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armysantiny · 24 days ago

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A Cup of Spiced Tea – JWY

P: Jung Wooyoung x male reader | G: one-shot, fluff, angst | Inc: columnist!Wooyoung, coffee shop owner!reader, born vampire!reader, eventual turned vampire!Wooyoung, turned vampire!Yeosang, mentioned Lee Know, mentioned Changbin, mentioned Yeonjun, mentioned Yoongi, mentioned Hoseok, set in suburban town, again sorta based on the town I live in, Wooyoung overthinks a lot, y/n has a fledgeling (oc character), Wooyoung suspecting his best friend is a vampire, fostering-esque dynamics, slow-blooming attraction between Wooyoung and y/n, Wooyoung is attacked, bite scenes, casual and graphic depictions of blood | Wc: 10.5k

W: assault from feral vampire, blood loss, graphic depictions of blood and vampire bite, falling unconscious from blood loss, leg injury (from Yeonjun), anymore please lmk! | R: 15

Summary: Wooyoung can’t do this anymore, can’t keep working otherwise he might just start losing his mind. Thankfully, his boss isn’t a cruel oligarch, so he’s off for a six-month long career break, tasked with nothing but one request; to re-find his inspiration and return to work afterwards with fresh eyes. Luckily enough, finding inspiration is easy; tea and coffee shop A Bite for Tea has all of that in heaps and bounds, the only hard part is trying to ignore all the oddities surrounding the place. And about the people around him, now that he isn’t buried neck deep in work anymore.

Min's notes: I know it's past Christmas, but! Here's my secret santa fic, @nebulousbrainsoup! I enjoyed every moment writing this fic, lux, and I really hope you enjoy reading this as well. I will admit, having you give me advice for this fic all the while knowing I was writing this for you was incredible lmao, I kept wondering if you could somehow tell. Again, hope you enjoy this, I can't wait to start planning out and writing part two to this. This is by far the longest thing I have ever written ^-^

Part 2 (coming soon)

“…and what I’m really trying to say is that I need a break. A long one, I think.” Wooyoung’s chest heaves as he gets the last word out, fists clenched tightly in his lap. So tight in fact that he’s digging his nails into his palms, pain blooming underneath that he’s hardly registering. Sitting here like this, in Editor Lee’s office awaiting a verdict like he’s on trial is beyond daunting, and it’s doing his racing heart no favours at all. His ears are ringing too. And despite the fact Wooyoung knows for certain that his boss is watching him, the name plaque on the desk looks leagues more interesting than the prospect of meeting the older man’s gaze.

At least if his request gets denied and discarded much like his last failed submission, Wooyoung won’t have to look into the eyes of MayFly Arts’ Chief Editor, Lee Minho.

God, he can hear it now already, can’t he? Editor Lee’s tongue clicking in disappointment before the bombshell is dropped on him and Wooyoung will be left to pick up the pieces of his career from the bottom of his broken heart. He’ll have to find a new job. Go through interview after interview. Promote himself like some cheap sellout artist. Rework his resume over and over again. All the hassle he hasn’t had to do in the last five years because there is no way he's walking out of this office with his job still intact—

“Jung Wooyoung-ssi?” Is what breaks Wooyoung out of his spiral, the unusually calm voice of Editor Lee gently taking hold of his attention. The older man has never looked at him so…warmly before, as far as he remembers, that it makes Wooyoung shrink back even further into his seat. He’s sure he looks like some sort of frightened prey animal, now that he thinks about it. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

A trick question. It has to be.

“Uhh…that I should get back to work?” Wooyoung all but squeaks out, somehow maintaining eye contact. Yet that also happens to be the wrong answer…? Seriously, how is he getting this all wrong? He’s the highest rated columnist in their department, figuring this out should be child’s play.

Editor Lee’s face falls, expression morphing into what the columnist can only describe as concern. Can’t be concern for himself, surely, his recent performance has been plummeting faster than those dumb cars-dropping-in-different-gravity videos Changbin shows him during their lunch breaks. Watching in abject horror as his boss gets up out of his chair and walks on over to sit in the chair beside him, Wooyoung has absolutely no frame of reference for his reaction to the next ten words that come out of the Chief Editor’s mouth.

“I’ll grant you your career break, Wooyoung. You deserve it.”

Oh. Well then.

Just like that. Just like that, the rope of tension and fear and potential unemployment are cut and Wooyoung’s shoulders all but slump in relief. He’d cry if he hadn’t already spent a good ten minutes in bathroom before this unleashing the flood gates of tears he was keeping at bay. Instead, he blinks, entirely astonished all the while he thinks he’s breaking out into a smile. Maybe. Hopefully. Honestly it’s been so long since he’s genuinely smiled the action itself feels odd.

“Thank you, sir, really, I appreciate this more than you could—”

“There is one thing I’m going to ask of you though,” Editor Lee begins, and frankly, at this point there’s nothing Wooyoung won’t do for this man after the generosity he’s been bestowed. “And it’s to return to work with fresh eyes and some real inspiration. We both know you’ve been less than happy with your work—as good as it is regardless—so you’re going to go home after work today, rest, and I’m not going to hear a word from you until after those six months are up. Sound good to you?”

“That sounds good. Really good.”

And it still sounds good as Wooyoung punches in the code to his apartment and steps inside, kicking his shoes to the side and dropping his things on the closest surface before making a beeline for his sofa and unceremoniously plopping down on it. It’s almost surreal, now that he’s sitting here at home, thinking about the weight that’s been lifted off of his chest. His first major time off work in god knows how long—five years, three months and ten days, not that anyone’s counting—and Wooyoung almost can’t believe it. Almost. There’s so much he wants to do with the time off he has, the only problem now is figuring out what to do first, staring into the void of his unlit TV screen with only his reflection staring back at him.

What to do…what to do…

He could call someone. The last time he managed to find time to hang out with Yeosang was a few weeks ago, and the other man should be finishing his shift right about now…

It’s the sound of coffee machines and distant background chatter that greets Wooyoung as soon as his lifelong friend answers the video call, Yeosang balancing his phone off of something or other as he unties his apron. In the few seconds of silence between the two of them, Wooyoung unabashedly allows his eyes to linger on his friend’s physique, a low whistle slipping past his lips. Not like he can be blamed, right? Sue him for having pretty best friends.

“Are you done ogling me now?” Yeosang deadpans from the other side of the phone, the other man’s device clearly in his hands as he watches Wooyoung nod like a satisfied cat. But it’s all clearly just fine when Yeosang continues, “My shift’s over, I’m almost done grabbing all of my stuff, how are you? Everything alright?”

“Oh, it’s more than alright over here; I have news~” Wooyoung starts, sitting up in preparation for his big reveal. As the columnist’s longest friend, Yeosang’s been his biggest ever supporter in operation Take a Goddamn Break. “I am happy to report that I have done it!”

“Done it..?”

Wooyoung nods. Again.

“Done…” a few seconds of confused Yeosang mutterings later, realisation strikes the other man like a freight train. “Your career break?! Your boss allowed you to take a break?”

Wooyoung almost wants to cry with relief, grinning through incredulous laughter as Yeosang almost appears to pack his things together at record speed. His heart feels warm, overjoyed that Yeosang is just as happy as he is. He chats with Yeosang for a little while longer, listening to other man recount his day as well, hanging onto every word with enthusiasm.

“Hey, how do you feel about a celebration?” Yeosang blurts out, his eyes looking at something past the screen that Wooyoung can’t quite make out. “A successful operation calls for one…and the guys at work really recommend this one takeout place I’m looking at right now.”

…Fuck it, why not?

Decked out in casual clothes, a spread of fried chicken and cans of beer between them, Wooyoung cuddles right up against Yeosang as he reaches for another chicken drumstick, nearly cackling at the drama on screen alongside his friend’s half-stumped half-frustrated commentary on the plot. In all honesty, Wooyoung can’t even remember the name of whatever it is that they’re watching, having far too much fun acting like the pair of them are naïve university students again staying up late before a nine am lecture and not the busy—and overworked, one would argue—working adults that they are. And it’s no crime, returning to the bliss of their younger years, if just for the night.

So, he indulges himself in another piece of fried chicken, graciously moving to the side so Yeosang can get up and grab an extra can from the fridge. A can of what, he doesn’t recall, and neither does he recall Yeosang ever looking so…buff before. Has he been working out? And how didn’t he notice when he was using the other man like a glorified body pillow?

“I’m going to start charging you, you know that?” There’s a cold press on Wooyoung’s forehead. Looking up from the Yeosang-shaped wall of muscle to the man himself with a sheepish smile, and with a much closer view of the barista than before, the smile morphs into something more curious. Searching.

“Mhm,” is the columnist’s non-committal response, squinting his eyes to get a closer look. Yeah, no, surely there’s something different. “Sang-ah, I should’ve asked, but when did all of this happen? Swear the last time I saw you, there was considerably less muscle. I mean— not that I’m complaining!”

Yeosang clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he goes to sit down, ever the bashful man about his own appearance. It’s almost too easy to make him flustered, and Wooyoung wants to take advantage of that fact, but he’s feeling merciful tonight. And the subject of his questioning has provided him with an offering. Another can of beer. Sweet.

“So~?”

“Alright, alright,” Yeosang concedes, “I started going to the gym with some of the hyungs from work, and they helped me stick to my old workout plan. It’s really helped…clearly.”

“What about the looking like you haven’t seen the sun in three months?” Wooyoung asks, leaning in close. In turn, Yeosang also leans back, deftly opening his can with the free hand not currently holding the columnist a normal distance away from his face.

“I’ve been streaming more now; it’s properly taken off and everything. So…I haven’t really been outside much lately. That a good enough answer, Mr Journalist?”

“I am a columnist thank you very much!” And yes, of course it is, Wooyoung doesn’t say.

“Eh, same thing.”

A weekend later and with the beginning of his career break well underway, there’s nothing much for Wooyoung to do at the impeccable time of five in the morning. And there’s no hope of getting back to sleep. His body clock is far too adjusted for that. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling won’t give him all the answers and neither will photosynthesising from the sunlight filtering through his blinds, so Wooyoung hauls himself up, swinging his legs over the edge and stretches like a well-rested cat. If he can’t already think of something to do with his time, he’ll just have to enjoy breakfast and take a walk around the town he’s called home for the last few years. A pretty solid plan, right?

Breakfast comes and goes—an iced americano and that pain aux raisin Yeosang brought last night—quickly enough that Wooyoung’s out of apartment building and in the fresh air to still see the odd office worker making their way to work. A glance at his phone reveals it’s seven thirty, a time that’d usually have him in the midst of his commute. But he’s not doing that. He doesn’t have to do that now.

It's pretty freeing, actually.

Tugging his coat closer around his body, Wooyoung sticks his hands in his pockets and continues walking along the pavement. It’s not long before he’s nearing the high street, and even then he’s already passed a few buildings and stores he’s never noticed before. Between work and the commute to his downtown office, Wooyoung’s less familiar with his own neighbourhood that he probably should be. There’s the odd convenience store he’s been inside a couple of times, sure, but other than that?

Damn, he’s practically a stranger here. Is he that much of workaholic?

Determined to familiarise himself with the neighbourhood, Wooyoung keeps up his tidy little routine for the next week or so. He visits the stores nearby, spends an evening or two in a café (okay, these are alright, but not exactly to his slightly particular tastes) and befriends a music store owner named Yeonjun. The latter of which took him a few hours; the fastest he’s made a friend, in fact.

“Is this new..?” Wooyoung mutters under his breath as he takes a left turn onto a quaint alley he’s only just noticed during his walks. It’s a tea and coffee shop, he thinks upon taking a few steps closer and huffs a laugh when he catches sight of the sign. A Bite for Tea. Of course it’s a pun. “Might as well take a look inside then.”

The inside of the place itself is…well, it’s warm, inviting and just the sort of place he’d have recommended in one of his articles a few months ago, if he had known of its existence. A cozy little find, or something along those lines. He takes a breath, and the immediate hit of coffee and a myriad of other kinds of tea in the air wrap around him like a gentle hug. And he’s smiling at nothing in particular. What the hell—in a good way, he thinks. The door’s already shut behind him, a door chime above his head sounding out that he’s only just noticed, and if he leaves now he’ll look only a little out of his mind.

No big deal.

“Uh, hi,” he says, approaching the counter and trying not to stare at the—damn, he’s blushing—man at the counter. “Can I get an iced americano with caramel, please?”

“Sure thing,” the barista grins, “do you want anything else with that? All the baked goods are made in-house.” And surely, Wooyoung’s eyes travel over the counter at the tidy display of baked goods and everything looks homemade. In that artisan-bakery-but-not-snobbish way.

A few minutes later and he’s sitting at one of the handful of tables, sipping on his coffee between bites of lemon drizzle cake and jotting down ideas in his Notes app. Between the citrus sweetness of the cake and the atmosphere in this coffee shop, Wooyoung’s never felt so inspired. There are ideas pouring out of him, filling up the notes page faster than he’s ever written before. He takes another bite of the cake, catches himself almost moaning at the taste—seriously, this is witchcraft, how is it this good?!—and makes a promise to visit the coffee shop more often. This place is inspiration turned physical. The fact this has been a few minutes away from his apartment for who knows how long, and he’s not known about it? Absolutely criminal.

Yes, it’s technically his fault for burying his head in work. So what? Still a crime.

He brings a journal with him now, each day that’s stepping foot inside A Bite for Tea and taking advantage of the surge of creativity it’s giving him. It’s not exactly any kind of work that he’s writing, just some short stories and prose, but he is writing and that’s what counts here. Without fail, every single baked treat he orders (by far his favourite has to be either the cinnamon sugar croissant loaf or those ‘everything’ bagels Wooyoung swears he’d sell his soul for) is practically perfect and has that fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth he adores. Every single time he’s stopped by these last few days, oddly enough.

Y/n doesn’t put too much faith in stereotypes, or overdone tropes, but he’s certainly been picking up on pattern lately. A new regular of his, if a week straight of visiting the coffee shop meets the criteria, likes sitting in the exact same spot. Under the window y/n affectionately nicknames the ‘sun-canopy’ with a drink, snack and journal in hand. Like a cat basking in the sun’s warmth. Or one of his coven’s members on their days off.

It's a thought that makes the coffee shop’s owner grin as he pulls a fresh batch of bagels out of the industrial-sized oven, setting it aside to cool and dusting his hands on the apron tied around his waist. It’s still pretty early, no later than nine am at most and thanks to a quick peek out front, there’s no one at any of the tables yet. Apart from Reddie, but the Abyssinian cat gets a pass.

Just enough time to dash upstairs and retrieve the thing he had delivered last night.

Right on time. Y/n perks up as Journal Writer™ enters the shop around half noon, congratulating himself on timing when he’d bake the latest batch of bagels. They’ve just finished cooling, definitely still warm to touch and the smell of them alone is making y/n’s mouth water. He’ll just have to settle with toasting one later and having it with that spiced preserve he’s been saving. Or perhaps with a cup of blood-infused tea. Journal Writer looks to the display case and for a moment, y/n’s worried he might have assumed wrong.

“Can I get an iced americano and an everything bagel, please?” Whatever worries he had a minute ago are gone, because the raven-haired man orders exactly what y/n was expecting. He fulfils the order, a pleased smile etched onto his face.

It’s rare for his vampiric intuition to fail him.

Y/n hears rather than sees the confused hmm while he’s giving the coffee shop counter a quick wipe down, peering up and unable to resist the amused huff that slips past his lips. The sight itself is pretty picture-worthy; Reddie curled up right where Journal Writer plans to sit down, leisurely batting the little reserved sign on the table. Storing the cloth and disinfectant under the counter where it belongs, y/n steps around it and closes the short distance before gathering the cat in his arms, admonishing her with a gentle tap on the forehead.

“Sorry about her,” y/n says, giving in and giving the cat a few scritches before sending her on her way. “Reddie’s not usually the type to sit on the tables. Let me give it a quick wipe down for you.”

Returning behind the counter to grab wipes and a couple tissues, y/n gives the table a once over, catching the confused look his new regular’s giving him out of the corner of his eye. Why’s he looking at him like that..?

He follow’s Journal Writer’s gaze, and right. The reserved sign.

“Ah right, I should have mentioned, but the sign’s actually there for you.”

“Huh? Really?” And y/n has to be forgiven for the way he can practically feel his pupils dilating at the sight in front of him. Journal Writer looking at him with wide eyes, raised brows and lips parted in surprise. With enough focus, he can hear a pulse, steady but strong, picking up the pace a little and—

No. He’s not even hungry. Y/n can hold off until sunset.

“Yeah,” y/n starts off, straightening up. “I know it might be a little… much, but I’ve noticed you’ve liked sitting at this table for the past week or so. Since this place doesn’t get too much attention, I figured putting the sign here wouldn’t be too much hassle.”

Y/n leaves that conversation with a few new pieces of information to himself. First, that Journal Writer’s affinity for the sun-canopy isn’t something he’s imagined up, and that his new regular is pretty cute. And human, though y/n really should have noticed that by now. Though with the modest customer base the coffee shop does have, it’s hard to deny that y/n assumes most people who walk through the doors aren’t human.

In between serving the handful of customers that show up over the next few hours, sustaining his cravings with the flask he keeps in the kitchen and looking after Reddie, y/n admires the way the sunset begins to creep over the sky. Or what of the sunset he can see from the front counter. It’s beautiful, painting soft pinks and orange overhead and dusting the side-street the coffee shop sits on in a cozy glow. With hardly anyone in the coffee shop, y/n excuses himself—to no one in particular—and makes a spiced mug of peppermint tea, letting the warmth of the mug seep into his hands as he watches the last remnants of daylight pass by.

Until a very familiar car parks by out front. The Coven is here.

“Councillor Jung,” Y/n says, discarding the half-empty mug on the counter and making his way round. “Is something the matter? You don’t make unannounced visits unless—”

“I need to, I know.” Councillor Jung Hoseok answers stoically, finishing y/n’s sentence. The older vampire merely looks back towards the car, where Councillor Min helps someone—a fledgling, no doubt—out of the grey SUV and into A Bite for Tea. The sight alone sends a chill down y/n’s spine the longer he takes in the young fledgling’s dishevelled appearance.

Who is this and what on earth happened?

“We knew you were open to emergency cases,” Councillor Jung continues while y/n remains in shock. “And we’ve only just had this young lady’s case come in, may we speak inside?”

“Yes, yes of course, come on upstairs. We can speak inside my apartment.” Y/n stammers out, clearing his throat and leading the two older men up to his home above the coffee shop. His mind races, the mere sight of the fledgling stirring up possibilities that the vampire rather not imagine.

He doesn’t even register Councillor Min’s comment on the human currently half-asleep at the table.

Wooyoung’s still thinking about it. It’s been a good few days since he’s been to the coffee shop—a full month since his career break started too, now that he thinks about it—and Wooyoung cannot stop himself from questioning what on earth it was that he heard that evening. Nor does it help the fact that he was half-asleep when it happened, dragging himself out of A Bite for Tea that night with a yawn and languid steps. It’s maddening, he realises while taking a spoonful of the omelette rice he made earlier, letting the TV play without paying much attention to it anymore.

Is something going to happen to his new favourite spot? Why did he hear two strange voices talking about fledglings and maintaining a regular feeding schedule?

“I’m losing my mind. I have to be.” Wooyoung announces to his empty apartment, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth and nearly choking on said rice when he’s jump scared by a loud sound effect from the TV show he’s been ignoring. He takes several deep breaths, trying to steer his mind in another direction entirely.

It doesn’t work.

He seriously can’t stop thinking about it.

He finishes the rest of his lunch in a huff, frustrated over his inability to figure out what exactly he heard that night and why he’s so fixated on it. With nothing else to distract himself from the incoming spiral, Wooyoung practically jumps off the sofa, putting his bowl away in a hurry and searching for his phone—which he swears he left in his room, god knows where.

Just as he thought, the blasted device is exactly where he left it, waiting for him on his desk and Wooyoung snatches it up as he sinks into his desk chair. The brief dopamine hit plummets like a stone when he unlocks the device and reads the latest message from Yeonjun, an understanding pout on his face.

Jjun: Woo mate I’m so so sorry :(( [14:32]

Jjun: Gonna have to cancel tonight, shelving unit dropped on my leg + stuck in A&E rn [14:33]

The mental picture alone makes Wooyoung grimace, pins and needles shooting down to his legs as his mind ever so kindly makes the mental image more and more realistic. Either way, that’s his plans out of the window, leaving the man with nothing concrete to do for the rest of the day other than veg out on his sofa and catch up on his drama watch-list. Or get back to playing Baldur’s Gate 3, his last save leaving him with much to look forward to. But while he can wallow in the misery of no longer having plans later, what he should do right now is let Yeonjun know that everything’s perfectly fine. Minus the possible broken leg, of course.

Woo: Dw! It’s all good ^-^ [14:46]

Woo: Be careful in future tho lmao, if you need me to pick you up after you’re done, lmk! [14:46]

Jjun: I will, and dw, my cousin’s here with me, but thanks :D [14:50]

Scrolling through his phone for a few more minutes while he mindlessly spins back-and-forth in his chair, Wooyoung loses himself to the joys of online window shopping, adding more and more things to his various wish lists. He’ll get round to buying some of them eventually, just maybe when he can afford to spend more time working from home. And building his dream desk setup. Though he does treat himself to a new keyboard, humming in satisfaction when one of his many wish lists gets ever so slightly smaller.

“…do you want me to bring takeout again?” Yeosang asks from the other end of the call, Wooyoung ever so grateful that his childhood friend is willing to indulge his boredom.

“Nope~ just bring yourself, I’ve got some cheesecake in the fridge from the dessert place we like.” He chuckles, making his way over to the fridge and taking another look at the majestic slices of cheesecake sitting inside. “You’re not streaming today, right? That’s tomorrow?”

“Mhm, I’m thinking of doing something cozy,” he hears Yeosang hum, “there’s a few indie games I want to play, take my mind off of work, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. On your way?”

“Like, five minutes away, yeah. See you then.”

Hearing the sound of his door code being entered in successfully, Wooyoung hurries up bringing the cheesecake to the living room, setting it down on the coffee table and covering it with the cloche. There’s no one else it could possibly be, so he relaxes against the sofa as Yeosang invites himself inside, placing his shoes off to the side and collapsing onto Wooyoung’s sofa with a huff.

Ah. It’s a no questions asked kind of mood.

Apart from the sound of Yeosang letting off steam and the soft echo of oncoming rain outside, Wooyoung’s apartment is rather quiet, a serene stillness that not even the dimmed noise of his TV could disturb. It’s rather nice, actually. He’s not thinking about what happened the other night—or what he thinks happened—and he gets to spend the rest of the day with company he’s all too fond of. And the more he listens to Yeosang, the more he’s adding in quiet assertions of his own, engrossing himself in the retelling of a Karen who just wouldn’t leave the café, Yeosang’s place of work, alone.

“…honestly, Hyerin noona was a good five seconds away from calling the cops,” Yeosang giggles, obviously coming to the end of his retelling, “I swear, the temperature dropped like, a whole ten degrees, she was so angry.”

“She’s your boss, right? Does she actually work front of house?” Wooyoung asks, then shuffles Yeosang’s head off of his lap to get up. “Hey— do you want hot chocolate? I bought some from this artisan place.”

“Yeah, that’s her. I mean, she’s not always at the front but she says it’s good for business or whatever that she spends at least some of her time out of her office.” Yeosang nods and then nods again when he processes the request tacked on to the end.

Well then, hot chocolate for two it is then.

Clicking his tongue along to the rhythm of nothing in particular, Wooyoung leans against his kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. The seconds feel like minutes, especially when he could be back in his living room enjoying the rest of Yeosang’s Karen story. In fact, he could do just that, since his kettle likes taking its sweet time the more water Wooyoung forces it to boil. So, he pushes himself off the counter, dramatically spinning around on his right foot so he can make his way back to his living room sofa.

Except his left foot catches on the leg of his laundry stand. Sending him careening towards the laminate flooring.

“Wooyoung!” Is the sound that greets him when he opens his eyes, and not the sound he was expecting: his body slamming against the floor. In a daze as Yeosang stands him the right way up and checks him over, Wooyoung can barely get a word out over the rushing sound of his panicked heartbeat in his ears nor the sound of the kettle—the little traitorous machine—finally done boiling. When he doesn’t respond beyond merely nodding when Yeosang asks if he’s okay, Wooyoung allows himself to be walked back to the sofa.

How did he not immediately faceplant his kitchen floor? How did Yeosang make it all the way over to him in that span of time?

“You’re okay, right?” Yeosang asks, having apparently finished prepping the hot chocolate and brought it to the coffee table. “Do you need me to call 112 or—”

“How did you do that?”

The dumbfounded look Wooyoung gets in return absolutely does not help.

“Yeosang I swear to God,” he stresses, reaching for his own mug of hot chocolate. “You know what I’m talking about. How the hell did you catch me in time?” Wooyoung’s question hangs in the air, tension building between them thick enough it could wrap around the living room in layers of uncomfortable warmth. All of a sudden, it feels like an interrogation, and the both of them take strangely long gulps of the beverage in their hands.

Well, shit.

If this has anything to do with his best friend looking strangely different lately, Wooyoung might just start spiralling even more than he already was these past few days. First he starts hearing these strange people walk inside the café he frequents, and now Yeosang is capable of crossing the entire expanse of his living room in the seconds it took for him to lose his balance and nearly fall over?

“I was already getting up when you started falling over.” Yeosang shrugs, unmuting the TV and paying attention to the show they were both ignoring a few minutes ago, sipping on his own hot chocolate.

He doesn’t know why, but Wooyoung can tell that that answer is bullshit. It has to be.

No less than five minutes after he finds himself alone in his apartment again, Wooyoung makes a beeline for his laptop. He needs to find an answer to this…thing that’s been plaguing him, otherwise he’s going to go stir-crazy. Entering his password and opening the browser as soon as he’s able to, Wooyoung’s fingers dart across the keyboard in record speed, entering his highly pressing question into the search bar.

My best friend doesn't look like himself and he's faster than usual. Is something wrong?

He’s met with a few odd-looking adverts, websites that lead to questionable services and finally, finally, the thing he’s looking for. Technically. It’s a reddit thread, with an alarmingly similar title, but it’s got what he needs, so Wooyoung clicks on it anyway.

“The fuck..?” The man mutters, reading further and further along the thread. Everything he’s reading matches up with all the weird nonsense he’s been going through, yet Wooyoung can’t wrap his head around it. It’s all so outlandish, something out of a fantasy novel or a young teen’s favourite fanfiction, but it just makes sense. “Turned— born— vampires?!”

If what he’s reading is true, and it’s slowly staring to seem so, then that means Yeosang is a…

No, he can’t be! Who would even do such a thing..?

Nausea settles in Wooyoung’s chest as he shuts the laptop, not bothering to turn it off properly. A chilling dread works its way through every part of his body, stealing the breath out of his lungs the more he dwells on everything he’s learnt. It keeps him trapped at his desk. Keeps his body frozen despite the way his subconscious yells at him to write something, to do something, anything about his discovery. The retro clock on his desk ticks away the seconds, only made louder by the stillness in the air until Wooyoung inhales sharply and almost knocks himself out from the sudden oxygen spike. Staying like this surely can’t be good for his health. He needs to move, work off the anxious ball of stress winding itself around his heart, he…

He needs to sleep.

“I need a drink.”

Three days. Three days of fretting and pacing around his apartment later and Wooyoung is without a doubt a mess. How in the world is he not supposed to be? The things he learned in that reddit thread still haunt him, ever in the back of his mind. Even as he finishes tying the laces on his shoes and steps out of his home, intent on getting outside. His journal’s been untouched lately too. Maybe checking in on Yeonjun or finding a new trinket to buy will distract him from the image he keeps flicking back to of Yeosang being attacked and turned into a vampire against his will. Or visiting that stationary store near the train station—his supply of washi tape has been slowly depleting.

Frankly, whatever it is, he needs to get out of the house and get some fresh air.

After a few hours outside, a good number of purchases in his bag and a surprisingly little number of stress-inducing thoughts, Wooyoung’s feeling much better. The breeze is gentle, rustling the leaves that remain now that the weather’s growing colder. He tugs his scarf just that little bit tighter around his neck while he continues to walk through town, a breathy chuckle slipping past his lips as a chill makes his way down his spine.

The chill leaves him as soon as he steps inside A Bite for Tea, door chime sounding out above as warmth wraps around him. It’s only been a few days, yet it’s like coming home after months away. Home to a cozy coffee shop with its handful of customers and swathes of inspiration.

“The usual?” Is what greets Wooyoung as he approaches the counter, coupled with a charming smile from the man opposite him. For a moment, he loses himself in the added familiarity of it, until he clears his throat and finally gets round to ordering.

“Yeah, but a regular americano this time, I think.”

“Sure thing. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll bring it to your table.”

Y/n’s worried. No, he’s… concerned? Reasonably unnerved? With how Journal Writer’s practically staring a hole into the untouched mug of coffee and oddly still, it bugs him. It was only a few minutes ago that his human regular was looking at him with a pleasant smile, after all. Surely it’s none of his business. He’s here to serve his customers with good coffee—spiced or otherwise—and food, not to push any buttons by asking questions. Yet y/n has plenty of questions he wants answers to, mostly about Journal Writer and why he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

When noon begins to bleed into late afternoon and even the evening without any sort of sign that Journal Writer’s feeling better about whatever it is, y/n sighs, washing a mug while his eyes keep trailing over to his regular by the sun-canopy. It wouldn’t be fair to keep ignoring it now—given the fact he’s had Lily, the fledgeling from a few nights ago, pester him to go and do something about that guy for the last few hours now. He puts the mug away, dries his hands, and sighs again. Time to find out what’s up with Journal Writer.

Luckily enough, it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be any more people coming into the shop today, so y/n abandons his post behind the counter. He leaves the sign on the door, in case anyone does decide to show up, and walks over to the sun-canopy. Journal Writer still hasn’t looked up from the rather bare journal page, and y/n chuckles, knocking the table and light-heartedly raising a brow when his presence is acknowledged.

“Knock-knock,” he says, pulling out a chair to sit down. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure, that’s alright.” Journal Writer answers, briefly looking up from his journal to y/n and shrugging. Only to look to the coffee shop counter, back to y/n, and right back to the counter. “Aren’t you usually behind the counter..? Are you allowed to..?”

Y/n laughs. God, he’s cute.

“I’d certainly hope so; I run the place after all.” He explains, watching the realisation dawn on the man in front of him. But since he’s sitting here for more than just a bit of small talk, y/n gets right to it. “But I, uh, I actually wanted to come over here and ask if you were okay? You spent a few hours just sorta…staring into space.”

“…I did?” Y/n nods. Journal Writer’s mouth falls into a silent oh. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“You can talk to me about it, if you want. Customer confidentiality and all that jazz.”

“Isn’t that for doctors?” Journal Writer asks with an amused tilt of his head, which y/n shrugs to. Semantics, he muses. Which is all takes for Journal Writer to laugh, call him curious and begin unloading everything that’s been worrying about.

It’s…well, it’s a lot.

“…and frankly, it’s really not that I’m worried about there being vampires in town or anything! I’m sure the majority are absolutely great! Wonderful, even! But Yeosang’s my best friend, and I have no idea how on earth he even turned. Whether he was forced to turn into one, attacked or didn’t know what he was getting into. I don’t even know when he was turned! And we’ve been friends for a decade; we tell each other everything!” Journal Writer forces an exhale as he barrels through the final part of his rant, talking as fast as the frantic heartbeat that y/n’s picking up.

Journal Writer’s desperate fretting the longer he goes on only helps to fester concern for the supposed turned vampire his regular’s talking about, y/n’s own temporary fledgling case fresh on his mind. Again, the vampire silently reminds himself, this is technically none of his business. It really isn’t. Yet the reminder doesn’t do anything about the growing desire to do something and help.

“…it’s probably not that big of a deal anyway, but I can’t stop myself from worrying, you know?” If only the—now that he’s really noticing—brunet knew how much that was true.

“Yeah, I get what you mean, it’s hard not to worry.” Y/n admits, then grimaces when he glances outside at how dark it is. “You’re free to tell me I’m overstepping, but will you be okay heading home tonight? It’s already pretty dark outside, and I do live just upstairs��"

Journal Writer giggles. If there was more blood in his system, y/n would be blushing right now.

“Thanks, but uh… I’ll be fine, my place isn’t too far away from here. I’m Wooyoung, by the way. Jung Wooyoung. And thank you, again, for listening to me talk your ear off. I appreciated it.”

“No problem, I’m glad I could help.” He says, and then promptly remembers that he hasn’t introduced himself yet. Or at all, since he’s vicariously known Wooyoung. “Oh— and I’m y/n. Y/n l/n.”

Somehow the rest of that conversation ends with numbers being exchanged. Mostly in the guise of y/n knowing when to expect the brunet in the shop. Wooyoung’s off soon after that, bowing his head as he leaves the coffee shop and leaving y/n with an unfamiliar feeling in his chest.

A feeling that makes its way past y/n’s lips as a surprised huff an hour or so later as he finishes closing the shop and the dots connect themselves. Journal Writer. What a coincidence.

It doesn’t escape y/n either that he kept quiet about his own vampirism.

Wooyoung’s really starting to regret not accepting the coffee shop owner’s offer to stay the night, teeth practically rattling as he walks home. Clutching onto his coat isn’t helping either, the fabric not as equipped to the chill of winter as the columnist thought. It’s overcoat weather, frankly. The kind of weather that calls for hand warmers and thick scarves that wrap around like a blanket. Two items of clothing that Wooyoung decidedly chose not to wear tonight, instead betting his luck on a cotton trench coat and a pair of gloves.

He swears under his breath the moment he feels the air change around him. Hairs off the back of his neck stand up, alerted by the sudden stillness, both by Wooyoung and whatever it is that has him on edge. He’s not alone, and everywhere except the spots under the streetlights is practically pitch black. It can’t be anything, not when Wooyoung’s come to know these streets like the back of his hand over the last thirty or so days. Surely it’s nothing.

Still, he picks up the pace, walking with a lot more purpose now.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m going to be fine…” He whispers, repeating the mantra like a prayer while keeping an ear out for footsteps of any kind. There aren’t any.

But he’s still being followed. He just knows it.

Come on, one more street to cross and we’ll be there, Wooyoung reminds himself, letting his subconscious do the talking now that he’s too scared to utter a sound. His heartbeat’s loud enough as is, thank you very much. Walking so fast he’s almost jogging, it’s sheer luck that he’s not tripping over himself or anything else, barely focused on where he’s landing his feet. There’s just one more stretch of road ahead of him to cross before he’s on his street, before he can begin to count himself lucky and—

“Oh, stop running already.” A voice snarls, and Wooyoung’s being thrown against a lamppost.

His head hits on impact, a throbbing pain blooming like roses as he’s dazed and stumbles for balance. Everything happens so fast, the hands forcing him still, fangs grazing spot where his neck meets his collarbone, biting down and his blood rushing, rushing out of him. His attacker gulps it down greedily, audible, stomach-turning sounds of elation echoing in his ear all while Wooyoung body grows colder and colder by the second. This is it; he belatedly realises, this is where he’s going to die.

His face grows wet with tears. It isn’t supposed to end like this.

A last burst of adrenaline gives him enough strength to shove his attacker off, sending them only a few feet away, yet the assailant—some feral-looking vampire—doesn’t seem to mind. They head off, sprinting off into the darkness and leaving Wooyoung to crumple to the ground as the agony truly starts to kick in. His mouth opens in a silent scream, clutching at the open wound with both hands as blood continues to pour out of it, coating his hands, his clothes and filling the air with its iron-clad scent.

“Call…call, I need to—” call someone, he gasps, freeing one hand to rifle for his phone and shaking as he unlocks it. A wave of dizziness washes over him as he opens the dial menu, shaking like an autumn leaf as he presses on the first number in his recently dialled list. It doesn’t really matter who it is anymore, all Wooyoung needs is someone to help him.

It rings once. Then again. Then again.

“…Wooyoung-ssi? Is everything alright?”

Wooyoung’s phone clatters to the ground, the man already unconscious.

Y/n’s face pinches into a frown when there’s no response, the concern mounting even more the longer hears nothing but wind from Wooyoung’s end of the call. He sits up on the sofa, shifting Reddie off of his lap and muttering an apology when she meows in protest. He tries again, calling the other man’s name again and cursing when there’s still nothing. Like that’d solve anything.

Does he need to find him? He needs to find Wooyoung.

“Lily!” He calls out, having hung up the call and shrugged on a coat and shoes. She stumbles out of her room, eyes curious and watching him with trepidation. “I need to go look for someone; keep an eye on the apartment for me, hm?”

“Sure, uh, no problem. Are there rogues out?” She asks, unaware that y/n’s now thinking of worst-case scenarios. Councillor Jung had said rogue activity was picking up with the drop in temperature, why hadn’t he thought about that earlier?

“Hopefully not,” he says anyway, a placating smile that probably looks a tad too forced. “Optimism never hurt anyone.”

Oh, hells below, it’s freezing. Optimism be damned, y/n blows warm air between his hands as he runs down the street, trying to locate what’s expecting—and frankly dreading—to be Wooyoung hidden away somewhere. Hopefully just frozen to the bone and not…he pushes the thought away, not even willing to entertain the idea. The man was very much human just a few hours ago, and y/n can only wish that Wooyoung stays that way when he finds him. All he remembers is that Wooyoung was heading home, but he doesn’t know where the hell that is and he’s been running around town for the last ten minutes, thanking whoever can hear him for vampiric speed.

Desperation clings to y/n like a parasite, cloying heavy in his mouth with each frigid breath. There’s no way he’s going back to his apartment tonight unsuccessful. He just needs to keep looking, because if his unfortunately pessimistic gut-feeling is correct, the state he’ll find Wooyoung in won’t be good.

There’s a slumped body in the distance.

“Wooyoung-ssi!” Y/n calls out, praying he’s correct. He all but sprints over, skidding to a stop and kneeling down to examine the body. It is him, and y/n nearly cries out in relief until his senses catch up with him and he smells it. Blood.

It coats Wooyoung’s clothes, creates a small stain on the ground and y/n’s gaze is laser-focused as he searches for the source, a pit settling in his stomach at the nasty and vicious bite wound. It’s grim to look at, but y/n can’t afford to either keep staring or allow himself to taste the other man’s blood from the way the scent clogs his nose and reaches the back of his throat. The man’s still alive and getting him somewhere safe is what matters, not his own hunger.

He needs to try and wake Wooyoung up.

Y/n takes a deep breath—not that he needs the oxygen—and shakes the man’s shoulder, calling on Wooyoung repeatedly in a frantic attempt to get him to wake up. Seconds feel like minutes, y/n trying whatever he can to get a response. It’s freezing cold, so the faster that Wooyoung is awake and able to accept the vampire’s help, the better. Preferably in the next minute, because the chill is starting to seep through the thick overcoat he’s wearing.

“…y/n?” He hears Wooyoung breath out hoarsely, and latches onto it as a sign on life. Honestly he’ll take anything right now.

“That’s right, it’s me. I need you to stay awake, okay?” He asks, lacing his tone with as much reassurance as he can, though Wooyoung stares at him through delirious eyes. “It’s not far to my apartment, we’ll head there.” He hoists Wooyoung up, muttering apologies while he manoeuvres around to grab some of the things that have clattered to the ground, namely the same phone that dialled him earlier that evening.

Y/n: Bringing a friend back, he’s not doing too well [21:23]

Y/n: Bring the first aid kit and some spare clothes from my wardrobe to the living room for me? [21:24]

Lils: Got it! [21:25]

Lils: Hope your friend’s okay tho [21:25]

Y/n pockets his own phone after that, giving the almost empty streets and a dazed Wooyoung his full attention. They’re almost there, making slow progress, but still making progress, nonetheless. Readjusting his hold, y/n makes it to the other side, but frowns when Wooyoung becomes even more of a dead weight. It doesn’t deter him, merely making y/n hold onto him tighter with each passing step.

And then y/n feels Wooyoung grow limp, slumping in his arms.

“Hey, Wooyoung— look at me, hey,” y/n pants, patting Wooyoung’s face a tad more firmly now, jaw clenched, and brows pinched in effort. “You gotta stay awake, c’mon, just a little bit longer. I know you can make it, just hold on for me.”

Come on, come on, be alive dammit. There’s ringing in y/n’s ears when he presses his fingers to Wooyoung’s neck, searching for a pulse. It’s hardly even there, a weak echo of the strong and very much alive heartbeat he heard a few hours ago. Trembling as he pulls his hands away, y/n stares at the face cradled in his hands, a lump in his throat at thought of what he has to do. He can’t, but he has to. He doesn’t want to sink his fangs into Wooyoung, to turn him against his will but y/n needs to.

He needs to. He doesn’t know how old Wooyoung is, but the man’s too young to die. Not yet.

So, he opens his mouth, sinks his fangs into Wooyoung’s neck and drinks what’s left.

Lils: You still outside? [21:40]

Y/n: Got caught up. [21:49]

Y/n: I’ll be picking up extra blood tmrw morning. We’ll need it [21:51]

Waking up feels like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. Everything’s much sharper, much clearer and Wooyoung isn’t sure he knows what the hell is going on. Between the strange ache in his gums and the pounding well, everywhere, headache, the columnist’s pretty sure today sucks. He blinks at the ceiling, staring at it a few minutes more trying to piece together just what about it looks so unfamiliar. Last he remembers, he was walking home after unloading his anxieties to the owner of A Bite for Tea, then got freaked out and—

Oh, right. This isn’t his ceiling.

“What the hell?!” He exclaims, shooting up into a vague sitting position and wincing when the motion worsens his headache. He’s not home, nowhere he recognises and in so much pain Wooyoung can hardly piece together his next thought. Squinting only relieves so much, so he abandons it all together, simply opting to look around and figure out where he is. He hears footsteps, snapping his head in the direction of the sound and freezing at the sight of a young woman staring right back at him, a hoodie drawn around her body.

“You finally up?” The woman says, observing him before turning to one of the doors. “Y/n, your friend’s awake!” She’s gone after that, entering a kitchen and leaving Wooyoung to stew in his confused shock.

Somehow the knowledge that he’s in y/n’s home puts Wooyoung’s mind at ease. At least he’s not in a complete stranger’s home, which isn’t the same as actually being at home, but it’s better than nothing. He’s pretty much left alone in the living room again, minus the oddly familiar cat wandering around, and there’s no time like the present to do a bit of snooping.

Adjusting and tightening the towel around his hips as he leaves the bathroom, y/n gives Reddie an appreciative scritch behind the ears before heading to his room in search of a change of clothes. The last eighteen hours have put him through the wringer, the sudden weight of new responsibilities bearing down on him. But it’s alright now; Wooyoung’s okay, the Council understand the situation and all he has to do now after getting dressed is have a conversation with the newly-turned vampire about it all.

Except the newly-turned vampire in question isn’t in the living room, but in his bedroom..?

“Wooyoung-ssi?” Y/n starts, the rest of his question hanging in the air as said air thickens with awkward tension. Wooyoung’s gawking at him, either mortified at being discovered or staring at his physique, and y/n can really only chuckle. It doesn’t help that the other vampire is wearing his clothes—after the bloodstained items were carefully stripped away to be dry-cleaned—making y/n traitorously think about how cute it looks.

“Is everything—”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” A gust of wind travels past y/n as Wooyoung bolts out of his room, unwittingly using his new physical capabilities. Physical capabilities that y/n’s going to have to explain in detail. He sighs, closing his bedroom door and opens his wardrobe.

Today is going to be a long day.

Sat on the sofa after a lengthy explanation of Wooyoung’s new predicament—that y/n would rather never have to do ever again—y/n clears his throat, the deafening silence hanging over the space creating a heavy blanket of tension. In fact, he can feel the hole that his newest fledgling is staring into the side of his head, unable to maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds at a time lest he feel even more guilty. Not for saving Wooyoung’s life. He could never feel guilty for that. Instead, y/n counts the already visible changes; the pallor tone of the man’s skin, visible heightened awareness of their current surroundings, and how y/n’s clothes hang on Wooyoung’s body. The last change he notices makes the older vampire (thanks to Wooyoung revealing he’s twenty-five. God, so young. Too young.) clear his throat again, too aware that he quite likes the image beside him.

“Let me get this straight,” he hears Wooyoung say, finally breaking the silence. “I’m vampire now?”

“A turned vampire, yeah.”

“Because you turned me, after I called you for help? Since you’re a vampire as well?”

“That’s right.” Y/n answers, voice strained. “You were succumbing to the blood loss and… I don’t know, I couldn’t just leave you there to bleed out in the cold.”

The silence is there again, until Wooyoung hums in a way that y/n hopes is acceptance. It’d be hard to take back his actions now anyway. And if Wooyoung chooses to avoid the coffee shop from here on out, he’ll understand.

“Right, okay… makes sense. I think. What about that girl who lives here? Did you turn her as well?” Wooyoung asks, and this, y/n can answer confidently. It’s something he’s passionate about, after all.

“Her name’s Lily, and she’s only really here for the month or so, until some things in her life settle.” He explains and definitely doesn’t think about why Wooyoung almost looks relieved, watching and listening to him intently. “I work with the National Coven to provide shelter to struggling new fledgelings, give them somewhere to stay whilst they get their life back in order. Usually after being unknowingly turned or their Sire disappearing far too soon. I guess you could say it’s a bit like fostering young people, just… with vampires.”

Wooyoung’s looking at him with a raised brow as his explanation comes to an end, a question clearly on the younger vampire’s lips. Is something the matter, y/n’s own expression says, brows raised as well. The silent counter-question translates easily apparently, since Wooyoung voices what’s on his mind.

“What about that coffee shop? I swear I remember you saying that were the owner…”

“I am, and well, it’s downstairs, so I might head down later to—hey! What’s with that look? The coffee shop really is downstairs, I’m serious! Do you want me to show you?”

“Sure, why not? Lead the way.”

Taking another sip from his new flask and in his own clothes again a few days later, Wooyoung counts down the seconds to when he knows Yeosang finishes his afternoon shift. There’s a conversation he needs to have now. Tell his best friend a secret that he suspects Yeosang should have told him as well. He watches the last few people leave the café, and then promptly starts getting impatient. Just what’s taking him so long? Tapping his foot, he zeroes in on the sound of familiar humming and pushes himself off the wall, almost predatorial in the way he waits for the moment to strike.

…That’s a new instinct.

“You. Come with me.” Yeosang’s only a few steps out of the café before Wooyoung’s pulling him in the other direction, towards the park across the road. Sure, the other man’s complaining, but for all his strength, Wooyoung isn’t feeling Yeosang pulling back.

“Young-ah, the hell?! What’s going on?” Yeosang questions as he stumbles towards the park bench, catching himself in time to sit down. Wooyoung forces an exhale and sits beside him, readying himself to let the floodgates spill open. “You’re acting odd, is everything okay?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you became a vampire?” He spits out, then runs a hand through his hair. Y/n did mention that he’d be more impulsive, but damn, he sounds like a right arse. He just wants the truth. “And don’t… don’t act like I haven’t caught on, I spent a whole day freaking out about this, alright? You already lied once; you owe me~”

He watches Yeosang try to come up with an answer, opening and closing his mouth enough times that Wooyoung lovingly calls him a fish, and then finally seem to admit defeat.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry about me,” Yeosang admits, “and I asked for this, Woo. No one attacked me or anything, promise.”

Lucky bastard, Wooyoung finds himself thinking. Not that he isn’t grateful that Yeosang’s vampirism was a choice, he is, but he would have liked to have been given that same choice. Yeosang looks at him strangely, repeats the first word and Wooyoung blinks, confused. Huh?

Did he say that out loud?

“What do you mean, lucky?” Oh, he absolutely said it out loud. “Jung Wooyoung? What. Do. You. Mean.” Yeosang frowns, leaning in closer like he’s trying to summon the answer through the power of eye contact alone. So Wooyoung smiles, a new set of sharp fangs poking past his lips.

“…surprise?”

Y/n’s not expecting any surprises by late afternoon, especially after the last few nights he’s been having. So, he nearly jumps out of his skin when the doors to A Bite for Tea all but fly open, Wooyoung stumbling inside as he’s pulled inside by another person—a friend?—until he’s made to sit at one of the tables. It almost looks like his fledgeling’s been scolded; hands clasped on the table like a child after dropping their parent’s prized vase. The sight’s endearing, and Y/n almost laughs from where he’s standing behind the glass display case at the front, still plating the slices of banana bread that have finished cooling.

He straightens up as Wooyoung’s friend approaches the counter, looking around like a man on a mission until y/n gently clears his throat, the friend zeroing onto him with a precision that y/n recognises. A turned vampire, he has to be. Whether this is the same friend y/n remembers Wooyoung mentioned being so concerned about a while ago, he can’t tell.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, uh— do you know who y/n is? I heard he owns this coffee shop, and I need to speak to him.” The friend asks, looking less agitated with each word. “If he’s not here, can you send a message?”

“No need to, you’re speaking to him.” Y/n replies, a brow raising as he watches Wooyoung’s friend’s expression shift. From surprise, to relief, to something he can only really describe as… stern. All in a matter of seconds, too. “What is it you need to say?”

Instead of an answer right there and then, y/n ends up following the man to the table and taking a seat, still utterly confused. Looking between the two sat opposite him, he catches Wooyoung muttering I tried to stop him I swear, still looking very much like a scolded child, and what this is all about becomes abundantly clear very quickly.

“…and it was already freezing outside, there was no way I was going to let him succumb to the blood loss as well. There really was no other choice, and I felt responsible. Wooyoung-ssi had called me, so I was determined to help.” Y/n says, rounding off his explanation of the events leading up to Wooyoung’s vampirism, a solemn sincerity hanging over his words. Recalling the night itself isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world, and the born vampire excuses himself to give Wooyoung and his friend—Yeosang, who is the friend y/n remembers hearing about—space to…discuss, process, or say whatever it is they need to say, judging by the silent verbal conversation he sees the two having.

“I’ll be back at the counter if you need anything.” And he tucks his chair in, heading to the front counter to get back to his role as A Bite for Tea’s owner.

Now, Wooyoung doesn’t need anything from his new Sire yet, or whatever Yeosang called y/n, but Wooyoung sticks around long after his friend leaves the coffee shop, instead keeping himself busy with his phone and the cat. In between looking through social media, watching the odd cooking video and stroking the cat’s fur as she passes by, the newly turned vampire ends up staying in the shop until closing, a new brand of curiosity springing forth within his subconscious.

The kind of curiosity that y/n can help him with.

“Hey, y/n-ssi,” he says, helping the older vampire stack up chairs while said vampire sweeps the floor. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do Sires and the vampires they turn have any kind of, I don’t know, relationship? Like a mentor and mentee kinda thing, or…?” Wooyoung doesn’t know what other kind of relationship he’s picturing when the question comes out of his mouth, or what he wants to picture either. So, he pauses his impromptu job of stacking chairs to turn to y/n, watching the cogs turn in the other man’s eyes.

“Well, as far as I know, it tends to just be different for everyone.” Y/n answers. It’s a satisfying enough answer for now, though knowing himself, Wooyoung’s fully aware he’ll be digging through that response for a clearer answer, something more defined he can fall back onto. “I was meaning to ask the last time you were here, but do you want me to go over some basic vampiric fundamentals someday? There are some things like the Coven, where to get blood and etcetera that’ll make life a lot easier for you.”

Huh. He hadn’t thought about that stuff yet.

“Why not?” Wooyoung replies, blasting through his vampiric speed to get the last of the chairs stacked up. “I’m pretty much always free, is there a time that suits you?”

It’s a back and forth, practically a negotiation when Wooyoung realises just how busy y/n actually is with these other responsibilities the older man apparently has. But eventually the date of his vampire classes is set for the next upcoming weekend, and Wooyoung gathers his things in order to head home.

“See you at the weekend!” He calls out as he leaves, y/n off somewhere in the coffee shop’s kitchen.

“It’s a date!” Y/n laughs, calling out in return.

…hopefully it will be.

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freckleslikestars · 27 days ago

Text

Mistletoe Kisses

Christmas MSR smut, what more could you want

3303 Words, read here on AO3

She’d been pissy with him all day, agitated and grumpy, snapping at the mildest of questions, and checking her watch constantly. Of course, he understood. Her brother was coming into town, bringing the family, for Christmas at her mother’s. Just another painful reminder of Christmas’s past. And so it didn’t really bother him so much when at ten to five she gave a sharp sigh and stood from her side of the desk, abruptly pushing her chair away and muttering as she jammed papers into her briefcase.

‘I’m heading out.’

‘Okay. What time do you want me at your Mom’s tomorrow?’ her brow furrowed. ‘Christmas Eve? At your Mom’s. That’s- that’s if you still want me to come. I mean, I don’t want to impose, and you’re not...’

‘Tomorrow. Yeah. No, um, I’ll swing by at around two and pick you up?’

‘Okay. Sounds good.’ They hadn’t been...doing whatever it was that they were doing – some undefined, unnameable...thing – for long. A couple months – slightly longer if you counted the time four months ago when they tumbled into bed together after an intense case. And the night after his mother’s death when he sought comfort in her in the only way he could. And, really, if you considered the week after the New Year, where they barely left her bed and then refused to talk about it, both swearing it wouldn’t happen again, it was fast approaching a year that they’d been doing...well, whatever it was they were doing.

But it wasn’t serious. Unless you took into account all the unspoken things between them. The fact he’d silently hoped and silently mourned alongside her throughout round after round of IVF. The way he’d felt about her since...as long as he could remember. The lengths he’d gone to to save her and keep her by his side. And, of course, the fact that she was it for him, no matter how little they’d ever discussed any future together.

But it wasn’t serious. They were just having fun, screwing around behind the government’s back. Only, he’d started spending multiple nights in a row at her place, and she at his in turn. It seemed tonight was going to be the first night in a long, long time now that he wasn’t to be going home with her. And, of course, he was going to be spending Christmas with her family. Staying at her mother’s house. Meeting the extended family.

So... maybe not as casual as they were telling themselves.

He sighed, cracking his neck and reclining back in his chair, picking up the next file from the haphazard pile on his desk and flicking through it with little interest. He was worried that she wasn’t ready for him to meet her family, that going along tomorrow was a bad idea, that there was too much pressure on it. Because whilst this was it for him, whilst there was nothing and no one he wanted more than her, he still wasn’t certain that she was on the same page, and he really didn’t want to push it so far that he lost her.

Having absorbed nothing of the file he was reading, he decided that he’d try and read it through one more time before packing it in and heading home for the night. Ten minutes later and he was giving up, deciding that a night of leftover Chinese and Star Trek reruns was mildly more appealing than staring at barely convincing reports of sea monsters and Yetis. Mildly.

Traffic was hellish, a city of people leaving for the holidays and doing last-minute shopping, clogging the roads and making his drive impossibly slow. Tinny Christmas songs crackled over his car stereo as downy flakes of snow started tumbling down, catching in the taillights of the cars ahead and melting on the tarmac. As he inched closer to home, he let his mind wander and allowed himself to fantasise about tomorrow and about future Christmases to come. They hadn’t exactly discussed in what capacity he’d be attending the Scully family Christmas, and whilst he was fairly certain that Maggie at least suspected that they were together, he was also pretty sure that Scully hadn’t disclosed the nature of their relationship to any of her family. But that didn’t stop him from daydreaming of dropping sweet, chaste kisses on her cheek as they helped lay the table and wrapping his arms around her waist as she stood chatting with her aunt by the fireplace, finding a hidden corner to murmur sweet nothings into her ear and kiss her until her cheeks flushed.

The crawl home took twice as long as usual, and by the time he’d pulled into his parking space, the desire to go over to her place, crawl into bed next to her and forget the swirling snow and holiday traffic until the new year, was only dampened by the thought of spending even more time on the road and the idea that maybe she wouldn’t be so welcoming of his uninvited appearance after the day she’d had.

His building was quiet as he traipsed his way up the stairs, not before sending a glare towards the elevator that had been out of service for the past week, and he only passed one neighbour on his way up to the fourth floor, bobbing his head in a slight nod, a murmured ‘merry Christmas’ as they passed one another.

He sensed it as soon as he stepped into his apartment, the presence of another soul. He wasn’t sure what set his senses off, but there was something...not quite right. Everything was still, untouched, silent; everything perfectly in its place. But there was a hint of cinnamon in the air, a fresh breath of familiar musky perfume hidden under it.

Shedding his coat and toeing off his shoes, he placed his briefcase by the door with measured precision, biding his time and waiting to see if she’d come out of hiding. Assuming she’d fallen asleep when she didn’t come out to find him, he tiptoed his way into the bedroom, swallowing thickly when he saw her.

She was a fantasy, all diaphanous red and white lace, sat primly on the centre of his bed, a coy, inviting smile tugging at her lips. A fuzzy Santa hat was perched crookedly atop her head and she dangled a sprig of mistletoe between her fingertips, the spray of white berries drooping down above her cinnamon lips.

‘Hi.’

She gave a delicate wiggle of her fingers before twisting her hand and beckoning him with a come-hither crook. A low grown rumbled through his chest as he staggered towards the bed, his knees hitting the frame with a thunk. 'Merry Christmas, Mulder.'

'Bit early for Christmas presents, isn't it?'

'Are you complaining?'

'Certainly not,' he shook his head, clambering onto his bed and shuffling up to her, 'you look…incredible.'

She smiled up at him softly, 'I thought you'd like it.'

'Like it? This is my favourite item of clothing now,' he pinched red chiffon between his fingers, rubbed the white lace trim with reverence.

'I bet you'd like what's under it even more,' she leant forwards, catching his lips with her own in a soft, tender kiss - almost chaste in it's comforting familiarity - the arm holding the mistletoe dropping down to rest against his head, holding him to her.

'Oh, without a doubt,' he murmured against her. His hands had started wandering, cupping her breasts through the lace, ghosting across her stomach, toying with the straps and disappearing beneath the hem of the babydoll. 'But I enjoy unwrapping my presents just as much as the present itself.'

'Some presents are fun to play with in their wrapping,' with the mistletoe in hand, she guided his lips down her chest, gave a sinful moan as he laved his tongue over a pebbled nipple, closed his teeth gently around it. With a shift of the mistletoe, he turned his attentions to the other breast, leaving his hand to finish his work. He peeled away the cup of the babydoll, pressing his face into her warm flesh, humming at the familiar scent of her; apricot shower gel and the perfume she gets from the department store, and the slightly musky spike of her that he can always detect after a day's work. She mewled, her free hand twisting into his hair and anchoring him to her, a soft plea falling from her lips.

Without needing her to guide him, he worked his way down her chest as she reclined back into the pillows, pressing wet kisses to her stomach through the diaphanous material, drawing it up to reveal a matching red thong. He nudged her legs apart, groaning at the sight, 'you're so naughty, Scully. So damn naughty. And I am one lucky sonofabitch,' his humid breath pressed in on her cunt, his nose barely ghosting across the soft, pale flesh of her inner thigh.

'I'll remind you of that next time you ditch me in favour of chasing after Bigfoot,' her voice caught as his tongue darted out to lick along the elastic of her panties.

'I'll make it my new year's resolution, how about that?'

'Won't stick,' she muttered, groaning when he placed a wet, open kiss over her slit, sucking on the flesh either side of her thong with a blissful moan.

He pushed up from her slightly and rested his chin on her pubic bone, gazing up at her with eyes full of mirth, 'well then, next year I'll be on Santa's naughty list, and you can punish me in whatever way you see fit.'

'Is that a promise?'

'Pinky promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. No more ditching you,' he pressed a chaste kiss to the jut of her hipbone, leaning into her palm when she cupped his cheek. 'I think this needs to come off, you know,' he lightly snapped the elastic of her thong, grinning when she squirmed. He hooked two fingers into each side and helped her shimmy them off, following their path with his mouth, kissing and licking and sucking at her legs, all the way down and all the way back up again as he settled before her, prostrate at her alter. She jolted at the first full lick of his tongue up her weeping opening, a whimper escaping her lips when he lapped at her clit.

He was good at this, good at winding her up and undoing her, driving her crazy with his lips and teeth and tongue, his own sounds of pleasure egging her on. He knew how much suction she liked, where on her clit too much was painful, and where the lightest touch could set her off like Times Square on New Years Eve. He knew just when to slip a finger or two into her tight heat, and the perfect way to curl them to have her begging him for more. In just the few months that they'd been doing this regularly, he'd become somewhat of an expert in what made Dana Scully tick, and what made her come. He could write dissertations on in, do a PhD in his partner's oral preferences.

Her back arched and her fingers tightened in his hair, the mistletoe long forgotten. With a hand on the back of her thigh, he guided her leg over his shoulder, moaning when it opened her up further and she used the leverage to draw her closer to him with her foot on his back, her toes curling into the fabric of his shirt. She was so very wet, a core of molten lava in a liquid body, eagerly gasping for more, more, as her hips writhed and thrust against his mouth. One of his hands reached up to join her own on her breast, fondling and massaging and pinching and soothing. His other hand braced around the leg he'd slung over his shoulder, pressed his palm against her lower stomach to stop her from squirming so much. His thumb gently pulled the hood of her clit up to allow it to peek out further, softening his tongue around it to lap gently. She mewled, her grip in his hair tightening when he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.

'Mulder, please?'

'What do you need, Baby?'

'You. I just need you.'

His cock was straining uncomfortably against his slacks, and other than grinding himself into his mattress, there wasn't a thing he could do in his current position to relieve some of the pressure. He knew, without a doubt, that if he didn't pull her over the edge first, he'd never manage to last when he pressed himself into her tight heat. He flicked his pointed tongue against the left side of her clit, traced it up and down her slit before laving across her with the flat of it. 'You have me.'

She whined, straining against him, 'Mulder?'

'Yes.'

'Make me come.'

He'd do anything for her, of course, and after delving his tongue into her pussy, cleaving her open and lapping at her juices, he pressed two fingers into her, crooking them just so to rub against her front wall. She cried out, releasing the grasp on her breast to tangle her hand into the sheet beside her, gripping and pulling at it. Her muscles clenched and quivered around his digits, rippling with each rhythmic curl, until he gave a hard suck to her clit and she came with a whimper, trembling apart in his arms. He continued to suckle gently at her labia whilst she came down, her gasps calming to the occasional audible breath. She hummed, affectionately combing her fingers through his hair when he placed a delicate kiss to her mons and dropped his head down to rest on her thigh.

'You're overdressed,' she murmured, dragging a limp foot up his still-clothed back.

'I think we can do something about that,' he pushed himself to stand at the foot of the bed, efficiently shedding his work clothes and tossing them vaguely in the direction of his laundry basket.

She beckoned him over, a sly, satiated smile on her lips as she reached for him. Her kiss was ravenous as she tasted herself off his face, desperate as he tugged her down to lie flat on her back and settled himself into the cradle of her thighs. His shaft lay against her still-quivering pussy and he rocked his hips, coating himself in her slick. They both groaned as he pressed into her, their tension from the day melting away as she adjusted to him, his weight settling over her as he pulled out and thrust back in at a glacial pace.

'Christ, you're tight,' he grunted out, gritting his teeth as she clenched around him with a grin. Despite how big he felt within her, she was dripping with arousal, and it didn't take much effort to slip in and out of her.

'Roll over,' she whispered, two fingers tapping on his flank to encourage him. With his grip on her hips, he flipped them so she was atop him, pressing herself up with his palms on his chest. The change in angle had her dropping her head back and shifting her hips in a grinding roll, keeping him nestled inside her.

The room was thick with their gasps as she picked up her pace, lifting herself up and dropping back down onto him, her lingerie fluttering around her with each movement. He couldn't take his eyes from her, beautiful as she was, with her cheeks flushed, one tit falling out of the bra cup he'd pulled down, riding his cock like it was the only way to save her life. The Santa hat on her head had slipped down to the side, and the fuzzy ball swung to-and-fro with her frantic movements, and the sight was charmingly sexy. His fingers dug into her hips, helping her along as the muscles in her thighs quivered and faltered, and she leaned forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss. Her name, a mantra gasped into her mouth as she shattered around him, dragging him over the ledge with her into the trembling depths.

She slumped down onto him, her muscles continuing to milk him for all he was worth, as she trailed kisses down his throat and across his neck, showering him in grateful affection. With a pat to his stomach and a whimper, she pulled herself off of him, disappearing into the bathroom. He could hear her use the toilet, the taps running as she cleaned herself and washed her hands, and the familiar, domestic sounds of her existing in his space made him smile as he rested his eyes, trying to summon the energy to strip and re-dress the bed. She returned before he had the chance to move, flinging the thong he'd pulled off of her into the laundry hamper before crawling over to curl into his side.

‘Feeling better?’ he asked, trailing his fingertips up her bare arm as she settled her head on his chest.

‘A little,’ she nodded, but he could hear the tightness that still laced her voice. The cooling room around them chilled the sweat on their bodies and she shivered, Mulder pulling the blanket from the foot of his bed up and over them.

‘Wanna talk about it?’

She shrugged against him but nodded, ‘it’s just...Christmas. Mom’s tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ve got the mental energy to deal with it all. It’s already a difficult time, and I just...with Tara being pregnant again and Mom constantly checking that I’m okay and Bill being...Bill. And that’s not even thinking about all the cousins and the aunts and all the “and what about you, Dana?”’

‘Well, I’ll be there to distract you when it all gets too much. And – I might be being a bit presumptive here – but I’d say I’m somewhat of an answer to that question.’

‘You’re the answer that will prompt Cousin Mona to make a joke about sleeping my way to the top and Aunt Eileen to ask you about your shoe size, so...as much as I love that you’re coming, you’re not exactly the saviour of the day. We could just stay in bed all weekend, tell Mom we’ve got food poisoning.’

‘She’d be disappointed.’

‘Yeah...’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘Besides, I ought to see Matty. Mom says he’s started talking.’

‘How about- how about we call your mom tomorrow morning and tell her that I have the sudden urge to drive down to Raleigh and visit my mother’s grave? She’s not going to question that. We say we’ll try to make it to midnight mass, but it depends on how we feel after the drive, and then we make sure we’re over there for roll call at O’ five hundred sharp Christmas morning. That way, you don’t have to deal with the extended family, Bill will have no ammunition for any of his arguments because you were supporting your partner through the loss of a parent, and if he tried to contest it, he’d come across as the asshole, and you still get to see your mom and Matty on Christmas day.’

She craned her neck up to stare, disbelieving, at him, ‘Mulder, I can’t use your dead mom as an excuse not to see my family.’

‘Call it an early Christmas present. Besides, lying about visiting her grave is the closest I’ve come to spending time with her over the holidays for many, many years.’

She gave a tender smile, ‘I love you so much.’

‘Yeah?’

Swallowing thickly, she nodded and reached up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, ‘yeah.’

Tagging @today-in-fic

#I've been writing this for two and a half years #I meant to finish it before Christmas but my postgrad is kicking my arse #as has the holiday season.#better late than never though eh #xf fanfic #txf #x files #msr #my writing

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millersfinest · 1 month ago

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could u make headcannons of cat?? its a weird req but i love how u perceive ellie & i think u write her so perfectly and would love to hear ur take on cat

since we only saw her for a short period of time, ofc there’s not much to base off of but that’s what makes it even more fun yk? like u get to make ur own personality for her & i’d love to hear what u concoct!!

dating cat (tlou II)

cw: mentions of ellie williams, some fluff ofc, a little bit of nsfw toward the end.

note: this is such an interesting req omg!! i’m glad you love how i write ellie, and i hope this kind of fits how you perceive cat as much as i do <3 like you said, a lot of this is just my own personalization based on the comments made about her and my own brain :p this ended up a bit longer than intended, but i feel like im still missing some stuff lol. if anyone wants a part 2 lemme know x

also… thank you guys for 240+ pookies!! i don’t think i mentioned that yet. i love you guys so much <33

cat! is an optimist to her core. she has a bunch of faith running through her body most of the time.

there could literally be infected breaching the walls of jackson, and she’d still find an upside to the situation. that’s what people either loved or hated about her.

you would have to get to know her personally in order to find her deepest insecurities and worries tbh.

cat! isn’t the type to mislead. she’s very upfront about most of her intentions and the things that she wants.

after her breakup with ellie, she became hesitant when considering getting into another serious relationship. she feared labels—afraid that you’d find interest in someone else (while being in the relationship) or she’d find interest in someone else.

so instead of going through with it anyway, the first nine months you were together was a friends with benefits thing (i’ll dive more into that later). she’s the queen of taking things slow.

however, once she’s ready to lock down… she’s in for the long haul.

cat! is a huge doodler. well, she does tattoos, so that makes sense. but, if you weren’t asking for anything permanent—she would get a sharpie marker and practice drawing on your skin. literally anytime of day… but, especially when you guys were alone.

she would straddle your bare back and begin making designs. and if she was feeling extra productive that day, she’d draw on you as if the sharpie were a tattoo needle. little felt pokes would be made, which would kind of tickle but you let her.

“after i’m done with you… you might even want the real deal!”

“i’ll believe it when i see it.”

cat! was a very certain type of person. when she was good at things, she had no reason to feel anything except proud. she rarely needs secondary approval.

that rareness comes into play when involving you, though. for anything that she does, when the two of you get into a relationship (arguably a little bit before then) she does value your advice and opinions. you’re like a favorite consultant—no matter what your response was.

you could critique how she handled a conflict or even as little as critique her drawings, and she would look at you with the biggest set of brown eyes you’ve ever seen. she was always open to receive from you. other people… not so much.

with that being said…

cat! could be a bit of a hothead at times. her happy-go-lucky personality wasn’t impenetrable.

while she was over her ex, seeing ellie with dina pissed her off sometimes. because she knew that they were making eyes at each other during their relationship—and that was too close to cheating for her.

but, your touch and your voice always managed to calm her. “she has no idea what she’s missing out on.” you’d say, wrapping your arms around her neck, kissing her warm cheek.

or, whenever she’d take her drawings and painting more serious (she paints a little bit), she’d trade with the art store in jackson. and every time someone hovered over her work to purchase, she’d listen in on their opinions—and they weren’t always good. they should’ve had a denser stroke here. i’m not sure how i feel about the style of this portrait.

it’s was all hooplah to you, but those words practically made steam come out of her ears.

cat! would eavesdrop and then step into the conversation with a red face and clenched fists. “you’re talkin’ a lot for someone who can barely draw a circle— yeah, i’ve seen it.”

you’d have to pull her from the art store, holding onto her clenched fist. she’d eventually unclench with your soothing words, and hold onto you as if you were an anchor.

cat! was a woman of many jobs in jackson. she didn’t frequent patrols much, but she spent a lot of time in the gardens. however, when she did go on patrols, she’d always come back a little bit more serious than when she left.

even if you guys weren’t living together yet, she would find you. stumble into your home and into your arms. she’d hold onto you with vice-like grip, pushing the air from your lungs. she didn’t take lightly to the blood and viscera she saw out there.

cat! spent so much time in jackson that she almost forgot what it was like to be out there. that’s why she went on patrols every once in a while.

there was one time when she was out there that she saw a decaying pair of people, nothing but bones and deteriorating clothes. their boney hands were intertwined, and in the other were pistols. for a split second, all she could think of was you and her. could this possibly be your guys’ fate?

she came home to you that night and didn’t want to leave your side. big-spooning you in your bed, whispering words into your neck. “if anything ever happened to you… i think i’d die.” and “i l-love you so much— words can barely describe how much i love you.”

“i love you, too.” you respond with partial shock. that may have been the first time she said those words to you.

cat! is a words of affirmation and physical touch type of girl.

words of affirmation: she thrives on your vocal support—she needs it. whether she’s dealing with a problem, or she’s leaning into your thoughts on one of her pieces. she fully believes that relationships are where two people are joining together; so your input will always be important.

and on another note… she loves to be praised by you. anything, she loves to hear: “you’re so good at this” or “you’re doing so good for me”. you’re her favorite person, so she wants to make you happy.

physical touch: simply put—she’s a huge cuddler. a cuddlebug, if you will. she loves been enveloped with you. there’s not subtly surrounding her wanting to touch you… like at all. you could be out at a party, and she’d want her arms wrapped around you. if you were sitting and she was standing, she’d wrap them around your neck, leaning her chin on your head. if you were both standing up, she’d wrap them around your abdomen.

in private, she’d be more about skin to skin contact (which isn’t always sexual, but it often leads to that).

you could be cooking or doing whatever and she’d slide her hands under your shirt, even if her hands were cold af, just to feel your warmth. leaning her head on your shoulder, kissing the smooth skin of your neck.

omg, don’t let her be gone/busy for most of the day. when she comes home it’s clothes off cuddle time. swearrr!! and that may or may not escalate depending on how the both of your days went.

now for a little bit of nsfw <3

cat! is indubitably a switch in my eyes (i spent some time thinking about this lol). and a solid one. everything is dependent on what happens in the moment between you two.

but, it should be mentioned, that during the fwb stint at the start of your relationship… she was mostly topping. cat was having a hard time letting herself go after her breakup—you basically had to earn your way to her trusting you with her body.

cat! went from dominating to allowing things to fall as they may.

the one thing she did care about, though, was making you feel good. if that meant bottoming then so be it—but she did enjoy hearing the sounds you made when she went down on you and/or her fingers were inside you. there was nothing more affirmative than you moaning her name.

or, when she bottoms, there’s always so much love in how you touch her. if you’re not good w your words physical affection was always the way to go. every kiss, every stroke, every lick dripped with an i love you.

the first time: as in the first time she bottomed, letting you take over, she was so nervous that she trembled under her skin. it was your delicate touch that calmed her. and when you pushed her toward that finish line—her climax—tears fled from her eyes.

being with cat was so much more than just hopelessness and smiles and beautiful art. she was just a girl who cared a lot. and, luckily, you were apart of the small group of people she cared a lot for.

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie williams #cat tlou #headcanon #lesbian #the last of us

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ash5monster01 · 10 months ago

Text

Goes On Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, depression, mentions of suicide, heavy topics, eventual smut, slow burn romance, fluff, gender themes/stereotypes.

Summary: Against his best efforts Charlie has to start at a new preparatory school after the tragic events that took place at Welton. The very events that led to the loss of his best friend and getting expelled in the first place. He has no plans to make friends let alone get close to anyone ever again. That is until he meets Evelyn and her interesting group of friends. No matter how hard he tries to push them away he finds it to be impossible. So he caves and in the end learns that life can still be enjoyable even if it feels like everyone is against you.

word count: 2.9k

Eleven ←→ Thirteen

Masterlist

Ridge Academy, NY

3/26/60

Dating in a private school could be difficult. Evelyn had listened to Violet complain about it for years but until now she hadn’t realized how true it was. It had been a month of dating Charlie and every day people still gave her a hard time and she felt like neither of them had any privacy. Even the dates at the cafe on campus didn’t feel real due to so many peering eyes. It was like animals in a zoo and Evelyn was tired of it. Especially since she still felt like she was getting to know Charlie. There was still so much there he hadn’t given her access too and she partly blamed it on this damn school.

So she had been grumpy. Which wasn’t usual for the girl but she was just annoyed. Sick and tired of waiting for the world to finally let her have and enjoy something for once. She finally found someone she enjoyed being with and liked, so why the hell couldn’t the universe provide her with a break? Allow her a chance to date her first boyfriend like every girl should. Not with the overlooking eyes but with an innocence that comes with experiencing all the things you hadn’t before.

“If you’re not careful your face’ll get stuck like that” Charlie muttered, leaning toward her on the couch and rubbing a thumb over the crease between her brows. Evelyn’s face instantly softened, heart yearning for the boy beside her.

“I’m sorry” she told him, legs shifting in his lap. The library had become a sort of safe haven for the two, cradling their budding love between the stacks of hundreds of books. At first Evelyn thought it was romantic but now she just felt annoyed that this was the only place she felt any privacy with the boy beside her.

“Don’t be, what’s on your mind?” the chestnut haired boy asks and Evelyn sighs, head leaning back against the couch.

“I just wish we could be alone” she tells him and Charlie chuckles, eyes glancing around the semi empty space around them.

“We are alone” he says and she groans, head shaking against the back of the cushions, brunette tresses falling in all directions.

“No I mean alone away from this school. I feel like everywhere we go there is someone we know. Relationships shouldn’t be so monitored” Evelyn counters and Charlie gives a understanding look because he knows exactly what she means. Even now there is a librarian twenty feet away and if he sneaks into her room at night it’s only bound to be interrupted by Violet or her be there the entire time. When he had wanted girls to attend Welton he had never considered the watchful eye factor, people like Nolan and Mr. McAllister watching your every move. He could see himself now sneaking his girl out to the old Indian Cave just to get some alone time, and then it hit him.

"What if we just left campus" he says and a shocked look paints Evelyn's face quickly.

"We can't, not without written permission from a parent and I don’t know about your parents but mine would definitely not sign off on me running around with a boy" she defends quickly and Charlie laughs, pulling her closer and hoping the librarian doesn't look up to bust them both.

"I didn't say anything about asking for permission" he grins, mischief sparkling in his eyes and the gears finally start turning in her head. It wouldn't be impossible. A few right moves and they both could be off and into the night, returning in the mask of the dark, and no one would know a thing.

"Okay, let's do it" she agrees quickly and he smiles wide, squeezing her as he presses a soft kiss to the side of her head.

"What do you say about 7:30, meet past the gate and behind the tree line?" and the nerves start to bubble in Evelyn's stomach but she smiles and agrees anyway.

"Perfect, but now I have to get ready!" and before Charlie could protest, Evelyn was up and out of her seat, scurrying in the direction of the dorms so she could get dressed for her first very real date. Sighing he leans back into the couch, a smile on his face from how much he adored her. Only once in a while did he feel despair about getting so close when he had promised himself not to. Those were only during the dark moments though, the moments where he couldn't stop his mind from thinking about how much he would miss her if she suddenly went away and then those thoughts would bring him right back to Neil. He wished he had appreciated him more when he was here. With this thoughts now swirling in his head he did the one thing that always made him feel better.

"Yeah, hi. I'm calling for Todd Anderson" Charlie said once the phone line picked up and whatever twelve year old blazer boy answered was off in search of his meek friend that could be the only one to calm him down during this time.

"Hello" Todd said after a few moments, voice coming out staticky from the phone and hundred miles inbetween them.

"Hey Todd, it's Charlie" he responded quickly, trying to keep his voice even as he tried to get the panic and sadness to go away.

"Hey Charlie, what’s going on? It's not Wednesday" Todd said, confusion laced in his voice and Charlie chuckled, a little sad because he could picture exactly what the boys face looked like right now. The overbearing weight of wanting to be back at Welton swallowing him whole. How torn the world must be if he still wished he was back at that dreaded school.

"I know, it's just- I have a date tonight" Charlie spoke softly and Todd grinned wide on the other end. The image of his overcondienct and cocky friend coming to mind. The one he knew, not knowing the new person he had become.

"Hey that's awesome Charlie, is it Evelyn?" Todd questioned, coming to know the girl from how the boy had talked about her. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he couldn’t stop himself from going after her. Todd was starting to get used to always being right.

"Yeah it’s her, it's just-.." and Charlie clamped his mouth shut, suddenly feeling silly for feeling this way. He was Charlie Dalton for Christ sake, he was confident, smart, and a womanizer. Why would he be calling quiet Todd Anderson about it?

"You can tell me Charlie" Todd spoke, finally sensing the discomfort coming from the boy he hadn't seen in person since before Christmas. Charlie took a moment, collecting himself before responding.

“What if I get to close and lose her too?” He whispered, voicing his worries out loud for the very first time. Todd was taken aback, shocked to hear the words that just left his mouth. Then it dawned on him that Neil was Charlie’s best friend, the one guy who had been by his side for the entirety of his days at Welton. Todd had only known Neil four months for him to become important to him, he couldn’t imagine a lifetime. Neil had already been gone more than half the amount of time Todd had known him but for Charlie it was different. For Charlie it was losing the one real person who loved you your entire life.

“Does she know?” Todd asked, curious if Charlie had disclosed the tragic event that had all changed them entirely for the rest of their lives. Yet Charlie’s silence was enough of an answer in itself.

“No one does, well except my room mate. I just didn’t want it to define me” Charlie finally told him, realizing the weight in his chest he has been carrying this whole time over not grieving properly. He had yet to be comforted for the loss of his friend and that had made it hard to get over. Hard to move on.

“You should tell her, it won’t change anything but until you do, can she ever really begin to understand you?” and Charlie remembered exactly why he had called Todd in the first place. He had become his new voice of reason since Neil died and he knew the exact right thing to say.

“I just don’t want her to see me differently” Charlie admitted and Todd wished he was there to give his friend a hug. He remembered not liking Charlie much at first. He thought his outgoing spirit was dangerous and that it put him in a position to be targeted amongst the group. Yet he failed to notice just how loyal the boy was and now he wished that during the time they did spend together he got to know him better.

“You are different Nuwanda. What matters is if you own it” Todd told him and Charlie chuckled lightly, fighting the tears that burned at the back of his eyes.

“I’ll tell her when I’m ready, I promise” he finally said and Todd accepted this answer not wanting to push him too far, so he decided to leave him with just this.

“Just remember you may never be ready” Todd says knowing his own grief had changed him entirely as a man. He was still living out his punishment with Nolan. It was funny how Nolan used to be annoyed with how outspoken he was but the moment he speaks up he gets silenced.

“Thanks Todd, I’ll talk to you later” Charlie smiled, feeling much better than before about this date.

“Good luck” Todd bid him goodbye and then the receiver clicked before indicating the dead line and Todd was gone, leaving Charlie no choice but to get ready and face his fears.

It’s not long until 7:30 hits, Charlie had been hiding in the tree line since 7. Wanting to lessen the chances of both of them getting caught and take the time to prepare himself for a real date. He may have always been cool with the women but he had truly never been on a proper date before. Especially with a girl like Evelyn, she deserved to be swept off her feet. He jumps when the sound of a branch snapping fills his ears but he quickly calms when he sees the foot is one with a kitten heel and not loafers that belonged to a teacher ready to bust him.

“That was thrilling” Evelyn whispers despite not needing to. They were far enough away now that no one would be able to hear him. Yet her words don’t register in Charlies head because as his eyes move up from her feet they find leg. Lots and lots of leg until right at her knees he is met with baby blue tulle, the skirt making her look like an angel on a cloud. It gets even better when he meets the sweetheart neckline, strained over her chest and looking so inviting. The silver chain necklace around her neck makes him shiver. Finally his eyes meet her own, just in time to spot the grin she wears from watching him check her out.

“I’m beginning to regret this idea of going out and not staying in now” Charlie says, shifting a little as he prepared to approach her. Evelyn just shook her head and reached for him anyways, not giving him much choice in the matter.

“I already convinced Violet to stay in Marty’s room until at least 3am, so we have time” she whispers before pulling him close and capturing his lips in her own. Charlie hums as she kisses him soft and sweet, agonizingly slow and leaving him wanting more. “Right now I just want my boyfriend to take me on a date”

“Then let’s do it” Charlie smiles at her, stealing one more kiss before lacing his fingers through her own and starting them on the walk.

It takes only a mile before they’re met with the sight of town, one Charlie had only been in a handful of times since coming here. Evelyn takes lead on picking the restaurant considering she had been in Ridge much longer than he ever had. It’s no surprise when she picks the small diner opposed to somewhere nicer. People gave the pair looks walking in all dressed up just for some burgers and shakes but neither of them minded when they finally found a booth. Floor sticky and table greasy, it was perfect for two kids just beginning to fall in love.

“I’ve never been on a real date before?” Evelyn admits, taking the red and white stripe straw between her lips and taking a sip of her chocolate shake. Charlie just smiled, his own strawberry shake in his hand.

“You’re telling me none of those guys in that co-ed school snuck you off campus to take you on proper date?” He teases, voice full of amusement as he looks at her.

“No Charles, they haven’t. Yet that’s the thing about co-ed schools. The boys don’t understand to appreciate it more” she says, thinking about all the boys she grew up with who never learned to be gentlemanly or even nervous in her presence.

“Idiots, I didn’t talk to a girl until I was thirteen” Charlie says with the shake of his head, smiling as the waitress sets down burgers and fries for them both. He grins at the way Evelyn has one fry shoved in her mouth before it even hits the table.

“How come you’re not nervous around girls then?” Evelyn inquires, grabbing some salt to put on her fries and on Charlie’s before setting it down.

“I figured there was never any reason to be. If I wanted to have a fighting chance I couldn’t just gape at a girl like a fish, I had to snag her before some other idiot did” and Evelyn’s laughing loudly at the explanation, other customers looking over and chuckling at the young kids on their night out.

“Well lucky for you no other idiots in that school liked me and I learned to accept that a long time ago” Charlie’s stiffens as the words leave her mouth, thinking of his friend who was probably in their shared dorm wondering where the hell he was. His friend who was the only one to know anything about him here. If only Nate had said something before he had fallen for the girl but now it was far too late.

“Idiots indeed” Charlie agrees before grabbing his burger and taking a large bite. Evelyn just smiles, mimicking his movements and doing the same. When some mustard gets smeared on Charlies cheek she’s quick to giggle and wipe it away.

As the night progresses the conversation continues to flow, laughter and smiles filling the space between them. It’s not long until plates are empty and stomachs are full. At some point Charlie even ends up on Evelyn’s side of the booth, arm wrapped around her as he recalls tales from his Welton days. Evelyn particularly likes the ones about Knox and all the things he did to gain the attention of Chris. Sadly it was getting close to curfew so Charlie threw some cash on the table and led the girl out the booth and back in the dreaded direction of the school, feeling guilty for still not telling her the truth about his past.

“That was much easier than expected” Evelyn says, swinging their interlocked hands between them. Charlie just laughs, eyes glancing down at her in the moonlight.

“It’s not over yet, now we have to sneak back in” Charlie informs her and she just rolls her eyes, leaning closer to him the closer they get to the school.

“I almost don’t want to go back in” she says when the gate comes into view and Charlie glances at his watch, noting there still was just forty minutes until curfew. Before Evelyn can say anything more he has her pressed up against one of the trees and he doesn’t miss the sharp breath she takes in.

“Then let’s not, at least for a little bit” he tells her and before she can agree he has his lips on hers, tipping her head back and against the tree. Evelyn settles into the kiss fairly quickly, hands coming to rest on his chest. Charlie finds his own comfort in the kiss, keeping a hand at her waist and the other on her face, making sure she kept access for him. He loved how she still tasted faintly of chocolate shake and how she relaxed into his arms. He hadn’t kissed many girls in his lifetime but none of them could ever compare.

“That was the best first date” Evelyn mutters when he finally gives her a chance to breath, lips trailing down her neck and to the top of her chest that he could barely keep his eyes off of all night. When his fingers tangle into her necklace he finally begins to pull away.

“Agreed, what do you say we do it again?” and Evelyn giggles as his lips meet her neck again. Smiling she reaches to tangle her fingers in his hair and memorize this moment to keep in her heart forever.

“Anytime Charlie”

Taglist: @octaviasdread @eden-punk @linmichea1 @pursuedbyamemoryy @mynameisjxlia

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

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fangirl94stuff · 2 years ago

Text

Jorel Decker (J-Dog) (Hollywood Undead)

JOREL

'How long have you guys been together?' Danny asks, bringing his beer to his lips.

the whole band had a party at George's place to celebrate our recent album release with our partners and close friends. I'd decided to bring my new partner y/n, who'd met the members individually but not all together with alcohol involved.

'Two months,' y/n replies, and I squeeze them around the waist.

After my last breakup, I'd decided to be single for a while, but that was short-lived because I agreed to a blind date to shut people up and was set up with y/n. They'd also ended a long-term relationship so we were in the same boat, and we found out we had a lot in common so we decided to give this relationship thing one last chance. However we'd also decided to take things slow, and that had gotten around the band, especially the fact that y/n and I hadn't had our first kiss yet.

Danny smirks at me, 'And you still haven't kissed. Does J have bad breath or something y/n?'

y/n laughs and sips their drink but I could tell the question annoyed them, 'Nope, and it's none of your business.'

'That's my y/n, let's leave Danny,' I suggest, unwrapping my arm from around their waist and taking their free hand.

y/n nods and we leave Danny in the kitchen, 'let's get some fresh air.'

We make our way through the dining room where Dylan was joking with some guys from the label, and he wiggles his eyebrows in our direction as we pass.

'Where are you two going? Seven minutes in heaven?' he jokes.

I flip him off and y/n and I enter the lounge where Jordan and George were. We probably should have gone out back to avoid all these snarky comments.

'Ignore them J,' y/n whispers to me and I smile fondly at them, at how despite being uncomfortable and annoyed themselves they were concerned about my feelings as well.

'You going to get some J?' Jordan shouts across the room.

George slaps him across the back of the head, 'Dude they have to kiss first.'

Jordan pouts and rubs his head, 'doesn't matter which lips he kisses.'

'You little fuc--'

'Let's get you outside J,' y/n cuts me off from blowing up at Jordan for being inappropriate. They pull me into the hallway and open the front door.

y/n lets go of my hand and I start pacing, 'I'm sorry about the guys.'

y/n stands in front of me stopping me from pacing, 'You know what J let's do this.'

Before I can question them, they lean forwards and peck me on the lips sweetly before pulling back blushing, 'I wasn't expecting your lips to be so soft J.'

I blink in shock, 'I hope you didn't feel pressured to kiss me y/n.'

y/n bites their lip, 'I wanted to kiss you J, see what all the hype is about and it was worth it. Do you want to kiss me back?'

I nod, 'yes I want to kiss you y/n, come here.'

I close the space between us and kiss them back. This was an interesting way to have a first kiss with someone and would be a funny story for the future. we stop kissing after a minute or two and y/n rests their head on my chest and I can't help but chuckle.

'I can hear your heartbeat y/n, relax.'

y/n looks up at me and smiles, 'Oh quiet you.'

#hollywood undead #Hollywood undead army #hollywood undead imagine #hollywood undead fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction blog #band fanfiction #band imagines #band imagine blog #new imagines blog #jorel decker #jorel decker fanfiction #jorel decker imagines #jdog #hollywood undead jdog

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paperstorm · 6 months ago

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Well Ao3 is to slow to function for me right now - so in lieu of anything else to do you’re getting a random question lol re: Tarlos (no pressure to answer!)

SO it seems to generally be established fanon (if not technically canon) that neither TK or Carlos hooked up with anyone else while broken up. I agree! I don’t think based on their personalities and the timeline either would have. BUT I do think it’s fun sometimes to speculate on nonsense so.

Let’s play around with the idea that they did, who do you think is more likely to have done the random hook up (I think Carlos - I hc that TK would have been hanging on to his sobriety by his teeth the first few weeks at least, and I don’t think he’d risk going “out” for a while to avoid temptation. Although let’s be clear I still don’t think Carlos is LIKELY to have done it lol, just more likely than TK) what is the reaction on both sides? How much angst does it cause? How do they move past it? Who blames themselves more? How does it change things from current interpretation?

Here’s hoping ao3 gets its act together soon 😊

Mostly I think we’re all too in love with them as a couple to imagine them with anyone else 😂 Altho I admire people who can. Tbh I think TK would be more likely to, just because he already has a history of being with other people. I guess we don’t know for *sure* Alex wasn’t his first and only but I feel like it’s implied that’s not the case. And I feel like it is implied especially in season 4 that Carlos has very little experience before TK. In my mind Carlos seems more the type to dramatically decide that tk is his soulmate so if he can’t have TK he’ll just be celibate (at least for the short amount of time they were apart, I don’t think he literally would’ve been alone forever but I think two months in he would be certain he would never love again). Whereas TK I feel is more the type to hook up with others because he’s desperate to not hurt anymore and he thinks forcing himself to move on is the only way to make that happen. I’m always interested what other people think tho, I love headcanons that differ from my own.

#911ls asks

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skyward-floored · 2 years ago

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Oooh can I get more stuff about Hyrule :3 his backstory seems very interesting to me in the incredibles au!

This isn’t all of Hyrule’s backstory, but... this is definitely the worst part.

I actually already had a bunch of this written and was planning to publish it at some point as it’s own thing, so it has a reason to be as long as it is. I’m never going to be able to stick to the self-imposed word limit why did I bother

Set a month or two before Sky and Time find him, and ah... warning for blood and injury. sorry. I’ll put most of it under a cut because of that.

———

Link leapt straight over a pile of cardboard boxes, almost slipping in a pile of icy slush as he landed, but he managed to regain his balance and kept running, ears pricked for the shouting coming from behind him.

The wind was cold where it blew through the holes in his coat; winter had come earlier than anyone had expected, and Link hadn’t hadn’t been given anything thicker to wear.

But was finally out of that awful place, after a whole string of awful places, and could easily find a winter coat now, he was sure.

And maybe somewhere not so awful.

Link swerved around a corner and screeched to a halt, finding himself in a dead end. A tall fence blocked the end of the alleyway, but as Link looked closer, he realized he could probably climb it.

“There he is!”

Link’s heart shot straight up into his throat, and he ran over to the fence, scrambling up the freezing metal as footsteps pounded behind him.

He spared half a glance behind him as the shouts increased, hands shaking as he caught sight of several familiar faces. An eye insignia was visible on almost all of them, and he paled as he realized just how many people were chasing him. Was the whole gang after him?

Link had just reached the top when he heard a noise, and turned just in time to see something flying towards him—

Pain exploded in Link’s side and he screamed as he just barely managed to throw himself over the fence, forcing himself to create a shield right before he hit the ground. There was a small pile of snow which helped cushion the fall, and Link dropped his shield as he stumbled quickly to his feet.

He nearly went sprawling as his side burned, but he forced himself to walk, barely biting back another scream. He was not going back there, he was not letting them catch him again. The first time had been horrible, and he was sure it would be even worse if they caught him this time.

Link managed a jog, hoping the rapidly worsening storm would be too much for the men to keep chasing him. He took tricky paths and crawled through pipes, backtracking and going in as confusing of a manner as possible as the city grew more and more white with snow around him.

But finally the pain was too much.

Link finally fell to his knees as his side screamed in pain, red dripping onto the snow. Somehow he managed to drag himself to some shelter, shivering with pain and cold as he curled up behind a half-buried dumpster.

Link pressed his hands to his side, nearly shrieking when he touched the bloodied skin. His tears made it hard to see, but he could still catch the blue glow of his powers as he tried desperately to heal himself, fighting past his exhaustion and terror.

He wasn’t sure how far he got before he passed out.

(...)

The blizzard had slowed to mere flurries when Link awoke, exhausted and shivering with cold.

He stared above him at the sky, dark with clouds, but lit a faint orange by the light of the city. Every inch of him hurt, his tears had frozen on his cheeks, and every sound could be a sign of someone coming to drag him back and force him to heal for people who just wanted to hurt others.

Link sniffled, but held back his tears, still terrified someone would hear him. Instead he curled up in a ball, trying to conserve heat as he closed his eyes again. His side still hurt, but he knew he was too tired to try and heal it further.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there when a sound hit his ears, and he dragged his eyes open again, a shadow falling across his face.

Link blinked up at the figure above him, and felt his stomach drop as he saw a large, heavyset man, who looked rather menacing despite the sprinkle of flurries catching in his beard.

It was a member of the gang.

He’d been found.

Link was still weakened from healing himself, and exhausted from how far he’d run in such a short time and the fact that he’d barely had any food the past several days. The likelihood of him escaping was far too small, but he had to try. He had to.

Link shrank back, shivering wildly and looking for a way to somehow slip away despite how he could barely move.

But then the man carefully held out a hand, in a gesture that was the opposite of threatening.

Link stared at it, then flinched as the man reached into his bag, expecting a weapon to be pulled on him. But instead the man pulled out a blanket, and handed it over to Link.

Link watched in disbelief, too frozen in astonishment to take it. The man leaned closer when he didn’t move, and tugged the blanket over Link’s shoulders, warm fabric settled over his freezing arms. Link couldn’t move he was so shocked, but then the man pressed a small container into his hands as well, of something that smelled amazing and was beautifully warm.

He looked up at the man in utter shock, and a finger went to the man’s lips, something surprisingly gentle in his gaze.

“It’s a secret to everybody,” he said in a whisper, then gave Link a single pat on the head before disappearing into the night.

Link stared after him, something tightening in his throat for some reason.

But he shook it off, ignoring how he could still feel the warmth of the man’s hand on his head, and turned his attention back to the container in his lap. Delicious smells were coming from inside, and he eagerly pulled the box open.

He nearly felt like crying at the sight of the warm food inside, meat and noodles of some kind with pieces of vegetables tucked in along with it. As the warm smells drifted around him, Link decided he didn’t care if this was a trick. He hadn’t eaten barely anything all week, and the sight and smell were too much for his aching stomach to resist.

He dug in, food warming him straight from head to toe, and even when it was gone the night didn’t seem quite as cold as it had before. Link blinked drowsily as he finished, feeling warm and surprisingly content. His side didn’t even hurt as much, and he curled up in the blanket the man had given him, the fabric thin, but surprisingly soft and warm.

He knew he should probably stay awake in case the man had tricked him and tried to come back, but his exhaustion won out, and he fell asleep.

He’d figure it out tomorrow.

#eyes of ganon? yiga? take your pick #point is Hyrule ended up in a BAD situation #and just barely got out #lu hyrule #blood and injury #Incredibles au #writing from the floor #implied child abuse too?#a little bit #if this needs more tags someone tell me #answers from the floor #smiles my beloved #in which my secret moblin bias shows up #I love him your honor #incredibles au fic

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bisamwilson · 2 years ago

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

also tagged by @writerkenna!!

thanks y'all for the love <3

5 fics + excerpts!

wish that i could wind (like a spiral stair through time)

“Five o’clock sharp every morning, baby,” he’d said, over half a century ago now, his voice weak and his bones weaker, holding onto Bucky’s far less wrinkled hand with all the strength he still had. “Early morning exercise is important for old men like us: keeps us living longer.” Bucky has lived fifty-two years, three months, and twelve days longer than Sam had ever gotten to, and, running his hand over Sam’s side of the bed, his favorite blanket kept pristine even after all these years, he thinks living longer is the last thing he’d ever want. He still gets up at five to exercise every day, though. After all, Sam had asked him to, and who is Bucky to deny Sam anything he asks, even all these years later.

2. my convenience store dream boy

The most definitely real heat gets stronger for just a moment, disappearing when Cap puts on a friendly smile. “Can’t say I pegged you for an optimist, Bucky,” he says, holding Bucky’s phone out. Bucky takes it back without looking away from his face. “I’m not, usually. Only when there’s something—or someone—worth inspiring my optimism.” Bucky’s probably gone too far on the side of “hammy,” but Cap’s still interested enough for him to think he didn’t quite blow his chance. As a matter of fact, he’s a little too interested, really, because this is going to give Bucky ideas—the dangerous kind, the kind that’s gonna break his heart someday, he’s sure.

3. put some mustard on it

Sam notices the heightened restlessness too, he’s sure, but that comes along with Bucky agreeing to go on morning runs with him more often as well as an exponential uptake in random warm smiles, so Sam probably doesn’t say anything in worry of breaking that particular spell. Every time he thinks about that ring he just breaks out into a grin, and every time Sam asks him to come along he doesn’t want to miss a single second. Smiling, running, being with Sam, looking at his ring from Costco. That’s most of Bucky’s life these days. And buying and subsequently wasting mustard, of course. He’s been too busy thinking about the ring to stage that intervention.

4. but it feels like there's oceans between you and me

Usually pleasure rolls off Bucky in waves in times like this, the initial slow push almost more satisfying to him than the explosive finish, but now Sam feels a frenzy of emotions, entirely at odds with Bucky’s calm approach to fucking him. Fear. Relief. Anger. Worry. Something Sam might call “love” if he didn’t know better.

and, of course,

5. (it's your kiss) hey princess

There’s a noticeable pause between Sam’s steps at that, but Bucky effortlessly leads them back on track. “I appreciate dropping formalities, but I gotta say, ‘Bucky’ does not exactly fit with the handsome noble vibe you’ve got going here.” Bucky spins them around in a move that is surprisingly easy but leaves Sam a little breathless. “Childhood nickname that stuck. My middle name’s Buchanan, which is somehow even more unfortunate than Bucky, but my younger sister, Becca, had issues with it when she was young. It came out more similar to ‘Bucky,’ and that’s what I’ve been called ever since, at least by the people I’m close to.” “We’ve met so recently, Buck, one might think it’s a little sad that I’m already included in those ranks, even if I’m not complaining.” Bucky dips him low and leans into his ear, whispering, “We’re not quite close yet, Prince, but you’ll forgive me for hoping we get there.”

#can't not ever include hey princess in these bc it won me so many wonderful mutuals #thanks for the tags loves <3 #ask game #ask meme #writer meme #otp: i’m coming with you #sam wilson #bucky barnes #marvel #livingincolorsagain #writerkenna

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

Text

Corrupted, Chapter Four: Watched - a Malevolent x TMA fic

Tim's been treading, head above water, for a while now. He had hoped to find help.

That’s not really what the Magnus Institute does.

AO3

——-

Tim leaves early.

Navigating empty streets at night is one thing. This is heading into west London right at the beginning of the work day, and he will take no chances. Beyond all the ones he can’t avoid, anyway.

John’s navigation, however, is flawless. Slow down a little. Good. The step is higher than that—good.

On the bus without incident. Amazing.

And then it’s very weird, because Tim is used to scrolling his phone on public transit, and he obviously can’t do that now—but it gives him an idea. He rummages in his backpack.

What are you doing? John sounds curious.

Tim finds what he’s searching for by feel. “Ah, ha!” he says, and uncoils a white cord with earbuds. “There,” he says, plugging into his phone. “Thank you, Past Tim, Pack-Rat Extraordinaire. Now I can talk without looking crazy. Just on the phone, ma’am, nothing to see here.”

Very smart, John says. I’m impressed.

“Modern technology, eh?” says Tim. “Modernish, anyway. Speaking of which, you don’t seem to be struggling very hard with things like cell phones and rideshares. You’d been here before. Recently.”

Have I? Tim, there are so many worlds, so many timelines, so many dimensions. I’ve seen technology you would never believe—and magic that made it all irrelevant.

What an answer. “And you’re humble about it, too,” Tim says. “Also, you’re deflecting. You know movie titles. Not that Tim Curry doesn’t deserve multiverse fame, but you knew who that was.”

Such a clever man, John purrs, and Tim shifts in his seat, unwillingly affected. I see I will have to watch what I say around you.

“Deflecting. Again. Anyway, I’ve been thinking,” he murmurs, facing the window. “You must be kind of rare, whatever you are. If the world were full of things like you, I’m pretty sure I’d know.”

Really.

Amused. That’s that tone. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t everybody?”

Because for most of us, it’s far more entertaining and useful when humans don’t know what’s watching them from the shadows.

“Okay, so that’s really ominous,” says Tim. “Worse than ‘a being.’ Positively malevolent. Still not gonna tell me what you are?”

No.

Tim sighs. “So. Anything interesting out the window?”

Quite a lot, actually. And John proceeds to describe what he sees.

Tim would absolutely have bought the audio with this guy narrating London for tourists.

John manages to make ordinary shops and red mailboxes interesting. He describes people Tim knows he would never have even noticed on his own. He manages to make London feel like a thriving, vividly energetic throng, a place of potential, not just a crowded, expensive place to work.

It almost feels like part of a life worth living. Maybe it’s time to face the fact that he has no plans. The house selling is great, but he is going to need another job—and yeah, Nigel is probably not going to give him a recommendation.

Tim should care about that more than he does.

You’re drifting, says John.

“Sorry. Just… trying to think about things. Future. Employment. All those boring human details.”

I see. What are you thinking?

“You actually want to know?”

I do, Tim.

Tim slouches comfortably, sliding low in his seat. “Sure. Well, I worked in publishing. I’m a really good editor. But… I don’t know anymore.”

Looking for a change?

“Needing one, honestly.” He swallows around the tightness in his throat. “I was thinking about when I quit, and nobody… nobody really cared. I haven’t been happy for a while, you know? And they say you’re not supposed to make any major changes like quitting your job or selling your house or getting married for a year after bereavement, but, uh. I’m two for three, and it hasn’t even been a month.”

I see. You feel the need to keep moving, John observes, low. The type of creature which, if it ceases swimming, will drown.

Tim shivers. “Wow. Never been called whatever that is before.”

A shark. This is our stop.

Tim laughs. “Shark? I am so not a shark.” Somehow, he manages to exit the bus without running into anyone or banging his head, and exhales in relief. “Right. Which way?”

I’m not sure. There are a lot of old buildings here, but not much signage. Walk forward. More to your left.

It’s like a trust game, Tim thinks. Like something to do with your brother one boring summer afternoon, one of you blindfolded and the other giving directions and accidentally-on-purpose steering you into things.

Sure. That makes it less scary. Right.

Ha! There we go. I see a small, brass sign that says, MAGNUS INSTITUTE 1818. Perfect. And—oh, Tim.

“What?”

This is a place of power. The way John says that… deeper, richer, absolutely eager.

Tim shivers. “Power? What kind of power? Is that good?”

Perhaps. I’ve never had trouble with this particular Power. I believe I am safe.

“You sure you’re as anonymous as you think?”

The moment you made that phone call, Tim, you bet both our lives. If I thought this were truly a danger, I would have said so.

“Sure, put it on me,” he mutters. “How far?”

Stairs starting… now.

There are more stairs than Tim expected. They’re wide and shallow, just a little awkward to climb. “Does it look spooky?”

It’s a temple, John breathes. Oh… I knew it was old, but I didn’t expect this. The one worshiped here has been worshiped here for a long time. Door.

Tim feels for the handle, tugs. Of course, it’s still locked. “Guess we’ll just have to loiter for a bit. You know, in front of the scary pagan temple in the middle of London. What time does my phone say?”

Seven. We’re an hour early. Heh. And pagan doesn’t cover it.

“Sure. Well, better early than—”

“Excuse me, can I help you?” comes a posh baritone.

Tim, there’s a… oh.

Tim wonders what that oh was for. “Hi. I, uh. I need to see someone inside. Kind of an emergency.”

The posh man huffs, like an irritated cat. “Well, we don’t… this is a place of research, so I’m not sure what you expect in an emergency.”

He’s a slight person, shorter than you, much narrower. Brown skin; I’d think mixed South Asian ancestry. He’s slightly overdressed for the weather; shirt, vest, sweater over that. He’s managing to look down his nose at you in spite of his height. But Tim… he’s been claimed, branded by the thing that calls this its base of power, in a messy, undisciplined way. I don’t understand what I’m seeing. It’s like he’s accidentally a priest.

So that’s the oh. Tim wonders how the hell one can accidentally be a priest. “Well, I need to, uh. What was it the website said? Give my statement?”

There is an irritated sigh. “Well, you might as well come in. I can at least give you a place to wait until Gertrude arrives—ah, Ms. Robinson, the head Archivist.” The voice is moving away, accompanied by the sound of keys. “I’m Jonathan Sims. In research.”

“Tim Stoker. In trouble.”

He hunched when you said that. I believe he feels more for our emergency than he wants to let on.

“Sorry to hear that,” researcher-Jon mutters. “But as I said, I’m not sure what we can do. Police?”

“Not for this, mate. But thanks, anyway.”

Correct to the left a bit. He’s holding the door for you. Ahead of us is an enormous, open lobby with old marble and dark wood. It’s beautiful, elegant. I see no furniture or anything else to trip you. To the left and right are the stacks going out of sight in the gloom. Clearly, at least part of this building is a library.

Their footsteps echo. It smells like books.

“What’s your statement regarding?” drawls researcher-Jon, audibly trying to be polite.

“A horrible book that ruined my life,” says Tim.

He’s stopped walking and is staring at you, abruptly pale, the arrogance dropped away like a mask. Oh, you’ve got his attention now.

“What?” says researcher-Jon. “What did you say? A book?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it have… a bookplate in front?” says researcher-Jon.

Tim can feel himself going pale, too. “Yeah. It said, ‘The Library of Jurgen Leitner.’”

“Oh, gods,” says researcher-Jon. “You… you’ve…”

He looks afraid, Tim, and—oh!

Those oh exclamations were, Tim was beginning to realize, far more important than any casual fuck or damn.

“Jon?” comes another voice, posh, somehow managerial. “Well, I’m used to you being here early, but who’s your…” The voice stops.

Oh!

Tim is about ready to strangle something over those oh’s.

“Elias, he’s touched a Leitner,” says researcher-Jon.

“I understand. I’ll handle this one,” says the man.

“I was going to make sure Gertrude—”

“Jon,” says the man, in a quiet, uncompromising tone. “I will handle this. Go on, now.”

“All right, all right. Good luck, Tim.” Researcher-Jon sounds like he means it, and he leaves, Oxfords clacking away.

“Thanks,” Tim calls after him.

Tim, this has to be the high priest of this place. Its power, its marking, is all over him.

“Elias Bouchard.” There’s a pause.

He’s holding out his hand. He’s a couple decades older than you. Expensive suit. Handsome in a boring sort of way. And he’s powerful. Oh, Tim, he’s powerful.

“The head honcho, eh?” says Tim, and reaches.

The handshake is firm and not spooky, so that much is good.

“Can you navigate?” says Bouchard.

“What?” says Tim.

And Bouchard’s voice is low. “I can clearly see that whatever… that is inside you has done something to your eyes—which is to say, you are blind. Do you wish for guidance to my office? I completely understand if you’re more comfortable making your own way.”

He… can see me? John sounds stunned.

“You see him?” says Tim in a small voice.

“I do. He’s… my, my, my.”

He’s not supposed to be able to see me, John says with a slight tremor.

Tim’s not feeling fear. Relief and shock and desperation rise up his throat like vomit, and he has to swallow emotions down before he can talk. He is not insane. External validation. His eyes leak, and he wipes them. “Can you help? This happened last night. You can see him. What’s—”

“Good morning, Mister Bouchard!” comes a cheerful tenor.

A tall, overweight man, surprisingly light on his toes, with bright red hair and a charming smile.

“Martin, good morning,” says Bouchard. “Mister Stoker, was it? Please come with me. We’d best deal with this in my office.”

Tim, you didn’t tell him your name.

True. And unnerving. “Okay,” Tim says, wary. “How’d you know my name?”

“Your passenger is not all I can see. Come along, please.”

Well. John had said they’d read his mind here.

I’m familiar with avatars of this particular Power, but this is an unusual level of skill. Be cautious.

Great! “Well, that simplifies things, right? At least I’ll be believed,” says Tim with cheer he does not feel.

“Refreshingly pragmatic,” says Bouchard.

Yeah, this was lovely.

Follow the sound of his shoes. We’re passing a secretary’s desk. His office is straight ahead. Tim, this man’s body isn’t as old as he is. He’s confusing to look at.

“What’s that mean?”

Bouchard ignores Tim’s mutters. “Here we are.”

The sound of a door closing behind Tim feels… weird. Very weird. He feels stared at. Ganged up on? Prickly, like he has to defend himself, or—

“Please, Mister Stoker, have a seat.”

Tim feels for the chair. “Do you think you can help us?”

There is a pause.

He’s seated at the desk. His hands are folded, and his gaze is… intense.

“Well, can you blame me?” says Bouchard. “You are truly magnificent.”

Tim is confused for the moment it takes him to realize who was just addressed.

John gasps. You can hear me?

“Yes. I simply had to… adjust a few details. Tilt the radar dish, play with the bunny-ears—ah, but you’re too young for those references, aren’t you, Mister Stoker?”

And Tim can feel two very distinct things.

One: John is afraid. Being seen and heard has shaken him; finding out why is definitely going to come up after this.

Two: Tim knows he’s being subtly mocked. The weird, watched sensation has grown, making him feel judged, and he really, really wants to make it stop. “I’m not a kid, for crying out loud. I know what a television antenna is.”

If you can hear me, then I highly suggest you stop siphoning him, John growls.

“What?” Tim blurts.

“My apologies,” Bouchard sounds positively silky. “My patron craves your fear. Can I get you some tea?”

Tim is frozen. “My fear?”

John growls. Full-on growls, and it is not remotely a human sound, and it is huge, and absolutely frightening. Back. Off.

“I’m afraid I have no such control over it,” says Bouchard, standing. “The Eye doesn’t have much in the way of personality—only hunger. However, if Mister Stoker does manage to calm down, the Eye will have no use for him. He’ll practically be invisible to it.”

“The Eye? What? Like a giant eyeball?” Tim stammers.

“Quite. I’ll be back with that tea. Take a moment, will you? Breathe deeply. You’ll be just fine.”

Bouchard leaves, and Tim resists the urge to wipe himself down as if the man’s words had been coated in oil. “It’s a big eyeball god?” he says.

Something like that. What we are dealing with is a Power—an Entity that lives on fear.

“What the fucking hell?”

You need to calm the fuck down.

“Oh, sure, I’ll just hit the calm the fuck down button,” says Tim. “Maybe I should’ve asked for something stronger than tea.”

John sighs. Then he flips that smooth, warm, absolutely devastating voice into action.You’re going to be all right. He told you what to do to avoid his Power’s hunger. Just take a minute, and breathe with me, all right? In. Out. Slower.

Fucking dom, Tim thinks, but does it. “This place is actually trying to making me feel watched, isn’t it?”

I believe so. But you’re handling it like a champ. In. Out. There, you see? That wasn’t so hard.

It does feel better. “No, I guess not.”

I told you—you can trust me, Tim.

Tim snorts. “Opportunist.”

Bouchard returns. “Hold out your hand.”

Tim finds himself with a cup of tea. He closes his eyes, sipping. “Thanks. That makes me feel human again.”

“Of course. Now. Why don’t you tell me what happened last night?”

His fingers are steepled. He’s watching us without blinking.

“Spooky,” says Tim before he can help himself.

Bouchard laughs lightly. “I serve a patron that feeds on fear. I’m afraid that whatever else I offer, comfort will not be on the menu.”

Tim’s heart sinks. “But… can you help?”

“Let’s find out. What happened?”

Tim takes out the book.

Careful, John warns. Open that, and it will again send out a— oh. He’s leaning away from it. Tim, he looks terrified.

“Well,” says Bouchard. “That is… ah..”

Tim already hates touching this thing. It may be psychosomatic, but now it feels terrible, greasy, like living skin. “What? What do you see?”

“I am going to make a guess,” says Bouchard slowly. “The passenger in your head was in this book first. Yes?”

“Yes,” says Tim.

“There is something else in that book. I would heavily advise you not to open it again.”

What? What? There is no other being in this book.

“I assure you, there is,” says Bouchard.

Impossible, John says as if offended.

“I assure you, it is not,” says Bouchard.

“So what do I do?” says Tim. “There’s got to be something I can do.”

And though he cannot see Bouchard looking at him, Tim suddenly feels pinned. Feels very distinctly like this man just reached into his brain and peeled it open, revealing everything he is.

John growls again.

“I will be frank,” says Bouchard. “I do not yet have an answer, but I believe I can find one. I have at my disposal quite a lot of knowledge, as well as some truly interesting contacts. I am willing to leverage all of that to help you in exchange for the freedom to watch how it all pans out.“

Tim’s not sure what that means. “What do you mean, watch how it all pans out?”

His eyes lidded just at the thought.

“I will give you much more than aid. I will give you answer. Any I find.”

Tempting. “You must really like to watch, eh?” Tim says, trying not to make it sound sexual.

“You have no idea,” Bouchard says, not trying to avoid that at all. “I’ve never seen the like. A new thing, to my patron, is the highest form of offering, and I am quite eager to help you. You rather have me over the proverbial barrel, Mister Stoker.”

He’s leaning back again, considering us. His fingers are still steepled. It’s a thoughtful look, pensive, as if he’s weighing something.

“You are in need of a job,” he says.

Spooky mind-reading confirmed! Tim thinks, slightly panicked. “I... will in time, sure.”

“I could employ you.”

Tim snorts. “No offense, but this place feels really weird.”

“It does, yes—but it’s also very safe.”

“Not according to every nerve in my body,” says Tim.

“The paranoia and fear are side effects of proximity to the Ceaseless Watcher. They are not representative of actual danger,” says Bouchard. “Working here would grant you some… protections, as well.”

“I don’t know quite how we got to offering my CV to a fear-god, but no thanks?” says Tim. “Got at least a few months before I’m that desperate, I think.”

“And do you plan to remain occupied that long?” says Bouchard.

Tim goes silent.

Can you help or not? I want something definitive. Your god is impressive, but this man is mine, and if you think I’m going to share—

“Hold the fuck on!” says Tim. “What?”

Bouchard laughs. “It’s all right. Mister Stoker. I’m fairly sure he’s just responding to the invasiveness of my patron—for which I do apologize. Do you have a safe place to stay?”

“Sure?” says Tim, still fighting against the absolute certainty of being watched, against the weirdness of his desire to rage in response.

“Would you be willing to leave that book with me?”

Absolutely not.

“But what if he can see inside it without opening it, or something?” says Tim.

No .

That growl is really something.

Tim takes a deep breath. “Hey. What does John look like?”

John has no body of his own to stiffen, but Tim feels him do it, anyway.

“Well,” says Bouchard, eyes lidding. “I see him in two ways. First is an impression—I suspect his own of himself. Whispers of the form he once had; catastrophically beautiful, like a terrible storm. Darker than mere absence of light, as if he might absorb it. There is gold throughout—I can’t quite make out the shape, but it is a very specific and almost harsh yellow. He seems to have… how shall I put this… the essence of a body that simply is not human. Multiple limbs, perhaps tentacles. Enormous horns or antlers, casting spined shadows. And I think he was quite large. All of that, however, is echo. What do I see when I look at him? The reverse of a flame. Dark, and hungry; fluttering and flickering like conflagration dancing in the wind, and significantly more dangerous than he seems. Given the right fuel, I daresay he could burn the world.”

Tim is silent.

John is silent.

“Wow,” says Tim.

There is a fabric rustle, and Tim suspects Bouchard has shrugged as if to say, Well, there it is.

“You really see all that?” said Tim.

“I do.”

“What the hell is he?”

“I have absolutely no idea. You’re very lucky. Whatever you're experiencing may have no precedent in this world.”

John is still silent.

Tim sighs. “So… what now?”

“Well, I suggest food that is not peanut butter? And keeping your head down. If you truly wish to keep the book, I think there may be a target on you. I can’t offer you protection outside my place of power.”

Tim snorts. “Well, unless you’ve secretly got an apartment complex in here, it wouldn’t do me much good, anyway.”

“Actually, we do, in a way.”

“What?”

“My employees are… hard-working. Part of the archive below has been converted. There is a small sleeping area, a washroom, a very minimal kitchenette. Should things grow desperate, you have my permission to kip there, as it were.”

“You really want to watch all this, don’t you?” says Tim.

“Indeed I do. And while I readily confess I will be watching anyway, doing so with your permission and awareness makes it all so much more delicious. Is there anything else?”

At least he’s honest about being creepy, Tim thinks, because that’s all he can think. “Not until you have a solution.”

“Not yet.”

“And my offer?”

This has to be a them, not a him. “John?”

I need to think.

“Fair enough.” There’s the sound of a chair rolling back.

He’s standing.

Tim stands, too. He doesn’t know what to do. This hadn’t gone at all how he’d hoped.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out,” says Bouchard with a sort of dark glee.

“Right,” says Tim. “Thanks, I… guess.”

“Here. I do hope you change your minds.”

He’s holding out a business card.

Tim takes it on automatic.

It sounds like Bouchard opens the door.

Tim walks out.

With every step, his heart feels heavier.

He’d been so sure solutions would be here. Immediate ones. Telling himself that had kept him going all morning. But now…

There wasn’t help. There was the possibility of help, with the cost of loss of privacy—which he might have lost anyway, just by coming here.

None of this feels good. Tim sighs, fishing for his earbuds.

Someone gasps.

Tim, there’s an old woman looking at us. She… something about her is very dangerous. Something about her… Tim, I think she can see me. Fuck this place.

“Good for her,” mutters Tim, who has decided merely seeing John does not qualify one for anything. “Am I still going right?”

Yes. The door is three steps ahead.

“Leave it,” says Bouchard behind them.

Tim doesn’t think that was for him, and he feels for the door handle.

“Elias, you can’t be serious,” says the old woman’s voice—old but strong, frustrated.

What, had she been about to do something to them?

Tim is sure of it. Sure of it, and doesn’t know why.

Hurry. Apparently, John is sure of it, too.

Tim hurries.

Stairs just ahead. Take your time.

Tim does, one step at a time, using the excuse of concentration to be silent. He wipes his leaky eyes.

Are you all right?

“No. Gonna have to be, though, apparently, because I don’t want to take his deal.”

I promise you, Bouchard will be watching us regardless of what we do; it’s the nature of the Power he serves. It only makes sense to benefit from it, given that we will pay either way.

“Well, fuck that guy, then,” says Tim. “I guess consent isn’t on some fear god’s radar.”

I don’t know why you ever thought it would be. You’ve reached the last step. Where now?

“I don’t know. I’m trying to think. Can I just walk somewhere? Get away from this place?”

Walk to your right. There isn’t much traffic. I may have an idea, but I need to… weigh the pros and cons.

“Right.” So Tim walks, and doesn’t speak again until he’s found a comfortable pace and position that seems to keep him from smashing into anyone.

It works better than Tim would have thought. John directs, corrects, and says nothing of substance.

Tim is deep in thought. A lot happened here.

He’s always thought of himself as deeply pragmatic. That means tackling this with an open mind, and organizing it in lists as quickly as possible, ready to absorb new rules. “So,” he says. “A few things.”

Hm? says John, sounding distracted.

“First, you were scared in there.”

Yes. At least John can admit that honestly. I know you’re new to this, so it may seem like nothing to you—but neither of those people should have been able to see me, much less hear me. I am deeply startled.

“Right,” said Tim. “And by saying that, you’re revealing you’ve done this so often that you have a ‘normal’ in your head, so that’s a whole thing.”

Not as often as you think. I’ve spent most of my time in this world in that book.

Tim’s not sure he believes that. “They didn’t recognize you, though.”

No. They did not, or I would have urged you to run like a cat on fire.

Tim smiles weakly. “Hell of an image. Look, what did you do that you have to hide from everyone? You said you’d tell me after.��

It isn’t so much what I’ve done, John says slowly. It is what I am. You were correct in that earlier assumption: I am… rare. Endangered, in fact.

Tim has a feeling John isn’t using that word casually. “So what are you?”

A being. Rare. Powerful, in my own right, though as you can tell by our current situation, I’ve been robbed of my body.

“Where is your body?”

In another plane of existence, friend. Quite out of reach, I’m afraid.

“Are you dead?” He has to ask.

No.

“Are you… what, a prisoner?”

Tim… I really don’t feel like answering these right now.

“Promise broken. I‘m keeping track,” says Tim, but only half means it. “So there’s you, antlered-tentacled-whatever-the-fuck. There’s fear-gods.There’s accidental priests. So… are there good fairies, or something? Wishing wells? Forest spirits of mercy, or kindness, or whatever?”

No. The lack of hesitation is upsetting. There are no beneficent fairies. No good and kind spirits waiting to freely give of themselves to mortals in need. Everything that exists only does so because it has not been eaten or used by something else, including yourself—from your immune system to your choices, you also fight to survive.

This is different from John’s usual calming tone. It’s not crazy-smooth; it’s just quiet, and Tim suddenly feels like this is the first time John has been genuinely gentle with him.

Tim’s throat feels tight. “Bit of a downer, there,” he manages after a minute. “So what do we do?”

You truly don’t feel what he offered was worth what he asked?

“Just being in that building made me feel like hitting something, and that isn’t like me. I started to get angry, over, just… nothing. No. Whatever price I have to pay to get out of this, I’m not losing myself for it. That guy didn’t even have a solution, anyway. Just a what-if. Not worth it.”

Yes… yes. John sounds thoughtful . That’s a good way of looking at it. The cost cannot be one’s self.

Tim isn’t done. “And just so you know, John? Maybe I am surviving , like everybody else here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make choices and be a good person and help other mortals in need.”

Seeing yourself as the hero, are you?

Tim snorts. ”No. I’d be a cheerfully bisexual bard, at best. I just mean… I don’t know. You make every living thing sound like an asshole, and I don’t think all of us are.”

John chuckles. A slutty bard? Really?

“It’s a DND ref- wait. You understood that?”

Yes. I’m familiar with the trope. I’m merely amused you used it.

“That has some implications, holy shit. How the hell are you familiar with an internet meme? How much time have you spent here?”

Not everyone who kept this book was only a cultist. Some of them were nerds.

Tim is flabbergasted. “What, did they just keep you on the table while scrolling through The Adventure Zone?”

Sometimes.

This doesn’t feel like the full truth. There’s something else John is not saying here, but Tim doesn’t know how to get at it. “I can talk to you in memes,” he says instead. “I’m going to be insufferable.”

John chuckles. Ah… I do like you, Tim.

That sounded regretful? Odd. Why would he…

Or maybe Tim just feels paranoid thanks to whatever the hell that place was. “How does anyone even manage to work there without all becoming axe murderers?” he mutters.

I believe if you are inclined toward the type of fear and information-gathering that god prefers, it grants some sanity so you can keep feeding it. I’ve seen the like.

“A whole fear-god economy. Fuck me, that’s wild.”

Indeed.

“And by the way—what was all that ‘mine’ stuff about?”

John sighs. I apologize. I could feel the Power feeding on you, and I thought perhaps it would respect some kind of… prior claim. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“So you’re not a lot familiar with that thing.”

No. Enough to know that one isn’t much of a danger to me—but others like it must be avoided.

“Did one of those fear-gods send the monsters to my parents’ house?”

Yes.

Tim laughs weakly. “Wow. So they’re actively after you. Fuck. John, you’ve got to have a better idea what to do.”

I have an idea, if you’re willing to try it—but first, you need to eat. Your physical form has needs; Bouchard was right about that. Man shall not live by peanut butter alone.

It is deeply unnerving to hear all these deeply human references used with such familiarity. “I don’t want to try dealing with a restaurant. Find me a take-out place.”

Keep going. I’ll get you there.

He couldn’t believe himself anymore. A tiny part of him is beginning to wonder if, somehow, his family might be cursed.

It’s going to be okay, Tim tells himself on repeat. It’s going to be okay.

———-

NOTES:

Do I hear that description of the King in Ben Meredith’s voice? Yes. Yes, I do.

#tma #malevolent #tma fic #malevolent fic #tim stoker #kiy malevolent #Jonathan sims #elias bouchard #corrupted fic

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rottencoyote · 1 year ago

Text

for like, idk maybe for like four months i’ve been pissed off at my friend, FOR GOOD REASON BRO I SWEAR! so when i was still doing uni (studying in film for whoever wanted to know, and somehow graduated idea bro that was the big man upstairs doing me a solid for once), me and my friend went on break and walked around the city doing fuck knows what, cause that’s what uni students do ig. she was bored, and i was bored, so i was like “hey! wanna go see my favourite store? sells cool shit” (by cool shit, i mean cool clothing and jewellery and other neat lil nick nacks) and she said “sure id love to!”.

now a thing about my friend is that she likes to steal. actively steal. both because she thinks it’s fun and because she can’t afford what she wants sometimes cause she spends most her money on vapes and weed and a bunch of other psychedelics. before we entered the store, i made her promise not to steal, cause i love and respect the fuck out of this store and i’ve wanted to work there since i was fifteen (and i’m now twenty). she said she promised and swore she wouldn’t take anything, and me being a fucking hopeful and trusting dumb fuck, believed her. now i saw this really sick hoodie, where it was basically a cropped hoodie (STAY WITH ME ON THIS) but it was made to look like a rib cage, so it was fucking cool. the owner sold it to me for 45 bucks, but the hoodie originally costed 55 bucks, so she took ten bucks off cause i fell in love with this hoodie, so i got real fucking hyped and thanked her profusely. now, this is a key thing to remember, cause the tags they used were airtags. the type of tags where it needed to be unlocked with a type of pin at the front desk. otherwise you can’t take that shit off, unless you got scissors (this is also important).

so my friend went into the change room with a BUNCH of clothes, and i waited near the front and had small talk with the store owner, asking if it’s been busy, slow, shit like that. i noticed that my friend is taking a long fucking time, so i go to check on her and ask if she’s good, and she said yes, paused then asked “hey coyote? do you have any scissors in your bag? i need it for my nails”

now this is where a lot of my guilt comes in, cause i genuinely didn’t realise my mistake until it was too late. i said yeah in my bag (which was in the change room with her) and she said thanks. i always carry scissors on me cause i like to scrap book, and if i see anything interesting i cut it out and sample it to put into my sketch book so i get inspired for any future projects.

after like another ten minutes she finally comes out, but i notice two things. the first was that there were significantly less clothes than when she walked into the change rooms with, and the second thing was noticing something sticking out of her pocket.

SHE CUT THE FUCKING TAGS OFF WHEN I TOLD HER NOT TO FUCKING STEAL. SHE EVEN PROMISED ME MULTIPLE TIMES TOO!!!!

like????

now i’m freaking out, cause i don’t want to get roped into this. and she kept on trying to reassure me and said it’s fine she’s a ‘pro’ at this. bro idgaf you promised me and BROKE that promise. the lady asked where the clothes were, and my friend said in the free clothes box. so i go and check, literally emptying the box while thinking “she’s fucked, i’m fucked, we’re BOTH fucked, god PLEASE no” just planning out my fucking funeral atp, and the woman goes to the BOTH OF US “empty your bags, now.”

i watched her empty her bag, fucking cringing and mortified, just watching the store owner tear into her, saying she has to pay for all of it. i started apologising profusely, telling her i didn’t know she was going to do this, just kept on saying i’m sorry over and over again, cause i’m livid, mortified, just fucking humiliated at my friend. BRO, THE STOREOWNER DEADASS LOOKED ME IN THE EYE, AND SAYS THAT I WAS IN ON IT?? HUH??? KEEP IN MIND THERES LIKE FOUR OTHER PEOPLE IN THE STORE WATCHING THIS HAPPENING AND WERE JUST JUDGING US. (which i don’t blame them, cause it was a fucking shitshow and a half). the storeowner asked her how did she even do this, and she said “i used my nails to cut the fabric”…bro come ON LIKE-

you could tell she used scissors, CAUSE SHE DID. MY DAMN SCISSORS THAT WERE IN MY BAG. CAUSE IM A STUPID FUCKING DUMB FUCK WHO REALISED WHAT SHE WAS DOING WAY TOO FUCKING LATE.

i genuinely wanted to fucking cry AND die man, right then and there. i was so unbelievably humiliated and embarrassed cause my fucking friend couldn’t keep her damn hands to herself and couldn’t keep her promise. the storeowner said that she did the same thing at our age, and said she wouldn’t call the cops on us, i tried saying sorry again and that i never meant for my friend to do this, and pretty much got shut down again and that the storeowner didn’t want to hear my excuses. i ended up dragging my friend out from there and tearing her a new one, saying how i can never show my face there or even step foot into that store again, and she kept saying sorry, but also tried to joke about it?? which only made me more fucking angry, cause any chance i had of working there was just fucking trampled, chewed and spat onto the fucking dirt because of her.

i feel guilty cause i was unknowingly involved until it was too late, but i’m angry and hurt because she promised me that she wouldn’t steal from there, but did it anyways and didn’t give two shits, and that i got pulled into it and blamed because if she was stealing, then that meant i was stealing too. idk man, cause it’s been four months and it’s STILL bugging me, cause it was literally MY DREAM to work there. it sucks man. it really fucking sucks.

#vent post #personal #personal vent #shits fucked #idek man #just pissed off that i can’t ever show my face there again #idk maybe i’m just thinking too much about it but i wanted to work there for five years bro

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in-my-feels-probably · 2 years ago

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Untitled Dramione Fic

A/N - Hi! So, this is an untitled Dramione fic that I very roughly planned out and wrote the first chapter to a few months ago. Basically I was wondering, is anyone interested in reading it?

This chapter is unedited, and if people want me to continue with it, it will definitely be edited and potentially altered to fit whatever plot I plan for the fic. But I figured I would post it as is just to see if anyone was at all interested in reading more. I roughly planned out a few ideas for the fic, but I’m open to any questions, suggestions, criticism, comments, and feedback you may have! I am currently in the middle of writing two other fics, one for Aemond Targaryen, and one for Kaz Brekker, as well as taking requests. I was hesitant to even post this because I know I’ve got a lot of other writing to be doing, so this would probably be a slow moving fic. But I figured I may as well post it just so people can see it and leave any comments.

So, yeah! Please let me know! I’ll definitely get back to planning and writing this fic if people seem interested. It’ll be posted on Wattpad, Tumblr, and Ao3! I hope you enjoy it :)

–

Chapter 1

Hermione had long since scourgified the blood away from her hands, but she still stared blankly at the tile floor as she held shaking hands in the scalding water under the tap. This pain, she could bear. She had become used to the physical anguish of war, with a few years to grow accustomed to it. This part was easy for her.

The pain of losing someone, however, was as fresh as the day Dumbledore had died. And although she had grown to loathe the man after, she still felt a little prick in her heart at the mention of his name. She had seen countless deaths since then, and has even been responsible for a few herself. She tried to let the faces blend together, tried to detach herself from who they were, how she knew them, what they were fighting for.

She let the water run over her hands a few moments longer, the skin so red it looked like it was beginning to blister. She faintly recognized the pain, but she kept her eyes to the floor, zoning in on the tile pattern. A lion, stood tall and powerful on its hind legs, a symbol of courage, and bravery. Ironic, considering how fast the courage drained in the room when the shadow of death was looming. Still, she stared at the mosaic on the tiles, watching how the light gleamed across the floor. She would’ve stared at the floor all day if it meant not having to face it.

Anything to prolong the imminent pain of turning around and seeing Neville Longbottom’s cold dead body, lying there on the table.

She sucked in a breath, willing the tears not to fall.

She turned to face Neville, feeling her stomach turn at the sight of him. Having spent the better part of the war learning spells and countercurses that would be useful in the war effort, she had done what she could to help Neville. He had been hit with a Furnunculus curse, which covers the target in boils.

Normally, a charm or hex like this one could be easily countered and remedied. However, as the playing field between sides began narrowing, Voldemort ordered his brightest witches and wizards to begin studying curses and spells. His efforts were successful, as simple spells normally used for pranks were altered into life threatening curses, if not countered quickly.

Hermione hadn’t seen anything like this curse. The boils were filled with poison, slowly seeping into the bloodstream of the victim. Once enough was in their system, there was nothing that could be done.

When Neville was rushed in, screaming, and being practically carried by Dean Thomas, Hermione was called in from Snape’s laboratory where she was studying, and she had apparated to St. Mungo’s, where she and the hospital ward healers rushed to help. Normally, she worked clinically and efficiently with victims, skilled at her craft.

But this was Neville.

The boy who lost his toad on the first day of class, who took Ginny to the Yule Ball. One of the first to volunteer for field missions, despite the blatant horror on his face. His stubborn Gryffindor bravery had shined through.

She saw no bravery on his face as he looked to her with pleading eyes, begging for help, no actual words coming out from the gargling in his throat. At the end, he managed to screech out, “kill me!” before spitting up blood onto the lion mosaic on the floor..

Sometimes, Hermione wished her friends would have adopted the Slytherin trait of self preservation.

Hermione’s mind began racing with what if’s, berating herself for not studying hard enough, for not paying attention enough when–before he was killed a month later–Kingsley Shacklebolt ordered the entire Order learn basic healing spells. Not that it mattered much, she was probably one of the only students to take it seriously. Most of them thought the war would be a quick feat, and the extra schooling was deemed unnecessary.

The blind optimism died after the first field mission, when countless students came back cursed into oblivion. What Hermione would have given to have Madam Pomfrey alongside her, reminding her of the basics.

Voldemort was quick to rip away that advantage, too. He had sent Fenrir Greyback after particularly useful members of the Resistance. Greyback made it through half the hospital ward, including Pomfrey, before McGonagall took him out. ��

Hermione was forced to pull herself together, trying to remember every shred of knowledge she had learned about healing and countering curses. She wasn’t a great healer, by any means. She could hold her own, but her real talent was in her work with curses.

But Neville had gotten there too late.

Hermione had no choice but to watch as the boils leaking into his skin sputtered blood and poison, Neville laying on the table, screaming and writhing.

He was the most recent of the mercy kills on her list.

After he was gone, and everyone had filed out of the room, their eyes glossed over, staring blankly, Hermione was forced to analyze the body, to try and figure out what the curse was made up of.

Because the Order hardly let her out in the field, her value with her mind was too great to lose. She was quite knowledgeable in the new curses emerging from the field everyday, and she was able to figure out the curse easily enough. All she could do now is send her findings to Bill Weasley in whatever safe house or country he was in. He hadn’t been studying Cursebreaking for long before the war made it too difficult to continue running Hogwarts or the Ministry, and Voldemort had certainly corrupted what was left. However, Hermione and some of the professors thought Bill had a knack for it, and continued his training.

For the past two years, all curses identified through her were sent to Bill to reimplement into the field training.

Still, she thought she would double check with Snape when he got back from the mission Voldemort called him back for.

Hermione was one of the few to know that Snape was a spy for the Order. She found out soon after Dumbledore died, when the war started picking up. She was wary at first, but she had to admit, his knowledge of spells, potions, and charms were fascinating–and incredibly valuable. It was enough to trump her own disdain for the man, seeing as that it was for the greater good.

Now, she only wished to herself that things were normal, and that she could go back to Hogwarts and sit in another one of Snape’s classes. The opportunity seemed a lifetime away.

She shook her head, clearing her throat. Now wasn’t the time for dreams. She turned back to Neville, pulling the sheet up and over his body. She stood still next to him, before she registered Harry walking in.

He walked up to the table, lifting the sheet to see Neville’s face. Hermione watched the lines set on his face into a grimace. He dropped the sheet, his fists balled at his sides until the knuckles turned white.

“So it’s true, then?”

Hermione said nothing, fiddling with a string coming out of the hem of her apron. Harry mumbled swears under his breath, slamming a fist on the table. Hermione fought the urge to flinch back.

“Fuck!”

“Harry, you shouldn’t be here, it's not safe.” Hermione slowly raised a hand and placed it on his shoulder.

It was torture, watching Harry’s spirit crumble. The only time she ever saw him anymore with a genuine smile on his face was when he was around Ginny. Hermione didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

Still, it wasn’t safe for Harry to be out in a place so public, not on a mission. She wished Dean had brought Neville to one of their warded and armed hospitals, but St. Mungo’s was the closest. And it would have been pretty empty, with people too scared of attacks to attempt a visit.

Harry sighed, gripping her hand in his.

“You shouldn’t be here either, ‘Mione. We need to go,” he mumbled.

Hermione nodded, calling in a healer to take care of Neville. She felt the sting behind her eyes, and just before apparating, she called out, her voice masking a sob.

“Please be careful with him.”

–

They landed in front of Grimmauld Place, which had been abandoned towards the beginning of the war. After Sirius died, it stopped being used for meetings. Kreacher died soon after, and although he was very old, Hermione thought it was more probable that his heart couldn’t handle losing another Black heir. Grimmauld Place stood vacant, minus the vandalization the Death Eaters must have been responsible for, or others who resented the Order for not fighting back hard enough.

Hermione let her eyes close for a moment, feeling the wind blow through her hair. “Harry, we shouldn’t be out here, either. If Lupin knew–”

“I know, Hermione! I know!” Harry threw his hands up in the air as he spoke, and the wind brushed the hair back from his forehead. His hair had grown in length, wisping in tufts, framing his face. When it was pushed back like this, Hermione glanced at him and realized just how young he looked. How young he was. With everything he had been through, he carried himself a lot older. A long scar, more realistically resembling a lightning bolt, ran down the length of his face from his temple to his jaw. He had gotten it on one of the first missions out, around the same time he realized he was going to have to learn nastier spells. It was visible now.

Harry sighed, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. Just give me a minute, yeah?”

Hermione nodded, quickly scanning the area, before taking a seat on the step. She watched Harry’s mouth open and close, like he was fighting himself to speak, and she noticed the bob in his throat. It was silent a moment longer, and he finally spoke.

“Seeing Neville like that…it reminded me of him. I just miss him. I really fucking miss him.”

Hermione felt her heart ache at the mention, balling her fists until she was sure her nails had drawn blood on her palms.

Ron.

Ron had died a little over a year ago. The three were out hunting for Horcruxes, when Ron got mad about something, something so little that Hermione couldn’t even recall exactly what it was anymore, and he stormed out of the tent. Hermione had tried to go after him, calling out to him, but he apparated, and was gone.

His body was found at the Burrow three days later.

Nobody was staying there, but Lupin went to check on it often. It was used as an emergency hideout or post delivery point. Nobody knew this but a few members of the Order. Hermione supposed the use of the Burrow was just a sick message. Ron’s family home, an homage to his death.

Ron was found strung up from the second story window, with a sign around his neck.

It read,

“Found the moronic blood traitor on his own. Trouble in paradise? The Mudblood is next, then the Order, and then, Potter. You have my word. The Dark Lord sends his regards. - L.M.”

Lucius Malfoy had found him wandering alone, trying to send a letter with an update on the Horcrux hunt. Snape determined that Ron had been victim to the Imperious curse, forced to wrap the rope around his own neck and jump off the ledge himself. His chest was puffed out, meaning Lucius had used a spell to keep putting air in his lungs, just enough to keep him alive, while he was strangled to death. From the lacerations on his neck, it was clear he had hung for a while, struggling, before he finally died.

Hermione coped by throwing herself into her work. Becoming Snape’s apprentice, learning healing, spells, charms, hexes, and counterhexes. She was easily one of the most skilled and valued witches of her time. She tried her best to see Harry as often as she could, but the pair would never be the same as the trio.

Harry never got over it.

He blamed himself, and spent most of his time out on missions. He never used an Unforgivable Curse, but he had killed many Death Eaters before he finally mustered up the courage to go to Ginny. As far as Hermione was concerned, Ginny was the bravest person she had ever met. Ginny had already lost Percy and Charlie, so she knew how to cope with Ron’s death. She carried her family, she carried Harry, and they all made it through as best they could. One of Hermione’s favorite things was seeing how soft Harry would go around her. He was always angry, but never with her.

Hermione tried not to think about Ron, and if she did, it was only the good things. She couldn’t bear thinking about the night he left, she already blamed herself enough already. But Harry had now reminded her of him, and reopened that wound. But now, it wasn’t just him. It was Neville too.

“Hermione, we have to do something, we need an advantage. I can’t lose more people to them, not like this. They’re suffering for nothing. We’re sending them out there defenseless against the magic Voldemort has them creating daily now.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What are you asking me, Harry? I’m doing my best.”

“It’s not enough!”

Hermione felt a pang in her chest, and she let out the smallest gasp. She saw the regret on his face, and she knew he was sorry. He wished he hadn’t said it, but he meant every word, that was clear.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I know you’re hurting, Harry. And I’m sorry. But I am trying my best. I’m sorry that’s not enough for you.”

Harry’s face fell, regret clear on his face. “Hermione, I’m sorry, really. I’m just frustrated, I didn’t mean that.”

She smiled sadly at him. “You meant it. Just ask whatever it is you’re thinking about so I can get back where I’m needed.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a thin line, now unsure if he should ask what has been bothering him for days now. With a raise of Hermione’s brow, signaling him to continue, he spoke. “We’re getting demolished on the field. Voldemort has new curses created everyday, and we’re sending out our own to take the brunt of it. I’m fucking tired, Hermione. It’s not fair. You’re working till your fingers bleed, and it doesn’t make a fucking difference! We’re drowning—”

“What are you asking, Harry?” Hermione cut him off, getting overwhelmed..

He took a deep breath. “Can you…can you create curses? You spend all day breaking them down, surely you can put one back together.”

Hermione furrowed her brows in confusion. “Create a curse? A curse that does what, exactly?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know, ‘Mione, but I’m sure you can come up with something. I don’t care what it does, but we need something to even the playing field, we need something that really does some damage. I’m not asking you to kill anyone yourself, or help the Order do it, but…we’re a few good fighters away from having to use Unforgivables, and I don’t want to be the one to suggest it.”

Hermione shuddered at the idea of the Chosen One, with a flash of green emerging from the tip of his wand.

She couldn’t believe her best friend, the one she had fixed his glasses for in First year, was reduced to another soldier in the ranks, broken and battered by war. Then again, she couldn’t believe the depths she had gone to herself. Maybe things would have gone over smoother if Dumbledore hadn’t gotten himself killed, and all his secrets with him.

“Some of the others, they’re not willing to use them, not just yet. But eventually, the majority will be in favor, even Lupin. We need to offer them something else, something effective. Lethal, even. We need a fair fight,” Harry finished, taking a breath.

Hermione sighed exasperatedly, bringing fingers up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Harry, are you sure? Some of these curses are really dark, they take a toll on you. You know Lupin will be furious if he finds out what we’re doing. Do you want to be responsible for its effects?”

“That depends on what ideas you have,” Harry halfheartedly jokes.

She nodded, running a hand through wild hair. She racked her brain for every possibility, any part of her knowledge that would be useful. She pondered over ideas for a moment, calculating in her head. Suddenly, she looked up at Harry, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Harry cautiously questioned.

“Harry, where are you keeping the Marvolo ring?” She quietly asked.

Harry appeared confused, but he reached out to her anyway. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

She grabbed his hand in hers, and they apparated away from Grimmauld Place.

–

A/N - Hi! Like I said earlier, please leave any comments you have, let me know what you think! If people are interested, I’ll definitely get back to this. Honestly, this fic could change a lot if I do actually get back to it, we’ll see. I’ve always wanted to write Dramione though, so I’m definitely interested in getting back to this! Hope you enjoyed it :)

#in my feels probably #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger #draco x hermione #draco malfoy x hermione granger

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