#but it is his version of the call of the abyss | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wttcsms · 4 months ago

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night !!

ᝰ.ᐟ there’s nothing nagi values more than getting his rest, but thoughts of you have been keeping him wide awake at night. someone has to help him get rid of all this annoying restless energy — and it has to be you, the whole entire reason why his sleeping schedule is fucked. ( fem!reader )

pairing seishiro nagi x reader word count 2.4k content contains jealousy (nagi is being a baby abt how chigiri has your attention)/jealous sex, soft yandere!nagi, possessive sex, biting/marking kinktober masterlist

Evil.

That’s what you are. Nagi is convinced that you are the fucking devil, someone sent from the abyss to ruin his life and destroy his ego.

Maybe that’s a harsh judgment to make — he doesn’t mean it; not really, anyway. But there is something about you that chips away at his nonchalance. Seishiro Nagi doesn’t care about a lot of things. He can’t be bothered to. He thought that after soccer found its way into whatever void is inside of him, he’d be fulfilled. That that was it — he found his purpose, he found his driving force, and now he can enter society as a functioning human being with actual hopes and dreams.

He never realized that he had the capacity to care about anything else, and then you arrive on the field one day, camera in one hand, a bright smile plastered on your face as you’re being introduced as the new social media manager for Manshine City.

And suddenly, Nagi realizes that not only does he have the capacity, he’s actually emptier than he thought.

You had been receptive to his awkward, fumbling advances. For as attractive and cool he appears on the outside, Nagi’s never bothered to actually approach any girls before. Never really felt the need to. You had taken all his accidental rude comments in stride, and you harbored the same interests as him, and he finally has you now.

He has you, and no one else can call you theirs, and yet here he is, on a Friday night, sulking in bed instead of getting his precious rest time.

He’s frowning, looking up at his ceiling as he thinks about what had happened earlier today.

There’s really no need for a dress code. The coaches are all decked out in athleisure, the athletes themselves are wearing practice jerseys, and since you’re expected to be constantly on the move and chasing after these athletes, trying to get good footage and spend the whole day with ‘em, Nagi can’t necessarily fault you for wanting to be comfortable. You’re wearing a cropped version of the Define Jacket with leggings that hug you in just the right way, and Nagi swears that he isn’t a jealous person.

He thinks being envious is a crude waste of his energy, energy that he can’t bother to exert, and he’s never really experienced jealousy before.

Maybe that’s why he’s awake at midnight despite the fact that he has an early morning practice scheduled. A practice that you’ll be attending, once again. He frowns as he tosses and turns in his bed, trying to shut his eyes, but every time they’re closed, he keeps seeing you.

More accurately, you and Chigiri.

Just the thought of his teammate is enough to make a scowl appear on his face.

You’re filming content for a TikTok, and Nagi can’t help but childishly pout when he asks himself why does the TikTok need to star Chigiri and Chigiri alone? It’s not like he’s the only member on the team, you know! You spent the whole day laughing at whatever Chigiri had to say, and Nagi knows that it sounds terrible, but he doubts his teammate is that hilarious. And the way you kept following him around, barely paying any attention to the other players, including your own boyfriend, wasn’t even Nagi’s breaking point. No — what his breaking point happened to be was the way your figure-flattering outfit was just too tantalizing.

You’re so focused on Chigiri, with your back turned to everyone else, that Nagi gets quite a view every time you’re bending down to get a different angle. Even just the memory alone is enough to get him hard.

Fuck. Now he’s sporting a semi, he’s still seething with jealousy with the memory of you all over Chigiri still constantly playing on a loop in his mind, and worst of all: you’re not here with him. Your laptop is in your apartment, and you had kissed him goodbye after practice because you needed to edit the footage you captured today, and so you can’t spend the night with him like you usually do.

When thirty minutes go by, and he’s still wide awake, jealous, and hard, Nagi rolls over and groans in his pillow. The minute he gets his hands on, he’s intent on making sure you can’t walk. You won’t be able to chase after Chigiri, that’s for damn sure.

Things don’t necessarily go according to Nagi’s grand plan. Sure, you’re laying in bed with him, wearing just his shirt and a pair of panties, but you barely paid any attention to him. He’s been pretending to be occupied with his Switch, but he keeps glancing over at you.

You’re on your phone, eyebrows furrowed as you meticulously go through the footage for a video you plan on uploading. Nagi scowls when he catches a familiar glimpse of red hair moving on the screen. You’re still editing videos of him? Seriously?

��I thought you weren’t working today,” he mumbles, tossing aside the Switch. You don’t even look up from your phone.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby, but Hyoma asked if there’s anything he can improve on for the next promo vid we’re shooting, and I want to at least find something to comment on so he knows I’m taking him seriously.” Chigiri is surprisingly a perfectionist when it comes to videos of himself. He’s been constantly asking you if you’re sure he doesn’t look too nervous or too stiff on camera, and honestly, his worrying is a bit endearing.

Hyoma — since when were you on a first name basis with his teammate?

This is what sets him off. This is his breaking point.

Sometimes, with how sloth-like Nagi acts, it’s easy to forget that he’s a bonafide professional athlete. A genius, even. He’s quick to pounce on you, tossing your phone somewhere on his massive bed while pinning your body down with his own. With no pesky phone in the way, the only person to give your undivided attention to is him. That’s exactly how it should be.

“Sei— Ah!” You can’t help but let out a surprised gasp as you feel Nagi nip the soft skin of your neck, teeth grazing you. Not hard enough to leave a mark (he’ll save that for later, for when you’re too drunk on his cock to protest), but sharp enough for you to feel it, to feel the pressure and the intent and the promise behind a love bite.

“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend.” Nagi grumbles, his head still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I am, Seishiro.” You run a hand through the white strands of your boyfriend’s hair. It’s just as soft as it looks, and he leans into your touch, seemingly content. You didn’t realize just how neglected poor Nagi was feeling, and you wonder if it’s possible if he’s jealous. But that can’t be it — Nagi’s never been jealous a day in his life. He doesn’t even react when he catches guys flirting with you in public because he’s so confident in his relationship with you.

You think he just wants to rest like this, but then you feel his lips dragging down the expanse of your neck. He sucks on your collarbone for a second, and returns back to your neck, sucking and biting, and all you can do is tangle your fingers into his hair, letting out little whimpers and gasps.

“Sei, baby, you— you’re gonna leave marks.”

He lifts his head up momentarily, staring up at you with a dark fog in his gray eyes that you normally don’t see. Underneath that haze of desire, though, lies something sharper in the gleam of his eyes.

“That’s the point.”

And then he does bite down on the fragile flesh of your neck. And you just lay there, allowing him to.

Nagi wastes no time in using one hand to rub against your thigh, squeezing at the plushness of it before traveling further to slide your cotton panties to the side. When his thick fingers brush against your folds, he can’t hold back a smile as he finds you already wet.

You’re embarrassed, heat rising to your cheeks when Nagi holds up his hand so you can see the way your essence is glistening on his middle and ring fingers. “You’re this wet, and I haven’t even kissed you yet.” His tone is half-teasing, half-in awe. He maintains eye contact with you, and you watch him stick his fingers in his mouth, obscenely sucking on his digits, groaning as the taste of you hits his tongue.

And when he’s done, he finally does kiss you properly.

You think you can taste a hint of yourself on him, and it only makes you feel even hotter. You’re subconsciously thrusting your hips upwards, trying to get any sort of friction from him.

“Mm, ah, Sei—”

“Shh.” Nagi hushes you, pressing another kiss against your lips, swallowing up your would-be pleading and begging for something, anything — his fingers, his tongue, his cock, something to ease the heat building inside of you. “Gonna make my baby feel so good.” He rubs at your slit through the slickness of your panties, teasing you as he allows the thin fabric to act as the only barrier between his ring finger and your wet heat. You’re already soaking through the cotton.

He’s been fucking pent up since last night, finding no relief, and now that he has you pinned down on his bed, wet and whining for him, he figures you won’t mind if he rushes into things. He has plenty of stamina, anyway. He can go all night if you want him to.

You mewl out his name pathetically when he slides your panties to the side once more, only instead of his fingers toying with you, it’s the tip of his cock that you feel prodding the entrance of your cunt.

“You feel that?” He gasps out, having to take a few breaths as he adjusts to the snugness and heat of your cunt. He’s slowly pressing forward, making himself at home inside of your pussy, slowly but surely. “That’s—” Just a few more inches ‘til he’s bottoming out. “—the only dick that’s ever gonna be inside of your pussy.” He’s pressed as deeply as possible, his entire length buried inside of you.

He’s close, so close to you, and all you can do is whimper as you adjust to his size. Nagi’s cock isn’t just long, but thick. Even with your slick-soaked hole helping ease him in, it’s still a bit of a pain to take him all the way.

“Say it.” His voice goes a bit deeper than his normal easy-going cadence. When you look into your boyfriend’s eyes, you see it once more: the pussydrunk, lustful haze clouding his vision, and the dark, sharp look that is the driving force behind why your boyfriend impatiently started burying his cock inside of you as soon as he could. “C’mon, tell me.”

The thrusts he’s giving you right now are only shallow; an inch or two being pulled out, only to lightly be shoved back in. It’s almost as if he’s testing the waters, but you can hear the edge in his tone. He’s growing impatient once more, but he refuses to fuck you boneless unless you tell him what he wants to hear.

Fortunately, it’s the truth. It’s the truth when you whine out, “This pussy is a-all yours, Seishiro.”

“Yeah?” He’s pulling out slowly, licking his lips as he watches how submissive he can get you to be. He’ll start with a slower pace, he decides. Treat his girl to a couple of easy orgasms before he starts showcasing his true strength.

At least, that was his plan. Then, your phone notifies you of a text message.

He stills, eyes glancing, squinting at your screen.

It’s a text.

From Chigiri.

Nagi focuses his attention back on you, but inside his mind, all he sees is the notification with his teammate’s name on it. Your eyes are wide, as if you know what he just saw, but before you can explain yourself, Nagi abruptly slams back into you.

The pace he sets is brutal. He has one hand gripping the headboard to steady himself, his other is angrily tightened around your hip, sure to leave a bruise he’ll kiss all better later.

“Fuck.” He practically snarls, never relenting. All you can do is let out a string of moans as his cock continues to pound your pussy. There’s another chime from your phone, another notification from Chigiri. He’s asking if the video looks okay.

You don’t have work on the brain. The only thing your mind is capable of processing are the sensations that Nagi is serving up to you on a silver platter. Even with his brutal pace and hard thrusts, he finds enough kindness inside of him to move his hand from your hip and instead grind his palm against your clit. The callouses all over his hand only add to the pleasure, and you find yourself sobbing out his name as you feel the familiar, overwhelming need to cum.

“You gonna cum?” Nagi grunts out, as if he doesn't already know. He can tell, y’know. He can tell, because your walls are clamping down on his dick so tightly, it’s a struggle to pull out because you’re clinging to him. He can tell, because you’ve got your adorable little fucked-out expression on your face. Drool on your lips, a string of incoherent pleading and broken mewls of his name. His name. Yeah, you better be moaning his name, and his only.

“Mm, Seishiro!” You squeal out, tightening even more against his cock. Your clit is so sensitive, so receptive to his touch, paired with the nonstop thrusting of his dick, you can’t help but cream all over him.

“Fu-ck.” The swear comes out in broken syllables as Nagi feels you cumming on his cock. He looks away from your face to look at the messy scene between your legs. Your panties are still pushed to the side, the fabric wet from your juices, and when he pulls out a bit, he sees a nice, white ring around his girth.

You’re still whimpering, eyes closed shut as you try to regain your breath, but Nagi isn’t done just yet. He still hasn’t cum.

When he hears another text message notification, certainly from Chigiri once again, Nagi knows that you’re in for a long night. He won’t stop even after he cums.

No — for every text message you get from his teammate, that’s another orgasm he’ll just have to wring out of you.

#seishiro nagi x reader #nagi x reader #nagi x you #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #smut #one shot #drabble #kinktober 2024

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k0mmari · 8 days ago

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Endless Abyss(kinda)! SY AU

First things first, this is very much inspired by this post by @/rainbowsmagicandshit and @/allpiesforourown, HIGHLY recommend reading that fist just to get a glimpse of where I started off, but do note I have accidentally deviated from the original idea a bit, so uh, oops ig.

This was born out of a mix of different ideas (as usual), so think of this as ‘The AU where SY is a demon, and also the Endless Abyss, and also my excuse to have Binghe possibly make a harem consisting entirely of SY’s’, or, as I like to call it:

As per usual, Shen Yuan has died. It happens to the best of us, and of course, he died while reading the glittering piece of trash that is Proud Immortal Demon Way.But, as he is in the process of getting snatched away by the System, something goes wrong, and the System has to quickly redirect itself and it causes SY to get knocked out of course.

His soul scrambles to find a new host, and it manages to find someone suitable enough. When SY wakes up though, he isn’t greeted by the sight of a roof, or a forest, or anything remotely familiar; instead, the moment he regains consciousness, he’s senses are flooded with as much information as possible. It’s like a computer with too many tabs open, but in this case, you can see all the tabs at the same time and all of them are playing the most obnoxiously loud videos possible, in fact, everything feels so overwhelming even thinking becomes too much.

What SY doesn’t know is that he has transmigrated into the body of a Titan, an almost extinct godly demon race that only existed in the confines of Airplane’s first drafts, and it turns out shoving a human soul into the body of a deity doesn’t bode so well, since what the human mind is able to process doesn’t even come close to what a Titan is able to feel. So because SY can’t get a hold of his own mind, his control of his own body is also not great, and he is completely unaware as his newly acquired body goes on a rampage.

See, SY is currently in a very old version of the Demon Realm, so old in fact, Heavenly Demons still rule over the Realm. It really is quite a shame that SY wasn’t in his right mind at the time, and instead of being able to observe how ancient Heavenly Demons governed demonic society, he instead accidentally set on a path of destruction, with the casualties being anything that had the bad luck of standing in his way. In fact, the destruction got so bad a few of the Heavenly Demons rulers, who notoriously hated each other, settles on a temporary peace agreement and joined forces to stop the mad Titan.

SY, in his frenzied state, didn’t even notice as hundreds of years went by as the Heavenly Demons tried to stop him, and also barely noticed when they finally managed to chain him down and cast him away to be forever banished to the Endless Abyss. His body, once so tall it grazed the clouds, was torn apart, with each of its different parts sealed away in various locations as an attempt to diminish the Titan’s power. It worked, actually, and unbeknownst to the demons, SY slowly began to get his thoughts in order; the event that finally pushed him to coherency was when a few of those Heavenly Demon rulers got greedy, and while sealing away SY’s body parts, attempted to harness his power for themselves, and tried to create legendary weapons out of his flesh and bone.

Most of them failed, a Titan’s power to overwhelming for even a Heavenly Demon to handle, but one of them succeeded, and created a powerful sword made from the Titan’s own heart: Xin Mo. Unfortunately for the creator of Xin Mo, it didn’t take long for them to fall into madness and eventually succumb to Xin Mo’s power, casting themselves away to hold onto the sword forever in the same valley SY’s hands were sealed; but it is as they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and while Xin MO’s creator perished, they managed to take enough power away from SY for him to finally be able to think.

It had been a thousand years at this point, and SY’s first coherent thought was that he desperately needed a break, and that in all these years, he hadn’t managed to get a single glimpse into the world of PIDW, and what a waste! Specially since he was now in the most interesting area Airplane had managed to create, he was itching to explore the world. Of course, in his current state he wasn’t exactly able to move (having his limbs cut off certainly didn’t help, but apparently it had been so long since he was imprisoned that his Main Body had started to fuse with the Abyss? Really, more of a slight inconvenience than anything), but he also had become tired of his Titan body with it’s Titan feelings, and so he decided to split his consciousness and create a small army of human sized avatars who were later dubbed his ‘Watchers’, who’s sole purpose was to explore the Endless Abyss and send their findings back to the Main Body (in bite sized, easy to understand thoughts).

It is the first years of his Watchers wandering about that SY finally understood what had happened to his body, and figured out that Xin Mo was a product of his flesh. He figured that since demons tried to use his body for malicious purposes before, with one even succeeding, he decided that one Xin Mo was enough, and came up with a plan: He was going to piece his Titan body back together as a means to prevent anything of the sort happening again, but he was immediately going to seal the Titan body away again, as to not have to deal with it’s overwhelming power.

As the Watchers were sent to locate his body parts again, one of their first findings were the hands, which also meant the resting place of Xin Mo itself. How lucky, he thought! He could just take the hands away and maybe leave one of the Watchers guarding Xin Mo so when Luo Binghe eventually comes to retrieve his sword, SY at least can catch a glimpse of his favorite protagonist! He wasted no time, and while his avatars tried to unseal his hands, one of them went to move Xin Mo, just so it was out of the way, and in doing so the sword retaliated and ended up disintegrating the poor Watcher. What a rude sword, going against its own body.

Fine! If Xin Mo was going to be difficult so be it, and SY formed a new plan: before reuniting his Titan body back together, SY send his Watchers to keep an eye on as much of the Endless Abyss as possible and the moment Luo Binghe fell in, he would turn to hugging the protagonist’s thigh and help him survive the harsh environment as long as Binghe took Xin Mo. Well, it should be no problem, right? Binghe was fated to get the sword one way or another, and SY is sure his involvement will be small insignificant enough that it won’t be much more of a side quest for the future Demon Emperor!

Now, if he were a half human, half Heavenly Demon teenager who just got pushed into hell by his teacher, where would he land….

So, as you can see, this is mostly more like SY’s origin story lol, but I’ll probably write Binghe’s first meetings with the Watchers sometime soon (hopefully).In the meantime though, enjoy some more of the bonus sketches I did while figuring out the AU, and of course, if anyone has any questions or thoughts about this, feel free to send them to me!

#now this is what I call a drabble #just me yapping away #why create multiple small AU’s when you can fuse them all together into one #svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #bingqiu #bingyuan #binggeyuan???? maybe?????#binghe is like a half blackened lotus when this takes place #slightly charred lotus even #komm’s endless abyss travel guide #this couldnt be more self indulgent even if I tried #long post

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 months ago

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What if MC was sent to an alternate dimension somehow and that dimension contained all 7 overblots who woke up there after they were defeated in main story. How would they react to the magicless prefect who managed to defeat them suddenly showing up out of nowhere?

Overblot Universe | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Imagine a trip through the mirror portal gone wrong

Ending up in this other place where it looks like an ink covered version of Night Raven

Reminding you of your dear friends�� overblots

You hesitate to call out for help of any kind

Instead your greeted immediately by an army of ink blotted students marching towards you quickly

A single soldier steps to the front bearing a gaudy but familiar collar

“The Queen of Hearts demands you return to his side at once!”

Before you can say anything, another voice rings out

“Our Sultan demands the magicless one.”

This one has a smaller group but they are much more heavily armed

It leads to a brawl which you are uncomfortably at the center of

Escaping from the warring factions, you make your way to the school’s mirror room

Barely able to step on the premises you’re stopped by a small patch of sand sucking you into the ground

The only one you can think that’d use this is–

“Thought I smelled a troublesome herbivore.”

It’s Leona in all his overblotted glory

Snickering with a fanged smile he grabs you by the arm

Easily yanking you out of the sand and holding you against his chest

Still standing above the quicksand you hold on tight

You’re surprised when he almost lovingly rubs his cheeks against your own trailing down your neck with his nose

Then without warning he takes a deep bite into the crook of your neck

Holding you still as you try to shove him away

When he pulls back with blood on his smile, you can only look at him with betrayal

“What? You think I’d be gentle after you chased me away? Not this time sweet heart.”

He tosses you over his shoulder as he walks further away from the building you want to go

Taking you to an inky territory that looks as though Savvannaclaw turned into some rocky mound in the dessert

With too much ease he tosses you into a scratchy pile of sand

He plops down practically on top of you

“Ow! This is really uncomfy how do you sleep on this?!”

“Don’t whine. Now that you’re here it’ll be a lot softer.”

Too fast and so familiar to your Leona he falls asleep

Anytime you move a centimeter the sand whips angrily around keeping you in his vicinity

But it seems the only time it didn’t react was when a drone with a bucket of water dunked on the sand rising to swat at it

The damp sand could only bubble slowly as the drone came closer to you shooting some small metal thing on your reaching hand

“NO!--”

The ugly snarl from the overblotted Leona dissipates as a flash of blue and black transports you someplace else

“There they are brother! You’re player 2! I told you they’d be here for the special day!”

You want to voice your confusion as you blink your blurry sight into something sharp

But something's over your mouth

And your hands and your legs

Looking around you are in what looks like a cave lined with wires and technology baring an uncanny resemblance to a friend of yours

“You were right all along brother! Let’s prepare for the final act!”

It’s an overblotted Idia taking a heavy looking crown from the claws of some nearby machinery

Stopping to admire you, his cold clawed hands run along your face as if checking if your real

Before placing the crown on your head

The minute the device is settled how he likes it tightens on your head

Bringing a numbing pain to the sides of your skull as you desperately try to wiggle free

Nothing you do stops the inky creation that looks like Ortho manipulate your binds to stand you upright

Bringing you to an alter, it’s there you notice the swirling abyss just pass the electronic officiant

“Now say your vows, my fruit.”

“Of course my precious future husband, master of the underworld and overworld. For years–”

It’s your voice but not

With a tinge of automation your voice chimes happily from the restraint over your mouth

At your not–real—vows Idia seems to giggle causing the abyss to widen and the suction intensify

Eventually ‘your vows’ end and Idia claims he’s going to skip his

Letting his robotic officiant carry through like a typical ceremony

Until it gets to that part

“I’d be wrong not to speak my peace when both parties so clearly have withstanding debts with me.”

Part 2

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parfaitblogs · 5 months ago

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never grow up ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you are at the age you never thought you'd live to.

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff! tags: established relationship. (very brief) mentions of r not eating. depression. non sexual nudity. mention of a past suicide attempt. reader is codependent on spencer #anxiousattachment!! mini argument not really because he loves you a lot!!! please know your triggers ♡ word count: 2.2k a/n: this was a vent write. LOL! i think i switch tenses a lot in this? i tried to fix it. this is why we don't write fanfiction while we're crying!!! i love u i love u i love u and i am so so glad you are the age that you are!! continue to grow please!! life will become beautiful!!!

Depression is a funny thing.

Sometimes you are forgetting there has ever been a version of you out there that fantasised about death and longed for an escape from this world you deemed so cruel, so invasive. Other times, you are sat naked on the cold floor of your bathroom rocking back and forth, clawing at your skin and ripping hair out of your scalp because you are sobbing so ferociously. The world spinning around you and your cries, so violent, are making you lightheaded and you wonder if you pass out here if anyone will ever find you.

Clearly, tonight, you are the latter.

It started as a small pit in your stomach that morning, that you braved through and ignored to the best of your ability, even as you said gentle 'no thank you's' to food offered by your co-workers and forced your brain to focus on work and not the never-ending abyss of dread in your abdomen. Then, it became a tear or two on your way home, that you vehemently wiped away and pretended was never there because it couldn't be.

Then you were showering to get your mind off things — a stupid decision, really. For your brain was latching on to every awful emotion it had felt thus far today, and you were stepping out of the shower with an even heavier heart, and your hands were wrapping around your now goosebump riddled body, as you were sinking to the floor in a ball.

And maybe hours passed by you. Maybe days — it certainly felt that way. Maybe it was only a mere five minutes. But your loud sobs felt like they took an achingly long time to slow and quiet down, until they were falling into ugly sniffles of the snot on your face, and a raging headache behind your eyes.

Loud sobs — scream sobs, really — had a lot of disadvantages. The aftermath feeling of embarrassment of screaming at your brain that refused to simply shut up, the scratch at your throat from every sound you ripped from it. The audio block it gave you from the rest of the world. For you truly were in your own universe when you were howling alone in the comfort of your bathroom walls.

So much so, that the familiar sound of a door opening and closing, and a bag being placed down by the side of it, went entirely unnoticed to you. Footsteps against your apartment's wooden flooring weren't picked up, nor were the first two knocks on your bathroom door. By the third, you were blubbering through saliva and snot, and you had heard it. Followed by a very gentle calling of your name, that had your heart clenching within your chest for a new reason.

He had said he was coming home tomorrow. Which almost always meant he wouldn't be home for another three days, and so, in your mind, you thought bawling that night could be a secret kept between you and your tiles.

Apparently not.

He called your name again when you didn't reply, an added hint of desperation in his voice. Trembling, you stood, your limbs feeling as though they were creaking while you straightened them out. And you didn't bother about the towel sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, nor the pile of your clean clothes sitting on the countertop. In fact, you didn't bother about anything as a shaking hand twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

In an instant, his worried frown deepened, and eyes that might usually drink in the sight of your naked body beautifully, now didn't wander further than the scarlet scratch marks along your neck — blood vessels risen to the surface from how fragile that part of you was. He exhaled, and took a hesitating step towards you. One you welcomed by remaining planted in your spot — you didn't know if you could move, though.

"Can I ask what's wrong, or do you simply want a hug?"

Both, you wanted to say. Both, but also neither.

You didn’t say that. Instead, you said, "Hug."

He hardly took a second to register what you'd said before his arms were wrapping around you. If he found the slightly damp state of your skin annoying, he didn't comment on it. He didn't say much at all, as he enveloped you into his body, a hand securing itself on the back of your head, and his chin resting atop your head.

Water dripped uncomfortably to the floor, splattering on the tiles and his shoes, being the only sound aside from your irregular hiccups and sniffles. His button-up was wet from your tears and your body, and you could almost hear his complaints about it, if this were any other day.

Minutes passed, and even though you didn't want to, you pulled back, feeling his hands slip around to your waist and hold you benevolently. Your own hands reached up to your face to wipe away tears, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips.

"This is pathetic," you said, fingers digging into the corners of your stinging eyes.

"How?" he asked you.

"I didn't think you'd be home to see me having a mental breakdown."

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appeared on his lips. "Well, I am." Fingers squeezed your waist reassuringly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shrugged, wordlessly, your eyes dropping from his face to the damp spot on his chest from where your face had once been, heart stuttering.

"We don't have to, honey," he said. "But it might help."

"I know it might," you muttered.

He was silent, as were you. A few more beats passed between you two, before you were turning around to pick up clothes you had left for yourself on the counter. You didn't really feel any different under his watchful gaze as you dressed yourself. Accustomed to the act, or simply too overwhelmed with another emotion, you didn't know.

He followed you into the living room when you walked out there, and he sat down next to you on the couch you curled up on. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and he lifted his head on each intake of breath you had, as if about to say something. But you never did.

So, he took over.

"Did something happen today?" You shook your head, and he nodded his own. "Okay. This past week?" You shook your head again, because other than missing him while he had been stuck in Texas for a case, nothing had actually happened.

You wished it had. Truly, you wished you had experienced a murder on your way to work, or a distant family member had passed away so you could blame this feeling on something other than memories simply resurfacing.

You sniffled again. "You know," you began, voice thick and wobbly from the lump lodged in your throat. "When I was fourteen, I didn't think I'd ever be this old."

Your gaze lifted from your lap to look at him, and you let a helpless tear fall from one of your eyes when you locked eyes with him. He was confused, unsurprisingly so.

So, you continued. "I tried to kill myself. When I was fourteen."

He readjusted his posture, eyebrows falling into a more concerned state, and he was silent for so long you wondered if this was when he decided you were too much and too complicated for him to deal with.

He didn't. "I didn't know," he said, instead.

"I don't exactly advertise it," you replied, and even if it was an attempt at being light hearted, it fell flat. "I just realised I never thought I'd be this age," you continued when he hardly reacted, "and I've been really anxious and down all week, so I think that realisation kind of sent me over the edge."

"Are you happy you're at this age?"

Hesitantly, but surely, you nodded your head. "I got to meet you."

His lips twitched, but a smile never crossed his face. "You should be happy for reasons more than just me."

"You are my reason for being happy," you argued.

"And I'm glad to hear I make you happy, but I cannot be your only reason."

"Why not?"

"Because that's dependency."

You short-circuited, and he sighed upon realising the way you were taking his words — maybe not the smartest thing he could've said to his still tear-stricken-faced girlfriend.

"What I mean is you should have other areas in your life that make you happy. Not just me."

"I like my job," you mumbled, gaze relocating to your lap. "And my friends."

"Great," he said, and you could feel his weight shifting on the couch as he nudged closer to you. "As long as I'm not your reason for living."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You've been my reason for living since we started dating. Why is it different now?"

"I didn't know I was your reason for living until now."

"So if you are, then what? You leave me?"

"No," his response was so immediate you were sure you could feel the whiplash, and he ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to fight with you when you're like this."

"I don't want to fight with you either," you agreed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "I'm sorry I'm co-dependent."

He didn't respond for a while, mulling everything you two had shared and now, your apology, over in his head. You sat, anxiously, as minutes ticked by until he was puffing his cheeks to let out air, and standing up from the couch.

He turned to you. "I love you, you know that," he began, and even before he had a chance to finish, you were already drowning him out, world crumbling around you as tears welled back up in your eyes. Maybe if you weren't as emotional as you were that night, your vision wouldn't have already gone blurry, and your heart wouldn't be shattering in your chest already.

"But?" you countered, a sob escaping you at the end of the word.

He froze at the sound of it, his eyebrows turning in to each other, "Sorry?"

"You love me, but?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm sitting here, sobbing really violently and I look hideous, and you've just discovered I'm co-dependent, and you don't like that about me, so now you're telling me that you love me, but this isn't going to work out, and I need to work on myself before I get into another relationship, and you hope I can find happiness, and—"

"—What are you talking about?" he cut your ranting off, blinking a few times, confused.

"Is that not what's happening?"

"No?"

"Oh."

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you felt your heart slowly pick itself back up from the pits of your stomach, each piece mending itself back together. He wasn't breaking up with you.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry," you said, though it wasn't very sincere. He crouched down in front of you, hands finding your fidgeting ones to hold them.

"Can I finish what I'm going to say before you cut me off this time?" Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and so he continued. "I love you, and you know that, and I don't want you to think I'm upset or mad at you for being codependent. You're allowed to not know how to navigate a relationship. But—"

"—There it is—" he glared with no real heat at you, and your lips twitched "—Sorry."

"But I need you to communicate with me. I'm going to inevitably do things that upset you, because you're co-dependent. We need to figure those things out, because a lot of the time you will respond unhealthily, and knowing what I know now, I don't want to be a trigger in any way."

"You won't be a trigger," you mumbled, and he shot you a pointed look, and your shoulders deflated. "I just feel stupid communicating things like that. Like, oh, I'm sad because my boyfriend is out of state for work and he's super busy and not responding to my messages so I think he might hate me."

"That isn't stupid."

"Yes it is!"

He said your name, eyebrows risen, and he shook his head. "You're upset about something. That isn't a stupid thing at all."

"It feels stupid."

"Okay, well, how about the next time I'm away on a case and not replying and you miss me, which is what that crazy, sad, completely reasonable phenomenon is called, by the way, you communicate that with me, and you see how I respond?"

"What if you tell me to go fuck myself?"

He didn't even need to verbally deny your words for you to know that that response was completely out of character for him. All it took was one simple look, and you were diffidently smiling and averting your gaze, mumbling a quiet, "Okay."

And yes, the next time he was out of the state and you missed him, as he so kindly put it, you told him. And he spent three hours on the phone that night with you, reassuringly expressing how much he loved you, and how little he hated you.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid fluff

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felassan · 2 months ago

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David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

#dragon age #bioware #video games #morrigan #queen of my heart #long post #longpost #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4

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never-afters · 4 months ago

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DEMO. (SOON)

The crowning of a jealous king one century ago spelled the doom of invokers, beings bestowed with the ability to control the essence of the world and manifest it in the surface. Out of envy that he was naught but a normal human, he ordered the capture and execution of invokers, reinforcing his power as a king. He made an enemy out of your people to secure his pride and throne.

A hundred of years passed and the slaughter only continues, a jealous ruler crowned one after another. The land of Zandria is stained with the blood of your ancestors, and it only continues to spill. You, who were once revered, admired, and loved, are now loathed, imprisoned, and executed simply for bearing the ability to manipulate aether, the essence of the land of Aeresia.

You are an invoker. Do you have what it takes to survive the wrath of a land that calls for your death? Or will you, like the ones before you, fall into the abyss?

Abyssal Depths is a dark fantasy set in the fictional world of Aeresia. It is the revamped version of my interactive fiction previously titled Invoker.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ Who are you? Only you have the answer to that question. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Build bonds with the people you meet. Friendship, rivalry, romance — pick your poison. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Disguise yourself as a human, working as a mercenary for the guild Sentinel. Try your best to hide the truth from your guildmates. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Do your job. Who knows? Maybe along the way, you'll find what you're looking for. ˖⋆࿐໋₊ Survive. Perhaps you'll live long enough to see all the mysteries unravel.

Elfrid Basset [f] ✦ Your childhood friend and the daughter of the woman who saved you. Elfrid has always had a strong personality, always pushing you out of your comfort zone. Stubborn, impulsive, yet caring to those she cares about, there was never a time where trouble never followed her. She doesn't know your truth, but as people say, there is no secret that lasts forever.

Lucianus le Cordiér [m] ✦ An ex-noble you and Elfrid stumbled upon a year ago one night. Without the riches and reputation his family once had, Lucian brandished his skill as a swordsman and earned himself a spot as a mercenary in the same guild as you. He appears kind, gentle and open, but the air of mystery that surrounds him proves that no one truly knows who he was once.

Alcaeus Vanderbilt [m] ✦ A person from your past that you thought you will never see again. Meeting him may mean good things, but perhaps it also meant that the ghosts from your past are now catching up to you. Smart, skilled, but surrounded by walls he built to protect himself, Alcaeus won't let anyone take away anything from him again.

Amelia Vanderbilt [f] ✦ Someone from your past who lives with the guilt of surviving. Amelia has always been sickly, but despite everything she has outlived everyone else. She's still the timid and soft-spoken girl you barely saw back home, the only thing you can't believe is her unwavering trust that there is still good left in the world you're both living in.

Clair [m] ✦ A traveling bard who decided one day it will be fun to go adventuring with you and your group. He said he wants to turn your exploits into a great story, and no matter how hard you dissuade him, he never relents. Charming and cunning, that's how Clair is, and you never realized how dangerous those two qualities together were until you met him.

Salomé [f] ✦ An eccentric woman you met in the middle of your mission. Boisterous, fun, yet eccentric, it's hard not to notice her with all the rings that adorn her fingers and the scars that she flaunts like trophies. She tries to come off as someone who knows nothing, but you have the feeling that she hides something you need to know. You wonder what it could be.

Kazehara [f/m/nb] ✦ With clothes you've never seen around Zandria, Kazehara stood out like a sore thumb the first time you saw them. Framed for a murder they swear they never did, they join you in an attempt to clear their name. Sarcastic, cynical, and brash, there is never a shortage of insult from Kazehara. However, you know too well that it's merely an image they conjured to protect themselves in a land they know nothing about.

??? [f/m/nb] ✦ A figure in your dreams, blurred and ever changing. A memory of the past, a phantom of your grief, your desire for warmth — you do not know. However, the way they speak, the way they try to meet your eyes behind the fog that keeps them at bay, and the way they try to reach for you make them seem real. They feel familiar, and there exists a tug in your soul that pulls you closer to them.

OTHERS

✦ Ask box is open! Any question is okay but there is no guarantee that your ask will be answered. Anything that are spoilery, disrespectful, and extremely explicit will be deleted. ^^ ✦ The demo for Invoker can still be accessed through google search. However, it hasn't been updated since 2021, and won't be updated anymore. ✦ This project is not my main focus as I'm a full time university student. My goal is to release the demo before 2024 ends, though. ✦ I haven't decided which platform to use for the demo yet, but rest assured that writing is as consistent as it can be despite my busy schedule. I haven't had the chance to learn how to use Twine yet, so I'm either planning to look for a collaborator who can code in Twine or stick with choicescript first until I get to learn how to use Twine. ✦ I will be posting character profiles for the ROs, though there are no set dates yet. This is to give way for a more detailed description for their personality and physical appearance.

#abyssal depths #AD-if #announcement #interactive fiction #aaand we're back guys!#im so nervous to be back ><#reblogs are highly appreciated!

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the-kr8tor · 14 days ago

Text

Red Firefly

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.9k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Reader has nicknames, Noxian! Reader, historian! Reader, part 2 of ink and bedrock, CW death mention, CW food mention, TW panic attack, CW, violence. Arcane spoilers, arcane characters appearance.

Ekko Masterlist

Navigation

Part 1 <<< Part 2 >>> Part 3

The wooden spoon almost cracks under your grip. Splitting sounds of wood falling into deaf ears even when your knuckles shake above the sweetened icing. Your memory betrays you, the cold of the apartment Caitlyn graciously lets you borrow seeps into your threadbare sleep clothes, frost biting into your innards, clawing around your hands and up to your throat like rose thorns.

You're back there again, home, where blood spilled on the streets is a welcome sight to behold like grass growing in between the pavement. Where cracked knuckles can be seen on every citizen, purple skin weighing down their eyes, crimson swimming in their irises. Home. Where you always belonged. Where he belonged. Until the darkened slithering roses caught up to him, crawling all over the freezing room you both called home. Or was it just his home? You were always out fighting for home because that's what they taught you since birth. Always out screaming and thriving amongst bloodied swords and gunpowder itching into your nose. But not him, he was inside his study, reading, learning. Always the better one between you two. Always the kinder one. All soft palms with bitten cuticles from a nervous tick he never shook off. Warm eyes that remind you of your mother, and a soft smile that your father never showed anyone except that one time you first took hold of a gun.

He was the best version of you. Rounded around the edges, no jagged line that bares its teeth whenever one gets too close. He's not you.

Until they stopped him. Black spindly vines wrapped around him, thorns pricking his skin, spilling the same blood running through your veins. Then suddenly, the chill stops, and his muffled screams subsides, leaving the rumbling tone of your cracked heart beating amidst the dark. It should've been you, your mind always screamed. But he was the best out there, ambitious, cunning. And that got him pulled into the thorns.

So you fought, killed, maimed, in hopes that they'll take you too. That they'll find you worthy enough to be taken into their piercing embrace that smells of roses and warm iron. And yet, it wasn't enough. Even when you stood atop bodies of both comrades and enemies. It wasn't enough. You were not good enough to see him again. Even if it was just a glimpse of those eyes, even if they're lifeless now, even if the light hasn't glistened in them. Even if it means you would be joining him in the rose scented abyss. You'd be happy enough to be wrapped in the same thorns, to meet your end just as he did.

The sound of the beeping oven brings you back to the present. The past fading away as you slowly unfurl your palm off from the wooden spoon seeing the indents it has left on your skin. You open the warm oven, its heat searing away the remnants of the memory. Smoke wafts over your face, pulling you into its warmth.

You sigh, leaving it open as you crouch down, bathing in its warmth. A reprieve from the frost that still clings to your lashes and the pads of your fingers. The double yellow light inside the oven blinks at you, like an owl watching you in the night. It yanks you back into place, reminding you of where you are.

“Piltover,” you say to yourself, voice feeling heavy from its prolonged idleness. “I'm in an apartment in Piltover. I'm here for…” your sharp breath strikes into your lungs. Fingers closing and opening around itself, fists shaking before letting go and doing the ritual all over again. “Work. Research, study, interview, write.” The smell of the freshly baked cookies wafts across your nose, steadying you in place. “Piltover, work, research, study, interview, write.” The words spill from your lips like a mantra.

“Cookies.” You close your eyes, shutting it tight before opening it again, doing the same thing with your shaking fists. “I'm making cookies.” Finally, the feeling of the ground underneath your feet feels solid. The air no longer knocks the oxygen from your lungs. It's steady. And you don't smell the roses anymore.

The past crawls back into the very far end of your mind. A persistent gnawing that you've managed to keep it in its place for years. You've come to terms that it'll always be there, like the lives you've taken. Balled up into the corner, claws bared, ready to take a pound of your own flesh. You'll survive despite the weight, you'll live in spite of it. And you'll fight, not to atone for your sins, you fight so it never happens to someone again.

—

Gold and blue confetti flutters overhead, cheers roaring all around you as you stand on the bridge of progress. It's no longer empty, its grey steel still towers over you, but this time it's accompanied by colourful streamers, and the rousing sound of a jovial band rising above the howling breeze and its occasional metallic creek.

The sides of the once empty bridge that connects Zaun and Piltover are now full of shops. No longer does it bear its dark history, no cracks left in the cement where a bullet hit, or red stained asphalt underneath your feet. It may not have the same marks that's been there for generations, the council may try to cover the devastation the bridge witnessed— but the people still know about it, they carry it on their backs, a heavy pack filled with grief. Their history will forever be etched in their blood.

Despite it all, they try to live in the moment. The owners and employees stand happily beside their spaces, all smiles with hope shining in their eyes. You notice that they both consist of people from Zaun and Piltover working together in harmony. Both sides are willing to toss aside their bigotry for a better future. The crowd awaits the grand reopening, people from both sides of the bridge mingle among each other, no longer at each other's throats. Reconciliation is prevalent, of course some people are still doubtful about the other side, but more and more of them slowly get used to the unity that's now present in the former warring cities.

Everyday you walk around you see more Zaunites walking into Piltover, and people from Piltover strolling around the shops in Zaun. Ridding oneself of prejudice is hard and takes time, but day by day, it becomes easier to conquer with some help from the very people they used to snide at. It brings you hope for the future of Piltover and Zaun.

But the very man who should be there to witness the leap into further unity isn't there to witness it. You stand on your tip toe to scan the crowd for the familiar head of white hair. Alas, you don't even see a glimpse of him. Even Scar, his right hand man you've come to know is there with his kid perched on his broad shoulder. His son notices you, whispering to his father and perhaps mentioning you, the weird lady who's always at the hideout interviewing people because their leader always has an excuse to miss your appointment with him.

Ekko always seems to fall in between your fingers, it's either he has an emergency somewhere, or he's busy with fixing up something. There's always somewhere he needs to be or something to do. You're starting to think that he's avoiding you and your questioning. Well he is, but you're determined to get his side of the story, even if it's the last thing you'll ever do.

You're not leaving Piltover with a half baked story to tell.

Scar meets with your eyes, nodding curtly at you in greeting. You nod back, smiling all friendly to him before he returns his attention towards the speech. To no one's surprise, Scar himself isn't opening up to you for an interview, you guess he's a closed book just like a certain leader of the firelights.

The place is packed with people, children wave around streamers, their eyes are wide, and grins prevalent on each of their excited faces. You can barely see the mark the war left on the bridge, there's only hope and joy here. Smiling, you match the crowd's happiness despite what transpired to you earlier. But behind those faces, you sense their heavy gazes on you, narrowed eyes roaming around your crimson clad form. Their whispers stab your ears, their sneers pushing you down. But you won't let them. They can snide all they want, you won't leave until you've achieved what you came here to accomplish.

Sevika stands to the side, right next to the podium where council member Shoola stands at the helm. The gold mask glimmers in the sun, all smiles and what you always call the ‘politician posture.’ Back straight, arms moving around for emphasis on their speech, aura oozing confidence, and a body language that screams power.

Sevika scans the crowd with her dark eyes, always looking out for danger. Shoola Might be the one at the helm, but Sevika is the one who's more daunting, exuding power without looking at her people under her nose and through golden prejudiced shades like a couple of councilors you've met. To you though, she looks uncomfortable standing above the crowd by how she's switching her weight over and over on each of her feet. And how she's been inhaling in shallow movements but subtle enough that it's almost impossible to see. You can't help but smile at the thought of her being nervous on stage.

Vi and Caitlyn stand amidst the crowd, smiling softly amongst themselves. Vi’s pink hair is unmistakable, so is her affection towards the former enforcer. Walking through the crowd as politely as you can without bumping into anyone, you make your way towards the couple. The bag filled with tins full of cookies is held to your chest to prevent it from spilling out into the audience as council member Shoola talks about the past and what she hopes for the future for both cities that are now connected together. You should be listening just in case you need it for your research, but you're too occupied with trying not to get hit by someone's elbow or accidentally smack someone's face with your bag of goodies. You'll just settle with asking councilor Shoola for a copy of their speech instead.

Vi and Caitlyn hears you before they see you. The loud clanging of your tin boxes has their attention on the source immediately, their ever alert eyes relaxes when they see your familiar face smiling at them.

“Fancy seeing you two here.”

“We live here, spark.” Caitlyn chuckles at Vi’s joke, eye patch crinkling as she smiles. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there knocking on people's doors?”

“You two live right on the bridge?” You jokingly say, earning no laughter from the neutral faced couple. Your smile wavers a bit, chuckling nervously until they both crack a teasing smile. With a roll of your eyes and relief mixed in, you stand awkwardly by their side. “I’m about to go to Ekko's, but I gotta cross the bridge to get there y'know.”

“Should've come here earlier, avoid all of the pomp and circumstance.” Caitlyn flicks her eye at you, returning her attention towards the podium, where the councilor is urging Sevika to talk. But with a simple grunt and shake of her head she remains in place and the councilor has to continue her speech, fumbling a bit from the sudden derailment. You smile at Sevika, she notices you in the crowd, nodding in acknowledgement.

“I was busy with baking.” Vi’s eyes lit up from your words. “And I kind of forgot about the event.” You mutter under your breath, earning a side glance from both of them.

Vi has her arm around Cait’s shoulder, chin resting atop it as she ignores the speech. “Is Ekko still not talking to you, spark?”

“Yeah, but it's completely understandable.” You've gotten used to the nickname, some people have even adapted to calling you that too. But that doesn't mean you're starting to like the said nickname. “They don't call me patience back home for nothing.”

Violet smirks, glancing sideways at Caitlyn before nudging you with her boot. “Uh huh,” she clicks her tongue, “don't try to change your nickname now that it's taken root in everyone.”

She saw through your ruse.

Sighing, you tilt your head back with a groan. “Is it too late to yank the root out?”

Her chuckles rise above the sound of the speech, earning a few glances from other people. “Nope, spark, that's your name now.” You shake your head with a smile at her teasing. “About Ekko, I can always talk to him for you? Get him to finally take that interview so you can go home early.”

“Trying to get rid of the poor girl already, Vi?” Caitlyn answers for you, it's the exact words you were just about to let out. Minus the ‘poor girl’ part.

Vi smiles, flicking Caitlyn's ear fondly. “I didn't mean that, cupcake. I'm just saying that she might be missing home by now. People who miss her.” She meets with your eyes. “You've got people missing you back home right? It's not just your old professor waiting for you all scrunched up in her leather chair?”

“How'd you know she has an old leather chair she always sits on?”

“You're deflecting, spark.” She twists around Caitlyn to move in between the two of you, her arm weighing heavy on your shoulders and the young Kiramman’s.

“I'm in no hurry, Vi. There was one time our research took us a year and a half to finish—”

“Deflecting with a capital D.” Vi shakes you as Caitlyn listens in. “We pour our heart and soul to you and you can't even tell us if you've got someone back home?”

“She's just nosy, you don't have to tell her.” Caitlyn sighs, arms crossed over her chest as she pretends to be uninterested in your life back in Noxus.

“Please,” Vi snorts, wiggling Caitlyn in place with her other arm perched on the former enforcer's shoulder. “I *know you're just as interested in knowing, cupcake.”

Caitlyn raises a brow, eye narrowing at Vi, who's probably regretting her words. You decide to save her.

“I have no one other than my professor.” Your sudden remark has their attention fully on you. “And it's fine. I've gotten used to it, life on the road doesn't give me much time to find someone. And whenever I'm home I'm either writing or studying with my mentor.” Your chest feels heavy. You're already aware of what they're about to ask next, so you beat them to it. “As for family…” you inhale sharply just as when the trumpets and the drums play a jovial tune, signaling the end of the speech and the grand opening of the bridge.

“This is the start of progress between both cities! A hope that connects us together!” Councilor Shoola says, cutting off a large golden ribbon just behind her. The crowd roars into an applause as more confetti pops out from above, raining down on everyone.

Vi and Caitlyn took their eyes off you for only a second when they watched the ribbon cutting, but once they turned back towards you, you were already gone.

“Shouldn't have pushed her.” Caitlyn says in a sing song lilt, grinning at Vi with her hand placed on her hip.

Vi feigns an offended gasp, “you asked me to ask her!” Grabbing Cait by her waist, she embraces her.

Hearing their giggles fading behind as you walk away has you smiling softly to yourself. But the way you grip onto your bag says a different story.

—

You walk towards Zaun with your mind saying the same words you uttered this morning over and over again. The breeze flutters your lashes, there's no more smog or the grey ebbing out beneath your feet unlike what you were told by pilties before you went down to Zaun. There's more sunlight bathing the lanes, it's refreshing, especially to its citizens who can now take a deep breath without worrying.

You've been walking the same route for an entire week now. It's the same faces walking past you, the same ivy covered walls, the same purple eyes that follow you as you walk past her painted face. Sometimes you wonder if the stories you've heard about her were as accurate as they told you. Memory is a fickle thing, love and hatred tends to warp the memory of a person.

You always stop by the last drop and Vander's statue just to see the progress they're making on the renovation. Machines grate against your ears as sparks fly from the roof someone's mending together. You've learned that Vander used to run the place years ago, it's poetic you think, that even now he's overseeing the place.

As you pause by his statue for a minute, the same single blue flower left by his solid foot remains there. You've noticed that it's always fresh, never wilting beside him.

“It's a peony.” You almost jump in place at the sudden voice.

Holding onto your heaving chest, you look down at the source. “Hello?”

Her pierced ear flicks, eyes shining under the morning sun. “You're the noxian everyone's been talking about, huh?” Her various colourful accessories click against each other whenever she moves.

“Yeah,” you bend down slightly to give her your hand in greeting. “I'm Y/N.”

She shakes your hand, fingers small enough to only wrap around your two fingers. “Babette. Sorry for the scare, honey, you looked like you're about to set the thing on fire from how hard you were staring at the flower.”

“Are you the one leaving them here every day?”

“No,” she stops you from asking with a stern finger lifted up in front of her. “And I don't know either.”

You nod as the cogs in your scholarly brain turns. “You look like you've been living here all your life, can I interview you?”

“You calling me old?” Her eyes narrow at you, and you're already forming apologies in your head. She clicks her tongue, “I'm free next week if you give me a whole tin of those cookies.”

Relieved, you grab what she wanted, giving it to her without protest. Ekko just has to settle with less cookies. “Deal.”

The tin looks big in her hands. “Look for The Vyx, you can't miss it.”

“Isn't that—”

“It is.” She smiles, puffing her chest out. “Afternoon, don't be late.”

“I—I won't.”

With a wave goodbye, she walks away with a dozen or so of your sugar cookies in hand.

Scratching the back of your head, you can't say that what transpired was the weirdest thing that happened to you here. There's never a dull moment in both Piltover and the undercity.

—

The gentle breeze welcomes you back as you enter the not so secret hideout. There are less people today since most of them are checking out the new bridge and its new establishments. But a few people stayed, taking advantage of the space as children run amok, needing you to dodge them with some effort.

“Woah!” A red headed girl almost collides into your legs. “Careful!” She answers with her tongue sticking out playfully at you before running away behind the gingko tree where a large mural has countless faces painted on it. You see it in all its glory now that it's daylight.

You've come to know who's who on it, even then, there's still more people on there that you'll never come to know. Right near the middle has Ekko's likeness painted on it, together with Benzo and Vander's face. You've always wondered why he's placed right next to the people they've lost over the years. You know why Vi is there, but not him. You still haven't asked Ekko about it, and when you asked the other firelights, they just shrug at you, telling you that you should ask the man himself. You figured that they don't know the real answer either, that Ekko gives them the same reply.

With a glance at the foot of the mural, where portraits, toys, drawings, and personal things of the deceased are placed; you decide that today is the day you get to ask Ekko about it. If he even talks to you today that is. So with you taking another tin box of cookies from your bag, you place it right next to a pair of goggles with its colours fading from the environment. You stay there for a minute in silence, eyes scanning every face before closing them in respect.

You walk away, footsteps weighing heavy, air briefly smelling of roses.

—

After a week of practice with the elevator up to the tree house, you feel like you've become an expert at handling it. You tried to ask a firelight to teach you how to use a hoverboard, but even with a bribe they just laughed and refused to teach you. So you had to settle with the elevator or the stairs to go up like some land loving peasant. One day you'll ride on a hoverboard, but for now, you have the behemoth task to get Ekko to open up.

You knock with the signature rhythm you always do. One short knock followed by three sharp knocks consecutively, it's a surefire way to tell him that it's you without yelling through the door.

“Go away.”

Or a surefire way to immediately identify you and get rid of you within a span of a half second.

“You sure? I bought cookies.” You shake the bag in your hand, hoping the sound is enticing for him.

Silence follows, and you start to think that he's actually considering letting you in because of the biscuits.

“Go away.”

You huff, “come on, Ekko, please? Vi says that she'll come down here and annoy you until you start talking to me so please can you at least let me in? I won't even interview you! I can just stay inside!” There's still silence inside the room. “It looks like it's about to rain.” A flat out lie on your part, it's the sunniest day in the undercity with sunlight shining in between the large gingko leaves.

Then you hear it, a slight shuffle of feet then a metal lock sliding open. He doesn't open the door for you, instead, you hear his fading footsteps and the creak of a stool sliding back.

Smiling victoriously, you grab the doorknob, twisting it as you peek inside the dark room. Save for the lamp sitting on his table at the far end of the wall, it's completely dark inside. The smell of sizzling metal has you wrinkling your nose.

“I'm coming in.” You wiggle yourself inside to lessen the light from entering his abode lest he sees through your half baked lie. “Morning, Ekko.”

He doesn't even grunt in greeting.

You notice that he's sitting in the same position you left him yesterday. You've managed to get inside after telling him that the children are after you and your magic pen again. Which they were, so technically not a lie. Whenever you can't convince him to let you inside, you spend your time with his people. Either interviewing them or just hanging around them. Most of them welcomed you with open arms, some were a bit apprehensive at first, but after a while they've become accustomed to you and your noxian self.

Your footsteps are measured as you cross the small distance. You've learned your lesson after accidentally stepping on a stray fan blade that sent you tumbling down on the floor. Ekko did help you up on your feet, but he continued to ignore you for the rest of the time you were inside.

“I hope you like sugar cookies. I saved you a batch after someone talked me into giving them a whole box. We missed you during the ceremony. Sevika looked like she was about to run home during the speech. She does not like the stage.” You're met with silence as you slide the opened tin of cookies on his cluttered table, you see a plate of untouched meal. You figured that it's not breakfast from how the mashed potatoes are starting to grow its own potato sprout, it's been there since last night. He hasn't eaten before or after that. “Do you want me to get you breakfast from the mess hall?”

He flicks his eyes towards the firefly shaped cookies with its green and blue icing painstakingly decorated on it. His jaw tightens, the dark circles under his eyes seem to weigh him down. The oversized jacket he has on makes him smaller in your vision. His hair looks like he has tied it numerous times without checking it in the mirror. Cheeks greasy, shining under the lamp light. You guess it's oil from the contraption on his desk.

“Is this how you make people talk to you?”

“It usually works.” You shrug, taking the plate of musty dinner. “I'm going to get you breakfast. And maybe something for me too.” You mutter the last sentence under your breath.

“I didn't ask you to.” He says without sparing you a glance.

“Well I want to.” Shrugging, you watch him continue to work on a piece of machinery, seeing how his hand trembles from fatigue. “And, no one wants the boy savior to collapse from starvation do we? What would that look like when they find me, a noxian, looking down at your limp body?”

He scrunches his nose. “They might kill you.”

“Exactly.” You nod, grinning from ear to ear. “You look like a sunny side up guy.”

“Omelette.” He says once you make it to the door.

“Oh a fancy way of having eggs. I heard you loud and clear, bossman.” You mock a salute at him even though he won't see it.

—

You come back to Ekko's treehouse and workshop with two plates of cheese and onion omelettes placed on each of your hands. When you told the firelights cook that it was for Ekko, he immediately gave you the biggest portion and even cooked it fresh just for him. He was kind enough to give you a piece, even telling you that you can't switch out the plates and he *will know. You couldn't tell if it was a threat or not by how he pointed a spatula at you when he said it.

Pushing the door open with your foot, you find Ekko in the same place. All scrunched up in his seat, his familiar jacket is placed on the back of it as sparks fly around him. When you first heard of him as the ‘boy savior’, you always knew that he's still carrying the weight on his shoulders. You've seen it in most survivors, sometimes it's guilt that weighs them down, sometimes it's grief. But it's always sorrow that accompanies it. And even anger.

“You're staring.” He utters above the sound of crackling metal. His head cranes over his shoulder briefly, his thick goggles obscuring his eyes from you. “Either give me the food or leave.”

“Can't, sorry.” You cross the small distance towards him. “I promised Jericho that I'll make sure you eat it.”

He groans, yanking off his goggles as you try to make room for his plate on the table. You notice your cookies inside the tin are almost completely gone. The corner of your lips tick upwards, eyes shining happily under the warm light of his lamp.

Ekko notices, side eyeing you in reply and snatching his plate from you. He takes your plate with the smaller portion, and you immediately exchange it with his plate lest you suffer the wrath of his cook. He gives you a look, brow raised and frowning.

“He said the bigger portion is yours.” You jut your lower lip, shrugging as he narrows his eyes further. “Look I'm not gonna risk it, okay? The guy's huge.”

“I thought you noxians can fight your way out of anything.” Ekko stabs his fork into the steaming omelette, the runny egg drips from his fork as he takes a bite.

“Oh I can, I just prefer not to fight over an omelette.” Hopping up on the table, you sit down with the plate placed on your lap, you eat beside him. He gives you another look. “What? You don't have another chair in here. It's either here or your bed.” You gesture with your head towards the neat bed in the corner of the room. “And I'm sure you don't want me eating on your bed.”

He grunts in reply, continuing to eat. You see the slight permanent grimace he has, how his brows knit together as if he's expecting a punch, and how his shoulders tense instead of relaxing. It's as if he notices the muscle straining under the weight he thinks is the world being hurled over his shoulders.

“Are you happy?” You blurt out. But you don't regret it.

He blinks, fork pausing halfway. “Are you?”

You shrug, eyes meeting with his own. “I'm perfectly happy where I am. Took a while, but I think I made it.”

He hums in reply, “sure.”

“What, you don't think I'm happy or you think that you're happy?”

“I'm... content. Is this part of your interview? You said you weren't gonna ask questions.”

You take a bite of your omelette to avoid his question. “Just curious, it was off the record by the way. You can be happy too y’know.” He stays quiet after that, eyes downturned towards his plate.

You two continue to eat silently, forks scraping against plates. The tension from before slowly ebbs away, leaving a comfortable quietness permeating between the both of you.

Once you finish your breakfast, he's already trying to get you out by pulling the goggles over his head again. A clear sign that sparks will be flying again and he wouldn't care if you get hit by a stray spark or two.

But when he pushes the on button on his soldering machine, it's the one that's sparking. Ekko huffs in his seat, pulling up the goggles and opening the mechanism as it puffs out grey smoke. Hot metal and eggs, lovely.

Taking the one remaining firefly cookie you made, you continue to perch on his table whilst he side eyes you every minute to check if your presence is still there. You chew loudly on the cookie to irk him further. As much as you need to write down his story, you won't back down on his stubbornness. Mel chose you for a reason, and you promised to not disappoint her and the whole council.

“I've always wondered.” You munch annoyingly, earning a scowl from him. “I saw your face painted on the mural. Were you somehow brought back to life?”

Ekko slowly turns his head towards you, for a second you think that he's about to answer you but he only takes a screwdriver that was right next to your thigh.

“It makes me think that you were gone for a long time, presumed dead, that's why you're there. Other than that, you were kidnapped, and then presumed dead.” You pause, tilting your head with a sly smile. His eye twitches at your annoyance. “All of my ideas are of you being presumed dead. Or you've mastered the magic of resurrection.”

“Still not going to answer your fucking questions.” He twists the screwdriver steadily and a bit angrily.

You press on.

“You should see the bridge sometime, it looks amazing. There's shops everywhere, I even got a Piltover and Zaun unity keychain there.” Your finger loops around the keychain where it's hooked on your satchel's zipper, showing the metal design to him.

You're only met with silence and the sound of gears grating against each other. Or was that his teeth clenching down in irritation?

“I've been told that you seem to do everything perfectly for the first time.” You say as the machine puffs out smoke and fizzles out. “Well, not everything, I suppose.”

“I don't do anything without thinking about it.” He grips the screwdriver tightly, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, smudging the white face paint and transferring it on his glove. He notices your small smile at his answer. “Still not answering your questions.” Pointing the screwdriver at you, it only earns a grin from you instead of striking fear in your heart. It's hard to be menacing when you just scarfed down six cookies in one sitting. Sighing, he returns to his work instead of wasting his time on you, who clearly won't give up. “Go away, red.”

“Oh, a nickname!” You clap your hands together just to irk him some more.

“Not a nickname,” he debunks the insinuation that he's friends with you. “I forgot your name.”

“Well, that's impossible, it's unforgettable. And that was rude.” You point at him playfully, taking one last bite of the cookie.

“You're making my machines break by your mere voice alone.” He says in between clenched teeth. “Leave.” Gesturing towards the door with his head, you shrug, finally relenting now that you've made progress with him.

He'll be an open book for you in no time.

“I was about to leave anyway. Got an appointment with Sevika.” You hop off the table, taking your belongings and cleaning up the plates to bring with you. He still tries to fix his machine, brows furrowed and frowning deeply. Your teasing did not help him one bit. It's either that or his heavy eyes and lack of sleep are finally catching up to him. Without a second thought, you punch the machine. To your and Ekko's surprise, it cackles to life. Ekko looks at you as if you offended his mother. “I was guessing it needed something to be loosened up. You're welcome.”

“I had it.” Ekko's hand is placed atop it protectively. Glaring at you as you nonchalantly stare at him. You try not to grin at him.

“I know you did, get some sleep and maybe you'll catch what's wrong next time.” You start to leave, footsteps echoing as he stares daggers on your back. “The hideout can survive another day without the ice machine, firefly.” You chuckle to yourself, “see, I've got nicknames for you too, and I didn't have to forget your name.”

The door closes with a creak, leaving Ekko alone once again as stares at the spot you just left. Glancing at his bed, he shuts all his tools down, and slinks away towards the soft mattress. He'll never tell you that you were right. If he was well rested, he would've seen the mistake. As his eyes shut close, he wonders how you also know about handling machines. He drifts off with your pen sword rattling around in his mind.

—

The whole room feels stifling, dust fluttering around, and the scent of metal itching your nose. In those four metal walls, sits a circular table in the middle, free of any decorations, or any pomp and circumstance you saw on the bridge of progress. A single light flickers above the table, papers lying still as the two parties glower at each other.

Sevika has told you that the meeting locations change with every meeting to protect the information from getting out and into the hands of someone else with ill intentions. Despite the meetings under lock and key, Sevika holds a community talk every week so that the people in the undercity knows about all the progress in different matters regarding their city.

Ekko's jaw tightens as Sevika continues to explain what happened during the last council meeting she was in. His brown eyes swirl with tethered anger. Hopefully not at you as you sit on his left side a few seats away from him, writing away the typical scene between a council member and a pillar of Zaun.

This is how things get done here, under a single bulb of light in a room hidden underneath the city. It's not just Ekko or Sevika talking (sometimes arguing) down here, there are a few notable people from Zaun speaking their piece. But they know when to stop talking when the two are at each other's throats. They watch their bickering back and forth, mouths keeping mum as they bide their time.

Sevika sighs after her explanation, fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose. “We need to go through a lot of red tape just to pass it, Ekko.”

“Maybe you didn't try hard enough.” Ekko raises a brow, eye twitching in annoyance. “It's been six fucking months since we submitted the appeal, approving something like this shouldn't be so hard.”

“What the hell do you think I've been doing this whole time?” She scoffs in her seat, metal arm clanging against the table as she lays it on the surface. “I'm trying here, Ekko.”

“Try harder.” He says through gritted teeth. “There's still no clean water down in the south, it's been years. Add that shimmer’s still getting through the city, and we have no idea who's making and distributing it. This shouldn't be a fucking problem anymore, Sevika.”

“The council doesn't like it either.” She leans forward, eyes narrowed at Ekko. “But we have to be patient, the task force is doing all they can to find—”

“The fucking task force,” he clicks his tongue. “All they've done is falsely arrest our people, leaving the actual assholes to roam free. Just last week we got a handful of them trying to distribute.” Moving, he leaned further on the table, fist placed atop it as his eyes challenged Sevika. “Not to mention that the grey still lingers down in the mines near the south. There are kids there.”

“Don't you think I don't know that?” Her tone is sharp, eyes boring into Ekko. “You can't sic your firelights on them whenever you want to anymore. That's an enforcer’s job. The council doesn't like it when citizens take matters into their own hands.” She points at him. “Listen, I don't like enforcers either but establishing due process here would be for nothing if they don't get arrested properly—”

“You sound like them.” Ekko interrupts, chin raised high.

Sevika inhales sharply, sensing the tension in the air is at an all time high. The stories some zaunites have told you about her is a stark contrast to the woman sitting in front of you. Three years being a councilor and a leader has changed her.

“The people who were arrested were found not guilty. They got out a few days ago. And there’s a project that would bring clean water to the south. Same goes for the leaking grey.” She explains, tone softer but not less commanding. “It's being taken care of, you'd know that if you just take my goddamn invitation to come to a meeting.” She backs down, sitting back on her chair as it creaks under her. “We're not enemies anymore, Ekko. I'm doing all of this for Zaun too.”

Ekko scowls, eyes darting around the people in the room to calm himself down. His eyes stop when he sees you, as soon as he pauses at your form, he's already looking away when you glance at his frustrated face.

“Send me updates on the investigation. Every name, address, every single detail that passes through the task force's lips, I want them.” He sits back, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at Sevika under his scrutinized gaze. “And I want final say on the blueprints on the project.” Sevika opens her mouth to contest but Ekko's still not done. “I want to make sure that what they're doing will last for generations. I won't settle for half assed.”

The dark haired councilor chuckles under her breath. Eyes flicking at you as something passes by her eyes before staring at Ekko once again. “I'll make a council member out of you yet.”

Ekko scoffs, wordlessly conversing with Scar as he glances at his right hand man briefly. “If there's nothing else—” He begins to stand up, seemingly tired from the debacle but doesn't let it show.

“Looks like you've warmed up to her. She's not so bad huh?” Sevika says teasingly, index pointing at you under the single dim light. There's suddenly a dozen eyes cast on you.

It takes you a few seconds to come up with something. “See, Ekko, I'm not so bad.”

“What are you even doing here?” He scrunches his nose at you.

“Sevika invited me.” You smile, chest puffing out with pride.

Ekko looks at Sevika with a raised brow.

“The council told me to. And Vi asked nicely.” She shrugs.

“Hey, and here I thought you wanted me here.” You say with mock hurt as Ekko leaves the room together with his entourage. “Wait, hold on, Ekko! We have an appointment if you forgot!” Scampering away, you hastily gather your things as you try to follow behind him. Sevika chuckles at your fumbling as you leave.

Once he's out of the door, he hops on his hoverboard, already flying away. Leaving you in the dust once again.

“Little shit.” You curse, chest heaving after you bolted after him. Kicking a pebble with your foot, you begin the trek to the firelights hideout. Maybe this time he'll talk to you. (He didn't.)

—

The stifling council room has become a common sight for you. Its white dreary walls with its golden inlay and harsh light bearing down on you doesn't intimidate you anymore. It's starting to irk you as the council scrutinizes every word you've written in your draft that you've made enough copies for each of them.

Their eyes scan relentlessly at the pages, silence permeating the room as they flip through it. You feel eyes on you, making you stop from mindlessly picking at your nails. Looking up, you meet with a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Sevika tilts her head, nodding subtly at you with a slanted smile as she flicks her eyes at your draft sitting in front of her. You have no idea if that's a good thing.

You furrow your brows at her, confused and wordlessly asking what she meant.

She raises a brow in return, smile remaining on her lips. Shrugging, Sevika points at herself then over to you as she shakes her head. That's not good.

Eyes widening, you avoid her gaze on you after that. You're trying to wrack your head from remembering if you've written something bad about her, but you come up with nothing. Slowly, you move your eyes towards her without craning your head only to meet with her amused dark eyes. Immediately looking away, you swear you heard her chuckle above the quiet of the council room.

Hopefully her ominous gesture before was just to rile you up in front of the whole council.

A thud echoes throughout the room, almost shaking the circular table. “Right, that's enough. We don't have all day to read poetry.” Sevika interrupts their reading time, palm placed on the table as the rest of the council members look at her with a scrunched up expression. “I think this is approved, yes?” She roams her eyes around the table. Slowly, the council members nod.

“Yes, but I think we're still missing someone's very important account of the events.” Council member Shoola elegantly closes her copy as she stares at you with a raised brow. “I've noticed that there's not a single word from him.”

You immediately know who she's talking about.

With a quiet sigh, you nod. “Ekko, and I'm working on it. He's a bit…apprehensive to talk to me.”

Sevika stifles a laugh whilst you feel like melting under the spotlight.

“Ms. Kiramman, isn't Violet a friend of his? Maybe she could persuade him to speak to our historian.” Shoola remarks to Caitlyn, who's looking tired in her chair as her eyes scan the last page.

“She is,” Cait replies and you subtly shake your head at her, trying to convey that you can try to do it yourself. She seems to notice as the corner of her lip ticks upwards. “I can ask her.”

“Good.” Councilor Shoola smiles as she places both hands on the table and returns her attention towards you. “You did good, everything is up to par.” Up to par?! “You're dismissed.”

Reigning in your annoyance, you nod at them politely before you turn away to leave. The second the door closes, you roll your eyes, groaning in the middle of the hallway. A vase in the corner catches your attention, and you want to indulge your frustration by throwing it across the room. But you don't, instead you march your way outside with more determination to have Ekko speak to you. Not a grunt or a tired “go away.” No, actual words that you can write in your book.

“I'll show them ‘up to par.’”

—

You come back to the hideout as usual, but earlier than before as you have grown accustomed to the winding paths in the lanes.

The sun feels warm on your skin as the early morning rays greet you. The tree stands tall, leaves swaying in the comforting breeze. Firelights are still waking up, bones creaking as they stretch, groaning as they wipe away last night's tiredness in the corner of their eyes. A couple of them wave groggily at you, and a few more make a face at your repeated appearance in their home.

As you continue to walk towards the growing familiarity of the large ginkgo tree, you hear a voice coming from somewhere. Another aspect that you've grown acquainted with in your ever shifting life.

“We don't have a lot of yeast left in stock so—”

“Morning, Ekko!” You wave at him, you've caught him during his morning patrol around the commune. He groans at the cheery tone of your voice this early in the morning. He wonders if you have some sort of extra strong noxian coffee. “Ready for our interview?”

“We'll talk later.” He tells the baker, his arms are bare, skin glistening as if he's basking in the glow of the sun. He ignores you completely as he quickly takes the hoverboard from his back and hops on it within a second.

“W–Wait, hold on!” You try to reason with him, this time with a pack of sour candies you bought on the bridge last night. Maybe he doesn't like sweets? That's your thinking anyways on why he's still not convinced to talk to you.

A puff of dust hits your face head on as he flies higher and higher into a big pipe sticking out of the wall.

“Come on!” You splutter out, coughing away and wiping the dirt away from your eyes as you lose to his power of flight again.

—

The next day you come back to Ekko's treehouse again, this time carrying two plates of breakfast to save you a trip. You greet him warmly, and he replies with a gruff grunt. Sitting on the edge of his work table is uncomfortable, so is the silence. So you fill it with the sound of you scribbling on your notebook, recounting all the interviews you had with an enforcer last night. And you pretend you're not glancing at his face every minute or so. Maybe he's also pretending you're not there too as he continues to work on a new device.

You sit and write, he fixes a machine and stays quiet— It's been like that for a few days, the sound of your pen scribbling on paper has become the norm for him. And you've grown accustomed to the sound of his quiet swearing when he accidentally nicks a wire. An entire week goes by, a whole seven days of sitting in silence with no words shared between each other. Eyes darting towards the concentration on his face, and with his hand silently shoo you away to get a screw driver that's near your thigh. You scooch away with reserve, your subtle smile lost on him when he doesn't realize that he's used to your presence. He's still ignoring you, yes, but he doesn't tell you to get out anymore.

A day or so goes by, and you're starting to speak to him again. They're not questions, if anything they're just random thoughts you have. Whether it's talking about a peculiar raven you saw on the way, or that you've ran out of sugar for your tea, you tell it to him. And again, he doesn't reply. Only either sighing or grunting. As per your promise and your own principle, you don't talk to him about the interviews you have with other people. You can't even tell him how people look up to him after what he supposedly sacrificed up on the hextech tower. With a sigh after talking about the progress of the last drop's renovation, you continue to write away in your notebook that has his name written all over it.

“Did you know that gingko trees are so ancient that the bugs that used to pollinate them are long dead? Even the creatures that used to eat their fruits are extinct. They've survived because of the wind and other factors. They survived through it all.”

Ekko blinks at your peculiar words, twisting around to stare at you blankly. You make a face, shrugging and going back to write in your notebook as if you didn't just tell him something offbeat, and probably something that he felt through his bones.

“Just thought it was cool. Kind of poetic, hm—?” Looking up at him, you find that he has turned away from you once again.

You don't hate him, in truth you love annoying him and seeing how he reacts whenever you push his buttons. He's a friend to you, even though he doesn't see you as his friend, or even an acquaintance. You've been told years ago that's how you usually show your affections. You guess they were right.

—

Another day comes by, another day of talking to yourself. This time, a packet of sugar greets you above a wooden chair placed on his left. It's further away from him, but now at least you don't have to sit on his desk like some paper weight. You smile, tamping down a victorious chuckle as you sit down and tell him about what happened last night when you were running around the undercity looking for a former chem baron henchman. You notice his shoulder stiffen at the name, so you made sure to tell him that it went alright, that the man was just an accountant back then. Ekko seems to go back to his usual self after that.

—

Hours of sitting on an old rickety chair has your back aching, you groan after another day of one sided conversation. Back cracking as you stand up and stretch your lower back as if you have the back of an eighty year old.

“I'm going downstairs, do you need something from the mess hall?” You say whilst you roll your shoulders around. To your surprise, Ekko turns around in his seat.

His eyes weigh heavy with dark circles marring under those seemingly golden eyes of his that glow under the yellow light of his lamp. “You’re not going to give up are you?”

“Nope.” You pop the letter ‘p’ with emphasis. “Trust me, Ekko, if I leave here with an incomplete story, my professor will replace me. And she's ten times more annoying and determined than I am.” Your own joke brings an ache in your chest.

“I'm used to annoying professors.” He scrunches his nose.

“So I've been told.” Shrugging, you leave the room.

You come back up a few minutes later with two cups of water, seeing that he needs it since all the cups laying next to him have been empty since you first arrived. To your shock, the wooden chair you've been sitting on for the past few days has been replaced with a patchwork armchair. You have no idea how it got up here so fast without you seeing it be lugged around by Ekko. You're sure that it didn't suddenly pop out of thin air whilst you were gone.

As you place the cup of water on his table, you give him a genuine fond smile. “And here I thought you weren't paying attention.” Laughing, you're in awe of him. “You're a miracle worker, Ekko.”

He glances at you, side eyeing you as he grabs the cup, its contents sloshing to the sides as he tries to gulp it all down in one go.

Taking it as a competition, you don't let him win, chugging the cool water alongside him while the two of you watch each other and race to finish the whole glass.

The simultaneous thump of the cups being placed down has you grinning from ear to ear. “Looks like it's a tie.”

Ekko frowns, turning his chair around to wordlessly go back to work.

“I'll win the next one.” You go and test out your new chair, and you swear you heard him whisper a, “no, you won't.” That has you covering your mouth to tamp down your laughter.

—

You come back to the treehouse one day to find Ekko sleeping soundly on his desk. Face tucked atop his arms, foot twitching, and cheek scrunched up as he frowns even in his sleep. His twists are loose, free from his usual style as it falls over his face. Oil is smudged on his cheek, face paint transferred onto his arm, and you immediately retract your hand away from wiping it.

To let him finally sleep, you do a double take when a breeze comes by through the open window he has left open. So you turn back around, grabbing his familiar jacket from the bed to drape it over his shoulders. The jacket smells faintly of metal and mint. Careful not to wake him, he inhales deeply when your hand accidentally grazes against his cheek.

Ekko’s frown deepens, and you think that you've woken him up. You freeze up in place, hands held up in surrender. You're already forming apologies in your head, he opens his lips, a name spilling out.

“Powder?”

You blink, waiting for him to open his eyes but he remains asleep on his desk, dreaming of something better. You hope it's something better.

Inaudibly making your way towards the window, you shut it close silently but your thoughts are far from silent. Besides Ekko's name being frequent in your notes and in the numerous interviews you've done, there are two that are more frequent. She's an enigma to you, a shadow looming over you, a story untold when everyone who actually knew her is either dead or won't talk about her. Even her own sister doesn't truly know her. If Ekko won't talk about her, either one of her— you think it's time to get to know her better.

With a quick look at your watch, you leave the firelights hideout in favour of dredging the past under the rubble that stretches underground.

People lie, and minds fade away, but the memories left in the walls and their footprints don't.

—

Ekko's perceptive, terrifyingly so. After the war, his eyes always honed in on details unlike before. Even prior to the war he has always been quite observant, but not like this. Always looking out for danger from the smallest of things. So when you start coming in late, he notices. Then he sees your red jacket finely dusted with a coat of dust, and how you cough against the crook of your elbow.

He knows where you've been.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat. “I feel a cold coming.”

“It's because of all the sweets you've been having.”

You smile, finally having Ekko speak to you. It's a jab, still, it's going in a good direction. “The children like it, you can't blame me for having a few.” Your hands pause from sketching the side of his face, legs placed on the arm of the chair.

“It's your bribe.”

“Please, I've already asked the children about their side. They keep hounding me for sweets, and I like making it for them.” He hums, shaking his head before returning his attention towards his pile of paperwork. “How about you?”

“What about me?” Ekko hates doing paperwork but he soon realized that nothing will get done in Zaun without a single signature on a piece of document. He places his head on his fist, back turned away from you, but the way he shifts his weight towards you says that he's all ears.

“You've eaten those bribes yourself, when are you telling me your side of the story?”

“When your professor gets here.”

You snort, smiling when you get his jawline right on your scribbles that you call a drawing. “That's mean, firefly.” He groans at the nickname you bestowed upon him. You're taking a page right out of Vi’s book just to irk him. “You want a little old lady to travel miles away just so you could tell her the exact same thing you can tell me?”

“That's not what I meant—” the sudden beeping from your watch interrupts him.

Hopping off your seat, you take your belongings and place it in your satchel.

Ekko's brows pinch together, moving in his seat to look at you over his shoulder. “Where are you going?” He checks the ticking clock right next to his table, seeing that you're still hours away from your usual exit.

“Missing me already, firefly?” Your lips curl into a smirk as you tug your bag over your shoulder. He huffs in reply. “Don't worry, I'll be back again to annoy you since this is Madam Babette’s last meeting with me. I have to see her about her establishment.”

“You can just tell me if your sponsors aren't paying you well enough.” He says, still occupied with paperwork, smirk hidden away from you.

“Ha ha.” You mock a laugh, sauntering towards him. “Why, you're gonna raise some funds for me, saviour? Someday you're gonna have to pay me back for those sweets.” Hip against his table, you drape your arm over the back of his chair, head tilting down to stare at him through your teasing eyes.

“And here I thought you gave me those out of the goodness of your heart, noxian.” He levels with you, back straightening as he meets with your eyes. Your face is a mere few inches away from his own, but he's not backing down.

A moment passes by between you, the air growing with tension. Taut and ready to snap. It’s either you bite his head off first or he beats you to it with his teeth munching down on your frontal lobe.

You see yourself in his eyes, your dust laden hair, the bags under your eyes, and your tired skin— it makes you back down. Insecurity making its way to your chest. This job has taken a toll on you, and you know that he has noticed it. How could he not when he has been seeing you everyday for months. You can't ignore how attractive he is, you figured before that it'll fade away in time, but you've grown attached to those eyes of his.

“My academic sponsors are actually quite generous, thank you very much.” Huffing, you move away and walk up to the door, leaving him in the room once again. He smiles, staring at the door you just left in.

He was right, you lost this time around.

—

The walls are lined with pink velvet, sheer red curtains falling over the windowless walls. The Madame's office is all plush and smooth, chairs covered in silk, ceiling covered in shiny crystals that seem like it's falling down like dew drops. The air even smells sweeter inside, fresh flowers left on every surface of the room, as if a florist went through the whole place and randomly put vases filled with flowers in every corner.

You feel out of place, your laced up boots are a direct contrast to the fluffy rug underneath your feet. Perhaps you should've worn your heels? You blame Ekko's treehouse for needing you to trudge up and down its stairs since the elevator broke down a few days ago.

You place the tin of chocolates on the crystal table, sitting it beside some odd shaped vase that you've been meaning to ask Babette about. Or maybe it's a pitcher since there's no flowers in it? Either way, it perplexes you.

As your hand glides all over the silk couch you're sitting on, the beaded curtains part and reveals the madame of the infamous Vyx.

“Your Miguel was hounding me again.” You smile gently at the acquaintance turned friend.

“Hello to you too.” Babette rolls her eyes then walks over to the couch adjacent to your seat, hopping up and sitting cross legged as usual. “It's because he has never seen a pretty noxian.” Her eyes twinkle with playfulness.

“Hi.” You chuckle out. “Well, he clearly hasn't seen Mel Medarda yet.”

“He wasn't too pushy?” She asks with genuine concern. “I hate to punish the big guy.”

“No, he was once again asking if I'm free for coffee.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“‘What’s coffee? We don't have that in Noxus.’” You say truthfully, mocking how you said the blatant lie to Miguel, earning a hearty laugh from the woman.

The beaded curtains part once again, revealing a lithe man with a wolf mask hiding half his face as he saunters inside, and his alabaster hair shining under the twinkling iridescent lights. His hands are full with a tray of teapot and teacups clattering against each other. Even with his face obscured, you can tell that he's handsome underneath it. When he gives you a polite smile, your heart skips a beat. Clearing your throat, you pretend to act nonchalant in front of Babette.

“Where were we?” She smiles knowingly, eyes darting towards the tea being poured into your cup, and towards the way you're trying to avoid the man's eyes. She sometimes reminds you of your professor.

Inhaling, you gather your professionalism. “You were telling me all the improvements you've done to the Vyx now that it's under your management.” She hums, nodding along as she sips at her tea. “You've told me about the present and your wishes for the future. Can you please tell me about the past if you're willing?” You put sugar in your cup, mixing the tea and then blowing at the warmth.

Babette gestures for the man to stand outside the room, which he immediately complies with a curt nod.

“Will you?” She raises a brow, ear ticking upwards as she questions you.

“Will I what?”

“Answer if I asked about your past?” Now she definitely reminds you of your old professor. You suddenly feel like crying.

You inhale, trying to even out your breathing, fist tightening around the teacup. “I guess not.” Slowly unfurling your fingers around the handle, you gently place the cup back on the table lest you break it. “I'm not asking just to pick and prod at your past, I want to know what life was like back here before the war, before…. everything else happened. I'm sorry if I offended you.”

“You’re a rose with thorns.” Your heart thumps loudly. “That's what I guess about your past anyway.”

“A rose with thorns,” you whisper the exact words he said to you years ago, it was his face saying it, but not his voice. “They only take blood from those who try to steal from them.”

Babette chuckles and sips her drink. “Or someone who has experienced hurt and was forced to grow thorns.”

You take your teacup once again, eyes downcast at the swirling pool of auburn. You've forgotten how people like her are perceptive, with a keen eye in judging people. With that, she has succeeded at her profession.

After a beat of silence, and the crystals above shine rainbow light on the porcelain cup, you take a breath. “Why did you agree to this interview in the first place?” Your words are laced with suspicion.

“This will be published all over right?” You nod. “Simple, free advertising. Make sure you mention me and my place by name, sweetheart.” Your eyes roam all over her face, trying to decipher if it's a lie or not. Your pen weighs heavy in your hand.

She drinks her tea, eyeing you over her cup. You can't read her if she has any ill will against you, or if she has an ulterior motive.

So you continue on and do your job. You guess you just have to be extra vigilant, knowing that she deals in secrets.

“My past.” Babette finally speaks, “dealt with the wrong hand like every other zaunite out there. The only difference is that I bore it on my chest. I used it like armour to survive.”

You scribble her words in your notebook, now noticing how your hand trembles around your gilded pen.

“Oh, are these your cookies?” She must've noticed the tension in the air now that she's trying to lighten the mood. You nod, pushing the container over to her as she smiles at you.

“I gotta hand it to you noxians, you know how to make all the sweet things.” Grabbing a flower shaped cookie, she munches happily as crumbs fall down on the shaggy rug.

“I'm starting to think that you're stretching our appointments because of the sweets I bring.”

“That and the good company.” Smiling, she pushes the tin of cookies at you, wordlessly apologizing, or that's what you think anyway.

The session goes on like normal. She told you that she wasn't anywhere near Piltover when the war happened as she decided to get on the blimp out of the city before it all went down. Somewhere in the conversation, Ekko came up. Which Babette smiles at the name of.

“A good kid.” She says, and you softly smile. “Never seen him anywhere near here nor I want to see him here. I knew of him when he was just a kid, y'know. He was rambunctious, always riding that damn cycle of his with Ji— his friend and riling up every enforcer they come across.” She chortles at the memory. “Him and Benzo were a pair.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, circling Benzo’s name in your notebook.

“Both geniuses, good at anything that ticks.” She sighs. “They could've done something good if the circumstances were different. He's raised well in my opinion.”

“How about his friend? You mentioned her, the blue haired one.”

She sighs, taking the teapot and refilling her cup. “I'm kind of tired, sweetheart.”

You nod, shutting your notes closed as she pours you one last cup of tea before you go back to Ekko's. “I understand, maybe a story for next time then.”

“Maybe next time, and bring more of these.” With a clink of her cup with yours in a small toast, she points at the cookies with a grin.

—

Leaving the Vyx has your mind rolling with thoughts of the past and the present. The air seems to smell like a combination of old roses and mint.

Your footsteps echo throughout the barren alleyway of the lanes, concrete walls closing in on you as your heart thuds against your chest, ears ringing with a muffled hiss. Eyes cast down at your boots, you hug yourself tight, fists curled around your coat in an iron grip. The same words you've uttered since your last attack falls from your lips like a prayer. Tone soft and desperate above the wind.

The mere mention of your past and what Babette called you single handedly ruined your day. You're contemplating whether you should go back to the firelight hideout or go home instead. But you promised Ekko that you'll be back, so you'll go back. Maybe the walk on the way there will calm you down.

The harsh sickening thwack over your head makes the decision for you as your vision goes dark.

—

Ekko suddenly feels something is amiss. Like a buzzing around his head, or an itch he can't relieve. He looks at the pile of paperwork on his table that's slowly getting smaller with every hour that goes by. That's not peculiar at all, hence why he's looking around the room, finding nothing is out of place. His bed is neat, the window is open with the birds chirping away outside. Laughter filters upwards to the treehouse, and the sun beams down upon him and the beloved tree.

Everything is normal enough, so why does he feel like something's missing?

Checking the ticking clock, finding that it's half past four o’clock already, his attention immediately turns towards the empty armchair sitting a few ways behind him. He blinks and realizes what's missing. You.

His brows furrowed together, there's no quiet scribbling, no sudden questions thrown at him. And none of the crumpled up look you have whenever you can't find the right word. Twisting around in his seat, he goes back to his work with you knocking on the back of his mind.

You've become such a staple to his daily life these past few months that being alone is a thing of the past for him. Your presence was always there, sometimes quiet, a nice reprieve to his chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. And sometimes you're talkative to no end, a voice that he has gotten so used to that he can recognize your tone and the usual words you always seem to use. ‘Using said is so overdone,’ you said, all the while using it every paragraph or so. Or a comforting, ‘you should eat something, Ekko.’ He'll never admit to sneaking a peek at your notes, nor to actually listening to you. Your voice has been a welcoming lilt against the awful silence that occasionally plague his mind.

So when you told him you'll be back, he knows you'll be back to annoy him further or to use the quiet in the treehouse to do work. He knows you'll be back because you always came back. It's a fact for him now, just like all the morbidly macabre facts you suddenly sprouted on him at nine am in the morning.

Where in the world are you?

Ekko realizes that he hasn't read a single word since he noticed the lack of presence. The pen in his hand has been frozen for four minutes now, hand sitting idle atop the pile of papers just waiting for his signature.

The clock ticks, and the birds still sing outside, but you're still nowhere to be seen— the door suddenly opens, and the sigh of relief he let out would have you teasing him.

“Thought you finally gave up.” He says, acting casual amidst the internal turmoil he just had.

“Expecting someone else?” Scar's voice jolts him in his seat, immediately twisting to look at his right hand man.

Scar raises a questioning brow at Ekko, who's already bolting out of seat to get his hoverboard.

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kyunniebuns · 6 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ Self Aware Jinwoo vs Sylus x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 038 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, yandere Jinwoo au, dissing on sylus i dont hate him this is for content. ]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Darkness? No. I Am The Abyss Itself.] ¡! ❞

He knew that fucker was trouble the moment he saw you drool over him. Jinwoo didnt do anything at first, he hasn't completely swallowed the system on your phone.

And yet everytime, you prioritize that grandfather looking asshole over him.

What's so interesting about him anyway? That he runs a damn mafia wannabe faction with a tacky name?

He's rich? Yeah and? So is he. So what the hell?

As Jinwoo tried to fight through the system that trapped him in this damn trance, he watches you turn your attention to a man with silver hair— Your heart beating for him.

It made Jinwoo so infuriated, the way that fucker makes you smile. The way that old man dares to steal something that was his from the very first place.

He's been with you far longer than that bastard ever did so how come you're suddenly abandoning him for a man that calls you 'Kitten'?

He's always there for you, watching over you, he accompanied you through your most stressful days. Jinwoo was the first, the precious box in your heart was always for him to stay in. So why is there another guy threatening to kick him off of his place?

Why?

WHY?

Isn't he enough? He leveled up so hard already, he went through wars to see that face of yours light up— So why? Is it because the novel version of him had a bride? Is that why?

Fuck.

That's a different Jinwoo.

That Jinwoo is a fool, this Jinwoo is all yours.

It was making him mad, the more he spent time in that tiny cage of codes in him— The more he spirals as you pull away from him.

Those precious eyes that had always been there for him, those orbs that gazed so lovingly at him— Jinwoo feels so him in your eyes.

When you look at him, he was Jinwoo.

Not the shadow monarch.

Not the strongest hunter.

He was just Jinwoo.

So why?

Why must you replace him just like that? Is he that forgettable? Is he that easy to replace?

Was your love for him so shallow all this time?

As he slumps on his prison, black tears would pool in his eyes.

He was silent for a while, almost beating himself into letting you go.

It's okay.

It had always been a crush.

It's fine.

What is he acting like a heartbroken teenager for anyway?

If it makes you happy, then that was alright. All that matters is that you are healthy and happy.

After all, if you love someone, shouldn't you set them free? Shouldn't you choose to let them go and chase after happiness?

As long as your pretty little face isn't weeping, as long as your little heart is protected then it should be alright.

Even though he wanted to be the only person in your eyes, even though he wanted to be the only person in your precious heart.

Jinwoo is no longer your darling.

The memories you built with him are no more.

All of the affections that have grown have come undone.

His little kingdom in your dreams has already come apart.

Jinwoo already lost you, he barely managed to protect what is his outside of this lonely prison.

Everything that is his gone.

He really should be fine with it.

He should be.

......

But when he saw Sylus kidnap you into another world, he went mad, his prison instantly went berserk.

The green code suddenly turned into monarch purple, the shadows that he thought he lost suddenly came swirling beneath him.

How dare that fucker try to play the role of the grim reaper by kidnapping you in darkness?

How dare that santa in dark-mode looking asshole frighten you like that?

How dare he make you flinch like that and to top it off that bastard dared to touch your lips.

Those lips that belongs to him were stolen.

That woman he protected from nightmares is being taken.

Jinwoo's blood rushed as a vein popped on Jinwoo's jaw.

He's the shadow monarch for fuck's sake.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Becoming Sylus's trophy girlfriend/wife whatever... Was quite the experience.

Spoiled.

Pampered.

The most delicious food at your fingertips.

And luxury goods you could have only dreamed of in your previous life were at your beck and call.

Sylus's black card?

All your for you to take whenever you wish.

You could buy all of of Linkon at this point.

The man allowed you to travel around Linkon to admire it's pristine beauty. N109 zone is too risky to explore so he lets you enjoy yourself in the city.

But somehow, you swear you're becoming a little too anxious these days. It feels as though a pair of eyes are watching you.

You try to brush it off as it's just Mephisto following you wherever.

But the more the shivers happen, the more paranoid you became.

It was as if the shadows were watching you.

Shadows.

Funny.

Suddenly, the image of Jinwoo would come back to your head.

Your fear of the dark disappeared because you thought Jinwoo would be there for you.

After all, he is the lord of the shadows.

But anyway, all of that is in the past. You have Sylus now.

"So you do remember me."

A voice suddenly rings out, making you drop the glass you were holding and it shattered on the floor.

"Now, now, sarang." The nickname rolls out of the stranger's tongue and a hand gently graps your fingers, intertwining your fingers together. "Careful there, love. You'll get hurt."

You look up at the tall figure and you instantly recognize who it was.

Jinwoo.

"Hm, at least the bastard was generous enough to make you more plump than compared to when you were alone. "Jinwoo hums, swiping his finger on your bottom lip and he pecks it affectionately, "Your prettier you are up close than you are behind that screen in my prison."

"Bold of you to dare touch someone else's prey" Sylus's voice snarled as he aimed a gun at Jinwoo's head from behind. "She was mine first when you decided to come in and screw up shit." Jinwoo replies, the edge of his dagger against the man's neck.

"Boss!" Kieran and Luke's panicked voices come into the room, bursting in as they held their weapons.

"We're sorry, we didn't see him come in" Luke apologizes, preparing to aim at Jinwoo.

"It's fine, this bastard is just a slippery worm" Sylus says, pressing the mouth of the gun further, ready to shoot.

"So you're bringing those two little mice to our little fight? I'd like for you to meet my kids then." Jinwoo snickers, smirking as he presses the blade further and the side of Sylus's neck would bleed. "Arise."

The shadows would hum, snarling even as the darkness whispered and solidified into multiple beastly creatures. Ten? No. Maybe there was more as the ceiling had a bunch of heads peaking out— Starving to get a taste of human flesh.

"Ah, I forgot you're a troublesome necromancer" Sylus snickers.

"W-wait!" You panicked voice comes out, squeezing yourself between the two and pushing them apart.

"Kitten?"

"Sarang?"

"You can't, no!" You protest, panicking. "I-I'll run away if you do!"

It was a ridiculous thing to do, run away? From what? A shadow Monarch and the Leader of Onychinus?

But somehow the two men were silent looking at eachother before clicking their tongues and complied.

"Stand down."

"Beru, don't touch the rascals"

Beru clicks his antlers, as if pouting as he moved away from the twins.

"Y-you can't fight, not like this!" You say, trying to get the both of them to ease up.

"Then how do you expect us to do this?" Jinwoo crosses his arms, hiding his dagger away.

"Kitten, if you dont want us at eachother's throat then at least make something up."

"Well..."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"......"

And that's the story of how you managed to sit down two scary men on a table playing... Kitty cards.

It's not a bad idea really, whoever wins gets to date you. Not so bad.

Minus the fact that the two kept on getting ties because they are both highly intelligent and calculated idiots that they just deflect one another.

What?

They're both cat boys anyway.

One is a grumpy white cat.

One is a grumpy black cat.

"Woooh, let's go boss! Kick his ass!" Luke and Kieran cheers with their pompoms.

"Kieek, my liege you must win this game!!!" Beru says, his little head hovering on his shoulder.

"You all shut up before I tear you apart myself"

Wow...

Even the way they shut people up is the same.

Jinwoo: You goddamn santa claus wannabe that cup was mine. Sylus: I don't see your name in it. Sylus: Did you just remove my cat with that damn assist card? Jinwoo: That's what you get for being born.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: What? You expected another ending huh? How's that? /j. I wanted to make a crack fic at last because the idea of sitting down two crazy ah bastards to play kitty cards and just reduce them to 2 little shits just insulting eachother is funny and I'm here for it xD!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ — All stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

#∞ ₒ ˚ ° 📎— kyunnya speaks #sung jinwoo #solo leveling #sung jin woo #solo leveling headcanons #sung jinwoo headcanons #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo fanfics #solo leveling fanfics #solo leveling fanfic #‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆— kyunnie's writings

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puffcap-factory · 7 months ago

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As night will find its day (Diluc x Reader)

Diluc x fem!reader; angst, established relationship, reader lost her memory ohno!, a little bit of comfort at the end but mostly angst (esp. on Diluc’s end) What if after an argument with Diluc, you fell into the abyss during your expedition not long after, and you went back to the surface after 6 months, but without your memory of him.

This story is based on the drabble I made (here). I used it as an introduction for this story as I prefer to post a completed version in one post, so some of you who had read the previous post can skip the first part if you like!

Words: 4.2k

Notes: Okay I clearly went overboard, I never thought I would write this long but I got carried away. At one point I really felt bad for Diluc and I even asked myself why. I've also set the reader into female because I felt like it somewhat refers a bit (if you squint hard enought tho... ) to the other Diluc fic I made. But of course, each story is separate and you can always enjoy each one separately.

So, is it really connected? is it not? who knows! haHaHA

As always, please enjoy the angst!

•~•~•~•

Where is this place…?

Your steps were heavy, each step sinking into the ground as you trudged along the ground. The rustling grass and the rich scent of soil tugged at something familiar inside you, whispering of a place you once knew. Perhaps, you had found your way back to your own world, after all?

With each step, you moved forward little by little, limping slightly, as you took your time to absorb the surroundings after being thrown out of a rift near the shores of Liyue. Your clothes were ragged after what had seemed like endless battles you had fought to survive in the abyss, and your body felt numb with exhaustion. Yet, in this moment of weariness, there was a bittersweet comfort in the familiar earth beneath your feet.

“I’m back…”

You mumbled, your voice barely audible. Your mind was like a blank canvas as your feet carried you aimlessly, trying to dig deep into the recesses of your memory. But, everything before the darkness in the abyss remained elusive. Everything was hazy, as if someone had locked your memory before your fall into the abyss in a box, with its key just out of reach.

Hours slipped by as you wandered, until you finally found yourself at the foot of a small hill. The wind brought a gentle breeze, tousling your hair, and you reached up to brush it from your face. Before you lay a field of grapevines, their leaves rustling softly in the wind. At the top of the hill, nestled among the vineyards, stood a mansion, and you were strangely pulled towards into it.

You slowly stepped forward onto the pathway leading to the mansion, when a man suddenly appeared in front of you, his face etched with shock as if he had just seen a ghost. His mouth fell open, and his arms hung limply at his sides as he tried to process the sight before him. There was a pause before he decided to speak.

“…y/n...?”

You looked up into his face, noticing his red hair pulled back into a ponytail. What a pretty sight, you thought, before realizing that he had called your name.

Y/n… Right, that’s my name. At least I remember that.

The man rushed to you, pulling you into a gentle hug, supporting you as you struggled to stand. You could feel his uneven breaths, hear the panic in his attempts to calm himself. His hand trembled against your back, offering support as he whispered fragmented apologies into your ear. Despite your confusion, there was a strange comfort in his embrace, a feeling of safety that allowed the fatigue to finally seize you.

He then pulled back slightly, his brows furrowed with worry as he noticed your dazed state. Despite the profound care you felt from his gaze, his face was a void in your memory. You tried to rake through your mind, but strangely found nothing. He lifted a trembling hand to your face, gently caressing your cheek, wishing at least you would somehow respond to his silent wail – call his name, anything.

You opened your mouth, and with the last of your strength, you finally asked.

“Who are you…?”

•~•~•~•

It had been almost half a year since you disappeared. Diluc had been restless, pacing back and forth at the guild, exhausting every resource and contact in his search for you. He had poured all his energy into finding you, but every lead ended in nothing.

Then, on that day you finally reappeared, relief washed over him at seeing you alive, but the first words you said to him had shattered him.

You had not recognized him, nor the place you should be familiar with.

How? Why? How could this happen? Is this even possible? Where does your memory stretch back to? This should be temporary, right…?

I haven’t lost you… have I?

Thousands of questions rushed through Diluc's mind, each one more painful than the last. He speculated endlessly, his thoughts spinning with countless what-ifs. However, the worst-case scenario, the thought he wouldn’t even dare to admit, scared him to the core. Recalling the moment he had held you in his arms and saw you looking at him as if he were a stranger, his heart sank deeper than it ever had before.

However, Diluc was quick with his action as to gather the servants to explain the situation after you were rested. While he acknowledged the possibility of memory loss, he instructed them to prioritize your care until you healed and not to push you. “Treat her like any guest with respect,” he had said, though uttering the word "guest" pained him deeply.

Diluc entered his bedroom to check on you, as he did every day. He sat next to the bed and gently lifted the cloth from your forehead to change it. His gaze lingered on your face, which seemed to be peacefully sleeping. Everything was still—the evening sun filtered through the window, casting a soft light around you, making you appear almost angelic, in contrast to the fear and anxiety gnawing at Diluc's mind.

He gently caressed your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin against his, as if trying to salvage any dear moment with you. But then, his mind wandered back to when he had let his anger overtake him, leading to this outcome.

The time, when you two were shouting at each other, and the look on your face, hurt by his words...

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the flashbacks from flooding his mind. A storm of regret built inside him, reminding him of his past actions.

He exhaled deeply and stood up, finding it difficult to tear his gaze from you. As he looked at you one last time, he silently prayed for you to wake up soon, longing for a chance to make things right... if that was even possible in the first place.

•~•~•~•

A few days later, one afternoon, Diluc returned from his own expedition from the guild. As soon as he entered, Adelinde rushed to him.

"Master Diluc, she's awake. She has been since early morning," she said, her voice filled with both relief and worry.

Diluc's heart quickly raced with anticipation hearing what Adelinde had said. But dread crept in when she added, "But… she doesn’t seem to recognize me—or this place."

So, his suspicion was true.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"At the garden table, in the backyard," Adelinde responded.

Without wasting a moment, he rushed into the backyard. He found you seated at the table, your back facing him as you were seemingly admiring the landscape beyond. Diluc carefully approached you from the side, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone tile. Hearing the sound, you turned your head to see him coming towards you.

"Good afternoon," Diluc greeted, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Oh... good afternoon," you replied as he took a seat opposite you, facing the landscape.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, searching your face for any hint of recognition.

"I’m feeling… pretty well," you said hesitantly, clearly still confused. "The maid told me you rescued me when I fell unconscious. So... thank you."

“Don’t mention it, I did what I have to do,” he answered. You smiled weakly at him in response as he paused, contemplating his words whether to ask you about your past recollections. But you spoke first.

"To be honest, I barely remember anything about where I came from, in case you’re wondering. Everything is foggy… All I remember is a constant struggle for survival in the abyss, before I came to this place, I... I—" You paused, trying to gather your thoughts. "I feel afraid... of all this…uncertainty."

His worst fear was confirmed, and his heart shattered upon hearing what you just said. Seeing the confusion and fear in your eyes, imagining what you must have endured in the abyss, suffocated him. Yet, he tried his best to maintain his calm exterior.

"...But," you continued, momentarily bringing him back from his thoughts.

He looked up, meeting your eyes.

"There is something calming about this place... I feel somewhat... safe."

Upon hearing your words, there was a mixture of relief and sorrow washing over Diluc. One part was relieved that you felt safe, but he couldn’t deny the ache he felt in his heart, reminding him the painful reality that all the memories he once shared with you might now only reside within him. It took every ounce of strength not to crumble in front of you.

Yet, he reached out, his hand gently resting on yours. "You are safe here," he whispered, his voice weighted with thousands of emotions swirling inside him.

You looked at him rather curiously at first, taking in his genuine words, then gave a warm smile. “Thank you, I really do owe you.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything. Don’t worry about it,” he responded, shaking his head. “If you want to know about the city, I’d be glad to show you around. There are lots of good people there.”

Your face began to lit up at his offer, a smile widening across your face. “Really…? That would be great!”

Ah, how he had dearly missed that sight…

•~•~•~•

It had been almost three weeks since you began your stay at the Dawn Winery. Diluc had been treating you very well, helping you adjust to daily life, sometimes accompanying you to Mondstadt whenever he had spare time. Of course, the people who had apparently known you from before, already heard the story, as Diluc had already warned them not to scare you by overwhelming you with questions. You eventually learned that you were someone who had originally come from this very city. The people were warm and welcoming despite your inexistence of your past memories, much to your appreciation.

Today, you found yourself seated in the winery gardens, reading a book that Lisa, the librarian, had lent you. The title read ‘History of Mondstadt’ — Lisa had recommended a lighter book for you to read, but you had insisted on this one, determined to fill in the gaps in your memory. After all, you didn’t want to burden Diluc for too long; he had done more than enough for you, and you planned to live independently as soon as you were ready.

As you flipped through the middle pages, Adelinde called out to you.

“My lady, it’s lunchtime,” she gently called from the main door.

“Ah, coming!” You closed the book and went inside. The manor was quieter than usual, as Diluc had been out for work since the day before, so you found yourself eating alone at the table.

“Please, enjoy, and if you need anything, just call me, alright?” Adelinde said with a slight bow before returning to her duties.

You nodded in thanks, taking a moment to observe your food and your surroundings. There was always a strange tug on your memory about this place that you couldn’t quite explain, but the manor felt serene, as if your body was oddly accustomed to it. After enjoying your meal, you decided to roam around the house, indulging to your curiosities.

As you wandered, you noticed that Diluc’s office door was slightly open. You had never seen what was inside, but you knew you shouldn't pry—you wanted to respect his privacy, especially given how well he had treated you. But the glimpse of the room inside seemed to call to you, and your feet unconsciously brought you closer.

Slowly, you stepped inside, taking your time to observe the room. The room was unlit, but the sunlight casting through the window made it seem almost… ethereal. You saw wooden carved cabinets containing files and books, all sorted neatly, and another cabinet holding some antiques. His desk was not the tidiest, with documents sprawled across the surface. You noticed a paper on the floor near his seat, so you carefully picked it up. As you placed it on the desk, you noticed a slightly open drawer, and one item inside particularly drew your attention. The sunlight reflected on a metallic object, making it hard to miss.

You hesitated, knowing you were already prying more than you should. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to take a peek. You opened the drawer a bit more and saw that the glowing item was a golden pocket watch. Intrigued, you picked it up, examining its intricate carvings closely. Carefully, you opened it, and a bittersweet melody began to play, revealing a tiny music box inside. The melody seemed to stir something deep within you, an emotion you couldn’t quite place, as if you’ve heard it somewhere before… from a place buried deep inside your forgotten memories. Your eyes, however, were drawn to the upper part of the watch, where a small photo was wedged.

The photo was small but clear, showing two people laughing lovingly. One of them was unmistakably Diluc, and the other... you let out a silent gasp. The other person standing next to him looked just like you. Your brows furrowed as you tried to process this revelation. The sight of the familiar face in the photo, sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you.

…Is this really… me? Why do I look so happy and close here? Who was I…?

You took a deep breath to quickly reassess yourself, realizing that up until now, there had been small things you found rather peculiar: the way the maids sometimes stumbled over their words, as if hiding something; the stock of female outfits in the manor that strangely suited your taste; the food, everything seemed to be in place to your liking. You had brushed these off before as mere coincidences, but now, seeing the photo, it all strangely began to make sense.

You stood silent at the room, observing the photo with the melody still playing on your hand. Questions rushed through your mind, and fear—of possibly having forgotten something important—slowly crept in.

To your surprise, the partially open door swung wider, revealing Adelinde’s rather shocked face, which quickly relaxed upon seeing you. You panickedly closed the pocket watch, abruptly cutting the music. “Ah, um—I…” you scrambled to explain, but she slowly approached you, gently taking your hand that held the pocket watch, and placed her other hand reassuringly on top.

“You see, I’ve known Master from his young age. He tends to keep his most cherished belongings hidden,” she smiled gently. “To think that you could find it…”

“I- I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to. Please don’t tell him,” you pleaded.

“No, don’t worry about that,” she paused, glancing at the pocket watch. “I’m the one who accidentally left the door open after cleaning the floor. I should be in the wrong.”

You were about to protest, but she continued calmly. “Master Diluc had warned us, the servants, not to tell you about your past status, given your situation, as he did not want to pressure you.”

You went silent, thinking back to how he had always been considerate and careful around you. If you were really someone that important to him—to think of what had been going through his mind all this time… words felt stuck in your throat.

“He isn’t the most expressive person, but he has been prioritizing your well-being above all else. He just wanted you to feel safe,” Adelinde added.

You took your time to process the information. It left you with one burning question. “…Then… who was I to him?”

Adelinde looked into your eyes. Though she kept her warm smile, her eyes masked a depth of emotion. “I believe that is a question Master himself should answer.” She paused before continuing. “I have desserts ready for you. Shall we?”

You nodded, placing the pocket watch back in the drawer, and instinctively followed her to the pantry. But your thoughts were tangled, processing all the information about your possible connection with Diluc. Everything in your mind was jumbled. You couldn’t find any memories to piece it all together, and you had even told him that you considered moving out at one point... but now, you felt like you couldn’t just leave now, not when you felt something tugging at your depths of your heart.

•~•~•~•

Diluc sighed as he headed back from his expedition, walking along the dirt path leading back to the winery. As much as he had wished to spend more time with you, some urgent tasks couldn’t be left unattended.

During the time of his absence, he desperately hoped that you might magically regain your memory, but he had seen the joy you found in the city, the spark of curiosity and happiness that had returned to your eyes. He couldn't bear the thought of selfishly forcing you to stay with him, tethered by a past you couldn’t remember. It felt unfair to you. To you now, he was just someone else—a kind stranger, perhaps.

The painful truth was, as much as he dreaded it, that sooner or later, he would have to part ways with you, letting you live your own free life. Although the thought of losing you all over again tore him deeply, he would always prioritize your well-being. What it matters now is that you are safe and sound, he thought repeatedly, as if to convince himself more than anything.

As he passed the sign for the winery, Diluc spotted you seated under a big tree, reading a book. You were quite far from him, too engrossed in your book to even notice him, but he recognized that the spot you had chosen instantly. It was your favorite place to spend time outside, a place where you had often had picnics with him in the past. A small, wistful smile curved the edge of his lips as he reminisced. Back then, he would simply walk up to you, and you would welcome him with a warm embrace. But now, the fear of facing the painful reality kept him rooted in place, unable bring himself to you. With a heavy heart, he turned towards the manor, leaving you to your peaceful solitude under the tree.

Even though you had lost your memory, Diluc noticed that some things about you hadn't changed. Somehow, without realizing it, you still found yourself to your favorite places and sometimes performed small, mundane actions that felt like déjà vu to him. These familiar gestures gave him a bittersweet sense of comfort, a reassurance that, despite everything, you were still… you.

That night, Diluc found himself seated in his office, the golden pocket watch in his hand as he stared at the picture inside. The gentle melody played, filling the room with its bittersweet tune. He was lost in thought, the memories of better times flooding his mind. The joy in your eyes, the warmth of your embrace—all now felt like distant memories of a past life.

A knock on the door, already slightly open, pulled him back to reality. “Yes?” he called out, hastily composing himself and halting the melody as he closed the watch.

You hesitantly peeked into the room, the soft tune having drawn you in as you passed by. “I’m sorry, I heard the music, and...”

He looked at you, a mix of surprise and apprehension in his eyes. “It’s alright. Please, come in.”

You stepped inside, glancing around the room before your gaze settled on him. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just... the melody sounded familiar.”

Diluc’s heart tightened at your words. He had hoped for a spark of recognition, a flicker of memory, but he knew better than to expect miracles. “It’s a keepsake,” he explained, his voice soft. “Something very dear to me.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of his words. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “There’s so much I don’t remember, and it’s been hard. But... I’ve felt strangely at home here. As if I belong.”

His eyes softened, and he motioned for you to sit. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “This place... it holds many memories.”

You took a seat, your curiosity and confusion evident in your eyes. "Adelinde mentioned that you didn’t want to overwhelm me with my past, and I really appreciate that. But I need to know...," you paused, your knuckles curling on top of your knees. "…Who was I to you?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with emotion. Diluc looked at you, his heart torn between the desire to protect you and the need to share the truth. “You were... you are someone very important to me,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion as he glanced to the side, trying to maintain his composure.

You fell silent, feeling a tightness in your chest and a lump in your throat. “…I—I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say,” you managed, your voice trembling. You couldn’t place where exactly it came from, but sadness washed over you, as the weight of forgotten memories pressing down on you, giving you the feeling as if you really had lost something very, very dear.

Diluc immediately turned back to you, realizing he had made you feel worse. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly, feeling his own tears forming in his eyes. “Don’t apologize. It was never your fault to begin with.” He rose, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Oh, and I’ve talked to a landlord in Mondstadt. He said tomorrow—”

He tried to shift the topic to lighten the mood, but his words faltered as he noticed you still seated, head hung low, with tears silently dripping onto your clenched fists. His heart ached at the sight of you crying, his emotions threatening to spill over as his breathing grew ragged. He slowly went to your side and knelt beside you, his hand gently placed on your shoulder, as his gaze filled with deep concern.

Diluc’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly as words seemed to fail him, too fragile to contain the depth of his emotions. Instead, he moved closer, enveloping you in a gentle embrace.

You let your emotions spill over, leaning into his arms and crying on his shoulder. The warmth of his embrace was strangely familiar and comforting. Diluc, on the other hand, sensing the futility of words, sought to soothe you as his hand traced slow, calming circles on your back. He looked up, his gaze unfocused and distant, as he felt a single tear stroke down his cheek.

•~•~•~•

The sun streamed through the curtains, filling the living room with a warm, golden light as you descended the stairs. Diluc stood near the main exit door, waiting for you. Today was the day he had arranged for you to meet the landlord in Mondstadt. You had spent the night wide awake, drowning in your thoughts about the previous night.

As you reached the bottom, your eyes met his in a silent exchange. Diluc, composed as ever — befitting the master of the winery, but you noticed a fleeting softness in his gaze. Your steps slowed as you approached him, uncertainty weighing heavily on your heart.

You stopped at the edge of the stairs, gripping the rail and fidgeting with your hands. “Diluc, I…”

He turned his head towards you, his expression gentle. “What is it?” he asked softly, stepping closer, his voice filled with concern.

“…would you… have wished for me to stay rather than moving out?” you asked reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Diluc’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your question. He took a deep breath, his composure wavering for a moment. “If I were to be honest,” he began, his voice low and earnest, “I would wish for you to stay. But more than anything, I want you to find happiness and a sense of belonging, whether that’s here or in Mondstadt.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, again — as his words stirred a mix of emotions within you. The thought of leaving this place, leaving him, somewhat felt like abandoning a part of yourself, and you couldn't shake the desire to understand your past and your connection to him anymore.

Diluc reached out, gently taking your hands in his. “Your presence here has brought a light to this place, to my life,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours. “But I won't hold you back. The choice is yours, and I will support whatever you decide.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his words and the depth of his feelings finally enveloping you. For a moment, the world outside seemed distant, as if the only thing that mattered was the fragile bond that tethered you together, slowly finding its way back.

“Then…,” you began, your voice trembling, “I would like to stay a little longer. To understand more, to remember…”

Diluc’s expression softened, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes. “As long as you need,” he said, pulling you into a warm embrace.

In that moment, you felt a sense of peace, anxiety exiting your heart. You knew well that the journey ahead was uncertain, but for now, you were exactly where you needed to be.

“You’re always welcome here.”

•~•~•~•

Taglist: @coffeeisbehindyou @sandramalikstyles-blog @rebeccawinters @mis-disaster @definitelyatari @vintag3u @synqiri @distinguished-jeseter-things @eroxotckv

#diluc x reader angst #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin angst #genshin imagines #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #diluc x fem!reader

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leonsdolly · 9 months ago

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Wicked Game

Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Synopsis: Leon leaves you for her, and you're not sure what to do now.

CW: nsfw 18+, infidelity, angst, suicidal thoughts, comparing yourself to her, masturbation, mentions of p in v

WC: 1.5k

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you…” You murmur along to the melancholy words that are floating around your room like butterflies. Actually, more like flies nearing the end of their life span - movement transitioning from an erratic flight to a lazy, almost purposeless dwindle until they’re on their backs with their legs sticking up in the air. That’s exactly how you are now that Leon’s done with you. A dead fly - no one could save me but you. Chris Isaak gets it. He gets it so well that he’s been looping for God knows how long.

Was it only last week that Leon left you for the ghost from his past? The one in red, haunting him in ways that you were oblivious to. Always bleeding red, like Bloody Mary or something. Maybe it was better if you’d feigned ignorance to the evidence. Maybe you’d still be able to call him yours if you played your role of a cross-eyed Mary jumping right into his arms with no protests, always playing it clean.

It was all because of a letter that was carefully tucked away in his desk drawer, folded and sealed with a kiss. No, literally a kiss. The bitch left her lipstick imprint in lieu of her signature. YSL, shade R1. You’d always been a Dior girl anyway.

You swore up and down that you weren’t purposely snooping through his belongings, that you were just looking for Scotch tape. The offensive document shook in your hand as you fearfully inquired about its contents. He was stuttering and ashamed and apologetic and all the things a good man is when he’s sinned. He let you cry and scream and sink to your knees with your head in your hands like you were never going to come back up, like you could die in this position and be encased in marble. A new weeping angel.

You know in your heart that you could never equate to her in his eyes. The knowledge that he’s probably been comparing you to her throughout your relationship makes you so damn ill. Maybe you should slit your own throat in front of him and let the crimson flow over your body so you can match with her. Bleeding red all over the place, letting him see nothing but that cursed color, the way he did all those years ago in the city where it all started. The way he’d still continued to do so after meeting you and promising all sorts of things you weren’t accustomed to hearing. You suppose you can’t fault him completely, it wasn’t like he intended on hurting you; he’d tried to overcome his adversities and forge a new home for himself, one that was pink and frilly and covered him in glossy kisses after a long day at work. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough. His allegiance lay with first red, then white, then blue.

You just miss him so damn much. You’re desperate enough for him that if he were to walk through the door right now, you’d take him back in a heartbeat. Sure, maybe you’d have difficulty meeting his eyes for a while, deep pools, murky with guilt and who knows what else. Your vision would be limited to the freckles on his neck, the ones resembling a vampire bite, but that’s alright with you. You’re familiar with the area, having kissed it so many times. You shouldn't be thinking about those little spots or anything else about him for that matter. He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. With her. Pressed up against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Oh God, now you're the one seeing red. Is there really such a thing as a red string tying two people together, keeping them bound for eternity? Hopefully not, because you're nauseous at the concept that it's always been her. She was right there beside his former bright eyed and bushy-tailed self, the version that had a vague understanding of how the world worked, before he was your solemn Leon. They trudged through the abyss together, leaning on one another for strength in the midst of a plague. You wish God would just deliver armies of locusts to devour you and him and her and the rest of the world. The end is here anyway now that he isn’t.

Your last memory of him is that pitiful look in his eyes as he gazes at you one more time. You said I was your baby. He said a lot of things, promised you the world, and look how things turned out. It’s sickening really, how cruel fate can be. Was this fate? You’re going to tie their disgusting red string around your neck and squeeze until your head pops off like a rocket. A blazing glory, capable of stealing his attention.

The thoughts of needing to be better so that he’d be with you again swirls around in your brain, filling up your entire being until you can’t bear it any longer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to put a ring on your finger and give you his babies and hold you close on your deathbed. Your hand twitches, muscle memory activated from all the times you slipped your hand into his, anchoring you to him. I’m so sorry… Ada and I… We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t take this anymore. But I love you more than anything in the whole world… How am I supposed to live without you? He never did give you a proper response to that, silence encompassing the air between you.

You shuffle to the bottom drawer of your dresser and fish out a wrinkled shirt that had been shoved towards the very back, away from prying eyes - navy blue with the letters “RPD” emblazoned in white across the front. You slip it on and inhale the fabric draped over your frame, protecting you, hugging you as you crawl back into your bed. His arms really were the loveliest place to be. Firm and gentle, wrapped around your torso like your very own bullet vest. Shielding you from horrors you would never have to experience, he’d make sure of that. Or at least he had, anyway. His lingering scent fills your senses like whispers in an abandoned chapel. Something familiar, a sense of comfort in your hollowed out state. It takes over your grief for a second, and when you shut your eyes tight, everything is alright again.

You yearn to hold onto this feeling, but it dissipates once your eyes open, and you're isolated yet again. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, gripping onto the hem of his shirt. His arms are around you again, and the smell of him is welcomed. It elicits a natural response from your body, begging for his touch, forming a silent prayer to any divinity who will listen. Your thighs involuntarily part as you reminisce on the feeling of his face in between them, tongue lapping at everything you have to offer. Whimpers fall from your lips as your other hand travels down to slowly stroke your clit the way he used to do it. There’s my baby. You’re his baby, still so good for him. You rub your clit faster and faster as the hand that was clutching onto his shirt for dear life comes up to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples.

You realize that tears have been running down your flushed cheeks as you grind down onto your fingers faster in an effort to chase your high. Just like that… Sweet baby, my sweet baby.

He's probably fucking her at this exact moment. Cock buried miles deep inside her perfect cunt, perky tits bouncing at every thrust while she moans for him. You’re going to blow your brains out. What kind of sounds does she make when she’s getting the railing of a lifetime? Something more refined than your own little whines. Is she kissing those precious freckles on his neck, giving them all the attention they could ever ask for as he lets out his own delicious noises? You weep as you continue to rub your clit while slick leaks from your neglected pussy, begging for only him to fill it up.

You’re sobbing as you feel the release building up in your core, and you're bawling as you feel your pussy clamp around the ghost of his cock. You let out a cry of both pleasure and agony as you frantically cum all over your fingers. My perfect baby.

Shallow pants escape you as you simply lay motionless, eyes trained fixedly on the ceiling of your melancholy prison. You shakily bring your other hand up to wipe away the tears that have forged new paths for themselves on your cheeks and down to your pillowcase. I love you. You’ll always be my girl.

This world is only gonna break your heart. How are you supposed to live without him? Nobody loves no one. Chris Isaak needs to shut up.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy oneshot #leon kennedy angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil

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wholoveseggs · 3 months ago

Text

Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore

Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I’ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

“Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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