#like hes a guardian but hes the outcast guardian | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hwaightme · 10 months ago

Text

Feel alive

(masterlist) (taglist)

🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance.

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included.

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal.

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour.

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think.

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…”

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present.

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?”

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony.

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories.

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton.

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny.

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm.

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul.

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?”

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze.

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer.

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric.

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you.

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing.

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out.

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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orchidyoonkook · 2 years ago

Text

Under The Willow Tree | MYG

Title: Under The Willow Tree

Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life

Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.

Word Count: 7401

Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM

A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process.

A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k, @katykatmeow, @here4btsfics and @phthartic-fox for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness.

It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.

Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.

It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.

The one under which you had your first kiss.

You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.

But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.

It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.

To get away. From anyone and everything.

There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.

Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.

Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.

Copy. Paste.

Copy.

Paste.

You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.

You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.

You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are.

And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.

Copy.

Paste.

It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.

You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.

You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.

What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.

You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.

Of leaving.

But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.

It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.

You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.

You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.

Seen how they treat him.

Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.

You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.

The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.

Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.

Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.

They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.

As if he were acid.

As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.

You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.

And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.

You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.

You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.

And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.

You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’ having not once in your life resonated.

You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.

The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.

The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base.

Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.

No one bothers you here.

Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.

And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.

So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.

Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.

Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.

Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.

So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.

You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.

You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering.

You’re always elsewhere.

And he’s finally figured out where that is.

He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did.

Not to him.

But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer.

Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.

So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house.

For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.

After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves.

You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you.

Soft. Wistful even.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.

Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.

And as he does, you get your first real look at him.

He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.

The ones now focused on you.

“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”

So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?

…Why you?

You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.

To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.

It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Can you trust him?

No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.

All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.

“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.

“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

Those four words alone are all you need.

He gets it.

“Yeah.”

Maybe you can trust him.

Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.

And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”

You think about it for only a second.

No. No you didn’t.

“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”

He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.

And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.

“Yoongi.”

An introduction.

“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.

His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff.

So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.

Releasing, he settles in.

What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.

It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.

Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.

Your favourite.

Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.

Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.

The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.

You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.

On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.

“Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.

Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.

“Pride and Prejudice.”

That was the last answer you expected.

“Why?”

He lifts his head to look at you.

“I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”

After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.

“Just have to save up enough money first.”

You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?

Who knew?

Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.

He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.

That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.

You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.

“Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.

“Getting there,” was all he gave.

And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.

Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”

You grieved for him as he told you his story.

How he had to raise himself.

Just like you did.

“I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.

Knowing how it felt to be alone.

You understood.

You did, you did, you did.

Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”

It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.

And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.

How you’d…treated him.

A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.

Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.

“My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.

Even though it was August.

“He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”

You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips. He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.

He understood.

It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.

The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.

Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.

Just him and his bike.

You turn sheepish.

“Can I tell you something?”

He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.

Brown and endless.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take a deep breath.

“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”

A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.

“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”

There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.

He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”

You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too.

But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.

“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”

“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.

“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”

“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.

“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”

Oh. Well then it must be,

“Your pants pocket?”

“Nuh uh, try again.”

Damnit!

You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?

“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.

“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”

Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.

It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.

He holds it against a palm to show you.

“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.

With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”

A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.

And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.

An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.

One he doesn’t know if he deserves.

Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.

“Yoongi,” you hesitate.

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.

You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.

What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.

You falter. “W-what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”

“But I—”

“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”

It never leaves your neck.

“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.

“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.

“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”

He was kidding right? He must be.

For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.

What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.

So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.

But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.

“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.

“Because I’ll be there.”

And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,

“Okay, fine.”

Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.

Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.

“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.

“Oh.”

What a weird place for an ignition.

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”

Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.

“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.

He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”

Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.

You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.

Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”

You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.

The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.

“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”

“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.

“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”

Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.

Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.

Holy shit!

You’re riding a motorcycle!

You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?

Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.

Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.

He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.

You’re positively giddy.

“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.

Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate.

But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.

“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.

Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.

And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.

The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.

Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy.

“Really?”

He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’

You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.

Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.

And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,

“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours.

What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well...

“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided.

Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen.

Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.

He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.

You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.

You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.

You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to.

Literally.

But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.

Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips. A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you.

Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.

Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.

Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.

He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.

And you’re worried.

Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.

It’s not like you can go looking for him.

And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.

But you can’t help it.

Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.

Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.

They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

Six days.

It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.

And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.

“B-but why? What happened?”

“I got fired.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”

Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.

Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.

The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.

The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.

The Yoongi you fell for.

Your Yoongi.

The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.

He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.

You don’t know this person.

And you hate it.

You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.

He’s—he’s leaving.

Actually leaving.

This place, it’s people.

You...

The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.

“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.

Don’t let him see you cry.

He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?

You don’t get to feel this way!

Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.

Make it go away. Far, far away.

Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.

In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.

His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.

He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.

Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”

But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.

You’re crying.

He made you cry.

And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.

“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.

Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.

Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.

You have no one, aside from Yoongi.

And now you won’t even have him.

So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.

But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help.

And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.

An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight.

He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.

He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.

You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.

When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.

“I got you.”

“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do.

This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust.

Of course he’s got you.

You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”

The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.

“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.

“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.

It doesn’t meet much resistance.

Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.

He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.

Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.

It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.

You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.

So close, yet so far away.

Because he’s leaving.

And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.

He’s as special as they come.

Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.

Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.

Like him.

You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.

It’s funny, really.

It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere.

Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

Anywhere he can reach.

Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.

You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.

And then you’re scared.

Terrified, actually.

To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.

What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?

Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?

What if you just ruined everything?

Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.

For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.

Is it shock? Or worse.

Disgust?

Doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“

Lips on yours shut you up.

It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.

It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.

He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.

You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.

Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.

The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.

Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.

He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”

You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”

“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”

Yoongi looks so serious but..

He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.

And now?

Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss.

“Come. With. Me.”

It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.

So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.

You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.

“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”

He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.

Your salvation.

And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.

Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.

In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.

In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.

Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years.

Something he never wants to lose again.

He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.

Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.

Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.

For not being like one of them.

Because you’re not one of them.

You never have been.

And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.

You don’t have to anymore.

You’re free.

A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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thesummerestsolstice · 9 months ago

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Unwritten Fics game

I was tagged by @runawaymun to talk about all my as-of-yet unwritten fic ideas! I have many, many of them. Here are a few. Feel free to send me asks about any of them, or to tell me which ones you'd most like to read in the tags!

Earendil-drinks-the-Silmail-AU: see Tumblr post here. Elwing gives Earendil the Silmaril's light to try and heal him from an illness, and both he (and later E&E) now have the light of the Silmaril within them. This causes problems for the Oath of Feanor. Can't decide whether to make it serious and heartbreaking or extremely silly.

Immortal Elros AU: definitely need to post about this one. In which Elros sees the mortals who will become the people of Numenor, loves them, and decides the best way to help them is to be immortal, to protect their descendants and maintain their legacy long after they're gone. He becomes Numenor's beloved guardian, caring for it's people for centuries. This all goes pretty well until Tar-Mairon shows up on the island.

Faustian Bargain AU: when both Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor are captured during Eregion's fall, Elrond makes a dangerous deal with Sauron to get them back. In exchange for their release, Elrond offers to become Sauron's captive, and to help him in his efforts to reach the Void and free Morgoth. Elrond, of course, has other plans. So do the now-free (and incredibly worried) Gil Galad and Celebrimbor.

Unexpected Problems: see Tumblr posts here and here. All about the issues Elrond runs into in Valinor– from people debating about whether or not he counts as an Ainur to Noldor being scandalized that he only wears a couple pounds of jewelry. Also his repeated attempts to stop Galadriel and Bilbo from completely destroying Valinorian society.

The Love of a Parent: Elrond's parents continue to look out for him, whether from beyond the circles of the world or from the stars above. Probably largely outsider POV. A chance for more eldritchry.

On Estel: In which Earendil goes into the void, searching for Maeglin's lost spirit. Slight AU in the sense that it's very Maeglin sympathetic, and has him having a good familial relationship with Turgon, Idril, and Earendil.

Ten Little Soldier Boys: my take on who Finrod's faithful ten were, why they were so loyal, and the moments they each decided they would give anything to keep Finrod safe. OC heavy but very dear to my heart.

Misfits, Outcasts, and other Characters of Ill-Repute: a series of oneshots about the various people who end up in Rivendell and how they got there. Includes canon characters (Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, etc.) and some OCs (including an old Feanorian diehard and one of Thingol's bodyguards, and, of course, Garthaglir the Library Orc)

No pressure, but I'm going to second Runawaymun's tagging of @jaz-the-bard (I don't think they've done the game yet but I might've missed it on their blog)

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canadianno · 6 months ago

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The random cultist refs are done!!!

9 of these were done on one canvas, exception being Maon because they're my favorite and I also made it a few days ago.

Character rambles are under the cut!

vv Down here!

🐱 Fena: Fena used to be the head farmer in the cult, undeniably fantastic at their job despite her low faith. She's been in the cult for a few years at this point, and their faith has steadily grown. Enough that, when the time came, Fena was tasked with managing Leshy for the first few hours of his indoctrination into the cult. Fena was- worried to say the least, but.. he wasn't really violent. Or even that mean. He was just scared, and.. they understood that pretty well. The Lamb let Fena keep the job, since her and Leshy seemed to get along so well. They haven't failed at corraling the bishops yet, but all 4 being in the cult might finally break her. Might.

🐸 Dreiden: Dreiden is the first child ever to be born into the cult, instead of taken in from outside it. He's about 10 years old, and there's been quite a few kids born in the cult since, but everyone is especially fond of him. Surprisingly, it doesn't seem to get to his head that much- likely due to his parents. Dreidens parents are Eligos and Mertre, which to many is an odd pair. Eligos, a past disciple of Heket, known generally to be closed off and outcasted- and Mertre, the best lumberjack in the cult, well respected with high faith. Dreiden is best friends with Tratta and Webber, two similarly-aged kids in the cult who he's taken it upon himself to take care of.

🦇 Tratta: Tratta was found as a toddler in Silk Cradle by a missionary. It was said that they found her in a destroyed village, but the clothes she was wearing suggests that really- she was the child of a heretic who was killed by the missionary. Tratta, in the story, is about 7 years old. Tratta has always had poor eyesight, being a bat, but it was only recently, after a bad bout of sickness, that she went fully blind. She's been struggling to get used to it. Tratta doesn't have a guardian, instead residing in the nursery with Webber and a few other unclaimed children. She's been in the nursery for long enough that she's figured she'll never be adopted.

🕸 Webber: Webber is a strange case. A 'ressurection' that the Lamb did not consciously preform, welcomed into the cult nonetheless. Webber crawled out of a grave barely a toddler, and has been in the cult for a few years. Webber is about 8. He scares the other cultists quite a bit, always holding a wild spider or two, and never seeming to get hungry. He is very close to Tratta and Dreiden, being the third cornerstone of their little friend group. Webber is extremely close to the Lamb, pushing any who wanted to adopt him ever further away. The Lamb is... aware of this, to say the least, but they haven't mentioned it aloud- and never publicly seem to favor him over any other. Publicly, that is.

🐮 Mertre: Mertre is one of the most well respected cultists in the settlement. Strong, noble, faithful and fair, Mertre is popular among the public. There is only one thing about her people do not like- and that is her choice of wife. Mertre is the wife of Eligos, a former disciple of the bishop Heket. Mertre loves her wife alot, and through her is quite close with most of the other bishops' disciples. Mertre is the best lumberjack in the cult, and was a rescue from Helob the spider. Mertre lived in Darkwood before indoctrination, but no one's quite clear on what her life used to be like. Mertre is a loving mother to her son, Dreiden, and is certain to often remind him of how well he has it here- and that things outside of the cult are much worse. She makes sure that Dreiden knows to be kind to all that come from the outside.

🐢 Puno: Puno is an elderly disciple, and the first of two head disciples in the cult. Well- as it stands, one of the ONLY two disciples in the cult. Puno is the only disciple to survive the battle with TOWW, being the only disciple who stayed behind to watch the cult. Puno has watched silently as the rest of the disciples and most faithful who he once knew have rotted from the palms up inside of the healing tent. Puno is unquestioning, though, and has little a complaint. Her only complaint is that she's growing ever older, and cannot continue to do her job for much longer. They have conferred with the Lamb, and Puno believes they have chosen the correct cultists to become the newest disciples. He hopes he chose well.

🦐 Treyson: I cannot explain this character to you chat. Please don't ask me about him he's a half joke made by my best friend and we love him too much to get rid of. He gets a wife later and everyone in the cult finds him strange and scary- except for the Lamb, who sees absolutely nothing wrong with this guy.

🕷 Nurse Fear: Fear is relatively new to her job as the head nurse, and she knows she's only the head nurse because the Lamb cannot make a bishops' past disciple anything of high rank, lest they face mass dissent among the flock. Nurse Fear was initially called something else, but decided to change her name to the nickname the cults children gave her. She thought it was funny, and found it more fitting than her old name. Nurse Fear is skilled at her job, but still often turns to Kallamar's disciples for advice. She doesn't always get it.

🦊 Tymer: Tymer has been in the cult for a relatively long time. No one's quite sure how he's managed an extended lifespan like he has, seeing as he has no skull necklace. Tymer is the cult bartender, and also often works in the kitchens, known to be a talented cook with knowledge from a past life in Anura. Tymer is known to have a deceased child with an unknown second parent, but.. she never seems to be that bothered by it. Tymer is... well known. To say the least. And is a very familiar face in the healing tent, despite her protests each and every single time. They often get into physical fights with Maon- and, they just have NO idea WHY Maon hates them so much!! It's such a complete and utter mystery!!

🐶 Maon: Maon is one of the Lambs most beloved followers. Maon has been in the cult since some of its earliest days, him and his twin brother having been ressurected multiple times. Maon has pined after Barbatos since the centpides indoctrination, and the two are known as a couple. Kinda. Maon is a cult guard, and the only one who remembers that they were originally found surrounded by the lifeless bodies of other heretics in Darkwood is the Lamb. Maon is very protective of the Lamb, and earned the silent favoritism by sharing stories told to them and their brother by their grandpa- who was a sheep guard dog in Concolor, before the genocide. Many assume Maon would have been made a disciple by now, but their constant fistfighting with Tymer is costing them the role. Maon hates cheaters, and is ENEMIES with Tymer.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl au #tcolc au #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl fanart #tcolc au ref

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mieanme · 5 months ago

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I had a Hualian brainrot that I wanna turn into a comic in the near future, but I'm hella slow, so bear with me, HOWEVER, here's the idea:

Merman x Siren au

Those who know me - you probably saw that coming.

BUT hear me out!

Xie Lian is a merman (yeah, no shot, no-one expected that), he lives in a huge pod with hierarchy and social roles as hunters, gathers, nursery guardians, etc. He's still an outcast though - he's the only one among countless merpeople in their society that has snow-white scales. He also wasn't born in their pod, he was rescued from an orca attack by two merkids aspiring to become hunters (Feng Xin & Mu Qing) at a very young age, so no-one knew where he really came from.

The Emperor of the pod let him stay though, so how could anyone argue, right?

Years pass, Xie Lian tries to fit in. It's been difficult, but he's not the one to give up, always kind and gentle to fellow mers and creatures of the ocean. He's not allowed near merkids, even if he would love to be a nursery guardian, because others believe he brings misfortune; he didn't manage to become a hunter, because his unusual white tail is visible from ten miles away, not a fit to not alarm the prey at all; no-one wanted to eat or use anything he gathered, because no-one trusted him, so eventually he settled on collecting and discarding trash from the various areas of the pod's territory. This way somehow he's able to contribute to the pod's life and secure his meals.

He lives like that for a good couple of years, until one day at an emergency gathering of the pod, it is announced three mers have caught a strange disease - one that could be cured only by a very specific type of algae. If not provided the medicine, the mers would not only die, but also spread the illness to others.

What's the problem, let's go and grab that algae, right?

The point is, the algae grows only in almost complete darkness, within the depths of oceanic trenches. And the nearest trench falls into the territory of a Siren.

And not just a siren. This siren everyone knows and loves to call all kinds of nicknames, the most popular being: cruel disgusting monster.

Mers always feared sirens, because, on the contrary to the merpeople, they resemble reptiles more than fish or humans. They usually live on their own, gather only for the mating season and even then they often pick fights with each other. Their territories are sometimes equal or almost as big as those of merpeople; how does one even manage to patrol such a huge area?

However, the most terrifying thing about sirens is that they don't hesitate to feed on even their own kin - not to mention humans or mers. Feral beasts, as most merpeople would address them.

This particular siren was even worse. No-one even knows what the monster looks like, because whoever crossed paths with it, hasn't come back alive. It's been expanding its territory for years, slowly swollowing the remaining unclaimed area between its own teritory and that belonging to the pod. Who knew what would happen if they would have to fight to defend their borders? Would they even stand a chance against that beast?

Venturing into its territory was not an option.

But there's no other trench anyone knows of. So, was it a death sentence for the pod?

Not on Xie Lian's watch.

***

Wooohooo, that's it for now, if you wanna know more or you think it's a good idea, lemme know!!

PART II

#tgcf hualian #tgcf #tgcf fanfic #tgcf hua cheng #tgcf xie lian #xie lian #hua cheng #hualian #tian guan ci fu #hualian au #mxtx tgcf #mxtx

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vnti-vnxiety-recs · 1 year ago

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Vnti-vnxiety-rec's Masterlist

Ask Masterlist

Series

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 THE POISON ARCHIVES(M)

Based on the lyrics from Poison. The stories are not connected at all and can be read as stand-alones.

WORKS

S.Coups

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Love No Longer (M)

What happens when your friends dare you to break up with your boyfriend over text?

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Mr.NotSoRighteous (M)

When your boyfriend Joshua breaks up with you and gets with your sworn rival, you are determined to get him back. You seek help from the known bad boy on campus who's not too fond of you. Can the campus outcast help you win your Mr.Right back?

Mingyu

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Petty Wars (M)

An argument between you and Mingyu leads to a 7 day war of stubbornness to see who cracks first to apologize

Hoshi

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Screentime(M)

You're out on a date with Hoshi but he's glued to his phone due to business. You decide to leave dinner early without him. With the help of an old raunchy video you get back at him.

MARK

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Baby, I'm a rockstar (M)

After your boyfriend breaks up with you to focus on his music career, you devise a scheme to get back at him by attending his band’s open auditions. To both your surprises, you end up joining the band. It would be foolish not to seize this opportunity for some well-deserved revenge.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Falling Beyond Grace (M)

Mark is a man dedicated to his faith but he battles the constant temptation of you, a seductive prostitute who seems to appear at every corner.

Renjun

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Won’t fall for it (M)

No amount of red flags will keep Renjun away from you. As he tries to fix you he finds himself becoming a different person. Did you ruin him? Or maybe he was ruined all along.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 LEARNING CURVES (M) 00 Line

After a negative sexual encounter in high school, fear and reluctance hold you back from exploring new experiences. However, a friend offers advice that shifts your perspective, suggesting that perhaps all you need is some practice to improve and feel more confident in trying new things outside of your comfort zone. You would need a lot of practice.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 All U Ever Wanted (M) 00 line

You couldn’t wait for the day when you would finally present. The feeling of being left behind as everyone around you embraced their identities as alphas, betas, and omegas was suffocating. You had been counting down the days until it was your turn. But when the long-awaited day finally arrived, it was nothing like you had imagined.

Jeno

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Swallowing The Pain(M)

After getting into the same college, you and your best friend Jeno were supposed to live the college experience together, so how did he get stuck becoming your errand boy? Your friendship is put to the test when you bully Jeno to impress your new college friends.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 LEARNING CURVES (M) 00 Line

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 GUARDIAN GLOVES (M)

No matter how badly you want to start over, your rebellious past follows you to college, and you can't run from it forever Your brother Jaemin was your rock growing up, but now that he has left for an out-of-state university, he can no longer save you. You do not want to burden your brother's best friend, but he might be the only one who can save you from the person of your past who refuses to let you go.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Chasing Shadows

You meet a lost frat boy at a rave, and even though your interaction is brief, you leave a strong impression on him. Your playful banter and mysterious smile spark his interest.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 All U Ever Wanted (M) 00 Line

Haechan

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better (M)

Haechan and you have never gotten along, and your friend group is sick of it, so they make a bet that the two of you can't ignore. When put to the test, will your hatred for each other still stand?

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 The Harder I Fall(M)

You find it hard to return to your normal day-to-day life after you break up with your ex, Haechan. He makes it his duty to make your life a living hell in order to see you. You're not sure why you thought it would be a good idea to date your cute punk rock neighbor, but you are soon to regret it.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 LEARNING CURVES (M) 00 Line

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 PAGES OF A HEART (M)

You have been begging your campus librarian to let you join the staff for ages, but when she finally lets you on, you’re disappointed to find out that the campus’s star hockey player also joins. Can the two of you work things out after a rough start?

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 WILD HEARTS (M)

For as long as you can remember, you have always had a crush on Mark. Over the summer, you have the opportunity to get closer to him but there is one problem. For as long as you could remember him, Haechan always got in the way.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Rage Quit (M)

You and Haechan get into an argument about something small, and when he goes back to playing his video games, he can't find it in him to focus. When he loses a match against Jeno, who's notorious for his terrible skills, it makes Haechan even more upset. Who better to take it out on than the one who caused him to be so distracted?

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 All U Ever Wanted (M) 00 Line

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Serenade of the Damned (M)

The Pied Pier was one of the most feared folk legends of your time. Little did you know he was real and was coming to take your life. You, who was known as the wolfhunter, realized that the hunter had become the hunted.

Jaemin

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Destruction In My Mind

The friends with benefits relationship with your coworker takes a turn for the worse as you realize he's been keeping secrets from you.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Destruction In My Mind 2

When your relationship spirals out of control with Jaemin, he resorts to kidnapping to keep you all to himself. It's been months since you've been held captive, and Mark is the only one who may be able to uncover the truth of what happened to you.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 LEARNING CURVES (M) 00 Line

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Team Spirit! (M)

Clingy boyfriend Jaemin joins the cheer team to get closer to his girlfriend. You aren’t happy because you know he only joined to fuck you. He swears he didn't join for that reason (he did)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 All U Ever Wanted (M) 00 Line

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 NIGHT OUT (M)

One night out with the girls couldn't hurt. Right?

JAEHYUN

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 The Cat Burglar's Heist (M)

When you attempt to rob a wealthy businessman, things don't go as planned. Instead of calling the police, he offers you a job. Now, you're left uncertain about whether you can truly start anew or if your past will come back to haunt you.

#masterlist

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haitani-bruvz · 2 years ago

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FAMILY AFFAIRS

Chapter 3

First Meetings: Mikey

previous part

Shinichiro x Reader, Mikey x Reader, Izana x Reader

DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Chapter preview: Introduction part 3 of 3. Reader's first time meeting Mikey.

Series TW: Yandere, smut, murder, noncon/dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, pseudo-incest (reader is considered a sibling but not blood-related), physical abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of child abuse and neglectful parents, ages of characters are shifted around a bit (Shin is younger)

July 25th, 1998 No amount of caution could have prepared you for the blazing fire that was Manjiro Sano.

The sun beamed down warmly as you found yourself once again at the local 7/11, a familiar destination since meeting Shinichiro just a couple of weeks prior. It had become a tradition of sorts, as he had been visiting almost every day, taking you out for various adventures, both alone and with Izana. In the past week, you had explored new places, shared laughter, and made memories you were sure would last forever. As you walked together, savoring the cold treats he purchased, a sense of anticipation filled your heart, wondering what exciting stories Shinichiro had in store for you this time.

His voice echoed in your mind as you recalled his stories, the teen often boasting about his remarkable fighting skills and the numerous bike enthusiasts who sought his expertise. While you weren't foolish enough to blindly believe his words, especially if the countless bruises littering his body and Izana's teasing callouts were anything to go by, you couldn't help but be captivated by his ambitions. He spoke with confidence, painting a picture of a future where he would open his own motorcycle shop- a place that would be a safe haven for delinquents and outcasts of every shape and form.

But despite the charm in his spirited narratives, a sense of unease crept into you.

Darkness was hidden beneath the surface, an unsettling feeling that lingered within. Shinichiro, who had always been accepting and kind, seemed to be holding back more and more with every interaction. There were moments when his eyes seemed distant, as if he was purposefully concealing certain details, hints of shadows lurking in his tales.

The very thought perplexed you, for he had always been open and forthcoming. Yet subtle clues in his demeanor whispered of secrets. Confusion washed over you as you questioned your own instincts. Why did you feel this discomfort, this uneasiness, when everything between the two of you had been nothing short of genuine warmth and friendship?

Being with the teen had Shadows dancing at the edge of your consciousness, teasing you with half-formed memories that refused to fully materialize. For instance, you had never touched a motorcycle before meeting Shin, let alone ridden one, so why did the weight of the helmet and the scent of the rubber feel so familiar? Why had you known exactly where to place your hands and feet?

And it wasn't like it was an isolated experience either- an invisible thread connected him and Izana, binding them together in shared secrets that eluded your grasp.

Since Shinichiro started visiting more frequently and your relationship grew, Izana's restlessness intensified. His already short temper seemed to shrink even further, lashing out at anyone within a 6-foot radius. Finding a mere five minutes of solitude became a rare luxury as Izana's grip tightened around your throat, dictating your every move with an iron hand. Even Kakucho, who was usually lax on the 'rules' when Izana wasn't around, took the new role of personal guardian extremely seriously. The only reason you found yourself on this ice cream outing today was because the tanned boy insisted on your absence from the orphanage, claiming that he had personal matters that he didn't want you in attendance for. Despite the challenges and secrecy that surrounded him, you couldn't help but love and be profoundly grateful for his presence in your life. Through it all, he had been a fiercely loyal and caring friend, offering protection and support when you needed it most.

You often speculated on what his life might have been like before the orphanage. Did his parents die like yours and Kaku's did? Was he abandoned like some of the other kids were? Whatever happened, you know his reluctance to speak about it only further fed into your belief that it was his pain that forged the protective shield around him. It was easy to convince yourself that his overbearing nature stemmed from a place of genuine concern and care. After all, it was only natural for someone who had experienced loss to be fiercely protective over those they held dear. With each passing day, you couldn't help but construct a narrative that lent understanding to Izana's behavior, almost as if his undisclosed past justified his actions in the present. In doing so, you unknowingly excused the uneasiness you sometimes felt, seeking solace in the belief that his intentions were pure and his overprotectiveness was a testament to his love for you.

Lost in thought, your attention only snaps back to reality when Shinichiro calls your name a second time. Raising your gaze, you become aware of how long you've been staring blankly at your spoon. Offering him an apologetic smile, you silently hope that he didn't catch onto your deep distraction.

"Sorry, what did you say?" You ask him, trying to sound as casual as possible.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Shinichiro's lips as he spoke, his eyes filled with anticipation. "Well, my birthday is coming up in a couple of days, and I wanted to know if you'd like to come over to my house for dinner. It's going to be a small gathering, just my grandpa and a few others," he explained, a hopeful tone in his voice.

You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest at the invitation, realizing that it would be your first time attending a real birthday party. It was a chance to be a part of Shinichiro's special day, to share in the warmth and celebration of his family, something you never got to experience in your own home.

"I'd love to come, Shin-nii! Thank you for inviting me," you replied, a huge smile brightening your face.

But then, Shinichiro's expression shifted slightly, a shadow of hesitance crossing his face. "There's something you should know, though," he said, his voice taking on a tone of concern. "Izana… well, I'm sure you've noticed that he's not very comfortable around people he doesn't know. It stresses him out, and I don't want him to feel uneasy during the meal." He paused for a moment, turning his gaze to search your expression before continuing, "That's why I think it's best if we keep it a secret from him."

Conflicting emotions stirred within you. On one hand, you understood where Shin was coming from. His genuine concern for Izana was apparent; He knew the boy much longer than you had, and you didn't want him to feel overwhelmed or forced into a situation that made him uncomfortable. But on the other hand, a small part of you questioned the true intentions behind Shinichiro's request. Was it solely for Izana's well-being, or was something else hidden beneath the surface? He never had seemed to have a problem bringing Izana around others before,so what made this time so different…?

Your mind raced with thoughts and doubts, unsure of the best course of action. You looked at Shinichiro, searching for answers in his face, but found only sympathy and determination.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" you hesitantly voiced your concerns. "I think Izana could relax and have fun if we were there with him. Me and Kaku could maybe help if…" you trailed off before speaking again, "I don't want him to think that he isn't fun to be around."

Shinichiro's eyes held yours, his gaze unwavering. "He has his own way of handling things, (Y/N). I just thought it would be better for everyone if we kept this separate from him. It's not that I don't want him to be there, but sometimes… sometimes it's easier to avoid unnecessary conflicts," he explained, his words carrying a weight you couldn't quite grasp.

You slowly nodded as you took in his words.

Gratefulness filled Shinichiro's smile as he responded, "Thank you, (Y/N). I knew I could count on you. It means a lot to me, and I promise you'll have a great time, my grandpa makes a mean Hayashi rice!."

August 1st, 1998

The days leading up to Shinichiro's birthday had flown by, and you had successfully kept the secret hidden from Izana and Kakucho. Surprisingly, it hadn't been as challenging as you had initially expected. Both boys were serving some form of punishment following your last outing with Shin, and the two were kept separate from the rest of the kids. You didn't know the specifics, but apparently, they had snuck out and gotten into some trouble with a few middle school kids.

As for Shinichiro, you hadn't seen much of him either since that eventful day. However, a brief encounter occurred when he visited the orphanage workers to discuss Izana's current situation. During that fleeting moment, Shinichiro approached you and explained that Izana and Kaku would be on what the orphanage referred to as 'isolation' for the next two weeks. Additionally, Shinichiro mentioned that he, too, wouldn't be around as frequently due to pressing matters that required his attention at home with his grandpa. Nevertheless, he reassured you that he would be present on his birthday to pick you up and take you to his house.

The news of Izana and Kaku's isolation, along with Shinichiro's temporary absence, left a void within the familiar dynamics of your interactions. The orphanage felt eerily quiet without their presence, and it made you realize just how much you had grown accustomed to their company. Though uncertain about the exact nature of their punishment, you couldn't help but hope that the two boys would learn and grow from this experience.

During these rare moments of solitude, you devoted yourself to creating a special gift for Shinichiro. It was a keychain with the letters "S&S" for Shinichiro Sano, messily intertwined with beads and string. You envisioned it as the emblem for his future motorcycle shop, hoping to tease him about how it was far cooler than the corny name he had initially chosen, "Black Dragon Bikes." A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you imagined his reaction to the playful jab.

As the day of Shinichiro's birthday arrived, a mix of anticipation and nervousness fluttered in your chest. You stood by the window, watching for his arrival. The gift was safely tucked away in your pocket, ready to be presented to him. Thoughts swirled through your mind, wondering if he would like it, if it would be meaningful enough.

Moments later, you saw Shinichiro approaching, a wide smile stretching across his face. He exuded an air of excitement, and your heart swelled in response. Stepping outside to greet him, you held out the carefully crafted keychain, the metal gleaming in the soft sunlight.

"Happy birthday, Shin-nii," your voice shyly uttered as you extended your hand, presenting the carefully crafted gift. "I made this for you. The 'S&S' can be a logo for your motorcycle shop, way cooler than 'Black Dragon Bikes,' don't you think?" A playful glimmer danced in your eyes as you teased him, awaiting his reaction to your light-hearted jab.

A wide smile spread across Shinichiro's face as he accepted the gift, his eyes lighting up with appreciation. "Thank you, (Y/N). This is amazing," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "And hey, don't be too hard on Black Dragon Bikes. It has its own charm, you know?" He chuckled, gently nudging your shoulder playfully. "But you're right, 'S&S' has a certain ring to it. Maybe I should consider rebranding in the future."

The playful banter between you and Shinichiro always brought a sense of warmth and comfort. It was moments like these that reminded you of the genuine connection you shared. You couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness, knowing that your small gesture had brought him joy on his special day.

Just as you were about to climb onto his bike, a movement caught your eye. Glancing up towards the second-floor window of the orphanage, your heart skipped a beat. There, partially concealed behind the glass, was Kakucho's scarred eye, watching you intently. A jolt of unease ran down your spine as a wave of realization washed over you.

Your gazes met just as the engine roared to life, and in that fleeting moment, the weight of the secrets you were hiding from Izana and Kakucho crashed back into your consciousness. Doubts and questions flooded your mind, and a wave of guilt washed over you. Were you betraying the trust and bond you had with both Izana and Kakucho? The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't shake the unease that settled within you.

Shinichiro, unaware of the silent exchange between you and Kakucho, revved the engine of his motorcycle, breaking the tension that had settled upon you. His voice carried a hint of excitement as he called out to you, "Ready to go?" Swallowing hard, you forced a smile and nodded. Pushing aside the unease that had taken hold of you, you climbed onto the back of the bike, wrapping your arms around Shinichiro's waist.

The ride to Shinichiro's house was a short one, lasting only about 30 minutes, but it felt much longer as your anxious thoughts consumed your mind. As the wind rushed past you, you couldn't help but wonder if Kakucho had somehow found out about your secret rendezvous with Shinichiro. What would he say to Izana? Would he be disappointed in you? And what about Izana himself? Would he be angry or hurt by your actions?

As Shinichiro and you arrived at his house, the motorcycle's engine cut off, casting a hush over the surroundings. Shinichiro took the lead, his steps confident and familiar, while you followed closely behind. Approaching the front door, subtle signs of a well-lived home caught your attention. Your gaze wandered, taking note of the pairs of shoes neatly arranged near the entrance. Among them were larger shoes that undoubtedly belonged to Shinichiro's grandpa, a reminder of the elder's presence in the household. But what caught your attention were the smaller pairs of shoes, seemingly for kids your age.

The weathered welcome mat greeted you as you crossed the threshold into Shinichiro's world. Guiding you inside, Shinichiro steered you through his living room, "Please have a seat on the couch," Shinichiro gestured, his voice warm and inviting. "I'll just park and lock my bike. I won't be long."

As you settled onto the couch, the tantalizing aroma of savory food wafted through the air, hinting at the delicious meal being prepared in the kitchen. However, your attention remained fixated on the impending conversation with Izana.

"I just hope he isn't mad at me," you thought, your fingers nervously tugging at the loose threads on your t-shirt. The uncertainty gnawed at your thoughts as you anxiously awaited Shinichiro's return from locking up his motorcycle. The seconds felt like an eternity as your mind raced with possibilities and apprehensions.

Interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared, your attention snapped to the source of the disturbance.

Approaching you with a serious expression was a young boy, his short blonde hair contrasting with his striking black eyes that closely resembled Shinichiro's.

The boy wasted no time sizing you up, approaching you with a question that caught you off guard.

"You're new," he said, his tone challenging. "You here to fight me?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, you found yourself momentarily at a loss for words. People at the orphanage had often avoided you due to Izana's intimidating presence, so this direct interaction was unfamiliar territory.

Before you could respond, Shinichiro entered the room, swiftly diffusing the tension. "Hey, what did I tell you about picking fights with people?" he scolded the blonde boy, playfully tapping the back of his head. "This is YN, a friend from the orphanage. YN, this is my little brother, Manjiro."

The revelation that Shinichiro had an actual little brother left you momentarily stunned.

The blonde let out a hum, suddenly very invested in your presence.

'Orphanage?" he eyed you suspiciously before continuing, "So do you know Iz-",

Shinichiro quickly interrupted him, shooting him a warning look.

"Don't even start."

It sent a shiver down your spine, but Shinichiro quickly shifted his demeanor, offering you a reassuring smile. Manjiro pouted at the interruption but agreed to put the challenge aside. He extended his hand to you, addressing you as "yn-chan" and requesting you to call him Mikey instead.

He's always like that with new people," Shinichiro explained, ruffling your hair reassuringly. "Don't take it personally. Grandpa should be back with Emma soon, so why don't you two go play and get to know each other better? We'll have that Hayashi I promised when they're here."

With a nod of agreement, you allowed Mikey to drag you to his room. He informed you that Emma was their little sister and that although she was 'kind of a weirdo' (Mikey's words, not yours), she was cool. He enthusiastically shared stories about a toy plane Shinichiro had given him and his adventures with his friends, promising to introduce you to them in the future. While you were interested in meeting his friends, you weren't so sure about this Baji kid. Mikey's stories didn't paint him as the friendliest, and you had a feeling Izana wouldn't approve of you befriending someone who seemed to have an even shorter fuse than he had.

Mikey's enthusiasm was infectious as he bounced on his toes, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, YN! Let's have a little spar. I want to show you how strong I am and how I can protect you!" You hesitated, recalling Shinichiro's warning not to engage in any fights. Besides, you weren't exactly the most skilled fighter, and the idea of going up against someone as energetic as Mikey seemed daunting. "I don't know Mikey, Shinichiro said no fighting," you replied, trying to reason with him. But Mikey's persistence knew no bounds. He continued to urge you, his determination shining through. "Aw, come on! Just a friendly little match. It'll be fun, I promise!" he insisted.

Reluctantly, you gave in, unable to resist his infectious spirit. "Alright, just a friendly spar," you conceded, realizing that Mikey wouldn't let it go until you agreed.

The two of you found a suitable spot in his room, preparing yourselves for the impromptu match. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on your limited combat skills. However, before you even had a chance to gather your bearings, Mikey sprang into action. His speed was astonishing as he swiftly closed the distance between you. Within moments, he had pinned you down, his laughter filling the air. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed, his playful grin widening before suddenly stilling.

You couldn't help but laugh along with him, realizing just how quick and agile Mikey truly was. Despite being caught off guard, you couldn't deny the excitement of the friendly tussle. "Okay, okay, you win," you admitted, acknowledging his victory and waiting for him to move so you could get up.

A few tense moments lingered as Mikey continued to hold you down, his grip tightening with each passing second. You tried to break free by wiggling underneath him, hoping to alleviate the pressure but his hold remained strong.

"Okay, Mikey, you're strong," you uttered, your voice laced with a hint of desperation. "Now, let me up. I don't want to play this anymore."

But his gaze remained fixated, almost vacant, as if he couldn't hear your pleas. It sent a shiver down your spine, the fear slowly creeping in. You felt trapped, uncertain of what was happening and how to make it stop. Just as panic started to rise within you, you heard Shinichiro's voice calling from downstairs. "Mikey, YN, come down! Emma and Grandpa are here!"

The sound of Shinichiro's voice seemed to break the hold over Mikey. His expression shifted, returning to the mischievous boy you had come to know. He grinned and shrugged as if attempting to play off his previous behavior. "Heh, just messing with you, YN-chan. Let's go meet Emma and Grandpa!" he said, his voice lighthearted once again.

As the day progressed and you spent more time with Mikey, his company grew more enjoyable. His humor and kindness were endearing, and he proved himself to be a skilled teaser, constantly poking fun at Shinichiro just as much, if not more, than Izana did. The room was taken aback when he surprised everyone by offering you the last slice of cake, a gesture he had never made, according to their Grandpa.

Yet, beneath the surface of his cheerful demeanor, a nagging feeling tugged at the back of your mind. There was an underlying darkness, an unsettling presence that seemed to emanate from Mikey. While he assured you that the earlier sparring incident was all in good fun, a part of you couldn't shake off the fear it had instilled. It was as if he wasn't entirely himself during that moment, and it left you on edge.

Spending time with Mikey throughout the day, you couldn't help but draw comparisons between him and Izana. While Izana had an intimidating presence and a fierce determination to shield you from harm, Mikey possessed a different kind of charm. He shared the same striking black eyes as Shinichiro, which brought a sense of familiarity and comfort, but there was something in the depth of Mikey's gaze that reminded you of Izana. It was as if a flicker of intensity and underlying darkness lurked behind those eyes, hinting at a complexity that mirrored Izana's enigmatic persona.

It intrigued you how Mikey could possess Shinichiro's lightheartedness yet harbor a depth reminiscent of Izana. It was a unique blend of contrasting qualities that made him even more intriguing. His playful nature and mischievous spark were juxtaposed with the hint of an untamed spirit and an unwavering determination. It became evident that he was deeply connected to Shinichiro and, as his little brother, must have inherited some of the qualities that made Shinichiro so cool in your eyes. If Shinichiro trusted and cared for Mikey, perhaps befriending him wouldn't be a mistake. After all, Shinichiro had become a significant part of your life, and his judgment now held weight in your decision-making process. You found solace in the fact that Mikey, being related to Shinichiro, had the potential to be a reliable ally and friend.

As these thoughts swirled in your mind, you decided to give Mikey a chance. Despite the nagging feeling of something hidden beneath his cheerful facade, you acknowledged that everyone had their complexities. Just like Izana, Mikey might have his own struggles and dark moments, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a good person or a true friend.

If only you had realized that comparing others to Izana as a measure of goodness was a flawed approach, perhaps you could have protected yourself from the impending dangers that awaited you.

a/n: I hope you all enjoyed it! Sorry for the long wait, life has been so crazy lately. New chapter is already in the works so please wait for it <3

TAGS @wildartist @rosemary108233 @devils-blackrose @teesissy @jcrml @soushswag @inurmom00 @spookychaossuit @shinslover @stalkergirl512 @miyuaditt @lurvelybones @kthyyxz @missanonymous1999 @kokonoiscoconut @ang3liclov3ly @josuke8 @bunn1rabb1t @gata-preta08 @chocomori @whyulyinggurl @Imbiafandbored @kazusbby @jcrml @the-grimm-writer @tamaki-jiki-reblogs @kookieszme @Berriesandcrem @bloobewy @thetruepair @madness-puppy @spookychaossuit @caramelcandescence @pongster @lostsomewhereinthegarden @k1nkyshoto @luno-614 @a-cult-leader @imbiafandbored @lovlessbish @kenmasbimbo @hnmashji @valeriinee @mel-star636 @mikeyaki

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#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #shinichiro x reader #izana #izana x reader #tw.yandere #tw.dark content

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alicedrawslesmis · 9 months ago

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I know I just said I didn't want to just be complaining about everything so I'll try to word this in a more constructive way asdfghjkl

It's hard to be an Eponine fan in a world where the musical -and On My Own specifically- is sooooo mainstream. Because imo as much as On My Own itself is kind of a half-decent, if simplified, encapsulation of Eponine's struggle with her love for Marius if you analise the lyrics in isolation, the musical as a whole, her role in the narrative as the unrequited love diva (I'm also simplifying here. I don't think this is super fair to the anglo musical, but compared to the book there's no question of how they reworked her into a glamorous 80s diva contralto because musical theatre has usually very strict gender roles), did her so dirty. So dirty. And imo often her character is reduced to her pining in fandom as a result. And I don't like that, personally.

I love that girl so much. I love that she is just young enough to still be a child but adult enough to be aware of her social role. She has one foot in the gamin life and one foot in the adult world. I love the tragedy that is the fact that she likes the beauty and pomp of high society girls and wish she could have silk shoes but knowing she can't.

And also being super resigned to her class despite it, she doesn't believe she ever will have any of that. She resents that too, somewhat. The tragedy of her knowing that she couldn't be with Marius because of his social class and her accepting that (angrily? sadly?). I love her self-banishment as his guard dog because of this. I love her drunk sailor voice. I love how manipulative she is and that she isn't Marius's friend at all. He's just her one neighbor who wasn't a total asshole one time. He was, later. But not at first. And she can't be in his head and know he thinks she's kinda despicable because crime because Marius is a judgemental little shithead.

And Eponine isn't an idealist, she's resigned to her position. I understand why she gets paired with grantaire in fics but her canon narrative parallel is Javert, they both believe they are excluded from society from their outcast position and so become the watchdogs for it. Eponine a kind of guardian (in her own words a devil, not an angel) and Javert the same. That's why he's the one person who sees her in the barricade, he's the same as her. Marius saw her but that's only cause he had a use for her in that moment, as soon as she didn't he forgot all about it.

I think also Gavroche, with his ability to be kind of a figure above the narrative, with his gamin skills of being almost omnipresent is something Eponine used to have, but with her age she's starting to lose that. She's starting to grown old enough that she's required to be IN the world and not supercede it. Gavroche is also almost there, if he had been allowed to grow up he would've lost that ability too. They both inhabit this sort of magical surreal world superimposed on our own.

A lot of Les Mis and Notre Dame de Paris can be kinda described as magical realism, I would go so far as calling them urban fantasy. And characters like Babet, Thenardier sometimes, Gavroche, Eponine (and Javert sometimes as well) are inhabiting this magically charged layer. This reality that's imposed Over the real world.

Talking about that One Series Of Wizard Books is a bit passé rn so uh. Doctor Who. Particularly the initial New Who seasons before they got that huge budget. That's a good parallel to what I'm getting at. The real world is still the same but there are certain characters that inhabit this mystical overlayer and are able to transverse from one to the other (Javert can't really because he is stuck forever outside and the second he understands that you CAN'T be an unbiased outsider who only enforces the norm without participating he freaks out and literally dies about it). Eponine is right in the eye of the storm tho. She manipulates reality to get her way, to die with Marius, because that's as close as she can get to being with him. And she manipulates reality to protect him too. Contradictions be damned. She has many contradictory feelings that make her complex and cool and an awesome character whom I love and wish would stop being reduced to the glamurous mysical theatre role with a single black stain on her face and a beautiful actor and a big unrequited love song about a random boy (whose personality was also changed for the musical and I argue is probably the character that was most fucked up by it in the public perception because he's such an weird little self-insert of an even weirder guy. But I get it, the musical is long enough as it is).

Anyway, I wish eponine could be more of a mongrel, a little gremlin. A little rat child that's just beginning to grow into an adult and is self aware of her role in the narrative society. She's a teenage girl which already sucks to go through when you're not constantly starving and cold and being forced by your father to work and do con jobs. Marius is the object she attaches herself to, but it could've been literally anything. Javert did that with the social order, he protects and guards it. She just chose Some Guy instead. Which, we all have that one friend who does that too. Like girl you're too good for him. Come on let's get you sone ice cream. And clean clothes and a roof. Literally anything. Bread.

I think if Eponine had a roof over her head and like, food on the regular she would forget Marius exists. Same as Cosette if she had moved to England. Like he'd be that one intense crush they had as teenagers. Can't say the same for him tho. He would hold onto that for the rest of time.

#rambling #idk. anyone has any thoughts?#if you disagree with me. go right ahead and say your piece! I'm open to being contradicted here #I'm no authority asdfghkkflsbsg like I'm just some rando on the internet with a les mis blog #long post

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frizzle-mcshizzle · 1 year ago

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the first 4 kotlc books summarized in the most unhinged way possible, because it’s been like 6 years since i’ve actually read them

Keeper: You’re an elf Sophie, you have to live with your new guardians who have a pet t. rex, have fun being an outcast at school, secret messages from your creators?!? actually you where dumb and went near fire and now your guardians don’t want you :(. oh no child kidnapping!! girls first time almost dying in elf land!! she gets to stay in elf land and gets adopted happy ending YAY!!!

Exile: girl finds a magic HORSE, girl goes to prison to vist a ✨psychopath✨ and make him go 🔥insane🔥 because that’s a job for a 12yo!?! oh no she accidentally causes a man to go insane from guilt (his children hate her now) oh no she’s allergic to MIRRORS, time to go on a field trip on your magic horse and meet a old man in a cave, oh no the bad guys attack!!!, SHE CAN TELEPORT?!?, fixes the man she broke though the power of happiness and 💕 love 💕 the last non cliffhanger of the entire series

(12 year old girl attacked by 5000 year old man happens sometime in these two books)

Everblaze: time to fix the psychopath you made go insane, oh no, he committed arson and killed somebody important!!! ogre king puts the fun in funeral by announcing his intention to commit mass gnomeocide and the girl commits WAR CRIMES FOR THE FIRST TIME (she should have known better you can’t even blame this on lack of elf lessons), your best friend is tricked into to making a torture device just👏 for👏 you!! the council is making you wear it as a punishment!! your dead adoptive sister was killed by her fiancé!?!, oh no your new dad is trying to kill him, you 🔥destroy🔥your torture device and plan to join a rebel organization, you are 13 years old, this is the start of the series cliffhangers

Neverseen: children join rebel organization by following a old man through paris, ✨surprise✨ a mother stowed away with them (she knocks the man on his ass), boys fight over girl and end up being forced to basically kiss through their magic breathing tube for a unknown amount of time, T R E E H O U S E S!!!!, children meet the leaders (that they definitely don’t already know under different names), 🦄ALICORN SEX SCENE!!!🦄 the rebel leaders take the kids on a field trip! (it’s a prison brake), OH NO!! one of the hot boys™️ get stabbed by B U G, family puke party while he gets better, the children go to prison school for the man who they failed to prison brake!! Girl set herself on 🔥FIRE🔥 (don’t tell her parents), they meet twins!! one was bansihed for property damage and not because there’s society has no ability to teach overpowered middle schoolers hot boys™️ big brother comes to visit!! they go on ANOTHER field trip and this time Commit MORE WAR CRIMES, oh no!!! the big brother is actually evil!! oh no!! Tree lady activates tree power to save the other tree people!!

part two

#was originally gonna do all the ones i read #but realized people would be more likely to read a shorter post #also #like #i don’t actually want to write them all #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc neverseen #kotlc everblaze #kotlc exile

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wildflowerwoodsworld · 11 days ago

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Wild's Black Clover Fic Recs Part Two

This is part two of the list, but I'm putting all the same stuff that was at the top of the other list here too. This is the shippy list

So, I've seen a lot of these floating around over the years and they all seem to have the same dozen fics on them, so I want to try and highlight some of the lesser known fics in this fandom I love alongside some of the more well-known ones. (Note: I have done my best to avoid reccing more than three/four fics by the same person to make sure plenty of authors make it onto the list, not just the popular ones)

This is not just my tastes, I have asked a lot of other people in this fandom for their own fic recs to compile into this list.

Disclaimer: despite my best attempts to be unbiased with this list, I'm human. There are some amazing fics that I haven't personally read bc they contain my NOTPs or tags I don't like or they just squick me out. This is not a complete list of fics in the fandom you should read. This is a list of fics I, and my friends, like.

I will also not be including any purely smut fics on this list.

Wordcounts have been rounded to the nearest 1000 words. They might be slightly longer or slightly shorter than the wordcount listed.

With that being said, let's get into it!

Popular Ship Fics

The Plan by ThisHopeIsADangerousThing

Rating: M Ships: YamiChar Length: 48k When Yami kisses Charlotte in an attempt to win a bet, he's unaware that their colleagues, families and friends think that he's proposed, and equally unaware that he was the cause of her broken heart. Going along with the engagement seems like the easiest solution until he discovers three things: a violent plot against the kingdom, a secret organisation hidden in plain sight and his growing feelings for her.

Not a Wink by eclipsingbinary

Rating: T Ships: YamiFin Length: 4k Finral remembers Yami saying that he couldn't sleep a wink after Finral was hurt during the Royal Knights tournament. But Yami threatens to murder him most days, so Finral would be forgiven for thinking that Yami's exaggerating as normal. Yami isn't.

Broken Angel by Acacia_May

Rating: T Ships: Astelle Length: 5k Noelle Silva was used to being told what she couldn’t do. As a magicless child born inexplicably to the Royal House of Silva, her family had taken great care to hide her and her lack of mana from the rest of the world. However, despite being told over and over again that she would never amount to anything more than her family’s shameful secret, Noelle never gave up her dream to become a magic knight. When she joins the Black Bulls and meets Asta, an orphan from Hage who dreams of being the Wizard King despite his mana-draining magic having left him a social outcast, she begins to develop a new dream: a dream to fight by his side and to protect him just as he has always rushed to her defense and always watched over her like a guardian angel. But all dreams come at a price… Written for Astelle Week 2022. Rated for action sequences & thematic elements. Thank you for reading!! <3

Black Clover Soulmate Tattoo AU (Series) by Oighear

Rating: M Ships: Astelle, Nozessa, Zobra, YamiWill, Finral/Finesse Length: 685k In a world where magic is everything, there is one thing even magic can't do anything about: Fate. As Fate inks the soulmates' first words to each other on their skins, the humans who are toyed with struggle to come to terms with what it means to have their destinies tied together. Diverges from canon from the Spade Invasion

Last of the real ones (Ongoing) by Willows_Bend (Katy_Stark)

Rating: T Ships: Magluck, YamiFin Length: 14k An AU where Magna, Vanessa, and Finral are all petty criminals in Clover City, and the rest of the Black Bulls are police. They're pretty harmless and more irritating than anything else. Still, the law is the law. But until Clover City Police Department manage to get hard evidence of their crimes, they're off the hook - at least as far as Police Captain Yami Sukehiro is concerned. Though, this is the first time Magna has actually had to use Plan C.

The Dragon and the Mage by CloversDreams

Rating: T Ships: MagLuck Length: 7k Every few days like clockwork the hotheaded mage showed up and challenged him to a fight. Luck hadn’t turned him down once. No matter how many times he lost, or Luck broke those silly glasses he wore, the guy always declared he’d return. And he did. Luck had started to anticipate his arrival. Their battles were a surprising amount of fun. The mage learned from all their previous scuffles and tried to trip him up, but Luck’s battle instinct was on a level all its own. He wouldn’t lose. It was probably around the six or seventh time that Luck actually greeted the mage with a ‘hello, human’. He was immediately attacked with a fireball and told not to call the guy that. Luck smiled from ear to ear as he easily dodged the flames. He moved lightning fast until he was nose to nose with the mage. He had a wild look in his wide eyes when he asked what he should call the human then. A grin spread across his face when he actually received an answer. Then he sent the guy flying backwards with one punch. This ordeal continued for weeks and Luck hadn’t tired of it yet. Humans were boring. Except for one. Luck rather liked the tenacious fire mage called Magna.

Of Course It's You by CloversDreams

Rating: T Ships: MagLuck Length: 4k Soulmates. The idea was a whisper which traveled along a breeze that stopped every now and again to tell its tale to random passersby. The concept was so obscure these days that it was nearly forgotten to history. Those that did recall never spoke of it. Most brushed it off without a second thought. The idea wasn’t widely recognized since society deemed it ridiculous. And for good reason, too. According to legend, there was only one known way to identify soulmates, which was by a mark that appeared on both of them. It might’ve been reasonable enough if not for the conditions necessary for the mark to appear. This was where things got so ludicrous that no one could bring themselves to accept that the tales were based in truth. According to the whispers upon the wind, soulmarks didn’t activate until the pair fell in love. Ridiculous. Absolute nonsense. Whose brilliant idea was that?

Over My Heart by JohnnyCremains

Rating: T Ships: MagLuck Length: 1k The names on their skin may have been the mana’s way of pointing out those who would impact them, but it was up to them to determine how. Magna has thought about things more than he’d like to admit.

Darker yet Darker by Ccaprico

Rating: Not Rated Ships: YamiChar Length: 1k Because darkness will always do what darkness does best: corrupt.

Keeping Score by solarwitchwrites

Rating: M Ships: YamiFin Length: 92k Even people who've known Yami for less than five minutes usually agree that he's an ass. Those who've known him a bit longer usually tack on, 'sadistic bastard.' If they really know him, they might throw in that he's a decent guy underneath it all, but that's what they always start with. By contrast, Yami is probably the only person who would use those terms to describe Finral. Then again, so far as Yami knows, he's the only one Finral's really shown that side to. Though he's gotten a bit snarkier with the Bulls. It almost makes Yami pity all the girls who only see the playboy routine. The real Finral is a hell of a lot more fun to mess with. (A while back on tumblr I posted a YamiFin headcanon about Finral secretly being a little shit, and this is the fic-child of that headcanon. Basically, the Keeping Score ficverse is a bunch of oneshots wherein Yami and Finral start out as friends who mess with each other as a running joke, and eventually become lovers who mess with each other as a running joke.)

Green, Pink, and Grayscale by juviin

Rating: G Ships: Astelle Length: 3k Soulmates are a thing of the past, or at least, they should be. So why does the youngest child of the royal Silva family see no colors? Asunoe Soulmate AU where you can't see color until you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Rarepair Fics

Marriage Mishap (ongoing) by nodanova15

Rating: T Ships: SilverMantis Length: 26k Nozel snapped. “I’m already married.” The lie came unexpectedly easy, and the second his words caught up with him, he cursed himself. “What?” To his side, Fuegoleon startled, eyes wide, and mouth slightly gaping. “What!?” Nebra looked far worse than his cousin. “What do you mean— You’re married!?” Or Nozel gets caught up on a lie that drags none other than the notorious Jack The Ripper into his (personal)life.

wildest dreams (because falling's not the problem) (Series) by IAmStoryteller

Rating: M Ships: YunoMimoLang Length: 85k I accidentally started a Yuno/Langris/Mimosa series, oops.

distance (Crossover) by Funky_Sea_Cryptid

Rating: T Ships: RuMagLuck Length: 26k Magna Swing is reaped for the 64th Annual Hunger Games. The odds were never in his favor to begin with.

(i think) i love you by Falahime

Rating: M Ships: YamiNacht Length: 10k Yami woke, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, and just stared at the ceiling. Okay, just because he was having the most vivid wet dreams he’d had since he was a teenager (which was also when he met Nacht, but that had to be coincidence, right?) did not mean he was in love with the guy— With an irritated groan, Yami grabbed his pillow and shoved it over his face and let out a yell, trying to smother the sound and himself both. Rating: M Ships: YamiNacht Length: 10k Yami woke, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, and just stared at the ceiling. Okay, just because he was having the most vivid wet dreams he’d had since he was a teenager (which was also when he met Nacht, but that had to be coincidence, right?) did not mean he was in love with the guy— With an irritated groan, Yami grabbed his pillow and shoved it over his face and let out a yell, trying to smother the sound and himself both.

"It's Called Breakfast, Stupid." by bvchivtvriko

Rating: T Ships: YamiJack Length: 4k The rituals are intricate, and Jack's deciding to slice them up a bit.

The Awful Edges Where You End by Bean_Market_Mafia, Funky_Sea_Cryptid

Rating: M Ships: YamiNacht Length: 63k Seven years after he gained a gruesome gift that he didn’t want, Yami Sukehiro moves from a temp job in San Francisco into a broken-down estate in Maine. It’s expensive and busted to hell, but it’s a place that finally, finally seems empty. This kind of story only goes one way. Watch to see if the silverware has turned black. Watch to see if the table has begun to rot. If the blood from the wall starts to glisten like oil and decay, the door will be lost to you, and you will be left with nothing but your sins to contend with.

I Can't Say Anything Clever, But Let's Chase a Cat Together by JadeGM

Rating: T Ships: YamiMorgen Length: 3k In which the Black Bulls' hideout actually is haunted, and Luck can vaguely sense/hear ghosts. ...Gordon can do it too, but nobody can hear him most of the time, so it barely comes up.

Thawing Of A Frozen Heart by eclipsingbinary, Firefutte

Rating: T Ships: YunoLang Length: 48k Daily News Exclusive: Business Scandal of the Century The esteemed owners of Vauditren Real Estate and Industrial Developments, Ledior and Liliane Vaude, were arrested at their city penthouse yesterday evening. The billion dollar company and its assets have been frozen as part of the police investigation. At the time of going to press, further details have not not been made public. A police spokesman declined our request for an interview. There has been no official comment from the company's public relations department. Board members, including the Vaudes' son and heir, Langris Vaude, were unreachable. -- Finral read the article one more time. This was bad. This was very bad. (The story where Langris Vaude loses everything, and gains more than he ever thought he could have.)

my song, my sorrow, and i (Ongoing, Crossover) by Funky_Sea_Cryptid

Rating: T Ships: Fuegoleon/Salamander Length: 47k After repeated failures, and with his devotion to the God he worships waning, Fuegoleon Vermillion is given one last chance to prove himself.

the fabula crepidata (Ongoing) by Bean_Market_Mafia

Rating: M Ships: Fuegoleon/Salamander Length: 46k With his confidence in his abilities shattered after losing his arm, Fuegoleon is enlisted to take on a case that hits a little too close to home.

The Hangover by subtleassiduities

Rating: T Ships: Solid/Langris, Silva Family Length: 13k After waking up in a strange predicament with a certain Vaude, Solid flounders to figure out what he did during a blackout while also dealing with an unexpected obstacle: A crush. He achieves neither goal with ease, but he does achieve both!

Black Heart Scarring Darker Still by AvaCelt

Rating: T Ships: William/Patri Length: 2k William knows he's a coward, but even cowards can love, and if Zenon wants to hurt the other half of his heart, then William has no problem becoming the Devil himself. [William/Patolli, canon divergence, spoilers up to chapter 262]

Heart of the Ocean, Love of the Sea by AvaCelt

Rating: T Ships: YamiJack Length: 2k Four hundred pounds of muscle and a sword don't mean anything anymore, but lesser men have loved and been loved in return, so why can't Yami Sukehiro? [Yami/Jack, post-rescue, canon divergence, spoilers up to chapter 262]

Hey, Little Songbird, Cat Got Your Tongue? by AvaCelt

Rating: T Ships: LumiNero, Nero & The Bulls Length: 2k Secre Swallowtail atones for her sins by looking after a family of misfits. Somewhere in Hell, Zagred laughs at her, and Secre finds herself laughing with him. [one-sided Secre/Lumiere, parental!Secre & Asta, parental!Secre & the Black Bulls, canon compliant but explores Black Clover demon lore]

Crossing the Line by eclipsingbinary, WildflowerWoods

Rating: M Ships: YunoLang, Langris & the Golden Dawn, Finral & Langris As a the out of favour Vaude son, his useless spatial magic would never be what his family desired, no matter how hard he tried to force it into shapes it would never become. His long-term survival depended on being of use, and as he reached grimoire age, his use was rapidly running out. He knew they would never let him reach fifteen. Somehow, against the odds, he survives and works out how to live a life that he never expected to have. There are people who help him find a place in a new family where he is loved. He has a squad and a future, even if he is never without the consequences of that last night in Tota. Then the death of the King brings history crashing into the life he made for himself, and with it comes the brother he never expected to see again.

Oh What Am I Supposed to Do Without You? by supernaturalgrant

Rating: T Ships: FuegoNozel Length: 13k “Mercury poisoning.” The silence that follows Owen's statement is deafening. The occupants of the room share looks of utter confusion. “That’s like saying Fuegoleon has third-degree burns from that cool ass fire arm situation he has going on.” Yami’s the first to break it. Or: Nozel is diagnosed with mercury poisoning and forced to give his magic up until the can find a cure. Chaos ensues.

Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor by supernaturalgrant

Rating: T Ships: FuegoNozel Length: 17k “He’s dumb as fuck.” She asserts bluntly. It surprises an honest laugh out of Nozel, which seems to amuse her slightly. “You know that, right?” “I can’t force him to be with me, Mereoleona. Even I am not that high-reaching.” He tells her honestly. Or- Fuegoleon and Nozel break up when Nozel is promoted to the Silver Eagles captain, neither of them really knows why.

#black clover #fic rec list #fic recs

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