#this just reminds me i need to brush up on lore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dksfml · 12 days ago

Text

off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.��

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

1K notes · View notes

hypnagogics · 3 months ago

Note

heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..

sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster

TEMPTATION WAITS

before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.

“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.

She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.

In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.

Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.

For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.

Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.

She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.

Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.

You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.

“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.

Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.

Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.

“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.

“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”

You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.

You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.

You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.

But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.

It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.

The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.

Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.

“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.

Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.

You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”

She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.

It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?

When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.

But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.

Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.

The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.

She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.

And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.

When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.

When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.

Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.

The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.

She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.

You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.

You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.

“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.

You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.

“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.

"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.

She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”

She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?

She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.

You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”

Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.

She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.

Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”

The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.

tag-geese: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @fawnmotifs @marsworlddd @caszzine @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @claude999 @brunaedn @lanabaezzzz @mimasroom2

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, fill out the form here! thanks for reading! interactions are greatly appreciated and encouraged ♡

763 notes · View notes

writerwrabbleswords · 2 months ago

Text

Bookish | Wolverine/Logan Howlett X [Male Librarian] Reader

What made libraries so special? Logan might have answer to that, and it's the guy behind the desk.

Quick notes : This was an idea that came to me randomly! I liked the idea of having a more softish reader since it’s a personality that contrasts so well with Logans - think opposites attract! As usual, this story is set from Logan's POV (I’ll do Reader POV at some point, most likely in a oneshot rather than in these drabbles)! There will most likely be a few things (or many) that aren’t accurate to the X-Men comics/movies lore, and this is because I have yet to see the movies… I will be changing this shortly, however! [Side note, I will be completing a request sometime today and posting it alongside a part 2 to the Iron Man variant reader drabble.]

Story Details : About 1,300 words, Male Reader referred to as ‘You/Your,’ Reader has a soft personality, Reader’s outfit is vaguely described, inaccurate implied history of mutants and their evolution, so much fluff, Logan slightly OOC (?)

Chuck wanted him to go to the damn library. He didn’t even like the library. Apparently the old telepath needed some specific books on mutants for a presentation he was going to give to the students at the school. So, of course, he sent Logan. Asshole.

The older mutant pushed one of the front doors open, stepping into the building with his mouth set in a firm frown. A few of the guests looked up at him, but otherwise remained focused on their own book searching or reading. He huffed, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in the large area of books - not counting the second floor. Logan did not want to spend the whole damn day in this stuffy library, so he swallowed his pride and approached the librarian desk nearby.

To his surprise, however, he was met with you. You had a knit sweater on, with a button-up beneath it and a pair of dress pants; Logan couldn’t help but admire your form for a beat, taking in the small details about you. It took a moment before you looked up from the book you were reading, a warm smile gracing your face as you set it aside and gave the mutant your full attention.

“How may I help you, sir?”

Your voice made something flutter in Logans’ stomach, but he pushed the feeling aside. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked away in an attempt to straighten his thoughts.

“Does the library have books on mutants and their history?” He asked gruffly, fixing his eyes on you once more as he continued, “Specifically the mutation history?”

The way you blinked, pursing your lips in thought as you rubbed your chin made his heart thump oddly; why were you so… cute? At the thought, the mutant shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind and focus on the task he’d been assigned.

“We have a mutant section in both fiction and nonfiction, but what you’re looking for is more likely in our history catalog,” you reached forward, typing something into the computer just beside you as you tapped your fingers against the wooden desk, “It might be in nonfiction, though. Is there a specific book you’re looking for?”

Logan watched you closely, his fingers twitching subtly as he felt the sudden urge to smoke; a cigar would’ve helped loosen him up, he guessed. He blinked when you suddenly addressed him, his focus shifting to what you’d said as he nodded and pulled out a small sticky note from his pocket. Written down in Chuck’s neat handwriting were the titles of the four books he needed, and the mutant handed it over with little a word.

You took the note in your hand, your fingers brushing against his as a shiver ran up his arm at the contact. The small hum that left you was, admittedly, kind of cute - it reminded him of a puppy trying to remember a command it was learning. As you scanned the list of books, a small smile graced your features, making the large room practically light up.

“Ah! We have three of these books!” You stated excitedly, turning back to your computer and presumably typing in their titles, “I know the one on mutant evolution in cells should be in mutant nonfiction - numbers 400 through 500 - but the other two I’m unsure of.”

When you got the answer you were looking for, your hand swooped as you scribbled out the location of each of the books Logan needed on a small slip of paper, the smile never leaving your face.

“They’re all very good books, you know,” your voice brought him out of his thoughts, “I’ve read the one on cell evolution and mutant development over the decades; they’re both packed full of information I think more folks should know.”

The fact you were pro-mutant - something so rarely seen these days - made a small part of Logan feel almost grateful. He had been expecting you to be closed off and aggressive (he didn’t know why that was his expectation, but considering how mutants were treated, he figured it was just how it was when he went out and about), but the way you so openly discussed that you thought people should learn more about mutants made him reconsider his opinions. After a pause, with the only sound nearby being the scratching of your pencil against paper, Logan spoke up.

“Do you have any other recommendations?” His fingers flexed, “On mutant history, that is.”

He watched as you seemingly perked up, the smile on your face turning to nearly a grin as you typed out something on the library computer,

“Actually, I do!”

When you found what you were looking for, the older mutant watched as you added a few more titles to the list of what he wanted and their location within the library.

“There’s a book on mutant inventions I always recommend, as well as one on the PTSD epidemic currently affecting mutants - that one is less history focused, but it’s still rather insightful,” He listened as you spoke with such certainty and excitement, as if the topic was one you were deeply invested in, “The only other one I could recommend would be by Dr. Hancock, a leading mutant researcher in cracking the X gene in mutants. That one is the last one on this list.”

With a slight tilt of your head, you set the paper with the list of books down on the desk in front of him, tapping it with your fingers as you seemingly thought for a pause. Logan glanced down at the paper before taking it in his hand, his eyes scanning your writing as he let out a grunt of approval - you were quick and efficient, and that was something he could appreciate.

“Can I ask you a question?” The mutant found himself asking, unable to keep the words from leaving him.

You simply nodded, still smiling so kindly as waited for him to ask.

“Why are you so… interested in mutants? You seem to know a lot,”

It was a harsh question - incredibly straightforward and blunt, just as he was - but you seemed to take it in stride, simply rubbing your chin as your gaze went upwards in thought. Logan decided he liked the way you looked when you were pondering something; it reminded him of something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Well, my interest started primarily because I had a mutant friend when I was younger,” you admitted honestly, finally refocusing on him, “They taught me quite a lot - about the oppression and lack of rights - and after that I devoted time to learning as much as I could because I never wanted to make a mutant feel less than.”

Your answer had Logan pause, his eyebrows near lifting to his hairline as he stared down at your seated form; that was not the answer he was prepared for. He was prepared for you to say something like ‘I wanted to learn about others,’ or, ‘Mutants are fascinating,’ not that you wanted to make them feel equal. The thought had a slight smile tug at his expression, the sincerity in your words ringing true even for him.

“Bleeding heart, then,” He said with an amused huff, looking back down at the list in his hand before he gave you a slight nod, “Thank you. For the help.”

Logan watched as you laughed softly, picking up your book and flipping to the page with your bookmark in it,

“I’ll be here if you need more of it, sir.”

The smile on his face widened slightly as he finally stepped away from your desk, his fingers brushing over the paper he held as he began to step towards the part of the library you’d indicated was where the books he needed would be.

It was only when he found two of the books that he realized he didn’t have a library card. Fuck.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x male reader #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #male reader #wolverine x reader

161 notes · View notes

particular-one · 1 year ago

Text

oh, i was raised on little light.

synopsis. 5 times that blade listed every reason why he can never be with someone like you, and the 1 time you proved him wrong. pairing. blade x gn! reader cw. hurt/comfort, a lil angsty on blade's part with brief mentions of blade's insistence on dying, implicit spoilers about blade's lore in general author's note. i have been itching to write a 5+1 fic for the longest time now....i was listening to northern attitude and it reminded me of blade so bad. hello blade nation i know i understand why he’s so angst-ridden appealing to write for 🙁

when blade met you for the first time, everything in him knew you would be different from the rest of the group. you were the newest addition to the stellaron hunters, whom elio took a great fascination towards — why so, he never figured out, but this landed you in the same ranks as him, kafka and silverwolf.

you easily found a friend in both kafka and silverwolf; blade knew that much because he had watched as you indulged in kafka's innate interest in beauty despite the clear confusion in your eyes. he had seen how you would chat with silverwolf about the latest games that she's invested most of her time into.

but he would merely observe you; if, in any way, you had tried to interact with him, he would brush you off with a cold shoulder, never responding to your rather inquisitive words about him.

he didn't understand why you wanted to know so much about him, nor did he expect to be greeted with the same smile and greeting despite constantly keeping you at arm's length.

that was when he knew that you were too nice for your own good, but most of all, you were too nice to someone like him, who'd push you away even when every inch of his soul did not want to.

━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━

the second time was when you had accidentally found out about his despondency with immortality's curse and in turn, everything that blade had wanted to hide from you.

when you had approached him about it, blade immediately went on the defensive and angrily asked you to stay away from him. he didn't — couldn't bear to see the hurt in your eyes when he snapped at you, thus, the stellaron hunter turned his back on you and fled. which had exactly been the source of the never ending spiral of thoughts that was slowly consuming every fibre of his being.

he's done it now. he's blown any chance that he could form anything meaningful in this ruined life of his.

he had not noticed your presence in the common room, until you made a clanging noise that was the result of two porcelain cups making contact. blade was startled to see you here, especially when he had just uttered those spiteful words to you. he stood up to take his leave, when you called his name.

even the way you said his name had a gentle tenderness to it; he hated how melodious your voice had sounded, hated how he watched as you gingerly set down two porcelain tea cups filled with jasmine tea, one quite noticeably for him, hated how you took the seat in front of him and told him that you were sorry, and that if he ever needed someone to talk to, that you would always be there for him.

but most of all, he hated how his heart rose at your promise, and how much he clung to your words since that night. all the while fully knowing that he could never subject you to being intertwined with the likes of him.

━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━

the third time was much more of a painful wakeup call — quite literally. blade had always prided himself in diving straight first into battle without a single thought, desperate to die and get on with it. this mission was no different, but now you had been watching over him and ready to provide support if needed.

today's battle was much more vicious than his usual ones, but blade had always enjoyed the thrill of fighting. it had been the uncertainty of whether it would finally be his time that allured the stellaron hunter.

but… things had gone quite differently today. for the first time, blade was not seething in his obsession to die when he had seen you valiantly fight off the enemies that had threatened to overwhelm him. ha, as if they could.

he had not noticed that one was charging straight at him with his spear raised, and for a split second could quite literally see his long life flash before his eyes just as he narrowly avoided a fatal injury if it weren’t for the fact that you shouted for his name.

"stay still. i still need to bandage your side." your voice had inevitably brought him back to reality, just as you wiped off the last of his injuries with a warm towel. you had insisted on patching up his wounds yourself, and even when blade had told you that it would just magically heal by himself, he learned that day that it was rather hard to say no to you when you pleaded.

also, he could barely say no when he saw how you were radiating in concern and worry for him. not to mention how your eyes had gleamed like stars in the sky, but that was besides the point.

at the touch of your hand, blade suddenly winced at the contact. you immediately retracted your hand and mumbled an apology, but blade could see that your eyes was moving towards where he covered up the scars he's accumulated for fighting for over a century.

"are you wondering about my scars?" you seemed rather surprised at his question, but most likely due to the sudden indulgence to what you had been obviously looking at.

you slowly nodded. "do they still hurt?"

"not anymore." not any more than his painstaking wish to be free from the shackles of immortality.

you had started to set down the alcohol and bandages on the floor just as blade averted his gaze from you. the silence that proceeded was rather deafening, even for someone like blade who would rather sit in uncomfortable silence than deal with something intimate.

which was ... quite the contradiction to what he had previously allowed you to do, but you had slowly become the exception to many things in his life.

"there, all done. don't be too reckless next time, okay?" you smiled at your handiwork, and even if blade couldn't exactly benefit from whatever you had just done, he somehow felt a thousand times better than he's ever felt in a century. a flicker of a smile could unmistakably be seen in his features, and whether you had caught that or not, he saw you grinning all the same.

on a normal day, blade would have found himself grumbling about losing yet another chance at death, but instead, here he was, smiling at you.

the thought of dying at last had evidently crossed his mind more than once, but never did the thought of dying for someone else. blade very well knew that he could never be that selfless; maybe he had been once upon a time, but that had only costed him the sweet liberation of death.

and yet, the fact that he feels that greatly for you was enough to keep him up the rest of the night, the image of your blinding smile forever seared in his mind.

━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━

the fourth time these thoughts had started to creep up to him again was when the both of you coincidentally crossed paths at an ungodly hour, that you had the bright idea to go gaze at the stars together.

the thought of doing something together made his heart clench, but blade, against his better judgement, allowed you to take his hand in yours as you searched for the perfect spot to watch the stars from from their location.

the skies were clear that night, as if the universe had anticipated that two sleepless beings would be standing at the dock and watch the stars align before their very eyes. with a watchful eye, he stared as you could hardly contain your own excitement. "look, look! there's the brightest star — oh, i never thought we could get such a proximate view from here!" you kept flailing your hand everywhere and he wondered where exactly you had found that energy.

that was when he realized you had never let go of his hand, and instinctively, blade found himself clenching your hand in an attempt to let go. noticeably, your gaze flicked towards him, a momentary glance but the emotion it held in it was enough to send a chill down his spine. he could feel your grip on his hand loosen slightly, but blade didn't want to be a fool any longer.

something in him told him to keep holding onto you, as his fingers interlocked with your hand and held it firmly. blade could hear your breath hitch at his sudden gesture, but naturally, you just smiled and squeezed his hand back.

oh, how your smile had always made his heart ache.

"beautiful, isn't it?" you whispered under your breath, as your eyes were now fixed on the sky above the both of you. the world felt dangerously quiet, but he did not mind the fleeting peace it gave him. blade simply hummed in approval, his mind lost in the moment but he never found the urge to peel his eyes away from you.

to him, you were the brightest star that night and how he foolishly hoped that you’d never get tired of shining your light on him.

“yes, it is.” but foolish dreamers could never get what they want.

━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━

the fifth time was the last time, the time where blade had fully convinced himself that he could not possibly get involved with someone as great as you.

you were sitting across from him as you shared another cup of tea with him. blade could vividly remember the first time he had done this with you like it had only happened yesterday. still, it had been months since then — but you still haven't changed at all.

"is there something in your cup?" blade hadn't realized that his gaze became fixed on the porcelain cup that you handed to him minutes ago, that he barely even touched it. "no. it’s nothing.”

whether you had sensed his avoidance or not, you didn’t comment on it further. blade ended up taking a sip of his tea just as you were fiddling with the detailed carvings on your cup. now, it was probably his turn to sense that you had been avoiding something. “is there something on your mind?”

you looked up at him suddenly, no doubt wondering if blade had just said what he said — not that blade was particularly good at providing a form of care like you did, but his silence had always made him a good listener.

“you know, i really appreciate that you’re spending time with me.” you started, as blade watched your fingers graze over your cup for the millionth time, a habit that you had often done when you were nervous. how he knew that was something he’ll take to the grave.

blade didn’t say a word, only resorting to taking another sip from his tea. what was there to say? that he felt the same but a million times more in magnitude? it would be uncharacteristic of him to admit something that embarrassing. maybe, it had been his lack of response, that you continued to talk.

“sorry, i know you would prefer much quieter companions,” you spoke with a suppressed laugh, the same distinct chuckle that blade could recognise even from a mile away. “truthfully, i thought you even disliked me.”

it was his turn to be perplexed, as blade looked up to meet your gaze that was … on him. you sheepishly smiled at the sudden confession, before you took a big gulp of your tea. his head was spinning, and maybe it had been something in the tea, but blade could feel his tongue loosen with the many things he had been holding back. “i did. i do.”

a twinge of hurt crossed your eyes for a moment, before you casted your eyes downward. “oh.”

“i hated how nice you are,” he blurted out. “i hated how you would look at me with a great deal of concern in your eyes like i am someone to be pitied.”

“i hated how you’d still try to be there and talk to me, even when i had pushed you away before.”

“i hated how you are able to read me like the back of your hand. i hated how you could easily make me feel safe with your smile.” blade had wanted to stop talking, but the words kept going.

“i hated how gently you would tend to my scars, how your eyes would sparkle at the mention of something you love and how downright mesmerizing it is for me.” he watched as your eyes widened, before they were plunged in a tirade of emotions that were no doubt a result to his words.

he wasn’t finished yet, though.

“but most of all, i hated how whenever i’m around you, or even think about you, dying is the last thing i’d ever wish for.”

the uncomfortable silence settled in between them again, save for the whirring of the machines that blade was suddenly grateful for. he couldn’t bear to even look up at you, lest he’d see the hurt in your eyes again. “blade...”

“sorry. that was very unbecoming of me. i can go.”

“blade...” he took the last gulp of his tea before bringing the cup down with a clang. “thank you. for the tea, as always—”

“blade.” he looked up to finally meet your gaze that was only a breath away from him, before he could feel your hand gently cradling his cheek before you leaned your forehead against his.

oh. oh. you didn’t say anything more but still singlehandedly calmed his largest worries with just a simple gesture.

“you know, you could have just told me you liked me a lot.” typically, the cheeky and teasing tone in your voice would make him groan, but only this time, he allowed himself to smile. “also, what did you mean by the tea?”

now he was confused. “didn’t you give me tea?” you shook your head. “what the hell was that then?”

you could hardly suppress a grin. “you said you wanted rice wine one time, so …” so that’s why all those words spilled out of him … a groan escaped blade just as you laughed at his mishap, but not that he completely regretted it.

he knew that no matter what he did, he could never deserve someone like you — but he would choose to die for you a million times, that much was certain.

but for now, blade could most definitely contend for choosing to live for you instead.

written by carlyle (@particular-one) copyright: all content belongs to particular-one on tumblr (2023)

1K notes · View notes

wonder-mei · 4 months ago

Text

A will to live (Honkai : Star Rail's Aventurine)

credit to @xuaninin on twitter/X

Reminder : I do not write accurately to the lore of the world I am writing. I write whenever there’s an idea

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Aventurine should have denied Jade’s offer to go to this club; she invited him because he is too tense lately and needs to release himself so as not to feel too tense. Now he is surrounded by the workers trying to grab his attention for the money he has

“Come on,Aven. Take one and enjoy for the night”

Aventurine scoffs, rolling his eyes “No”. With only a short answer to Jade’s suggestion, he stands up heading to the bathroom but a room he passed by caught his ears’ attention. A feminine voice gently singing in the room, with curiosity he twist the door knob twisting the door open revealing a woman sitting in front of a dressing table brushing her soft hair

“She is new” A voice startled him from behind “Got her off the street and i had to have her here because of her beautiful voice. I’ll give you a try first then you can pay” the old man smug at Aventurine. Before he can even reply, he push him into the room and closes the door

The lady turns facing him then smiles. She walks towards him in a sway gently holding his hand “You are the most beautiful i have ever seen” she dances around him with her scarf flying behind her as she does “Come here” she leads him the white bed gently inviting him to lay down

The lady starts to sing to him as he lays down and her fingers massage his hands. Her melodic tones resonated with such purity and grace. Aventurine felt she is singing him a lullaby to sleep

“No”, he stops her hands that were about the unbuttoning his shirt “Proceed singing” he keeps her hand in his squeezing them. She looks at him for a moment and then she continues singing. Her hands never stop stroking his cheeks and hair making him feel safe and sound. A feeling he has someone beside him for more than to sleeping around.

She lays her head on his bicep. Their hands intertwine not wanting to release any moment “Why you don’t want me? Am I not beautiful enough for you?”

Aventurine let out a small laugh “You are already beautiful even your clothes are on”

“You are an odd one”

“You don’t like it?”

She shakes her head “No, I love it. Sometimes they all come here for one thing and no more than that…” There was a pause. “It hurts….”

Her pain was just like he had in his past life. The loneliness and pain not having someone to protect and to feel home like “I know how you are feeling. I went through the same thing too”

She sits up looking at him in disbelief “How did you escape?”

Aventurine thinks for a while starting the at ceiling “With the will to live i guess”

“Oh… I don't even know if I have the will to live at all. I am here trapped forever”

He also sits up laying his hands on her shoulders “Don’t say that. You can escape this life”

“No… I don’t have anyone outside there… I am scared”

Aventurine knows thoroughly how she felt. Scared to be alone outside to survive on their own “I can buy you”

“No!” the way he startled at her scream makes her feel bad for it “No… I know your intention but. I want my freedom to not be purchased… I want my freedom to succeed on my own, which I don't know if it’s possible…”

Aventurine sighs “You want to be free but you are holding yourself back,you know that right?”

“I know but… I'm so scared. And that man outside… he won’t let me go. He likes me”

Aventurine scowls at her words. Before he can say anything more, the door opens ajar “Time’s up” The man that sent him in came back again. With heavy heart, Aventurine stands up their hands didn’t want to let go but alas they let go

“How was she? Pretty little bird,right?”

Aventurine rolls his eyes with a scowl on his face “We didn’t do anything. I’m not paying”. He left to meet Jade who is not around anymore in the club. He sighs and exits the club by himself.

That is if he even left.

He sat in his car waiting hours until the club closed. As soon as the lights of the buildings are already off. Aventurine went out from his car, quietly walked to the back of the building and stopped outside a window. He taps the window and waits for an answer

“What are you still doing here?” she asked after she opens the window

Aventurine’s eyes widened seeing a bruise on her face “Did he do that?” he reaches her face but he pulls his hand back when she flinches in pain “I’m so sorry..”

“It’s okay… i’m used to it”

His lips trembles at her confession “Come with me”

“What?”

“You said your freedom is not priced. And I am right now giving you an option to leave this place… I will be with you. Forever”

His last words made her lost to breathe “Forever?”

“Yes,forever. I will love you and you will love me. You are the will of me to live and i will be the will of you to live”

Her tears flows from her eyes not caring her eyes are already in pain from the beating she got “Yes”

Such a simple answer that changes her path of life. She takes his hand and he sweeps her feet off the place of her misery to the life she ever dreamed for. Two lost souls found each other to learn to live like the fairy tales they’ve read.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

A fanfic dedicated to my best friend for her birthday today. It is nothing much. A priceless gift but she loves Aventurine dearly so why not give her a fanfic? And sorry if this story has no flow and so rush because yes i wrote this in a rush and i had like 2 other drafts of fanfic for Aventurine but i didn’t like the idea hshshs. But again Happy birthday to my dearest friend for years. I love her so much because she has support my writing since we were young and she still is :))) happy to have her still until now

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader

106 notes · View notes

marvelmusing · 2 years ago

Text

Our Souls

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: His Dark Materials inspired AU. As a well-known scholar, you’re invited to a gala at Lord Morozova’s estate. What you don’t expect is for the man himself to show a particular interest in you and your dæmon.

Warnings [18+]: mentions of sexual content, Aleksander is very suggestive and alluring, dæmon touching is a metaphor for intimacy and I’m really running with that metaphor, I’m also just twisting up the lore here.

“Well now they’re just showing off,” Fabian, your dæmon, remarks quietly while you observe the host of this gala.

Glancing down at the fox that is your lifelong companion and physical embodiment of your soul, you almost laugh at how primly he’s sitting beside your feet. Then you follow his gaze and find the dæmon of your host.

Lord Aleksander Morozova. His dæmon, a dark wolf with marbled grey fur, sits on the small dais at the side of the room whilst her human counterpart mingles with the crowd.

Standing such a distance from his dæmon is an impressive feat and you’re certain it is some sort of subtle intimidation technique to remind tonight’s guests of his power.

The majority of the people at this gala are scholars and other academics. Their research is all funded by Lord Morozova - as is your own.

There aren’t many of your fellow academics that you would consider your friends. Throughout the night you manage to make some minimal small talk, though you mostly keep to yourself with Fabian as your only company. That was how the two of you liked it.

It’s as you’ve finished a plate full of desserts that the host of this evening approaches you. Once you notice him, you brush down your black dress as subtly as you can, ensuring that you look presentable.

When he inclines his head politely in greeting you mirror the action with a small smile.

“Lord Morozova.”

“Aleksander, please,” he corrects you with a rather kind smile. “You study dæmonology, yes?”

“I do, sir.”

“A fascinating field,” he remarks appraisingly. “I must admit I’ve read most of your papers, you have a rare talent of perception.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The study of dæmons, particularly their behaviour and the relationship between them and their human counterpart has always been an interest of yours. Knowing the meaning behind certain dæmons has always helped you figure out what kind of person you’re talking to.

“Might I ask for your personal analysis?” He gestures down to where his dæmon has appeared.

“A wolf,” you state, the hint of a question at the edge of your tone. He nods encouragingly.

“Yes.”

After pausing for a moment, you recount the general characteristics of someone with a wolf dæmon.

“Strong, intelligent, loyal.”

He surveys you for a long moment, and you begin to fear that you’ve disappointed him, then he remarks,

“If I wanted flattery I would have remained with Miss Nazyalensky.” The amusement in his words fades as he holds your gaze. “Tell me the truth.”

Unable to look away from his dark eyes, a shiver runs down your spine and a strange warmth prickles over your skin - like a flustered sense of embarrassment mixed with an unfamiliar pleasure. Almost breathlessly, you say,

“There’s a violence in your soul. A vicious need to protect and possess. To take down whoever stands in your way, no matter what.”

He hums, approval shining in his eyes as he steps closer.

“And what about your little fox?”

At that, you glance down at Fabian and a bolt of surprise hits your chest as you see Aleksander’s dæmon nuzzling herself against your dæmon. Dark fur brushing firmly against Fabian’s glimmering red.

Hardly able to breathe with the flood of sensations running through your body, you barely notice that Aleksander has taken your chin between his fingers.

To see your dæmons entwined, playing with one another, feels too intimate. Especially in public like this.

“Look at me,” he demands gently. When you do as he says, you almost melt at the casual dominance resting on his features. “Answer the question.”

Words spill from you without any prior thought.

“Foxes are clever. Adaptable and cunning. They enjoy the hunt.”

He smiles darkly.

“It appears your soul is just as vicious as mine, wouldn’t you say?”

He steps closer as Fabian rolls happily onto his back and Aleksander’s dæmon rubs her face enthusiastically over his fluffy underbelly.

Sensing where your gaze has fallen once again, Aleksander breathes out a small huff of laughter at the sight of your dæmons together.

Then he asks in a low voice,

“Have you ever touched a dæmon before?”

Amusement glimmers in his eyes as you inhale sharply in response to his question. Touching someone else’s dæmon is regarded as taboo. Even in an academic context, you’ve never even considered such a thing.

“Surely you of all people should know that it is only common courtesy that prevents us from doing so,” he muses quietly.

Then he lifts a dark brow.

“I’m assuming no one has ever touched your dæmon?”

You shake your head.

“Poor thing,” he coos, stroking your cheek softly. “With consent, it can be quite a pleasurable experience.”

“You want to touch my dæmon?”

The words are stammered and fumbled as they leave your lips but Aleksander smiles indulgently all the same.

“Yes. And I’d very much like you to touch mine.”

Just the thought of sinking your fingers into the thick dark fur, imagining how Aleksander’s eyes might flutter closed, his head tilting back slightly, has you thoroughly enticed.

“Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to continue this discussion,” he suggests.

Holding his gaze for a long moment, you find yourself slipping away from reality, utterly mesmerised by the man in front of you and the feeling of his soul curling around yours. Once again, your eyes drift over to your dæmons.

“What’s her name?” you whisper softly. When the hint of a frown touches at his brows you add, “Your dæmon.”

Something in his expression softens.

“Andromeda.”

The corner of your mouth lifts with a soft smile.

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you.” He tilts his head so that his eyes can bounce between you and your dæmon, then he adds in a low voice, “Fabian, isn’t it?”

A visible shudder rolls through your dæmon as you nod with a dazed look in your eyes.

Aleksander looks almost sympathetic as he observes the state of you, curling each of his hands around your forearms to steady you.

“If you want me to stop this-”

Shaking your head, you interrupt him with a quiet plea.

“No, please, don’t stop.”

“Come with me,” he insists, though he makes no move before you nod in consent. When you do, he breathes out a soft smile and begins to lead you through the throngs of people.

It all passes by in a blur. Aleksander’s arm curled protectively around your waist. Andromeda pressed closely against Fabian as they follow you.

As soon as you reach a deserted hallway, Aleksander is pushing you back against a smooth stone wall. For a moment he watches the heavy rise and fall of your chest, your lips parted and eyes wide as you stare up at him.

His fingers ghost over your lips in a silent question, to which you nod and allow your eyes to flutter closed in anticipation.

Then his mouth descends, meeting yours in a fierce kiss that steals everything from you. Mind filled nothing but thoughts of him, you grasp tightly onto the front of his kefta to support yourself and bring him closer. The way he takes the air from your lungs makes you dizzy.

He withdraws slowly, after several more lengthy kisses that pick apart your sanity piece by piece with every movement of his lips. When he does half his assault, he doesn’t go far, your noses brushing together delicately.

“My apologies,” he murmurs, his own breathing ragged as he rests his forehead against yours. “I had intended on making it to my quarters before doing that.”

The smile that spreads over your face is rather giddy as you laugh softly. His own smile is boyish, with a twinkle of amusement sparkling in his dark eyes.

He noses affectionately at your cheek, tilting his head so that he can press kisses along your jawline.

“They appear to be enjoying themselves,” he observes lightly.

Following his gaze, you see Fabian and Andromeda curled around one another on the floor. Fabian nips playfully at her ear and a low sound rumbles from Andromeda. Little pink tongues flicker over fur as they continue to pet each other.

It’s rare for dæmons to get along so well. Even the dæmons of married couples aren’t as forthright as yours are right now.

“We must be quite compatible,” you suggest.

His body presses firmly against yours and you can feel his hardness digging into your stomach. It makes sense that the sensations you’re experiencing are also being felt by him. After all, your dæmon is just as eager as his is to touch and play with one another.

Still, you’re surprised to see the usually reserved Lord Morozova look so unravelled - by you.

His hands are firm on your body as he all but drags you down the corridor, stopping occasionally to kiss you against a wall or a closed door. The idea that someone might see you both has a warmth prickling under your skin.

Then you reach his rooms.

He closes the door behind you, pressing you against the dark stained wood. Caging you between his arms, he stares at you for a long moment. Leaning in slowly, he brushes his lips lightly against yours.

His delicate touch, after the almost violent hunger displayed in the hallways, makes you moan quietly, filled to the brim with yearning and desire.

“Aleksander,” you whisper against his lips. “Please.”

He steps away and you whimper.

Shrugging his kefta from his shoulders, you watch as he hangs it over a chair and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He toes off his expensive dress shoes and unbuttons the top few shirt buttons to reveal a generous amount of his bare chest.

Then he reclined himself casually over his bed, propping himself up with an elbow resting against the mattress.

“Fabian, come here.”

There is a moment of hesitation from your dæmon. People don’t usually address them directly and your poor soul seems conflicted. But curiosity and the need for Aleksander seems to win him over.

Inhaling shakily, you watch as he trots across the room towards the bed, leaping up in a nimble motion, before he approaches Aleksander.

Aleksander’s eyes flicker up to where you’re frozen by the closed door.

“This distance doesn’t hurt you, does it?” he asks.

You shake your head. Some people are better than others at maintaining distance from their dæmon. Some can barely move a few feet without feeling a sting of pain, whilst other dæmons can wander into other rooms without any discomfort.

Aleksander nods in acknowledgement.

Then he brushes his hand delicately over Fabian’s fur. Nearly choking on your breath, you gasp and lean heavily against the door. Both Fabian and Aleksander watch you intently.

“You can join us,” Aleksander suggests with a soft smile.

In all honesty you’re not sure if you can walk steady. Then Andromeda licks your hand in affectionate encouragement. Staring wide-eyed down at Aleksander’s dæmon, you give her a tentative pat on the head.

Aleksander hums softly in pleasure and you smooth your fingers over the soft fur at the top of her head before you scratch gently behind her ear. He groans lowly, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales deeply.

Stumbling a little, you move hurriedly over to Aleksander’s bed, tugging at your heels and discarding them carelessly. He smiles widely as you lie down beside him on your back.

Fabian presses himself against you immediately and you curl your arms around his body as he drapes himself over your chest. The familiar weight soothes you and instantly both of you relax.

“You have quite the bond,” Aleksander observes quietly.

Self-consciously, you bury your face down into the fur of your dæmon.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures you, threading his hand through Fabian’s fur. “Too many teenagers shun their dæmon in an attempt to seem more of an adult. Evidently, you didn’t do such a thing.”

You shake your head.

After your dæmon settles, it’s generally thought that you should limit talking to and touching them in public. Some people even think in private your dæmon should remain reserved. That’s something you’ve never believed in. Fabian is your soul - the two of you are the only ones you can rely on. Pushing him away would hurt too much.

There are lonely nights where nothing except his weight on your chest and the softness of his fur against your fingers can help quieten your mind. He gives you some of the best advice and you can’t imagine life with a dæmon you couldn’t talk to.

The distance Aleksander is able to put between himself and his dæmon is impressive, but his admiration of your bond with Fabian makes you wonder.

“You and Andromeda…” you begin slowly. “Are you separated?”

He seems impressed by your observation, though there is a touch of sadness in his eyes. Some people purposefully separate themselves from their dæmons, whilst sometimes it happens during a trauma.

“Not quite,” he says in a quiet voice. “Even before she settled, my mother insisted that I should be able to move a great distance without my dæmon.”

Andromeda noses against your side and you can’t stop yourself from giving the poor dæmon some affection. The idea of Aleksander’s mother encouraging them to be parted at such a young age makes your heart ache.

“It’s taken us several years to rebuild our bond,” he admits as he rests his hand against the dark fur of his dæmon.

The two of them seem so in tune with one another, it’s startling to think that their bond had to be recreated as an adult.

“Fabian thought it was a power display,” you remark. “Publicly putting that much distance between you both.”

“I did not,” your dæmon grumbles in a small murmur. At that, you give him a pointed look of disagreement.

Aleksander chuckles.

“He was right. If people see how much distance I can put between myself and Andromeda, they will wonder what else I am capable of.”

Fabian turns his head to look at Aleksander and in response he curls his fingers under your dæmon’s chin. He scrapes his blunt nails through the short hairs there before he moves his attention back to you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Sighing in pleasure, you smile softly.

“Good.”

He hums in approval.

“You’re doing very good. A lot of people lose consciousness the first time their dæmon is touched.”

You frown.

“Really?”

He nods.

The silence is comfortable between you both as you continue to gently pet one another’s dæmon. Occasionally, your dæmons will give each other some attention, murmuring quietly to one another as they nuzzle and lick at their faces and fur.

Soon they’ve settled in the space between you and Aleksander. Fabian pressed against Aleksander’s ribs whilst Andromeda rests her side against your stomach. Both you and Aleksander have turned on your sides to face one another and watch your dæmons.

“Shouldn’t you be at your gala?” you ask him quietly. He shakes his head.

“I can’t think of a single person there that would deserve more of my attention than you do.”

His words set a fire within you and your gaze drifts down to his lips.

“Aleksander…”

��No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” you protest weakly.

He chuckles.

“I do. And the answer is no.” Both you and Fabian huff lightly. “As much as I want to…” He traces his thumb over your lower lip. “You’re not thinking clearly and I won’t take advantage of that.”

“But-”

“No buts. If you need a moment to yourself I can draw you a bath.”

Blinking in confusion, you frown at him.

“A bath?”

He hums with a small smirk.

“Or I can wait in my study, for however long you need, if you would prefer my bed.”

The frown on your face deepens.

“Are you…?”

His smile widens into something that makes your stomach flip. He takes his hand away from where he’s been petting Fabian and traces his fingers gently over your cheek.

“I’m telling you to touch yourself, darling. You’ll feel better once you do.”

A burning blush floods through your body. The thought of touching yourself in Aleksander’s rooms makes you a little embarrassed, especially when you imagine accidentally making a mess of his sheets.

“Can I have a bath?” you ask shyly.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Of course.”

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @veescorneroftheworld

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

#aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #the darkling moodboard

611 notes · View notes

smilingangel582 · 4 months ago

Text

Hiiii I just finished Cyno's second story quest and it's beyond amazing! I love it! The best story quest so far for me... seriously!

I really really want a Sethos and Cyno fic now... bjt at the same time I want a Lisa and cyno too...

Eh, I'll just write both. Man it's been a while... since I wrote for genshin impact.

Hehe

Warning spoilers for Cyno story quest 2 and his lore about his powers.

Ler!sethos, Lee!cyno

Summary: Sethos really wants to beat Cyno. Tcg is out of the question... what can he do? He really needs to find his weakness... nonetheless, a certain Fennec decides to spill a little secret.

Temple of laughter

Ugh... again... Cyno, the general of Mahamatra, beats him again.

That'd thr seventh time in a row.

"You really need to brush up on your strategic skills." Cyno casually states, his tone serious anf genuine regardless of Sethos mentality.

Sethos has his head lowered on the table. Utterly broken and defeated. He looks up with fatigue, "Seriously Cyno, isn't there any other way that I can best you in?"

Cyno thinks, actually wondering to what he can help with Sethos. How's your sense of humour with jokes? I've known to have the best puns in Sumeru... perhaps from Teyvat"

"Don't go spouting puns on my watch, Cyno," Tighnari intervenes as he joins them briefly after a rain forest mission.

Cyno sigh, "Just admit that my jokes are superior and you can't hold in your laughter..."

Tighnari rolls his eyes, sarcastic now, "Oh yes I'm gonna die laughing every time he says a pun joke..."

Cyno, naively believing him, folds his arms proudly, "See, even the most serious ones know how great my -Ah!"

Tighnari poked him on the side, looking sassy, "How about try a tickle fight?"

"That's dumb..." Cyno scoffs but flinched defensively when Tighnari threatens to poke him again.

Sethos blinked. Could that be it? The general mahamatra can't possibly lose to something as simple as that...

Tighnari, seeing Sethos who's also curiously watching Cyno, smirks with an idea popping to his mind. His ear twitched in excitement as he swiftly began, "You know Sethos, you and Cyno can wrestle and see who's stronger."

Cyno, unaware of his ulterior motives, looks up in confusion, "That's unexpected... why suddenly?"

Tighnari cheekily points out, "Oh? Are you afraid that you might actually lose to someone younger than you?"

"N-no, of course not... geez, fine, I'll play along!"

Green eyes brightened at the thought of how Tighnark set him a perfect chance to get Cyno back. However he should be careful when Cyno retaliates. He's pretty ticklish too... perhaps even more than Cyno.

It's too absurd to think Cyno is ticklish... it might be a path to death if he attempted it. Still it's worth the risk.

"Fine Sethos, ready whenever you are," Cyno says, his hands up against his chest to a defence stance.

Sethos takes his chances, inhaling and exhaling. Praying thar Cyno will be at least a bit ticklish...

"The ribs and armpits... and pretty much his back and thighs are bad..." Tighnari whispered to him on his way out from the room where they've been duelling TCG.

Sethos looks back, tearfully and gratefully. He should remind himself to treat Tighnari to a meal sometime.

He lunged, and as expected, Cyno dodged most of them. After keeping up the charade, Sethls strikes by throwing himself on the general, grabbing his waist.

Sethos swiftly tickles his ribs causing Cyno to jolt on surprise, "H-ha! Wait... what a-ahahare you...?"

Getting more confident by that reaction, Sethos began to tickle up his armpits, causing Cyno to jerk again, more violently, he giggles in a low voice.

"Ah... I never knew the general Mahamatra to be this sensitive..." Sethos responds fondly. Seeing the uncontrolled movements of Cyno, squirming and rolling to the side to avoid his sensitive spots but Sethos was already on to him, his tickles nimble and effective.

"H-hahaa cohohohome on! Thihihihis isn't fahahahair!" Cyno squirms now, trying to figure back but Tighnari had give away all his worst spots to Sethos and luckily he can't even tickle him back properly. Every time Cyno reached to tickle him back, Sethls tickled his armpits.

"But you weren't fair when you tried to make me play a game. I never had a chance to win..." Sethos said, feigning hurt, "Oooh but general... you look more ticklish than me... what if an eremite finds out?"

Cyno was not prepared for Sethos to switch him on to his stomach, and scribble his fingers on his back. Unable to defend himself, Cynl writhes and laughs, more like cackling like a madman, "AhaHAHAHA NOHOHO MORE! AHA!"

"Do you yeild Cyno?" Sethos grins, expectantly but Cynl cackles. Not responding...

"In that case..." Sethos and Cyno both hears a voice, Tighnari leaning by the door frame, watching fondly, "Sethos aim for the back of his thighs... its so bad that he will scream like a girl"

"Ihihihi dohoho nohohot screeeheheheam like a gihihirl -EEEEK!"

Tighnari shakes his head amusedly, and he did...

Sethos freeze by that sound when Cyno lets a shrilled, high-pitched cry as his fingers swiped the back of his thigh.

"O-oho wow... I didn't expect that..." Sethos somewhat feels bad, but... he couldn't help lightly run his fingers over the thighs, causing Cyno to yelp now, "N-NOT THERE!"

Maybe just a little longer...

Sethos teases him, "Wait... are you really begging me Cyno?"

Cyno grits his teeth, but giggles angrily when Sethos, merely used to tap the sensitve spot, and even his hips making him flinch again.

"Cynoo~ which funny bone will it take to break you?" Sethos had to make a joke as he squeezes his hip, Cyno shrieks and that made Tighnari laugh, "Well I can guarantee Sethos has a better sense of humour than you..."

"Nooohooohoo"

Sethos didn't know if it's the tickling or the fact that Tighnari said he was funnier than Cyno triggered him.

"So tough but ticklish..." Sethos murmurs, now Cyno reached his limit when he got his knees.

"Fohohor thehehehe love ohohof teheheyvat y-yohohou win! You whihihihin!"

Sethos looks happy, suddenly whooping as he got off of Cyno, "Finally! I beat Cyno!"

Tighnari giggles now, proud, "Nice one, Sethos... Cyno is finally put to his place"

Cyno groans, trying to sit up despite his fatigue and flushed face, "J-juhuhuhust don't think I'll not get rehehehevenge on you and Tighnari"

Sethoa merely grins.

Worth it...

Ignore the grammar pls thanks

#tickle fic #cute #lee!cyno #ler!sethos #ticklish!cyno #cyno #sethos #tighnari #genshin impact tickle #genshin impact

57 notes · View notes

spaceyaceface · 1 year ago

Text

A Black Walnut Wand

Ominis Gaunt x Reader/MC

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: A wand made of Black Walnut can be a finicky thing---if the wielder isn't truthful, whether with themselves or with others, it's power diminishes.

So it's just absolutely perfect when her wand starts acting up right before N.E.W.T.S., isn't it?

Warnings: Little angst I guess

A/N: I was researching wand lore and came across this info and couldn't stop thinking about it's potential to be used in the classic "suddenly she realized she was in love this whole time" so here you go :)

At first she thought it was just stress making her magic go awry. That would have made sense—N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching, and what seventh year wouldn’t be going through hell with exams that would literally define their lives in the not-so-far-off future. But even when she went to Nurse Blainey and got a Calming Draught to try to get a little spellwork practiced, she was still getting nothing.

It was then she came to the conclusion that something must be wrong with her wand. It had served her perfectly well for over two years—never had she had a single issue with it. Something had changed, and she had no idea what. She couldn’t remember dropping it or damaging it in any way, and a close inspection revealed it looked as good as new. But it had to be her wand—there was no other explanation.

She tried to hide it for a bit, but it was hard with all of her friends constantly asking to study together. Poppy wanted help with Charms. Sebastian with Transfiguration. And Ominis simply insisted he couldn’t do any studying on Defense Against the Dark Arts without her. Spells she had mastered years ago were suddenly nothing but a sad shower of sparks, shocking each of her friends when they saw it.

“What on earth was that?” Sebastian said. She had just tried to transform a rat into a tea kettle, but nothing happened besides a small red flash. She buried her face in her hands.

Ominis sat across from her, his face set in a deep frown. “I still hear squeaking… You said the incantation right, perhaps the wand movement?”

“It’s my wand,” she bemoaned. “I think there’s something wrong with it.”

Sebastian lunged forward, taking the wand from her hand and performing the same inspections she had at least a dozen times over. “It looks just fine,” he concluded.

She groaned. “I know it does. But I’ve tried everything else I can think of. I must have hit it or something, or… I don’t know.”

“Have you taken it in to Ollivander’s?” Ominis asked.

“No, I haven’t. What if he tells me I need a new wand?” She frowned at the idea. “I don’t want a new one. I like this one. Or at least I did when it was working.”

“I don’t really see how you have much of a choice,” Ominis said, resting his hand on her arm. “Not with N.E.W.T.s coming up.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his reminder. “Don’t say that. It’s just going to make me feel worse.”

Ominis chuckled a bit. “I’m not trying to make you feel worse. I’m trying to talk some sense into you.”

“I hate it when you’re logical.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes at the two of them. “Get a room, would you?”

She shot him a glare. “I’ll get it figured out soon enough. In the meantime, we can brush up on some theory.”

The three of them kept studying together, and she couldn’t help but notice that Ominis kept his attention at least partially on her the whole time. He kept tilting his head toward her, brows furrowing. She tried not to let it get to her.

By the time they decided to call it quits, the common room was mostly cleared out. Her head was spinning with all the terms and definitions she was struggling to memorize as she packed up her books. Before she left for her dorm, Ominis caught her arm.

“Wait,” he said as she turned back to him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Go to Ollivander’s tomorrow, will you?” he said. “I know how much you love your wand. I completely understand the feeling. But… but I wouldn’t want you to fail your exams because of it.”

She let out a sigh, hearing his concern in his voice. “I know,” she said softly. “It’s silly. He might even be able to fix it. I’ll go tomorrow.”

His shoulders lost a bit of their tension. “Good. If I can help at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Her stomach flipped at his kindness. “I’ll let you know.”

He nodded a bit. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

They parted ways, and soon she flopped down on her bed with a sigh, the place where he’d held her arm still burning like fire.

She bit her lip as she stood outside the shop, holding her wand and tapping it against her other palm. After a moment, she walked inside, bell dinging as the door opened.

It was cluttered in there, as usual. Wand boxes filled the cubbies in the walls from floor to ceiling. The front desk was vacant for only a moment before Mr. Ollivander came from the back.

“Hello, Miss,” he greeted, glancing between her nervous face and the wand in her hands. “I take someone is having some troubles with their wand?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. N.E.W.T.S. are coming up, and it’s just not working like usual. It’s hardly working at all, I’m afraid.”

“Care to give me a quick demonstration?”

She lifted her wand, pointing it to one of the wand boxes on his desk. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The box did not levitate. All that happened was a small trail of smoke leaving the tip of her wand. She sighed.

“I see,” Mr. Ollivander said, reaching out a hand toward her. “May I?”

She handed him her wand, and soon he was carefully looking it over.

“Dragon heartstring,” he said softly. “Nine and a quarter inches, brittle, and… ah.”

She frowned. Was there some crack or something she had missed?

He met her eyes. “The wood is Black Walnut.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, not understanding why this should have been significant to her.

“Black Walnut wands are a little picky,” Mr. Ollivander said. “They are very careful about who they choose to align themselves with. They are very attuned to inner conflict.”

A small sense of dread started trickling down her spine. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means the power of the wand diminishes when its wielder practices any form of self-deception,” he continued. “And if the owner is not honest with themself—or others—for an extended period of time, it may not work at all.”

Her heart dropped. “I didn’t—I’m not trying to—there’s… there’s nothing I’m lying about.”

“Perhaps you simply don’t recognize it as such yet.”

She frowned, not able to meet his eyes. “Does that mean I need a new wand?”

“Not yet, at least,” he answered. “I sense this wand’s allegiance still lies with you. But be careful—much longer and it might not favor you anymore.”

He held my wand back out to her, and she took it with a moment of hesitation. All he said had left her head spinning all the way back to the castle. What on earth had she been lying about? A thought nagged at the back of her mind, but she pushed it away out of habit. No. Not that. It couldn’t be that.

She felt like she had no more of a solution than she had left with as she sat down in the library, pulling out her books. Might as well study some of the material that didn’t use wandwork, she figured. But she couldn’t concentrate on the words, thoughts still back in the wand shop. Well, they were until a figure plopped down in the seat across from her.

“Have you gone to Hogsmeade yet?” Sebastian asked.

She nodded, closing her textbook with a sigh.

Her friend waited for a moment, expecting her to explain. “...Well?”

She gave a frustrated shrug. “He told me it’s my wand. It’s made of Black Walnut, apparently, which is a tricky sort of wood I guess.” She frowned. “He said… well he said it doesn’t like to work if someone is… not being truthful.”

Sebastian leaned forward on the table, brows furrowed. “Are you saying your lying about something?”

“Not exactly. I mean, maybe not to you. Or maybe it is. I haven’t got a clue.” She laid her head down on the desk in defeat. “I could be lying to myself. I haven’t got the faintest idea.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but chuckle at her frustration. “Are you sure you haven’t got any idea?”

“Yes,” she answered. She peeked up a bit, looking at him. “Why? Do you think you know something?”

“I have some… suspicions,” he said slowly.

“What are they?” she asked, sitting up fully once more. “Come on, if you think you might know something, you’ve got to help me!”

“I’m not so sure you’ll like my answer,” he said, a smirk on his face.

“I don’t care if I like it or not. My entire future sort of depends on this.”

“Promise you won’t be mad at me?” he asked.

“I promise,” she said quickly.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “I think it has something to do with you being in love with Ominis.”

Her jaw dropped. “I’m not—”

“Don’t you lie now,” Sebastian said teasingly. “That hasn’t really worked out well for you so far, has it?” He nodded down to your wand sitting on the table.

“I’m not lying!” she fired back. “I don’t know why you would say that, I’m not…”

But even then, she couldn’t force the denial out of her mouth.

“Right,” Sebastian said, grinning. “Seems like you’re lying to all of us. Yourself most of all.”

She stood up quickly, the chair she was on making a loud noise as it fell back. “You’re delusional.”

“Am not.”

Her hands rushed to pack up her books, shoving them angrily into her bag, glaring at Sebastian all the while. “Yes you are. Whatever you think you see, you don’t. So shut up about it.” She threw the bag over her shoulder, walking away.

“Good luck with your wand,” he called after her, a slight taunt in his voice.

She couldn’t get out of there soon enough.

“Confringo!”

No flames leapt from her wand. Just a couple pathetic sparks, and she let out a frustrated grown. The brazier on the far side of the Undercroft remained stubbornly unlit, despite her repeated attempts to set it ablaze.

“I take it your trip wasn’t as successful as we hoped?”

She whirled around, seeing Ominis entering the space. After the initial shock, sighed. “No,” she said softly.

He hummed softly in disappointment, sitting down on one of the crates against the wall. He patted the spot beside him, and she hesitated for only a moment before taking the spot. Her mind was still racing from the conversation she’d just had with Sebastian. It made her feel strange sitting next to Ominis. Which was ridiculous, because she wasn’t…

“I’m sorry you haven’t figured it out yet,” he said softly. She was confused for a moment, wondering if he had read her thoughts, then realized he was talking about her wand.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure,” she said softly. The tone of her voice gave her nerves away.

“It will be,” he said, his tone much more reassuring than her own. He tilted his head toward her, and offered a small smile. “You’ve gotten through much worse.”

“Only because you’ve been there for me,” she said. And she realized it was true. Each time things came crumbling down, he’d been there to lift her back up, even if he did it with sarcastic words and exasperated sighs. It was even better that way, she thought.

His smile widened a bit. “You’d be helpless without me, wouldn’t you?”

She could only chuckle, because it was true.

His expression softened a bit. “I’ll always be there for you.”

And as he said those words, as her eyes traced over the lines of his face she had long since memorized, it hit her.

She loved him.

She wanted to look away from him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything but stare into those blue eyes, wanting nothing more to drown in them—realizing that she’d wanted that for a while now. She wanted to be wrapped in his arms. To feel his lips brush over hers. To spill every last bit of her heart out to him, to fall apart and let her broken pieces get tangled with his.

“Thank you, Ominis,” was all she could say, voice softer than she had ever heard it. If he thought it was odd, he made no comment.

He changed the topic, bringing up Herbology studies, and she listened to him with a hazy mind. She’d lied for herself long enough. But now the truth might eat her alive.

Sebastian was leaning back in his chair the next morning when she found him in the library.

“You were right,” she said.

He nearly fell back, just barely catching himself. “And you’re admitting that? Freely?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it or I’ll hex you.”

He grinned. “So is your wand working again?”

“Not quite,” she admitted. “But I’ll steal yours off of you and use that instead if I’ll have to.”

He chuckled lightly. “I get it, I’m threatened. See? You and Ominis are a perfect match.”

She blushed, but continued frowning down at him. “Shut up.”

“You need to tell him.”

Her eyes widened, her stomach churning at the thought. “What?”

“You said your wand still isn’t working,” he pointed out. “If you tell him, it’ll probably fix it.”

“I–I can’t do that,” she said quickly, panic building up inside her chest. “I’m not going to ruin our friendship over my stupid wand.”

“I don’t think it’ll ruin it,” Sebastian said, smirking a bit.

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“I was right about you being in love with him, wasn’t I?”

“And wrong about just about everything else in life.”

He crossed his arms, smug look on his face. “Trust me, I’m right this time.”

Her mind raced. Did that mean Ominis would understand? That’d these feelings would ruin what they had? Or was it even possible that he felt… that he felt the same…

She snapped out of it. She couldn’t entertain that thought. It would hurt too much when it was proven untrue. But she knew Sebastian was right. If she wanted even a chance of passing a single one of her exams…

“I’ll tell him,” she said softly, defeated. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

The next few days passed in a blur. Suddenly, exams weren’t a couple weeks away—they were days away. And she was still trying to prepare with a bum wand.

Because every time she found herself alone with Ominis, her breath caught in her throat. Everytime she opened her mouth to finally say the words, they fled, leaving her mouth empty and her heart aching.

It didn’t help that Ominis had seemed to want to spend more time with her. He worried more and more about her wand, having absolutely no clue he was the cause of its malfunction.

It was now five days before the first exam, and Ominis was pacing in the Undercroft as she sat on the ground watching him. She felt horrible having him worry like this when she held the solution on the tip of her tongue, but the task given to her felt impossible.

“Maybe we should just go get you a new wand,” he said. “There might be a bit of a learning curve, but you’ll be able to overcome it.”

She had to tell him. It was driving both of them mad. “Ominis.”

“It’s pretty late tonight, I’m not sure Ollivander’s is open at this hour. We’ll have to go in the morning.”

“Ominis.”

“I’m sure there’ll be another wand there for you, I’ve never heard of anyone not finding one, but—”

“Ominis.”

He finally stopped his pacing, head tilting to the side as he stood in place.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Could… could you come over here? I need to talk to you.”

He tensed up immediately, but did as she asked, coming down to the floor beside her. “What is it?”

Her knees came up to tuck against her chest. “I haven’t been completely honest with you,” she started. “I… I think I know how to fix my wand.”

His brows furrowed. “You… what?”

“I know how to fix it. I just don’t know how to do it.”

He frowned. “You know how, but you don’t know how?”

“No! I mean—Merlin, why is this so hard—I know what I need to do to fix it, I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do the thing that fixes it.”

“I’m lost.”

She let out a loud groan, burying her face in her hands. “Just… let me start over.”

Ominis sat beside her, patiently waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

“I went to Ollivander’s a while back, right?” she started.

“Right,” Ominis said slowly. “But he didn’t have much to say, didn’t he?”

“That’s… not entirely true,” she admitted. “He told me my wand is Black Walnut. That it doesn’t work if the wielder is lying, to themselves or others. He couldn’t tell me what I was being untruthful about, of course, which made it pretty useless seeing as I didn’t have a clue what it was about at the time.”

“But you know now?” Ominis asked.

She was quiet for a moment. “Yes. I figured it out.”

She looked at him, taking him in in case this was the last time she got to do it. She took in the slight unevenness of his nose, the curve of his full bottom lip. The beauty marks laid out on his cheeks. The one strand of hair that fell away from the rest, begging her to brush it back.

“I need to tell you,” she said softly. “I can’t lie about it anymore. To myself. To you.”

He was clearly nervous, no doubt having a million thoughts of what it could be running through his head. She wondered if any came close to the truth.

“I love you, Ominis.”

Just like that, she saw all those racing thoughts cease. Her heart pounded in her chest, trying to read every part of his expression, waiting for anger, disgust, betrayal. But it morphed into the last thing she expected—a grin, one of his rare ones that stretched across his whole face.

And even more surprising, he began to laugh.

She couldn’t help but be hurt, deciding she rather have had him yell at her instead of laugh at her. She got to her feet, starting toward the door.

“Wait!” he called out, standing and grabbing her wrist with frightening precision for a blind man. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at what you said. It’s just I’ve been worried sick about your wand this whole time, and the problem happened to be the thing I’ve wanted the most.”

“The thing you wanted the most,” she echoed, turning back to him. He was still smiling, but it had softened. “You… you wanted me to love you?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping closer. His grip on her wrist slipped down to take her hand. “Seeing how I love you, too.”

Her stomach flipped as she took in his face, closer to hers than it had ever been. Ominis brought up his other hand, letting it rest on her cheek. “I’ve loved you for some time now,” he said softly.

“Me, too,” she said, voice no more than a whisper. “Though I was a bit of an idiot in realizing it.”

“Good thing I love idiots. You and Sebastian prove that plenty.”

She chuckled a bit, but it died on her lips as he leaned his face toward hers. He was only a breath away.

“May I…”

She didn’t let him finish his question, cutting him off by pressing her lips to his. He’d been caught off guard, but it didn’t stop him from returning the kiss immediately. The hand on her face brought her closer, and his fingers tangled themselves in her hair. Her hands rested on his shoulders, trying to remind herself how to stand properly. Each brush of his lips felt like coming undone. Every touch of his fingertips set her world aflame.

And when they pulled away, trying in vain to catch their breath, she felt alive for the first time.

Then a thought crossed her mind, and she groaned, burying her head in Ominis’s shoulder. “What’s that about, love?”

“I’m going to have to tell Sebastian he was right. Again.”

She felt his chuckle rise up from his chest. “A hefty price to pay. But I think it was worth it.”

He lifted her face to kiss her once again, and she couldn’t help but agree.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt #ominis x reader #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt x you #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt imagine #hogwarts legacy ominis

343 notes · View notes

an-established-butt-dent · 10 months ago

Text

“Solas?“

“Yes, Vhenan."

“What are you drawing?“

He still has his eyes on the piece of parchment in front of him, but slows down the repetetive movements of his hand tracing the shapes on paper, as if that might offer him more time to find his answer. "Oh, just some practice. It helps me sort my thoughts," he says with the casual air of somebody trying to evade a question.

“Can I see, then?“

He glances up briefly and notices she has stopped reading her book on the early history of Neromanian magic. She has one elbow propped up on the table and rests her chin on her hand. She is looking at him expectantly, her book clearly forgotten.

He pauses the scratchy movements of his pencil and says rather hesitantly.

"It's not finished."

She leans forward a bit more, trying to catch a glimpse at his paper. He subtly angles it away from her. She might have barely noticed, had she not noted his newfound secrecy regarding his recent drawings. She has become increasingly curious over the past few weeks, and his forced casual demeanor after her question only fills her with more anticipation.

It makes her think of the first time he showed her his artwork. …

The first time she had walked into the rotunda in Skyhold and found Solas high up on the scaffolding with a paint brush in his hands and a concentrated look on his face, she was surprised to learn of his motivation.

"History needs to be documented," he had said when she asked him what he was working on.

After climbing down the scaffolding and taking a step back to admire the process of his work, he continued, "Not by the words of diplomats, but through the eyes of those skilled in artistry. Words will be forgotten, but images? Those will hold significance across time."

She had been moved then. By the bold lines in the fresco and the fierce look in his eyes as he regarded her as he spoke. Like she was someone worthy of admiration. Like he truly saw her. It reminded her of his words before their first kiss.

'You change everything.' He had said.

She didn't really believe him then. She didn't want to be put on a pedestal, far removed from the world and the simple and nomadic lifestyle of her clan that she was accustomed to. She missed roaming mountains and hills, not fighting blighted Templars and navigating treacherous games of power with nobles. That life had seemed like such a long time ago, even though it had barely been a year.

But perhaps she didn't need to suffer though all of this alone. She had her friends. Dorian with his jokes. Varric with his stories. Cassandra with her quiet support and camaderie. Iron Bull helping her with her fighting stances and teaching her new drinking games with Cullen. Even Cole, though he was still figuring out what the word friend even meant. She would help him with that, she had decided then. Friends; they made the aching pull of homesickness more bearable.

But Solas.

Who was he to her? She could call him her friend the supposed. She had the feeling they were becoming closer and yet there was an undeniable distance. Always leaving space for interpretation and mystery while never backing away from any of her questions. So much knowledge he shared, and still she had the feeling she barely knew him at all. He had slowly and unknowingly developed a talent for surprising her with new insights and he did so later again that same evening.

The next hour passed quickly while they were still talking about art and the different depictions of elven lore. He had stared at her intently for a moment, considering her.

"I want to show you something." he had said.

She never passed up an opportunity to learn more so she had indulged him, following him to a plain-looking crate to the side of the room. He removed the protective wards with a wave of his hand. He then uncovered some, by the looks of it, handbound books. He observed them one by one carefully, with a nod of acceptance when he seemingly found what he was looking for and handed her one of the books.

As she opened the first few pages she discovered they were sketchbooks filled with rough outlines in preparation for the next installment of the mural.

Excitedly he pointed to notes in the margin and spoke of where he learned the techniques for collecting and grinding his own pigments. There was a red ocre in the Western Approach that he had recently discovered on one of their missions which was apparently incredibly well suited for his purpose. At her encouragement he had shown her more of of his other drawings too. First of symbolism and color studies, but then more personal ones: of the views of the mountains from Skyhold, running Halla, drying herbs and even of some of the members of the inquisition she recognized.

In turn she told him about how she used to carve wood, especially when winters were rough and her clan was stuck in the same place for long waiting out the biting cold and punishing snow. To keep her fingers from freezing and her mind from wandering to dark places, she had started to carve.

"I haven't had the time since, well you know, this whole mess." she waved the fingers of her marked hand which flashed a sliver of green. Solas had looked thoughtful after her comment, almost like there was a tinge of regret behind his eyes.

The conversation steered in a different direction afterwards, like the seriousness of their predicament weighted more heavily on their shoulders than before. The mysterious books disappeared back into the chest and not long after she had excused herself and called it a night. Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling she had overstepped.

A few days later she returned from a short scouting mission. She climbed the steps to her sleeping quarters, exhausted. She hardly noticed there was an odd-shaped package leaning against her bedroom door until she almost stumbled over it. Her tiredness trading itself for curiosity, she moved to pick it up.

There was no note attached but once she unwrapped the bundle she discovered a beautiful and distinctive elven carving knife and a solid piece of oak wood.

She couldn't help the warm feeling that spread though her body, feeling the comforting weight of the wood and the cool metal of the knife in her hands.

….

She shakes her head as she's brought back to the present. That same rotunda they have since spend so much of their time together. Researching, reading and talking. There had been barely an evening where she didn't end up in the rotunda with Solas. At least when she wasn't away from Skyhold, trying to save the world on missions throughout Thedas.

She looks at Solas from her spot at the table with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

It takes a lot of effort to hide her smile.

Whith an amused tilt to the corner of her lips she says, "You know, Dorian told me he found some sketchbooks laying around, depicting a rather familiar elf. Anything you would know about that?"

Is he… Is he blushing?

"Um, Well you see." he cleares his throat trying to school his expression. "Those were private… And hidden for a reason."

She can't contain a smile. Solas flustered, that's a rare sight.

"You've seen them?" he askes quietly. She notices he has started fumbling with the edges of the paper. She didn't believe his ears could turn a brighter shade of pink.

"Maybe," she says while averting her eyes to the ceiling. She glances back to him out of the corner of her eyes.

Solas looks at her like she has grown an extra pair of ears.

She leans back in her chair and stretches out her legs comfortably under the table. Knowing she has him she doesn't want to push more and decides to spare him some of her teasing. She turns to look at him and softens her expression.

"I rather liked them."

Knowing that is probably not enough to explain why she had looked at his private belongings without permission and seeing the dumbfounded expression on his face slowly making space for embarrassment she decides to tell the whole story.

"I know shouldn't have overstepped, but Dorian said he had something urgent to discuss and before I was even halfway up the stairs he assaulted me with flying books, shouting about discovering my secret admirer. Either I would have stumbled to death or caught them. And, well… Once I started looking I couldn't look away… " she trails off with a slight tinge of shame in her voice.

"You liked them?“

She lookes at him, surprised by the hopefulness in his voice.

A wave of understanding washes over her.

He hid the drawings from her, not because he didn't want her to see them but because he was afraid of her rejection. Even though they had spent the last few months becoming more and more tangled up with each other, stealing fleeting glances and sometimes passionate kisses, they still hadn't really taken a moment to talk about what there was between them.

When she saw the drawings he made of her she had finally understood his interest in her was genuine and went beyond anything resembling a casual dalliance - something she can now confess to have been rather afraid of, because she had developed deeper feelings for him from the moment he started sharing detailed stories dreamt in the fade and his perspective on magic intertwined with life. And then there had been that first kiss… Wel let's just say she's in way too deep to turn back now.

And for all the effort he put into keeping emotional distance between them, he had apparently failed from the moment he had started putting her likeless on paper. For she could see the passion and emotion in the lines, soft shadows and hidden meanings. It made them stand out from all the other drawings she had seen by his hand.

What he couldn't yet put into words, he had found a different way of showing.

"Yes I-" suddenly feeling unsure she pauses for a moment and crosses her arms looking for the right words. "The drawings, they reminded me of who I could be." She takes a deep breath finds her courage and continues. "Someone who people will tell stories about. Not stories about Divine intervention, but of an elven woman's fight for justice. For a kinder world. Somehow I never really managed to see myself that way when I look in the mirror. But those drawings… I guess it's easier to understand who I've become by seeing myself through your eyes. To see the change I'm part of, but most of all to remind myself of where I came from."

She had uncrossed her arms and angled her body towards him over the table. A determined expression rests on her face. He hadn't taken his eyes of her from the moment she started talking.

He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, considering his reply.

"Very well" he says while some of the tension visibly drains away from his body. She raises her eyebrows in question. "Then it's only time you started showing me your carvings in return. Some good blocks of wood have gone missing. I overheard Blackwall complaining about recently." He shares the accusations with a bemused smile on his lips.

Now it was her turn to blush.

"I was planning on showing you, but first I wanted to practice… " she trailed off her sentence, knowing she doesn't actually have a valid excuse for hiding it from him. And it was not like she hadn't backed him into a corner first.

Feeling relieved he wasn't pulling away at her recent discovery she changes her mind with newfound courage and stands up abruptly while extending her hand in invitation. The purpose of their late night reading session forgotten.

"You're right. And I'm willing to offer you a tour of my recent carving exploits, but only if you can refrain from commenting over the woodchips carpeting the floor." He starts to move as if to get up but she makes him pause as she isn't done yet. "But in turn I will pose for your next drawing." Solas looks at her confused for a moment, as if considering her question.

She pauzes for a moment and adds without hesitation.

"Naked."

"What?"

"That's right."

From a balcony upstairs they could hear some muffled movement followed by a familiar voice echoing down "You know Solas, if you're looking for nude models you only need to ask!"

"Dorian!" they say in unison, horrified.

Solas quickly tucks the sketches under his arm and stands up to grasp her hand, surprising her by pulling her close so fast she has to steady herself with her other hand landing on his chest.

Only a breath away from her ear he says softly so only she can hear.

"It seems like you found yourself a deal, ma Vhenan."

She squeezes his hand in response and when she looks at him there isn't a hint of his previous embarrassment. Instead there is a look of hunger and challenge in his eyes. It's so easy then, to lean over and kiss him, her lips a promise and Dorian's earlier interuption temporarily forgotten. Before she can get lost in the soft press of his lips she pulls back and feels a delighted thrill in the way he slightly chases them as she takes a step back. With a teasing smile on her lips she tugs on his hand bringing him back to reality and encouraging him to follow. As they make their way quietly towards the door she throws a judgemental look over her shoulder towards where she imagines Dorian to be hiding.

She is just able to make out a muffled conversation on the first floor "… These lovesick fools seem to keep forgetting this is a public space, if they don't want an audience they should find a room!"

Not sure if she should be terribly embarrassed or slightly thankful for Dorians intervention she doesn't manage to hide her smile.

"Let's get out of here then." she says as they start to make their way through Skyhold.

He squeezes her hand.

"Gladly."

#solavellan #solavellan hell #solas x female lavellan #solavellen hell #solavellen fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #No one can convince me otherwise that this scene hasnt happened #bioware robbed us from this being a real cutscene in the game #I mean dont you just love the idea of Solas sharing his passion for art and history with lavellan?#and all this time at skyhold #for sure she has run into him a few times covered in paint #and i just love the headcannon that solas ans lavellan forget they have an audiance of Leliana #Dorian and Fiona sharing popcorn and betting on who will make the first move #and you just know the frustration Dorian has felt #seeing the fools in love while they barely make a move at each other aside from fleeting glances #he had to get involved somehow #imagine dorian spending weeks on tearing down the magical wards on that chest #just to findout it filled with portraits of lavellan #LOL #dragon age inquisition fanfic #the dread egg #solas #solasmance #inquisitor lavellan #writing and artwork by me #acrylic ink and finelines on bamboo paper

109 notes · View notes

akingdomscrypt · 1 year ago

Text

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Three

Pairing; König x m!reader

Word Count; ~7.66k

Warnings; kinda sorta graphic depiction of stitching up wounds near the end. So if you don't like needles.. be careful.

A/n; König is a sergeant bc I said so and it fits my narrative. There's also plans in work for why he's a part of 141 & background knowledge on him. Lore. Eventually.

(we need more clips of this man istg-)

--- "babysitting duty" ---

You were a frustrating man to work with. You had hardly said much of anything during that sad excuse of an interrogation, at least nothing of much use. All they knew now was that there was someone out there who held your leash. Or, well, used to. You were a wildcard now, without someone to keep you on lock and key, and there was no way in the deepest pits of hell they could set you loose on the world with what they knew–which wasn't much. Not unless you were hanging off their every word or buried six feet under an unmarked grave.

"You talk about him like he's some sort of lab experiment."

"Mm." Well… "maybe he is. Who knows."

"He isn't some feral dog, König."

He didn't like it. As much as your words had ignited a–often ignored–spark in him, there was something itching at the back of his mind telling him you weren't trustworthy. That you'd stab him and the rest of the task force in the back the moment you were left to your own devices.

"We should keep him."

"He's a person."

"Not a good one."

"Neither are we."

They had to keep you, if at least for society's sake, on that straining lead. As any slack would surely be the catalyst of his very own demise.

I could make the world bleed.

The words were stuck on replay in König's mind, as well as the man who had spoken them. It was a horrible thought to have–but he couldn't help but find it.. intriguing. The idea made his heart skip a beat and the corner of his scarred mouth curl.

"He said he'd make the world bleed, König. That's fuckin' creepy as shite!" Ghost spat, arms crossed over his chest, as the two made the journey back to the rest of the team.

"You have said much stranger things, Ghost."

"You can't really be considerin' this." A few beats of silence from the larger man was all the confirmation Ghost needed. "Price would never agree to it."

"He said he could help."

"Help." Ghost huffed. "Right. Help with what exactly? He has no idea what we've been working on."

"Ja, he doesn't know. But what about that bomber? Could it be relevant?" Besides Mouse, the team had been tracking a much more persistent threat. Something that left behind more than just breadcrumbs in the form of mutilated bodies.

"...are you sayin' he could be involved in this?"

"He has been showing up right after every hit."

"Right." Ghost pauses in his tracks, turning his head slightly to look up at the other man. "So you think he's with them? Or.. maybe one of their targets?"

König comes to a stop too and takes a moment to mull it over. Could you have been a part of the group they'd been hunting these past few months? It was a little.. suspicious that you'd show up and take out another high-profile figure right after every strike made. Were you cleaning up their mess? Or your own?

"That's all the more reason to keep him, no? To find out? We know he has someone he reports to." There was also the fact that the explosion had gone off practically right under your own two feet. That had to mean something.

Just following orders?

"It's a little concerning when I of all people have to remind you that he is a very real, living, breathing, capable-of complex-thought person." König brushes off Ghost's concerns with a noncommittal shrug.

If they took the route of you having been just another victim of the explosion, that left many unexplained variables. Such as why you were a target–wouldn't one terrorist organization blend well with another? Why would they be at odds? It also leaves the question that, if you had really been abandoned by your crew, why had "she"–the woman who you'd mentioned–left you for dead? Was it legitimate? Or a ploy of some kind?

Then there was the more believable scenario that would tell it as; you hadn't really been betrayed by your group, or whoever held your metaphorical leash. And the explosion was some kind of distraction, a way to get their attention. Maybe–if one applies the theory that you were in cahoots with the people they'd been hunting–you had wanted to get caught. Or, maybe not you specifically, but whoever "she" was. Maybe you were sent as bait and they'd fallen right into that mouse trap–heh.

Maybe you didn't even know this was all a farce. That would make it all the more believable, no?

Either way, they need you here. For information. And if they played their cards right, if they burrowed their way under your skin and into your heart–like a damn parasite–you would give them exactly what they wanted. Lead them right to both the core of your organization and the group behind the bombing. And if the people or persons behind the bombing were by some miracle connected to who they had been tracking…

"He can help." His words help a certain air of finality to them, a small grin making an appearance under his hood.

Another sigh, but not a no.

Price wasn't as thrilled by König's proposal as Ghost begrudgingly was.

"You want to what." König wasn't a fearful man–unless he was ordering from a drive-thru, that shit was terrifying–but when the Captain looked at him like that. Let's just say he was forever grateful for the cloth that obscured almost the entirety of his face.

"Keep him." And if his voice comes out a little smaller than normal… no one mentions it.

To his right, König hears Ghost let out another heavy sigh. For a man who used to take a blowtorch to a hostage's skin and quite literally wears a skull stitched onto his face every day- if you'd asked König, he'd tell you the Lieutenant had grown soft. Or, well, soft-ish. He would still slit a man's throat without question.

"Why'd you wanna do that?" Gaz pipes up, giving König a blank, indecipherable expression. Coupled with his tone, König couldn't tell which side of the fence he was leaning towards. He knew Gaz, out of all of them, was the one with a more strict moral compass–something König both admired and thought of as foolish–but he also already didn't like their current hostage. So, discerning whether the other man would be for or against his proposition was a complex feat. König would have to walk that fine line, choose his words carefully, to sway Gaz's opinion in his favor.

"We could use his help." Is what König finally lands on. Not leaning too far into what Ghost had described as treating you like a tool, but not dipping into friendly territory either. An even middle ground.

"From what Ghost and I managed to gather," well, König had gathered. Ghost more or less just stood in the background as a silent spectator. "He claims he's been abandoned by someone he'd only refer to as "she". That this woman brought him here from wherever he came from to follow some lead- but that lead seems to have been a dead end."

"A dead end?" If Gaz's thing was compassion and strict morals, Soap's was intrigue. Puzzles and demolitions, that's all it took to draw in their resident impulse-driven pyromaniac.

"A dead end," König repeats, now switching his attention to the Scotsman. "Turns out there was no target, not really. Or, at least, that is what it appears like at first glance."

Soap's eyes light up when König moves to reach into his pocket, fishing for the blank note. Bingo.

"At first, when we pulled this off him, we had assumed it to be blank," he unfolds the crinkled-up paper, mud, water stains and all. König reaches his hand out to pass the note to Price, keeping the others on the edge of their seats. "But if you take another look.."

Price inspects it with a deep frown, then passes it to Gaz, who looks at it with a skeptical raise of his brow, next is Soap then Ghost, and finally back around to König. Upon closer inspection, past all the grime and stains, there was a faint red scribble.

"It is like there was something here," he mutters, smoothing a gloved thumb over the worn parchment as if that will somehow make the faded words clearer.

"But someone must've purposefully scrubbed it away." Ghost adds, seeming much more interested than he had earlier.

Any other person would probably have brushed the now-pinkish, washed-out markings as blood. And König almost had; after all, you were practically swimming in your own blood right now. Clothes stained with it far past recognition.

Even so, he knew that wasn't it.

The paper had a slew of things it was coated in–some recognizable, some not–, but blood was, surprisingly, not one of them.

"Dae ya think 'e knows?" Two.

"Maybe he was the one who erased it?" Three.

"We won't know unless we ask him. But,"

They all look over to Price, waiting for the man's next words with bated breaths.

"We can't jus' do it outright." Price's steely gaze lands on König and he subconsciously stands a little taller.

"König's got the right idea. We can't jus' kill 'im. Not yet." Four. "Not until we know everything he does."

"Aye, Captain." Soap grins, pushing up from where he'd been resting against a wall. He tilts his head in the direction Ghost and König had come from. "Let's go wear 'im down then, yeah?"

"Preferably before he bleeds out." Ghost reluctantly grumbles. "Bastard already looks to be halfway through death's door."

Price looks to König, cocking his head slightly to the right.

"You said he believes he was abandoned, right?"

"That is correct, sir." The corner of Price's mouth ticks up.

"So no one's coming for 'im then?"

A sick twist of anticipation began to swell in König's chest, and suddenly he was a lot more confident than he was a few seconds ago.

"Precisely."

The last thing you were expecting after those two giants left was for them to return with the whole damn crew. You'd be lying if you said the leader didn't make every inch of your being tense up. There was just something in his eyes; that cool blue, warmer than König's but still so cold, gave off a deceiving "I'm not a threat" while simultaneously saying "flinch and I'll kill you".

The dark-skinned man and the baby-faced one stood a little ways behind you, and closer to the door. The leader took a seat in the chair König had been sitting in–assuming the same position the Austrian had. Skull-face stood in the same place and König took his place on your right-hand side. Standing just far enough behind you to barely graze your peripheral but close enough where you could feel his presence looming near you. Invading your personal little space bubble with his, so close if he leaned any closer he'd be brushing up right against you.

The leader tried his hand at interrogating you again. It went a little something like this;

"Do you know why she left you?'

"Probably had something to do with my bad attitude."

He gives you an unimpressed look. You simply raise your eyebrows in question. You had broken your vow of silence, but that didn't mean you were going to make it easy on them.

"König said you could help us. Mind tellin' me what exactly you could do to help?"

"I have connections. People who owe me a favor or two." Or five. Hey, in your defense, you had been in the game for a while.

"Are these connections… legal?"

"I highly doubt you care about legalities if you are conversing with me still," Then, just to be a little shit, you add a snide, "sir."

You swear you hear a small huff behind you and you brush it off as a figment of your imagination. After all, you had lost a ton of blood.. It was a miracle you hadn't passed out again from blood loss. At this rate, you should probably be dead. Or, at the very least, comatose or something. Not back-talking the man who was very literally your golden ticket to freedom.

You blamed it on the blood loss. Made you say stupid shit.

"What else can you offer us?" In other words; why should we keep you?

"One less Brit in your ranks?"

"..what?"

"You all could really use some diversity."

There's a pregnant pause before,

"Is making jokes all you're good for?" Skull-face speaks up from behind the leader.

"What can I say? It is part of my charm."

The bearded man in front of you lets out a heavy sigh. Something about that sigh told you this type of thing wasn't new to him. A small part of you perked up with curiosity. You then proceed to beat that part of you back down into a bloody pulp.

"Are you goin' to take this seriously or not, Mouse?" The leader captures your attention again and you shrug. You really should take this more seriously… but the lack of vital, life-supporting fluid in your system was making you loopy.

And stupid.

"König?"

Very stupid.

A small grunt from behind you.

"Hast du darüber nachgedacht, was ich gesagt habe?" (Have you thought about what I said?)

The man in front of you frowns, looking from you to König, to you again. But he doesn't stop you. Someone probably should.

There's a terse silence before König replies.

"Deshalb sind sie hier." (That's why they're here.)

Despite your slightly dazed state, you smile a little to yourself.

"Did you tell him?" Now the leader looks even more confused, if not a little more frustrated. Good.

"Tell me what?" His glare is now trained on König, and you know you've gotten the giant into deep shit now. Even better.

"Nein."

And just like that you, very foolishly, let out a small puff of what was obviously an attempt at laughter. Though a poor one.

At this is rate, you'd sooner get yourself killed than cut loose, but your mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. It also seemed to be keen on digging you into deeper shit.

"It is a good deal.." you trail off, narrowing your eyes a little at the leader. It would be great if you knew their names. But no one seemed interested in filling you in on that, so you continue, "you all could really use the help. After all, the only reason you lot even caught me was 'cause I was having a bit of a bad day."

"A bit of a bad day?" Leader asks.

"Aye," you drawl. Your heart thudded a few times in your chest, slowed, then picked back up again. Really, you should be dead, slumped over in your chair, by now. "Got blown up. Stabbed a few times.. broke a few bones.."

You give a sloppy grin beneath your mask. Yeah, definitely shouldn't be awake right now. "Bit of a bad day."

"He's useless like this, Cap'." One of the men from somewhere by the roll-up door pipes up.

"Agreed." Skull-face huffs. "Poor guy's all hopped up on adrenaline. He's not much use to us now."

The leader–Captain?–scrutinizes you for a few more moments before exhaling heavily.

"Alright." He grumbles, standing up from the chair.

"König," the Brit calls on the man beside you but keeps his stare trained on you, as if daring you to utter another smart-assed quip. "You were so damn adamant about keeping 'im, yeah?"

It's obviously a rhetorical question and the atmosphere shifts, the tension in the air palpable.

The leader, or, you guess, Captain–these men and their pretentious titles..–adjusts the beige-colored, boonie hat on top of his head and signals something to the two men by the door. You hear the telltale clanking of the metal being rolled up.

"You're on babysitting duty, Sergeant," he says in that displeased rumble–one you had become very familiar with during the first attempt at interrogation–as he makes his way for the door. "So get his arse back in the van, we're moving to someplace more permanent."

The other three men proceed to file out after their Captain, leaving you alone with the, now fuming, Austrian.

Annnnnnd…

"Maus." He grits out from behind you. You proceed to, very smartly, not respond.

Shit.

Instead, you stay stock still even as König leans over you and unsheathes a knife from someplace on his person. One heavy hand gripping your, thankfully, non-injured shoulder and the other reaching around to rest the blade beneath your chin. He urges your head up with the tip of it until your eyes–oh, yeah, he was definitely pissed–lock with his. In the short time you'd known him you had almost forgotten how downright intimidating only being able to see those pale, glowing blues staring through your very soul was.

"Sie werden es bereuen." (literal; you will regret it. Contextual; you're going to regret this.)

He, while maintaining eye contact, removes the knife and brings it down to hover just above your waist. Your own gaze can't help but flick between his and his weapon-welding hand. Self-preservation, you call it. König, after all, has that sharp metal alarmingly close to your dick.

You choose to ignore the thrill that causes your breath to hitch, an unfamiliar feeling stirring somewhere in the deepest pits of your hindbrain.

You watch as he–in a strange show of caution–places the gloved hand that had been on your shoulder beneath the coarse rope, thumb and fourth finger keeping the binding in place, and swiftly slices through the thickly twined fibers. He then makes quick work of doing the same to the rope wrapped around your thighs and ankles. The barest hints of warmth emitting from him easily seep through the thin, ruined cloth of your pants. But before you can think too much about how long it's been since you last felt the touch of another not-currently-dying human being, König pulls back.

When you look back up to search out his gaze you find he is no longer staring you down, his own focus entirely on freeing you from the bindings. The lack of pressure on your worn body is a relief and the next breath that leaves you is shakier than the last–you choose to believe it's just your body coming down from its adrenaline high.

The last of the rope that had been keeping your lower half bound to the chair falls away to the floor with a soft thump and König retreats completely to move onto your hands. Thank fuck for your own fabric-clad hands, you aren't sure how much more of this non-threatening touch you could take before you fucking imploded or something. All you can feel is the slight graze of his deft fingers against your concealed wrists, and even that is muted. Courtesy of the current lack of decent blood circulation to your bound extremities.

After that final piece of rope is removed, you're being yanked to your feet. Off-balanced and stumbling as blood rushes back to every limb, you nearly come crashing straight back down. König's firm hold on your forearm is the only thing that keeps you from taking an embarrassing nosedive into hard concrete.

Panting heavily behind the fabric of your mask, you groan as the world swims around you. König only spares you a few seconds to steady yourself and then he's making a sudden appearance in front of you and trading out his grip on your forearm to engulf your wrist–and subsequently almost your entire hand–in one large hand. He wastes no time in tugging you forward to follow in his footsteps.

You realize quickly that the time between the rest of the group leaving and König's undoing of your bindings hadn't really been more than a few moments–half a minute at most–, as the other members of König's team were just now turning a corner and leaving your field of vision.

How embarrassing, you think, it felt like a fucking eternity.

König easily uses his tight grasp on your wrist to lift you up just enough so you don't have to make the small hop off of the elevated ledge and out of the storage unit–thank fuck it wasn't your injured arm. You aren't sure whether to be annoyed at his blatant show of strength–seriously, the movement seemed entirely effortless on his part–or grateful you didn't have to make the jump. Your depth perception wasn't exactly the best right now and you probably would've just fallen right over. You doubted you would have even had the energy to catch yourself.

The walk out of this seemingly abandoned facility and back out into the scalding heat–huh, they must not have taken you very far–was surprisingly quick. Your barely lucid brain blocked out the majority of the dizzying twists and turns it took to find the exit. And soon enough you find yourself back in the loading space of that damn van.

This time you are mostly conscious, so you're granted the wonderful opportunity of bearing witness to the burning glares of the three other men seated on the opposite bench. König takes his place beside you and actively decides to not even glance in your direction. Instead silently communicates something to the other passive-aggressive passengers. Well, skull-face was definitely more on the aggressive side of the spectrum, but you were mostly certain he couldn't do anything. Or so you hoped.

The baby-faced one was looking at you with more curiosity than anything, a minor hint of defense hidden somewhere in those–why the hell does everyone here have the same eyes??–vivid blues. That barely concealed interest was more terrifying than skull-face's obvious death stare.

The Captain turned his attention to the Austrian beside you, nonverbally communicating his displeasure with a hard glare and deep frown. Ah, the dark-skinned man must've been the one driving the damn thing.

After a few more painstaking minutes of having a half-assed staring contest with the two men across from you, you give up and let your eyelids fall half-shut. Still nauseous with blood loss and possible infection, you pant lightly within the confines of your mask. Heat continues to build in the suffocating cloth and you let out another soft groan, unable to help yourself when you slump backward against the metal wall of the vehicle.

The ground moving beneath you does nothing to aid your current lightheadedness and you find yourself focusing most of your limited attention span on not vomiting in your mask. That would be a hellscape on its own to clean, and the humiliation would probably kill you off before the budding infection had the chance.

It doesn't take much time before you can no longer fight off the exhaustion weighing down the big ball of throbbing pain that is your entire body and your eyelids finally slip shut. Before you have the chance to force your eyes open again–this is definitely not an ideal place to fall asleep–a sudden heavy thwack against your mutilated shoulder does the job for you.

Your eyes snap back open, fully alert as you search out the culprit. You find König giving you a blank, deadpan stare and the venomous words sprouting on the tip of your tongue quickly fizzle out when you notice the van has stopped moving. In fact, you two are the only ones remaining inside. The other four are piling up just out of earshot, the backdoors wide open and showing off- well, nothing. It's dark and all you can make out are vague shapes in the background.

You huff and go to stand but König beats you to it. Still holding onto your wrist, he gives a sharp tug and you stagger out of your seat. You send him a seething glare but find that his attention is no longer on you.

König pulls you out the same way he had the storage unit; efficiently lifting you by your arm and out of the vehicle. You barely manage to keep your balance when your boots touch solid ground again and just that little bit of exertion has you sucking in ragged gulps of air.

When the Captain glances over to you two, König makes a show of lifting your arm into the air as if to say got it and the Captain gives a small nod in acknowledgment. You don't have the wherewithal to give a shit about being treated more like an object than a person, brushing it off and trading it out to take in your surroundings instead. Besides, it wasn't something you were exactly.. unfamiliar with.

Surrounding you is another compound. More well-kept than the storage facility you had previously been in, but still obviously worn. The stark white walls were practically glowing in contrast to the pitch-black, starless night sky. Besides some crumbling and scuff marks here and there–most likely from environmental weathering over time–the cinder block walls were almost pristine.

Your fuzzy, mush of a brain briefly considers asking König where the hell they had brought you, but your tongue is like lead in your mouth. Not that it really mattered, you highly doubt he would've told you anyway. You were a prisoner, after all. A prisoner who they were only keeping alive on the off-chance you could help.

Help with what exactly? You had not a clue. Hopefully, they'd soon get their shit together and tell you sooner rather than later. Then again.. what would they do with you once your use to them came to an end? Would they just end up killing you anyway?

Floodlights abruptly make an unwelcome appearance, bathing the courtyard in a blindingly white light and knocking that train of thought right out of your head. You cringe away from the sudden brightness, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily before blinking a few times in rapid succession to adjust.

You only have the time to register the sheer size of the compound before you are being tugged forward again and into the said building. As usual, you silently curse König's unfairly long legs and subsequent far longer strides as you try your damnedest to keep up. The nausea, burning full body ache, and pounding against your skull have yet to lessen. If anything it's become more of an issue now that you're not running on pure adrenaline.

You find yourself fumbling over your own miscalculated steps more often than you make a successful one, König having to more or less drag the majority of your dead weight along with him. The behemoth of a man doesn't even have the decency to make it look like doing so is any struggle. Bastard.

The interior lighting of the compound is somehow far much worse than the blaring exterior. You squint against the harsh brightness and it takes a few seconds for your pulpy mess of a brain to make out the shapes and colors in front of you. Or, well, the astonishing lack of colors. Dull shades of grey coupled with a blinding light. Perfect.

Someone's talking. Multiple someone's, really. But your ears are too stuffed full of cotton to make any sense of what's being said. The most you can do is try to read their lips–which proves to be futile–and try to gauge the emotional state of the men in the room.

The plainly, uniform-dressed men standing guard seem to not at all have a problem with the crew that had brought you in. Though obviously holding a subordinate position in comparison to the team, they shared easy smiles and small laughs with the group. The Captain appears to be keeping up a polite kind of façade–was this not his base?–as he converses with the two newbies. Skull-face, mohawk guy, and the Captain's obvious favorite all stand behind the Captain in an organized order. With skull-face standing the closest–was he some kind of right-hand man?–babyface and the third man stood at a respectful distance. Not too close, but just near enough to assist if needed.

König kept you a little more ways away from the others, a firmer grip on your wrist than before. It would probably hurt if the remainder of your body wasn't currently one giant sore spot. You realize why when one of the guards spares a glance at you and, spotting your eyes on him, immediately shrinks back and averts his gaze.

Ah, this definitely wasn't their base. Made sense. They all were clearly European and unfamiliar with the normalities of wherever the fuck you all were right now. Faintly, you remember the dark-skinned man complaining about how weird it was driving on the right-hand side of the road.

You're snapped out of your own musings by a harsh pull on your arm. A small noise of surprise escapes you and, before you know it, the guards are moving out of the way and you are being escorted further into the building.

Going off the darkness you had awakened to, it is obviously late at night, maybe even well into the morning by now, and the only people you all pass are all exhausted-looking security personnel.

König follows behind the other four down corridor after corridor, dragging you along behind him. Eventually, you all make it out into what appears like a sort of gathering place or common room. For a split second you think they're going to stop there, but, no, they keep going. Down more confusing hallways and through nonsense doors.

Then finally, finally, it all comes to a stop at an unremarkable metal door. Nothing on it, not even a little window, with the exception of the room number plastered next to it.

You squint at the numbers, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes. There's a small tugging in the back of your mind and, if you were any more aware, you'd almost say it was familiar. Huh.

The Captain unlocks and pushes open the door, then, before you even have the opportunity to protest, König yanks you close and shoves you forward. You stumble–again, seriously, did they think you were made of fucking steel??–through the doorway and only barely manage to break your fall on the closet wall. You stand there for a moment, panting and bracing against hard concrete, while the others file in.

If it wasn't for the unnecessarily heavy thunk you probably wouldn't have realized that the door had been shut. Your vision blurs then blacks out for a split second while you catch your breath, and the only thing on your mind is; how the hell am I not dead yet?

You're only given a few more moments of rest then you're being pulled by the wrist again. Unable to even really feel your legs anymore, the sudden brushing of something solid against the backs of your knees is all you have to tell you you've even moved. You don't have to be told twice to sit, hell, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear them if they had given the order.

You drop your weight instantly, unable to hold yourself up any longer. You can't feel much through the fabric separating your fingertips from what's below, but from the slight give when you press down, if you had to guess, you'd say you were seated on a cot of some kind. It's not the most comfortable, but it's the best thing you've had in a long, long while.

Lifting your gaze at the sound of someone's voice, you blink rapidly in a vain attempt at refocusing your vision.

"Hm?"

All four men standing in the room give you vaguely concerned grimaces. Well, you assume König and skull-face do, judging by the crinkling of their limited expression.

"I said-" the Captain begins. Not that you hear any of what comes after that. Head full of cotton and feeling simultaneously like you're both floating and being weighed down by a ship's anchor, you're left futilely trying to read his lips. But that only makes the pounding in your head worsen and you screw your eyes shut again.

Cradling your head in your hands you lean down, elbows propped up on your knees. You suck in shallow, shaky breaths, fruitlessly trying to get the proper amount of oxygen to the lump of mass that is your brain.

When your eyes flutter open again the lights have been dimmed just enough to take the edge off, reducing the strain on your eyes, and you immediately slump in relief. You think you mutter your gratitude under your breath, but, really, you're far too out of it to be certain.

A few more muffled words and the soft thumping of footsteps later and the door opens then shuts one last time. You look up expecting to see nothing but an empty room, a little caught off guard when that behemoth of a man is still looming near the door.

"We should really get you checked out," König says, giving a brief once-over at your disheveled appearance. Giving a noncommittal hum, you take a look down at yourself.

You had not bothered to take full stock of your person since the initial confrontation–and even that was a laughable inspection at best.

Every inch of your exposed skin–which, truthfully, wasn't much–was coated in a layer of mud and your own blood. Your thin civilian outfit was in a similar state of disrepair; caked in blood, more mud, and bits of stuck-on foliage as well. Accompanied with the occasional tear and hole here and there, of course.

"I'll get a medi-" Before he even gets the word out you're launching yourself up and off the bed. Charging at him despite how unsafe that currently is and reaching up to slam your grimy, gloved hand over where you assume his mouth is.

König quickly and easily peels your hand away by the wrist, staring down at you with less anger and more of a really, what are you doing? kind of look.

"Nie." (No.) You breathe as your only explanation. You had had enough of fucking medical staff in your time before your years-long solo operation began. Unknown injections, emotionless stares, and needles. Needles, needles, needles. So many fucking needles. You didn't visit those sterile, frigid laboratories often these days–though you were still required to come in every now and again for a routine 'checkup'.

"No?" König finally breaks through your suddenly hazy headspace–this time said fuzziness wasn't the result of excessive blood loss. You'd rather it were.

"Nie." You repeat again, and there must be something in your voice–something unlike yourself, something a bit too human–because König relents without further question and drops your arm.

"I can't really let you die on us, Maus." He points out with a deadpan stare. Then, probably realizing that phrasing sounded a bit too worried, he adds, "What use would you be to us then?"

"Let me do it."

"You can barely stand up straight and you expect me to hand you a needle?"

"I would rather me than you or some pea-brained white-coat." You huff, narrowing your still very unfocused gaze up at him. You hope it lands, you can't really see clearly right now.

König holds your stare for a few seconds longer before letting out a resigned sigh and looking away. "Fine."

He gives your uninjured shoulder a nudge with a gloved finger and rumbles a low, "Sit down."

You're about to bite back with some witty retort but the words get stuck in your throat when you realize just how close you two are. In your rush to cut off the words spewing from his mouth, you had somehow ended up crowding into his space in a very.. unprofessional way. Chest puffed up in a show of defiance and, subsequently, pressed right up against the other man.

That same, unfamiliar twinge in the furthest recesses of your mind from back in that god-awful storage unit begins to stir and you jolt away sharply. Jumping back and scurrying over to the cot at a faster rate than really necessary, as if that simple touch had burnt you. And, to be frank, it had. Indirectly.

König cocks his head, analyzing you for a brief moment, then shakes it off. Thank fuck. Having quickly averted your gaze, all you hear is some faint rustling and then his legs appear in your line of sight. A small first-aid box materializes from his hand and you lift your own trembling one to take it.

"Thanks." You mumble. You were a monster, not impolite.

König makes a light huff and retreats. Grateful for the, mostly likely unintended, room to breathe, you fumble with the kit before finally managing to wrench the damn thing open. Placing the box beside you on the bed you ungracefully free your first victim from its confines; your thigh.

Stab wound number one, thankfully, has stopped bleeding. On the other, far less favorable, hand, the injury is already a burning, angry red. A light poke at the inflamed skin with your finger has you hissing against the sharp sting.

Deciding keeping up appearances was much less important than your health, you make efficient work of removing both gloves. Also soaked with mud and blood, they would do no more than worsen what was already the beginnings of a very, very serious infection.

There's a bottle of saline solution in the kit and you uncap that first. Folding the bled-through, makeshift bandage in half, you use it to catch the liquid rather than letting the filthy solution drip onto the floor. After flushing out the wound as much as you can–without running the bottle dry, you've still got another to clean–the next step is the worst of them all. Stitches.

If you had it your way, you wouldn't use them at all. You had a tendency to forgo using a needle and thread whenever you could–only stooping to that level when it was absolutely vital. Like right now.

Even then, you only knew one form of sewing; intermittent sutures.

Tearing open a sterile needle packet you, surprisingly enough, make easy work of threading the surgical cotton through the eye of it. Pinching the slice shut with your non-dominant hand, you position the end of the curved metal about a centimeter from where the damn thing starts.

The first pierce of the needle into your tender flesh forces a strained whine from your throat, eyes beginning to water. You blink away the budding tears, exhale a shaky breath, and tie the thread off.

One suture down, an ungodly amount remaining.

Your hand only gets more unsteady as time goes on. Making each stitch more lopsided than the last.

Your vision swims for a brief moment and you swallow back the growing lump in your throat. Come on now, you can do this. You've done this so, so many times before. What was so different this time around?

Just a few more to go. That's all. Then you will be done.. well, then onto the puncture in your shoulder. The shoulder that also happened to be connected to your dominant hand. Great.

"Maus."

You can do this- just stab, push through- wait no, not like that. Pull it out again. Now, do it properly this time-

"Maus." Black gloves invade your sight and you grunt, trying to look around them.

The next time the needle pierces your skin it goes in just short of perfectly–success!–but it's good enough. Will keep your blood in, at least. Then comes tying it off and- come on, don't be difficult now.

Just toss over- like tha- wait, no. Just lift and- fuck.

A low rumble is all you hear and then those gloved fingers are wrapping around your wrist once more and effectively halting your progress. You huff, looking up to glare at him only to find his own hardened gaze staring down at you.

"-keep trying, you are only going to hurt yourself." Wait, had he been talking this whole time? "Then what use would you be then, hm? You would be of no help if you died because of your own damn stubbornness."

You feebly try to tug your hand back, but he doesn't budge, simply using his other hand to pluck the needle from your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you do the only thing you can do; throwing hundreds of imaginary knives at that stupid smug look in his eyes and internally cursing him out.

After your two's little staring contest goes on long enough for your captured hand to start going numb, you relent. Letting out a heavy sigh and dropping your gaze.

König makes a small noise of approval and releases your wrist. You don't watch as he finishes up the mess of stitches sewn into your thigh, nausea returning with a vengeance and forcing you to shut your eyes again.

He finishes up relatively quickly, faster than you probably could have in this state, and rinses the wound again before pasting a bandage over it.

"I need you to look up."

"Hm?" Light pressure under your chin causes your eyelids to flutter back open and you frown.

"Wha-?"

"Up." He reasserts, using his guiding touch to urge your head up and out of the way. Forcing you to straighten out your shrimp-like posture and provide König with access to your injured shoulder.

Said shoulder that was more bruises and blood than it was untouched flesh; able to get a decent look at it now that König had removed the sloppy work that was your mess of torn fabric and duct tape.

He repeats the same steps you had to clean the wound and this time you watch. Less so keeping an eye on the weeping wound and more so on the hand sticking the–new, he had discarded the one used on your thigh–thin metal through your skin. He's surprisingly delicate with it, despite his size he is far more precise with his sutures than you had been. Carefully inserting the needle and tying off every knot with practiced ease. Unlike you, he hadn't foregone his gloves, and that's why you notice it when you do. Having been so attuned to his busy hands.

His gloves are still stained with your blood.

Coated in a thick, dried layer of it. Dark against the already black fabric, flakes of crimson chipping off and drawing your eye.

It was the only part of him that showed any hint of wear from the morning's efforts. Every other inch of his uniform was speck-free, not a single item out of place, scuff mark, or splatter of blood.

It didn't make much sense for you to be fixated on such a minor facet after the laborious events of today. There were so many other things to draw your attention. Like the repeated motions of the curved metal puncturing your skin over and over again, for example. Or maybe his close proximity–accompanied by that weird feeling again.

But, no. Every last bit of your remaining attention span was focused solely on your own blood marking his hands. You sounded insane, even to yourself and that was an entire feat of its own.

You release a small breath of relief when he pulls away, slapping on another thick bandage over your second, freshly stitched injury. Then comes a sudden sting right above your eyebrow and you jolt away with a hiss.

Refocusing back into reality, König is still standing above you. Only this time he's welding an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball, also tarnished with your blood.

"Cut is deep." Is the vague explanation you get, coupled with a small gesture to your face. "No stitches will be needed. But,"

He reaches down to rifle through the first aid kit and makes a soft sound of victory when he finds whatever he's looking for. Holding your face still in one hand, he dabs at the cut a few more times before switching sides and drying it off. König throws the dirtied cotton along with wherever he'd discarded the scraps of your clothes and other miscellaneous trash.

Next comes another burning sting as he presses something over the wound. A few 'something's.

"A few pieces of tape should do the trick." He muses as he smoothes the sterile strips against your skin, the faint metallic scent of your own blood flooding your senses. Gross.

You really needed some sleep, or maybe it was finally time to check yourself into some kind of mental reform. Seriously, this was getting out of hand.

"Now," König pulls away for the final time, doing a brief scan of your exhausted form and nodding to himself. "Sleep."

You half expected König to leave it at that, to exit the room like the other four had. And probably lock the door behind him. Your hopes are crushed when he takes a seat a few feet away from your cot, settling into an uncomfortable-looking chair you hadn't noticed beforehand.

Oh, right. The Captain had assigned him as your personal babysitter. How fucking lovely.

Scooting back to slump against the wall furthest away from the other man, you send him a weak glare. Wanting nothing more than to argue that you can't sleep like this–not with him watching over you like some damn stalker–you find that when you try, you can't.

For what feels like the millionth time today, your eyelids droop until you cannot resist any longer. Falling completely shut and likely not going to open for a while, you give in. Unable to find it in yourself to give a damn right now.

Besides, you could.. moderately trust König wouldn't murder you in your slumber. He hasn't yet. And that seems to be enough for your sleep-deprived brain, as sweet unconsciousness soon drags you under.

___

One | Two | Masterpost | Next

___

(finally figured out how to tag y'all properly! Sorry bout that. Thought I was doing it right this whole time 😞)

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @gloma08 @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @ravage-reposts @suhmie

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments!

#call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #könig cod #könig x male reader #reader insert #gay #mlm

166 notes · View notes

staticofthetv · 5 months ago

Text

Take two!

Favourite frames from the new B-Side chapter, featuring some analysis because I have coherent thoughts this time 'round :D

Beware, spoilers below for the B-Side as well as the manga

@veiled-bird that goes for you too, you're nowhere near meeting this guy yet

First up, I love this chapters art. It reminds me of when I was little and asking my dad to help my brother and I beat the last level of episode 3 in lego star wars tcs

Also the chapter title? I have so many thoughts, they'll be discussed more in depth further down but they will be discussed /pos

Numbers weapon 1 mention!! I'm very excited to (hopefully) get more lore about it. Although I am curious if it's like a contact lens or something, I thought it was closer to a surgical implant or maybe some weird side effect from using numbers weapon 1. Mostly because I don't think he's been drawn with normal eyes yet in the manga (at least from what I remember)

Either way very much hoping we get some more numbers weapon 1 lore in this :)

This whole scene but specifically "what good does a test proving I'm abnormal do" hits so hard, especially as someone diagnosed with ADHD in my late teens. Having that feeling of there's something wrong with me for so long and being brushed off every time because I didn't act like the stereotypical 10 year old boy with severe ADHD (a psychiatrist literally told me and my mum i probably had adhd but she wouldnt diagnose me,) I did start to kind of give up on ever figuring it out.

Narumi was incredibly relatable to me in the main manga (not because I'm a badass, I'm very lame lmao) because of the behaviours he exhibits, hyperfocusing on games, constant dopamine seeking (through videogames and online shopping,) needing to be fiddling with something to better process the information being given out, etc.

Narumi is also incredibly smart, its stated explicitly that he got top scores in the entrance exam and I can't imagine those tests are anywhere near easy. It gives neurodivergent kid being told they just need to apply themselves to do better in school/make friends/just function in a neurotypical way in general.

This also comes from his being kicked out of several orphanages, and then even after joining the defence force (especially after being told by Isao that they take anyone that can show skills and results) getting kicked out by the second division and every platoon in the first until he ends up under hasegawa. Considering the title too this is 100% supposed to read as the classic "troubled kid" (many of which are neurodivergent) that not many are willing to put effort into helping. Isao is giving him a way out of the life of having no home to go back to, only to be struck with the threat of getting kicked out once again a year later. Narumi is a very skilled and capable fighter and no one in their right mind would argue with that and it once again all comes down to being labelled as too difficult, hard to work with, never paying attention

This chapter just hits so close to home with me

Baby Mina!! I know there's a decent amount if it in the manga but it's still weird to see her with short hair. I love her so much

There are many more words of appreciation I have but all thought went into dissecting Narumi's character lol

And so being kicked around by hasegawa begins

I love his face here, top tier expression

And here we see Isao solidifying the thought of skill and results being all that matters, there's no way Isao was going to let Narumi get kicked out, especially not after showing aptitude for handling numbers weapon 1. I like to think at this point he does also care for Narumi, I think he sees a lot of Kikoru (or what she could be) in him and especially he sees himself in Narumi. And even though he's only ranked captain Isao would clearly fight to keep Narumi on the force (he probably already had to for Narumi to get transferred to the first division instead of just being dropped when he didn't mesh with the second)

This is also the beginning of Isao and Narumi's mentor/mentee relationship, Isao knows exactly how to handle Narumi and his child prodigy-ness and help him reach his potential as a defence force officer. I think that's part of why Isao shows little care for how Narumi handles himself when off duty, it may be that he knows he can't change Narumi in that way, it may be that he himself just doesn't care for all the professional decorum, either way Isao plays the very important role of being Narumi's main support while he's in the defence force (until Isao dies anyway, whoops.) Narumi needed a space where he could not only be himself but be accepted for it and have the trust of his peers and superiors that he would get the job done when he needs to, and whether it was on purpose or not Isao provided exactly that for him.

This also ties back into the earlier ramble about Narumi being the typical undiagnosed neurodivergent "troubled kid"

(Also the origin of what Narumi says to Kikoru ~9 years in the future :D)

Omg jaeger is canon? Kaiju no. 8 and pacific rim crossover when? /j

Another interesting tidbit about Narumi is his self confidence, he knows he's capable and isn't afraid to tell people that. He says playing support is annoying but what I see is someone that knows he can do better placed somewhere else and has decided to take that into his own hands. He won't get kicked out of the defense force but I wouldn't be surprised if he gets into a shit ton of trouble for taking Isao's words to heart and disregarding his orders, even though I do think he'll be an asset to the battle and perform better being closer to the front lines.

Poor hasegawa has his work cut out for him keeping Narumi in check (a captain and vice-captain match made in hell)

#kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #gen narumi #kaiju no. 8 b side #i love this goofball #theres no way hes neurotypcial #and i have so many thoughts about it #just look at him #he probably listens to mcr #skrunkle teenager #feat. mina isao and hasegawa #theyre all great #i only have the braincells for one character analysis tho #tumblr deleted the original post before it could finish uploading so this is my second attempt #please work i will cry if it gets deleted again #i have thoughts #and they need to be shared

42 notes · View notes

justbelievinginmagic · 3 months ago

Text

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 8: a green-eyed monster.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, jisung x fem!reader, jisung & fem!reader, chan & fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: pulled from the depths of the direwoods, you are reunited with han & chris! outside the labyrinth walls together, you continue onwards on your quest until a green-eyed monster disrupts your journey. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, faerie lore, world-building, pain, blood, explicit language, magic, Jisung is emotional constipated, J E A L O U S Y, hunger, mentions of food, heights, falling, betrayal, hyunjin’s going through it, lowkey obsession? lemme know if i need to tag anything else :) word count: 7.2k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

“You’ve befriended the Beast-Hunter?” Jisung scolded, tugging her to the side with a harsh hand.

Chris stood steady at her side, stepping with her as he glared at Jisung solidly. There was a tension she could feel bubbling in the air like carbonation in a soda pop. Like a firecracker’s rope-like tail sizzling with flames but not yet sent into the sky. There was an itching under Chris’ skin to protect – to do what he hadn’t been able to do earlier.

“Chris was in trouble, and I helped him,” Y/N defended easily.

The Beast-Hunter nodded firmly; his brows furrowed in a way that looked defensive. Jisung forced a fanged-smile at the man as he scooted himself and the Runner away from the other again, a mimicry of privacy on this open cobble-stoned road.

Chris shifted his feet side to side, watching after them carefully but not moving any closer this time. She offered Chris a genuine reassuring smile, as if to say one moment, before turning fully to look at the poutful fae man in front of her.

“How could a Troll like him be in danger?” Jisung muttered under his breath. His brows were upturn, the image of despair and worry. “You could’ve been crushed by him. Or he could’ve clawed your throat out.” He hadn’t let go of her arm, holding her close as he muttered.

Strange, the flare of protectiveness in him. It burned like coals on the back of his neck. He imagined Chris’ claws, his troll-like side coming out. Rocks tumbling on the Runner and trembled. The fae man wasn’t used to this. He had been so alone for so long, thinking only of himself but now… He saw the smear of blood and dirt on her face, the brushed away rune of ‘mine’ on her cheek taunting him.

The Runner didn’t push herself out of his grasp despite the distrust bubbling up in her stomach. Frustration written out in her face with the purse of her brow, the firm of her lips.

“He won’t hurt me, or you,” she reassured, shaking her head confidently. Out of everyone, she trusted Chris the most so far. He hadn’t abandoned her, a bittered voice reminded in the depths of her mind.

“Chan is a literal hunter, Y/N. I’m not just making accusations. It’s in his soul.” he whispered. “He could be lying to you!”

“And what about you, Lord Han?” she bit back, her words just as whispered.

Chris looked away from them awkwardly; the entire scenario a bit too much like a couple fighting or mom-and-dad arguing in front of their child. His gaze instead was enraptured by the creatures floating from the nearby darkness of the Direwoods. Odd butterfly yet jelly-fish like creatures swam through the air like it was water; tendrils of bio-luminescence trailed behind them as they danced around the Beast-Hunter. Swirls of azure, magenta, and emerald dust hung in the air like stars left behind by the creatures.

His grey eyes followed after each one with amusement until one jelly-fly swooped down into a dive to rest on his broad-scarred nose. He giggled softly, letting the creature rest for a moment.

“Lord Han has nothing to do with this,” Jisung whispered back in the meanwhile. His hand dropped from her arm.

“Really?” The Runner scoffed. “It sounds like a big thing! A thing you kept from me.”

“You never asked how I knew the King,” he retorted like a brat.

“Han,” she scolded, loudly now.

Did she have to ask everything to get an answer? She wouldn’t assume they knew one another to that extent. A man stuck on the outskirts of the desert was a lord? It didn’t even cross her mind.

He winced with the jump in volume. “Well, you didn’t,” he insisted.

“Friendship is supposed to be a two-way street,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have to ask if you are something to be feared when we are working together. With the same goal. Are we friends? I thought we were – you aren’t working for the King, are you?” Her words sounded less confident. “You said—” she trailed off.

Lord implies royalty. Royalty down here implies the King. A Goblin court sounded important, exclusive, and most importantly, his. Hyunjin and Jisung’s interaction flashed through her mind in a whirl of cellophane memories – was he truly cruel to Jisung? Was it all a façade like many things in this place? Her eyes flashed to meet Jisung’s, pleading with him to tell the truth of his own. On his own.

Jisung’s face was purple-tinted as he blushed. Sweat clung to the back of his hair; his scaled skin there itched. He swallowed; his tongue was heavy like lead.

“It’s not like that,” he argued, shaking his head. His head whirled as he felt the lead feeling grow, a metallic taste clinging to his teeth and making his jaw ache.

She raised a brow.

“I’m--- it’s not like that,” he insisted again. “I haven’t been called a lord in a long, long time. I-I wasn’t even really a lord. It’s just a title.”

“Han. . . “ she huffed out.

“I’m not a lord anymore I promise. I am not a Lord under the King’s court anymore.”

“You got to admit, its sus–”

He covered his face, frustratedly, as he let out a whiney sigh. The way his face ached only made his panic surge like fire-fed kindling. His breathing escalated as he shut his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t lying; he wasn’t answering her question; he wasn’t. Those thoughts circled in his head like a carousel as he took a breath, fast and hurried. The way ancient magic twisted through the fae DNA was a wicked thing – the way its rules clung to his blood and bone was frightening to him.

I’m not lying. Not lying. So why did it feel like it?

“I know—I know it looks bad.” He soothed her through quick words. “I’m your friend, just – trust me?”

There was a beat as she stepped closer and reached for his hands that covered his face, a face that was a purple-blushed color. Of embarrassment. His eyes wide as he met her gaze.

This was coming from the man who had left her behind twice. The same man who said he’d lead her to the beginning to Hyunjin. But, also the man who helped her multiple times in the Labyrinth. The same man she declared to be a friend. The same man who had just saved her from the Direwoods, who had sat and hugged her like she would disappear, who tended to her wounds with a gentleness.

That was no little thing.

Her hands were warm against his skin; his blush-lavender skin was cool to the touch, almost like the chill of metal. He breathed out shakily at the gentle touch.

“Be honest with me. Please?” She asked softly. The tone different than when they were speaking hushedly before. It was quiet and gentle. Vulnerable.

His eyes widened even more and his lips shifted a few times as if phrasing words he couldn’t say. He looked at her despairingly weak. His head in her hands. Humans weren’t supposed to be powerful, yet here she was.

“Please.” The Runner whispered. “Be honest with me.”

Her eyes looked so… bewitching. Both vulnerable, pleading, yet in control. Gentle yet serious. A begging for him, not her. Not in a way where she needed to be saved or reassured though. It was odd how he felt like he needed to be saved, reassured, something. He felt bad. He felt it deep in his stomach. Like he was doing something wrong if he didn’t tell her.

The lie-sticky tongue, the lead-heavied mouth. He swallowed it down, and it settled in the pit of his stomach, only making him feel worse. But he could speak. Honesty. He breathed as he tried to think of what was honest and what wasn’t. What could he tell the Runner and what could he not.

“It’s—okay,” he tilted his head up, rubbing his eyes. His hands pushed hers aside gently, freeing himself from her grasp.

“The King and I used to be friends. I used to be his Gentleman-in-Waiting.”

Her eyes widened.

“What?” she squawked.

“It was like over fifty years ago now,” he muttered out, hand going to scratch at the scales on the back of his neck. “It’s not that important I promise!”

“Han!” she hit at his arm.

“Its really not.” He defended. “We aren’t friends anymore. I’m no longer his Gentleman-in-Waiting after I—well, I may have ridiculed him.” He admitted.

She hit his arm again.

“Owww!” he whined, hand going to bicep. He rubbed it up and down. “Stop that.”

“What do you mean ridicule him?” she gasped.

Jisung’s eyes looked away. “I just--- I did something. We were playing a game and we disagreed.” Well, Hyunjin disagreed. He remembered the ancient playing cards being thrown aside. Hyunjin’s hair bleeding into a raven-black in his rage. He was dancing about the truth; his metaphorical cards shuffled about in his fingers. He fiddled with her bracelet on his wrist.

“You and him had a fight?” she inferred. “No wonder he seemed so cruel to you. And no wonder he hated that I was paired up with you. What else happened?”

Jisung’s face was consumed by a pout now; brow upturn like a kicked puppy. “I don’t want to talk about it – it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t affect you.”

“What if it does? Please – “, he placed a hand over her mouth.

“It won’t; we are separate things to him,” he reassured. “I am nothing to the King now. You… are everything.”

The way his tongue didn’t taste of iron made his heart ache. He believed it. He believed that the Runner was important – not only that, that Hyunjin had taken an interest. Hyunjin had never been so invested in a Runner. Not when he was of court at least. The Prince would often ignore the Runner’s Challenge. But now, the heavy fruit in his satchel was a reminder of this new truth.

The Runner sighed out, her hot breath against his clammy skin felt like fire. She reached up to pry his hand away from her mouth with ease. Her eyes looked away from his for once; it felt like an ill-won reward to his guilt.

Okay, so she had the King’s Beast-Hunter and the King’s once-upon-a-time best friend as her companions. . . great. Not complicated at all. She sighed out again, hands going through her own locks to tug at her scalp.

“Listen, I know you’re angry.” Jisung started.

“I’m not angry,” Y/N interrupted. “I just—it’d been helpful to know. Because, despite what you think, Han, friendships are important.”

Her friendship was important. She valued him. Valued his words. Valued his thoughts. Him.

His friendship therefore was important. He had valued him. He did value him. His words. His thoughts. As his.

He frowned, deflating a bit as he watched her tighten a bandage he placed around her arm before turning to look towards Chris.

The Beast-Hunter looked back at her as if he was called to her by simply her gaze. The butterfly-esque creature fluttered on his nose and left in a bio-luminscent whirl. A smile came to her lips at that, bittersweet to Jisung’s eyes.

“Chris, let’s go.”

The dark-haired Beast-Hunter smiled a grin. “Coming, Y/N!”

Jisung felt the fear creeping, a feeling he had felt far too often in his long life. Memories of Hyunjin’s cruel gaze turning his way as he banished him away – he feared that when she turned that the Runner’s eyes would carry that gleam.

When she gazed at him, he held his breath.

“Are you joining me?” she asked Jisung.

The air sucked out of his lungs as he watched her. Drenched in rubied iron-blood, her face tired and yet somehow glowing from the candlelight above them. Her eyes held no cruelty – exhaustion, carefulness, but they were still kind. She was still kind to him. He didn’t know how to handle it except that it lit a flame beneath his skin like a roar of a Dragon’s flame.

She was a force of nature. She was changing from the Labyrinth, but unlike a Changeling, she was evolving with her humanity rather than abandoning it. And Jisung liked it.

“Y-Yeah.” He bumbled. “We can go this way.” He encouraged; hand outstretched towards the path he remembered would lead them towards the Castle.

She smiled at him, and it was holy.

The fruit in his satchel was heavier.

Jisung led the way, flickering eyes checking that they were following every few moments. He didn’t trust the Beast Hunter. Even with his gentle way of handling the Runner, he felt the acrid burn in his throat.

It didn’t make sense. The troll-fae with sawed-off horns, torn skin from brutal attacks, and chipped fangs from battles. . . yet he seemed innocent. There was wonder in his eyes; he didn’t slash the creatures down in front of him. He spoke to Y/N with a softness. A warmth Jisung envied. It would’ve made the lesser-goblin laugh in other situations. Hells, Chris still wore the iron-shackles of the King’s knights around his neck. Like a trophy. Jisung knew how the iron burned a lowly fae; he knew if he reached out to grasp the chains he’d feel the sear of pain.

How could he bear it? No.

No, if anything, Jisung knew that Chris was not an innocent.

He was not an innocent.

No way.

The curl in his gut had to be right. (The taste of jealousy was sour and drawing.)

“Stupid troll,” Jisung muttered as he pushed branches aside.

“Don’t be mean,” the Runner chided, ducking beneath the branches he had moved aside.

Jisung let the branches flick back into Chris’ face with a thwack. The Beast-Hunter grunted out, a strong arm raising to block the hit.

“Jisung,” she scolded, his true name coming to her lips in a sharp thwack of her own.

Jisung simmered in his emotions; lava-hot in the pit of his stomach as he walked ahead of them. A hand rubbed at her bracelet on his wrist once more, rolling the beads and charms in between anxious fingertips.

The path ahead was lined with curling weeping willows, trapping them in by makeshift branch-walls. Skeleton-esque finger-like branches reached out blocking their way. A wind would rustle them every now and then making the trees feel alive. She was glad to remain on the given path for now. She didn’t really want to climb or run through muck and mud again. Her body hadn’t ached so much in ages. She wanted to fall into a bed and sleep for ages.

On top of that, she was growing hungry. Her stomach grumbled loudly as they walked along. She wondered how many hours had gone by. It felt like more than 13 hours had passed. And it wouldn’t surprise her if it wasn’t fair. Nothing down here was what it seems. Hours could be minutes, moments, or ages.

“So, you are a troll fae?” the Runner queried to the ever-on-her-heels Beast-Hunter. “I met a few; they didn’t look like you.”

Chris hadn’t left her side, hulking through the branches without flinching. When she could she tried to leave the path clear, pushing sharpened foliage with an arm, but Chris was larger than her. He’d bend down and pass through her openings but, at some point, he began to just barrel through.

He was hypervigilant, just as Jisung was (with a hand on his dagger’s hilt.) Looking this way and that with careful stony eyes. He looked at her, eyes widening as she spoke. He looked at her with a careful awe, smiling at her words.

“Yeah,” he crowed out, his Australian-esque accent curling around the word. “I’d look a bit different. I’m a troll-fae from your realm.”

“My realm?” she paused in her step.

Chris kept walking onwards, but slowed his steps and faced her as he continued on.

“Yeah, all original trolls hail from the human realm. Cursed to wander only in the dark of night or else we’re turned to stone,” he recited. He snorted shaking his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the human realm or had to worry about that rule.”

The Runner blinked, surprised to find out that not all fae were original to the Labyrinth. How did he end up here? Was everyone a transplant?

“How did you end up here in the Labyrinth?” she asked. “The only trolls I’ve seen… er, met, were in the oubliette. And, uh, stone.” She added awkwardly.

Chris’s grey eyes turned stormy-dark. Not like Hyunjin’s storm blue eyes. It felt like they grew heavy in his head, dull.

“It’s not a fun story, Y/N.” he admitted quietly. “I—I don’t like talking about it.” A hand rose to rub the hair at the nape of his neck.

There was a rock in the middle of the road, as if thrown there from the nearby wall of the Labyrinth. It was chunky, made of cemented different rocks of all shades and sizes. There was the ever-present sparkle of magic-remnant in its core. The group walked around it easily.

“Oh,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he hummed out, accent warming as he kicked a pebble and watched it roll with a gleam in his eye. “I was really little when I was in the human realm. All trolls now live on the outskirts of the Shadow of the Castle, beyond the Goblin City – there is a mire there. That’s where I lived with my mother until I had to train.”

She could imagine a damp-wetlands beyond the desert sea, beyond tangled criss crossing pathways, beyond the rot of the Labyrinth. She could smell salt-water of a murky bog, taste it on her lips.

“How did you become the Beast-Hunter?” she asked instead.

“Its less of a title and more of a being, Y/N,” Jisung called behind his shoulder. “His father was the Beast-Hunter; Chan is the Beast-Hunter; his offspring will be the Beast-Hunter.”

She remembered Chris saying that – she simply thought it was pride. He was the best she had thought. She squinted her brows wondering how that worked. Was it, like, a bloodline? Like royalty?

Chris nodded solemnly. “He’s right,” he confirmed. “Woven by ancient magic; it’s my duty to the Goblin King. My family’s duty forevermore to be their Hunter.”

Interesting was all she could think as she dodged a scratchy piece of foliage with sharpened red thorns. More bushes began to decorate the sides of the path. Most were dry, dead things in shades of umber, tan, and rotting green. Other had the flicker of life, magic-remnant sparkling in the candlelight of the nearby maze. Small flowers of red burst forth on their branches.

“If you’re a troll, what is Han?” she asked then glancing over at Jisung. His hand tossed a pretty dagger up into the air, catching it easily and swiftly as he glanced around them, cautiously. Nervous. Always so goddamn nervous.

“Him. . . “ Chris glanced back at the other with a tilt to his head. His pouty lips quirked. “He looks common-blooded? A lesser-goblin?” he offered, eyes squinting a bit.

“Rude to talk about blood lines,” Jisung reminded over his shoulder, tutting.

“Is a troll common-blooded?” she grunted, ignoring the other’s scold as she climbed over a root in the middle of the road.

Chris’s laughter was bubbling like a water’s brook meeting a swamp as he shook his head. “No way!” he giggled as if she had said a very funny joke.

“What is a troll-fae then?” she countered, smiling a bit despite being wrong.

“We are strong for one. We are valued for our magic’s strength, our strong will, and our strong fighting abilities. We are seen as loyal,” He explained.

“Guard dogs – brutes – hunters with no remorse,” Jisung mumbled under his breath as he began to scale a large boulder-esque chunk of cobblestoned wall in the way of the road. It made a divot in the path, scattered brink littered everywhere.

Looking to the side, Y/N saw the Labyrinth wall closest to her look full and well. So how did this end up here? With small grunts, he managed to uproot himself to the top of the thing before he turned and offered his hand to Y/N.

“C’mon.”

Grabbing his hand, she was hoisted up as well. It hurt a bit as she was tugged against rough rock but Chris soon swept under her to push her the rest of the way up. Jisung gave her a brief once-over, dark jewel-toned eyes careful over her form. The unfamiliar feeling bubbled up like lava in his heart.

She huffed out a breath as she got her footing, standing with Jisung. But, of course, Jisung turned his back to Chris.

“Jisung,” she couldn’t help but scold, his true name slipping out in her frustration. He paused in his step, glancing down at her like a kicked puppy. But he didn’t say a word, only pouted with those raspberry-bitten lips. Petulant.

The Runner turned and offered her hand to the lone troll-fae below.

“Here,” she encouraged.

She doubted she could pull him up by herself (he was all muscle and broadness), but she could try. She refused to leave him behind. Han watched from the sidelines, eyeing as she squatted and waited. (Too kind, too kind, too kind.)

The bulky man smiled at her, waving her off with blushed lavender cheeks.

“I can handle this; you and Lor- Han jump down to the other side.” Chris insisted.

Brows crinkled.

“You’re sure?” she queried, doubt in her voice.

Chris nodded solidly.

“C’mon, the Beast-Hunter says he’ll be fine; he’ll be fine,” Jisung tugged her arm, firm fingers pulling her attention away. “You’ve got a time limit, remember?” There was an urgency in his tone despite his almost bratty look on his face.

Nodding slowly, the Runner rose ‘til she was standing.

“Okay,” she murmured.

The pair scaled the cracks and curves of the large boulder until they finally saw the road on the other side. Jisung jumped first, landing with a thud before he turned and looked up to the Runner. Encouraging with a hand out.

She leapt, stumbling on the uneven brick. The shock absorbed into her body unpleasantly, springing up her shins with an ache.

“Good?” Jisung murmured under his breath. His hands wrapped around her arms steadingly– he must’ve tried to catch the Runner in her stumble. Looking up at him with a slight grimace, she nodded. Her eyes burned with a pain but she blinked through it and nodded again. Jisung squeezed her arms reassuringly before taking a step back.

He hated seeing her hurt he realized. His ribs ached as he took a shaky breath in. Despair and worry crawled in his veins like maggots. He couldn’t imagine her going through the change – the look of independence in her eyes dulling until they’re fogged by the Change. Jisung had seen it happen over and over again. Would she be a cognizant Changeling…? He couldn’t see her falling to the darker Threads of the Change. Fur and tooth and nail wouldn’t become her – and surely the King didn’t want a goblette. The deal wasn’t something like that. Would she be forgetful? Would she be obedient? Would she be lost in a dreamscape?

She turned her back to the common-fae to look at the rock. Looking for Chris over the crown of the rock remains in front of them.

“Just wait,” Jisung muttered, rolling his eyes out of her sight.

There was a rumble. Low and humming. It grew slowly, louder and louder until she could see the boulder in front of them begin to tremble with the frequency. Her eyes widened in surprise, taking a tentative step backwards in preparation. Jisung’s hand slid down her arm, slow, soothing, until he grasped her hand in his. The Runner tore her gaze from the rock for a moment to look at her companion.

Jisung didn’t look stressed. In fact, he looked almost bored. His chin gestured to the rock once more when he caught her gaze. The rock’s trembling was almost palpable until with a loud BOOM. The rock cracked. In half, cleanly. Revealing, a bashful Chris who smiled amongst the dust and magic-remnant particles floating through the air.

Y/N’s mouth parted into a little ‘o’; her eyes wide in surprise.

“Hey!” he crowed, easily climbing through the rock they had scaled.

“You had to show off rather than just doing that in the first place?” Jisung scolded lightly, turning away from the fae man. He didn’t let go of the Runner’s hand, forcing her to turn her body slightly.

Chris huffed, the dust clinging to his curls pillowing up into a cloud as he shook his head, almost dog-like. “I wasn’t showing off,” he argued. His eyes shifted back onto the Runner. “Much.” He admitted with a laugh in his voice.

It made the Runner laugh, his tone so light hearted and comfortable, it encouraged her to do the same. Jisung’s fingers clung to her tighter.

“So, you can break things?” she confirmed.

“No, no,” Jisung interrupted her.

“Rock – anything made of earth, I can manipulate.” Chris interrupted Jisung’s interruption. “Trolls and stone come from the same Thread.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, you thought they became stone just ‘cause?” Chris continued, teasingly.

She shook her head lightly, not exactly scolding and not exactly answering his question. “We’ve got to keep going… cool trick.” She admitted as they turned their backs on the broken slab of rock.

The Runner didn’t look to see how Chris preened, rubbing the back of neck and fluffing the hair there. Jisung glared at him.

The trio walked along once more. Rather than a Labyrinth of walls, she swore they were on an endless cobblestone path. It reminded her of the Wizard of Oz, another favorite of her childhood. The bricks beneath her feet made her muscles ache; the pattern becoming sloppier and sloppier as they twisted this way and that through a forest.

It was a while later when her stomach growled and grumbled again. The low pain of her hunger was hard to ignore when there was nothing around them

“Keep an eye out for anything that could be food,” she commented casually.

Around them the bushes were fairly bare, dry and desolate pushed against the wall of the Labyrinth and the cliffside of the Direwoods’ darkness.

“You’re hungry?” Chris queried from behind her.

They had taken up a line sort of arrangement – Jisung led, the Runner followed, and Chris kept watch from the rear. She looked back at him with a gentle smile.

She nodded. “It feels like I’ve been here for days rather than hours. I think its magic.”

“Or the fact you’ve been beaten up so badly,” Chris said, frowning at her wounds.

“Or that,” she chuckled, stretching her limbs until they cracked a bit. Her entire body still ached. What she wouldn’t do for a moment to rest.

Jisung was quiet; the fruit in his satchel heavy as it swayed on his belt. He could give her the fruit Hyunjin gave him. But. . . he didn’t know what would happen. Probably nothing good.

“There’s got to be some berries around here,” Chris reassured, looking to the brush off the path. He took on a sort of prowl as he looked through the bushes with careful eyes.

It was odd how suddenly there were more and more fruit on the bushes as they continued to trek onwards – as if the Labyrinth heard her request. Berries of different colors, shapes, and sizes decorated some of the prickly looking bushes. To her human mind, the thorns warned of danger. But Chris reached out and plucked one from the bushel, humming low.

“How about—” Chris couldn’t even finish his sentence before the once Gentleman-In-Waiting piped up, head snapping to look at the fruit in the other’s fingers.

“No, no, humans eat different things,” Jisung argued, stopping in his tracks, and turning to the Beast-Hunter. “Those berries might poison her.”

“I was going to give her berries we could eat,” Chris retorted, squishing the berry in between his fingertips with a splurt. Deep magenta stained his fingers like blood. Jisung took a few steps off the road to examine the berry the other had plucked with careful eyes. The flesh of the berry was tossed to the barren ground as Chris rose his fingers to his nose, sniffing deeply before wrinkling his nose and rubbing the thick juice on his trousers.

“Humans and fae aren’t the same. She’s all iron-blood and squish.” Jisung continued, prodding at the Beast-Hunter’s tough arm childishly as if to make a point.

“Hey, its alright. We can look later. I just wanted to mention it,” the Runner soothed, stepping off the path to join the two. The two men paused in their mutterings and bickerings.

“This is probably another one of his tests,” she said, looking over the bushes she didn’t remember having berries moments ago. If they had been there, wouldn’t she had noticed? There were sparkling in the candlelight of the nearby Labyrinth walls.

Jisung hummed in agreement; the Beast-Hunter following his lead after a moment.

“Maybe,” Chris murmured. “Is he that cruel?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But its strange to be around all of these berries suddenly.”

Jisung glanced about. The fruit were dusted in magic; not like the fruit he carried in his satchel. It felt heavier by the moment. He licked his lips.

“Yeah,” the Beast Hunter murmured.

“Let’s just get back on track – Jisung, you know the entrance to the Labyrinth, right?” she asked. “Its close?”

She hoped it was. She hoped she was growing closer. As she turned to look back where they were headed, the world around them had shifted. The walls of the Labyrinth were closer than before (she could reach out and touch it) – the path they had been on gone and replaced by a dirt road.

An entrance stared at them – literally. A stoney face of granite glared down from above the doorway. Cursed troll, forced to bear the weight of the archway. Forevermore.

“Yeah,” Jisung muttered. Pointing at the nearby entrance obviously.

It wasn’t like the original entrance with its grand gate. No, this was an open archway with the statuesque face staring at them with old deep eyes. Strange how a rock could bear such humanistic eyes.

“Beware.” The troll-stone murmured, the cracking of stone thundering and grating. “Nothing is as it seems.”

The Runner couldn’t stop the scoff that left her throat as she walked forwards, approaching the entry. It was the dumbest advice to give. She knew that. The Labyrinth was always full of surprises.

“Thanks,” she mumbled nonetheless as she, and the duo behind her, re-entered the Labyrinth walls. Stairwells on either side of her trapped them in. Turning around the entry was gone, and they were stuck in the brick-walls once more.

“Which way?” she wondered briefly.

“Right or left?” Jisung countered, boba-big eyes looking one way and then the other.

“Right’s always right,” she teased before arbitrarily moving towards the right stairwell and climbing the stairs.

It wasn’t endless stairs luckily (Y/N would rather die than attempt that.) In no time they were high above the Labyrinth walls, on a catwalk of sorts with turrets and well-walked cobblestone floors. Looking down upon the maze, the view was beautiful. She could look down into the gardens, the courtyards, the twisting paths of the Labyrinth, all casted in a golden hue of candlelight. The castle was in front of her, far as ever. But Y/N knew it was not to be believed. One couldn’t truly trust their eyes here.

Continuing onwards, the elevated walk way, a guard rampart she noted, bore things she didn’t think she’d walk past. Abandoned weapons of wood and copper. Things rusted from the cold wet air of the cave. Cannons and cannon balls made of what looked like plant matter rather than cement. This was clearly a wall walk – a part of the Labyrinth guards would utilize in battle surely. It had turret openings covered in soot and dust; portions of the rock blown to bits from what looked like gun fire.

It was odd she was allowed her she noted. Looking far below, she saw guards patrol the maze below. The trio kept close to the exterior wall.

“Are there other kingdoms beyond the Goblin Castle and the Labyrinth?” Y/N queried, tone low, glancing over to Jisung first and then Chris. Both would know… with their familiarity with the King.

This didn’t look like age or rot; this looked like a battle.

Jisung was rounding around a large chunk of the destroyed rampart wall as her question reached his ears. His eyes widened as he swallowed.

“There are,” Chris answered quietly. “The Underground is vast.”

“The Goblin Kingdom is by far the most protected.” Jisung added almost as if defending Hyunjin.

The Runner snorted. “Yeah, with all of this,” she gestured around them. “It’s hard to get to the Castle in the first place with its tricks.”

“That and there is power in numbers,” Jisung commented. “The Goblin King had a large military from guards to knights to generals of war.

How many of those numbers were wish-stolen? Were they Changeling Goblins? Would she be one of the numbers soon? It made a shiver go down her spine.

They finally had braved the more destroyed parts of the watch-tower walls. The walk along the wall was simple, unlike the twisting and turning of the maze below.

“Where are the guards up here?” she wondered aloud as they walked along. “They are all down below.”

Chris’ brows rose in surprise, glancing at the nearby watchtower. It was empty despite its golden glow of the torch flame atop its roof.

“No need to guard anything near the Direwoods,” he said.

“The Sluagh would take care of them,” Jisung agreed, speeding up to walk beside the Runner.

The unending prodding in his skull was irritating. Give her the fruit, give her the fruit, give it to her. It was beyond himself, a voice that sounded too much like Hyunjin for him to be confident the King wasn’t in his head. The peach in his satchel hit against his thigh with every step. Taunting.

“You alright, Y/N?” Chris’ voice tore Jisung from his thoughts, looking over at Y/N. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her gaze unfocused for a moment. His hand shot out instinctively, grasping her arm.

The Runner wasn’t certain what came over her. Dizziness, her stomach cramping, her head pulsing. Maybe it was the stress, the injuries that ached around her body, catching up to her. But wasn’t the Labyrinth supposed to ensure she wouldn’t die?

Not ensure she wouldn’t suffer she supposed.

Jisung’s hand on her arm made a ghost of a smile come to her lips. Chris followed up behind her, coming to her side with concerned grey eyes and a firm lip.

“I’m okay,” she told them. “I think it’s just, well, everything.” Both hands reached for her companion’s hands giving them a gentle squeeze.

“The first edible thing I see, you’re eating – and drinking! The moment we see good water,” Chris promised. He took protecting her seriously – even if he had failed with the fall into the Direwoods.

She smiled fondly. “Sounds like a plan.” She agreed. “Any food will do.”

Jisung felt like the world was mocking him at this point. Swallowing, he looked over her face. The ashen sweat that lingered on her brow made him concerned. Him! Concerned! What were these feelings? What if the peach was really alright? What if it was to help the Runner? A present of honest and truth?

No, Hyunjin wasn’t ever so kind.

But look at her. . .

She needed something.

Jisung’s free hand shifted to the satchel at his waist, tugging at its drawstrings. Fingertips brushed across the fruit’s firm skin. It was still unblemished, perfectly ripe with its lush orange-red hues watercolor-painted across its surface. The most perfect peach if there ever was one. His fingers curled around it tighter as he pulled it from the purse.

He rolled it between his palm for a moment. A heat danced over his neck, making him sweat as he lifted it up and towards the Runner.

With shut eyes, Jisung whispered. “Here, try this.” Revealing it with a heavy heart.

“Is that a peach?” the Runner inquired, glancing over. Wide eyes in surprise. Her mouth watered at its sight. “It looks perfect. You’ve had this the entire time?”

He forced a smile, a fanged grimace. “Y-Yeah.” The taste of iron ached to bite at his tongue as he tried to say that he forgot. He hadn’t. It had been on his mind since they had reunited. He had to give this peach. He had to.

“Why didn’t you mention it before?” Chris argued from her side. Face scrunching in disappointment and anger.

“I-I,” Jisung spluttered, unable to force a lie through his lips without the blood-iron taste filling his mouth. There was no way to answer him.

But the Runner, kind soul she was, squeezed Chris’ large hand and smiled.

“Its okay; I’m sure he forgot and got scared to mention it,” it was a tease but it was still her excusing him. Even with her ill-state. Her eyes were gentle as they settled back on Jisung. He felt a wave of guilt at the sight of her kindness.

She wasn’t a fae that was sure. Too kind, too sweet.

He offered a strained smile her way. He was too soft.

“You’re a life-safer, Han,” she hummed gratefully as she leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek, friendly and grateful. “Thank y-“ A crash of lightning interrupted her words.

Their necks snapped to the sound; there was a rumble unlike the rumble of Chris’ powers. It felt stronger as the earth began to tremble in a sort of earthquake. Turbulent and rough as she gripped onto Jisung’s arm. He squeezed the fruit; it didn’t dimple under his brute strength.

His eyes were panicked, breath caught as the literal brickwork around them began to crumble into nothing. Like they had never been there to begin with. It was like reality was unraveling.

“W-Wait,” Jisung mumbled as he pushed at her, trying to move them from their spots. Push her away if anything. But he was unable to; his limbs cement heavy. The birds stopped chirping; the world chilled to a freezing temperature. His eyes bulged out as he stared at the Castle in his locked vision. Hyunjin. Hyunjin!

“I warned you,” Hyunjin’s voice was heard like a whisper on the wind. Angered, petulant, venomous.

He was falling, falling, falling. The abyss below was dark and uncertain like a gaping maw of a monster. He felt her skin graze his, nails and finger tips digging into his arms as she tried to grasp onto him as Jisung fell through the once-there floor.

“Jisung!” The Runner screeched as she reached out for him into oblivion.

Deep in his Castle, there laid a true throne made of something ancient and magic. Far from his subjects’ chatter, it was locked behind iron lock and key. Inside was dark stone, cool as ice. The lone throne sat defying gravity as it hovered. Shimmering tendrils of the night sky made solid, like a slab of carved obsidian was carved into a high-backed throne. Stars reflected from its surface and magic hummed from deep within occasionally making blooms of red, blues, and greens dancing underneath the polished throne. It felt like a living thing, contained magic only for the King to revel in.

The coolness of the jewel-type surface typically soothed Hyunjin, but in the moment it burned like the icy depths of space. His form curled under himself, barren feet pressed firm on the seat of the throne as he hunched, monstrously, over his magic orbs.

His face was one of brutality, deep-ocean black eyes locked onto his magical bauble. The image of kiss was burned into his mind as reality bent to his will within the bubble, far off in his Labyrinth. He felt each stone fall away from reality, disappearing into shards of being, so Jisung couldn’t even grasp onto anything. Constraining the fae so he couldn’t move. His subjects were his to command and, in this moment, he used it to his full cosmic power.

Soft lips pressed against soft cheeks. Jisung’s wide eyes of surprise. The blush of rush. Her genuine gratefulness. Her gentleness. Her.

Her. Her. Her. Kissing him. Him. Him. Not Hyunjin. Him. She kissed him.

Jealousy wasn’t Hyunjin’s friend – even when it came to a simple kiss upon a cheek.

No, jealousy for a spoilt King showed itself in its ugliness. It carved down his cheeks in golden streaks of tears. His hair plastered against his honeyed sweat-slicked skin. Blood-shot eyes as he snarled wordlessly at the bauble. The room buzzed with electricity and a taste of bitter ozone as he felt the bite of envy.

She hadn’t looked at him like that. When he’d fought the world for her; manipulated time, manipulated his domain, everything for her. She wanted a hero. He was that for her – why couldn’t she see it?

Her eyes had gleamed. Her lips were sweet petal roses, curling so gentle into a smile she hadn’t given him before. His chest ached. Fingers curled, sharpened iron-tipped nails with rings and jewels dug into his palm.

Hyunjin let out a laugh as he felt the pain prick through him. His gaze finally leaving the bubble to see ichor of purple dripping to the Castle’s floor, painting it a royal blood. When was the last time he bled? Here was bleeding for a mere mortal – a soul he was going to steal and change and meld into a goblin of his own.

His breathing was wild as his gaze shifted to look between the darkening strands of hair. His blonde waves darkening into the black of a raven. The color leeched out slowly until it was as dark as his thick cloak that made his form too sweatied in his emotional rampage.

His stormy eyes settled back on the bubble to see the Runner fall in after his banished Gentleman-In-Waiting. In his jealous rage, the Goblin King forgot she was no subject of his – even as the Runner.

He had no power over her.

His concentration fell, the world settling back into reality with the cobblestone floor of the rampant wall bubbling into existence, but it was too late.

She was falling after Jisung – there was a blur of a figure following her – but Hyunjin didn’t care. No, he was whiplashed with rage. He threw the magic orb to the wall; the image shattering on impact as he let out a howl.

30 notes · View notes