#just leave it behind like none of it ever existed and walk in to a new life in which i fufill my lifes goal of being | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soulofapatrick · 22 days ago

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Bound by Starlight - Cassian x female reader

Summary: Cassian shows you Starfall for the first time since you’ve been changed and it changes something between you

Words: 2.8K

Warnings: none really

Y/N's POV

I remember the feeling of my humanity being ripped away—an icy, clawing pain that stripped me of everything I once was. The cauldron’s water had wrapped around me like iron chains, pulling me down, down, until I could barely breathe. I had screamed, fought, begged to be freed, but the King of Hybern hadn’t cared. To him, I was just another Archeron sister, another human in the way, and he’d tossed me in with the others like I was nothing.

Now, I live as fae, my once-mortal body transformed, immortal senses heightened. My soul, however… it lingers somewhere between what I used to be and what I have no choice but to become. Nesta withdrew into herself, anger simmering behind cold eyes, shutting me out with her silence. Elain, though kind as always, sank into her garden, her love for flowers the only piece of herself she could cling to. And Feyre… she ascended, becoming the High Lady, a role so immense that I rarely even see her anymore.

Velaris is beautiful, I’ll give it that. With its vibrant, bustling streets, the colours and scents so alive, it’s like nothing I ever knew as a human. At first, I stumbled around here like an intruder, the way people would stare at my still-soft, unsure steps betraying how new I was to this world. Yet over time, I grew accustomed to it, learning the rhythms of the city, the names of the shops, and even a few faces. I’d walk the cobblestone streets and marvel at the glow of the faelights, the hum of the city’s magic, the warmth that seemed to cradle Velaris even on its coldest nights.

But even though I’ve adapted to this new life, I never truly chose it. I’m here because the fates made me, a decision stolen from me the moment I was dragged to Hybern. With no family to ground me—Feyre’s duties as High Lady, Nesta’s self-imposed exile, and Elain’s fragile retreat into the comfort of her plants—I’ve been left to find my way on my own.

Almost.

There is one person who’s been there for me. Cassian, with his easy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. Whether it’s pulling me into conversations, inviting me to training, or simply listening when I needed to vent, he’s somehow always been there, his presence steady and warm. He never makes me feel like a burden, or like I’m less for struggling to keep up in this world I never asked to join.

So when I hear the knock at my bedroom door, the heavy, rhythmic sound that could only belong to him, my heart tugs with a mix of irritation and relief.

“Go away, Cassian!” I call out, though there’s no real force behind it. I curl tighter under my blankets, fighting the urge to stay hidden in their warmth, in the comfortable darkness. I want to stay here forever, to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist, that I’m still just a human who never stepped into this tangled, chaotic fae world.

“Nice try,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “But I’m not leaving.”

His determination stirs something in me—annoyance, but also a flicker of comfort. I sigh, closing my eyes, but the silence stretches on, tense and unyielding. He’s waiting me out, and we both know it.

I don’t answer, and for a second, I think he might give in and leave. But instead, the door creaks open, and I hear the heavy thud of his boots as he steps inside.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting you wallow,” he says, coming closer. I peek out from under the duvet and catch sight of him—standing there, arms crossed, his expression firm but gentle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, deep and intense, hold that same unwavering warmth I’ve come to rely on.

I grumble, “Cassian, go away,” my voice muffled beneath the blankets as I bury myself deeper, trying to escape the world outside. But he ignores me, of course. A quiet sigh reaches me before he crouches beside the bed, level with where I’m hiding.

The sight of him, even through the haze of my exhaustion, is almost enough to make me forget everything weighing on me. Cassian, with his wild, shoulder-length black hair half-tied back in a casual bun, his jaw dusted with scruff, and those hazel eyes that seem to hold sunlight and earth all at once. He’s massive, every muscle defined under the soft shirt he wears, and even at rest, his wings—massive and powerful—seem to radiate a silent promise of protection. He’s handsome, but in a rugged, arresting way that’s so different from the polished, refined beauty of Rhysand or the quiet, haunting allure of Azriel. Cassian is warmth and strength, solid and real, and even without saying anything, he fills the room with a sense of unbreakable steadiness.

“You can’t stay hidden in here forever,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. The words slip through my defences, wrapping around me like an anchor, steadying me in a way I don’t think anyone else could. He holds my gaze, his expression so earnest it makes my chest ache.

A scoff escapes my lips as I try to pull the duvet back over my head, though there’s no real force behind it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His eyes darken for a moment, a flicker of hurt he quickly covers with a smirk. “Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But I know what it’s like to feel out of place. And I know that hiding never helps.” His tone is soft, but there’s something so raw in his voice, an honesty that chips away at the walls I’ve built around myself, brick by painful brick.

He lets out a small, quiet laugh, and the sound is like warmth spilling over me, reaching places in my heart I’d thought long-buried. “You can’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug the blanket down, just enough so he can see my face. His eyes search mine, tender and steady, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just us in this room, his presence a steady, comforting warmth, like a fire on the darkest night.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “Just for a little while. I have something I want to show you.”

His words stir something fragile inside me, something I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a gentle hope in his eyes, a quiet, unspoken promise, and despite myself, I feel that hope awaken in me too, as small and tentative as a candle flame. I sigh, tossing the blankets back, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cool air prickles my skin.

“Fine,” I whisper, barely audible. “But just for a little while.”

Cassian smiles, a soft, genuine expression that lights up his entire face. He extends a hand to me, his palm broad and warm, and I take it, feeling his roughened fingers curl around mine with a reassuring firmness. He leads me through the quiet halls of the House of Wind, his grip steady and grounding as we walk. I’m in nothing but a simple nightdress, my feet bare on the cool floor, but with his warmth beside me, I don’t feel the chill.

He stops before a set of tall, glass-paned doors that lead to a balcony, the curtains drawn tight. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling them back with a gentle, sweeping motion that makes the light of the stars spill in like liquid silver, illuminating the room with a soft, ethereal glow. He glances back at me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips as he leads me outside.

The night air is crisp, and a gentle breeze stirs the loose strands of his hair, catching the faint glimmer of stars reflected in his hazel eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a whisper.

I lift my gaze to the sky, and my breath catches. Above us, the stars are falling—silver and white streaks of light arcing across the heavens in a breathtaking, shimmering cascade. It’s Starfall, the legendary event that fills the Night Court’s sky with magic, as if the stars themselves are dancing for us. The sight is beautiful, overwhelming, like the world itself is pouring out light and life to remind me of something I’d forgotten: hope, beauty, wonder.

“This,” Cassian says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “is why Starfall matters. It’s a reminder that even after everything, there’s something beautiful left to hold onto.”

I turn to look at him, my heart tightening as I meet his gaze. Cassian watches me with a warmth and tenderness that slips past my carefully constructed walls, cutting right to the raw centre of everything I’ve been trying to hide. I feel a lump building in my throat, heavy and tight, and before I can stop it, my eyes fill with tears. I haven’t cried since all of this happened, haven’t allowed myself to feel what’s been buried, too afraid that if I let even a little of it slip, it would all come crashing down.

But here, with Cassian standing so close, so steady, his presence strong and unwavering, something inside me breaks. My breath hitches, a sob bubbling up before I can swallow it back. The first tear spills over, and then another, until the tears are streaming freely down my face. I try to turn away, to hide it, but Cassian steps closer, his expression softening with understanding.

And then my knees buckle. The weight of everything—of the losses, the terror, the forced transformation—becomes too much, and I sink, my body giving out under the flood of emotion. Cassian’s arms catch me before I can fall, and he lowers us both to the floor of the balcony, his strong arms wrapped tightly around me, supporting me. I cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as I bury my face in his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

The stars keep falling around us, casting their ethereal glow across the balcony as Cassian holds me, his hand gently stroking through my hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own sobs. His other arm is solid around me, like an anchor keeping me from floating away on the tide of my grief and confusion. I feel the warmth of his hand as it trails down my back, grounding me, reassuring me that I’m not alone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough but gentle. “I’ve got you. Let it out; I’m here.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, with me sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him as though he’s the only real thing left in the world. His hand never stops stroking my hair, each touch soothing, melting the ache in my chest little by little. Gradually, the sobs turn to quiet gasps, the tears slowing as I breathe in his scent, warm and familiar, a mixture of leather and something uniquely Cassian.

When I finally pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, he watches me with a gentleness that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a tenderness that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. He brushes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and steady.

“There you are,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes hold me, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees right now, and for a moment, I almost believe that maybe I’m enough—just as I am, scars and all.

“There you are,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet warmth in his gaze as he brushes another tear from my cheek. His thumb lingers, a gentle stroke against my skin, and it feels like he’s holding something precious, something he’s afraid might slip away if he’s not careful.

His eyes—those warm, hazel depths flecked with amber—search mine, and I realise he’s looking at me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. As though he sees past everything, past the pain and the shadows, to a part of me that even I’ve forgotten was there. His hand rests against my face, grounding me in his presence, and I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

A strange sensation unfurls in my chest—a tug, an ache so deep it almost hurts. It’s as if something invisible has been there all along, waiting, and now, with every beat of my heart, it snaps into place. The bond. I feel it, so powerful and certain, weaving itself between us, binding us together in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar. My breath catches, and I can see it in his eyes too, the moment he realises what’s happened. His expression softens, the smallest flicker of wonder and relief breaking through his own surprise.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling as he searches my face, his gaze so full of awe and love that I feel like I could drown in it.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak around the emotion swelling inside me. It’s overwhelming—this sensation of being tethered to him, heart and soul, in a way that makes me feel more whole than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if I’m crying again or if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and Cassian’s thumb gently brushes it away.

For a heartbeat, we’re just staring at each other, neither of us daring to move, afraid to shatter the delicate, perfect thing we’ve just found. But then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel his breath against my lips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the distance, his mouth brushing mine with a gentleness that steals my breath.

The kiss is soft, heartbreakingly tender, like he’s pouring everything he feels into it—all the care, all the patience, all the love. His hand cradles my face, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against my skin as his lips move over mine, unhurried and soft, as if he has all the time in the world. I melt into him, letting the warmth of the bond settle around us like a blanket, wrapping us in something that feels as ancient as the stars.

Cassian’s other arm slips around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, grounding me. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering open to meet my gaze.

“I never thought…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he searches my face, his expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my heart ache. “I never thought I’d find this. That I’d find you.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, feeling the softness against my skin as I hold him close. “You saved me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a truth that I hadn’t fully realised until this moment. “In more ways than one.”

He smiles, a soft, beautiful expression that makes my heart stutter, and then he kisses me again—this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, as if he’s making a promise. It’s gentle, heartbreakingly sweet, every brush of his lips over mine conveying the depth of his love, his commitment, and the quiet, fierce protectiveness that’s always been there.

When we finally pull apart, he cradles my face in his hands, his gaze so warm, so tender, that I feel my heart swell in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his voice rough but full of certainty. “Not now, not ever.”

And as I look into his eyes, feeling the bond humming between us, I know he means it. I feel the weight of his promise settle around me, grounding me, filling the empty spaces in my heart with a warmth I never thought I’d feel again. And for the first time in so long, I believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m home.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

#bat boys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fluff #cassian smut #cassian angst #cassian acotar #acotar cassian #cassian acosf

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jaeyunluvr · 8 months ago

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she loves me, she told me

his palm felt warm, wrapped around yours as you walked through the chilled evening air. jaeyun looked majestic under the dim moonlight, and you couldn't help but stare at him.

it's been almost three months since you've been spending your time as his lover, and you couldn't help but fall head over heels for him, every single day. he was the sweetest man alive, and utterly adorable. you didn't think you'd get this lucky.

despite the blissful existance of your love for him all hidden in your heart, you never told him that you loved him. of course you've showed it in subtle ways like that one time you bought a puppy plushie just because it reminded you of him. like that one time you made him a scented candle with a scent that made you think of him.

but there was something about this moment that made you want to say those words to him. the way his eyes sparkled as he spoke, the way his brunette hair strands graced the side of his forehead, the way he held your hand with utmost care like you would disappear into thin air if he ever let go.

he made you feel comfortable in your own skin, he made you feel like you were worth everything. he wouldn't trade you for the world.

you were walking towards his home, as you begged to walk him home for once and he let himself be your princess for today, only because you were so desperate. jake was talking about this and that you weren't even paying attention to him. you couldn't handle the commotion in your head and heart. you had to tell him.

you were almost at the door of his house, which also meant you had very little time to talk to him.

"jaeyun?" you spoke. he hummed in response, raising his eyebrow at you because you just interrupted him.

you felt your heart beat against your chest, you swore to god he could hear you. he turned to you, holding your face in his palms. he bent to reach your height, locking his eyes with you. you could see the concern on his face. to him, you seemed like you had a lot on your mind and it bothered him.

"what is it, princess?" he asked in the most gentle tone ever. guilt crept over you as you realized you had worried him within the span of seconds.

"i love you." you let out the breath you didn't notice you were holding in for so long.

"huh?"

"i said i love you." you said once again.

jake let out a gentle laughter, both filled with happiness and the heart flutter you just gave him.

"i love you too sweetheart." he inched towards you, engulfing you into the warmest hug. you could hear his heart beating out of his chest and you let out a giggle. he was just so adorable, it made you feel all fuzzy inside.

you both pulled away from the hug and you gestured for him to head inside. jaeyun didn't want to leave at all. he took a few steps backward, his hand still holding yours. he paused and looked at you with a-few-more-minutes-please face, a little pout gracing his lips. you shook your head indicating a no and told him to get inside before it gets too late. for a matter of fact, you didn't want to leave either.

jaeyun dramatically fell to the floor as soon as he closed the door behind him. heeseung raised an eyebrow at him and uttered a 'what the fuck', slightly concerned at his friend's actions.

"she told me she loves me." heeseung rolled his eyes in annoyance as he walked past jaeyun, continuing to munch on the macaroons he was earlier having.

just then he heard a knock on the door. he was clearly confused but opened the door to find you there. concerned flashed in his eyes again. why did you come back?

"baby what is it? did something happen?" he looked around to find some creepy guys but found none. his hands were on your shoulders and he looked at you worriedly.

"jaeyun it's nothing, relax." you smiled at him.

"then what is it?"

"i just..." a little blush crept up to your cheeks. you felt a shiver through your whole body, you were so nervous. you took a hold of his jacket as you gave him a little pull so he can reach your height. your right palm rested on his cheek as you leaned in to press your lips against his soft ones, leaving a tender kiss onto his lips.

jake's breath stopped. quite literally he was gone. you just kissed him? on the lips? he wanted to do this for so long but he was so nervous. he didn't find the right time nor the right place. his heart was beating out of his chest, he absolutely had no idea what to do.

the incident started to sink in as you pulled away and the cutest smile spread over his lips, his pearl white teeth in display. jaeyun was stagnant for a bit too long and you wanted to run away cuz no way in hell you just kissed the love of your life for the first time. you knew he liked it but you were too shy to stay there so you took a few steps back to indicate you were leaving.

jaeyun reacted way to quickly to this and pulled you back onto himself by your hand.

"y/n oh my god. do you want me to die?"he breathed out with a little chuckle. you raised a brow at him as you smiled with utter adoration for your boyfriend in your eyes.

"you should've given me a heads up, i need to prepare for that."

"you're being so cheesy right now." you laughed at him, while you hit his arm a little, the blush on your cheeks getting more and more evident.

your laugh. he loved it.

jaeyun couldn't do it anymore. he was melting into a puddle at this moment. he physically couldn't anymore and he threw himself at you, hugging your body like it was a plushie. he felt like a little kid. you hugged him back, running your palm up and down his back to soothe his excitement down.

"yn i love you so much! i love you! i love youuuu!!!"

"oh i love you too, jakey!"

jaeyun pulled away from the hug and despite his will, he told you to leave because it might be dangerous for you to get home if it's gets too late. you walked away with the widest smile, turning your head back once again, only to see your puppy boyfriend, jumping slightly as he waved his hand to you with the most adorable smile.

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xoxochb · 2 months ago

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i begggggggg u to do a percy x socially awk reader where percy realises she has like 3 default emotes like “real” “what the flip 😨😨” “🤷‍♀️” or smth and like teases her abt it 🙏🙏🙏

— that one convo

warnings: none pairing: percy jackson x socially awkward! reader a/n: “wow this fic is very detailed with strong loathing for social interactions” yeah it’s because I’m projecting 🥰

social events were the bane of your existence, the reason you woke up every morning and wish you could die. unfortunately when you’re a demigod they’re hard to ignore, camper there, camper here, now you have camp chores… the list goes on. It wasn’t only that you loathed social interactions— you were painfully awkward. stepping outside was practical social suicide for you. which is why you kept to yourself and sat at cabin three table with the only boy you would tolerate speaking to

you take a handful of his assorted berries into your hands and onto your plate, eating them one by one

“so what’re you up to today?” asks percy

you stop and think. you hadn’t planned your day out that far yet. “I’m not sure. maybe I’ll paint or read or sleep. I don’t know”

“that sounds great! I’m free today too, maybe I could come with you?”

“uhhh… yeah” you shrug “but I don’t want you interrupting my reading. can you stay quiet?”

“just for you” percy winks, maybe you scrunch your nose in disgust and return your focus to your breakfast. that’s when your worst fear happens. a camper walks to the table— presumably from cabin seven because her hair flies in rays of sunshine. you stiffen and avoid eye contact

“there’s a party in hermes cabin later, you coming?”

“I’ll be there! do you wanna come to, (name)?”

you swallow hard and nod. but no you do not want to go. parties were the home place of social situations and people. tons. of. people.

“okay, great! I’ll see you two tonight then” the girl smiles and leaves the table (your prayers had been answered! tyche would be getting extra offerings this morning for sure)

percy furrows his brows and turns fully to you. “what was that?”

now you avoid eye contact with him also. “what was what?”

“well, I mean you were talking to me fine and then that girl came over here and you forgot how!”

“I don’t like that girl” you lie

“you’ve never met her in your life and I know it because you only ever talk to me”

you frown. “I don’t like talking to anyone else…”

“I figured”

you give him a look of disapproval and hit him upside the head. “don’t be a smart-ass”

“you know what?” he says, ignoring your comment and action

the look on your face is bored. you know what he’s about to say. yet you sigh and reply, “what?”

“I’m glad you only talk to me. makes me feel special”

you close your eyes and shake your head slowly. percy laughs and plants a kiss to your cheek happily. when you open your eyes back up you see him staring at you creepily lovingly

“I really like you (nickname)”

mood: ruined. you groan and stand up. “you’re such a fucking weirdo, get away from me”

you hear percy shout behind you, “hey, you should’ve said that to that girl!”

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you

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angelikook · 1 month ago

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Red String of Fate

Pairing(s): Janitor and delivery person!Yoongi x college student!reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, e2l-ish, college au-ish, soulmate au-ish

Word Count: 10.7k

Warning(s): Profanity, alcohol use

Summary: The red string of fate connects two enemies. However, Yoongi’s red string, which is attached to Y/n, suddenly disappears after he meets her the second time.

A/n This fic officially marks my comeback to Tumblr *insert applause here 👏* After years of hiatus, my life finally settles a bit so I can continue what I've always loved. I had so much fun writing this one. Enjoy! This fic is still unedited though, I'll edit it ASAP.

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There were three things that Yoongi wished didn’t exist. One, flat-earthers. Two, anti vaxxers. And three, the red string of fate.

During 21 years of his life, he learned that not only the red string of fate foresaw the relationship of two people, but also the fact that it predicted hostility between them and not romance like what those legends had said. Not to mention the disturbing fact that he could see them for as far as he could remember.

He’d seen his parents divorced, his two best friends fought one another, and even random people argued on the street. And what was the similarity of all of them? That damned red string that was attached between the people involved. The sure sign that those people would go their separate ways sooner or later.

As he went about his typical Saturday which consisted of getting ready for work, doing some deliveries, and depositing some money to his parents’ bank account, he noticed the absence of his red string. With an almost inhuman speed, he finished the rest of his routine and called his only friend.

The door jingled as he pushed the door open. In an instant, a smell of coffee entered his nostrils. He couldn’t help but to take a long whiff, enjoying the rich aroma.

Upon seeing him walking in, the boy who stood behind the counter grinned at him. “Take a seat. I’ll come to you in a bit.”

He strode to his favorite spot in the cafe, at the far corner near the window where he could watch the pedestrians outside.

The boy who was once behind the counter turned the store sign to ‘closed’, turned off some of the lights, and made some drinks before sauntering to Yoongi with two cups in hand.

“Sorry for meeting you at this time, Tae. I honestly don’t know what to do if you are busy.”

“No worries. It’s not like I’ve other things to do after this.” The boy placed a cup in front of Yoongi.

“Thanks,” Yoongi mumbled. “Won’t your boss be angry if you have a guest here?”

“Nope. In fact, she encourages us to have guests. To introduce the cafe to more people, she said.”

“Good marketing strategy.”

“I know right. So, what do you wanna talk about?”

Yoongi told the boy in front of him about his day. From the moment he woke up, until the time he texted his friend to meet up with extra detail when he realized his string had disappeared.

He was just finished with the second to the last delivery. The lady who received the food thanked him and went back inside her house. He took it as a cue for him to continue with his last delivery.

It was when he was checking the next address when he felt something was missing.

He patted his pockets to look for his phone, wallet, and keys which were still intact. He made sure he didn’t forget the food he needed to deliver. He even checked his phone in case there was a task he’d forgotten to do.

But he found none.

With head full of confusion, trying to remember what was missing, he drove to the last address.

Five minutes away from the last place he needed to go, at a traffic light, his eyes fell to his left pinky, the place where his red string attached to him. The place where there was no longer a red string.

His eyes were big as saucers as he inspected his pinky.

During 21 years of his life, there was not a single time, as far as he knew, in which the red string ever disappeared. It could twist, bend, stretch, and become thinner, but never disappear. It could even fade sometimes, but could never vanish.

He looked around to see other road users. Their red strings were glaringly obvious. Some even had a deep red color.

He sighed though not all his worries went away.

He didn’t lose his ability, just his string.

“Oh my God! I just realized that your string is very much gone.”

“Do you have an idea of what this means? Or what caused this to happen?”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “It’s your fault for not joining our weekly meeting.”

Yoongi met Taehyung at a club specifically made for people who can see the red string. He didn’t know what made him join the club, but he could probably blame his curiosity for that.

“I have work. Plus, it’s not like you understand what’s going on either after attending them.”

“Touché. But, do you know who’s at the other end?”

“I knew about it a few weeks ago.”

How stupid of him to ignore the weather forecast this morning. It said that there was going to be a thunderstorm. Yoongi just realized how accurate the forecaster was as the rain hit against the library's windows loudly.

His shift as the campus’ janitor had ended an hour ago, but since the rain didn’t let him go home and he was stupid enough not to bring an umbrella, he decided to wait in the library until the rain subside.

Every now and then, a thunder illuminated the dimly lit library before breaking in an ear-splitting noise. And every time it happened, he couldn't help but to wince even after hearing it for the nth time in the past hour.

He was sitting on the floor in the corner while gripping the encyclopedia on his lap. His mind couldn't cooperate for the last few minutes. He'd been reading the same line for countless times now and he grew agitated.

On the next aisle, a couple had been arguing for the past five minutes. And as much as Yoongi didn't like to eavesdrop, he had no headphones he could use to cover his ears.

"So, going out with my best friend behind my back was your brilliant solution?" the girl half-yelled.

They had been half-yelling the entire time. They knew that they weren't allowed to be loud here, yet they still chose a library out of all places to have an argument. That ticked Yoongi off.

"She came to me first, okay? I didn't know you weren't there. She said you were coming along," the boy defended himself.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. Of course a cheater would make up stupid reasons.

“Here’s what’s going wrong. One, you could leave her once you knew. Two, you could tell me you were with her. Three, you could cross-check with me first. And you did nothing out of all three.”

Yoongi smirked and nodded in agreement though he knew well they couldn’t see him. It was exactly what he’d say in a situation like that. He liked this girl, they had a similar way of thinking.

Yoongi suddenly grew curious at what the girl looked like. He scooted closer towards their voices and peeked between the books on the shelf.

Just like what he’d imagined, the girl was gorgeous. Or, at least as gorgeous as a sleep deprived college student can be.

She had a cute nose and lips, and bright eyes despite looking tired and sleepy. Dark eyebags and fading eyeliner decorated her eyes. Her hair glistened under the dim light, probably still wet due to the rain. Her pink lipstick also started to wear off, showing off her natural chapped lips.

The boy grew quiet for a bit. “Sorry, babe. It won’t happen again.”

She snorted. “I know. Because there’s no such thing as next time. Bye.”

As she walked off, his eyes trained down to her pinky, a habit he’d had because of the stupid ‘talent’ he had. He followed the red string on her pinky to the other end of the string, another habit he’d had because he was full of curiosity.

Most of the time he couldn’t see the other end, since enemies usually weren’t within sight with each other. This time, though, he kinda hoped that hers would connect to the boy she was dating. That way, it’d explain why they broke up.

Not as expected, her string ended on his pinky.

“Do you hate her?” Taehyung asked after sipping on his hot chocolate.

“Nope.”

“Maybe that’s why the string disappeared?” Taehyung suggested. “The string only connects enemies. Maybe if it makes a mistake like this, it’ll disappear.”

“Can the string make a mistake?”

Taehyung shrugged. “You don’t hate her, though.”

“But why didn’t it disappear right then, why today?”

Taehyung bit his lip, deep in thought. “Did something happen today?”

“Not today, but I met her yesterday.”

He was late to work and his dead watch was to blame. Somehow it slipped his mind to change the batteries and now he had to deal with his own stupidity.

As he scurried to campus, someone accidentally crashed into him from behind. His tattered bag fell and spilled its contents.

"Oh my! I'm so sorry!" A girl crouched beside him and helped him pick up his stuff.

"It's okay," he replied timidly.

Right as he put the last thing into his bag, the girl's friend, who since then only loomed over them in silence, clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Can you be faster? I have a presentation in 10 minutes."

When Yoongi and the girl stood up, he finally got the chance to see who the girl's friend was. Their connected red string only confirmed it further.

Since the last time Yoongi saw her, she was in a worse condition. A cup of coffee was in one hand, a laptop in the other. Her eyes were puffy and dried tears were visible in her cheeks. Unlike back then at the library, she didn't wear any makeup. She wore an old oversized sweater which looked older than Yoongi's seven years old bag with a pair of washed up jeans that were baggy in weird places.

The girl who helped him snapped back at her, "That's your own fault for having a midlife crisis this morning."

The library girl only linked her arm around the girl's arm and dragged her.

He knew she was supposed to be his enemy, but for the rest of the day Yoongi couldn't help but to wonder what happened to her. His curiosity got the best of him now that he knew she was on the other end of his string.

Did she have another relationship problem? Or maybe her ex pleaded to get back together again? Or maybe just college stuff?

"You didn't ask her name?"

"She was in a hurry,” Yoongi defended himself.

"Still. I think we need as much information as possible, and a trusted person."

"Like who?"

"Namjoon."

"The club's leader? Are you kidding me?"

"Hey! He might be the only one who knows about this ordeal."

"But you're talking to him." It wasn’t a question.

Taehyung shook his head. "No. You talk to him."

"We're talking to him."

"Fine."

Despite Namjoon’s busy schedule and Yoongi’s multiple jobs, meeting him was easier than Yoongi had initially thought. One day he just texted him and not five minutes later Namjoon replied to meet up the next day after his shift ended. Just as promised, Taehyung came as a moral support and to provide with drinks.

After hearing Yoongi’s story, which was occasionally added by Taehyung with small details, Namjoon frowned. He bit his bottom lip and his eyes became unfocused.

“Do you think you can help us?” Yoongi asked after a minute of silence, already expecting a negative answer from the way the leader was behaving.

Namjoon’s eyes focused back to Yoongi’s. “I’m not sure. I’ve read something about this, but there wasn’t any more research about that. Maybe I can ask the previous leaders and see if they know about it.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“You said you knew who was on the other end. Can you bring her here? Maybe she knows something.”

“He doesn’t know her name, though,” Taehyung chimed in before Yoongi could say anything.

“That’s fine. Take as much time needed. I need to talk to the previous leaders anyway. Just tell me once you’re ready.”

“Joon,” Taehyung called him, catching his attention. “Is it possible that the string is wrong? Yoongi doesn’t hate her and that’s why the string disappeared?”

Taehyung’s question echoed in his mind for days on end. If his theory was right, then why was the string still there on the day at the library? Why didn’t it disappear right away? And what was going to happen now that his string was gone?

But one more question stood out the most to him. How could he ask for her to come with him without sounding creepy?

With the clock struck seven, his shift had ended and he could go home. He changed out of his uniform and walked towards the campus’ exit where there were some students still lingering.

He rolled his eyes at them. ‘Those kids are so lucky to be able to get an education at a place like this and they’re probably unaware of it,’ he thought.

Right as he was about to step out the door, a poster caught his eyes. More specifically, a face he’d grown to recognize just caught his eyes.

The poster was talking about a speech that was going to be held in a week’s time. The speech was going to be about the importance of vaccines and would be attended by some famous speakers. He knew one of the speakers.

It was the library girl. But unlike at the library nor in front of the campus, she wore a bright smile. She flashed her teeth, her eyes twinkled. Her makeup was perfectly done, thanks to meticulous makeup artists who took time with her face.

Underneath her photo, her name was printed in bold. Y/n L/n.

Yoongi gasped as he read her name again and again. He even tried how her name tasted in his mouth when he said it.

Her name was exactly like herself. Sweet, but not too sweet, with a hint of salty for her sharp words. It was closest to salted caramel in his mind.

But what was more important was the fact that he’d found her name. He grinned to himself at the thought. His only feat left was to talk to her and ask her to meet Namjoon.

The speech was held after the lunch break, which meant he got half a day to plan what to say to her. However, since he woke up, his mind had been a cloudy mess, he couldn’t think straight.

He tried to jot down possible things he could say to Y/n, but his clammy hand kept wetting his paper. He tried to type his thoughts on his phone, but his supervisor caught him playing on his phone and scolded him. All his efforts were futile in the end. His mind, paper, and phone notes were still as empty as they were this morning.

The night before, he’d talked to Namjoon and Taehyung, but both were as helpful as his empty mind.

“Just say whatever. It’s better if you tell her we’ll be talking about the red string,” Namjoon had said.

“Tell us how it goes, okay?” was the only thing Taehyung said.

When the time arrived, he waited in front of the campus’ hall where the speech was held.

Through the glass doors, he could see Y/n and a couple other speakers he didn’t care for. He couldn’t hear what they said, though. They took turns to speak, each more passionate than the speaker before them until the time Y/n stepped to the center of the stage.

All these time Yoongi only saw the angry, sad, and tired Y/n to the point he’d internalized the idea that she was like that most of the time. This was the first time he saw her speaking in front of hundreds of audience with a burning passion.

From outside where he couldn’t hear a single thing, he still felt moved and inspired by just seeing her hand gestures alone. He couldn’t imagine what it felt to be able to listen to her speech.

When she was done with her speech and bowed to the audience, they erupted in cheers and clapped their hands.

The event quickly ended with the MC saying some closing speech. With that, the crowd left the hall one by one not even minding Yoongi who was standing outside. Only a couple of faculty members and students still lingered inside, chatting animatedly with the speakers.

A pang of jealousy coursed through him at the sight of them. If money wasn’t a problem for him, he would have had a higher education just like these people. And to be reminded that those students were around his age made him sullen.

Among all the people inside, Y/n was the first to leave the hall. Looked like lady luck was on Yoongi’s side today since Y/n left all alone.

Yoongi quickly snatched his only chance and approached her.

“Hi. You’re Y/n, right?”

“Hi. Yeah, I am. And you are?” Her honey voice was sweeter than what he’d heard at the library. He could tell from her voice alone that her mood was definitely better than the last time he saw her.

“Yoongi. I’m the campus’ journalist.” At this point he just spewed out lies and he thought he was quite good at it. “Can we talk for a bit?”

“Sure. About what?”

“I was listening to your speech earlier,” another lie, “and I think you’re strongly opinionated,” not a lie. “I’m wondering if I can interview you? It’s gonna be about the red string.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “The red string?”

Yoongi involuntarily gulped in fear Y/n would reject him.

“I don’t think I have anything to say about that, I’m sorry.”

His heart dropped.

Y/n was about to leave when Yoongi spoke up again, “Umm… It’s okay. We’re going to compile different opinions into one anyways, so if you don’t have a lot to say about it, that’s fine.”

“Oh.” Y/n stopped in her tracks. “When’s the interview then? Is it now? Because if it’s now, I have-”

“No, don’t worry. We can have the interview anytime you’re free. Plus, I won’t be the one interviewing you, an expert or something will ask the questions and I’m just gonna sum them up.”

Y/n nodded. “Can we do it tonight? Maybe around eight after the classes end?”

Technically, Yoongi could, but he didn’t know whether Namjoon was free or not.

“I need to ask the interviewer first. Make sure they’re free and all.”

“Good!”

Yoongi pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Can I have your number?”

Asking for a girl’s number was an achievement he didn’t know he would reach.

Y/n punched in her number and gave the phone back to him. “What’s your name again?”

Yoongi put his phone back into his pocket. “Yoongi.”

The walk to the cafe Taehyung worked at was as awkward as it could get. Two people who just knew each other for a couple of hours walking together, not knowing what to say to break the tension. Not to mention this was Yoongi’s first time walking with a girl.

Yoongi didn’t know whether he should feel lucky or not with Y/n trying to start small talks between them. Lucky because he didn’t have to come up with a topic, unlucky because he had to keep building lies upon lies.

“What year are you in?” Y/n kicked a small rock away from her path.

Yoongi counted in his head. 21 years olds usually were in their third year.

“Third. You?”

“Same. What are you studying?”

“I’m in art. Music.” In his defense, he did music in his free time, so he wasn’t exactly lying.

Y/n halted in her tracks. “Music?”

Uh, oh. Did he just say something wrong?

Yoongi also stopped walking and gave Y/n a questioning look.

“As far as I know, there’s no music major here.”

“Umm… I mean I’m studying art, but also join the music club.”

Y/n started walking again. “I see.”

Yoongi sighed in relief. Nice save.

“What-” The words caught in his throat. “What about you?”

“Science.”

The interview went pretty much the same. Only a series of questions and short answers. She was right when she said she didn’t have anything to say about the red string.

“Do you believe the red string?”

“No.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Not much.”

“Like?”

“Some people can see it.”

“And?”

“It connects soulmates.”

Yoongi stifled a laugh. If only life wasn’t so cruel, it would happen.

“What if I tell you I can see the red string?”

Y/n shrugged. “Good for you.”

“You don’t wanna know to whom yours is connected?”

And other questions that Yoongi had tuned out in boredom. From his peripheral vision, Y/n was holding back a yawn as if to confirm to him that the interview was indeed boring. The now cold coffee in front of them did nothing to keep them alert.

Thanks to his ability to ignore his surroundings for long periods of time, the interview came to an end before he knew it.

Namjoon glanced at the clock before closing his notebook. “It’s almost 10. Sorry to keep you until late.” He stood up and shook Y/n’s hand. “Thank you for helping us.”

“No problem,” Y/n said, though her eyes were starting to droop.

Yoongi was trying hard to hold his smile. It was a rare sight to see someone so tired they barely could keep their eyes open.

Worry and realization clawed at his heart at the sight of Y/n. With a little money he had in his pocket, he had to pay for her favor. Not pay directly with money, because that would be rude. But maybe give her something that she needed.

As if on cue, he heard Y/n’s stomach rumble as they said their goodbyes.

That was it! He could buy her food as a thank you.

He only had money to feed one person, though. It was supposed to be his dinner.

Yoongi bit his lip in confusion. He needed to pay tonight because he didn’t know if they were going to meet again. Plus, going without food for one night wouldn’t be that bad for his health, right? He could just start breakfast earlier the next morning.

He had made up his mind.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna eat?” Y/n asked after swallowing her burger. In front of her, Yoongi could only stare at her food while drooling.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You can take my fries.” She pushed her fries towards Yoongi. “I don’t eat fries. They make me fat.”

He gratefully shoved one into his mouth, savouring it before chewing on it. “And burger doesn’t?”

“Well, it contains meat and lettuce, so it’s not 100% carbs.”

Yoongi silently nodded though he was sure a burger contains more calories.

“How come I never see you on campus?” Y/n asked.

They had been walking towards her place for a while and Y/n refused an awkward silence to fill the air.

“We’re in different buildings, remember?”

This wasn’t a lie. Yoongi indeed worked most of the time in the arts building, a solid 100 meters away from the science building.

“Right. I keep forgetting that. Sorry.” Y/n giggled. As cliché as that sounds, her laugh sounded like bells in his ears.

“Don’t be sorry. No one really cares about art majors.”

Her giggles died down. “I care. I think art is a great way to make a statement. Not to mention it transcends all language barriers. A great media to change the world, isn’t it?”

That was definitely a view of art that Yoongi had never heard before. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t stunned at her words.

“Wow,” Yoongi eventually blurted. No wonder she was giving a speech a few hours ago.

Y/n stopped in front of a huge gate belonging to an apartment building before turning to him.

“Thank you for the food and for taking me home. I owe you one.” She smiled.

“No. Take the food as a thank you for helping me with my article.” At this point, lies came flowing out of his mouth. “And taking you home is just something normal everyone does.”

“Still. I gave you a favor, but you gave me two. It’s only right if I pay you somehow.”

“I want to, though. It helps me sleep at night.”

Yoongi stared at Y/n’s eyes. They were droopy and red from sleepiness, but still held sincerity. Before he drowned in her eyes, he pulled himself back and nodded.

“Okay.”

That night, Yoongi fell asleep with a half-empty stomach and a full heart.

The next few days went by as usual. Wake up, get ready, go to work, go home, sleep. No Namjoon, no Y/n, nor Taehyung in his mind. He was truly back to his boring life before his string disappeared.

The only difference was the ringing noise of Y/n’s words in his ears. ‘Art is a great way to make a statement.’

All these times, he only did art—music—because it was all he knew. He’d known of the possibility of making a statement with music, people had brought politics and social issues into their songs, but he wasn’t brave enough to challenge himself with those issues. He always thought that only famous or rich people were allowed to make such statements.

Yoongi’s next interaction with Y/n was in the form of a text.

Hey, Yoon. Sorry for disturbing you. But I’m curious whether my interview will make it to the campus’ newspaper.

He quickly made up another lie.

Hey. It’s fine. The team decided to change the topic, sorry. Kinda sad, I know.

Y/n instantly replied.

But you’ve worked hard for this! Can’t you say anything to them?

Oh, how he wished he could. Problem was, he wasn’t even a student here.

No convincing will do. They have made up their mind.

Y/n sent in two messages.

That’s inefficient journalism, wasting perfectly good interviews.

Before he got the chance to read Y/n’s second message, his supervisor warned him to put his phone down.

He only got the chance to read the message after his shift ended.

I think it’s the right time for me to pay you back, don’t you think?

Ice cream definitely wasn’t the first thing that came to his mind when Y/n said she wanted to pay him back. He was thinking something like paying for his bus ride home, or maybe buying him some food just like what he did for her. Basically anything that would be more useful than just a sweet dessert that couldn’t even fill an empty stomach.

He wasn’t one to complain, though. In his defense, he hadn’t had one in a long time; he didn’t even remember when was the last time he ate one. He was rather happy to break his long streak with Y/n.

“Something’s wrong with the journalism club,” Y/n said before putting a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

“How so?”

Y/n waved her spoon around. “How redundant to have a person interview a bunch of people only to change the topic in the end?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Things happen.”

“Does this happen often? If yes, that’s crazy.”

“I don’t think so.”

Y/n snorted. “You probably wanna keep your club’s secret. I understand.” Y/n angrily scooped her ice cream. “Aren’t you angry at being mistreated like this?”

“To be honest, I don’t care. It’s not like I like this club anyways.”

“You should leave the club, then. Do something you actually like instead of rotting in that club.”

Yoongi just nodded. What else could he do? He wasn’t even a member to begin with.

“What do you like to do? You said something about the music club.”

“Yeah. I do music in my free time although I’m not that active in the club.”

“Do you do gigs?”

Finally a topic he didn’t need to lie about.

Yoongi answered after he swallowed, “I don’t do that type of music. I don’t perform. I produce music.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “This is the first time I know a music producer. What's it like to produce music?”

Yoongi told her about the first time he learned how to produce music, who taught him that, and even where he learned that. He was 13 at the time and a neighbor offered to show him how to produce music. It was the first time he knew music, it was love at first sight.

“I think it’s great for you to know what you wanna do,” Y/n commented after he finished his story.

“That’s the thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I want to pursue it deeper but I don’t know how.”

“You can take up producing jobs?” she suggested.

It was time for him to open up. “There’s this entertainment company looking for an intern, but I don’t know if I can squeeze some time for that.”

Y/n’s face that was once relaxed, now became stern. “Are you sure you want to produce music your whole life?”

It was the same question his parents had asked him when he told them he wanted to do music.

He nodded.

The creases in Y/n’s face disappeared as she leaned back in her seat. “There you have it. Clear up your schedule and run for your dreams. If it’s worth it, you make time for it.”

That was the cue he needed to send his CV.

Despite his protests of not wanting to disturb her time, Y/n met Yoongi after her classes ended just a few days after he sent his CV.

Y/n grinned immediately upon seeing Yoongi in front of the campus’ gates.

“Have you seen the results?”

Yoongi shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“What are you waiting for? Open it!” Y/n peered into Yoongi’s phone.

With clammy, shaky hands, he opened the email and read the message.

Dear Min Yoongi,

We’ve read your CV and would like to discuss more with you on Tuesday, July 6th, 2021 at 13:00.

Regards,

Go Youngjae

He was still registering the message and rereading it over and over again when Y/n jumped and yelled, “This calls for a celebration!”

Y/n, her yellings, and people watching them thinking they were weirdos were all around him, yet his mind was clouded with the words from the message.

Only when Y/n grabbed his shoulders to grab his attention he was brought back to reality.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Huh? A celebration?”

Y/n nodded so enthusiastically he worried she would accidentally hurt her neck.

“Okay, then.”

Y/n took a sip of her beer. “I’m jealous of you.”

Around them were bustling with people coming home from their work to eat.

“How?”

“You’re talented enough to achieve your dreams.”

“I’m not accepted yet.”

“Yet,” Y/n emphasized. “It’s just a matter of time before you work there.”

Yoongi frowned. “What do you wanna do then?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know,” she whisper-yelled before taking a large gulp of beer. “And people think we’re adults who are supposed to know what we’re doing.” Y/n snorted.

Yoongi sipped on his own beer while nodding. Sometimes people around him forgot that he was a 21 years old kid who still needed guidance on life. Just because he had two jobs, didn’t mean he knew what he was doing.

“Are you happy with your life right now?” he asked.

Y/n shrugged. “I’d like to think so.”

“Then keep doing what you’re doing.” He knew his advice didn’t help, but he wasn’t graced with the talent to console people.

“I can’t keep being a student.” Y/n laughed in frustration. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “In a year, we’ll graduate. And then what? It’s all black for me while you’re interning. At least you have direction while I’m still as blind as a bat.”

“That sounds depressing.”

“Because it is!” Y/n whined before taking another sip. “Sorry to ruin your celebration with my sad girl problems. Let’s just talk about you.”

Oh, Y/n didn’t know how much he’d rather have his celebration ruined by Y/n than to celebrate on his own.

In between her fading makeup, he could see Y/n’s face started to turn pinkish. Out of courtesy, he gently pulled her beer away from her.

“I think you’re tipsy.”

“No, I’m not.” Y/n reached back for her beer but it was out of reach. “Give it back.”

He argued with something he knew she wouldn’t refute, “You’ll ruin our celebration even further if you’re drunk.”

That kept her sober for the rest of the night.

“I think you’re too keen for celebrations,” Yoongi commented as he eyed Y/n with a bottle of wine. He didn’t even want to know how much it cost a fortune to buy that.

“Who doesn’t like to celebrate?” Y/n sat on her couch and patted the space beside her. “Don’t just stand there. Sit down!”

It was just a few hours after his interview. While he didn’t want to assume how well it went, Y/n believed it went pretty well. In her defense, had the interview gone wrong, he wouldn’t be here in her apartment, he would be crying away in his bedroom. Thus, Y/n convinced him to have another celebration.

Y/n couch was soft to the touch and probably cost more than his kidneys, he felt bad of having to sit on it and potentially dirtying it. But Y/n didn’t pay attention to it while she poured the wine into his glass.

“We have work tomorrow.” He immediately corrected himself with a cough. “Class, I mean.”

“We won’t drink a lot.” She handed him his glass. “Just one glass.”

Yoongi took the glass. “Just one glass.”

But of course one glass turned to two, and three, and a morning full of confusion and hangover.

Yoongi woke up startled. He sat up and gasped for air. His head was killing him, as if someone was hammering his head. His throat was dry, as dry as the desert. More importantly, he didn’t know where he was until the memory of the night before came rushing into his head.

Y/n pouring his drink, laughing at something silly he said, leaned closer and closer to him as her awareness slipped away little by little. And the feeling of her chapped lips on his.

He choked on his saliva. Did he really just kiss her? Or was it just a dream?

His fingers lingered on his lips, trying to remember the taste of Y/n’s lips.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a familiar voice emerged from the kitchen. “Are you thinking about the kiss?”

Yoongi stared at the girl sitting on the dining table.

“Relax, nothing happened. Just a drunken kiss.” She shrugged before shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

How could she talk about the kiss so lightly? Or maybe he was reading too much into it while the kiss really didn’t mean anything.

“Does that happen often?” he croaked. He winced, he really needed to drink.

As if reading his mind, Y/n grabbed a glass of water and gestured to it, ushering him to take it.

Yoongi slowly got up from the couch, hissed when his headache flared, and walked to the dining table.

“Being drunk or the kiss?”

“The drunken kiss.”

She snorted. “Can you believe it? I don’t get drunk that often and I don’t kiss people every time I’m drunk.”

“You were almost drunk a few days ago.” Yoongi took a seat in front of her.

“Almost. Not completely black out drunk like last night.”

With how nonchalant Y/n seemed, Yoongi blurted out the burning question, “Doesn’t the kiss mean anything to you?”

“I’d like to believe that a drunken kiss means nothing.” She shrugged. “We’re drunk, we can’t even recall it. A meaningful kiss is not a kiss you easily forget.”

“And if you’re drunk but still remember it?”

“Is it still meaningful if the person you kiss doesn't remember it?"

Just like how it always had been, Y/n’s words rang through his ears for days. When he was scrubbing the walls, mopping the floor, taking the trash out, and even on the weekends when he had deliveries.

Not only her words, but the taste of her dry lips and the way she leaned to him etched permanently in his mind. The way she poured him a drink, the way she lazily ate her breakfast. He memorized it all like a fanatic memorizing the Bible. Not leaving a single detail out.

It was just a matter of time until he decided to take action against it.

“I can’t do this. I need to come clean with her.”

The time happened to be a week after the kiss after Taehyung’s cafe closed for the day.

“What? Who? Why? What happened?”

“I think I’m starting to like her, hard. Y/n, I mean.”

Taehyung gave him a meaningful look.

“Don’t give me that look,” Yoongi groaned. “I know it’s wrong because we’re supposed to be enemies. But she’s so fascinating, you know.”

“Tell me about it.”

“She has this… different views of things.”

Taehyung nodded understandingly. “Of course. A quirky girl who can change you. Like an unoriginal love story.”

Yoongi thought, had Y/n been there with them, she would say something along the lines of, "That what makes those movies realistic, doesn't it? Real people don't fight zombies for love."

His mind had been poisoned with the thought of her.

“She’s not just quirky, okay,” he protested, though he didn’t know whether he was defending himself or Y/n. “She’s not quirky at all. In fact, she’s the typical college student.”

“The rich, spoiled one?” Taehyung raised an eyebrow.

“The rich and spoiled one.” Yoongi nodded while chuckling, remembering your fear of adulthood and your lavish apartment.

“I don’t know, dude. But whether you like her or not, or even love her, you still need to come clean.”

Yoongi quieted down at the thought of having to confess his lies to Y/n.

“I know,” he whispered. “But I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

What was he scared of? To be honest, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he was going to confess his feelings or anything. Just coming clean that he wasn’t a student, but a janitor. That he wasn’t a broke college student, just broke.

Maybe he feared the unknown. He was entering a whole new territory he had never been to.

He’d made up lies upon lies to the person he thought he would never kiss, would never be addicted to. Would never wonder how their day went or if they had breakfast.

He was stupid. Stupid for making up those lies, stupid of ever wondering about his red string, stupid for getting involved too deep with Y/n. His supposed-to-be enemy, a person he should’ve avoided. Stupid for catching feeling with her.

He wanted to kick himself, or Taehyung, or even Namjoon. Himself because he made up those lies. Taehyung because he supported him. Namjoon because he pushed him to come up with anything.

But he knew one thing for sure. If Y/n left him after his confession, he would never forgive himself.

He was going to keep his secret a little longer. If Y/n leaving him was inevitable, at least he had delayed it as long as possible.

Y/n’s life must only contain college and celebrations.

After the results came back—he was officially an intern—Y/n wanted to hold another celebration in his stead.

“We must celebrate every milestone in our lives,” she had said.

Going by her motto, he reluctantly agreed to have another celebration. This time in the form of a small party. So small, only three people were involved. Y/n, Taehyung, and himself.

“Taehyung is your barista friend, right?” Y/n asked enthusiastically when Yoongi told her about his plans. “I always wanted to work part time as a barista,” she sighed dreamily.

Y/n was in charge of the drinks—Yoongi told her not to bring alcoholic drinks. Taehyung was with the take out food. And Yoongi was going to host the party in his house.

He hoped his mom wouldn’t mind having his friends come over.

In fact, his mom was the complete opposite. She was too hyper in his opinion.

First of all, his mom literally bonked him in his head with a vegetable spoon. “Had you told me about it, I’d make some food.”

Second of all, she embarrassed him in front of Y/n. “Yoongi here never told me that he has a pretty friend like you.”

Third of all, she started playing matchmaker. “Are any of you dating Yoongi? No? I think he looks good with Y/n, don’t you think, Taehyung?”

Yoongi had had enough.

“Mom,” he groaned. “Please, stop.”

His mom giggled. “Alright, alright. I’m going back to my room. After you’re done, clean everything up, okay.”

“So, Tae,” Y/n immediately opened her mouth after Yoongi’s mom left, “Is your boss looking for a part-timer?”

“I don’t think so. She never mentions anything about that.”

Y/n nodded sadly. “If she ever looks for a part-timer, can you tell me? I’m interested.”

“Sure.”

Y/n eyes lit up. “Oh my God, really?” She laughed. “I owe you one.”

Taehyung waved his hand dismissively, “Nah, I don’t mind helping out a friend.”

“Are we friends?”

Taehyung shrugged. “A friend of my friend is my friend.”

Y/n clapped in excitement. “That’s what I think, too! I think we’re going to be great friends.”

While they were having a conversation, Yoongi only listened and imagined a life without Y/n. A life after he confessed. His parties would just be filled with silence. Heck, he wasn’t even sure if he would ever throw a party ever again.

But then another thought popped up. This one was more urgent like a ticking time bomb.

He had to leave his current job, and Y/n, to work at his new place.

No matter if he told her or not, she would eventually be out of his life.

The question had changed, then. It used to be when he was going to tell the truth. Now, it was whether he wanted to leave her on a good note or not.

“Hey.” Y/n touched his arm lightly to pull him from his thoughts. “Are you okay? Why are you so glum?”

Yoongi just shook his head, not trusting his own voice.

“Are you sure?” She frowned.

“Y/n, prepare the fruit punch! Let’s have a toast for Yoongi,” Taehyung said, catching both of their attention.

Soon after his friend said that, Y/n’s warm touch left his arm.

Though the party only ended when both of his guests went home, the fun part of the party left with Y/n. It was marked by her phone rings.

She quickly tossed her stuff into her bag and explained, “It’s my alarm. I have an assignment I forgot to do and a class early in the morning.”

“You’re going home now?” Taehyung’s glass of half-full fruit punch looked sad in his hand.

She sighed. “I’m sorry for ruining the party.” She looked at Yoongi. “Again.”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi replied. “How will you get home, though? It’s dark outside.”

“I’ll call a cab.” Y/n slung her bag over her shoulder. “Tell your mom I say thank you for having me.”

With one last glance at Yoongi, she left.

“What does she mean by ‘again’?” Taehyung dared to fill the silence.

Yoongi explained everything. About the burger after her interview, the ice cream, the beer and Y/n’s sob story, the interview and the drunken kiss, and this party. All the while Taehyung listened to every word he said.

“You can’t keep her in the dark. She’s too nice and sincere,” Taehyung finally said.

“I’ll leave her anyway. I can’t keep my job at the campus while being an intern.”

“And never tell her the truth? That’s cruel, dude.”

“It’s either that, or she hates me for the rest of her life.” With a choked voice, he added, “I don’t want her to hate me.”

“You can’t possibly think of that.” Taehyung shook his head. “You’re selfish if you do that.”

“Is it wrong to be happy?” Yoongi cried.

“Yes, if you’re sacrificing her trust. Your happiness is just a lie.”

“But you were the one encouraging me to talk to her back then!”

“Had I known you were going to fall with her, I would have told you to be honest.”

He shook his head, refusing to listen to his friend’s words. He had made up his mind and there was no need for Taehyung to make him doubt his choice.

“I’m going to enjoy my time with her as long as possible.”

Taehyung’s next word, however, echoed in his mind. “You’re going to regret this.”

You’re going to regret this. The words kept ringing in his ears, just like Y/n’s words. But unlike hers that was soothing, this was hot and painful. He deserved it, though. He needed a constant reminder that he was living his best life at the expense of Y/n, her trust, and Taehyung.

“So, there’s this opening party for a new club this weekend.” Y/n stirred her tea with her straw. “And I need a plus one. I’d ask my friend, but she has a seminar or something.”

As Taehyung’s words screamed in his mind, Yoongi asked, “You want me to come with you?”

“Well, if you’re okay with that. We won’t be there long, I promise. I just wanna say hi and stuff.”

You’re going to regret this.

“Sure. What should I wear?”

Y/n shrugged. “Anything comfy. It’s just like a normal frat party at someone’s house.”

Yoongi had never been to a frat party.

By the time they arrived, the party had already started. The music blared out loud, Yoongi was sure the neighbors were filing a complaint. Inside, people were dancing, singing, and playing drinking games.

Yoongi winced when a drunk person hit him accidentally.

This wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Y/n had been long gone from his side, being dragged away from him right when they passed the door. He remembered Y/n flashing him an apologetic smile and mouthed to him, “I’ll be back.”

She’d be back. All he needed to do was stay exactly where he was and don’t catch other people’s attention. He wouldn’t want an art student to recognize him.

“Hey, I think I know you,” the drunk person from earlier slurred.

Yoongi cursed under his breath. So much for trying to stay low profile.

“No, you don’t,” Yoongi replied, trying to get away from him, but he instead grabbed his arm.

“Yes, I do. I’ve seen you somewhere.” He called his friends over. “Do you know this guy?”

Gulping, Yoongi saw some of them nodded while the others shook their heads.

“I’m sure I’ve seen him before.” The drunk guy frowned, trying to remember where he met Yoongi. “Did you watch our speech?”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. There was no way this dude was a speaker there. He didn’t recall him at all.

“What’s going on here?” A booming voice came from behind him.

Yoongi turned around and sighed in relief when his eyes met with Y/n’s.

“Y/n! Have you ever met this guy?” The drunk guy pointed to him.

“Yes! He’s my friend. Get away from him.” Y/n yanked the guy’s hand off of Yoongi’s arm.

“Okay, geez.” The guy raised his hands in surrender and walked away.

Once the guy was out of ear sight, Y/n hissed, “What were you thinking? He’s a person you don’t wanna get involved with.”

“He approached me first,” Yoongi defended himself.

Y/n shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Just try not to get too close with him.” Y/n whispered in his ears, “He’s a fuckboy.”

Y/n took his hand and was about to pull him out of the party when suddenly another drunk guy stopped them.

Yoongi immediately recognized the boy to be Y/n’s ex, the one she was talking to back at the library.

“Y/n!” he called, pretending to be surprised, but Yoongi could see straight to him. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

Y/n snorted. “That’s supposed to be my line. Now, get out of my way.”

“No way. I haven’t seen you in weeks. I miss you.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “And I don’t. If you have some kind of self respect, please go away.”

“There’s no way you don’t miss me. Are you seeing someone else?” The boy nodded his head towards Yoongi. “Him?”

Y/n gave her ex a straight face for a few seconds. But then her face lightened up as she whispered to Yoongi, “Play along.”

“Yes!” she answered while linking her arm around Yoongi’s. “I’m with him.”

It was the ex’s turn to furrow his eyebrows.

He checked out Yoongi. From his face, down to his clothes and shoes. Scepticism was evident on his face.

“He doesn’t look very loaded,” the ex commented, much to Yoongi’s dismay.

Y/n shrugged. “At least he’s smarter than you.”

The ex’s attention was back on Y/n. Yoongi finally could draw a deep breath.

“He can’t possibly make you happy.”

“And your cheating ass can? Get out of my face.” Y/n pushed the ex away to the point he stumbled.

As Yoongi and Y/n walked past him, the ex yelled, “I’m marking your face, remember that.”

“Whatever. Just ignore him,” Y/n said.

“I’m assuming he’s your ex?” Yoongi asked though he already knew the answer. He could recognize the lanky boy anywhere.

“Yep. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did a lot by staying quiet.” Y/n chuckled softly as she shook her head. “He was looking for a fight, your silence confused him.”

“Why did you come to this party if it’s filled with problematic people?” he asked.

“I need to at least stop by. The club was my idea, after all.” Y/n shrugged. “Plus, not everyone there was problematic. Some are nice.”

Yoongi nodded. “I see.”

Y/n sighed. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

Resigning was another problem he had to deal with. First of all, he needed to make a letter of resignation which he didn't know how to make. Second of all, he had to print the letter though he didn’t have any printers. Third of all, he had to face his manager whom he only met once.

His manager stared deep into Yoongi’s eyes after reading his letter. “You have a new job?”

“Yes.”

“When will you start working there?” His boss tossed his letter to the trash can.

So much for trying to make a good letter.

“Two weeks from now.”

His boss pursed his lips for a moment before answering, “Okay, then. You may leave.”

“Thank you.”

Once he was outside his boss’ room, Yoongi exhaled in relief. His current job was coming to an end.

And so was his friendship with Y/n.

Three days before Yoongi left his current job, Y/n wanted to meet him in front of the campus after her class ended. He didn’t know why she wanted to meet him. After all, all she sent was a short text.

Meet me at 7 at the usual spot. Important!

He couldn’t help but to feel a sinking feeling at her last word. Did she find out about who he actually was? Or about the red string?

He was going to get his questions answered soon since he could already see the back of Y/n’s head.

But he didn’t even get the chance to greet her when Y/n turned around to face him and shoved her phone in front of Yoongi. A photo of him in a janitor uniform while holding a broom was displayed.

Yoongi stopped in his tracks and gasped. His eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Where did you get that?” Inside his deepest mind, he knew who’d taken the picture.

“What is this?” she demanded.

“I-”

“This is edited, right?” Her voice wavering, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re just a student just like me. Right?” She sounded desperate. Desperate to believe that Yoongi wasn’t lying to her.

All Yoongi could do was to look down and shake his head in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she sniffled. “I trusted you.”

“I wanted to tell you but I was looking for the right moment.”

“Bullshit! That’s all what they say. Have you ever thought of me as a friend?” She stared at Yoongi with so much venom in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/n wiped her tears aggressively. Her mascara started to run down her cheeks. She looked similar to the day at the library. The day Yoongi was making fun of her ex for being stupid. But this time, he was the stupid one.

“Stop saying sorry, dammit! What part of you are real? Are the company, the email, your internship all lies? Your ambitions, too?” At this point, her tears flowed freely down her face. “Answer my questions!” she yelled ferociously, not minding about passersby who stopped to watch them.

Yoongi really wanted to spill everything. From the library, the connected red string, then when it disappeared, the speech, and the friendship he’d gotten from it. But his mouth was sealed. Closed with the weight of the words.

With the lack of an answer, Y/n shove her phone back into her bag. She nodded and sniffled one last time.

“You’re just like my ex. A liar. A dirty, dirty liar.” She laughed sourly. “You know what’s funny?”

Yoongi shook his head.

“The fact that my ex was right all along. You can’t make me happy.” She visibly gulped, trying to hold back her tears. “Thanks for the friendship all this time. Goodbye.”

Just like that, she left his life without a trace.

Each word coming from her mouth attacked him like bullets. And it only hurt more every time he replayed it. He liked the pain, though. He deserved it after ruining his second friendship. He deserved it after hurting his friend.

The remaining days at his current job dragged on. He couldn’t focus at all. He kept forgetting his tasks, forgetting to turn off the ACs after the classes were over, getting scolded by his supervisor.

Not to mention that he found out Y/n had blocked him on every single of his social media, effectively cutting any means of communication.

“The manager told me you’re leaving. But I don’t want you to slack off,” his supervisor once said.

He wanted to scream at his supervisor, his manager, anyone that there was a giant tear in his heart. His heart was bleeding and it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. The best he could do was show up to work. But just like at the night when Y/n confronted him, his mouth was shut tight.

That same day, Namjoon visited him after his shift ended. While there was a twinkle in the leader’s eyes, Yoongi’s eyes were filled with void.

“I’m done with my research,” Namjoon said.

Yoongi sighed. He just wanted Namjoon to say whatever he had to say and leave him alone. Better if Namjoon cursed him too before he left.

“You’re actually in a good place.”

Yoongi wanted to laugh at that. Oh, the irony.

“She’s no longer your enemy. But, you're in a grey area right now. Play your cards right, and you'll find your true love. Take a step wrong, and you'll make a new enemy.”

“Look.” It was the first time he opened his mouth in front of Namjoon. “I know you’re just trying to help. But it’s too late.” He bit his bottom lip. “I already made her an enemy.”

Instead of curses, Yoongi was getting a warm, knowing smile.

“It’s to be expected, actually. Your string was attached to her, after all. I never said it was easy to make her your true love. Only that it was a possibility.”

“Then, do I still have the chance to-” He didn’t need to finish his question for Namjoon to know what he wanted to say.

“Since you’re no longer attached to her, your enemy status is not permanent.” Namjoon laughed. “So, I’d say, go for it.”

Yoongi stared at the ground in disbelief. Warmth emerged from his heart, where emptiness was once, and spreaded throughout his body.

“But she hates me,” he whispered.

“I’m not a counselor. But you might have a chance, if deep down she feels the same.”

That was the problem. He didn’t know if she felt the same.

On his last day, Yoongi was packing his stuff up from his locker, shoving it mindlessly into his old duffle bag.

His supervisor was leaning against the locker beside him with an envelope in hand.

“You’re actually leaving, huh?”

“I don’t break promises.” Yoongi zipped up his bag and closed the locker.

His supervisor handed him the envelope. “Here’s your pay. Thanks for working with us.”

With a curt smile, Yoongi accepted the money. His job here was done.

He was about to leave the perimeter of the campus, promising himself not to look back for the last time, when he heard someone shout his name. Someone he had been dying to talk to. Someone he’d be willing to break his promises for.

He turned around and came face to face with the owner of the voice.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time.

Yoongi gestured to Y/n to talk first.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain first. I was too caught up in my emotions.”

“No worries. It’s nothing compared to lying.”

“I've already come to terms with it. You were probably scared. It happens to the best of us.”

Yoongi nodded. “I was. This is better, actually. I don’t need to hide the truth anymore.”

“What were you scared of?”

He took a moment to respond. “I guess, being rejected.” It came out more like a question.

Y/n frowned. “Why would I reject you?”

“In my mind, you’re rich and amazing and perfect, basically everything a person wants to be. And because of that, I’m scared you’d think of me as being less than you.”

Y/n snorted. “I’m not perfect. My life is fucked up in its own way. I just never tell anyone about it.”

His mind reverted back to Y/n’s fight with her ex back at the library, and again at the party.

“I would never think of you less. Even if you lied to me.” Y/n flashed him a genuine smile, a sign that he had been forgiven. “Mistakes happen so we can learn from them. What’s important is that at least we acknowledge that and learn to be better.”

Yoongi nodded. He knew her words would ring in his ears for days as usual.

“May I know who took the photo?” he asked.

“My ex.”

His suspicion was confirmed. Somehow he felt even more at peace.

“He marks my face, no wonder.”

“I already told him not to mess with you again.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” Y/n shook her head.

Y/n looked down at the duffle bag in his hand. “You’re leaving now?”

“Yeah. It’s time for me to move on with my life.” ‘And move on from you’, he added in his mind.

“Do you wanna grab ice cream for the last time? For old time’s sake?”

Y/n scooped her ice cream as she said, “Stupidly, I forgot to give you the chance to explain yourself. Again.”

Yoongi shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

Y/n dropped her spoon. “It is for me. So for my sake, please explain.”

Just like that, Yoongi blurted everything out. Letting out everything that had been pulling him down. The fight at the library, the interview, and everything happened after that. Including the red string.

“Wait, red string?” Y/n furrowed her eyebrows.

“Right. You don’t believe the red string actually exists, do you? Well, I can see it.”

Y/n’s eyes widened as big as saucers. “Are you making up another lie?”

“Unfortunately, that’s the truth.”

Y/n leaned back in her chair as she snorted. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“Well, if you don’t believe me, you can ask Taehyung. You believe him, right?”

“Yeah, he’s still my friend.” She blinked her eyes repeatedly. “But what does that have anything to do with him?”

“He can see them, too. That’s how we know each other, actually.”

Y/n laughed in surprise. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.”

“We’re not crazy!” Yoongi searched for Taehyung’s contact in his phone. “Just talk to him first.”

After one ring, Taehyung picked up the call.

“Why are you calling me? I don’t want to talk to you until you’re telling her the truth.”

“I’m doing that right now, but I need your help.”

“For what?”

“Tell her about the red string, our red string, and the fact that we can see them because she doesn’t trust me.”

A shuffling sound could be heard in the background. “Okay. Give her the phone.”

During the entire phone call, Y/n was mostly nodding while saying, “Yes”, or, “Sure, or, “I understand.” Some questions were also thrown around like, “Mine was attached to Yoongi?”, and, “Mine disappeared?”

A few minutes later, the call ended and Yoongi’s phone was back in his hand.

“Wow,” that was all she said.

“So, do you believe me now?” Yoongi bit his bottom lip.

“Now I understand why you lied to me.” Y/n giggled. “Had you not lied to me, I wouldn’t come with you.”

“That was what went in my head at the time.”

“But what if I believed the red string? Or if I could see them?” Y/n teased before shoving her ice cream into her mouth.

Yoongi was stunned for a while. “I’d like to not think about that.”

Y/n laughed so loud it was etched into his head permanently.

The ice cream date could only go so long before they had to part ways and go home.

“So, this is goodbye?” he asked nervously, the duffle bag still clasped in his hands.

Y/n shook her head and smiled. “No. I believe this is a ‘see you later’.”

“See you later, then?”

“See you. When you’re famous, please have a collab with me so I can be famous, too.”

Yoongi let out a genuine laugh for the first time since the fight with Y/n.

Though parting and saying goodbye were never his forte, at least he could let out a laugh. He wouldn’t want his ‘see you later’ ruined with tears or sobs.

Not only Y/n’s laugh was stuck in his mind, the way Y/n’s hand flicked when she waved at him would also be another memory of her he treasured the most.

He swore to himself he still remembered the way to the administration office, but somehow all memories of the campus suddenly disappeared once he went past the gates.

As he was trying to recall where the administration office was, his thoughts were interrupted with a loud cheer coming from a group of girls in graduation gowns.

He frowned and stared at the group, showing his displeasure.

“Wait, Yoongi?” A girl ran away from the group and hugged him, making him stagger.

Yoongi was about to scold whoever just hugged him when his eyes landed on a familiar face. It was Y/n, his old crush.

“Y/n?” He stared at her attire. “You’re graduating?”

Y/n nodded while flashing her teeth at him. “Surprise!”

“You didn’t tell me you’re graduating.”

“Well, it’s been a year since we last met, right? It’s time for me to graduate. I’m sick of this place.” Y/n glared at him while pointing to the map he was holding. “And you didn’t tell me you’re a student here.”

“It’s only right to study here after working here.”

“Still! What about your work?”

“My boss wants me to pursue a higher education.”

“Oh, I see.” Y/n turned around to look at her friends before facing back to Yoongi. “I’m almost done with my stuff.” Her eyes glistened in mischief.

With a bored look, Yoongi asked, “What do you have in mind?”

He still remembered how outgoing Y/n was. It was something he liked about her.

“You finish whatever you need to do, then meet me at our usual spot, then we go for ice cream. What do you think?”

“Is it another celebration?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.”

Yoongi’s smile was enough as an answer.

[Masterlist]

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leth-writes · 3 months ago

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yandere Tim Drake x meta reader part two

summary: we find out more about what life is like now for the reader.

Warnings: The usual for my blog!

Tim had luminous green eyes. They were the most sickly green, almost glowing, you’d ever seen, pale and round and sunken into his skin like you could see the skull beneath his skin. It was like he was secretly a corspe walking around, without a soul. Sometimes you did think he didn’t have a soul.

Tim had basically changed your life completely in the span of a week. He was still the only one in the general population who could really see you, but he introduced you to his family, the Waynes, who were all able to see you as well, though none as clearly as Tim could. It was like there was something in the water that transformed their reasoning and observational abilities; you couldn’t even sneak down to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat without Alfred, the tall, lean family butler, greeting you. Though, most didn’t look you in the eyes. You thought it was because they had noticed how uncomfortable you got at direct eye contact, though Tim continued to stare into your eyes like he was trying to yank your soul out through your face. It was stressful, but you didn’t have any choice; you owed him. He’d got his dad to practically adopt you, letting you stay in the manor and giving you a whole host of things you hadn’t seen since you were a child, including the softest blanket you’d ever felt, and Bruce had gotten you a private tutor named Jonn, who was also able to see you. Jonn’s presence was a soothing balm on your frayed nerves, though you were loathe to admit that Tim was the cause of your anxiety. There was just something about him, afterall.

You had a new family, and things you could leave in your room without worrying they’d get stolen, and cute clothes, and a tutor… it was a better life than you’d ever had before. Yet, you felt guilty. Weren’t you taking too much? So, you approached Jonn one day, asking him to create a bracelet that would limit your abilities and let you be seen. It was the only way to be able to get a normal life and pay back your generous benefactors, though they insisted they didn’t need the gesture of kindness.

Jonn had complied; afterall, it wasn’t too hard to create one off of pre-existing schematics that were commonly used for cases similar to yours. He had gifted it to you in front of the entire family, who clapped and congratulated you. All except Tim, who leant in the corner with his arms crossed, looking out the window with those distant green eyes.

It had only been a week since you got the bracelet when it first went missing. You searched everywhere, high and low, including getting the others in on the search, to no avail. You had only the family bedrooms left to search, though you’d have to be quick. In and out, quick as you could manage, you searched Jason, Dick, and Damian’s rooms. Then you crossed over and searched Bruce and Cass’s rooms. Finally, you knocked on Tim’s door. It was just a formality at this point, you couldn’t imagine him misplacing it. Faced with no response, you opened the door. And spotted the box.

You’d never seen this box before. It was plain, nondescript. A faded grey, it looked slightly aged and well-loved. Pulling off the lid, you found photos. dozens and dozens of photos. Most were of you, though a few were of Tim’s other family members. Dick, Jason, even Bruce all made appearances, clearly going back years before you’d ever met. Hell, some seemed to be from before Jason had even joined the family, and well before Tim had met the Waynes or lost his parents. How did he get these? There were pictures of you sleeping, walking, breaking into buildings and the school library, even changing… most were from before you’d ever met Tim. Underneath it all was your bracelet, pulled apart into small wires and bits.

“Oh, you’ve found the box,” Bruce’s voice rang out from behind you. You whirled around, watching as he shut and locked Tim’s door, staring at you with a clear, blank expression you’d never seen on his normally joyful face. “It’s Tim’s?” You replied, voice trembling.

He sighed, leaning against the door and crossing his arms. “Yes, it belongs to Tim. I know it seems creepy, but you have to understand… Tim isn’t like us. He doesn’t experience emotion in the same way we do, he never learned the normal boundaries of relationships, growing up the way he did. He uses his camera as a way to capture us, to keep us with him, it’s his way of keeping us safe when he can’t act.”

“They’re from before he met me.” You said, voice hard and cold.

“Yes. Tim tends to stake out anyone he finds particularly interesting. That’s why most of the photos are so old. Think of it as his way of doing research. He feels the need to build our family by snatching up people he thinks of as his, moving around the pieces of our lives until we can be safetly integrated. It’s not so bad, you get used to it.” He continued.

“My parents…” You began, almost too afraid to ask.

“Yes. He planted the idea of a surprise move, a new start. They were being haunted by the ghost of a child they’d never known, and Tim needed a way to get you into position. He’s got a very strategic mind.” Bruce supplied, once again adopting that soft smile you’d grown used to. “Don’t worry, he only does it because he cares. You should see what he does to his enemies…”.

Tim Drake saw you in a way no one else had before.

#lethwrites #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere tim drake #yandere tim drake x reader

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yeyinde · 1 year ago

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lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

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biribaa · 3 months ago

Note

first request ever bcs im so down bad for dw...

is there any way you could do astro x reader hcs / one shot where they sleep in the same bed? eergrhhffhj im so happy i found ur page!!! dw x reader writers are literally non existent,,, :((

Sweet dreams(Astro x reader)

Thats why im here DW fandom💥💥

TW/CW: none ig

Toons werent allowed to sleep until midnight, that was a strict rule that everyone was aware of, and one that the toon handlers took very seriously. Of course toons were innocent bqck in that time, but god knows what clumsiness they could commit.

Another strict rule, which annoyed you even more, was that Toons couldn't sleep together. To prevent mess as well.

The current situation in Garderview was bothering. No, no... "Bothering" is a weak word for all this. It is hell. To be take away from a comforting life in seconds leaved everyone, including you, too shocked to even process anything. Now you had to run and pray to find some machine that could save your life.

But deep down you had to admit the good parts of it, not that you would ever say "thank you" to Dandy. The stricts rules are gone, toon handlers as well... It leaded you to a idea.

Today, both you and Astro were just exploring the floors, in search of anything that was left untouched by twisteds, or even Dandy himself. With Astro, hide from twisteds wasn't that hard as you thought it would be, he always hided you behind him, warning with whispers about any nearer twisted. Even in danger, he was so careful.

"... I think my bedroom should be around here." Astro commented, unsure of his own words as his eyes searching around the area.

"Your bedroom?" You answer, in which Astro hums back as a affirmative.

Puzzled, Astro frowned during his search. Pieces of his remarkable memories coming back together. The wallpaper was familar, the floor as well, and as his eye followed these details, he came face to face to a door.

With little hesitation, the moon reached for the knob, and the moment a grasp was open, he reached his head to glance inside. A weird nostalgia coming to him.

When Astro opened the door completly, you could see what remained of his bedroom. Just from being behind him, you could see much of it remained the same, but the rest that wasn't untouched, was left in the ground, like small objects.

Astro paced to the inside, reaching for the switch. The lights flickered for a moment, but with a little patient, it standed still.

"Geez." He mumbled.

You walked to his side, a part of you worried about his reaction. "Well... It looks liveable."

Glacing to the side, you were caught by surprise when noticing Astro had a soft smile in his face.

"It does."

Relieve hit you. Your eyes followed Astro as he almost immediatly walked towards his bed. A chuckle coming from you, but deep down you couldn't really blame him for it.

His back hit the rounded bed, you could taste his satisfaction just from his expression, closed eyes and a small smile... This reaction was rare coming from him in those times, seeing all the struggles he and many others face.

You snapped back to reality, noticing Astro shyly reaching a arm from his coat, to your direction. It took you a few seconds to realize he was actually... Asking you to approach. Calm moments like those with Astro was rare nowadays, and even more back then. Even flurstered, you couldn't refuse the invitation.

With delicacy, you pace towards him, laying you body just by Astros side. For a second, your spine shiver, you forgot how cold Astros skin was, but you leaned to it quickly, resting your head by his chest and placing your hand over him.

Without both of you realizing, the doors was already locked, the blanket was covering you and Astro, and his second pair of arms were already revelead to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to his cold skin. All you could do is rest over him.

Taking a quick peak from one of your eyes, you glance at Astros face. Eye closed, a soft smile set... its been a while since you saw him like this, specially with the current situation. Satisfied, you close your eyes, allowing yourself to finally rest in his grasp for once.

#x reader #canon x reader #reader insert #dandys world x reader #astro x reader

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illubean · 6 months ago

Note

can i request illumi, leorio, and feitan with an crush/unestablished relationship with a gn!reader who just out of the blue one day goes "heheh what if we kissed... just kidding!"

What If We Kissed...?

Characters: Leorio Paladaknight, Illumi Zoldyck, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Fluff, Gn!reader

kissy wissy time

Warnings: none

Leorio Paladaknight

"Wha- YOU CAN'T JUST SAY STUFF LIKE THAT!"

he will grip you by your shoulders and stare dead into your eyes and be like "take it back"

take what back you may ask? your 'just kidding' of course

you stare back at him confused for a moment and when you're like "hah?" he's like "say ong and I will kiss you rn"

his eyes are practically begging you to give him the green light

and when you do this man puts all the passion in his body into that kiss

when he pulls away it leaves you dazed and there's a light pink hue that dusts over his cheeks

he pulls you into an embrace and uses this as the perfect moment to confess his feelings

the kiss pretty much did it already but he still had to ask you out!

Illumi Zoldyck

he kissed you before you could even get to the "just kidding" part (only if you're alone tho)

it was a quick, little awkward peck on the lips that you didn't even have time to react to

in his head you're already dating, the concept of a situationship does not exist to this man

you're affectionate with him and he flirts back you're literally in a relationship (even if his way of flirting is so painfully abnormal)

Illumi thinks things like holding the door for you or walking on the outside of the sidewalk is flirting but it's literally NOT

babes that is common courtesy

and he is so confused when you're surprised that he likes you 😭

and if you get flustered after he kissed you he's like "What? That's what you asked for"

and then he just CONTINUES ABOUT HIS DAY LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED

THAT CLUELESS BASTARD.

Feitan Portor

he gives you a sideways glance after you ask your question

then rolls his eyes after you tell him you're joking

he was genuinely considering it for a moment but not that he'd ever admit it

"the answer would've been no anyways" you little liar

and when you start complaining that turns into teasing him for being scared to kiss you he might just grab you by the face and prove you wrong

he quite literally smashes his lips against yours

the kiss is rough but in a good way, and it leaves you breathless

as you try to catch your breath you can see a mischievous smirk peek from behind Feitan's cloak mask thingy

he asked you a question that went in one ear out the other, and all you can offer in response is a breathy "...huh??"

and his smirk grows even wider when he asks "Cat got your tongue?"

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sexyandcringe · 6 months ago

Text

Hopeless romantic

Part 1 ◇ Part 2

Warnings: none except mentions of readers past traumas, mention of sexual objectification.

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt no comfort.

A/n: it's my first long-fic, please be nice :)

You're not used to being loved.

Your parents were always strict, hardly ever showing their affection, you didn't even have any close friends until you started working, where you found your best friend who showed you the blessings of a platonic love; but time passes and things happen, you had to move out of the town, leave your one true friend behind.

You are not used to love but especially romantic love, because all men did was see you as the object of their sexual desires, or maybe a good time-pass until a better one came along. Never as a person with feelings, never as a woman who loved them more than they loved her.

Sometimes you were too much, sometimes you weren't enough.

Too affectionate, too clingy, too dramatic, too loud. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not horny enough. You tried and tried to be more, to be less, to be loved, but despite your efforts, love remained elusive, even with women.

So, after years of hoping and yearning, you resigned yourself to a loveless existence.

It is not to say that you never felt happy; even if you didn’t have love, you had fun and drama, you had friends to drink with (accompanied by the ting of pain the day after), you had a lot of books to read (leaving a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you finished one), you had dates and clothes and all the good and beautiful things in life and you've learned to appreciate these fragments of happiness.

But sometimes you get lonely.

You are used to it at this point, the crushing weight in your chest at 11 PM is your daily ritual before you finally give in to sleep.

So when you see Osamu Miya’s warm smile as he greets you in his restaurant, you battle to stop your stupid crazed heart, which is currently trying to jump out of your mouth.

You are just a client, his smile doesn’t mean anything, he is only doing his job, and you have seen him give the same smile to the old ladies who only order a coffee and linger to chatter for more than two hours, too. He’s a professional, after all. You are a regular and all he wants is your money, the bastard.

(you completely ignore the fact that he remembers details about you that no one bothers to remember; like the colour of your jewellery, the names of the dogs in your shelter or how your eyeliner is a little glittered today.)

Still, you are glad you got to know him. If anything, at least he is a good friend to you, always listening to what you have to say and filling your stomach with delicious food.

“ ‘Evening, Y/N. The usual?” He asks. You nod as you sit on the corner of the counter, the same seat you sat on the first day you came in.

(Osamu puts a “Reserved” sign on it every day until your arrival, not letting anyone else sit on it because it’s yours. But you don’t need to know that.)

You chatter with Tsumoto, the part-timer student who works in his shop, about his new crush, giving him advice you wouldn’t listen to nor follow from somebody else, and just as you are about to tell him that he should just write love letters to his crush, the doorbell rings; a pretty girl with dark long hair and the body of a goddess walks in, looking around for something, or better, for someone.

“‘Samuuu!” she calls him just as he comes out of the kitchen, and his face lights up, his arms envelop her figure and her lips meet his cheeks in an affectionate gesture.

… what?

“Emi! How are you, doll?” his voice holds tenderness as he guides the girl to one of the seats available, “Have a seat, I'll fix something up for you.”

She is a beautiful girl indeed, her hair flutters in the air like sea waves and her deep green eyes would make any man weak in his knees. She graces him with a smile, her flawless teeth gleaming.“A coffee is enough ‘Samu, I’m going to meet a friend soon.”

“Roger that!” he nods, signaling to Tsumoto for the order, before returning his attention to her.

He looks happy, you don’t think he has ever looked at you with this much fondness, and you’ve never witnessed any girl embrace him, let alone kiss his cheek. Hell, you didn’t even know if he had any female friends who were not his friends’s girlfriends.

(You feel your vision blur and something clenches in your chest. You swallow it down.)

You have no idea what they are talking about, you are not listening, all you can think about is how much you feel so so stupid. You didn’t hope for anything, you tried not to hope for anything at all, but feelings are hard to get rid of, especially if you see the one causing these feelings every week.

You look at them talking like best friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time and the feeling of inadequacy gnaws at you. You wonder if you ever even stood a chance to begin with. You yearned to be someone close to Osamu, someone who could give him hugs and kisses easily, someone who knew everything about him; you yearned to be part of his inner circle, but now you feel utterly stupid and delusional. Of course, he would never see you in that light, his affection is reserved only for a pretty girl like her. Of course he wouldn’t even think about getting physical with you. What were you even thinking?

Of course, you can’t be part of his world.

Reblogs are really appreciated! - Part 2

#Osamu x reader #Osamu miya x reader #Haikyuu x reader #Haikyuu #Osamu miya #Haikyuu comfort #Haikyuu fluff #Haikyuu angst #Osamu angst #Osamu miya angst #Osamu miya comfort #Osamu miya fluff

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dixons-sunshine · 7 months ago

Text

Beside The River—Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl found you annoying. You were way too talkative and you seemed to enjoy ruining his serene moments beside the river. So why did he find himself disappointed when you seemingly didn't show up by the river one day?

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre apocalypse.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/n: This is specially dedicated to someone who recently discovered my blog and has been nothing but sweet about this au. I know I said requests are closed, but she gave this idea and I had to write it. I hope you like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Daryl didn't care. With his mom dead, his father being an abusive, raging alcoholic and Merle in and out of jail, he just didn't have it in himself to care anymore. His mere twelve years of existence was plagued with nothing but suffering, and he doubted that things would ever get better. The world was designed to work against people like him.

Then you moved with your mom to the trailer park. Daryl remembered that day vividly—he was petting some stray dog when a small moving van had pulled up to the trailer home that had stood vacant for years up until that point. You and your mom had worked alongside one another to unload the few boxes from the vehicle, and soon after, you had spotted him. You had sent him a huge grin and waved at him enthusiastically, but Daryl couldn't return the kind gesture. He just didn't have it in him to do so. He just turned around and stalked off, hoping that was the end of it.

That next day, Daryl was sitting by the river behind the trailer park. In some cruel turn of events, you had stumbled upon his hiding place. Without even asking for an invitation, you had plopped yourself down beside him and introduced yourself, happily rambling on about whatever was on your mind—that day, it was about how much you loved the scenery that surrounded the river. Daryl didn't say anything, hoping that you'd get the idea and leave him alone after that first day, but you didn't. You returned the next day as well, greeted him with that cheerful smile of yours and started talking about nothing in particular.

That went on every day for an entire month. Daryl never talked, never so much as managed a meaningless greeting or a slip of his name. He just sat there and listened to your rambling. Sometimes he contemplated not showing up; he could just find another place to relax, a place you wouldn't find, but then he reminded himself that the river was his spot. He found it first. One day, you'd realize that he didn't want your friendship and leave him be. He just had to stay strong until then.

He told himself he found you annoying. What kind of person keeps on going back to a person that never speaks, someone who's name you don't even know? He didn't care about you, and he certainly didn't care whether or not you showed up.

So why was he kind of feeling disappointed that you weren't showing up that day? Everyday, like clockwork, you'd show up at three pm, but it was already almost five pm, and you were a no-show.

Had you gotten the hint? Had you finally realized that Daryl was a lost cause and you would never get through to him? Would he ever see you again? And why the hell did he care whether or not he did?

Daryl sighed to himself and hugged his knees to his chest, staring at the blue water of the river. He was just about to get up and throw in the towel for the day when he heard rustling behind him.

“Hey! Sorry I'm late. I had some chores I needed to get done.”

Daryl couldn't explain the relief that flooded through his body. As he looked up and saw you approach with that happy smile of yours, he couldn't help the twinge of happiness that tugged at his being. You showed up, and as you placed a basket down beside him and removed your shoes to walk around in the shallow water, he couldn't help the way his lips twitched up into a small smile.

You walked around in the shallow water, sending him a smile. “You know, I saw that,” you told him, giggling at the confused look on his face. “The smile. That's the first time I've managed to get a smile out of you. Don't tell me you're starting to like me, Reaper. That would be the end of the world as we know it.”

Reaper. That was the stupid nickname you gave to him because of the Grim Reaper on his shirt he had worn the first time you joined him by the river. He guessed he couldn't blame you; you didn't know his name, so you had to improvise. Besides, from everything he had been called before, he couldn't be mad about Reaper. It wasn't the worst nickname in the world.

“You know, even though you don't talk, I'm actually enjoying your company. I know I can be annoying. Believe me, my grandparents never let me hear the end of it. But it's nice to know that I haven't scared you o—Woah!”

Before you could finish your sentence, you slipped on a rock and fell into the water. A huge splash formed around you, and you flailed around to get into a seated position. Once you managed to raise into a position where your head was no longer under water, you were pleasantly surprised to hear the sound of someone's soft laughter—Daryl's soft laughter.

“Careful. Heard the rocks 'round here ain't exactly dry.”

You were shocked, but a smile soon spread over your face. You let out a shocked laugh and shook your head, splashing some water in his direction.

“Yeah, you don't say, Sherlock?”

Daryl chuckled and got up, offering a hand to you. You accepted his offer and allowed him to pull you up, but not without splashing some more water at him first. He rolled his eyes and stepped back, turning around to sit back down in his previous spot.

“Well, now that I know you can speak,” you began, wringing the water from your shirt. “Could I maybe get your name now?”

Daryl shrugged, casting his eyes down to the ground. “Dun' know. Wha' do I get in return?”

“Well, I brought some snacks and sodas. You get first pick. How's that for a deal?”

Daryl looked up at you, feeling shy underneath your bright smile. He contemplated his choices; on one hand, he didn't want to start revealing things about himself. The less you knew, the better. However, on the other hand, he had already broken his promise to himself and talked to you, so he supposed he could offer you a name.

“Ya got a coke in there?” he questioned, crossing his arms over his legs.

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Daryl,” he responded after a few beats of silence. “My name's Daryl.”

You smiled brightly at him. “It's nice to officially meet you, Daryl. I have a feeling we're gonna be great friends.”

“Do I have a say in the matter?”

“Nope,” you giggled. “You're stuck with me now.”

For some unknown reason, as you grabbed a can of coke and handed it to him, Daryl realized that he didn't fully hate the sound of that.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

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atzfilm · 1 year ago

Text

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [3] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); yunho x reader; 10.9k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind. also note: these chapters are very much introductory of each character & their roles, so smut is further down the line ♡.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping, emotional turmoil, injuries, descriptions of gore, needles

Chapter 3:

The days seem to drag on. Rarely do you run into anyone else in the home. Awake at early hours of the morning, grab something from the kitchen, stay in your designated room throughout the day. It's a routine you've made for yourself; none of the Unseelie bother you. They leave you alone to your thoughts, even Wooyoung, surprisingly. So here you are, peeling off the skin of an orange as you sit on the balcony. Tossing it to the ground below, taking slow bites. Do the townspeople worry? Now that you're gone, do they wonder what happened? Has anyone seen the aftermath of your shop – back door ripped from its hinges, bookshelves broken, piled on top of one another? Do they care?

Has Soobin come back yet?

Your eyes move to the loud steps on the porch to the left of you. Yunho stands there with someone. You're not too sure, you've never seen this faerie before. Height matches Yunho's, arms crossed as he speaks. You can't hear what they're arguing about, their eyes flicking up to you. You pause in your eating. Yunho nods, a small smile on his lips. The other doesn't say anything, giving you his back. He leaves the house behind, ignoring the yells of Yunho. Your teeth almost puncture your bottom lip at the sight. You expected him to walk through the barrier they've created, but his clothing shreds in an instant, body disappearing from view. The pieces slowly float to the dirt.

There's no reason for you to be shocked at all since they are Unseelies, but seeing someone dissipate, just like that?

What have you gotten yourself into?

"He's having a moment, no need to be alarmed," Wooyoung says. You jump at the sound of his voice, looking to the side of you. He sits on the railing, leg swinging. "Mingi doesn't like to be put in a situation he can't take control of. Yunho just told him about you staying. He isn't exactly happy about it."

"I didn't choose this," you murmur.

Wooyoung shrugs, "And that's what makes him more angry. You didn't choose to stay so he can't be angry with you. He trusts us, our opinions. So when his own thoughts conflict with ours, it's a lot for him. He then turns into that raven and leaves for a while."

"Hm."

Wooyoung turns to you. His clothing is loose, a brown, sheer robe draping over his lean frame. The shoes are long gone, tan skin shown. You can see the outline of his chest, the transparent material not leaving much to the imagination. If you squint, you're sure there's tattoos decorating his skin. But you look away after the brief silence, not wanting to let your eyes linger on him longer than they have to.

"We're having a harvest celebration soon," he begins. "Other faeries and Unseelies will be joining."

A party at a time like this? And while you're out and about in the hallways? Unseelie aren't tolerant of humans from what you can see. This occasion will only lead to terrible things.

"When?"

"Tonight," he smiles. "Right in our dining hall and parlor. It'll be fun. Happens once a year. You should join, pretty."

"A human celebrating with faeries? Sounds like a recipe for a disaster."

His grin widens, "Even better, no? Everyone in our spark will be there. You'll get to see all of us at once. Instead of avoiding us at every chance you get like you've been doing for the past couple of days. We've all noticed by the way."

"I'm here for Seonghwa’s tests and nothing more. I don't have a reason to go to that party."

"But you do, solaris." The nickname slips off his tongue with ease, as if you didn't yell at him days prior for it. Again, another silly mistake on your part to think he'd ever stop. "Trust me when I say it'll be advantageous to not try to avoid this one. Luck won't be on your side." He waves, sliding off the banister. You look down to see if he landed but he vanished from sight completely. Another thing you haven't exactly gotten used to. Knowing they're Unseelies is one thing, but seeing the magic first hand is another. You stand up from your spot, stomach growling.

This time of day is what you dislike the most – the Unseelie are roaming, doors opening and closing, laughter echoing through the hallways. Instead of it being comforting it only causes you anxiety. Their promises of not hurting you fall on deaf ears. You don’t doubt that whenever they are finished with their experimentation, they will end your life. It is mindless for you to even stick around here.

“Not like I have much of a choice,” you murmur, glancing at your bedroom door. A soft knock startles you, but you walk to it anyway, swinging it open. Seonghwa stands there, eyes flicking over your attire before meeting your eyes. The Unseelie provided you with sleepwear – which you vehemently refused. So you soaked your own clothing in soapy water last night and let it hang dry until early dawn. It’s more than wrinkled, still a little damp from the lack of sunlight in the forest.

“You didn’t take the clothing.” he states. It’s not a question, so you don’t bother answering. His eyes narrow. “You look unkempt.”

“You would say that even if I wore what you gave me.”

“Being stubborn will only get you so far, human. Here,” he holds out a small container, filled with breakfast food. Why it bothers you that he did not deny your words is beyond your own comprehension. “I need you to eat before I pull more samples. Having you faint is not ideal.”

You hesitate. The rules you’ve written down play over and over in your head. The first one on the list that you have no choice but to break. Do not eat what they offer. You take it from him, thanking him quickly. He merely shrugs, turning on his heel.

“Follow me. Close, please. The others are around all late morning into the afternoon and I’d rather not have any distractions pulling you away.”

You take his word for it, sliding an apple slice between your lips as you follow. A loud crash echoes around the hallway and Seonghwa glances to the side for a moment. His brow quirks in irritation, looking back at you. “Ignore him, he’s starting trouble again.”

“I’m not,” Wooyoung’s loud tone echoes through the hallways and you definitely take the advice of Seonghwa, stepping a bit closer to him. Seonghwa enters his lab, holding the door open for you. You step inside and he takes the key from the lock immediately, slipping it into his pocket as he closes the door. He sees the questions in your eyes, and nods.

“If I didn’t we’d have another surprise guest. Yunho will be back soon, so while we wait we should continue with testing. Please take a seat across from that table,” he points further into the room. Just like his library, the lab is neatly organized, books of equal height shelved next to each other, binders of what you can assume is research, labeled and placed in height order. Vials line the wall as you sit, Seonghwa’s steps silent as he sinks in the seat across from you. Between the door and you sitting he somehow changed his clothing, a lab coat covering his attire, sleeves lifted and gloves stretched over his fingers. He holds out his hand, palm up. You place your hand in his, and he thanks you, reaching for the syringe.

“I didn’t think I’d need more blood from you,” he starts, pulling off a tab. He curses to himself, placing it on the table and reaching for a small alcohol pad, wiping off your skin. “But one of my spark took some blood off my shelf, mistakenly with your sample as well.”

You’re not too sure how to feel about your blood being stolen.

He senses your perturbation as well, continuing. “We prefer not to conjure blood curses unless absolutely necessary. Despite us being Unseelie, the process to perform creates a heavy burden on our bodies. As to your blood and well, human blood overall, we use it to aid in potions and other things. Nothing with much substance. San used it to assist with something he was practicing with Yeosang.”

“Your explanation only makes me worry more.” And you haven't the slightest idea on who these people are that he's mentioning.

“No need to, we can’t truly bind you to anything if your mind and soul are not willing,” he lifts a tub, inserting another into the holder. His hand holds your arm, eyes glancing at your upper arm. You cannot see it, but something wraps tightly around it, lifting your skin. He presses his finger against your vein again, before slowly sliding the needle beneath the surface. The pressure is gone as you watch him fill the vials.

“Wooyoung told me you were displeased with the nickname he uses for you,” he glances at you, placing another tube in the holder. “You should be thankful. It’s rare that he cares for something enough to create one.”

“Is it necessary? My name is y/n, nothing more,” you say. “My partner didn’t even call me anything other than my name.”

"He never used nicknames with you." He states matter-of-factly.

"He always thought they were a bit silly," you murmur. You notice Seonghwa gaze lingering on you in the silence. "What? Is that so strange?"

Seonghwa furrows his brows. "Not quite. But I've seen how humans interact. How they create nicknames for ones they are fond of. It seems strange that your partner of several years wouldn't make up something endearing."

His observation makes your thoughts muddle. Soobin cared for you in ways you can’t quite describe. Did it ever bother you that he only called you by your name? Not at all. But the more you dwell on it, the more your stomach turns. You decide to change the conversation. "Are you saying you are fond of me, Seonghwa?"

“I’ve never used a nickname for you.”

You widen your eyes, “Did an Unseelie just lie?”

He scowls. "I’m not lying. Why would I call you anything else?"

“You call me human almost every time you see me. Is that not a nickname?”

Deadpanned, he continues, “Calling you what you are isn’t exactly what I’d consider a nickname, y/n. As I have said before, you are just an experiment.”

"And if I weren't?" you tease, leaning forward. "What's the first thing you think of when you see me? An annoyance? Irritating?" It's only a way to poke his buttons, but he just stares at you, thinking. Quite hard. The silence is long enough that you lean back, clearing your throat. "I was kidding."

"I wouldn't be able to call you anything other than beautiful, y/n, if I were so fond of you. You are kind and merciful, proud and resilient. Human words cannot describe it. I can see why your former partner adored you; it's hard not to."

You're not sure what else to say, his words more than shocking. He cannot lie. He believes everything he just said. And that scares you.

"You're afraid," He says simply.

"Yes."

"Of?"

What a hard question. "This. What you just said."

"I can't see why. Beauty comes in many forms," he explains, sliding out the needle. He grabs a small square of gauze, pressing it lightly into your arm. "It would be foolish of me not to see it in you. Have you forgotten that before all of this that us two were friends? Even if it was manufactured by me at the time, it shouldn't be surprising that I feel this way. I've seen how you've interacted with other humans. You are kind, patient, soft spoken. You fear what you cannot predict, but you don't let it stop you from continuing. Even now, you are worried about a bookstore that is not even yours. I am not lying when I say that I find your existence beautiful in itself. Humans are often selfish. But you, you seem the opposite."

He places a bandaid over the hole, "Done for now."

You nod slowly, holding your arm close. Seonghwa pushes the food closer to you, standing up and taking the vials. Not often are you left speechless. From what you know, what you've read, Unseelie do not love the same way as humans. He probably doesn't understand how words like that could affect you. Yes, that's right. It's an objective look, an affirming statement. Nothing more than observations.

Seonghwa moves to the door, opening it. Yunho enters, resting his jacket on the coat rack. His eyes relax when they meet yours, waving. "There you are, pretty girl. Sorry for my late arrival. Our meeting lasted longer than deemed necessary. Quite annoying," he glances at Seonghwa. "The tests are what we talked about, correct?"

Oh.

The two of them talk to each other, but your mind is stuck. Glued even. How could he let those two words just slide from his lips? Pretty. Girl. No. Your mind is playing tricks on you, you decide. Yunho is kind, sweet even. But that? That.

You can't even begin to fathom the reason.

"y/n?"

You're pulled out of the depth that is your thoughts, Seonghwa waiting. "Do you feel faint? Should we wait until you've eaten more? You look as if you've seen a specter."

You shake your head. "No. I'm good. Perfect even." The grin you plaster on your cheeks must be horrendous, Seonghwa’s lips forming a scowl.

"We'll continue, then. You would think that a human being able to lie meant that they could perform it with ease. That doesn't seem to be your case, though."

This time you frown. "Thanks for that, Seonghwa."

He shrugs. "Truth hurts. Yunho will perform his tests now with you. I'm not needed for this, so I'll be in my library. Hesitate to bother me, please." He exits, tossing the key to Yunho. Said man locks the door, turning to you.

"Is he always this grumpy?" You ask.

"Unfortunately yes. Shall we begin?"

The test is simple.

Yunho holds out his hand, you take his. His eyes rest on yours as he tries to listen to your thoughts. It's easy enough, not much that you need to do. The others have said it failed previously, so it's very likely that it may fail again this time around. The likelihood of it does not settle your heart though. It still thumps against your chest as it always does when any of them are around. A defense mechanism, sure. No way for you to control it. Your palms aren't free from the nerves either, clammy. You wipe them on your pants for the nth time.

"If I can listen it'll prove enough. My perception abilities only go so far. I'm not as majikly inclined compared to San or Mingi. Rarely do I ever use it, I won't linger longer than I need to."

"Do you promise?" It may be an empty one, but you must be sure. It'll help your heart stop hammering against your chest.

"Of course. A test now and nothing more," he assures you, palm resting on the table, waiting for your hand. The moment is slow, your palm dropping onto his. He lets his long fingers curl into yours. "Look at me, pretty girl."

"...Can I talk?" You ask, and he nods.

You meet his gaze. The brown of his eyes and hair begin to slowly change. Brown darkening into a deep burgundy, lighting up the more you look at him. The situation is strange in itself, but his eyes are still kind.

"Why do you call me that?" You ask.

His lips quirk, "Pretty girl?"

Your fingers tighten slightly in his hold, before nodding. "Yes. That."

"I overheard the conversation between you and Seonghwa. How your former partner never called you anything special. I thought it was… weird, I suppose. Since I first saw you, I thought you were pretty. And," he glances away from you for a moment. Your mind must be playing games – pink begins to dust his cheek. No way. He wouldn't be blushing, would he? No. Just a trick of the eye. Probably because of his red hair. "It's the first thing that came to mind when I saw you sitting here waiting for me. I couldn't help it. I do find you pretty, y/n. It shouldn't be that strange to you."

You use your free hand to rub the frown lines on your face. "Ah. No. I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Why?"

"I mean, Yunho…" It's hard to explain when he's looking at you like that.

Guilt begins to rise. You shouldn't be this way. But the more you listen to him, the more wrong you feel. It's only been a few months without Soobin. Entertaining someone, especially a faerie, an Unseelie… you can't. Not when you really haven't moved past your ex-boyfriend. You still think of him daily. No matter how warm someone else looks at you, you just can't. Not now.

"I hope you keep that nickname to yourself," you say. "I don't think I want to hear it from you."

"Oh," you don't notice the change in his expression. It's subtle. Brows slightly arching, an irritated twitch of his lips. It disappears when you look at him. "I never wish to make you uncomfortable."

"You don't make me uncomfortable," you state this plainly, sure to keep your tone neutral. "But I'm just not used to things like that. I hope you understand."

"I do," he nods. "But if there comes a time when you're not so hesitant, please tell me. I wouldn't mind calling you that instead of your name, y/n."

It's no surprise his simple words make your heart skip a beat.

"Okay. Thank you for listening to me," you say. His head tilts, eyes still on yours.

"No need. Still can't read those thoughts of yours," Finally looking away, he sighs. His fingers slip from yours, the warmth gone. "I guess we'll have to try something else. Or just wait and see what Seonghwa has found."

Just like that. You pull your hand back into your lap and enclasp your fingers. Hoping that same warm feeling will come back somehow.

Silly.

"What will you do when you find out?" You ask.

He thinks. "Figure out a way to stop humans from having your trait, ability, whatever it may be. Your existence is one thing. If you're one in a billion, a slip in the evolution process, then that's fine to us. We just can't have it happen over and over again, you see. But I'm sure you know the reason why. You're not a selfish one."

He stands, adjusting his shirt. "You didn't eat much. May I…?"

You look at the assortment of fruit Seonghwa gave you, most just picked at. You nod, expecting him to grab the ones you haven't really touched. Instead, he takes one of the apple slices you've bitten already, sliding it between his lips.

"Tasty," he grins. "You taste good."

You can't control your blinks, confusion etched into your features. No, you couldn't have heard that right. No. So many thoughts cross your mind, many not too appropriate for the situation you're in at this very moment. Yunho grabs another fruit you bit into, humming. "Sweet."

Your eyes widen.

"Something wrong?" He asks, darkened eyes staring unrelentingly. The air in the room feels denser, thickened with his mere look. You can't look away even if you want to, fingers digging into your pants.

"I put the samples away," Seonghwa enters the room. Yunho breaks eye contact with you and you let out a long breath, chest throbbing from how hard your heart was racing. Yunho's expression is back to how it usually is, soft eyes following Seonghwa’s walk. As if he did not just freeze you into this very spot. If Seonghwa notices anything he doesn't say a word, grabbing his fleece off a chair and sliding his arms inside.

"Hongjoong wants to see you." He looks to you, gaze roaming over your clothing. "I would prefer if you wore something more appropriate when meeting him. Dressing as you are now is a bad look."

"He wouldn't care if she wore nothing, Seonghwa," Yunho shrugs. "You know that. And there's nothing wrong with her attire now. You cannot expect her to scroll around with those horrid faerie clothing you've given her. None of it fits properly."

"I said that I would prefer it. Hongjoong is a different character," Seonghwa rolls his eyes. "But it doesn't matter. He wants to see you now, so there's no use in trying to change. Come, human. Yunho, San needs you to help with the decor. Jongho is having another fit."

Yunho's jolly expression breaks for a second, an irritated twitch in his brow. "Has he broken the lighting again?" He nods, a groan escaping him. "Perfect." He bows his head at you before leaving.

"Come," Seonghwa turns to you. "Or would you rather help with the mess?"

"I'd rather not be here at all."

Seonghwa cracks a smile, "Don't we all?"

You stand from your spot. Just as you're about to leave, Seonghwa hesitates. You cannot utter a word because he starts first.

"Take his words with caution. Hongjoong is a character to say the least. Though most of us are straightforward with our words, Hongjoong likes to play a lot with it. You cannot be sure of what's next to come out."

"What are you telling me this for? To run?"

He turns around. The solemn expression makes your own mask slip. "If needed, yes. I will not be far unless someone pulls me away. But on the off chance that I'm not around, don't waste time to leave. The barrier is gone right now. You'd have a better time escaping the woods than staying with him."

"He's your leader, no?"

Seonghwa nods, "And this is why I'm telling you what I am. Be careful, y/n. You are a mere rabbit in his eyes. Nothing more than that."

—

Seonghwa’s words repeat over and over in your head. A mere rabbit. Prey. You're not foolish to know that your stay here is temporary. Hiding your anxiety at the situation is what you've done, what you've been doing. But having to pretend in front of the leader, holding back your fear? You don't even know what he looks like.

Why did Soobin make you go to that stupid festival?

He is just on the other side of that door. All you have to do is knock. That's all. Your hand hovers over the wood.

The door swings open. You expect to see someone standing there but instead, there's no one. You slowly enter, glancing back. Seonghwa left you alone to deal, unfortunately. Just as you move out of the door's proximity, it closes itself, locking. You can help but let out a low laugh. Mythical creatures being real is something you'd never wrap your head around. The hallway is dark, luminescence peeking from underneath a door further away. You take another long breath, before opening it yourself. Immediately, your eyes move to him.

He is Unlike the others, that you can see. When you first learned of him, you thought he would be stern, rigid. Instead, you stand at the doorway to his spell room – a clap echoing as he stares at the table filled with vast ingredients.

"Finally," he breathes. "Took three hellish hours. Ah," He pauses.

He turns to you, wholly black gaze blinking away into a softer brown. The sight isn't terrifying in itself – it just scares you that you cannot distinguish him from another human, aside from his quiet beauty. He hides his potions away, leaning against the tabletop. You do not say a word in fear of upsetting him. He seems to notice this, head tilting as he stares at you.

"Oh, so you are the dear, pitiful human that has gotten my spark all ruffled up? What to do with you?" He smiles.

It is all but friendly.

His stature is on the shorter side compared to the rest of the Unseelie you've met thus far, about Wooyoung's height. His black hair is wild, strands scattered about, some tucked behind his ears. A seemingly permanent sly smile coating his lips. You can see why he's their leader. Charisma oozes from him despite having said no more than two sentences. Two sentences that have left you utterly speechless. Choosing your words carefully, you finally speak.

"I've heard some things about you," you say. A sleek brow of his lifts at your words, daring you to continue. You take the challenge. "Hongjoong, leader of your spark."

His grin is slow, eyes flicking between yours as it widens. His tongue drags across his lips, playing with the piercing hooked into the bottom one. A quick glance and you see several – studs lining his ears, fingers covered with golden jewels. A small amulet resting on where his pulse beats on. "In the flesh. Humans haven't seen me in centuries. You should be proud to even grace my presence, my pretty star." He glances behind you. "Everyone else seems interested in you as well. It took many of months to finally see you for myself. I have to admit, I do see the unwavering appeal. Ordinary looking, but there's something," his eyes roam over your outfit. "Your aura, maybe. What do you think, Mingi?"

"I think we should get ready, Hongjoong."

You tense up at the deep voice, looking back. Well, looking up. Mingi stands not a breath away from you, barely giving you a glance as you stare up at him. His golden clothing is as wispy as Wooyoung's, sheer against his chest and darkening as it flows down. You take a step to the side to bring some distance between the two of you, heart racing. You're only startled every time one of them pops up. And from the disappearance act you witnessed earlier, Mingi can make himself do it with ease. You would expect someone of his size to at least make a bit of noise when he enters a room. His blonde hair is neatly slicked down, mossy green markings starting at the curve of his jaw, covering the rest of his body. Mingi clears his throat and you look away from him.

The tales didn't mention that Unseelie were all unnaturally beautiful. Though it does make sense. You can't see how humans will follow them to their deaths otherwise. Even you, knowing what you do, are already falling without trying.

Falling for their traps, you correct yourself. Nothing more than that.

"Ah, and I assume that she will be joining us?" Hongjoong glances at you. "It'll be a very interesting gathering."

"Chaotic to say the least," Mingi sighs softly. "We should just lock her in her room until sunrise. The others will smell her, but there will be spells and other spoils to deter them. I'd hate to have to care for the human all night."

"I'm not a child," you frown.

Mingi does not bother looking in your direction nor acknowledge your response, "Wooyoung should watch her, not I."

"Neither of you are watching her. Yunho will be by her side most of the night."

Mingi's eyes widen briefly, "Hongjoong, is that the best choice at this time–"

"Take her back to her room to get ready," Hongjoong turns to you. "We've prepared a few outfits for you to try. It'll help you blend in more with the rest of us. If any are unsatisfactory, I'll have Yeosang conjure up another. Until you are satisfied with your choice."

You shake your head, "Not needed–"

"I want my star to shine bright tonight, y/n. You will not be dull when everyone else is watching. I bid you adieu–" He giggles. "I've always wanted to say that." He looks back at Mingi. “We’ll talk after you drop her off and get ready yourself, there’s much to do to prepare."

"Hongjoong…" He sighs. The leader does not bother saying anything else, turning back to his assortment of potions. Mingi finally looks at you. "Please follow me."

"I know where my room is," Your words are neither heard nor acknowledged, Mingi disappearing back into the dim hallway. You follow after swiftly, his pace much faster than yours.

You stumble after him through the hallways, passing by your designated room. "Hey, Min…"

He stops. His steps are quick, barely a breath away from you. You step back as he steps forward, your back hitting the wall. Anger resides in his eyes as he stares down at you. "You do not utter my name. You do not acknowledge me outside of forced interactions by one of the others. We do not speak to each other unless absolutely necessary. Do you understand?"

Your fear is a good enough answer for him. He moves back, gesturing to the door behind you. "Yeosang prepared your outfit in a different room since the others are lurking around yours right now. Get dressed, Yunho will be here promptly to explain how to act properly in front of the other faeries." He leaves you, dissipating right in front of your eyes. You can feel how your heart beats against your chest. You blink, hand reaching for the knob and turning it open. You close it behind you, back against the wood.

It's too much. All of this is just. too. much.

—

"What is your goal?"

"I am just trying to have a successful gathering. Is that too much to ask for, Mingi?" Hongjoong stares at the potions on the table, deep in thought. "She will be here for quite a while anyway. It's better to show them that we have everything in order rather than attempting to hide her."

"You told Seonghwa you did not care for her and wanted her gone. And now you're compromising Yunho's sanity because you want to get back at us, is that it?"

Hongjoong’s brow twitches at Mingi's words. "You know I would never put you in danger. Any of you."

"Then why are you now?"

Hongjoong finally looks away from his table, eyes flicking up to Mingi's. "You question me?"

He sighs, rubbing his face, "I just want to know your reasoning. You know well what he means to me."

"I am beginning to wonder," Hongjoong steps closer to Mingi. He lets his hand rest on his cheek, thumb rubbing the skin slowly. Mingi's eyelids flutter at his touch, leaning into it. "If any of you truly trust me. Yunho has been so misguided, removed from modern society. We all know how he tore that Seelie apart. It wouldn't have happened if he had the chance to leave, to experience things like us. We isolated him to the point of inner destruction. Him keeping by the human’s side is a test, yes. One of self control. I need to see how he will fair when he is beside someone he desires and yet cannot have. I have to test his temperament before I decide what to do next, Mingi. This is for him."

Mingi covers Hongjoong’s hand with his, "I trust you. I just have one more question."

"Speak it."

"What is your plan? With the human?"

Hongjoong bares a sliver of his teeth, black irises only deepening. "Everyone is enthralled with her. It's my chance to have my own fun."

—

You stare in the mirror at yourself.

Right as you pulled the slacks over your finger, it adjusted itself to your body. The Unseelie you've met have only worn sheer clothing around you and this is no different. It would make you uncomfortable if you didn't see how it clearly hides sensitive parts of your body, leaving it to the imagination. Still, it is unlike you. You're used to something different. Your pile of clothes next to the bathroom door is all the more alluring as you gaze at yourself. Heavy bags beneath your eyes from lack of sleep, hands that are endlessly shaky. You look tired.

Exhausted.

A light knock on your door pulls you away from those pesky thoughts that were soon to move to your Soobin. You clear your throat, giving yourself a look once more before rushing to the door after a second knock.

You open it to Yunho. He looks cleaned up, hair neatly tossed, a small curl resting on his forehead. He wears an outfit very similar to yours but much more sheer and revealing, your face glued on his. His flicks over yours briefly. You think you see a light blush coating his cheeks.

"Faerie clothing suits you," he says softly. "I will respect your wishes and not say anything more."

You let out a breath, "You think? I feel like it looks silly."

True shock coats his face, "No. You look fine. You," He struggles with his wording and you can only smile at him. He sighs, rubbing his cheeks. "You are … breathtaking."

“You’re flattering me,” you look away from him, quickly coming up with something else to pull him away from those thoughts. “When is the party?”

“It started an hour or so ago,” Yunho says simply, taking in your shocked expression. “They are all awaiting your arrival, y/n. It should be quite fun.”

If your heart could sink any further, it would. “Waiting? I’m not a special guest, I just found out about this tonight. I –” You barely ate breakfast, but it feels as if your insides are about to come out. It only makes sense that Hongjoong would catch you off guard like this. It makes complete sense, but why would he? Does he expect you to fail this test, or whatever it is?

“You’re letting your thoughts run from you,” Yunho says. “Don’t leave yourself behind.”

“I don’t want to do this,” you admit. “At all.”

“Neither do I,” he sighs simply, glancing behind him. “But it’s out of my control. This Gathering of ours has been planned for months on end. Hongjoong loves masquerade balls to discuss important matters with other Unseelie and Faeries. In fact, pardon me – ” Yunho steps inside the room, closing the door behind him. “Wouldn’t want unsavory ears to listen to my words.”

You notice the masks in his hands now, “Masquerade?”

“Yes, a lot of faeries are shy without it, believe it or not,” he glances between your eyes. “Do you mind if I place yours?”

You shake your head, and he smiles. He takes his time, making sure it fits comfortably over your eyes before tying it in the back. “Too tight?” he asks softly. His lips barely hover over your ears as he asks. With a quick swallow, you shake your head. “Perfect.” He ties it with ease, moving back. Somehow between that time he’s put his over his eyes, looking over you once.

“Unrecognizable?” You tease.

“I’d recognize you in any room. As Mingi told you, I'll explain briefly what will happen. Since you are the only human that will be there, eyes will follow you. I won't be leaving your side all night in the event one of them tries something unsavory. And though I will be watching, please don't hesitate to tell me if you feel that something is wrong."

"Is this dangerous, me being around them?"

"Our spark isn't dangerous, but many others are. We all use humans in many ways, y/n. We as a species aren't the kindest to yours."

You're glad he's explaining it all to you. But it doesn't lessen your fear at all. "You won't leave me alone?"

"I won't. Be yourself, y/n. It'll go well. Shall we go?” he holds out his arm. You slip yours beneath his with ease, fingers lightly touching his sleeve. His outfit isn’t transparent like the rest you’ve seen, a solid satin blue. Still it leaves nothing to the imagination, securely fit to his body. Your nerves catch up to you as you walk through the hallways to the opposite side of the house you haven’t been to yet. All doors are ajar, many attendees you have yet to set your eyes on. Most shift their gaze to watch Yunho escort you to the main hall. All of this is too much too soon, your nails sinking into his arm without you noticing. Running is not an option. No matter how much you want it to be.

No matter how close he stands to you, how much they speak to you, you are alone.

“Hey,” Yunho stops walking. You look up at him. “You’re holding on a bit tight there, y/n.”

You look at your grip, noticing that it’s tight enough to break skin. Just as you begin to pull back he covers your hand with his free one, shaking his head. “Hold on to me if you need to. It doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all. Hold on to me, y/n. I’m here.” You feel the stares, feel them glued to your back as you look up at him. “Hear me?”

“…Yes,” you whisper. You close your eyes for a moment. “Okay. We can go.”

He squeezes your hand before letting go, moving forward. The gazes are still burning into him and yourself, but you pretend not to notice. Ignore how much it bothers you. How silly it is – trusting an Unseelie, a man you barely know. How much you’re relying on his arm to steady yourself, his words to keep you calm. How with just a few months, you’ve let someone else other than Soobin help you.

You enter the grandeur hall.

It’s massive; chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, jewels and cold everywhere you look. Tables filled with faeries speaking amongst one another, laughter throughout the area. Yunho pulls you forward through the crowds. He seems to command a presence here – faeries without prompt giving him a pathway. They continue to talk but you hear whispers in languages you cannot understand. The word human sticks out. Still he pulls you along to the front of the room. There a banquet table sits, nine seats lined side by side. Hongjoong sits in the middle of the table, literally. He rests himself on top of the table, legs cross as he speaks to an unfamiliar faerie in front of him. You barely get a chance to look at the rest sitting there, one at the far end startling you. He stares at you with such disgust, a scowl seemingly permanently carved into his face.

“You’ve made it,” Hongjoong says, tilting his head around the faerie to look at you. “And how lovely you are.”

“I would say the same, but it will only boost your ego.”

The faerie in front of him widens their eyes. Hongjoong smile slips, waving them away. They leave without a second thought. He stands, brown eyes dissipating within an instant. The black stares at you as he moves closer. You shift your body towards Yunho, his head slightly shifting to the movement.

“You will hold your tongue in front of me,” Hongjoong says. “Do you understand me, human?”

“Yes.” You say, looking away. Not missing a beat, his smile slides back.

“Perfect, I hope you enjoy the rest of the party. It will be more than entertaining. I must leave now to tend to the other guests. Please let the others introduce themselves to you – we all will be seeing a lot of you for quite a while.” He bows to Yunho. Yunho bows, stepping to the side to let Hongjoong mingle.

“You could draw blood from that fearsome gaze of yours,” Yunho whispers, nudging your shoulder. “Even I am petrified.”

“I, sorry,” you say again, sucking in a breath. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for your expressions y/n. Hongjoong was just…” he thinks for a moment. “You know of his status, no?”

“He is the leader of your spark.”

“Yes, but he is not only the leader of the eight of us. He is the head of Unseelie, y/n. There is not one faerie within this room who would defy him. So those words in front of another faerie, challenging his status at an event,” he quirks his brow.

Oh how you wish you could crawl out of your skin. You turn back, watching as all the masked party guests bow as he passes, his laughter echoing around the room. Charisma oozes from him, yes, but so does pure unrivaled power. A passerby gives him a glass and he takes it within a breath. You look at Yunho.

“He’s going to kill me.”

Yunho snickers, shaking his head, “He will entertain himself with the others. Worry not.”

“Solaris!” An irritating familiar voice echoes through the hall. Without a second to beat he throws his body into yours, wrapping his arms around you. His giggles echo around you, squeezing quite tight before letting go. He pulls back, the same grin still on his face. Wooyoung steps back for a moment, eyes flicking over your attire. “As always you are a beautiful sunset.”

“You cannot calm yourself even at a party?” Yunho frowns. He feels the emptiness of your arm since you’ve let go to steady yourself from Wooyoung’s attack. The absence of your warmth is not comforting. Only annoying him further. You seem not to notice at all though. Between your exasperation at him slamming himself into you, Yunho can see the tension in your shoulders ease. He just wishes that he were the one to do it, not him.

“My pretty solaris is shining, Yunho,” Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at him. “I cannot believe that Hongjoong made him your bodyguard when I am here!” He sighs, sitting in the spot Hongjoong once was. His mask rests on the top of his head. He holds out a drink for you and you take it, eyeing it.

“Is it alcohol?”

“Faeries do not really enjoy it since we don’t get intoxicated like humans. And it tastes disgusting,” Wooyoung murmurs. “This is a tonic of concentrated fruits. Sweet, but does nothing to humans.” He encourages you.

You trust his words only because you know he cannot lie, taking a sip. It’s sweet, but not off-putting. “Tasty,” you point out. Yunho takes the other resting on the table, sitting next to Wooyoung. He widens his eyes, digging in his pocket.

Yunho smiles at you, “I almost forgot. Hand.”

"Hand?" You shoot him a quizzical look. He holds out his to you, waiting. You're sure he'd wait forever until you place yours upon his so you do so, his large hand covers yours entirely. At first, you feel a soothing feeling across your skin. The warmth rises in temperature, just enough to the point where it's bearable, but sweaty. He stares at your enclosed hands. With a small whistle, they begin to illuminate in the dark, swirling around your skin before disappearing into the air. His eyes flick to yours, a sunset staring back at you.

"Pretty, no?" He grins, squeezing your hand once. "It took me a bit since I'm not an expert at majik like the others. Yeosang helped me with the spell, and San helped me cast."

Their names mean close to nothing to you now. You're very sure they will in the future, though. Close future, from the gazes around you.

"What's it for?"

His grin widens, then. "To impress a pretty human. And it will help me keep an eye on you if you ever leave my sight tonight. I will take it away once this gathering ends."

You tuck it in your front pocket.

“You’ve made it,” Wooyoung says, looking behind you. You don’t exactly need to guess who it is, the quiet movement enough for you to pinpoint. His conversation, well, threat, from earlier is enough for you not to acknowledge him at all. Instead, you move a bit closer to Yunho’s side. “You said you hate parties.”

“I do,” his deep voice murmurs. You take a quick glance at Mingi. He avoids your gaze entirely, hands tucked in his pockets. “But Hongjoong insisted. No matter how much I tell him my presence here will only put the others on edge.”

You look behind him. Still the eyes are on yours, but you see others observing Mingi. Many look away quickly. How much fear does the Unseelie resonate?

“They would be on edge anyway since they are in our residence,” Yunho shrugs. “y/n’s presence along with ours brings more questions than answers. None are brave enough to speak about it though. Secures our status.”

You speak, “Even if they asked, I have nothing to say.”

Yunho smiles, “I can pick one thing you’d be able to shock them with.”

Ah, right. Resistant to faeries. Your eyes flick over to one Unseelie who sits at the table. He’s beautiful, to say the least. Black hair in wisps, resting at the bottom of his neck, silver jewelry wrapped around strands. A peak of what looks like a birthmark on the side of one of his eyes, stretching to his temple. His brown eyes are not looking at yours at all, focused on your lower face. As you stare, it looks like he’s watching your lips. You look away.

His head rests on his hands as he watches you speak to Wooyoung. Your words are quick, annoyance drawn on your face when he twists your words, often vulgar. He only laughs at the expression, continuing his rant. Yeosang himself and the others are used to his antics, his quick words and joking tone. He quite honestly thought you'd be deterred by it, but you match his wit in an instant, sometimes causing Wooyoung to falter, skip words. Yeosang can't help but grin, eyes steady on yours. You look to the side, meeting his interested gaze.

"Yeosang doesn't speak much," Wooyoung starts. "Especially when I'm talking."

"Maybe because you can never stop," Yunho hums from behind him.

"Nice to meet you, Yeosang," you hold out your hand. Yeosang's brows furrow at the gesture. Humans are often disgusted with faeries, especially one of the Unseelies. You extend out your hand with such ease, well, it makes him confused. The time must have passed long enough for it to be uncomfortable, your hand sliding back away.

He reaches out before you place it back on your side, his fingers gripping yours softly in a quick shake.

Your skin is quite soft, he thinks.

“You are not afraid of me,” he states, his hand dropping from yours. “Why?”

“Should I be?” you question. It lingers in the air, eyes briefly moving to Yunho’s for assistance. He merely shrugs, your gaze moving back to Yeosang’s. “I’m not immediately afraid of an Unseelie. Not anymore.”

“That’s delightful! It’s all me, by the way,” Wooyoung grins, interrupting. Mingi meets his eyes for a moment, gesturing to the side. He sighs, hopping off the table. “I would love to mingle more, but Hongjoong needs me. I’ll see you all soon enough. Yeosang, he needs you as well.”

“Just a moment,” Yeosang waves him off. He pats his pocket, putting out a small map. “Can you read this?” he holds it out to you. He seems insistent on it, gaze sharp. “Humans are able to, not Unseelies.”

“Oh…?” You take it from him. You can read it easily, some words more advanced than you’re used to, but it’s all legible.

“Now is not the time, Yeosang,” Mingi murmurs, rubbing his eyes beneath the mask. “Not at a party.”

“It is just for a moment. If she knows, then she’ll be able to assist me. So, human?” Yeosang asks, turning back to you. “Can you understand the writing?”

–

A threat.

That's his first thought as he stares at you across from the room. The reason why the others are on edge, wary. A human with a strange allure. He would have eradicated you immediately if it weren't for their affinity towards you. His frown only seems to deepen when he sees Yeosang's lip quirk at something you've said. His eyes widened at the look, silent shock. His friend isn't one to attempt to grow closer to anyone. In fact, he's even more surprised that Yeosang is here in the first place. The Unseelie hides in his room often, rarely interacting unless necessary. The smile on his lips confuses him.

His fingers dig into his forearms. Despite how exhausting it is to be around you, he can't help it. The looks you send the others, the shaking of your hands as you point to the map. The smile that is barely there.

Why is he aching to touch you?

“Sulking in the corner is not a good look,” Jongho appears next to him, arms crossed. “You know that she can see you. You’re not so far away to go unnoticed.”

“She’s infuriating,” San frowns, watching as Mingi pulls Yeosang away from the rest of them, into the direction of Hongjoong. “Why bring her around all of these faeries? Some are bound to realize that she is not like any other human. I don’t doubt that they might already know. What is the endgame, the solution? Why is he doing this?”

“Hongjoong has a strange way of thinking,” Jongho says, watching you with the others. “But he is wise above many. It took me a while to determine exactly why he would introduce a human to this world of ours. And I’ve finally figured it out.”

“Don’t keep it to yourself.”

“Not even a small guess?” Jongho frowns.

“Jongho…”

“Fine,” he sighs. “He wants to show them that our position will not be challenged nor should ever be. If we have a human captured that is not affected by any of us and still fears us, yet joins us on these events. They will see where we stand. They will start to question if we know of more, if she is a halfling. So many inquiries and yet all are too afraid to speak up. It will keep them subdued for now. Delay their anger for the incident from the other night. Distract them enough to keep it calm.”

"Is there any news on the Seelie?" San asks.

"Much. Yeosang and Wooyoung are on their way to take care of it. They will be gone for quite a bit until it's solved."

San watches Yeosang leave the room after Wooyoung. The Unseelie seems to sense his gaze, turning around to meet it. Neither of them say anything, but Jongho sees San's expression shift. Worry. Yeosang merely nods at the look, disappearing from view. It is what he has always done to calm him down. But San's worry just continues to pile on as it continuously has.

"We should have gone with them too," San murmurs, looking back at you. "A trio at least. If one of them were injured the other one wouldn't be able to leave."

"Hongjoong made the call. It will be fine."

"As fine as a human resistant to our charms waltzing around faeries that want to consume her, fine? Something will happen tonight."

Jongho grows serious at his words. "Have you seen it?"

"No. That's the issue Jongho. I can feel everyone else's in this room. But with her, there is nothing. Not even a hint. That only happens for me if the person is destined to die suddenly. If that doesn't worry you, I don't know what will. It makes me think of that movie, the one with the blood sucking faeries. How the main character couldn’t penetrate her mind because she had a shield."

Jongho deadpans, "You really need to stop consuming human media. It's making you lose your mind and credibility."

San sends him a toothy grin. "You're just upset you don't understand my references."

"Oh I do, a little too well unfortunately. There's only so much of it that you say that won't stick. I'm still upset you made me watch that movie. What was it, Dracula?"

San looks away, momentarily distracted. "Yes! We should watch it again."

"And this is why Hongjoong didn't tell you to go with them," he murmurs, easily maneuvering out of San’s shove. "In all seriousness, I am worried. You cannot witness the future because she is in it. I don't like the odds." Jongho looks to the side, eyes narrowing. "So much for the delay of anger, especially since some uninvited guests arrived."

—

"Stay close and don’t say a word," Yunho stands up from the table, shifting you behind him. Mingi turns around, relaxed expression tightening. You can’t quite see over their shoulders, most of the crowd hiding your view from what’s exactly going on. Mingi's hand slips to his side. You notice the handle of what you can only guess is a sword, his fingers wrapped around it as he stares forward. The crowd is hushed now, bated breaths. What exactly are they facing, and why is everyone on edge?

The familiar smooth voice of Hongjoong breaks the silence, “You show yourself here?”

“We were not invited, we presumed it was just a mistake.” The person responds slowly, deliberately. Yunho’s arm wraps around your shoulder, pressing you tightly to his side. “We heard that you have a human within this area.”

“Is that any of your business?” MIngi hisses. Your gaze shifts to the side, seeing the angry Unseelie that was standing in the corner appear next to Mingi. “You were not invited for a reason, Seelie.”

“Is that the way to speak to your brother?” The voice laughs. Hongjoong appears in front of you in a blink, standing next to Mingi. He does not acknowledge you behind him, but your eyes flick down. His hand waves slightly, as if gesturing for you to leave. Yunho stands still, a slight shake to his head. “You protect it from my sight?”

“Yeonjun, you know your kind is not allowed at these events, why appear? Everyone in this room is disgusted by you,” Hongjoong says simply, a small smile on his lips. “Uppity faeries who believe they are above us all. You stink up the place.”

The air feels tender, your heart beating quicker. No matter how much you try to control it it just hammers on and on. There is little doubt that the Seelie cannot hear you. The Unseelie around you seem to know it as well, all of their hands shifting to weapons that rest on their sides.

“Let me see the human.”

“No,” Hongjoong raises his brow. “You have no presence nor authority here.”

“Is it wise to hide it from me after you have butchered my people? Wooyoung was his name, yes? And Yunho is lucky that I am being so kind despite the massacre that he created.”

Yunho’s hand around you loosens slightly at his name being uttered.

“Seelie attacked the human unwarranted and without notifying us. They were in our territory. It was our right,” Mingi states simply. “He did what needed to be done.”

“Did he? We visited the location shortly after, Mingi. It was utterly drenched and soiled.”

“Enough,” Hongjoong holds up his hand, “What is it that you desire? To see the human? Is that all?”

“That is all,” the Seelie states.

“Fine. Mingi, move. Yunho, let her go.”

Questions rise in Yunho’s eyes. With great hesitance, he lets his hand drop from your arm. Hongjoong slides his hand into yours, stepping forward. Your momentary shock at him touching you all vanishes when you meet the eyes of the Seelie in front of you. You expected the grotesque figure like before, but he is anything but. Matching the height of Mingi, he stands. His hair neon green, slicked back. Small strands brush his cheek as he looks down at you, white eyes alarming. Despite that, he is beautiful. Ethereally so. He holds your gaze, a smirk forming.

“You are the human they have started a war for?”

“It has not come to that, Yeonjun,” Mingi starts, hushed immediately by Hongjoong.

“Oh but it has, Mingi. Unless you provide me with a small favor.”

“No,” Yunho says between his teeth, standing by your side. “I will not allow you to take her away.”

“Why? What is so special about the human? Why are you risking your people for its existence? Does it have something I cannot see with my eyes? Or does it have to deal with her being resistant to our charms?”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Whatever do you mean?”

Yeonjun’s smile drops. “I have coerced her to let go of your hand several times but she looks at me as if I’m a ghost.”

“How unfortunate that not every being will drop to their knees for you. You must truly be disappointed.”

Yeonjun merely rolls his eyes, hands tucked in his suit jacket pockets. He glazes over the crowd, stepping forward. The crowd backs up from his movement until they can no longer. He stands in front of a small child, bending down to stare at them. “I can read between the lines, Unseelie leader. I can see how you avoid my inquiries. So if you will not allow me to take the human, perhaps I will take one of these other things for my use.” Just as he is about to touch the child, you move forward slightly. Hongjoong’s grip on your hand tightens tenfold, a bruise imminent.

“Let the child go,” you say.

Yeonjun turns around, grin widening. “Oh, she speaks. It is all too bad, though, you did not speak up quickly enough.” He raises his hand. All of your gazes turn. An adult faerie rises in the air. Before any of the Unseelie next to you can move, Yeonjun snaps his fingers. You look away from the sight, a cry falling from your lips at the mere sound. Flesh splatters across the walls and guests, their cries much louder than yours.

“Yunho, go!” Hongjoong says above the shouts of the crowd. “Take her out of here,” he lets go of your hand, throwing your body into the trembling Yunho’s. You look at him, eyes glossed over. His eyes flick up to yours, shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

You barely get the chance to convince him to go, Yunho grabbed by a Seelie in the crowd. This one as horrid as the others you’ve witnessed. You look around for an escape, the ajar door too far away for you to go. So instead, you turn to the side, shoes sliding against the hardwood as you navigate around everyone running every which way. The sound of bodies exploding fills your ears, tears running down your cheeks. It is all too much to take in now, but your body does. It barely holds itself together as you push through the people. Someone grabs the back of your shirt, dragging you to the floor. Your head slams against it, eyes losing focus.

“This is your fault,” The Seelie spits, stepping harshly on your hand. It grabs your face, pulling you up from the floor. “My people have died for such a silly little human. You have started a war, don’t you know this?” You look down, leaves slowly rising from the floor. The moist leaves begin to rise, wrapping around your wrists.

“I didn’t.”

It drops you to the floor, turning around. It’s too late, another Unseelie appearing. He grips its neck, slamming it against the wall. "Beg."

His grip on its neck is tight as he holds it up against the wall, other hand stationary on his side. His eyes narrow as they stare into the Seelie's. You can only stare, hands still entangled in the tightened seaweed. His lip curls, a glint in his eyes. The Seelie makes no attempt to utter a sound. He hums, fingers digging into its neck.

"Look away, y/n," his voice is softer as he acknowledges you, eyes flicking to the side. "Unless you want to see its death." A crack echoes in the air just as you close your eyes. The body makes a loud thump, hitting the concrete. He steps to you, pulling the leaves off your wrists with ease. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. You hiss at your wound pressing into him slightly.

"You can open your eyes now," he says. "Sorry about that. Didn't expect any of them to be hanging around you when there’s a lot more chaos to be dealt with. Thought we killed them all off, to be honest," he glances behind him.

His gaze moves to yours. Blood covers your cheeks, scrapes and scabs already forming. His expression hardens, until you look into his eyes. He should be angry right now. furious that your presence has led to this. But perhaps Mingi was right.

There's just something so strange about you.

You flinch when he tries to touch you. He pulls his hands back promptly, holding them up in defense. “Hey hey, I’m not a Seelie. You saw me earlier, didn’t you? I was talking to San, the guy that was shooting daggers across the room. I’m with Hongjoong, y/n. My name is Jongho.”

His name sounds vaguely familiar. You nod, and he helps you up. The screams have died down now. You keep your gaze on the floor, the smell already rising. You wouldn’t have guessed how familiar that scent of death would be. Jongho pulls you along, navigating you around the bodies and blood, and out the door.

“Yunho…?” You murmur, thinking back to how he was grabbed by a Seelie. “Is he okay?”

“Fine. Poor guy who grabbed him though, he’s shredded to Hell,” Jongho snickers, turning down a hallway. “Seonghwa isn’t in the lab, but one of us will be around soon. Stay there for a bit while we deal with this, okay?” Jongho stops in front of the door. It’s already open. You still haven’t looked up from the floor, too overwhelmed with what you’ve just witnessed. “Hey y/n, you okay there?”

“This is all my fault, isn’t it?”

Jongho does not answer. He pats your shoulder once, "We will solve this. Stay quiet." He closes the door, leaving you alone.

“Is Yunho alright?” Jongho enters the room, glancing to the side. His nose wrinkles at the devastation surrounding the area. Tables flipped over, masks scattered about. Dead faeries in pieces. No one answers him. Hongjoong stands in the middle of the room, staring down at a body. Jongho begins to look around and spots Yunho in the corner. He’s still, gazing down at his trembling blood drenched hands. Mingi is near him, crouched in front of him as he whispers. Jongho isn’t particularly interested in hearing anything he has to say, moving closer to his leader.

“We looked weak in front of them all,” Hongjoong says. “Pathetic.”

“It was the best choice at the time-”

“Was it?” He looks at him, brows furrowed. “Was it a good choice to allow a massacre to happen because they wanted a human? Our people saw me defend it over everyone else. They will remember this day.”

“They know the stakes well enough. They understand that you had a reason for it. Anyone with eyes could see that she is different. That’s why Yeonjun himself wanted her so badly-”

“You should have given her up,” San grunts, lifting a table back into its place. “Now we have to deal with Seelies following us wherever we go. It will be a hindrance.”

“I already have Yeosang and Wooyoung dealing with that,” Hongjoong waves him off. “But I have lost favor. It will take a while to gain it back.”

“We are all faeries, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s hand hovers over a body. It slowly dissipates, his gaze shifting up to look at his leader. “We took the risk in keeping her because we know of the influence she has. Despite what I have been saying, I do think it is best to keep her around. At least until we find the cause of her resistance. Once we do, that information would be more valuable than anything that has happened tonight.”

Jongho frowns. “Life is less valuable?”

Seonghwa shrugs simply, “They will be remade. It is nothing.”

“You’re beginning to sound like the Seelie,” Jongho murmurs, his spark’s gazes shifting to him. “We are to be better.”

“We are Unseelie, Jongho. We are nothing better. But speaking of the human,” Seonghwa stands, wiping his hands on his pants. “Where is she?”

“In your lab.”

Seonghwa’s eyes seem to widen comically, pushing past Jongho.

"What's wrong?"

Mingi looks at Jongho from his spot, “None of us looked around to see if it was clear, Jongho. You may have just killed the human. All of this bloodshed for nothing.”

Several of the others follow behind Seonghwa, Jongho running after them. He arrives at the lab just as Seonghwa slams open his door. The sight startling to behold. Seelie blood coats the walls, tables destroyed and medical supplies scattered about. But it is almost the least surprising thing in the room.

In the middle of the carnage sits you, fingers wrapped around the handle of a dagger Seonghwa stored on the wall for decoration. Wounds cover your body, leg twisted at an odd angle. But your eyes are away from them. Glued to the pieces of Seelie below you.

“y/n?” Jongho whispers.

You hand trembles at the sound of his voice, dagger dropping from between your fingers. You look up, passed Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Directly at him.

“I didn’t mean to.”

#fic: wonderwall #ateez x reader #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez fic #ateez series #ateez yandere

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