn of events set in, looking around in a frenzy made matters worse, as your breathing grew more shallow. Clenching helplessly at the fabric around your form only further drilled hopelessness into you. Staggering along the walls, you stumbled to your knees. Tears beaded at the corners of your eyes as you huddled in a ball on the pavement. As you laid there clutching at your chest, a robed figure came into view before the bleak city surroundings dimmed into a haze.

A barely audible voice crept in as you came to. “What to do, what to do…” Shuffling could be heard in the distance which was then followed by clinking glass. When your eyes fluttered open, the light shining down on you was unpleasantly bright. Squinting from the abrasion, you caught sight of a tall figure in the shadows.

Scanning the surroundings of which the light touched, the understanding that someone had dragged you back to their home jumped out at you. With such a conclusion, other more frightening ones followed suit. Kept for ransom, sold on the black market or forced into slavery: all seemed plausible given the hard times everyone was continuously finding themselves in.

Even when gingerly shifting yourself, creaks of old springs sounded under your subtle movement. Although the figure blended into the dark, the outline was still jagged enough to separate itself from the still backdrop.

As the stranger’s hand eased its way onto the counter top, their head shifted and even though your vision was obstructed by the fluorescent bulb, the dreadful feeling of eyes being on you was unmistakable.

Restraining yourself from shouting for help, demanding answers, and bursting into tears was whirling within you, pulling you in too many directions to focus on one tactic to break free. Instead the trembling dread was kept bottled up, making you shake from the building pressure.

“Don’t get so worked up,” his voice alluded to a disinterest in your wandering thoughts.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Your assertiveness prevailed over quivering lips.

Tilting his head back and forth as if contemplating whether or not to answer, he remained silent.

When you failed to coerce an answer from him, your chest heaved from the burdening assumption that you’d found your eternal resting place. Putting your trust in a higher power that would somehow pull you out of this was like grasping at straws. Such powerful beings had never casted their grace on you before, but they appeared to be the only ones in whom you could place your faith.

Closing your eyes to the terror surrounding you, you said a quick prayer, mumbling your pleas in hope that they’d reach the ears of some pure entity. “Please,” you begged to yourself, “Is this really how I’ll die, Lord?”

A curious smile stretched his lips at your increasingly labored breathing. Turning slightly towards you, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your feeble attempt at appealing to the heavens. “Do you honestly think anyone is listening?”

Refusing to acknowledge his obvious attempt at getting under your skin, you irked him. However, it led him into thinking of your tenacity as a challenge. Inching out of the shadows, his unconcealed contempt burrowed into you.

Leaning down, his words dripped with anticipation of you admitting your lack of faith. He spoke just above a whisper, “Tell me, what kind of God would bestow such hardships onto one as frail as yourself?”

With contorted lips, you failed to stop the tears from streaming down your face. Pressing your forehead against your laced fingers, you were tempted to fall victim to the seeds of doubt he was planting. “There must be someone out there who cares.”

Furrowing his brow, he huffed a bit at your self-pity. “The sooner you realize there isn’t, the happier you’ll be.”

Wiping the stinging sorrow from your eyes, you cautiously asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

Looking down his nose at you, he wondered that himself. “Why indeed.”

Risking a glance, you hastily averted your eyes. His golden orbs were burning into you with searing intensity. His sudden reach made you flinch. He paused briefly before fully extending his arm to the end table. With a soft clink, he retracted from you, yet his eyes held on, studying each subtlety you exuded.

“Drink it,” he commanded. However, his tone shifted slightly when your eyes held distrust. ‘It will help you feel better.”

Seeing as he wasn’t going anywhere until you downed the liquid he gave you, gulping it down left your tongue coated in bitterness. Pleased with your compliance, he allowed you time to rest, giving you some much needed solitude.

Once he left the room, your ears followed his footsteps through the wooden corridor. He hadn’t locked the door, though taking it upon yourself to leave felt more like bait if anything. Instead, you held tight, looking about the room you found yourself in.

With the muffled sounds echoing throughout the house, your curiosity got the better of you. The walls were cool to the touch, leading you to believe you were in the basement and although the room was seemingly empty, there were drawers in the disheveled desk.

Poking around, you dared to uncover any shred of who this man was. Stumbling upon a collection of documents, you unfastened the folder securing them. Thumbing through them carefully, the names of their faceless owners were becoming overwhelming. “Why would he have such papers within his home?” you muttered to yourself.

There were papers containing medical information, addresses, places they frequented, all of which were filling your head with the glaring truth as to who this man was.

Thuds traveled down the hall, alarming you that they were marching your way. Fumbling with the evidence stacked against him, you shoved them into the folder and quietly shut the drawer. Jumping on the sofa, you were just able to control your racing heartbeat in time for him to enter your dwellings.

Closing the door behind him, his gaze was fixated on you as he approached. Before he could get a word in, you spoke out against him holding you there. “When can I leave?”

Stopping in his tracks, he was less than pleased to be greeted with such an ungrateful attitude. “If you want to leave, there’s the door.”

“I can just go? You won’t stop me?” Your questions held your disbelief. When he nodded, something about the situation chilled you to your core.

Smirking at your hesitation, he asked, “What’s wrong?” Watching your eyes dart between the exit and him, he informed you, “There’s no trick, no trap.”

Smiling down at you - as unsettling as it was given the circumstances - gave you an ounce of courage to motion off the sofa.

“If you’re sure in your abilities to find your way back without any help or medication, then by all means, you have my word to let you go.”

The fact of the matter was you were in no position to go anywhere, and he wanted you to understand that. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your forehead against them.

With triumph wafting off of him, he glided towards you, requesting you to tilt your head up. He patted your knees, signaling you to put them down to allow him an easier time checking your vitals. Checking your eyes and pulse, his hands then wandered over the sides of your ribcage.

Inhaling sharply, he asked if the pressure hurt. Truth be told you weren’t quite sure if the gasp was brought on by pain or the sudden touch. Letting him know that there was a slight pain issued for more probing: his fingers pressed at the front and back of you in an attempt to find any other pockets of discomfort. When none were left, he leaned back to fully take in the marvel you were presenting yourself as.

With a slight nod, he whispered, “Good.” Getting up, he looked back at you. “If you’re in no hurry to leave, you can either spend the rest of your time down here or I can show you where the spare bedroom is.”

Despite his gracious offer to extend more of his home to you, the aura emitting from him gave you reason to proceed with caution.

When you absentmindedly bit your lower lip, he shrugged off your doubt. “Stay in this room, don’t stay in this room, it makes no difference to me.”

“No!” Your own burst of enthusiasm made you recoil. “I-I’d be grateful for a room.”

Ushering you to follow him, his chuckles trailed alongside the both of you. Reaching the top of the stairs, the lavish style all but took your breath away. The embroidery along the ceiling and the fine details on the furniture had you awe-struck.

“Who’d you have to kill to be able to afford all of this?”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is. Well, so long as you know how to play your cards right.”

Leading you to the door you’d be calling yours for the time being, he followed on your heels as you aimlessly sauntered into the room. A sense of pride swelled within him, while he watched you stand there mouth agape.

The ivory window sills complimented by the forest green curtains suited the cream-colored carpet and speckled bits of gold across the wallpaper. Sitting yourself down on the bed, comfort and serenity dispersed around you, having you pondering if you ever wanted to go back to your decrepit apartment.

Folding your hands in your lap, you looked at him with a sincere smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

The gentleness to your demeanor pierced his once thought to be dead heart, reigniting the life lying dormant within it. In a meek attempt at hiding his contentment from your appreciation, a short nod was all you were issued as he swiftly left you alone with your thoughts.

Grinning, you threw yourself back on the clouds surrounding you. Being under the crushing weight of the world for as long as you had, there’d been little to dream about. However, this was the first moment in perhaps a decade or more when fresh air was allowed into your life, soothing your woes.

Such ease washed over you, their waves carrying you out to sea. Although the tide started out calm, the storm clouds on the horizon were cause for concern. The rough water crashed into your boat, forcing you to brace yourself against the oncoming malice.

Pouring rain blinded you to the tidal wave gaining speed in the distance. The full weight of it submerged you deep beneath sea level, forcing the air out of you on impact. As you thrashed your way towards the surface, your body gave out, going limp in the storm ridden waters.

Lifting your eyelids, you stirred under the covers. The streetlamps were shining through the crack between the curtains. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you looked around for a clock. Carefully making your way down the steps, there appeared to be no sign of your host anywhere.

Stumbling around to the front windows, headlights bathed the parlor. Thinking it must be him, peeking out came instinctively. A long black latex trench coat was cloaked over him, his long hair partly matted to it after having fallen out of the ponytail it was thrown up in.

There was no denying who those uniforms belonged to—the repo men who stalked the streets. The nail in your coffin was being hammered in as he stepped across that threshold.

For a moment, he hadn’t even noticed you standing there. Taking his coat off gingerly so as not to loosen any missed droplets of blood onto the floor, your trembling form caught his attention.

“What are you doing awake?”

“I was just…I couldn’t sleep is all.”

Folding his coat over his arm, he sauntered across the arch way, keeping his eyes on you. “Shouldn’t you know it’s bad manners to snoop in your host’s home?”

“I wasn’t snooping, I promise!”

Him disappearing around the corner caused the hair on the back of your neck to rise. His footsteps were no longer audible and the still of the night was deafening.

“What are you most afraid of at this moment?” His voice seemed to be everywhere at once, leaving you feeling completely surrounded.

“I’m afraid of dying,” you choked out. With the room closing in on you, you were backed into the corner.

“And what is it that you want most of all?”

The tightening in your chest was making you dry heave from the stampede of terror trampling you. While you struggled to control your breath, you sank down to the floor. His stoic form stepped into the night’s rays peeking through, his golden eyes being illuminated by the cross light.

“I don’t want to think about the pain I’m feeling anymore.”

“Then why not let me lighten your load?” You showed a shred of reluctance, which invited him to kneel down by your side. “You can either accept my help and my conditions, or you can become another forgotten name lost to time.”

Offering you his hand, you saw no better option waiting for you, even if placing your faith in this man was contractual.

“Why did you help me?”

“It was a lapse in judgment.”

“But why do you continue to do so?”

He did not answer, only letting the air between you grow stale. You were being given the opportunity to interpret the nonsensical ways of his generosity, although this wouldn’t go without pitfalls of suspicion.

Looking at the hand he was still offering you, you threw caution to the wind and placed your hand in his. When your eyes met, a somewhat genuine smile stretched upon his face while he gently eased you up from the floor.

With the days and nights spent with him on seamless rotation, the unknown reason of him permitting you to stay with him burdened you. There were times that you wondered that perhaps the logic behind it was lost even to him. But the longer you remained with him, the more uneasy you got. Not understanding why, you were there left questions to build up in the darkest corners of your mind: “When could he lose interest?”, “What could make him lose interest?” and the grave reality of “What will happen to me if he loses interest?”

Dark clouds swirled above from the lack of clarity of where you stood with him. As bleak of motivation as it was, it made you contribute around the house, trying to add to whatever worth he originally saw in you, eventually leading him to taking you under his wing of professional guidance.

Despite the unwavering gratitude you had for him, being in his debt had hooked into your immortal soul. With the metal having sunk into your flesh, you were being brought down to the brimstone lined caverns where he was.

Through the anguish you kept secret from him, you persevered, allowing an unwanted yet natural talent you held to unearth itself.

As your lack-luster eyes fell on the fading life sprawled at your feet, he sensed you pulling away from the life you were building together on the backs of those who closely resembled yourself.

“Do not pity those who knew the risks, yet did nothing to prevent them. Time eats all his children in the end, my dear.” His words, albeit cruel, rang true. With each moment shared together, his disdain for the world and those in it wore off on you more and more.

Self-loathing emitted off of you and was misplaced onto him, souring the air. “I cannot help it, but when I look at you, I grow distasteful. The ruthlessness you cast is only seen as mercy to yourself.”

Taken aback by you bearing such a festering grudge against him - the man who’d shown you the utmost kindness - made him grind his teeth. Frowning at you, he spoke without having first collected his thoughts. “And yet here you are by my side. Here you are soaked in the blood of the less fortunate, and you have the gall to throw blame onto me?”

Closing the gap between you, his breath was hot against your ear. “You’ve willingly shredded any ounce of innocence you held over me long ago. Tread lightly, for you’re beginning to reek of self righteousness.” His warning lingered in your ears.

Maneuvering through this minefield was wearing on you. Caught up in your own self-indulgent pity party, you nearly missed glimmers of him being heavily affected by such barriers separating the two of you. Even if his demeanor was rigid and his stare cold, there was a sense of feeling isolated emanating around him.

He sat in his armchair, while he mulled over the precarious justification of having dragged you here all those months ago. Following your descent down the stairs, he drummed his fingers on his pursed lips, leading himself to believe this was to be your farewell to him.

Ignoring the daggers behind his eyes, you kept in mind that he was just as damaged by this world as you were. “I’ve come to apologize.”

Cautiously lowering his guard, you’d piqued his interest. “I see how my behavior has been unjustifiably disgraceful towards you and the second chance you gave me.”

Seeing his eyes wandering over you, you proceeded. “You’ve helped me understand that in this world, one must take center stage and you can either steal the spotlight or fade into the background.”

Choking back the rising emotion, you divulged your soul to him, “I don’t want to fade with the others.”

“You won’t have to.” Easing out of his chair, he opened his arms to you. Holding each other tightly, it dawned on you that this was the first embrace you ever shared.

While his hands caressed your emotionally drained form, your frets were plucked out of you, leaving behind tranquility. “This feels nice,” you admitted in a hushed tone.

Humming at the comfort you found in his touch, such affection was surreal for the life he led. As your arms wrapped around him, he smirked at the resolution to the issues you shared. Looking up at him, his thumb stroked your cheek. His words carried such delicacy, “I trust this means you have no intention of leaving me?”

“I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Two souls deemed undesirable by society.” Leaning down, his lips briefly ghosted yours. “What better match could I have asked for?” Sealing your union with a long-overdue kiss, any lingering doubts of who you thought you were supposed to be dissipated. The ash of your former self, along with your prior morals, circled you as your kiss deepened. Collecting at your feet, you paid them no mind.

The man who’d brought forth a new perspective on this dreary world captivated you. Together you would stay in the spotlight, sharing it as you danced under its beam. Your devotion to each other would keep the shadows at bay, for your adoration would outlast their persistent attempts at tearing you down with the others who were being forgotten to time.

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beastlybardou · 1 year ago

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The Aesthetics of Identity and Self Imposed Homesickness

As I worked on a playlist for myself and my werewolf identity, I came across something that I had never noticed before: the way that the aesthetics I associate with my identity make me feel more out of place in my current life.

I associate my werewolf identity with, well, probably the same things most people associate wolves and werewolves with. Frigid cold mountain ranges, dark frozen forests of birch and pine, bubbling streams lined with fern and moss, the bugle of elk and growls of bears, the absence of humanity for miles upon miles - the cold, isolated wilderness of the north. Engaging with these aesthetics makes me feel euphoric and at home. You can imagine then how it feels to get offline and live in the burning hot ranch-land plains of Texas. There are no mountains here, no birch and pine, no rushing springs, no lush fern nor moss, no elk, no bears, none of it.

So what to do then when the comfort of my kind's home is locked away behind a screen or a hundred dollar plane ticket?

Well for a good while I contented myself with the answer "suffer". But y'know I really don't think that is the best solution. The feeling of discontent in your surroundings and intense species dysphoria actually feels, well, kind of romanticized in our community, like the suffering makes your identity more real, but I think for me what really makes my identity shine is bringing it away from the online world and into the real one, even if what is around me isn't exactly the environment I prefer. I think a better answer is to do what wolves and humans have always done best: adapt. There is no reason that I shouldn't romanticize the aesthetics of the land that I do have around me through a werewolf perspective. That's where the playlist I was working on comes in. All this kind of "clicked" in a way for me driving down a long ranch road at sundown listening to Prowler by Coyote Kid which I had just added to my playlist on recommendation without listening to it first. Its southern gothic vibes mixed with werewolfery caught my attention immediately, because I noticed what I felt in that moment was a kind of species euphoria usually reserved for visits to the mountains. I was at home in my species *and* my environment. The dark dusky skies darkening over fields of cattle and juniper forests, the scent of sun baked straw and dust warming my snout, the hot evening breeze ruffling my fur - it all suddenly felt like home.

That feeling did quickly fade, but it gave me a glimpse of the fact that I am capable of feeling at home here. That I can be just as much, or even more, of a werewolf when I'm enjoying this land as I am when I'm made miserable by it and my homesickness. So from now on I am going to try to embrace the aesthetics and activities of the place that I am, rather than the place I wish I was. I'll be the beast lurking in the ranch lands and along the country roads, the snarl from in the grass much to deep to be a coyote, the mysterious paw prints littering the dust of your destroyed barn. And I can treat living near humans the same way. I will never fit in with humans. I try not to get too misanthropic about it, but I just won't. That doesn't mean I can't exist on the fringes of their society. Infiltrator. Beast hidden in the crowd. I can wear their mask and be proud of my ability to do so. I don't have to feel crushed by it when I know I am always just biding my time to meet others of my kind and let myself free when I am alone.

I know it might seem strange for a simple shift of aesthetics to be so impactful, but in this community especially, aesthetics and symbolism are such a foundational building block of self image and of how you interact with the community itself. And I suppose even then really this is less about the shift in self image around aesthetics and more about the refusal to continue participating in the misery olympics of "how homesick and species dysphoric can I be".

I am a wolf. We adapt.

#nonhuman #werewolf #endel #canine kin #therian #alterhuman #werewolf writings

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 1 year ago

Note

yesss pleaseeee write the stalker!jean y/n as a drabble!!! like Jean is just soo 😫i just know he would be a good asl stalker, especially since he is super tall and mysterious 😫

lurk

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader

word count: 1.7k +

a/n: i didnt proof read this but also this came out super cute but like also terrifying but ily pookie bear jean

tw: stalking, manipulation, drinking, etc

it was cold tonight, nearly below freezing in shiganshina. you hated the cold, you dreaded being bundled up in a billion layers only to still be shivering. however, it was almost christmas and you were running behind on shopping. fortunately for you, the streets were quiet. nobody wanted to be out in this weather. you weren't afraid of the dark. often times, you embraced the peace that came from walking the street alone at night. despite being a woman, shiganshina was a relatively safe city.

the streets and sidewalks were lined with a thing layer of snow with flurries still falling from the sky. there's a glow of warmth from the street lines as you duck into the nearest store. it's a small boutique that's much warmer than outside. there are mannequins strewn about, various pieces on displays and a small jewelry section in the back. you decide to head to the back of the store and work your way up front.

despite being a small array of options, the jewlery they had was beautiful. you pick up a small white box were two silver earrings in the shape of hearts like. you frown as you slide a finger down the side of the container. they were pretty, but it wasnt something your mother would like and that's who you were here for, after all. you ponder getting them for yourself but your face drops when you remember your budget. you sigh and put them back on the shelf while you put your mother first.

as you set them down, you can't shake the feeling of being watched. no, you were definitely being watched. you slowly turn your head around and an exhale when you don't see anybody with their eyes on you. just a few other women browsing about and the shop owner who's ringing up a tall man's purchase. you shake your head. christmas time was always stressful for you and it's certainly showing now.

after finding a suitable necklace for your mom, you bring it up to the cashier. the cashier is a sweet, older lady who is smiling as hard as she can. you feel bad that she has to be out at work during the cold and make small talk about how you'll need to do your holiday baking tomorrow. she laughs and tells you that she's running behind too, and that she's sure you'll get your cookies done in time.

the walk back to your apartment building isn't so bad despite the howling wind. you remind yourself to be thankful for the snow, knowing the toll global warming would eventually take. on the opposite side of the street, there's a nice black car with tinted windows. you take a moment to wonder who was lucky enough to drive such a luxurious car, as you've seen it around town before. quite often actually. although, you've never seen it on your street before. you didn't live in the nicest part of town and you assume it must be somebody's family member visiting for the holidays. you head into the builiding, unaware of the pair of eyes staring at you from within the car.

unfortunately, the next day isn't any warmer. you're smart this time and decide to go shopping early in the day instead of having to brave the cold, harsh night. you drive to the nearest grocery store; your kitchen was tragically empty and lacking all of the ingredients needed to make your famous christmas cookies.

in the baking aisle of the store, you stare at the plethora of options that could either make or break your dessert. you grab a bag of chocolate chips and peanut butter chips. you spin on your heel, ready to move farther down the aisle. classically, you bump right into somebody and unfortunately the carton of eggs you had tucked under your arm before coming to this aisle heads straight to the ground. the lid pops open and eggs fall out, cracking on the ground. ultimately, they crack and the yolks splatter onto your shoes and up your paint leg a little. you let out a gasp and look up into the eyes of a handsome stranger.

his hazel eyes widen as he looks at splattered eggs on your clothing. "i'm so sorry, i didn't see you there." he looks for a way to help you but he's failing.

"it's fine," you sigh. "it's christmas time and we're all in a rush. plus, i'm a little clumsy." you blush as you feel his eyes give you a once over. you clear your throat and his eyes come back up to land on yours.

"i'm the clumsy one this time. i really am sorry. could i at least pay for your stuff?" he tilts his head. you realize just how tall he is as he looms over you, waiting for an answer.

"no, that's alright, really. it's my fault, i told you i'm clumsy. stuff like this happens to me alot." you admit, turning more red by the second. he laughs and rubs the back of his neck. his laugh is deep and hearty.

"oh, c'mon, how else are those cookies going to get made?"

"how did you know i was going to make cookies?" you ask, raising a brow at him. he clears his throat and points at the bags in your arms.

"you're in the baking aisle, after all. eggs and chocolate chips are also two of the most important things when it comes to cookies." he laughs and you feel embarrassed at your stupid question. obviously he knew you were going to be baking, it's that time of year and you are holding the ingredients for them. you laugh with him and choose to accept his generosity, appreciating not having to spend your own money, especially since it was a little tight right now.

after picking out a new carton of eggs, you and the handsome stranger head to the check out line. "my names jean, by the way." he says as he hands the clerk his card. he looks down at you.

"i'm (y/n)." you tell him. he nods his head. he hands you the plastic bag filled with your now paid for groceries. you two walk out of the store together when all of a sudden, he stops you.

"this might be a little cliche and a little too fast, but would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow? just feel really bad 'bout the eggs 'n all." he shrugs as he makes sure his joke lands.

you know what, what the hell?

"sure, jean."

after exchanging numbers, you two head off in your own separate directions. back at your apartment, the fancy car is still there, just in a slightly different position. you think about how nice it must be to have family come to visit as you head inside.

tomorrow night comes quicker than expected. you had knots in your stomach all morning and you find them still lingering into the evening. you take your time getting ready for your date with jean and you can't shake the feeling of anxiety nestling into your chest.

later on, you park your car at the restaurant jean had texted you to meet him at. it's a high end restaurant and you're relieved you chose to wear one of your nicest dresses and an overcoat. as you make your way to the front door, you see that same black car, tucked neatly into one of the back parking spots. you shake your head as you head into the restaurant.

jean is dressed to the nines. if you thought he was handsome yesterday, you thought he fucking looked deadly tonight. if looks could kill.

jean smiles as you take a seat across from him. you give him a shy smile as you watch him take in your appearance. there's a glimmer of hunger in his eyes that makes you want to sink into your seat. you're self conscious as his eyes devour you but his words come out so calmly. "you look really good."

"thank you." quiet are the words that manage to come from your lips.

you spend the evening making talk of all sort of topics ranging from the weather to the casual, heated arguments about aliens and if they existed or not. you really enjoy your time, finding it n yourself to indulge in a bottle of wine. jean offers to pay for the entire meal as your plates becomes empty. you laugh and make a joke about how rich he must be. he just chuckles in return.

you start to realize just how drunk you are. the heat in your cheeks is radiating and you feel like you're vibrating, just a little. jean hasn't taken his eyes off you once.

"before you go," he starts. he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, white box. "i got you something. now, i know we just officially met but i couldn't help myself."

the words go right over your head as you reach across the table for the little container. you take the lid off and gasp. the pair of little, silver hearts from the store the other night. you become a stuttering mess. "h-how did you.."

your brain begins to move a thousand miles a minute, flashing different pictures your eyes have collected the last few days. it's the black car you've seen all over town. the tall man in the boutique. the black car parked on your street. the feeling of being watched. the cookies. the earrings. the car in a different position.

your words fall out in a whisper as you drop the box onto the table. "you..." jean tilts his head and smirks. he can see the realization in your eyes and the hunger in his grows. you feel helpless in this crowded restaurant, not wanting to make a scene. he watches your rosy cheeks turn pale.

"me? what about me, (y/n)?" his words are condescending.

"you've been watching me. stalking me." you hiss under your breath, hoping it comes out as confident but jean picks up on the shakiness on your voice.

"hmm..? what was that?" you can see the thrill he's getting. you don't answer him. you reach to where you set your phone on the table at the beginning of the date. it isn't there. “oh, my silly (y/n.) you've drank a whole bottle of wine. just however will you get home?"

my jean fanfiction

my ko-fi

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oneshotnewbie · 5 months ago

Text

Cult Victim - Part 2

Criminal Minds x Reader

⚠️Trigger Warning for the whole series⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of blood, kidnapping, torture, sacrifice, depression, needles, injections, drugs, and those plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Your thoughts slowly returned from the darkness. A dull pain throbbed in your head and your body felt heavy and sluggish. You blinked several times to see the blurry world around you more clearly. The memories of your abduction came back like a paralyzing shock and you forced yourself to be alert.

You were no longer lying on the floor but on a wide, old-fashioned bed covered with a heavy bedspread. The room around you was silent and strangely familiar, as if it were a relic from a bygone era known only from books. The walls were paneled with dark wood and heavy curtains covered the windows, through which only a faint, muted light filtered. The room was filled with a hint of damp and cold that crept through the thick brickwork of the old building.

You forced yourself to stand up, your muscles protesting the movement and your wrists still bearing the marks of the shackles. You rubbed your sore spots as you took in the surroundings.

The room was tastefully decorated, if with a morbid sense of aesthetics. A massive dark wood wardrobe sat in one corner, next to an antique desk stacked with carefully placed notes and books. The furniture exuded a ghostly elegance, but what was really disturbing were the paintings and sculptures that decorated the room.

The walls were covered in eerie images. One depicted a dark forest with shadowy figures moving among the trees. Another depicted a woman trapped in a labyrinth while menacing figures lurked from the shadows. You stepped closer to examine the details, and it hit you that the images were more than just works of art; they were disturbing depictions of the Brotherhood's crimes. Each wall seemed to contain the screams of the victims, and a cold shiver ran down your spine.

In the middle of the room stood a sculpture depicting a fallen angel, its wings broken as if it had been swallowed by a hellish abyss. The intensity of the image was so strong that you involuntarily recoiled.

Slowly you began to realize that you were in a building of historical significance. It was more than just a mansion, it was a former sanatorium, hidden deep in the woods, far from any civilization. The place was surrounded by an unsettling silence, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the screams of the patients who were once treated here.

You felt a knot of fear in your stomach, but you pushed back the panic. You had to stay strong, keep a clear head to figure out where you were and how to escape. You couldn't afford to give in to despair.

A quiet crash and creak made you turn around. The massive locks on the back of the room's wooden door were opened, the door slowly pushed open as a woman entered. It was Lucien Kane, the leader of the Brotherhood you had already met. Her presence immediately filled the room and you felt the cold threat emanating from her.

"Good morning, y/n," Lucien said in her bright, calm voice, as if she seemed to be trying to start a friendly conversation. Her eyes, dark green and inscrutable, rested on you as she let the door slam shut behind her.

You stood up straight, your shoulders broad, your senses on high alert. "Where did you take me?" you asked sharply, watching every single movement and muscle twitch on her face.

Lucien smiled slightly, as if she was amused by your directness. "Welcome to the House of Silence, our humble headquarters," she said, spreading her arms as if presenting a stage. "It used to be a sanatorium, a place of healing and secrets. Now it serves as a sanctuary and a monument to our beliefs and goals."

You resisted the urge to back away, your jaw clenched. "Your beliefs and goals? You mean terror as a prayer and murder as a goal?"

The woman in front of you tilted her head as if hearing a particularly interesting question and answer she had never heard before. "We consider it more of a type of... art. A form of expression that changes the world. But enough of that, I hope your stay here will be enlightening for you."

You felt the anger rising in you again, your eyes flashing with deep disgust. "The only thing that will light up here is the barrel of my gun once I put an end to this whole thing."

She stepped closer and leaned in slightly, her voice just a whisper in your ear. "You underestimate me and overestimate yourself. You won't get out of here until you decide to be one of us."

You returned her gaze without blinking, the hardness in your eyes visible and impossible to break. "I will never be one of you. Never."

Lucien straightened up, an eerie laugh pierced the air and made the walls shake. "Your determination is admirable, but you are alone here. Think about how you could join the inevitable change. We could really use your intelligence here," she turned and walked through the threshold before stopping. "I will break you, y/n. And there is no one to stop me from doing so."

With that, the door slammed shut with a dull thud, the locks all locked, leaving you behind. You felt the effects of the drugs you had been given slowly creeping up. A dull numbness fought its way to the forefront and began to permeate your consciousness, and reality warped into a surreal nightmare. The walls seemed to breathe, and the shadows seemed to move as if they had a life of their own. The paintings on the walls whispered in a foreign language you did not understand, and the face of the fallen angel in the sculpture seemed to change in a constant expression of pain and rapture.

You tried to organize your thoughts, but the drugs blurred the line between reality and madness, making you woozy and disoriented. Images from your past kept resurfacing - old cases, unsolved crimes, faces of victims and perpetrators, all mixed together in a kaleidoscope of horror. The voices in your head began to whisper, scream, and laugh as you fought against the looming despair.

Lucien Kane came to you every hour to continue the psychological game she had started with you. Sometimes she would sit quietly next to you and watch you lose your mind, sometimes she would stand in the shadows, watching you from the darkness. Her goal was to break you, and she would take every opportunity to test your mental strength.

"How long do you think you can fight off the madness, y/n?" she asked that evening as she sat down at the desk with a cup of tea and her dinner in hand. Her gaze was intense, her words honeyed, yet full of venom.

You, holding your ground despite the drugs in your system, replied with slurring words and falling slack. "I have seen things in the four years of my service, Lucien, that far exceed your imagination. This is just another fight. And I'm not giving up."

"Interesting," she replied as she took a sip from her cup. "I think you're underestimating the power of the mind again, y/n. If you let it, madness can be liberating."

You knew she was trying to get into your mind to make you doubt yourself. But you refused to give up. The memories of your team, the cases you'd solved, and the victims you'd brought justice to gave you the strength to fight off the further craziness that captivated you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

At headquarters, Emily decided to search your apartment with JJ. They hoped to find clues there that they had missed in the office. After all, they had noticed several times that you took home various folders and pieces of paper that they had never seen before.

"Maybe she has something in her apartment that will help us," said the blonde as she opened the door to your apartment with a separate key that you had given her for security.

Your apartment was tidy, almost clinical, but when the two women entered your study, they immediately recognized the intensity of your obsession with the case. An entire wall was covered with notes, photos and newspaper articles, all related to the Brotherhood.

"Wow," Emily said quietly, stepping closer to examine the details, gently running her fingers over the red wool threads that crisscrossed the wall. "She collected all of this herself?"

JJ nodded, her eyes wandering over the wall. "She was apparently deeper into this case than we thought. It looks like she made connections we hadn't even noticed."

"She took it personally," Emily said, looking at a photo of Lucien Kane that was displayed in A5 format in the middle of the wall. "Maybe she discovered something we missed."

With that, she picked up a notepad that was on your desk and flipped through the pages. "She kept detailed records of the Brotherhood's movements. She knew they were more dangerous than anyone thought."

JJ sighed, her eyes wandering over the countless connections you had made. "That explains why she was so obsessed. She knew these people were a threat to all of America."

"We have to share everything we found here with the others," Emily said firmly. "She was close, and maybe we can pick up where she left off."

With the notes and findings from your apartment, the two returned to headquarters. They knew that the information they had found could be crucial to saving you and stopping the Brotherhood.

But the realization that you were so deeply involved in the case also made them realize that the danger you were in was even greater than they had previously thought. Now that they realized the full extent of your obsession, it was all the more urgent to find you quickly.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team had gathered in the FBI conference room, each of them struggling with the frustration and fear that came with your disappearance. The air was tense and the agents' faces reflected the gravity of the situation.

Spencer Reid sat at his desk, surrounded by a flood of files and notes from the last few months full of clues about the Brotherhood. He stared at his computer screen, tirelessly scouring for information that might point to your whereabouts. The pressure to find his partner was weighing heavily on him. He had let you go alone and not insisted on going with him.

"We need to find out how they could have fooled us. How they could have fooled y/n," Luke Alvarez said, staring at the map that marked the Brotherhood's known activities. "There has to be a clue somewhere that we missed."

"We're dealing with a group that is well organized and highly dangerous," Reid added, flipping through the report you had put together back then. "They managed to hack our system and lure her into a trap."

Tara stood with his arms crossed, his expression thoughtful. "We know that Lucien Kane is the leader and that she is a master manipulator. It is likely that she is using y/n as leverage against us."

"That means they are watching us," Rossi interjected. "Every step we take could bring them closer to their goal and force y/n to her death."

The psychological strain of the case was obvious to the team. They had all been through many difficult cases before, but the personal connection to you made this case particularly challenging. The constant fear that they might be too late haunted them in every decision they made.

"She's strong," Rossi spoke again, his voice determined. "We all know y/n. She's a fighter. But we have to find a way to find her before it's too late."

"We've already checked everything we have-" Luke sighed, and was immediately interrupted by a female voice. "Not everything," JJ said, throwing the files onto your empty desk. "These are y/n's personal files and information gathered from her apartment."

Garcia, who was working tirelessly on her computer, suddenly turned around, her eyes wide with excitement. "I have something! I found her GPS data from her car. It's parked in a remote area on the outskirts of town."

"That could be a lead," Tara thought, immediately setting off. "We have to go there, let's go. If she's in trouble, we might not have much time."

"It could be a trap," Rossi warned, but stood up to rush off as well. "We have to be prepared for anything."

The minutes passed as the team prepared to search the potential hideout. They were aware of the dangers that awaited them. As they left the building, each of them had the seriousness of getting you home safely in their eyes. But deep down they knew that every second counted.

When they reached the remote location fifteen minutes later, they saw your car parked abandoned from afar. The area was gloomy and surrounded by tall trees, giving an eerie feeling of isolation. "It looks like she just left the car here," JJ said, examining the ground around the vehicle.

Emily drew her weapon and signaled the team to stay alert. "Let's split up and check the whole factory. There must be clues somewhere."

Reid spotted the still open door to one of the factories and whistled the others over as he headed inside the building. "This way. It looks like someone went through there."

As they followed Spencer, they came across various machines. Not far from some footprints on the dusty floor, Reid spotted a syringe on an old box that was lying used in the middle. "Oh no..." muttered Emily, who had followed right at his feet and bent down to take a closer look at the find. "That would have disabled them..."

"Damn!" Luke cursed, clenching his fist as he continued to shine the flashlight into every dark corner. "We're too late."

Emily pulled on one of the disposable gloves from her pocket and picked up the syringe, examining it more closely. "We're taking it with us to be sure. But that means she was here."

The team knew they were dealing with a threat they didn't fully understand, and that the price of any mistake they made could be their colleague's life.

But they were determined to overcome any challenge that stood in their way and free you from the clutches of the Brotherhood. The hunt had begun, and they would not rest until they had achieved what they needed to.

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cha-melodius · 9 months ago

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Fic Pride Weekend

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

@kiwiana-writes tagged me for "Fic Pride Friday" but let's face it, no one is actually doing this on a Friday anymore and Fic Pride should go the whole weekend.

So I decided to try to give some superlatives—my favorite action sequence, my favorite kiss, my favorite love confession, my favorite comedy moment, etc etc. But the problem was I came up with a LOT of superlatives! Oh well. A few up top, and the rest below the cut. Oh, and there are some spoilers below, so be warned!

Favorite Shouted Love Confession: Love is a Losing Game

“Then what, Illya?” Napoleon demands sharply, frustration heating his face. “What exactly was the problem?” “I love you, Napoleon!” Illya nearly shouts, the words ringing loudly in quiet of the club, and the silence that follows is only broken by Illya’s ragged breaths as Napoleon stares at him in shock. Illya closes his eyes, as if trying to steady himself, and when he opens them again the raw vulnerability in them is startling. “I love you,” he says again, with something like resignation in his voice, “and when they told me you quit I thought I would never see you again, and— and that was not something I could bear.”

Favorite Action Sequence (Duo): This Hell of a Season

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the headlamp rapidly approaching. He’s not sure if it will be fast enough. Henry watches as the dark shape of the man, little more than a shadow under the meagre moonlight, shifts slightly out from behind the hedges again. A few more shots, fired near where the shadow lurks, buys Henry some time, but Alex’s approach feels impossibly slow, as if he were travelling through treacle. One heartbeat passes. Two. Three. Four. The motorbike gets close enough to bathe Henry in a wash of yellow-tinted light; he’s now far too tempting a target, and the man shifts out from behind his cover again. Alex nearly puts the bike on its side as he skids into a stop, cutting the lamp at the last minute and plunging them into darkness. “Here!” he yells, and Henry flings himself in his direction, nearly blind after the brightness of the headlamp.

Favorite Action Sequence (Solo): A Good Man is Hard to Find

Pulling a rope off his belt, Mobius ties it securely around the empty window frame then measures out what he guesses is the right length before attaching the other end to his belt again. On the other side of the table, the guards have stopped firing, but he has no doubt they’ll be advancing on him now that they’ve realized that he’s not shooting back. He’ll need to stand up to be able to jump out far enough, which unfortunately means making an easy target of himself for at least a few seconds. He peeks around the table and sends a couple of bullets toward their feet, which succeeds in making them scatter and retreat backwards. Then, holding onto the window frame for support, Mobius takes a deep, steadying breath and rises to his feet. In the second before he jumps, the guards start shooting at him again and a bullet tears through the outside of his upper arm, but he barely feels it past the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He launches himself out as far as he can until he feels the rope snap tight at his belt, punching the breath out of his body. The line starts swinging him in an arc down toward the window, and he twists wildly as he tries desperately to orient himself in the air. Just before he smashes into the huge sheet of plate glass, he manages to fire twice into it and, in a rain of glass, crashes back into the building two floors down. The shouts of the guards are audible from above, as is the sound of running feet; no doubt they’re already heading back down the stairs. Mobius scrambles up and over toward the delivery entrance where he and Sylvie first came in, smearing the blood that’s dripping down his arm along the floor and doorway in a trail. Satisfied at the feint, he takes off toward the utility room and gets through the door, closing it carefully behind him.

Favorite Car Chase: The Hardest Cut (continues from here, hard to put the whole thing in!)

They turn again, away from the courthouse, and Mobius can unmistakably feel the horrible cocktail of adrenaline and dread that floods into his veins. Loki doesn’t answer his question, but his hands tighten on the steering wheel as he stares fixedly out the windshield, knuckles going painfully white. “You’re starting to worry me, you know,” Mobius says with a nervous chuckle, like it’s a joke. “Little heads up on what we’re doing would be great right about now.” Finally, Loki glances sideways at him—once, twice, then a third, lingering look—then he takes a deep, shuddery breath like he’s coming to a decision. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears emphatically, then jerks the wheel hard to the right, sending them fishtailing into a wild skid and down an alley that looks entirely too narrow. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

Favorite Moment of Slapstick Comedy: The Makings of a Perfect Christmastime

Waverly, on the other hand, looks surprisingly unperturbed. “Oh, I know,” he says, incredibly. “Because what it looks like is that my war hero is playing home-wrecker to my star author’s marriage.” He looks pointedly at Illya, who’s mouth opens wordlessly as he flushes a deep scarlet, before his gaze slide back to Napoleon. “But that’s not actually what’s happening here, is it?” Napoleon’s mind is whirring as he tries desperately to figure out what the hell is going on, but before he can think of anything that might offer some kind of reasonable explanation, the door to the kitchen opens again. “I’m hoping that the fact that you didn’t come back to the room means you were getting laid and not in here cooking all night,” Gaby says as she comes in, so focused on the coffee that she doesn’t even see Waverly standing off to the side. For a moment, no one moves, until she turns with a mug of coffee in her hand, spots Waverly, and proceeds to drop it on the floor.

Favorite Wrestling Scene: Double Dutch with a Hand Grenade

Two can play, and all that, and he is not having this conversation on his back. Not when Illya has been seemingly holding all the cards to this point. He cants his hips under Illya—slowly, deliberately—and is gratified when his partner’s eyes go wide. More importantly, the distraction makes his grip on Napoleon’s wrists loosen. Napoleon yanks his hands down, out of Illya’s hold, then slams the heel of his palm hard into his sternum. Illya grunts in pain and surprise, shoulders curling inward, which gives Napoleon enough of an opening to grab the front of his t-shirt and roll them both sideways until Illya’s back thunks hard against the mat. It’s Illya’s turn to glare up at him, still grimacing. Napoleon has effectively reversed their positions, pinning Illya’s wrists to the mat over his head, though he hasn’t managed to secure his lower body. Instead, Illya’s legs are wrapped around his waist, preventing him from maneuvering or getting any better leverage for a subsequent attack. Of course, that also means Illya’s legs are wrapped around his waist, which is something he’d been valiantly trying not to imagine ever since that encounter at the café. So much for that. Neither of them is completely in control of this situation, and it’s rapidly starting to seem like that’s true in more ways than one.

Favorite Emotional "Confession": Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood

“Yeah, I mean, it hurts,” he says with a nonchalant shrug he’s pretty sure doesn’t land. He wants to ask, ‘what makes me different? why are you friends with everyone but me?’, but that would give up the game for sure. Instead, he aims for something close. “Sometimes it feels like you’re more distant with me than with other people at the office.” “You’re right,” Henry replies with shocking matter-of-factness. “Casual friends are easy, Alex. There’s no risk when you don’t want anything more from someone than the ability to hold a five minute conversation over coffee in the break room. It’s different when it’s… someone you might truly care about. You’re different.” Alex doesn’t really know what to do with that. It’s quickly becoming difficult to tell where the lies end and the truth begins. “Oh,” he says, floundering a little. “I guess I can see that.”

Favorite Flirty Email: Class(room) Warfare

To: Alexander Claremont-Diaz <[email protected]> From: Henry Fox-Mountchristen <[email protected]> Subject: Re: your shirts Dr. Acerbic Cocky-Disaster I am quite certain you’ve never given anyone a break in your life. Regretfully, Henry Assistant Professor of What Did I Do To Deserve This

Favorite Seductive Spoon-licking (yes, I have more than one): All the Old Showstoppers

Locating a clean tasting spoon, he scoops a bit of the buttercream out of his mixer and holds it out to Alex across the top of his station. Their fingers brush when Alex reaches out to take it, and an image of Alex holding a very similar spoon up to his lips flashes through Henry’s mind. His mouth goes slightly dry at the memory, and that’s before Alex proceeds to stick the spoon deep into his mouth and draw it slowly out between his lips. Alex’s low hum, which skirts dangerously close to a moan, is somehow audible over the buzz of activity in the tent, and his eyelids flutter slightly as his pink tongue slips out to lick the back of the spoon in a manner that is far too seductive for their current setting. Who could have guessed that giving Alex a spoon would be such a massive mistake? Because Henry can see a camera currently filming them out of the corner of his eye, but he still can’t seem to force his own bloody mouth closed, nor can he hope to control the flush that is no doubt painting his cheeks a rather lurid pink, if he knows himself. The best he can hope for is that he just looks stunned rather than incredibly turned on by the display before him. “Ok, yeah, that’s good,” Alex says, snapping him out of the daze he finds himself in. He grins, and the mischief sparkling in his eyes is enough to make Henry believe he did that on purpose. “Guess you’re gonna make things hard for me, huh Wales?”

Favorite Movie Adaptation Moment: False Dichotomy

“Sometimes I wonder,” Alex says, staring up at the leaves fluttering in the breeze over the sidewalk. “If you hadn’t been Mountchristen, and I hadn’t been Under the Rainbow Books…” “Alex,” Henry breathes, a little unsteadily. Alex keeps going because he is, as previously established, an idiot. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Henry, though. “Maybe I’d have gotten up the courage to ask for your number.” “I’d have asked for yours,” Henry says firmly, surprising him. That does make Alex turn back toward him again. “That first day in the shop. Wouldn’t have been able to wait even twenty-four hours before asking you out to dinner.” “We’d never have been at war,” Alex continues. “The only thing we’d fight about is what to watch on Saturday night.” “Only because you have terrible taste in Star Wars movies,” Henry teases.

Favorite Angsty Kiss: So Close to Something Better Left Unknown

Alex hesitates a moment too long for it not to be an answer. Henry’s eyes are dark and wild with primal desire and something else, something more terrifying than even that, and Alex murmurs, “It doesn’t matter.” “Alex—” Alex turns in his arms and drags him into a kiss that catches like dry tinder, lighting such an inferno under his skin that Alex feels like he’s the one who’s been drugged. This is a fucking mistake, he thinks desperately, then his mind goes blissfully blank as Henry’s tongue slides into his mouth. It’s rough, demanding, as much as sparring match as a kiss, particularly when Henry sinks a hand into his hair and tugs hard, then bites down on Alex’s lower lip when he gasps as stars burst in his vision. Alex gives as good as he gets, though, finally getting his teeth on those sinful fucking lips and swallowing Henry’s answering moans.

Favorite Almost Kiss: White Knuckles

When he comes out of his last spin, Napoleon joins him for the final movements, an expansive trip across the ice that usually ends with Illya hunched over, almost on one knee, as if clutching an apparently dead Juliet. Now, though, there is an actual body in his grasp: Napoleon is underneath him, back bent into a graceful arc, being held off the ice only by Illya’s grip on his hip and his palm splayed between his shoulder blades. As the music comes to its grand conclusion he meets Napoleon’s eyes, and suddenly Napoleon doesn’t seem so unaffected anymore. He’s certainly breathless, all right, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted, and it would be so easy for Illya to flex his arms and draw him upward until their lips meet. Illya considers it a true testament to his self control that he doesn’t do it. “Wow,” Napoleon breathes, after a long moment in which he has made no move to disentangle himself from Illya. Then one corner of his mouth quirks upward into a smirk. “Now that’s more like it.” It is also a testament to Illya’s self control that he doesn’t drop him on the ice.

Favorite Cliffhanger: Nova, Baby

A couple of officers with red crosses on their helmets hurry forward as Raf grabs Alex’s arm and tries to pull him to the side. Somewhere deep inside, Alex knows that he has to let go, that Henry’s only hope is the medical team. The panic choking him has fully taken over now, though, and he only clutches Henry more tightly to his chest. “N-no, Raf, please,” he pleads. “You have to let go of him, kid.” “No, no, I can’t, I can’t—“ “Alex! Look at me!” Raf commands sharply. The order catches Alex full in the chest and he responds instinctively, his gaze snapping up to meet dark, worried eyes. A face much like his own, but lined and careworn after years at the agency. A face that has seen more than its share of hopeless situations. A face that is telling Alex, now, to trust him. “You have to,” Raf says again, his voice gentle but firm. Alex lets go.

Favorite First Meeting: Cold Light

“That doesn’t sound good,” the man replies as he straightens up again. Whatever he was doing he seems to be done with, even though he hasn’t touched a thing. He stares up at the sky for a moment, as if lost in thought; in the silence that follows, Mobius watches ribbons of what’s shaping up to be a rather spectacular display of the aurora borealis begin winding their way across the night’s sky behind him. “So? What do you think?” “Hm?” “About the engine.” “Oh, I don’t actually know anything about engines.” Mobius stares at him for a beat in disbelief. “Then why’d you want to see it?” The man shrugs, a vaguely amused expression playing on his features. “Seemed like a thing one does when your vehicle breaks down.”

Favorite Outsider Perspective: That's What Other People Do

“You know me so well, Peril,” Solo says to him before taking a huge bite. He briefly looks, somewhat bizarrely, like a chipmunk. “I know you are somehow always hungry,” Kuryakin returns. “And you get as excited about greasy diner food as gourmet restaurant.” Solo swallows and grins broadly. “Sometimes there’s nothing better than greasy diner food. If I’m gonna have to go to Jersey for this mission, I might as well indulge. Gimme some of your milkshake, would you?” Kuryakin lets out a put-upon sigh, but his mouth is unmistakably tugging up at the corners as he slides the half empty glass over toward his partner. Robin chews slowly as she watches them continue to banter about the food as if she wasn’t there at all. Kuryakin stretches an arm out along the back of the booth behind Solo’s shoulders, and when Solo finally polishes off the burger he settles back against it, almost but not quite tucked against Kuryakin’s side, looking immensely satisfied.

Favorite Angsty Confrontation: Little by Little

“How many have there been?” Napoleon whispers. Suddenly his proximity is unbearable. Close enough that Illya could lean in and kiss him in an instant, and wouldn’t that just be the perfect cap on all of this misery? He can almost imagine the slide of his lips and the heat of his mouth for a moment before the fantasy threatens to choke him. Illya drops his arm and turns away, striding across the room as he scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms, and it’s nearly inaudible to even him so he knows Napoleon did not hear the answer. “How many, Peril? I mean are we talking a one or two, or a handful, or—” “I don’t know!” Illya bellows, wheeling back toward him.

Tagging @orchidscript, @historicallysam, @leaves-of-laurelin, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @three-drink-amy

@loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @nicijones, @justabigoldnerd, @magicandarchery, @14carrotghoul

@mirilyawrites, @eusuntgratie, @cactusdragon517, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @magicandarchery

@myheartalivewrites

So that's the number of snippets I posted, but PLEASE if you see this and want to do it, jump in!! Be proud of your fics!

#fic pride friday #fic pride weekend #rwrb #firstprince #napollya #tmfu #lokius

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 year ago

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Platonic Yandere Clotted Cream Cookie

You try your best to bear it. You really, really do. But you’ve been locked inside for six months on end, and the boredom and isolation has been getting to you. You had paced the hallways until the the dough of your feet cracked and began to ooze jam, earning you a gentle earful and an order to stay in bed and rest up until your feet had properly healed up.

The books provided to you have been read and reread so many times that they’ve begun to fade and wear out. You’re getting sick of putting puzzles together and then taking them back apart. And you miss going outside. By the Wizards, you miss going outside. What right did your brother have to take that from you?

And speaking of the devil, there’s a gentle rapping on the door. You don’t get a chance to answer before it creaks open, Clotted Cream Cookie peering in at you. He smiles for a brief moment, before it turns into a concerned frown.

“Oh, sister. You’ve been pulling out your hair again, haven’t you? And bits of your own dough…”

His frown deepens. You might’ve felt guilty for worrying him some six months ago, but that well of sympathy has long run dry.

“Hello, Clotted Cream Cookie. Have your affairs as Consul of the Crème Republic been going well?”

The formalities you greet him with leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Once, you had been an escape from the burden of his position as Consul, a way to leave his stressful life behind for just a short while and be himself. It was a temporary reprieve from the expectations of perfection and grace, a short time where he could make mistakes and slip up and fall short.

Now, it seems like you can’t wait to remind him of everything that’s been placed on his shoulders. Can he really blame you for that, though? Good reason or not, he’s locked you up inside and even confined you to your bed. You’re only hurting him the way that he’s hurting you.

You’re both trapped. He by his devotion and dedication to serving the Republic, and you by him. He by his fear of what an enemy of the Republic might do to you, you by the methods he employs to prevent such a thing from occurring.

He’s well-intentioned, sure. After the incident with Custard Cookie, the two of you are more than aware that threats can come from even within the sparkling and opulent Crème Republic that you both call home. But that doesn’t make this situation any more bearable. Yes, it makes sense. But it’s still misery beyond reason, to be kept locked away from your beloved homeland, knowing that it’s only just a few steps out of reach.

Inside, you know your brother hates it too. He’s hurting, doing this to you. You both want to go back those peaceful days of youth and innocence, where you walked side by side, unaware of dangers lurking all around you. Where you held his hand as he walked you along the glimmering streets, eyes wide as you took in every towering building that stood proudly above you, a testament to the strength and prosperity of the Republic.

Clotted Cream Cookie sits beside you and takes your damaged hand into his own, gently rubbing at the cracks running through it.

“Little sister… I would do anything for you. So please… bear with me a little longer. Just until we have Custard Cookie in our custody, I swear. And then we can go back to how things were. Please believe me when I say that all will be well. You need only put your faith in me.”

He smiles down at you, noting that’s your expression lightens just a bit. He gives your hand one last rub, and sets it back on the bed. However, when he rises to leave you in peace, you snag the end of his cloak.

“Please don’t leave just yet. Talk to me for a little bit longer, Clotted Cream Cookie.”

“Anything for you, little sister.”

#platonic yandere #yandere #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere CRK #yandere clotted cream cookie #yanbrother #clotted cream cookie

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songbirdseung · 1 year ago

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bad boy, gone good / choi yeonjun

Choi Yeonjun — the epitome of a bad boy, known for his rebellious attitude and mysterious charm. His days were filled with the thrill of breaking rules, and his nights echoed with the adrenaline of living life on the edge.

Enter Y/N, a beacon of warmth and kindness, with a heart untarnished by the city's harsh realities. Fate intervened, weaving their destinies together in unexpected ways. When Y/N, the girl with a smile that could brighten the darkest corners, collided with Yeonjun's world, everything changed.

As their worlds collided, secrets unfolded, and the walls Yeonjun had built around himself began to crumble. Y/N's presence sparked a transformation in him, challenging the very essence of his rebellious nature. Can love be the catalyst for change?

Yeonjun's early years were marred by the harsh realities of an unforgiving environment. Growing up on the fringes of the city's underbelly, he witnessed firsthand the struggle for survival. Raised in a broken home, where love was a scarce commodity and instability was the only constant, he learned to navigate the tumultuous seas of his youth alone.

Fuelled by a hunger for control in a world that seemed determined to wrest it away, Yeonjun delved into the realm of defiance. The streets became his sanctuary, a place where rules were mere suggestions and boundaries blurred into shades of rebellion. His demeanor transformed, adopting an air of defiance and a reputation that sent shivers through the city's spine.

The allure of the night, with its neon glow and hidden corners, became Yeonjun's playground. Graffiti-covered walls and the distant wail of sirens provided the soundtrack to his tumultuous existence. He embraced the role of a bad boy with open arms, finding solace in the chaos that mirrored the storm within.

Yet, beneath the tough exterior and the smirks that hinted at a disregard for authority, there lay a complex soul. A boy who had grown up too fast, who yearned for stability amid the turbulence of his surroundings. The bad boy persona was both armor and camouflage, shielding the vulnerabilities that lurked beneath the surface.

The memory of that encounter lingered, a pivotal moment where the trajectory of Yeonjun's life shifted. The streets, once witnesses to his rebellion, became a canvas for transformation. In the tapestry of his past, that cold night held a defining thread—a thread that hinted at a yearning for something beyond the confines of the city's chaos, a yearning that would eventually lead him to an unexpected encounter with warmth and kindness, the likes of which he had never known before.

Yeonjun found himself on the familiar concrete steps of an abandoned building, the remnants of shattered glass and graffiti-covered walls bearing witness to the desolation that mirrored his own existence. The city slept, but not Yeonjun. His restless spirit roamed the streets like a lone wolf searching for purpose.

As he sat there, contemplating the harsh truths of his life, the echoes of raised voices and slammed doors reverberated in his mind. Flashbacks of a tumultuous household, where love was a scarce commodity and stability a distant dream, played like a haunting melody.

That night marked the breaking point, the moment Yeonjun decided to escape the suffocating embrace of his turbulent home. The city's heartbeat became his guide, and he embraced the streets with an air of defiance, determined to carve out a space where he could breathe.

In current time, the night air was thick with the energy of rebellion as Yeonjun, accompanied by his fellow comrades in mischief, ventured into the heart of the city. The neon lights painted the streets with vibrant hues, reflecting the chaos and vibrancy that fueled their nightly escapades.

Yeonjun's friends each carrying their unique brand of defiance, joined him in this ritual of rebellion. Beomgyu, with his mischievous grin, Taehyun with an air of nonchalance, Soobin radiating quiet intensity, and Huening Kai exuding youthful exuberance—this band of brothers made the city their playground.

The night unfolded in a series of reckless adventures, a collage of moments that defined their camaraderie. They spray-painted walls with vibrant colors, leaving their mark on the city's canvas. The distant sound of music wafted through the air as they danced in abandoned alleyways, an impromptu celebration of freedom.

Yeonjun, the orchestrator of this nocturnal symphony, led his friends through the labyrinth of the urban jungle. They scaled fences, traversed rooftops, and embraced the thrill of the unknown. Each daring feat was met with laughter and shared glances that spoke volumes—a silent understanding that this night was a manifestation of their collective rebellion against the mundane.

Amid the chaos, Yeonjun couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. The city, once his refuge from a turbulent past, had transformed into a playground of shared adventures. Yet, there lingered a subtle shift in dynamics, an undercurrent of change that hinted at a journey beyond the recklessness.

As the night wore on, they found themselves perched on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city sprawled beneath them like a glittering tapestry. The collective laughter echoed in the silence that followed, and Yeonjun's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the first light of dawn painted the sky.

In that moment, surrounded by the camaraderie of friends who had become his chosen family, Yeonjun felt a subtle reassessment of his rebellious pursuits. The thrill of the night was undeniable, but there was a whisper of something more—a yearning for depth, for meaning, and perhaps, for a different kind of rebellion that extended beyond the shadows of the city.

As they descended from their lofty perch, the echoes of their nightly escapades still reverberating, Yeonjun couldn't shake the feeling that this journey, shared with those who understood the language of rebellion, was on the cusp of a transformative chapter—one where the shadows of the past might find solace in the light of unexpected futures.

The night hung heavy with the scent of salt and the rhythmic lullaby of crashing waves as the boys of TXT gathered on the beach. The sand beneath their feet felt cool and comforting, a stark contrast to the day's rebellious escapades. The moon cast a gentle glow on the water, and the city's distant lights shimmered like distant stars.

As they settled into the makeshift circle they'd formed, the atmosphere was charged with a unique blend of camaraderie and introspection. The sound of the waves provided a natural soundtrack to the quiet moments, punctuated by occasional laughter that echoed against the vast expanse of the ocean.

Yeonjun, gazing at the horizon, broke the silence, his voice carrying a reflective tone. "You ever wonder where we'll be in a few years? What we'll be doing?"

The question lingered in the air, prompting thoughtful glances exchanged among the group. Soobin, the silent contemplator, spoke up, "I mean, we're living this wild life now, but what about the future? Are we just running from something or toward something?"

Beomgyu, who usually wore a carefree grin, chimed in, "Life's one big adventure, right? But what if we're missing out on something important along the way?"

Huening Kai, always the beacon of youthful energy, added, "I never thought about it like that. What if we're letting the thrill of the present distract us from the potential of the future?"

As the conversation deepened, the beach transformed into a confessional of sorts. Each member shared their aspirations, fears, and the weight of expectations they carried. The moonlit night became a canvas for vulnerability, and the camaraderie they'd built was the brush that painted the tapestry of their shared journey.

Taehyun, usually reserved, spoke softly, "Sometimes I wonder if the choices we make today will define who we become tomorrow. Are we building a foundation or just stacking up uncertainties?"

The vulnerability in his words hung in the air, and a collective sigh seemed to escape the group. Yeonjun, looking at each of his friends, felt a sense of gratitude for the shared vulnerability that turned their nightly escapade into a poignant moment of reflection.

In the quietude that followed, the waves continued their rhythmic dance, a reminder of the ever-flowing nature of time. The boys, surrounded by the serenity of the beach, found solace in the shared realization that life's journey was a delicate balance between the thrill of the present and the unknown promise of the future.

As they stood up to leave, the moon casting long shadows on the sand, there was a subtle shift in the air. The beach, once a backdrop for rebellion and laughter, had become a canvas for contemplation—a place where friendships deepened, and the echoes of the night lingered as a reminder that every choice, every adventure, held the potential to shape the narratives of their lives.

The morning sun painted hues of warmth across Seoul, casting a soft glow into Yeonjun's apartment. As he blinked away the remnants of sleep, a lingering sense of introspection from the previous night clung to his thoughts. The beach conversations, the shared vulnerabilities—all echoed in his mind like a gentle reminder of the potential for change.

Yeonjun sat up, his gaze drifting to the cityscape outside his window. The morning held promise, a clean slate waiting to be written with new choices and perspectives. The weight of the past lingered, but the desire for transformation stirred within him.

A tentative resolution formed in his mind. "Maybe it's time for a change," he mused, the words carrying a whisper of determination. Yeonjun envisioned a different trajectory, one that embraced growth, stability, and a departure from the reckless patterns that had defined his life.

But as the day unfolded, the stressors of reality pressed upon him—deadlines, expectations, the constant hum of the city demanding attention. The allure of his old haunts, the familiar thrill of rebellion, seemed like an escape from the complexities of change.

In the face of mounting pressure, Yeonjun found himself retracing the steps of his past. The city welcomed him with open arms, the neon lights and graffiti-covered walls a comforting familiarity. The adrenaline of rebellion called out, promising a temporary respite from the weight of uncertainty.

Hours passed in a blur of graffiti, daring escapades, and the intoxicating thrill of defiance. The city's heartbeat matched the rhythm of his footsteps, and the echoes of the night played out like a familiar song. In the midst of chaos, Yeonjun sought solace, a fleeting escape from the internal conflict that tugged at his soul.

As the moon reclaimed the sky, Yeonjun, standing on a rooftop overlooking the city, felt a mix of emotions. The temporary euphoria of the night's escapades masked the underlying conflict within. The city's shadows, once a refuge, now mirrored the complexities of his own journey.

In the quiet hours before dawn, as the city slept and Yeonjun stood alone, the weight of his choices settled upon him. The desire for change, the yearning for a different path, clashed with the allure of the familiar. The morning sun would soon rise, and with it, the echoes of the night would fade into the reality of a new day—one where the trajectory of Yeonjun's life remained uncertain, hanging in the delicate balance between the past and the potential for a different, yet uncharted, future.

The night wore on, and the city's pulse beat steadily with the rhythm of rebellion. Yeonjun, still caught in the throes of his old habits, found himself stumbling into a dimly lit bar—a haven for those seeking refuge from the chaos outside. The air inside was thick with the hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the distant melodies of a live band.

As Yeonjun settled onto a barstool, the atmosphere of the place embraced him like an old friend. The bartender, a grizzled man with a weathered smile, poured a shot without needing a request. The amber liquid seemed to carry the weight of countless stories, each sip a silent acknowledgment of the night's tumult.

In the corner of the room, a spotlight illuminated a small stage where a singer crooned a soulful ballad, her voice a comforting melody in the midst of the cacophony. Yeonjun, lost in the ambiance, barely noticed the figure approaching him.

"Rough night?" A voice, tinged with empathy, cut through the ambient noise. Yeonjun looked up to find the hostess, Y/N, standing beside him, her eyes reflecting a curious mixture of concern and understanding.

He offered a half-smile, a gesture that held a hint of weariness. "You could say that. Just trying to escape for a bit."

Y/N nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken struggles that often brought people to the dim corners of the bar. "We all have our reasons for seeking refuge here."

As the night unfolded, the conversation between Yeonjun and Y/N flowed effortlessly. The clinking of glasses and the distant melodies became the backdrop to their exchange. Y/N, with a warmth that transcended the dimly lit surroundings, shared snippets of her own journey—the dreams she harbored, the challenges she faced, and the beauty she found in the small moments.

Yeonjun, typically guarded, felt a subtle vulnerability in her presence. The night, once a canvas for rebellion, transformed into a space for shared stories and connection. The weight of uncertainty, which had driven him to the familiar haunts of the city, seemed to momentarily lift.

As the clock ticked away, and the night began to wane, Yeonjun found himself captivated by the genuine nature of the conversation. In the midst of the city's chaos, he discovered a moment of respite and connection—one that hinted at the potential for a different kind of escape, one not rooted in rebellion, but in the shared understanding and warmth of unexpected connections.

As the night unfolded, and Y/N's laughter resonated in the air, a subtle shift occurred within Yeonjun. The dimly lit bar, once a refuge from the complexities of his world, now harbored the potential for something different—a connection that went beyond the neon-lit rebellious escapades.

In the midst of their conversation, a quiet realization dawned on him. Y/N's presence was more than just a temporary distraction; it was a gentle tug at the strings of his guarded heart. Her warmth, the sincerity in her eyes, and the authenticity with which she shared her stories created a bridge between their worlds.

As Y/N spoke about her dreams, her challenges, and the beauty she found in life's small moments, Yeonjun found himself drawn to more than just the words. It was the way her eyes sparkled with passion, the genuine laughter that danced through the air, and the subtle nuances of her expressions that etched themselves into his consciousness.

He couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between the chaos of the city outside and the serenity he felt in Y/N's presence. The night, once a canvas for rebellion, now unfolded as a tapestry of shared stories and unspoken connections. The music played on, a soft melody that underscored the intimate exchange between them.

In the quiet pauses between their words, Yeonjun's thoughts danced on the precipice of realization. He was attracted to more than just the allure of the city's shadows; he was drawn to the light that Y/N brought into his world. Her authenticity, the way she navigated life with a genuine spirit, resonated with a part of him that had long been buried beneath layers of rebellion.

As he stole glances, catching the subtle play of emotions on her face, Yeonjun acknowledged the stirring of something unfamiliar. It wasn't just attraction; it was a recognition of the potential for a connection that transcended the transient thrill of the night.

Yet, amid the subtle allure of this realization, uncertainty lingered. Yeonjun grappled with the juxtaposition of his rebellious nature and the yearning for something more profound. The night may have been a temporary escape, but in the presence of Y/N, he found himself confronting a truth that hinted at a different kind of escape—one rooted in the genuine connection and the uncharted territories of the heart.

The bar's ambiance hummed around them, the murmur of conversations and the soft melodies providing a comforting backdrop to Yeonjun and Y/N's shared connection. As they settled into a lull in the conversation, Yeonjun couldn't help but steer the dialogue toward the uncharted territories of personal preferences.

"So, Y/N," he began, a playful twinkle in his eyes, "what kind of guys are you into? Bad boys, perhaps?"

Y/N chuckled, a warmth in her expression that mirrored the sincerity in her words. "You know, Yeonjun, I've learned not to judge someone based on appearances or stereotypes. Whether they're a 'bad boy' or a 'good boy,' it doesn't matter to me. What's important is the connection, the compatibility. That's what makes someone attractive in my eyes."

Her words hung in the air, carrying a wisdom that transcended the casual banter. Yeonjun, caught off guard by the depth of her response, felt a subtle reassurance wash over him. It was as if Y/N's perspective lifted a weight he didn't realize he was carrying.

She continued, her gaze meeting his with a genuine sincerity, "People are so much more than the labels we give them. It's about understanding who they are, what they value, and finding that connection that goes beyond surface judgments."

Yeonjun nodded, a newfound appreciation for Y/N's perspective settling within him. The weight of his own self-imposed labels, the confines of being a "bad boy," felt a little less constricting in the face of her understanding.

"That's a refreshing way to look at things," he admitted, a genuine smile forming on his lips. "Sometimes, it's easy to get caught up in those labels and forget that there's so much more to a person."

Y/N's smile mirrored his own, a shared understanding passing between them. In that moment, the barriers of judgment and preconceived notions melted away, leaving room for a connection that went beyond the surface. The night continued, the ebb and flow of conversation carrying with it the promise of a connection built on authenticity and shared perspectives—something that felt, for both Yeonjun and Y/N, refreshingly real amid the transient thrill of the city's night.

A week had passed, and the bar that had become a refuge for Yeonjun seemed unusually devoid of Y/N's presence. Night after night, he found himself scanning the dimly lit space, hoping to catch a glimpse of her warm smile and engage in the conversations that had become a source of comfort.

However, fate seemed to play a coy game, and Y/N remained elusive. The absence of her laughter, the missing warmth in her eyes, left a void that echoed in the silent corners of Yeonjun's thoughts.

His friends, the members of TXT, couldn't help but notice the change in Yeonjun's demeanor. The usual twinkle in his eyes was replaced by a subtle hint of melancholy, and the playful banter that characterized his interactions with them took on a more subdued tone.

One evening, as they gathered in the living room of their shared space, Beomgyu couldn't resist teasing. "Hey, Yeonjun, what's with the long face? Did the bad boy finally meet his match?"

Taehyun chimed in with a sly grin, "Yeah, you've been looking a bit too contemplative lately. Is there a love story brewing in the shadows?"

Yeonjun, caught off guard by the sudden attention, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's not like that. I've just been trying to see Y/N at the bar, but she's never there when I am. She's a part-timer, and our schedules don't seem to align lately."

Soobin, always the voice of reason, leaned forward with a knowing smile. "Ah, the mysterious part-timer. Yeonjun's got a soft spot for her."

The room erupted in laughter, and Yeonjun rolled his eyes, his attempts to brush off the teasing met with playful persistence. Huening Kai, ever the optimist, added fuel to the fire. "Lover boy Yeonjun! Who would've thought?"

As the banter continued, Yeonjun found himself opening up to his friends about the connection he felt with Y/N. The laughter transformed into genuine curiosity as they listened to the subtle nuances of his encounters with her at the bar.

Beomgyu, with a mischievous grin, declared, "Looks like our bad boy is turning into a romantic. Who would've seen that coming?"

As Yeonjun strolled through the bustling streets, the echoes of his friends' teasing still resonating in his mind, he found himself drawn to the familiar hustle and bustle of a nearby mall. The rhythmic hum of shoppers, the vibrant displays in store windows, and the scent of various cuisines mingled in the air.

Amid the crowd, a flash of familiarity caught his attention. There, across the bustling walkway, was Y/N. She navigated the mall with a sense of purpose, her presence standing out amidst the diverse sea of shoppers.

A rush of anticipation coursed through Yeonjun as he approached her. "Y/N!" he called out, his voice cutting through the ambient noise.

She turned, a surprised yet warm smile spreading across her face. "Yeonjun! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?"

He shrugged casually, the teasing banter from his friends still fresh in his mind. "Just taking a stroll, you know. Happened to stumble upon this place. What about you? Shopping spree?"

Y/N chuckled, her eyes lighting up with genuine warmth. "Not really. Just running errands and grabbing a quick bite. Care to join me?"

As they walked together through the mall, the atmosphere shifted from the casual banter of their bar conversations to the lighthearted exchange one might expect from friends catching up. The city's chaos faded into the background as they explored the various stores and shared stories about their day.

Y/N's easygoing nature and the genuine connection they shared created a sense of comfort that transcended the initial allure of the night. As they reached a quaint café tucked away in a corner of the mall, Yeonjun found himself appreciating the simplicity of the moment—a chance encounter that felt like more than just a casual run-in.

As they sat, sipping on their drinks and exchanging stories, Yeonjun realized that sometimes, the most meaningful connections can be found in the unlikeliest of places. The mall, once a backdrop for the city's daily rhythm, became the setting for a different kind of encounter—one that hinted at the potential for a connection beyond the dimly lit corners of a bar or the playful banter of friends.

In that moment, as they shared laughter and conversation, Yeonjun couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of curiosity about the unfolding chapters of their connection—a connection that, like the city itself, held the promise of unexpected discoveries and the potential for something more than meets the eye.

As the conversation flowed and laughter echoed through the cozy café, Yeonjun felt a surge of courage welling up within him. The warmth of the moment, the genuine connection with Y/N, emboldened him to take a step beyond the casual encounters of the bar and mall.

Summoning the strength, he cleared his throat and, with a sheepish yet sincere smile, asked, "Hey, Y/N, I was thinking… would you mind if I got your number? Maybe we could hang out sometime, like, properly?"

Y/N's eyes twinkled with amusement, and a playful grin danced on her lips. "About time, Yeonjun. I was starting to wonder if you'd ever ask."

Embarrassed yet relieved, he chuckled, "Well, you know, bad boys gotta be careful with their tender hearts."

They exchanged numbers, the promise of a new connection etched in the digits on their screens. Yeonjun couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the next day—a hangout that held the potential to explore the nuances of their connection beyond the confines of the city's night.

As they parted ways, the warmth of the cafe lingered in the air, and Yeonjun couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter marked a turning point. The city, with its chaotic rhythm and unexpected twists, seemed to be orchestrating a unique chapter in his life—one where a simple hangout held the potential to unravel layers of connection and redefine the narratives of his rebellious heart.

The next day dawned with the familiar energy of Seoul's bustling streets. The TXT members gathered in their shared space, a routine invitation to embark on their usual escapades hanging in the air. Soobin, the de facto planner of their adventures, couldn't help but extend the invitation.

"Hey, guys, what do you say we hit the usual spots today? Paint the town with our rebellious spirit?" Soobin suggested, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

However, Yeonjun, with a subtle smile playing on his lips, spoke up, "I think I'll pass today, guys. Got something else on my agenda."

A collective eyebrow raise from the group accompanied Soobin's teasing tone. "Oh, really? Got a hot date or something, lover boy?"

Yeonjun, unfazed, nodded with a smirk. "You could say that. Just something casual."

As he walked away, leaving a curious group of friends in his wake, the echoes of their laughter followed him. The playful teasing resonated through the space, and Soobin couldn't resist making one last comment before Yeonjun disappeared into his room.

"Looks like our bad boy has caught the love bug. Who would've thought?" Soobin quipped, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the remaining members.

In his room, Yeonjun couldn't help but smile at the banter of his friends. The usual rebellious pursuits were set aside for a different kind of adventure—one that involved the anticipation of a friendly hangout with Y/N. As he got ready for the day, he couldn't shake the feeling that this departure from their routine held the promise of something meaningful, a chapter in his life that unfolded beyond the city's night and the echoes of his rebellious past.

In the dimly lit corners of a Seoul nightclub, the atmosphere pulsed with energy, and the echoes of laughter and music filled the air. Yeonjun, known for his magnetic charm and carefree persona, moved through the crowd with an effortless swagger that drew attention like moths to a flame.

In this scene, we find ourselves in a moment from Yeonjun's past—a time when he was the quintessential heartbreaker, a playboy who reveled in the thrill of transient connections. His reputation preceded him, and many were lured by the enigma that surrounded him.

As he danced with someone new every night and left a trail of broken hearts in his wake, there was a certain intoxication in the fleeting encounters and the admiration he received. The city's lights, reflecting in the eyes of those who sought his attention, seemed to validate the reckless pursuit of pleasure.

However, amid the dance floor's pulsating rhythm and the haze of nightlife, there were moments when Yeonjun, in the quiet solitude of his thoughts, felt a twinge of emptiness. The very charm that drew others to him became a barrier, shielding him from the depth of genuine connections.

The flashbacks are a montage of shared glances, whispered promises, and the ephemeral nature of his interactions. In each scene, we see glimpses of the playboy persona, the facade that hid a sense of hollowness.

Cut to the present day, and Yeonjun, as he prepares for a different kind of encounter with Y/N, finds himself dwelling on those moments of his past. The weight of his playboy reputation, the regret for the hearts he left in his wake, lingers in the recesses of his consciousness.

As he faces the present with a desire for meaningful connections, the echoes of his playboy days serve as a backdrop—a reminder of the journey that brought him to this point of reflection and the potential for growth and redemption.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the city, Yeonjun and Y/N found themselves in the heart of Seoul, ready for a hangout that promised to be different from their usual encounters.

They decided to explore the city's hidden gems, away from the neon-lit corners and pulsating beats of the nightlife. The evening air carried a sense of anticipation as they strolled through quaint streets, exchanging stories and laughter.

Their connection, once confined to the dimly lit bar and the casual encounters of the mall, deepened in the midst of shared experiences. They discovered shared interests, laughed at each other's jokes, and engaged in conversations that flowed effortlessly.

As they explored a cozy café tucked away in a quiet alley, the ambiance echoed the genuine warmth of their connection. The clinking of coffee cups and the distant hum of the city formed a comforting backdrop to their shared moments.

In this setting, Yeonjun felt a departure from the playboy persona of his past. The genuine connection he sought, the desire for meaningful moments, unfolded in the simple yet profound exchange of stories and laughter. The city, once a playground for his rebellious pursuits, became a canvas for a different kind of adventure—one that involved the exploration of authentic connections and the unraveling of his own layers.

As the evening unfolded, Yeonjun couldn't help but appreciate the shift in dynamics. The heartbreaker of his past found solace in the simplicity of the present—a friendly hangout that held the potential for something more profound.

For Y/N, the night held a similar sentiment. The playful banter of their past encounters transformed into a shared understanding, and the laughter that echoed through the streets became a testament to the budding connection between two individuals navigating the complexities of their own journeys.

Amidst the soothing ambiance of the café, Yeonjun found a moment to open up to Y/N. The warmth of their connection had already surpassed the transient encounters of the past, and he felt a genuine desire to share his thoughts with her.

"Y/N," he began, his gaze sincere and vulnerable, "there's something I've been thinking about a lot lately. I've been living this kind of… reckless life, you know? The playboy, heartbreaker image—it's not really who I want to be anymore."

Y/N listened attentively, her eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and encouragement. "It's never easy realizing you want to change, but it's a brave step to take," she replied, her voice gentle yet reassuring.

Yeonjun sighed, the weight of his past choices palpable in his words. "I've been concerned about where my current behaviors might lead me. I want something more meaningful, something that goes beyond the surface. I'm just not sure how to navigate it all."

Y/N offered a comforting smile, her words carrying a wisdom that resonated with empathy. "Change is a process, Yeonjun. It's about taking small steps, setting intentions, and being patient with yourself. You don't have to figure it all out at once. What matters is that you're aware of your desires for change and that you're willing to work towards it."

Her advice struck a chord with Yeonjun, a sense of gratitude swelling within him. "You're right. I don't have to rush things. It's just that… I've seen the consequences of my past actions, and I don't want to keep heading down that path."

Y/N nodded, her expression understanding. "Acknowledging that is the first step. And you're not alone in this journey. Surround yourself with people who support your growth, set realistic goals, and be kind to yourself along the way. Change takes time, but it's worth it if it aligns with the person you want to become."

As the conversation unfolded, Yeonjun felt a newfound sense of support and understanding. Y/N's words became a guiding light, illuminating a path towards self-discovery and growth. In her presence, he realized that the city, with its myriad possibilities, offered not only the echoes of the past but also the potential for transformation and a future aligned with the authenticity he sought.

The shared laughter and conversations took on a deeper meaning. Yeonjun, grateful for the connection he found in Y/N, looked towards the future with a sense of hope and determination—a departure from the playboy heartbreaker, and a step towards the person he aspired to be.

As they parted ways that night, the promise of future hangouts lingered in the air. Yeonjun, reflecting on the evening's events, realized that the city, with its myriad possibilities, was still full of surprises—a place where the echoes of his past were met with the potential for growth, connection, and the discovery of something more meaningful than the transient allure of his playboy days.

The night's gentle embrace lingered as Yeonjun returned home to the shared space where the members of TXT resided. The camaraderie of their friendship had weathered the storms of rebellion, and as he stepped through the door, he felt a sense of unity that encouraged him to share his thoughts with his friends.

Gathering the members in the living room, Yeonjun's expression held a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Hey, guys, there's something I've been thinking about. I've realized that maybe it's time for some changes in our lives, you know? Slowly, but surely."

The room fell into a thoughtful silence as the other members, each absorbed in their own contemplations, looked at Yeonjun with a mix of curiosity and support. Soobin, always the grounded leader, nodded encouragingly. "What kind of changes are you thinking, Yeonjun?"

Yeonjun took a deep breath before continuing, "I've been living a certain way, and it's been fun, but I can't help feeling like it's not sustainable. I want more from life, from our experiences. Maybe we can start making choices that lead to growth, connections, and something more meaningful."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, a shared understanding permeating the air. Beomgyu chimed in, "I've been feeling something similar. It's like we've been dancing to the same rhythm, and maybe it's time for a new tune."

Taehyun added with a thoughtful nod, "Change can be good, as long as we're doing it for the right reasons. What are you thinking, Yeonjun?"

Yeonjun, appreciative of the support from his friends, shared his reflections about wanting to shed the playboy image and embrace a more meaningful lifestyle. The room became a space for openness and vulnerability, each member contributing their thoughts and desires for change.

Soobin, with a reassuring smile, spoke, "I think it's a great idea. We've grown together, and this could be the next chapter for us. Let's support each other in making positive changes and explore the new possibilities that come our way."

As the conversation unfolded, the members of TXT found themselves in a collective agreement—a pact to embark on a journey of growth and change together. The echoes of their past, marked by rebellion and carefree pursuits, now harmonized with the potential for a future filled with genuine connections and meaningful experiences.

In that shared moment, surrounded by the support of true friends, Yeonjun felt a sense of relief and optimism for the transformative path that lay ahead—a departure from the old ways, and a step towards a future built on mutual support, understanding, and the enduring bonds of their friendship.

On Y/N's free day, Yeonjun took the initiative to introduce her to the members of TXT. The shared space buzzed with excitement as introductions were made, and Y/N's warm demeanor quickly endeared her to the group.

Yeonjun, ever the showman, decided to give a grand introduction. "Ladies and gentlemen, meet the fabulous Y/N, the one who's going to save us from our rebellious ways!"

Beomgyu, with a mischievous grin, added, "The one who will turn us from bad boys to good guys. Or at least try."

Y/N, amused by the theatrics, curtsied playfully, "Well, hello, gentlemen. I'm here for the challenge!"

As they all sat down, the atmosphere shifted from grand introductions to more casual banter. Soobin, the group's natural leader, decided to break the ice with a friendly question. "So, Y/N, what brings you into the chaotic world of TXT?"

Y/N, with a twinkle in her eye, replied, "Oh, just felt like I needed a little more chaos in my life. Thought you guys could use some company."

The boys erupted into laughter, realizing they were in for a day full of unexpected surprises. Taehyun, always the observant one, couldn't help but comment, "I have a feeling we're in for an interesting time with you around."

The conversation continued with jokes, playful teasing, and Y/N effortlessly blending into the camaraderie of the group. Huening Kai, intrigued by the dynamic, chimed in with a humorous question, "So, Y/N, what's your superpower? How do you plan to tame the chaos?"

Y/N, with a mock-serious expression, replied, "Well, I have the incredible ability to turn rebellious boys into gentlemen with just a smile. It's a work in progress."

The boys burst into laughter, realizing that Y/N's presence brought not only a mission of positive change but also a healthy dose of humor and lightheartedness. Throughout the day, they discovered that Y/N's superpower wasn't just in her ability to suggest positive changes but also in her knack for turning even the most serious moments into opportunities for laughter and connection.

As the day unfolded, the shared jokes and funny anecdotes became the glue that bonded them together. Y/N, with her infectious laughter and playful spirit, seamlessly became a part of the group—a friend who not only saw the potential for positive change but also knew how to make the journey enjoyable along the way.

With a genuine smile, Y/N proposed, "How about we make today a day of trying new things? I've got a few activities in mind that might be a fun change of pace."

The boys, always up for an adventure, agreed enthusiastically. Throughout the day, Y/N curated a series of activities designed to replace their rebellious habits with more constructive and fulfilling pursuits.

She started with a visit to an art studio, encouraging them to channel their creativity onto canvases rather than expressing it through reckless actions. Beomgyu, who had a knack for artistic expression, found a new passion for painting, while Kai discovered the therapeutic benefits of sculpting.

Next, Y/N led them to a community garden, where they tried their hands at planting and nurturing flowers. The act of tending to living things replaced their destructive tendencies with a sense of responsibility and care. Soobin, who initially questioned the choice, found solace in the simplicity of gardening.

Lunchtime was an opportunity for Y/N to get to know each member on a personal level. She attentively listened to their individual goals and aspirations, taking note of every detail. Over meals, she subtly integrated conversations about healthier habits and positive lifestyle changes.

In the afternoon, they visited a local gym, where Y/N introduced them to various exercises and fitness routines. Taehyun, who enjoyed the adrenaline rush of rebellion, found a new outlet in the intensity of a workout. It became evident that Y/N had tailored each activity to address the unique interests and needs of each member.

As the day unfolded, Y/N's ability to understand and connect with the members became increasingly apparent. She acknowledged the little details, the personal goals, and the reactions to different activities. For Yeonjun, she suggested activities that channeled his energy into a constructive outlet, away from the reckless pursuits of the past.

The day ended with a cozy dinner where Y/N shared her observations and suggestions for positive changes. The members, initially skeptical, found themselves inspired by Y/N's thoughtful approach. The city, once a canvas for rebellion, became a space for growth, understanding, and the potential for a future built on healthier choices and genuine connections.

As they bid farewell to Y/N that evening, the members of TXT carried with them a newfound sense of optimism and the seeds of change that had been planted throughout the day—a departure from their old ways and a step towards a future filled with purpose, growth, and the unwavering support of a friend who saw the best in each of them.

Later, TXT gathered for dinner, the playful atmosphere lingered from the day's activities. Beomgyu, known for his mischievous side, couldn't resist the opportunity to stir things up a bit. A sly grin played on his lips as he exchanged knowing glances with the other members.

"So, guys," Beomgyu began, his tone deviously casual, "I've been thinking… Y/N is really cool, right?"

Taehyun and Soobin exchanged amused glances, fully aware of Beomgyu's mischievous intent. Huening Kai, always up for a bit of fun, nodded eagerly. "Yeah, she's pretty awesome. Don't you think, Yeonjun?"

Yeonjun, unsuspecting and caught up in the positive energy of the day, looked up from his plate. "Oh, definitely. Y/N is great."

Beomgyu, seizing the opportunity, leaned in with a mock-confessional tone. "You know, I was thinking… maybe I should ask her out."

The room fell into a sudden hush as everyone turned their attention to Beomgyu. Soobin, trying to suppress a smile, asked, "Really? Beomgyu, are you serious?"

Beomgyu, maintaining his poker face, nodded. "Yeah, she's just got this… I don't know, something about her. I can't help it. I think I'm falling for Y/N."

The words hung in the air, and Yeonjun's eyes widened in surprise. Beomgyu, relishing the moment, continued, "What do you think, Yeonjun? Should I go for it? I mean, you did say she's cool."

Yeonjun, caught off guard, stammered, "Uh, well, I mean, if you think you like her, go for it. It's not like I have a say in it."

The room erupted in laughter as Beomgyu revealed the prank. "Gotcha, Yeonjun! Just wanted to see your reaction. You should've seen your face!"

Yeonjun, a mix of relief and amusement, playfully rolled his eyes. "You guys are unbelievable. I can't believe you pulled a prank on me like that."

A year had passed since the transformative day when Y/N entered the lives of the members of TXT, bringing with her a mission of positive change and growth. Now, as they gathered in their shared space, the room resonated with a different energy—a sense of purpose, ambition, and the unwavering support of true friendship.

The boys had evolved into different versions of themselves, each actively working towards personal goals that reflected their newfound determination. Beomgyu, once the mischievous troublemaker, had channeled his creativity into a successful art venture. Taehyun, always the thoughtful one, had found fulfillment in pursuing a career aligned with his passion for helping others. Soobin, the natural leader, had taken on new responsibilities with grace and determination. Huening Kai and Yeonjun had both discovered their unique paths, each contributing to the overall growth and success of the group.

In the midst of these positive changes, Yeonjun and Y/N had found solace and strength in each other. Their connection had deepened over shared dreams, challenges, and a commitment to support each other's personal journeys. What started as a mission to change rebellious ways had transformed into a meaningful and loving relationship.

The night was calm, the city outside their window settling into a serene rhythm. Yeonjun and Y/N lay side by side in the dimly lit room, their conversations flowing seamlessly from one topic to another. The ambiance held a sense of tranquility, punctuated by shared laughter and the comforting hum of the city.

As they spoke about dreams, aspirations, and the little moments that had defined their journey together, the conversation naturally gravitated towards the topic that held a special place in both their hearts—their relationship. Yeonjun, with a sincerity in his voice, expressed, "You know, I never thought a simple mission to change our ways would lead to this. To us."

Y/N smiled, tracing patterns on Yeonjun's hand. "Life has a funny way of surprising us, doesn't it? I wouldn't have it any other way."

They spoke of the challenges they had overcome, the growth they had experienced, and the unspoken understanding that bound them together. In the quiet of the night, their words became a shared journey—a testament to the depth of their connection.

As the conversation settled into a comfortable silence, Yeonjun leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, carrying the weight of shared experiences and the promise of many more to come. Pulling back, they exchanged smiles, their eyes reflecting a deep understanding that words couldn't fully capture.

With a tender embrace, they settled into the cozy cocoon of their shared bed. The city outside may have been alive with its own stories, but in that moment, the world narrowed down to the warmth of their shared space.

However, just as they began to drift into the quiet embrace of sleep, the door burst open with a bang. The room was suddenly filled with the blinding flashes of cameras, and confetti canons exploded, showering the room in a riot of colors. The members of TXT stormed in, each holding cameras and wearing mischievous grins.

"So, we heard you were having a moment," Beomgyu declared, camera in hand. "And what's better than capturing the lovebirds in their natural habitat?"

Yeonjun and Y/N, still recovering from the surprise, were met with the chaotic entrance of their friends. Soobin, Huening Kai, and Taehyun joined in the revelry, holding confetti canons and wearing party hats.

Beomgyu raised his camera, aiming it at the disheveled couple. "Say cheese! Or in this case, say 'sleepover!'"

The room echoed with laughter and playful protests as the unexpected sleepover took shape. Despite the intrusion, Yeonjun and Y/N couldn't help but join in the infectious energy. As the confetti settled around them, the room became a haven of shared laughter, friendship, and the enduring bonds that had blossomed amidst the chaos of their rebellious past.

And so, the night continued with impromptu celebrations, shared stories, and the kind of camaraderie that turned ordinary moments into cherished memories. The city outside may have slept, but in the shared apartment of TXT, the night was alive with the vibrant echoes of friendship and the warmth of a love that had blossomed against all odds.

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt post #txt x reader #tubatu #choi yeonjun #huening kai #beomgyu #soobin #taehyun #yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun x reader #txt yeonjun #yeonjun imagines

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saxamophone · 11 months ago

Text

wip snip

Thanks to @academicdisasterfic for tagging me in their laugh-out-loud-i'm-deceased wip snip (Bottoms x Drarry, swoon).

I'm in the middle of three things right now. There's The Big Thing (wip snip below, you can skip the rest of this paragraph if you want) that I needed a break from. I'm at the dreaded halfway point were plot lines need to start actually making sense, and wanted to clear the cobwebs by writing some fun little side fics. Under 5k. Sexy. Easy. Next thing I know, I'm 10k deep in a Dreville fic about them falling in love and a Drarry hookup piece that somehow has me researching the cult of Apollo, Ezekiel's descriptions of angels, the Green Man, and Beltane rituals. Like, can't everyone just f**k in peace?

Anyway, The Big Thing is a Wolfstar fic ---Aftermath of October 31, 1981, Remus gets Harry and, whoops, Regulus is alive and supposed to help him. They hate each other, but maybe they can get along well enough to break Sirius out of prison. Maybe.

Also f**k Dumbledore.

Opening bit:

“No.” Remus tries to close the door. “Remus,” he says kindly, and it’s almost more than he can bear. “Go away,” Remus grits out, pushing the door, and it won’t close. It won’t budge, and Dumbledore isn’t even holding it open on his side of the jamb. He didn’t say a spell either, the fucker, and the door is stuck open, unmoving, and nothing Remus does will change it unless Dumbledore wants it to change. He realises in this moment that the door is a metaphor for his whole miserable life, stuck where Albus Dumbledore decides, but he can’t address that right now. It’s too much to contemplate after everything else, so he decides the least he can do is close the fucking door. Remus throws his shoulder into it. He’s always strong, but his strength will increase as the frost moon approaches. His tall, lanky build belies the monster beneath. “Remus,” Dumbledore says again quietly. Remus ignores him and throws his shoulder into the door. The fucking door that won’t fucking close. He slams his shoulder into it so hard the frame rattles, grunting at the blow. “Go away,” he growls. He feels it, the wolf inside. Always lurking but more insistent now. Since everything. “Go away!” Remus shouts and smashes into the door, almost splitting it. It hurts, but it feels good, too. The damaged door still doesn’t move, and Remus is properly angry now. He’s been numb for days, ever since he found out…ever since…he squeezes his eyes closed and tries to shut out the memory of finding out about James and Lily and Peter. And— “No!” he bellows, and he’s about to give the door one great shove when, suddenly, he’s yanked back as if an invisible rope is attached to his spine. He scrabbles for purchase, trying to grab hold of the hall table or the reception archway. He can’t get a hand on anything before he finds himself deposited on a sagging floral sofa, sitting upright but unable to move, arms pinned to his sides. Dumbledore glides into the room after him, and Remus can hear the front door close with an offensive little click. He tries to wriggle out of whatever invisible binds he’s in and can’t. His wand is in his back pocket, useless. He scowls as Dumbledore sits in a chair across from him, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. His blue eyes are red-rimmed behind his half-moon glasses, and he’s wearing a Muggle suit—brown plaid print and a bit shabby, a bit too large on Dumbledore’s thin frame. And that’s when it hits Remus—All of this is true. It’s not some nightmare he’s lived in for the last five days like he keeps hoping.

Five days. He’s been cooped up here in Milton Keynes, waiting for five fucking days. His arrival triggered the mora protocol when he opened the door. The protocol that meant they were compromised and to stay put. Don’t move. The Order will be in touch. And finally, after five days, Frank Longbottom showed up, his big eyes sad, and his voice low. He’d told Remus what had happened, and it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real. It was all a big mistake. Someone had made a mistake. But he’s immobile on an ugly floral sofa, and he knows. It’s all real, and it happened, and it’s still happening, and Albus Dumbledore is wearing a brown plaid Muggle suit, and Remus’s life as he knows it is over.

Tagging @geesenoises @citrusses @tackytigerfic @arminaa8 @maesterchill @romaine2424 @skeptiquex if you have anything you'd like to share! No pressure!

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fic #wolfstar

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an-established-butt-dent · 11 months ago

Text

To sleep, to dream, to forget

AO3

Author: DazeChroma (that is me)

Cover art: an-established-butt-dent (also me)

Fandom: Dragon Age, Pairing: Solas x Lavellan, Words: 4,841, Tags: Post Trespasser, Angst, Lavellan deals with the emotional aftermath.

Notes: see end for notes!

There are a million ways to say goodbye, but they have yet to learn of a way that is final. After the Crossroads, Allana leaves everything behind and travels. She is alone, but for a wolf that keeps visiting her dreams.

To sleep, to dream, to forget

Lavellan knew the wolf haunting her dreams.

Perhaps she should fear the shadow lurking on the edge of her peripheral vision, but this was the Fade and she was in control of her dreams. She wore an enchanted amulet, beautiful, with the added benefit of preventing others from intruding on her dreamscape. A parting gift from Dorian.

Even one as skilled and powerful as the Dreadwolf would not be able to reach her, unless she let him.

But that was precisely it. She would never admit it out loud, but somehow had yet to force his presence away. To banish him from her subconscious. Instead, she had left a window open at a crack.

Maybe it was confusion after their confrontation in the Crossroads. Maybe it was her anger, demanding more explanations from him.

Maybe she missed him.

Solas.

Mentally she scolded herself. She shouldn't use that name. The quiet apostate she had come to know, come to love, was not the same man planning the downfall of the world. Her heart was broken and Solas was dead, as much as he could be for having never truly existed.

But the Dreadwolf, Fen'harel, lived.

Ancient trickster god indeed.

Sometimes she tried to think of the elf from her memories as someone different altogether. A quiet mage lost in dreams who perhaps had planned to return to her. To explain why he left without goodbye after Corypheus' defeat. To bring reason to the many questions left unanswered and wounds left unmended.

The Solas in this imagined life might have helped her shed the Inquisitor’s cloak. Might have held her in comfort throughout the emotional aftermath.

Somehow it made the feeling of betrayal slightly easier to bear.

'-What we had was real'

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth still.

Perhaps it had all been real to him. But to her it was an illusion.

The wolf in sheeps’ clothing had not been the lover in her arms. The Dread Wolf had not been her companion, her advisor, mentor, friend, Vhenan-

Denial was not a good look on her, but it gave her peace and quiet.

And this chasm in her chest, this aching void pumping blood through numb limbs… It propelled her forward. Yet, she felt devoid of the passion and perseverance that moved her before.

Well.

You can't break what's already broken. Can't lose what you don't have.

After the Inquisition disbanded, she had felt lost. Alone.

She needed time to process everything: the loss of her arm, the long years fighting to end Corypheus and then building the world back up again only to be followed by the upheaval of the exalted council, the pain in her chest. Again there was a moment where the world spun on its axis, throwing everything she knew off-balance. Again.

She had come undone, the only thing keeping her together was the feeling of Revas’ long strides over the open plains.

Only a Dalish would pick that name for a hart, but he earned his name, spirited and wild as he was before he accepted Allana as his rider. He was her only companion.

Her eyes scanned the horizon, but there was no silhouette following her. No shadow in the waking world.

She stayed clear of civilization, only stopping for provisions. She kept to herself, used her voice so little she almost forgot what it sounded like.

She traveled for weeks like this, a strong pace forward. Needing to get away. Always away. Every moment spent in one place too long and her chest would constrict, a panic building that could only be relieved by the comfort of changing landscapes.

'You lied to me!'

She wanted to escape. To forget.

She wanted to be wild like her hart. Wanted to be free.

Revas: her freedom.

Revas, revas, revas!

She drifted weightlessly through the fade. Time seemed to stand still as she floated through the pleasant warmth of her early memories.

No terror haunted her. No fear demon pulled threads of horrible memories across her vision. Nothing clawed at her. She was safe.

Only one shadow she could not shake.

She could admit it, now. When the storms of her doubts and fears had quieted down, and she was not drowning, on the brink of being pulled under-

No.

Not now.

She breathed in, and out. At peace, you're safe, she told herself.

The storm calmed down.

He never truly showed himself at first. But she expected him to know that she could sense him.

It had been him, chasing the despair demons away in the nights before she had Dorian’s amulet. She had seen the flash of teeth and six red eyes prowling on the edge of her peripheral vision. Hungry, angry, but not for her. A lonely howl, a loud screech and a wolf had dragged the dark shadows away until she was alone once again.

The terror had melted away with the echo of the wolf's cry.

Curious spirits were discouraged from approaching her afterwards, and she could finally breathe with relief, knowing to expect a night of rest without waking in cold sweat from nightmares.

She scoffed, wondering what keeper Deshanna would say if she knew the presence of the Dreadwolf gave her some measure of comfort.

She would probably call upon all the ancient gods for guidance. To protect her lonely runaway Da'len from the Dreadwolf’s treachery.

But he has your scent.

And you have his heart.

She was almost at the coast now, where she would book passage for a ship to Starkhaven. She planned to cross the waking sea at Jader and travel to Antiva after a short stop in Kirkwall. Other than that she hadn’t decided on her plans for the future.

She had set up camp at a clearing near an old ruin. Then, she took her time to make dinner, enjoying her quiet surroundings and knowing this might be her last night sleeping peacefully under the stars for the coming week.

Revas would surely not be happy on a ship.

She looked regretfully at her hart, wishing there was another way to cross safely, without needing a ship or an Eluvian.

As she only had access to one of those options, her choice was made swiftly.

She climbed into her sleeping roll, twisting and turning until she lay comfortably on her side. Listening to her hart grazing nearby, she drifted off to sleep.

He had become bolder after she started wearing the amulet.

Perhaps he wondered how she had found peace in her dreams? Perhaps her aura, pleasantly free of fear and despair, had pulled him in?

Could he sense the enchantment? Could he see she now had more control over the Fade?

He had tried to teach her many times, but never had she managed this level of lucidity.

Did he observe curiously what strings she pulled, and which memories she traversed?

She always made sure not to dive into memories of their time as lovers. Those memories were locked away deeply, only to be revealed during waking moments of weakness where she allowed herself the time to wallow in her misery.

A slight change in the air alerted her to his presence.

Soundlessly, a shadow big as a hill moved over the horizon until she made out the shape of four clawed paws slowly treading over the grass-covered plane.

He held his head close to the ground, curiously following the invisible line of energy that lingered in her wake. Tracing her scent which was as recognizable and personal as a fingerprint in the land of dreams. Wisps of black smoke trailed his fur, distorting the landscape.

Sensing her, he slowly lifted his massive head as six red glowing eyes fixed themselves on her.

His name was on the tip of her tongue. She quickly swallowed it down, her throat suddenly dry. This was the first time he didn’t disappear as soon as they made eye contact. She was rooted on the spot, not moving an inch, afraid that any change would break the spell. The sudden wave of longing that washed over her came as a surprise. The sharp ache that quickly followed didn’t.

Then there was anger.

He took one more step towards her and tilted his head to the side, giving the impression of being unsure if he was looking at threat or prey.

Hoping she was neither, she stood still. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, uncomfortably aware of the tension building in the air. It was like the climate changed and became hotter, the air sticky and suffocating, shaped by the emotions of her inner turmoil.

He took a step toward her, and then she felt the Fade shift.

It was her own doing.

Suddenly she was alone again, overlooking the same mountains where Skyhold stood proudly in the distance. Her home.

She felt relieved that she could breathe again. The air was lighter, the sky brighter, although everything in the fade had a disorienting, ghostlike quality to it. Colors were more intense and subdued at the same time, clouded by a mist you could see only when you focused on it intensely.

Her racing pulse calmed down as she kept her attention on the familiar mountains. Two falcons slowly circled the sky, its colors giving the impression of a setting sun.

‘He is only a stranger. A stranger you once knew’, she told herself over and over.

Yet, he did not scare her. At least not for the reasons one should be afraid of a massive ghostly wolf-shadow trailing their subconscious.

Perhaps she should have confided in Lelliana, Cullen or Josephine about his presence in her dreams. But the Inquisition was no more, so sharing these developments felt... too personal, too intimate. She didn't want to think about it. Nor, for that matter, did she want anyone else to.

The Dreadwolf has your scent.

Why was he still keeping his tabs on her, even after their goodbyes?

'I will never forget you.'

No of course not, idiot, if he kept following her like this!

She could feel her anger shaping the Fade around her, the soft, wispy clouds and sharp mountain peaks crumbling. She was taken to a place darker. Deep down, deep roads, stone, damp air, echoes of fighting. A darkspawns’ screech bounced around on the slick walls of the chasm. Still far in the distance but growing louder with each panicked breath she took. The high pitch surrounded her. Darkness enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. The screams of the dead in her memories ringing like white noise in her ear, drowning out her thoughts except; ’Can’t breath!’.

Panicked, she started to run.

Feet thump, thump, thumping on the slippery stones. The echoes grew louder, a horde of demon’s awakened by the steady rhythm of her long strides. She was a hunter being hunted. The echoes of the past not brought forth by demon’s of anger or fear, but by her own traumatized subconscious. Looking for a way out.

Abruptly she skipped to a halt. Reaching for the amulet.

There were no demons. They can’t reach her.

All of a sudden she could hear a voice breaking through the clouds of her panic.

“Allana, breathe like we practiced, you are in control.” a strange voice resonated from the walls, seeming to come from all sides at once and yet far away. A voice she could recognize everywhere.

The revelation shocked her, but grounded her mind. The demons were drawing near. Memories, which could do no more physical harm unless she let them. Remembering what part would come next she needed to end it here. Right now.

She closed her eyes, taking a breath.

In through the nose-

-one, two, three, four.

Hold for five seconds, let go for six.

She opened her eyes and was again back looking at the sharp outlines of the Frostback Mountains.

The image shifted and the air smelled of spring. Warmth.

Soft winds blowing across open planes. A body of water flowing like a silver snake across the landscape, casting crystallized reflections on billowing trees. A group white halla taking off, startled by her sudden appearance. She watched them for a moment as they darted across the grass in a dance; a playful homage to freedom. They slowly disappeared along the soft edges of her dream, carrying memories of her life with the Dalish. Of an old home, and a life before the world was ending.

Safe.

On the horizon she could just see the tilt of the head of a wolf, watching from afar. Waiting.

She remembered the voice.

She could not suppress the shiver running along her spine. She wondered what would happen if she called out to him.

She never did.

She missed her friends.

Somehow her shadow in the Fade made her feel more lonesome.

It almost became a routine. Push and pull. Following and being followed. It was like a game. She realized with some humor the parallel between their dynamic during the early inquisition years and now. Some things never change.

She would like to talk about her confusing feelings with someone that would understand. But who would? Who could sympathize with a woman, the herald, falling for the affections of the enemy in disguise?

When would she be strong enough to break the chains of their entanglement?

Did she not deserve some peace and quiet? To find out who she was without the responsibilities and expectations resting on her shoulders?

But her work was not over.

She had considered stepping away, and letting things unfold without interfering. But she couldn’t. Tired as she was, she didn't know how not to be Inquisitor Lavellan.

All she needed now was a plan.

How to stop your ex-lover from destroying the world? Your ex-lover, who was, by the way, also an ancient Elvhen God and probably the most powerful Mage to walk the planet?

That did not sound impossible at all.

Damn, she really just kept handing out new book ideas to Varric, didn't she?

Whenever the desire to reach out came up, she swallowed it down.

She didn’t want comforting words from her friends, nor their pitied looks and gentle skirting around certain subjects.

'Are you sure you're alright? If you need anyone to talk to...'

After the Exalted Council she had turned down all invitations to her friends’ new lives for the time being. She promised to visit once she was ready, and that was enough for them to accept her evasion. For now.

Except Dorian was not having any of it.

He had cornered her the day before she was scheduled to leave. She hadn't wanted a goodbye but he had convinced her he was planning no such thing.

"Only a present for my dearest friend. Looking as glum as you do I would almost fear sadness is contagious," he had said with a pout.

She had fixed him with a glare, but there had been no true malice behind it. Dorian was perhaps the only one not treating her as if she was made from glass. She appreciated that about him.

"You know a present is not going to convince me to join you in Tevinter, darling dearest," she patted his cheek patronizingly, batting her eyelashes for extra effect.

"Of course not! I wouldn't dare to manipulate you with something so banal as a gift. Who do you think I am? I would at least try to seduce you with my good looks first." He gave her an exaggerated wink and she couldn't stop something that almost resembled an honest smile. She raised her eyebrows at his flirtations. He was laying it on a little bit thick, even for Dorian's standards.

Perhaps humor was the only thing guarding the show of real concern from his face.

"Without further ado, then. Come on, hands out."

He revealed a small package wrapped in cloth and tied closed with a string of leather.

She hesitantly held out her hand as Dorian sandwiched it between his own, the package a comforting shape in the palm of her hand.

She stared at their joined hands for a moment, swallowing whatever words she would have used to deflect his show of care.

He squeezed her hand once and let go.

"It's not going to unwrap itself, Allana."

She sighed, glad that his sarcasm broke through the tender moment. He knew she appreciated his friendship. She is also aware he's worried about her, like they all are. She was just bad at accepting any kind of support, afraid that leveling the slightest bit of weight from her shoulders would cause it all to come crashing down, burying her fully.

She needed to be Inquisitor for only one day longer, to keep up the pretense of strength and composure. She could deal with whatever might come crashing down after she left. But not now. Not yet.

"Yes, yes," she huffed at his impatience. Maker, give a girl a moment to compose herself!

She unwrapped the bundle and found an amulet, the telltale pulse of enchantment around it. She looked up at him, waiting for the explanation that would no doubt come.

"This will give us an opportunity to communicate directly, no matter how far away you are. I know you will be miserable without my voice pestering you over the coming months," He pulled out a similar-looking amulet from under his collar and tucked it back, giving her a gentle smile.

She blinked at the wetness threatening to spill over.

He grasped her shoulders and gently pulled her into a hug. She was glad for the excuse to avert her eyes.

Dorian never mentioned her not-so-subtle lack of grip on her emotions. He knew when she needed the space.

He continued, "It also helps you block out unwanted attention in the fade. No terror demons will find you when you sleep at night and no other spirit will be able to communicate if you don't wish for it. It keeps you bound to your own head, in a sense." She was not sure how Dorian knew about the kind of attention she’s received in the fade, but she’s touched nonetheless.

"Thank you, Dorian," Ellana mumbles into the fabric of his tunic. "Don't expect me to talk every day though."

"No need, darling. It just makes me happy to know you ignoring me is a conscious choice, and doesn’t mean you are lying in a ditch somewhere."

She snorts, a very undignified sound. "After all I've been through, that ditch doesn't know what's coming for them."

"As long as that fighter spirit never leaves you, my friend," She chuckles wordlessly into his shoulder. She doesn't feel much like a fighter at the moment, although her rogue skills are a second instinct.

She is tired. But she’s looking for something more comfortable than a ditch just yet.

"Thank you, Dorian."

"Don't get all emotional on me, darling."

She will miss him, but she has to go.

The nightmares that had plagued her for weeks vanished after she started to wear the amulet. It was truly Dorian to know the source of the bags under her eyes without her needing to say a word.

'Bad night?' was all he had to ask, and the look she gave him was enough to know.

Years ago, about a month after he had joined the Inquisition, it had only taken one evening of getting drunk together in a cozy corner of the library to share all the secrets that haunted them at night. While the candles burned low, she learned how their experience of the future at Redcliffe had left a deep impression on them both. The red, terrible future of Corypheus’ would-be victory. Thankfully it was not a future she would have to experience again. That was at least one thing she got right.

He was her closest friend after that evening, their shared pain forming a bond like no other. Ha! Who would have thought. A Tevinter Magister and a Dalish elf? Well, she was never fond of living an ordinary life anyway. It takes one to know one.

The only thing haunting her now was a nightmare of her own creation. Made of pain, self loathing and longing, twisting uncomfortably in the hollow of her chest.

That is one thing the amulet will not help her with: the ghost of a broken heart.

She had yet to find a way to live with it, but time heals all wounds. Or so they say.

But then, why, after revealing his plans, did he tell her that he would like to be proven wrong once again? Why taunt her into resuming their game of evade and catch?

Except if you're called Fen'Harel. Too pridefull to accept your failure, somehow incapable of letting go of your evil plans to restore the glory of the ancient Elvhes and simultaneously doom the lives of all other living beings and the world as we know it.

Damn it all and damn his insufferable pride.

For someone refusing to call himself a god, he sure does like to play with the faiths of mortals.

And why did she believe the sincerity in his eyes when he said it? The pain in the tilt of his brow and the clench of his jaw, the way his voice broke when he said goodbye?

He had called her Vhenan, and walked away. Did she imagine the tremble in his hands, just before he stepped through the Eluvian?

Why had he kept himself hidden from her, lied to her, for years?

What makes a cause worth it, if you have to destroy so much on the way?

Why, Solas?

No, not Solas. Not anymore.

Fen'Harel.

She is going after him.

There must be a reason he can’t let her go. If he haunts her dreams, does that mean he still thinks of her when he’s awake? It must mean that there is something still there, pulling her to him. Perhaps only a side effect of the magic from the anchor, but could it be something more?

He said once things were easier for him in the fade. All she knows right now is that he tried to reach out to her in a dream before she boarded the ship.

He even spoke her name when she got lost in a nightmare. He helped her escape her darkest thoughts. Why?

But was it really him in the dreams? Was this wolf form his true identity? Why doesn’t he show the face that she had come to know? Are the greys of his eyes even his true color? Or are they red and multiplied by three?

In the dream she stepped away out of fear and that fear fuelled her subconscious mind. Afraid of confrontation. Scared to find a fresh tear in her threadbare composure, with the wounds still raw from his betrayal and abandonment.

To fall apart before him while she had slowly tried to mend the pieces back together, that was not something she was ready for.

She wasn’t strong enough.

How much has he kept hidden from her and how much of what he shared had been real?

Ugh, now there’s a terrifying thought.

Is it possible that he can be at more places at the same time. Dreaming while awake?

Being an immensely powerful immortal mage and all, she really has no exact idea of the extent of his power.

She looked out over the open expanse of the sea. Rippling waves and cutting winds shaping the world around her like a smudged painting of greys and muted pthalo greens. The salt had chapped her lips, and the strands of hair that had escaped her braid whip her face and wipe at her tears like feathered fingers.

She hadn't seen him in her dreams for the last three days, since setting sail on the open ocean. What did it mean? Did he ignore her perhaps? Were there not enough spirits to whisper of her location?

She was not going to admit to missing her grey shadow welcoming her to sleep for the last couple of months.

Somehow being by herself for a few days, truly by herself, made it easier to recover her focus. She was not going to run away anymore. She could not abandon the world she once vowed to save.

She made him doubt his perspective once before. She can do it again.

Right?

She is Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, first of her clan. She has been many things in her short life; Herald, Dalish, knife-ear, a beacon of hope. Lover, friend, enemy. An anchor to the world behind the veil.

She had united nations and destroyed treacherous plots. She had traveled through time and back again. She had fought nightmares, ancient darkspawn, dragons and demons. She has walked physically through the Fade, damn it!

She had fallen in love with a god. Had been betrayed by her lover. He saved her life and then took her arm.

She had promised she would not give up on him. He had said he would never forget her.

None of those experiences managed to destroy her, although they came close a few times. None of those titles made her forget who she was and what she believed in, and they will not be her undoing now.

She was Elana Lavellan. They say heroes are not destined for a long life, but could she linger long enough to beat the Dreadwolf at his own game?

Did she even have a chance? Or would she end up petrified, a grey and decaying sculpture in the garden of his pride? Would they sing songs of the Dreadwolf’s lover? Would they say that if you listen closely to her chest you can still hear the beating of his heart?

The only reason she was still alive is because he willed it.

That didn’t really sound like the equal and emancipated relationship she envisioned when she dreamed of the future long ago, now does it?

But the look in his eyes. The pain she glimpsed when he left her in crestwood. And then, the times where his body betrayed what the heart wanted. He had tried to hide it, but there was no doubt in her mind that he had desired her. The desperation in his kiss on the balcony at Skyhold. 'Ar lath ma', whispered like a confession, 'vhenan' a prayer on his lips. And then in the crossroads the gentleness in the movement of gold-plated fingers, grazing her ear and softening the pulsating pain of the anchor ripping her apart. His lips pressing to hers like it was the sweetest honeyed lie he told her yet. Like it wasn’t a goodbye.

She is going to chase that last sliver of hope. It is all she has.

She must create a thread, to pull him from his web of plotting and lies. There must be some way to keep his focus on the value of this world. To show him it was worth saving. An anchor of some kind.

The journey at sea would take one more day at most. The best course of action would be to visit the alienage of Kirkwall. She had heard of the elves leaving the city, answering a call. She must be able to uncover one of his agent’s to dig for more information. Could she disguise herself? Without her arm she would always stand out like a sore thumb. Everybody knew the stories of the knife eared Inquisitor and her stolen arm. The Dreadwolf’s agent must know of her importance in the game. Knowing that she had been close to their leader once, she could turn out to be a potential weakness.

Okay, so first she would find a smith and fabricate herself an arm substitute. Oh how she missed Dagna. The dwarven woman must have had a million ideas for hidden daggers in a fake arm! She could meet with Varric in secret, and use his contacts in the city. She hadn’t planned to stay in Kirkwall for more than a day, but she’s sure her friend wouldn’t mind the surprise. He shouldn’t have given her the city's key if he hadn’t anticipated her showing up unannounced.

Okay, step one, disguise her arm. Step two, disguise her identity. Step tree: find more information.

What is Fen’Harel gathering the Elves for? Promises of a better world? Are they joining of their free will or is it some kind of death cult compulsion? No he wouldn't go that far… or would he? She has to find out. The more gaps in her knowledge about him, the wilder her imagination is going to get.

The ocean calms her mind. The harsh winds wipe away the doubt and leave her mind clear and focused.

She has a purpose, a plan.

On the horizon she can slowly spot the soft outlines of Starkhaven forming in the distance. They are nearing land.

The wolf hunts alone, but she is lonely too.

And she is coming for him.

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

Notes:

My second try at writing a Solavellan piece, but the first one I ever uploaded on AO3! Hope you liked it. :)

Big thanks to my sister @colorandvigor for being my beta and having an amazing grasp of gramar. Note, english is not my first language.

23 notes · View notes

lettersfromaphrodite · 2 years ago

Text

| I feel danger on your lips but it tastes good |

― pairing : Mingyu x Wonwoo ― content warnings : fluff, smut, vampire au, mingyu feeds from wonwoo ― word count : 4.976 ― summary : «don’t venture so far from your room at night,» Mingyu spoke with an alluring smile, «you’ll never know what lurks in the dark.»

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

The flames seemed to be alive, burning so bright that it seemed like the sun was rising extremely early that day; the orphanage was completely engulfed by a fire that sadly, no one managed to extinguish before noon.

Wonwoo woke up with a startle, breathing heavily as he did that same night years ago, as he did what he could to help saving few of the children still trapped in the building.

"Well, good morning”, he thought, as he reached for his glasses on the nightstand, and eventually decided to get up and get ready for the day. Wonwoo was twenty-two now, and he resigned himself that he wouldn’t be as lucky as the other adopted children; however, his life seemed to had taken a decisive turn since the day he started working at the very expensive mansion where a very young Count Kim Mingyu was living.

That morning, Wonwoo had had waited for few minutes before the heavy front door of the mansion moved, and few seconds later a woman was peeking her head from behind it.

«Hello,» Wonwoo greeted with the hint of a curt bow, «I’m here for the-»

«The butler position!» the woman excitedly interrupted him, now almost standing in front of him; Wonwoo nodded, and she answered with a gentle smile, fidgeting her hands in the white apron falling from her waist.

«I’m Ljudmila, the head maid.» she offered, making enough space for Wonwoo to get inside the mansion. He briefly introduced himself, and when she told him that she would explain his duties so that he could start the following day, he questioned whether someone else had applied for the position.

«No,» Ljudmila shook her head, not looking at him; her frown seemed to deepen, and with it – Wonwoo noticed, so did the wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes. «I believe you didn’t hear about rumours on your way here, or anything suspicious?» Wonwoo shook his head, and the frown disappeared from Ljudmila’s features.

«You can walk into every room in this castle, except of course for the ones you will find locked. The Master’s room are in the east wing of the mansion, but you don’t need to meet him for the time being.» Ljudmila’s voice was authoritative yet kind – it was obvious that she had been doing this for many years as she explained in details what would have been Wonwoo’s duties at the mansion; needless to say, he was so happy to hear that he would have his personal room that he almost forgot to listen to the rest.

Ljudmila, however, quickly noticed that Wonwoo rarely spoke and brushed it off thinking that he must have been very reserved, something quickly denied from the letters that accompanied him. Apparently the poor boy was one of the youngsters living in the orphanage that caught fire few years earlier.

The days went by quite slowly and monotonously, something that Wonwoo definitely didn’t dislike. Most importantly, Ljudmila must have said something to the other maids because – despite everyone being friendly to him, no one actually pushed too much for a conversation. Needless to say, Wonwoo was incredibly thankful to Ljudmila.

Among the things Wonwoo definitely wasn’t going to forget was his second day on the job, since everyone was almost incredulous about him being still alive, for whatever reason.

«Good heavens!» the cook had welcomed him in the kitchen that morning, «now this is something unexpected!» he laughed his thunderous laughter echoing in the room.

«What do you mean?» Wonwoo asked, his eyebrows furrowed in doubt. Did he sleep too much? No, that couldn’t be, the sun had just risen in the sky and yet there he was, washed up and dressed up for the day.

«It’s not a good idea…» one of the maids unsurely voiced her thoughts, however, Ljudmila almost appeared out of nowhere.

«Everyone, cut it out!» she quickly and nervously walked around the kitchen, faintly hitting both the cook and the maid that spoke with a the edge damp rag, without actually hurting them, «the poor boy has just arrived, are you – think about my sanity! I’ll grow older of twenty years in three days if you keep this up.» she sat on a nearby chair, breathing an exhausted sigh before smiling kindly at Wonwoo, who was silently looking at that bizarre interaction.

It was clear to Wonwoo that there was something up with this mansion – or even the Master himself; however, Wonwoo was definitely more determined that any danger lurking around. After all, he needed the job, didn’t he?

During the few months Wonwoo had started working as a butler, he definitely managed to make a lot of good memories, but honestly, the only things permanently engraved in Wonwoo’s mind were his encounters with his Master.

The first time it happened, Wonwoo had woken up from a nightmare and after tossing and turning in his bed without managing to fall asleep again, he decided to take a silent stroll around the garden; however, the moment he reached the path sided with roses in bloom, his feet came to an abrupt stop.

There was someone standing in the middle of the garden and right next to the fountain, his back was turned and therefore he couldn’t see that Wonwoo was there. Judging by what he could see from the distance, the boy was probably Mingyu himself, Wonwoo thought, since he stood perfectly straight and his hair seemed to be as dark as a starless night.

It was like one of t he fairy tales Wonwoo had read in the orphanage; the stranger turned his head a little, and time seemed to stop. Less than a second later, Wonwoo found himself walking away, his heart hammering in his chest for whatever reason; his feet carried him back to his room, where he locked himself in just to lie on his back, his hands firmly placed above his heart in the vain attempt to calm down as he was blankly staring at the ceiling and waiting for the morning to come.

The second time, Wonwoo was silently heading back towards his room, probably a little later than usual since he couldn’t help but rearrange the whole library in both chronological and alphabetical order, when he heard confident steps echoing in the hallway, coming from the opposite direction.

It was dark outside, and the butler was wandering a little too close to the east wing of the mansion, he realised – however, a little too late. Wonwoo heard the faint clatter of shoes hitting against the perfectly clean marble floor slowly but steadily approaching, and instinctively froze in his steps; he quickly glanced around, noticing that it was definitely too late to hide.

A tall figure appeared at the end of the corridor, and Wonwoo quickly realized that it must have been his Master, the same person he saw in the garden; the more he approached him, the more Wonwoo swore he could feel his heart quicken his pace.

Master Kim was a gorgeous young man, Wonwoo thought, it was clear to him, even if the only source of light was the moonlight shining outside of the large windows that lined the hallway; he was tall, his body seemed to be well proportioned and his skin seemed to be the same colour as honey.

However, Wonwoo thought, his mind must have been playing tricks on him because he could swear that his Master’s eyes seemed to be a deep yet bright shade of red.

«We finally meet, …» Mingyu purposely faked to be oblivious to the youngster’s name.

«Wonwoo, Sir.» the boy answered, his eyes now staring at the marble floor, since he felt incredibly small under the other’s authoritative gaze.

«I hope you managed to find yourself at home here, however, don’t venture so far from your room at night,» Mingyu spoke with an alluring smile, «you’ll never know what lurks in the dark.»

Wonwoo felt his cheeks heathen as he apologized to him, and once again, he quickly walked towards his room, once again with his heartbeat hammering in his chest so loudly that Wonwoo was afraid his ribcage was going to explode from the intensity of it.

The menacing and mysterious aura around his Master disappeared a week later, as soon as Ljudmila asked Wonwoo to bring Mingyu his breakfast.

«Knock on his bedroom door three times, he’ll let you in,» she instructed, «don’t open the curtains, he’s got a terrible temper in the morning if he hasn’t fed – oh please, don’t tell him I said that. Place the tray on the mahogany desk in the middle of the room and then wait for him to dismiss you. Okay?» Wonwoo nodded immediately, picking up the tray filled with fruits, warm milk and a crystal vial filled with a reddish liquid that definitely didn’t look normal – or edible, at all.

«Are you sure that was a good idea? The boy doesn’t know that he’s working for a vampire.» the cook – already busy cutting a large amount of carrots for lunch, asked his long time friend and colleague.

«I’m getting old,» she answered, sitting on the chair in front of him, and starting to help him in his task, «this year I will be fifty four, and believe me, I want our Master to have someone reliable at his side.»

«You could have warned him, though.» was the only thing he answered.

«Don’t you remember how each one of us eventually found out? We both seen Mingyu grow up, and I believe you know better than me that Wonwoo’s is in perfectly safe hands.» she explained, smiling fondly at the memories of an extremely young Mingyu, running through the kitchen and eagerly wanting to taste human food.

The east wing was symmetrical and perfectly equal to the rest of the mansion, still, the feeling of being allowed to venture inside it for the first time was more than enough for his heart to pick up pace in anticipation.

Wonwoo knocked three times against his Master’s door, before hearing his faint order to come in, just like Ljudmila had said. The bedroom was huge and, surprisingly enough, the furniture seemed to be really minimalistic.

“Less for me to clean”, Wonwoo thought, as his eyes quickly scanned the room. A mahogany desk with a large velvet-covered chair stood in the centre of the room – behind which stood the door-window leading to the small terrace attached to the room; to his left, a small bookcase formed a corner between two walls while to his right, there was a wide canopy bed where he easily found the target of his task.

His Master was sprawled on the mattress, his clothes were half unbuttoned and the sheets looked like he had tossed and turned all night without getting a minute of sleep.

«My dearest Ljudmila, believe me, I will die soon if I don’t personally feed on a human.» Mingyu sighed, his eyes lost in the ceiling above him, as he ran his fingers through his hair with a distressed movement.

«Your- your Grace» Wonwoo cleared his voice, immediately capturing the other boy’s interest, who was watching at his every move as his life depended on it, «Ljudmila is busy, she sent me.»

Mingyu was quick to lift himself on his elbows, studying Wonwoo’s movements as the butler placed the tray on his desk; while he was there, he took advantage of the situation and quickly re-arranged the order of few papers, just to make a little more space for him, if he decided to eat.

As Wonwoo re-adjusted his glasses, he heard his Master sigh, «Fine, but you’ll have to feed me, bring the blood to me, please.»

Wonwoo stared both at the ample filled with the ominous coloured liquid and then at Mingyu; did he hear that right?

Mingyu, however, noticed the confusion in the other’s eyes and chuckled briefly, tilting his head, «I guess Ljud didn’t tell you anything.»

«About what-» Wonwoo abruptly cut his own sentence with a sigh; he run a hand through his hair, before eventually, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, «what was she supposed to tell me?»

«For a start, that the Master of this mansion is a vampire.» Mingyu answered with a confident smile, finding Wonwoo’s reaction a weird mixture between adorable and cute.

«You really want me to fall for that?» he questioned the boy who was still looking at him with a confident and mischievous smile.

«Fall for “that” as in, fall for me?» Mingyu teased as he decided to get up from the sea of sheet he was lying comfortably on top of; with few confident strides, he closed the space between himself and Wonwoo, now standing in front of him.

Without realizing, the butler instinctively took an imperceptible step back, but the desk was there to stop his short and useless attempt to keep a reasonable distance.

«First thing first, I know you noticed my eyes when we met,» Mingyu tilted his head down to meet Wonwoo’s gaze, who definitely couldn’t deny the fact that normal people didn’t have bright red eyes.

«Most importantly, now that we are so close,» Mingyu leaned towards the butler, who instinctively leaned back on the desk, his hands reaching behind himself in order not to fall, «I can’t help but notice that your blood smells delicious, Wonwoo.» Mingyu spoke with an alluring and husky voice, every trace of the lively and teasing Master from seconds ago seemed to have disappeared; Wonwoo’s heart started to quicken its pace, as he was having troubles identifying what he was feeling.

Actually, he was almost sure that among the mixture of confusion and astonishment he felt at the sudden revelation, he could also find a little bit of anticipation, especially when he was certain to have felt Mingyu’s teeth ever so sightly graze at the exposed skin on his neck that the collar of his shirt didn’t cover.

The intimate moment they shared ended shortly after, when Mingyu lifted his head, tilting it back so that their gaze would meet.

«Do you believe me now?» Mingyu questioned him with a smile, and as soon as Wonwoo’s gaze fell to the two pointy fangs that were oh so visible in his Master’s dazzling smile, he eventually came to the conclusion that his words were true.

Actually, thanks to the other servants, he had always known that something was up with the mansion, he was just glad that it didn’t turn out to be haunted with ghosts.

Satisfied with the butler’s answer, Mingyu went back to his bed, and Wonwoo quickly recomposed himself.

«Should I get an empty cup of tea or-» Wonwoo nervously adjusted his glasses, which were about to fall off the bridge of his nose.

«You were really going to obey that silly order?» the vampire stared at him with wide eyes; Wonwoo nodded, and with a lively laugh, Mingyu fell back in the sea of white sheets.

From that day, much to Ljudmila’s happiness, Wonwoo became Mingyu’s personal butler.

Few weeks later, Wonwoo knocked against Mingyu’s bedroom door, scoffing while hiding an amused smile as the only answer the vampire decided to give him was a groan.

«Good morning, Your Grace.» Wonwoo politely greeted Mingyu, who was lying in the usual sea of sheets he loved, with his pillow tightly pressed against his head.

Now, Wonwoo had spent enough days at the vampire’s side to realize that something in his behaviour definitely was off; he quietly placed the tray of breakfast on the desk, before quietly approaching the bed.

«Is everything okay?» Wonwoo gently questioned, reaching out to touch Mingyu’s hand over the pillow, but eventually halting his movements; the vampire kept silent, and the butler crouched next to his bed, finding it impolite to sit on his sheets.

«You can sit here.» Mingyu mumbled few seconds later, gently patting the empty spot next to his waist; Wonwoo thanked him and complied.

No one spoke for few minutes, and the both of them fell into a comfortable and weirdly intimate silence; Mingyu didn’t move his hand from the mattress, and Wonwoo didn’t realize that their fingertips were almost touching.

«I simply have a headache, you can go if you want to.» the vampire’s hoarse voice broke the silence, but somehow, Wonwoo believed that he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

«I’m your personal butler, meaning I don’t have much to do if you’re sleeping.» Wonwoo lied. He definitely had something to do in the morning: collect mail from the entrance hall and sort it in order of importance before bringing it back to Mingyu – who most importantly had requested Wonwoo to drop formalities when they were alone. Then he needed to collect his freshly washed clothes from the laundry room, and then he promised Ljudmila he would help her clean the crystal chandelier in the living rooms, not to mention -

«I get very bad headaches and really dizzy if I don’t drink human blood.» Mingyu confessed, his pinky finger unconsciously touching Wonwoo’s index finger.

«Haven’t you been drinking blood every day, though?» Wonwoo curiously questioned, barely moving his hand, so that their fingers touching wouldn’t be as casual as it was few moments ago. Mingyu groaned, and that was the only answer Wonwoo thought he’d get; eventually, the vampire sighed, lifting the cushion from his head, his gaze adjusting to the partial brightness in the room.

«You’re perceptive, little one,» Mingyu teased, «however, that’s animal blood – which for being clear, is definitely not the same.» Wonwoo hummed, as he seemed to be lost in thoughts for few seconds, he asked the vampire if there was anything he could do, but Mingyu simply sighed, shaking his head.

«I appreciate your concern, but unless you want me to feed from you, there’s nothing you can do.»

A whirlwind of thoughts seemed to float inside Wonwoo’s mind after he heard Mingyu’s magic words. Of course, he thought the vampire was insanely attractive and of course, he found himself more than once fantasizing about the possibility of kissing those full lips; moreover, he had to admit that the fact that Mingyu was both extremely clumsy and effortlessly funny was enough for him to get fond of t he vampire every day a little more.

Actually, his blooming feelings were completely reciprocated by the vampire, but nor him nor Mingyu had ever considered the possibility, and therefore, when Wonwoo spoke a faint «okay, let’s do it.», Mingyu thought he was hallucinating.

«I’m not undressing more than this,» Wonwoo clarified, as he stared at the vampire, lazily sitting on the bed; the butler was basically still completely dressed, with the only exception of his gloves and his jacket. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, and thanks to the partial darkness of the room, he didn’t notice how Mingyu’s gaze hungrily travelled on the glimpse of toned skin that he could see.

«Works for me, but if things get messy I’m gonna stain your shirt, and you’ll have to tell Ljud.» Mingyu shrugged, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips as he heard Wonwoo groan in agreement, since he didn’t want to feel Ljudmila’s beloved damp rag on his skin anytime soon, especially for something he didn’t do.

Wonwoo lowered the suspenders keeping the shirt in place, letting the pieces of fabric dangle from his belt loop; he quickly got rid of his shirt, before folding it and placing it next to his jacket.

Following Mingyu’s direction, Wonwoo climbed on the mattress, and awkwardly sat on his lap; the vampire was keeping his left hand behind himself for balance, while his right hand immediately reached out to gently hold the other boy’s slim waist.

«This should be the part where you relax.» Mingyu mumbled, as his hand hesitantly slid from Wonwoo’s waist to his thigh. He tentatively widened the palm of his hand, just to squeeze the skin ever so lightly; needless to say, he found Wonwoo’s sudden whimper an addictive sound.

«If I do, we’ll be touching touching.» Wonwoo answered, hesitantly; despite his embarrassment, he didn’t want to move away, and as he felt Mingyu guide his hands to his chest, he let him, relaxing a little bit further against the other.

«I’m about to drink your blood, so it works for me,» the vampire shrugged, hiding behind a nervous smile, «are you sure you’re okay with this?»

Wonwoo didn’t need time to think about it before answering that yes, of course he was; a faint tug at his left thigh was what made him spread his knees a little more, completely sitting on Mingyu’s lap.

Now, clearly the both of them noticed that the other one was half hard but still – thankfully, no one decided to mention it. Mingyu’s lips immediately found Wonwoo’s collarbone, trying to focus his mind on his task of feeding before he decided to succumb to the lust and the attraction he felt for the younger boy.

«It- It tickles.» Wonwoo whispered, his shoulder instinctively twitching, making Mingyu move the direction of his open mouthed kisses a little upwards. If he were to be honest, that amount of kisses definitely was not necessary, but still, Mingyu didn’t exactly know why he was paying so much attention to it; whether it was because he wanted Wonwoo to fully get comfortable in his presence, whether he was loving the feeling of the other boy tightly gripping his shirt while trying to hide needy whimpers, Mingyu thought he would gladly stop time in that moment, so that they could enjoy it a little bit longer. Mingyu felt Wonwoo giggle again, and he breathed a little exasperated giggle as he leaned back once again.

«I’m sorry, it really tickles a lot.» Wonwoo apologized, and the both of them ended up finding that situation incredibly surreal to the point where they were thrown into a fit of small giggles.

«I’m good now, I promise.» Wonwoo took a deep breath as the both of them seemed to have calmed down; his hands found once again their place against the vampire’s chest – tightly gripping Mingyu’s shirt.

Wonwoo didn’t know what to expect, since the only time he had heard about vampires were in fairy tales; was their bite supposed to hurt, was it supposed to bring him a weird kind of pleasure?

Whatever the butler was trying to prepare for, he definitely didn’t consider the fact that Mingyu decided to place his hand on his nape, just to connect their lips; Wonwoo immediately reciprocated in a clumsy and passionate gesture, and he believed he could feel the butterflies in his stomach do somersaults as soon as he felt Mingyu groan against his lips as soon as he faintly tugged on his hair. They ended up kissing passionately until their lips felt swollen, and as they were both panting to catch their breath, Wonwoo gently guided Mingyu’s head to his neck.

It was crazy how a simple gesture was about to make him come untouched, but Wonwoo thought that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of Mingyu sucking on his blood; it was weird, he had to admit, but at the same time, Wonwoo felt like his blood was being turned into a molten core gently spreading through his body. His senses felt heightened in an almost inhuman way, and the feeling of Mingyu’s arms gently but firmly holding his body close were driving him to hypersensitivity; whatever was happening, Wonwoo definitely didn’t want for it to end.

«Are you sure you feel better?» Wonwoo questioned, watching Mingyu nod as he wiped the small amount of blood falling from the corner of his lips.

«I know it’s really not romantic and I kind of planned to do things a little differently, but I really like you,» Mingyu confessed out of the blue, his gaze searching for Wonwoo’s as he felt him instinctively tense up in his lap, «and I really want you,» he added, moving his gaze towards the other’s lips, «heavens, how I want you.» he mumbled again, the huskiness and arousal in his voice were enough to drive Wonwoo’s mad.

The butler studied the vampire for few seconds, but still, he found no trace of lie in his gaze, especially because he has proven more than once that he didn’t have a single reason to lie to him. Wonwoo relaxed once again, his arms snaking around the vampire’s neck. «I really like you too,» he mumbled against Mingyu’s lips, feeling them part as if they were magnets, «and I really want you too.» That morning, Mingyu and Wonwoo ended up making love for the first time, showering each other with the eager affection of a blooming love, as their fingertips remained tightly intertwined.

For the whole day, no one among the servants asked where the Master and Wonwoo were; if the reason was Ljudmila threatening to kill everyone who suggested to look for them, that’s something neither Mingyu or Wonwoo needed to know.

Few weeks later, far too early on a Sunday morning, Mingyu groaned, turning the other way as he tried to fall asleep again. He stretched out his arm, realizing that Wonwoo must have woken up already; with an annoyed sigh, he silently cursed his servants for being so loud in the morning for no reason at all.

Eventually, Mingyu ended up shifting on Wonwoo’s side of the bed, trying to enjoy what was left of his lover’s warmth, but the noise didn’t seem to stop anytime soon; the vampire crooked one eye open, just snort while trying to hide an amused laughter – of course, Wonwoo hushed him immediately with a quick gesture of his hand.

«I told you, that I don’t want us to get married, not yet!» one of the maid’s loud voice echoed from the courtyard. Wonwoo was hiding behind the heavy curtain, following the interaction with extreme interest while carefully avoiding for too much light to peek into Mingyu’s room; he knew that light didn’t affect his lover, but he also knew that his temper wouldn’t be great if he were to be woken up with too much sunlight peeking inside the bedroom.

«But why not? Is it because of your parents? You didn’t tell them you’re pregnant, did you?» the gardener immediately retorted, his voice filled with irritation and astonishment. Wonwoo did his best to hide his surprised gasp, the tray – on which Mingyu’s dressed for the day were neatly placed, now digging a little more in his waist.

«I knew it!» Wonwoo faintly mumbled to himself while bringing his free hand in front of his mouth – still unaware about the fact that Mingyu was awake, and therefore earning another amused giggle from the vampire.

The argument between the couple went on for minutes, and Wonwoo was too immersed in his activity that he definitely didn’t notice Mingyu eventually walking up and walking towards him.

«What’s the commotion?» Mingyu’s hoarse voice spoke right against Wonwoo’s ear as he hugged his waist from behind, and the butler almost had a heart attack on the spot.

«Shh!» Wonwoo quickly silenced him, ignoring the fact that on that moment, he was definitely being louder than his lover. «One of the maids is pregnant, the gardener asked for her hand in marriage.» Wonwoo briefly explained. Mingyu gave him a brief nod, yawning and scratching his chest; he absently took the tray from Wonwoo’s hands – who immediately let him, and right after he placed it on his desk.

The next few minutes looked something in between from ridiculous to adorable; Mingyu, a vampire, was peeking from behind the curtain and repeating whatever Wonwoo’s ears couldn’t hear while Wonwoo, his butler, was mirroring his actions while moving his right hand as if to urge him to tell him more because «I didn’t hear it! Oh, damn that gardener’s thick accent.»

Mingyu yawned again, kissing his lover’s shoulders three times before eventually walking to the side of the door-window in order to open the curtains; Mingyu took the other’s hand – and of course Wonwoo let him lead them to the small balcony.

«I thought we were eavesdropping in a discreet way.» the butler mumbled with a small pout, not enjoying the fact that his fan had been cut short; however, now that the couple was on the balcony, Wonwoo definitely noticed that a large part of the servants had gathered in the courtyard as well, everyone suddenly interested and invested about the issue.

For a second, Wonwoo’s gaze met Ljudmila’s exasperated one, and as she shook her head, he chuckled briefly.

«Say, Wonwoo, what if we give them something to actually gossip about?» Mingyu’s alluring voice was once again speaking next to Wonwoo’s ear. The poor butler didn’t even have enough time to turn around and ask the vampire what he meant, when he found Mingyu’s lips gently crashing on his. Immediately, Wonwoo returned the gesture with equal fervour, as if it was the first time him and Mingyu were kissing and they haven’t been doing it on a daily basis for weeks.

Mingyu’s hands gripped Wonwoo’s waist, and pulled the younger boy flat against his chest; he didn’t need to check to be sure that the lovers quarrel had been already forgotten in order to talk about how «did you see the way young Master Mingyu was dragging Wonwoo to his bed?»

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nandermoenthusiast · 1 year ago

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HERE I AM I WATCHED THE FINALE

OKAY FIRST OF ALL IT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD AND ACKNOWLEDGED/BROUGHT BACK A LOT OF THINGS I HAD NOT VERY HIGH HOPES FOR

but i gotta be honest, the whole season did. it was fun and genuinely hilarious, while also acknowledging (maybe not doing something with it yet, but we have a whole other season already under go) some plot points like colin dreaming about his childhood with lazlo

THIS FINALE THOUGH

i honestly honestly honestly have to say, i would not have changed a single thing from it. it was INSPIRED. i want to talk about the theme of this season, the vampires are assholes and they will never be nice to each other, but they are a FAMILY and they care about each other so deeply

first of all we have the morrigan manor trap, which i enjoyed so much, and although the season did a great job at building up to this with a hundred little moments in the previous eps, i was still literally shook at seeing the vampires face the music. like wow the guide is really telling them off for how they treat her and guillermo. like, i felt it. and nadja and lazlo are like ok this could have been a conversation but fine heres some footage of us being nice about u behind your back, AND THATS SO LOVELY LIKE - MY DEAR WE ARE FUCKED UP CREATURES OF THE NIGHT WELL NEVER TELL YOU TO YOUR FACE THAT YOURE IMPORTANT TO US

and its like. this season does a lot to put all the previous seasons into perspective. i cant even begin to speak about nandor and his aversion to turning guillermo. like, CHRIST

anyway the moment where nandor finds out was SO fucking delicious i love you mr de laurentiis i am completely in love with you going insane going insane also like ive seen some DISAPPOINTMENT over this finale and im ???? speechless is it that they didnt kiss or fuck? NANDOR KNOWS GUILLERMO BETTER THAN HE KNOWS HIMSELF HE KNEW HE COULDNT BEAR KILLING HE KNEW HE WASNT READY AND WANNA BET HE ALSO KEPT HIS DISTANCE ALL THESE YEARS BECAUSE HE KNEW THAT WOULD ADD TO GUILLERMO WANTING TO BE WITH HIM FOREVER BUT HES TOO CODEPENDENT TO LET HIM GO WHAT!!! THIS SHIT IS DELICIOUS

LET THEM COOK

but where was i ah yes nandor finding out nandor staking out panera bread and talking to some rando about guillermo and nandor going to his mothers (vampire killer! so its like dangerous for him lbr) place once he found it within himself to let go of the humiliation and prioritize his feelings for guillermo. let that sink in. he didnt want to find him not really. otherwise he would have threatened his mom weeks ago. nandor actually forgiving guillermo and its just like that. because he loves him too much. nandor doing the gayest most romantically and sexually charged shit in the world to prove to guillermo he actually has forgiven him. nandor bringing guillermo home. and saying he will be living with us AS AN EQUAL

nandor bringing him blood. and while we are on this topic, NANDOR WHO HAS THE IQ OF A RUSSIAN TOILET KNEW RIGHT AWAY WHAT GUILLERMOS PROBLEM WITH HIS TURNING WAS AND HOW TO FIX IT. AND HE DID. IMMEDIATELY. WHILE LAZLO STRUGGLED FOR WEEKS. NANDOR KNEW INSTANTLY. this episode had such biiig caretaker nandor energy and i fucking gobble that shit up. he pays so much attention to guillermo and he is so warm and loving to him whenever hes not catching himself…… i think im gonna go cry

nandor looking at guillermo with barely repressed lust as guillermo shows off his new vampiric powers and is taken by a frenzy to just go and do some shit. nandor lurking in the shadows listening to guillermos confession about not being able to kill, and looking so broken up about it, and wanting to fix things immediately for guillermo (but he cant, and btw im glad they brought back the lamp even if it was just to say you dumbass, you are out of wishes, like maybe that was a disappointment to some people but im sort of glad they made nandor use up all his wishes because the whole ceremony bit was sooooooooooooo thoughtful and soooo warm on nandors part). he went and staged the whole place and orchestrated the whole thing just so guillermo could speak from the heart and say he made a mistake. that is insanely loving of him

and btw idk anything about the lore of vampiric lineage BUT! tbh i do think this is such a cool loophole. like when guillermo reverted, time for his human form had passed. which means if any vampire who has lived, idk, more than 130 years had the same thing happen to them, they would obviously turn to dust. of course they would die! but guillermo had this happen only a few months ago so hes good! and the vampirism is reverted! and he has the time and knowledge now to think long and hard if he still wants it

to be honest (not to be a blorke about nandermo) i do believe that nandor and guillermo will get into it next season and the subsequent conflict will be that guillermo cannot be a vampire so he will age and die one day, but i think since nandor is so caring and “acts of service” in this last episode, maybe the solution they find is they decide nandor will turn guillermo eventually, and then bring him blood without guillermo having to hunt and kill (he could also like rob blood banks or drink from people without draining them)

anyway how cool is it that guillermo turned out to be so similar to louis (interview with the vampire, the very movie that got him to want to be a vampire), with the same conflict, except he did get a do over thanks to nandor ❤️

one last thing before i go that i didnt mention NANDOR TYING GUILLERMOS CAPE SO LOVINGLY AND WITH SUCH ATTENTION WITH SUCH REVERENCE GOD I KNOW WE’RE IN FOR A TREAT NEXT SEASON. AND NANDOR FUCKING STAKING DEREK. DO YOU WANT ME TO DO IT. I DONT KNOW. I DO *STAKE *. LIKE WHAT. THAT WAS SO INSANELY HOT TO ME GOODBYE FOREVER AND SORRY FOR THE LONGASS POST

#what we do in the shadows #nandermo #wwdits #wwdits spoilers #what we do in the shadows spoilers #anyway i really dont see how people can be disappointed with this finale from any standpoint #but if you are please dont argue with me on my post 🥺#some messy liveblog tag #comment #wwdits meta #i think i have a big acts of service thing thank you mr the relentless for awakening that in me

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nekoannie-chan · 1 year ago

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Stuffed animals

Title: “Stuffed animals”

Ship: The divine pairing (Love).

Word count: 532 words.

Rating: Teen.

Square: I1 “Favorite stuffed animal”.

Summary: Tandy and Tyrone talk about childhood memories.

Warnings/Tags: Stuffed animals, fluff.

A/N: This is my entry to @marvelrarepairbingo @marvelrarepairs MarvelRarePair Bingo Round 2 2023. Annie MRP-066.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

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Tandy Bowen and Tyrone Jones stood on the roof of an abandoned building, gazing at the city skyline illuminated by the night lights. The moon was shining brightly, and as they felt ready to face whatever threat was lurking in the city, they decided to share a special moment from their childhood together.

Tandy looked at Tyrone with a mischievous smile. "You know, sometimes we forget that we were kids once too. Even though we've been through a lot, there was always something that gave us comfort," she said.

"What do you mean, Tandy?" Tyrone nodded in inquiry.

She stood up and walked over to a box she had brought with her. Carefully, she opened it, revealing two worn and beloved stuffed animals that had been kept secret for years. One was a white-stuffed bunny rabbit with big eyes and floppy ears. The other was a brown teddy bear, looking cuddly and scruffy. Tandy took the bunny into her hands.

"This has been my favorite stuffed animal for as long as I can remember. It always made me feel safe when things got tough at home, especially after Dad." The nostalgia in her voice was evident.

"And this is my lifelong companion. When I was alone, it reminded me that there was always someone who loved me, even if I couldn't see him at the time." Tyrone looked tenderly at the teddy bear his older brother had given him.

They both looked at each other with complicity, sharing a special connection that only they understood. They knew that despite their difficult past and having become superheroes in the most unexpected way, these stuffed animals represented a safe place and a refuge in the darkest moments of their childhood.

Tandy extended the bunny to Tyrone.

"Ty, meet my stuffed friend, Bunny. Although I no longer need him to feel safe, he still has a special place in my heart."

Tyrone took the bunny gently and showed the teddy bear to Tandy.

"This is Teddy, my best furry friend. He always reminded me that there were good things in this world, even when everything seemed to be against me and when my brother was no longer with me.

They both smiled as they hugged their stuffed animals affectionately. It was a simple gesture, but it meant a lot to them. Those worn objects bore witness to their friendship and growth over the years.

"Tandy, you know what? I'm grateful to have met you and to have you share moments like these with me," Tyrone confessed with sincerity.

"Me too, Tyrone. You're one of the few people I can really trust," she replied with a big smile on her face.

They stayed on the roof, enjoying each other's company and sharing stories of their childhood while holding their beloved stuffed animals. In the midst of all that had happened to them, they found a moment to remember where they came from and how far they had come together.

From that night forward, Tandy and Tyrone held Bunny and Teddy in a special place as reminders that no matter how dark the night, there would always be light in their lives and hope in their hearts.

#mrpbingo #marvelrarepairbingo #marvel rare pair bingo #cloak & dagger #the divine pairing #tyrandy #tyrone x tandy

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winksasleeplesseye · 2 years ago

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File #002 - Nightmare

City of the Dead

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x OC

Word Count: 3k

Fandom: Resident Evil

Summary: Amara learns the horrifying truth of what occurred at the Spencer Mansion, visits a few familiar faces to get answers, and meets a new soon-to-be familiar face.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

September 3, 1998.

It’d been a week and a few days.

Amara had been holed up in her apartment, watching life go by from her fire escape. Originally, she and Monet, her older sister, would spend evenings sitting out on the fire escape and talking about whatever came to mind. Of course, that was before Monet decided to go back to school at NYU, handing over the keys and the lease to Amara only a few months prior.

Sometimes, Amara wishes she had followed suit but she knows her heart would probably always lie in this line of work. Education is a noble pursuit, but the same could be said for working in a profession such as this one.

Amara scanned her eyes through her space, it was quaint but it was home.

She wasn’t much of an architecture connoisseur, but Monet is. It’s the only reason she knew that the building was constructed prewar as if she couldn’t tell from the appliances when they had first moved in.

With her salary now, she could’ve opted for something a little more modern, but nothing beat vintage.

Her eyes fall upon the manilla folder once more. The words on the cover are still the same glaringly, angry red as they were when she grabbed the file.

Amara had clung to the file, against her better judgment and Max’s knowledge, taking it back here but she still hadn't read anything from it. It sat untouched on her coffee table, already gathering dust as if it hadn’t been touched in years rather than days.

Why? She wasn’t sure, the title stood out clear as day but the churning in her stomach wouldn’t stop.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew what she would read wouldn’t be good. But curiosity gnawed at her like a dog gnawing at a bone.

She weighed the pros and cons again, the same way she did the very night she brought the file back with her. “Fuck it, rip it like a bandaid.”

Her eyes comb over every word, John certainly wasn’t the one who wrote this but whoever did almost seemed to take delight in recounting it all.

The file goes into gruesome detail, spanning even before the team’s involvement in May, detailing an outbreak of some sort within a lab underneath a Spencer Mansion outside city limits.

Amara recalls that they were tasked with this assignment at the beginning of July due to the bizarre attacks since that time in May. Most of the RPD and the teams chalked it up to cannibalism and cultists, but considering that she wasn’t present for the said mission, she never did get her answer until now.

It was reading to her that this wasn’t, in fact, cultists or cannibalism. Her stomach turned even more with every word, someone had recounted everything her team went through, what Alpha Team went through. It sounded like hell on earth.

The more Amara read about what had happened at the Spencer Mansion on July 24, the more she felt a mixture of disgust, shock, and disbelief. She had been one of the few members of the S.T.A.R.S. team to survive, alongside Jill, Chris, Barry, and Rebecca, but the cost had been high.

Amara's friends, and comrades, had been mercilessly slaughtered by the monsters that had lurked within the mansion. And now, as the truth became clear, she learned that it had all been orchestrated by their own captain, Albert Wesker.

The anger and the sense of betrayal that rose up inside Amara were almost too much to bear.

Wesker had been someone she had looked up to, someone she had trusted implicitly. He had his quirks, as most people did, but to learn his were more of the nefarious persuasion sent her into a spiral.

And now she realized that he had been using them all along, manipulating them for his own twisted ends.

She clenched her fists, trying to push back the overwhelming emotions. There was a pounding in her temple and the contents of her stomach threatened to come back up as a dry retch rose in her throat. Amara realized she was breathing fast with her eyes squeezed shut like her body was more than ready to pass out.

She took a few deep breaths, no longer hearing the blood pulse against her eardrums and her heartbeat beating more than a mile a minute, like a child afraid of the dark. Everything is fine for now.

Amara could only imagine her comrades' reactions to these revelations were much, much worse. But another thing that would endlessly confuse her was why she had been spared.

—

Amara was still reeling from what all the files had revealed to her. And her shock and grief were made even worse by knowing the very same Captain-no, Doctor, who they’d all looked up to, depended on, wanted their deaths. Their silence. Their battle data, whatever the hell it was.

All for Umbrella.

Survivor’s guilt gnawed at her endlessly, why had she been spared? Was she just lucky?

Quite frankly, Amara had grown impatient in waiting to hear back anything from Max after leaving them for him to look over. So, she does what any impatient person does, go to find answers herself.

Amara marches right through the halls of the RPD. To hell with the desk sergeant, she knows who she’s here to see and knows exactly where they are.

The “bullpen” - for lack of a better term, hasn’t changed a bit, not that Amara really expects it to within a short amount of time since her firing. Most of the officers she recognizes and they’re all going about their duties, making phone calls, filing paperwork, making reports…you know, boring stuff.

She notices Rita and another female officer gushing over a file on the former’s desk. Knowing her curiosity, Amara quietly sidles up behind them to get a view of what’s got them giggling. Though, her stealth skills have been a bit rusty lately so it didn’t take long for them to become aware of her presence.

“Moore, what are you doing here?” Rita haphazardly slams the folder shut on the desk before Amara can even catch a glimpse.

“Where’s Lieutenant Branagh? I need to speak with him.” She tries to put on a cheerful front, considering what she knows now. The last thing she’d want is to dampen the moods of the others.

The other woman answers, “Went to the library or something.”

Amara nods. “For something? Guess I’ll have to head-” In one quick motion, she snatches the file off the desk and turns her back to them.

“Hey!-” Rita whined, like a child that had their toy stolen from them.

“Come on, ladies! You know I love to be in on the fun even as a civilian!” Amara flips open the file, “Now, let’s take a gander at what has you both blushing.”

And that is when Amara meets Leon S. Kennedy for the first time. Well, on paper, at least.

Judging by the contents of the file, Leon is one of the new recruits joining the force in a few weeks. But, she can also see why the women were blushing and giggling all the same.

She would have to be blind to not notice the picture on file is doing him all the favors. She lets out a wolf whistle, reading over his info. Graduated top 10% of his class. High marks all around. Amara couldn’t help but be impressed and realized he wasn’t too unlike her in that regard.

A man truly after her own heart.

“He’s a looker, isn’t he?’ Rita asks, leaning her chin on Amara’s shoulder to take another look, though she already knows that the former knows the answer to that. Leon’s eyes are piercing even through a picture, and Amara’s face heats up the longer she stares.

“Are we sure that he’s an actual cop? I could swear I’ve seen a guy just like him on a GQ cover.” Amara points out as she hands the file back to Rita.

The other female officer, whose name tag reads Knox, jokes, “Well, that’s certainly not a bad thing when you see the cops we’ve got to work with around here.”

Eliot–who Amara remembers fairly well as a jerk–pipes up with a scoff.

“Please, you guys are exaggerating! It’s not like this guy is Leonardo DiCaprio.”

“Jealous, much?” Knox snickers.

Somehow, this devolves into a debate over someone none of them have ever met to said movie star. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Branagh just so happens to stroll back in.

And just so happens to zero in on Amara. Fair enough, considering she sticks out like a sore thumb among most of the uniformed officers. “Somehow, it’s always you causing trouble in my bullpen.”

The smile Amara wears comes off a tad dopey, “Me? Safe to say I’m innocent this time.”

She doesn’t hesitate to bridge the distance and hug Marvin. He’d become almost like a father figure to her and going a long time without seeing him was a tad bit of agony for her.

“You know Irons will have your head and mine if he finds out you’re here.”

“Well then, lucky for us both that this conversation will be quick.” She sends another small smile his way. “Even better, both our heads won’t be over his weird mantle in his office.”

That makes Marvin laugh briefly.

Amara always kept her interactions with Chief Irons brief, and she was glad for it. She’d met enough creeps in her life to know that he set off all her creep alarms, just thinking about the taxidermy animals he proudly displayed sent a shudder down her spine.

She shakes the thought of that man.

“That stuff I brought you and Max, any weight to it?” She asks in a hushed tone.

Marvin’s face reads of disappointment. “Irons discredited it and an Umbrella representative seems to have had evidence proving otherwise with John.”

Amara laughs humorlessly. “Oh, that’s such bullshit! There’s no way stuff like that can be discredited.” The emails. The files. All of it. Anyone who read those could easily see that Umbrella was not presenting itself as just a do-good pharmaceutical company, there was way more to it.

They used her teammates as test subjects for gruesome monsters.

“Well, he did.” Marvin shakes his head, almost as if he’s still in disbelief at what he’s saying. “I was in the meeting and saw it all.”

“And you believe it?”

“They didn’t give reason to believe otherwise,” Marvin said. His words mean one thing. But his face reads otherwise, clearly trying not to actually convince Amara of their side.

“Shit. Now what?”

“How about this? Go see Jill, she’s still in town. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to see you.” Marvin ushers Amara by the shoulders gently. “Maybe you two can gossip about the rookie you were ogling in my files.”

She can just hear the smirk in his words, letting out an exasperated sigh and rolling her eyes at the insinuation.

“Oh, my god. I wasn’t ogling, just curious!”

“Right, and Rita and Knox weren’t either, now get a move on!”

—--

Amara drove through the streets of Raccoon City, her eyes briefly scanning the people as they went about their daily lives.

There were couples holding hands, families with children, business people hurrying to their offices, and old folks sitting on benches. They were all so busy with their own lives, completely unaware of the horror that lie within their own city.

Amara couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding as she drove through the city.

She knew that something was coming, something terrible. But the people around her were blissfully ignorant, going about their days as if nothing was wrong.

She looked at them with a mix of pity and envy. Pity, because she knew what was coming and they didn't. Envy, because for a brief moment, she wished she could be like them, oblivious to the dangers that lurked just beneath the surface of their seemingly peaceful city.

As she pulled up in front of Jill's apartment building, Amara shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She knew she had to focus on the task at hand, on her mission to uncover the truth about Umbrella and their involvement in the Spencer Mansion incident. She got out of her car and made her way up to Jill's apartment, wondering what more Jill could tell her about everything.

Amara knocked three times, expecting to hear Jill at least answer, “Coming!” But she only heard shuffling, footsteps, and the locks being turned.

After a few moments, the door opened to reveal Jill, looking as though she had been up all night. “Oh, hey.”

The greeting sounded less like a surprise, and more like Jill had seen a ghost in Amara. “Come on in.”

Jill’s apartment had seen better days, Amara took in her surroundings, noticing the meticulous wall of evidence that dominated the space. There were maps and newspaper clippings, all with red strings connecting them in a spiderweb-like fashion.

Jill gestured for Amara to come inside, a small almost strained smile playing on her lips as she noticed Amara's curiosity. "I know it looks crazy," Jill said, "but I promise I'm not a conspiracy theorist."

Amara chuckled, following Jill further into the apartment. "It's impressive, actually. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so dedicated to their research."

Jill's smile faltered slightly, and Amara wondered if she'd said something wrong. But then Jill shrugged and said, "Yeah, well, after the mansion incident, I couldn't just sit around and wait for anyone else to do something. So I decided to take matters into my own hands."

“I guess you’re already aware of why I’m here then?” Amara asked, scanning her eyes over the pins on the wall.

“More or less. But you should probably explain anyways, so I know we’re on the same page.”

Once they were seated on the couch, Amara explained the reason for her visit. "I've been investigating the recent supposed suicide of an Umbrella researcher, John Clemens. He knew that Wesker sent S.T.A.R.S. to the Spencer Mansion to get hurt and retrieve battle data of B.O.W.s. He knew, or at least someone did, as far back as May what had been occurring and tried to become a whistleblower and send something out to us, but that was intercepted.”

Jill's expression hardened at the mention of Wesker. "I've been investigating Umbrella since then," she said. "We confronted Irons about what happened at the mansion. He didn't take it well."

Amara leaned in, intrigued. "What did he say?"

"He tried to brush us off, said we were making a mistake. But I know what I saw at the mansion, what we all saw and I know that Irons was involved in covering it up. I've been gathering evidence ever since.”

Amara nodded, impressed. "You're one step ahead of me. I didn't realize you'd been working on this for so long."

Jill smiled wryly. "I've been living and breathing this for a while. It's good to know Chris and I are not the only ones now.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Amara spoke up again. "Do you think Irons is behind the researcher's death?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Jill said. "But we need more evidence if we're going to take him and Umbrella down."

Amara nodded in agreement. "I'll do whatever it takes to help. We have to stop Umbrella before they do any more damage."

“Agreed,” Jill gives her a small, sad smile. Both of them seemed equally haunted by the friends they had lost. But Jill had been in the thick of it at the mansion, while Amara was only privy to the knowledge secondhand, relegated to the sidelines.

"I'm sorry, Jill," Amara said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. "I wish there was more I could have done to help. I wish I had known all of this sooner.”

Jill gave her a closed-lip smile and placed a comforting hand on her own. "You couldn’t have known when you left, Amara. We certainly didn’t. We were up against something much bigger than us."

Amara nodded, her guilt weighing heavily on her. She had been so happy to escape even for a brief time from her duties that she had failed to be there when her team needed her most. And now, because of her choice, people were dead and the truth had been buried. She feels the slightest bit of disgust at the relief of not having been amongst them.

As they sat in silence, the static on the TV grew louder. Amara knew that she had to do more to make things right. If not for her, then for those who weren’t alive to do it themselves.

Jill seems to have noticed the look on Amara's face and spoke up. "Hey, you okay?" she asked.

Amara nodded. "Yeah, just a lot to take in," she replied.

Jill gave her a small smile. "I know. Listen, I'm leaving the city soon to investigate Umbrella. I think you should lay low for a little bit until we gather all the evidence we can and know more about what's going on."

Amara frowned. "What do you mean by 'lay low'?"

She was a bit confused by that, if anything, Amara had done nothing but lay low. Being in their line of work kind of gave her the skill of keeping quiet when necessary. Knowing the things they did, didn’t exactly allow for her to go running around like an idiot.

Jill shrugged. "Just don't draw too much attention to yourself. Stay out of trouble and don't do anything reckless."

Amara nodded, understanding what Jill was getting at. "Okay, I'll do my best."

Jill stood up from the couch and made her way to the door. "Stay safe, Amara," she said as she opened the door. "And keep in touch."

Amara stood up and hugged Jill. "You too," she said as she pulled away. "Good luck out there."

With that, Amara left, leaving herself with a moment to think about what she had just learned and what the future might hold.

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #Leon kennedy re2 remake #leon kennedy x oc #resident evil 2 remake #re2 remake fic #original character #city of the dead fic #black oc #resident evil 2 #jill valentine #wesker #re2 remake #resident evil #leon scott kennedy

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