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dazed--xx · 1 year

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SKZ Break up Reaction II(Hyung Line)

Part 1

A/N: so I’m alive and writing again I hope this good im not gonna lie I’m really shit at writing fluff and this isn’t edited. Also I’m on full mobile uploading since my 4 year old decided to break my laptop but I do still want to write. The maknae line will be coming out soon I’m working on it and a couple other things atm so I hope you guys enjoy those. I’m going to be posting a preview shortly after this also I don’t ever really get much feedback or comments so please I love to hear you guy’s opinions tell me where I can be better but please like comment reblog and enjoy 😊

Chan:

You stared at your phone as tears flowed down your face. You weren’t sure what you should do, should you call him? You desperately wanted to hear his voice but could you handle the heartbreak and broken promises all over again? You love him, you missed him but being forgotten about for almost two months has you hesitantly hover over the answer button. It’s been two weeks and the calls and messages have been nonstop. You weren’t sure if you could face him, to see the look in his eyes you knew you’d absolutely crumble, so you watch as the call goes to your Home Screen and a missed call notification pops up followed by a voicemail. With a heavy sigh you click on the notification your hands are shaky as you press the play button “H-hey” he begins with a sigh “I-it’s been a-a….while now a-and I just want to know….how your doing. I know things weren’t….what you expected b-but I just want you to know that I love you a-and I want you to come home. I miss you so much. I know I should have been here I know I messed up so bad but I love you so much and I can only hope that I didn’t ruin things to the point where I can’t say that you love me too. If you still need time…I-I get that b-but ple-please just let me know you’re okay….come home soon…..please” your sobs grow louder shaking your body completely as you hear the pain in his voice.

You look around the small hotel room you had gotten for yourself, the hoodie you had stolen from Chan has adorned your torso since the night you left. With a final resolution you lift yourself from the bed, hurriedly grabbing your things as you shove them into your suitcase making sure everything is with you. You were anxious as you loaded your bag into your car. Your stomach was sinking as you pulled onto Chans street. You felt nauseous as you stood infront of the door, your hand hovering about to knock. Taking a deep breath you gently tap on the door, you felt like a kid coming home after running away at 6 years old. You felt small and confused yet the only thing you seemed to want, though you’ve been avoiding it, is to see him. You weren’t sure what to expect as you waited, you grew frustrated as you knocked once more a little harsher. The door being whipped open makes you jump in nervousness “Yah! I’m Fi—Y/N…” you stare at his wide tired eyes, his mouth hangs open as tears build in his orbs. Your pulled into his frame quickly as he wraps his arms around you quickly. “Y-you….” He cries “you came back” you hear the sigh of relief he releases as he buries his face in your neck. Your arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Yeah….I missed you so much I’m sorry” you apologize regret filling your tone. He shakes his head “No. I’m sorry fuck I’m so sorry please don��t leave again” he begs as his grip on you grows tighter. “I won’t I love you…. It’s you and me okay?” You promise as he lifts his head to look at you. He nods in response pressing his plush lips against yours.

Minho:

Minho paced back and forth for what felt like hours as he called you over and over again. His hands were shaky as he pressed the call button once more only for his heart to shatter once again at the sound of your voicemail. He didn’t know what to do it’s only been a couple hours but he felt hopeless. How could he get you to speak to him? Why did he have to be such an asshole? What could he do to see you again? Where could you have gone? A lightbulb goes off in his head, opening the location app you had downloaded on his phone his heart soars as your picture is still on his map. You never turned your location off, he thanks god for your absent mind. Zooming in on the location he recognizes your parents street, grabbing his keys he rushes out the door and into his car. His teeth tugging at his bottom lip in nervousness. Would you talk to him? Would you come home? He felt like throwing up at the thought of you saying no. How could he have ruined things so badly? His leg was shaking as he pulled into your parents driveway. What would you say? Would you turn him away?

He wasn’t sure if he should call you again, should he knock? This has never happened before he didn’t know the protocol for pleading and crying like a baby to get the love of your life back. He knew there would be groveling, but would you close the door in his face? Tell him you never wanted to see him again? No….no you wouldn’t—you couldn’t. You had to know how sorry he is, he raises his hand to knock on the door as it is pulled open your father standing there a disappointed scowl on his face. “Little—uh late there aren’t you?” He retorts he smacks his hand on Minhos shoulder firmly “advice for next time…you don’t let her leave genius. Beg. On your knees if you have to. But you never let them go because once they’re gone it’s hard to get ‘‘em back.” Minho nods softly “I’m so—shhhhh” your father cuts him off with his finger to his lips “I’m not who you should be apologizing to. Honestly I told her to kick your ass then leave she went the nicer way” Minho’s scrunch in confusion “I-Okay” he nods as he enters. He notices your mother seated on the couch a sympathetic expression adorning her face as she gestures toward a room. He nods in response quickly making his way to the door knocking hesitantly. His hands are shaking as he looks back at your parents watching him encouragingly, your mothers hands gesturing for him to go in. A heavy sigh is released from his mouth as he opens the door. The first thing he can hear is your silent sobs as you lay in bed. “Mom please can you just give me a minute” you cry silently. “You see, I would but l…I’m not your mom a-and” tears begin flowing down his cheeks as he rushes over to face you. He drops to his knees infront of your laying down figure, his thumb wiping away your tears “a-and I-I want you to come h-home” his eyes connect with yours “please, come home i—“ he sighs heavily grabbing your hand caressing it gently placing it against his cheek “I can’t breathe without you near me, I love you. I love you so much. I couldn’t think—I need you only a few hours away from you breaks me. Seeing our home rid of you, us, breaks me pl-please I know I’m an idiot but I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry. I need you I don’t want you to leave me alone. Never leave me alone please I—“ his words get caught in his throat as he hiccups. “Min…” you slowly sit yourself up your eyes connecting with his.

Guilt and regret worn on his expression. You bite your bottom lip as you place your free hand on his cheek. “I love you too. But maybe we need space..” he shakes his head in denial “you just had a few hours away from me how much more space do you need? Please I want to be with you I don’t want space I-I want to wake up everyday with you in my bed. I want to see you smile and hear your laugh when the cats do something weird. I need you. I want you to be with me. Always. I want to marry you, I want to have kids with you, I’m sorry but I’m not leaving unless you’re coming with me” he begs. A small sad smile forms on your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him in. His arms taking a hold of your waist. “We can figure things out okay? I love you” you whisper

Changbin:

“Stop. Sending. So. Much. Stuff. To . My. Place.” Your growl as you place the gifts Changbin had sent to your house for the past week with every word on Changbins desk. He stared at you wide eyed and surprised before a smug smirk forms on his lips. His tongue runs over his bottom lip “I’m not seeing the necklace I sent yesterday.” He states as his eyes run over your figure. Your face twists into a scowl at his smugness as you cross your arms over your chest “I’ll send it in the mail” you lie, knowing the necklace was hidden under your shirt. A small tsk is released from his lips as he leans back in his seat, his legs spreading slightly as he stretched. “I mean..” he trails as he lifts himself from his seat making his way over to you, his fingers softly brushing your hair behind your ear. Tingles are sent down your spine as his fingers trail their way down the side of your throat before lifting the gold chain and pulling the daliha pendant. “It’s right here why send it in the mail?” His voice is low and seductive, you feel your resolution breaking as he pressed his chest against yours. Your breath is shaky as you willed yourself to not look directly at him. You feel his nose brush against your cheek, you feel heat grow on your face. You were sure you were a bright scarlet. Your hands place themselves on his firm chest shoving him back nervously. His eyebrow scrunch together in confusion “Wouldn’t want to make anymore mistakes right?” The sarcasm oozing out in your words.

You notice the hurt on his features,he runs his hands through his hair before releasing a sigh “you aren’t and never were a mistake to me! I love you I want to be with you the only mistake I made was fighting with you, please just give me another chance. I know I was wrong for what I said but we’ve both been on edge recently and I just want to fix things. You’re my everything and I can’t believe I said so fucking stupid” his eyes connect with yours, you can see the sincerity in his eyes. “Bin…I-I don’t know” you state your bottom lip making its way between your teeth. “Wait don’t decide yet I know you don’t want it but I have one more thing I wanted to give you” he urges as he rushes toward his desk “I don’t want you to keep buying me things Bin, it’s not right and it’s not a way to get me back. If I was to get back together with you because you bought me things then I would fee disgusted with myself.” You plead to deaf ears. “Shh! Just see it before you just reject it” he argues before turning around hand behind his back. “I made mistakes when it came to you. Not that you or our relationship was a mistake but I should have tried harder for you. I shouldn’t have said the things I said that night and for that I’m sorry but, I have loved you for three years now. From your smile to the way you take care of your friends. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll spend every moment of everyday trying to make up for what I said…” your heart sinks as he begins to lower himself down to one knee before grabbing your left hand his eyes connect with yours “will you marry me?” You stare at him mouth agape as he produces a velvet box from behind him. Your right hand placed itself over your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes as you nod “yes!”

Hyunjin:

“Please, just talk to me!” Hyunjin begs as you casually stroll past him once again. Your heart rips out of your chest every time you were greeted by his tear stained, red eyed pout. Your bottom lip found it’s way between your teeth so you didn’t break your resolve. It’s been a month since you had broken up with him, and you spent every second since being bombarded by texts, calls, and unannounced visits from Hyunjin. You personally never told Hyunjin that you had overheard him saying those disgusting things about you, but you do know that Jeongin definitely did as his pleas changed from ‘what happened’ to ‘let me explain’. You personally didn’t care for an explanation nor did you want one. Your heart broke when you heard him say those things to Jeongin; you had a skewed idea of how your relationship was and Hyunjin opened your eyes with his words. You feel a hand wrap around your wrist, a bored sigh is released from your throat. “Please….Baby I-I’m sorry… I don’t know how to fix this, I-I just want to fix it I just want you to talk to me again.” His voice is horse, you notice his tongue brushing over his bottom lip before his teeth take his lip between them. A heavy sigh is released from his throat as he placed himself infront of you, hands wrapped around your arms. Your eyes connecting, you can see the longing and heartbreak in them.

Your breath grows heavy as you stare at your ex pulling yourself out of his grasp. “Please don’t touch me Hwang sunbae-nim, and it’s fine honestly, we didn’t work out.” You shrug, you feel your heart break as the look of utter horror grows on his angelic face.”s-sunbae-nim?” The words are barely above a whisper, pain laced in his tone. You nod softly “I think we wanted different things and you should be with someone that isn’t such a prude you know? Thank you for the apology but it isn’t necessary, you didn’t feel the same way as I did and that’s okay I just wish you would have told me instead of your members” you explain “no t-that’s not true! Please” his hands grasp yours desperately “why can’t you believe me? Look at me you know me! You know how I feel about you” tears streamed down his cheeks rapidly as he held your hands against his chest. You shake your head in denial “Hyunjin…pl-please let me go” your voice cracks. “I-I love you please believe me I didn’t want to break up I’m an idiot and I was frustrated and I just regret saying such stupid things I don’t need sex I don’t want you to leave me alone. I miss you—fuck—I miss you so much. I’m so fucking sorry I just want to be with you I just want my girl back please just give me another chance” he pleads, the despair evident in his tone. With a heavy sigh you shake your head “I just—sigh—you broke my heart and I just can’t jump back into this right away I’m sorry Hyunjin but no. I won’t be with someone who could think those things about me” you apologize as you continue making your way home.

#hyunjin angst #stray kids angst #skz angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #chan angst #stray kids reactions #hyunjin #skz reactions #SKZ Minho angst #changbin angst #hyunjin fluff #chan fluff #changbin fluff #stray kids Hyung line reaction #minho fluff #skz x reader

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 10 months

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Quiet When I’m Coming Home (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

Summary: You’re in a relationship with Simon – not Ghost. Despite your best intentions, your partner is absent in many ways. He’s half a man, half of what you needed.

AN: Fic inspired by “when the party’s over” by Billie Eilish. Simon x Reader are not a great fit for each other and don’t communicate well. This is all angst with no happy ending. There will not be any other parts that offer a resolution to this, so please don’t ask.

Thanks to those who voted on the poll! Don’t forget to keep voting for what other fics you want to come out next!

Content warning: Hurt, no comfort; reader is gender neutral, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3

No one else had a set of keys to your new home. Simon had assured you of that, making a statement a fact as he handed over the spare he’d previously kept in a lock-box. So, when you heard someone unlocking the entrance to the flat, despite your awful week that left you wanting to become one with the sofa, you leapt off it and sped into the hallway.

Simon’s mighty duffle bag was tossed inside first. Next came his big boots that kicked the door shut swiftly after he’d stepped past the threshold.

With your partner well and truly confirmed to be back home, you allowed the relief to flood your every vein as you approached with open arms. The smile on your face grew and grew with every step closer. Then it faltered as it was met with Simon’s hands up, buffering you a foot away from him. He wasn’t meeting your eye. He stared at his duffle bag and did not lower his hands.

“Simon. Are you OK?” You asked tentatively, your arms gently dropping back down.

A shake of his head was all communication you received.

It took him two days to remove the mask completely. Two days of being locked away in his office. That shift from who he was on the battlefield to who he was at home, it was never smooth. But this was the longest it had taken in the time you’d known him.

You knew how to help him: let him have his space, offer occasional reminders that you were here if/when he needed you, sliding water bottles and plates of food outside his office, returning later to collect the empty tray. He was a private man. The fact that he even came back at all was a miracle, a true display of his trust in you.

It was such a shame though, that him being something that mad you feel better conflicted with his own methods of healing.

A romantic would say that all that hardship made the embrace he gave you the following evening all worth it. But it felt just like a hug, empty of any explanation, and the same again when he left you the day after.

You used to call out into the house whenever you arrived back.

“Hello?”, “Simon?”, “You home?”, things like that.

At the end of a work day, hauling in the weekly shop, returning from a night out with your mates, the journey didn’t matter. It always ended with you calling out into an empty apartment as you locked the door behind you. Its click into place cemented the fact that no one would answer - another meal for one and a bed too big.

Later into your relationship, you discovered it didn’t matter if you called out – at least, not obviously. You went through your usual routine with your shoes placed in uniform with your others by the front door. A phone call to your mother, reheated Bolognese, and a pair of slippers that felt like clouds passed the evening by you passively enough. Getting ready for bed at half past seven didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Jesus!”

Simon looked up from the boot he was brushing in the corner of the bedroom. A rag of a towel was laid out between his feet, catching all the stray flecks of polish and dirt. His mask was off; you could see its wedge in his pocket.

“Hey you.” You took a few steps and waited. When Simon placed his wares to the side and kept his legs spread apart, you stepped closer still. Once you’d reached him, Simon wrapped himself around you. Perhaps he’d snuck in to surprise you.

You whispered, “Gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” came the mumbled reply into your shirt.

“It’s alright,” and you ran your fingers through his hair. “It’s all alright now. How long you been home?”

“Couple of hours.”

When you slid into bed beside him for the night, you checked your phone. No notifications from Simon. He was already tucked in with his eyes closed, breathing leveled out. You hadn’t gotten any better at telling when he was feigning sleep. But if he was pretending, he was avoiding. You could talk to him about it tomorrow. As long as his next job didn’t take him away before that.

With a slam of the taxi door, you waved the last of your friends off. Cold air bit at your arms and urged you to get back inside. But you stayed until the red taillights turned the corner, waving wildly on tiptoes.

The buzz of the homemade cocktails aided your flight back up the stairwell. It acted as motivation to wrap up the leftovers. A tune from earlier on your party playlist bounced in your mouth whilst you popped the occasional snack into your mouth en route to the fridge. It faded into silence when the front door opened, however you continued with your chores as Simon appeared in the doorway.

He’d timed that a bit too well, you thought to yourself whilst he shuffled in the doorway. You cursed yourself for thinking that about him.

“How was it?” He asked.

“Great, thanks.” Your answer came out a little strained, as did the smile you offered him. Perceptive Simon, he didn’t say anything about it. Rather than address the elephant, like you, he started scraping one of the plate’s contents into the bin. You let him help you for a while. But it was clear, from his stumbling, that he was not as coherent in thought and action as you were.

“You can go to bed.”

After a pause, he slotted his wares into the dishwasher, “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna,” You gestured to the rest of the party remnants on the table. “I’d rather deal with it now than in the morning.”

“I know.”

Brushing his hands down his trousers, he approached you. His hand squeezed on your hip and you closed your eyes, leaning against his lips that ghosted over your forehead.

“Happy birthday,” He muttered.

Your body followed him a little as you watched him walk to your bedroom, taking with him his promise to make it up to you for going out with his mates, as opposed to putting up with your friends for a few minutes before hiding in his office like last year. At least it was better than if he had had been away on a mission… right?

You stopped calling out now. That was all a gamble to spice up the ache you felt for every empty echo. A fool’s game with a very low chance of getting the response you wanted, like a scratch-card that revealed no matching numbers every time you twisted your key in the lock.

The whole flat felt too big, hollow caves that mocked you with the lack of your partner. There were enough signs around too that proved here wasn’t meant just for you. Cruel, really, to face the reminders that Simon could be home but he wasn’t.

It had felt nice still being able to call him yours. Even if it was weeks of absence on end plus sporadic days where he wasn’t always here, you were still his and he was yours.

That’s what you told yourself. Until one normal day, because you were alone at the flat again, when the doorbell rang.

He’s dead.

Your mind did that a lot, jumped to the worst conclusion. Your heart leapt at the opportunity to break into tiny pieces at the idea of Simon never coming home ever again, before rationale could calm it down.

Except.

Except this time your heart lingered lightly, still eager to break but this time holding back in anticipation as you walked up to the door. That thought was joined by the notion that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he never came back. The definiteness of that was a curdling comfort.

You looked through the peephole. Neighbour from opposite with your post in hand. No Union flag folded up with dog tags resting on top, held by a co-worker of Simon’s you’d never met. With a sigh of unknown feelings, you opened the door.

“How’s this?” You held up the wooden spoon, the pasta sauce steaming in front of Simon’s face. It smelt gorgeous and you already knew it tasted just as well. But this was a habit for you both – for your ulterior motives.

Removing his medical mask that he’d worn during your walk earlier, Simon leant down and (to your amusement) nibbled daintily off the top. His tongue poked out to lick the stray splash off his top lip. He gave a sincerely serious nod of approval with a short hum before trapping you in his massive arms, his body planted firmly against yours as he humbly requested:

“More please.”

You rolled your eyes at the twinkle in his, one that you were as well versed with as you were with his teasing, “Not ‘til I dish up.”

The simmering sauce was stirred once more before you caved completely into Simon’s instigated touch. Both of you swayed on the spot for a few minutes, your hands curving around his hold on you.

“It’s holy now.” Your chin dropped to indicate towards the water bubbling in the other pan. “I boiled the hell out of it.”

Simon’s deep chuckle from his chest caused his hold to tremble around you. When you looked up at him, you were tickled pink to see his smile – the kind where he smiled so broadly that his teeth appeared for a brief second, before he got self-conscious and tried to cover the whole expression up.

“I’m stealing that. And this,” He added just as he pecked your lips.

Pretending to think, you tilted your head back against him, “Is it really stealing if I want you to take it?”

“It makes you my accomplice,” He gave you a squeeze. “I’ll set the table.”

“Thank youuuu,” You called out as he released you to fish around in the kitchen drawers. He was so damn cute, placing the cutlery down precisely in your unofficial assigned seats at the table, making sure the cups had placemats.

Straining the pasta covered the other new sound in the kitchen. But when you set the colander down, you heard it – a steady buzzing on the countertop from Simon’s phone.

Your gaze switched to Simon at the same time his latched back onto you. Those brown eyes that usually made you weak at the knees and in your will, they had that look. That fucking look, and your face crumpled. When Simon picked up the call, the person on the other end heard, faintly in the background, your hand clapping over your mouth to stifle the wail that was clawing its way up your throat.

Of course you could take his silences and his bad days. His secrets, his smoking habit, his aversion of your friends, that was all accepted all of that with the rest of him when you started dating. Except it wasn’t the rest of him, not even most of him.

Doubt crept in through your ear long ago and transformed into certainty. That nickname, callsign – Ghost – that’s who Simon was when he was away and his determination to keep him separate, to keep you away from his life, was driving you to madness. He held you at arm’s length to make it easier for him to focus in the field, for you to move on if he was killed in action, or for both of you if this pact between you ceased.

But right now, he was fighting like the latter wasn’t ever a reason that had crossed his mind. He was telling you that he heard you, he wanted to make it better, he trusted you. He wanted you. With your mind closed whenever his phone trilled to announce your time together was cut short once again.

But what about you?

“Simon,” You pleaded as he glanced at the text he’d received. Not even a phone call. A text and that was something Simon was just beginning to afford you during his time away.

He promised as he slipped his phone into his pocket, “I’ll be back soon.”

What kind of a partner would you be if you asked him to change his profession for you? His profession was his life.

“Please.” Your arms locked at your sides, fingers itching to grab at his jacket and tug him away from the door.

“It’ll be OK.”

His life wasn’t you, but what was yours? This? Waiting for him forever?

“We’ll talk about it when I’m back,” He said firmly.

“When will that be?”

Skeleton gloves brushed a tear from your cheek before he kissed you. His soft lips tasted sweet against the salt of your crying, staining the memory as you committed it in your mind.

The pause button on your life was pressed the second the door closed. Your new normal and your normal forever if you did nothing.

It struck you hard. This couldn’t be it for you.

The weeping was continuous. It faded between stuttered sobbing and silent waterworks as you packed your suitcase. A note you left him had a few stains on them, blurring the ink but not enough to blur the lines of the boundary you were setting. Drafts of what you wanted to say were stuffed in your pockets so that Simon wouldn’t root through the paper recycling to find more evidence of your decision.

Your message to your best friend was more incoherent. The tears dribbling down your phone screen left autocorrect at a loss for words. Nevertheless, your friend answered your call almost immediately and offered you the space on her pull-out couch.

This relationship existed for so many reasons and they all tugged at you to stay loyal to him no matter what. The urge to claw them all out stung harsher than any cut. Because Simon was so lovely. He really was. Of course you’d miss him and those moments you’d shared.

But God, that had to be better than whatever this was and this was as good a goodbye as you were going to get – because you’d never leave if you didn’t leave now.

Skirting around the cardboard towers, you placed the final and lightest box atop the pile in your new bedroom. The mattress in the middle already had your duvet and pillows on top. You just had to locate the sheets before you could call it a day. The accused box was your suspect.

The top flaps were torn open by your desire to collapse and not resurface for at least nine hours. Pillowcases were rescued and force-fed your cushions. Your not-so-neatly-folded fitted sheet maintained its creased state even when spread out across the bed, but you didn’t really care.

It had been your choice to go for a clean break.

Can’t even do that right, you thought as you pulled out a familiar large black hoodie from the bottom of the box, hidden conspicuously beneath the duvet cover.

You held it up, brought it in close, breathed it in. After that, you wrapped its arms around your body. A ghost of your Ghost. As your sobs muffled into the thick fabric and soaked up your tears, you sent out a little prayer that you’d made the right choice, that you’d feel the long term effects of this break-up soon, akin to that relief you felt when you’d been driven away from the place you’d shared.

Just, right now, right in that lump in your throat, it felt like you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley oneshot #cod x reader #cod #cod mwii #mw2 #cod fanfic #cod oneshot #mw2 x reader #my writing #r: gen #wc: >2k

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sev-on-kamino · 8 months

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Dream A Little Dream - Kinktober 2023 vol. 1

Pairing: Kix x fem!Reader

Warnings: established relationship, consent thoroughly discussed beforehand, somnophilia, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv sex (use protection irl), dirty talk (???), if I missed anything please let me know. MINORS DNI

Word count: 807

A/N: Like any kink, this one isn't for everyone, so please protect yourself. Google it if you're not familiar with it. Please don't click past the read more, and then hit me up with some bullshit. Read & heed the warnings, so we can all have a nice kinktober!

Dividers by the spectacular @dystopicjumpsuit

It was rare that Kix couldn't sleep at your place. He felt safe there, and it was the one place where his wishes for sweet dreams could come true. But the hum of your air conditioner simply wasn't the same as the Resolute's hyperdrive. He prepared to slip out of the bed to watch one of the dramas you'd recorded for him, but the movement of the blankets drew his eyes to your body. His eyes roamed your sleeping form bathed in the moonlight. The gentle rise and fall of your chest bringing his attention to your breasts, your nipples stiff in the cold air of the room. Without thinking, he reached out to brush his fingers over one of the stiff peaks, and was rewarded with a soft hum, and the slight arching of your back, as your body moved towards the pleasurable stimulus.

He smiled, and continued to lightly tease your nipples, until your movements had pushed the sheets down past your hips, revealing your soft thighs. He decided then that a midnight snack would be so much better than any holodrama. What could give him better sleep and sweeter dreams than falling asleep with the taste of you on his tongue? Kix carefully parted your thighs to reveal your pussy, the beginnings of your arousal already evident, as he settled your legs over his shoulders, so he could enjoy you. He swirled his tongue around your entrance, keeping his eyes on your face to watch it shift and contort in pleasure. Your hips wiggled slightly, as once again your body sought the source of the delightful feelings. His tongue moved up through your velvety folds until it reached your clit, where he alternated between teasing circles and firmer presses.

You whimpered as your hips bucked closer to his mouth, chasing your orgasm even while sleep still gripped you.

Kix found himself rutting into the mattress, as he continued to devour you, and he knew he needed more. He pressed a finger inside your slick entrance, groaning against you when you clenched around it. He increased his efforts, as he added a second finger and reached up with his free hand to pinch and tease one of your nipples. Though your voice was still thick with sleep, the moan of his name was unmistakable, as you came on his tongue, your walls fluttering around his fingers. "That's it, baby," Kix purred softly before he continued to work your clit with his tongue. Satisfied with his handiwork, Kix lowered your legs and brought himself to his knees between your thighs, letting his hands roam over them gently before gripping and pushing them back, so he had room to place the head of his cock at your entrance. "Can you give me one more?" He asked quietly, as he began to slide his cock into your dripping pussy. "Can you come on my cock too, mesh'la?" Still half-asleep, you merely inhaled sharply, as your body accepted his. You stirred in earnest, as his hips met your ass, his balls pressed snugly against you.

"Mmm, want you, Kix," you groaned, as your eyes fluttered open to meet his. "That's exactly what you're gonna get," Kix assured you, as he rolled his hips, and smoothly worked his cock in and out of your silken walls. Your breathy moans, the gentle slap of skin against skin, Kix's deep groans, alongside the hum of the air conditioner filled the room with a symphony of sound that kept you in a daze. Kix leaned down to kiss you, and you clenched around him as you tasted yourself on his tongue. "Want your cum," you muttered sleepily against his lips, as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "Be patient, baby," Kix replied, even as his hips began moving faster. He could never deny you for long. He took your lips again, as he moved his hand between your bodies to play with your clit once more, wanting, needing you to fall into the abyss of pleasure right next to him. "Kix, I'm close." "Come with me," he commanded with a moan of pure contentment, as he felt your body obeying his command, and drawing his orgasm from him.

You felt the wave of pleasure wash over you, radiating outward from your core, as Kix spilled himself inside you, painting your walls with his seed, until his hips slowed down and finally came to a stop. You lay beneath him, breathing heavily, fingers digging into his skin where you clung to him like a lifeline.

He pulled out of you slowly, and maneuvered the two of you onto your sides, so he could pull you against his chest. "Sweet dreams," you hummed, pressing a kiss over his heart. "Sweet dreams, mesh'la," He replied, shifting to kiss your forehead before drifting off to dreamland.

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#kix x reader #tcw kix x reader #clone medic kix x reader #reader insert #x reader #kinktober 2023 #seven writes #spicy content #lemon #mad citrusy #not safe for costco

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romeulusroy · 4 months

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Just Hold Me (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Word Count: 1,243

Character/s: Roman

Inspired By: ace song by lizzie burton

A/N: I may or may not have signed myself up for a sa support group at my college, which is scary and terrifying and I still don't feel like I belong, but I'm sorta proud ☺️ I go in for a screening because there's only one spave left, but hopefully it goes well? It made me think of Roman and all his issues. It just feels good to write again. Please don't feel alone if you've gone through or are going through this kind of thing. I'm always here to talk 💕✨️🌈

Succession Masterlist

You don't have to jiggle it or press upwards. You don't have to fidget or shake or try a second time. It doesn't rattle and the door doesn't fight back. The key fits perfectly. Inside the apartment is warm despite the space. Warm and quiet and dark. You take it in like you always do. The tv on the wall, reflective and massive. The floor to ceiling windows that make the city lights look like stars. Below you can hear the murmur of traffic, cooing like a baby fast asleep. The kitchen is sleek and goes unused if you're not here. The bathroom door is open, only for guests. You drop your coat, your keys and wallet and shoes. You let everything fall down the edge of the couch. There are no indentations. There is no pilling of the fabric. It is not worn the way yours is. This place is sacred. This place is holy. This place is your second home. A golden strip of light throws itself from the doorway down the hall. You don't need this invitation, but it's nice anyways. You follow.

It wasn't a bad date. It wasn't a good date, either. Third or fourth, you weren't sure what counted as one and what didn't. Still, they came with expectations. You blamed yourself, later on. You told yourself you lead them on. You gave them an idea, a want, a false narrative. You invited them over. The door stuck. The couch was frayed. The whole place was small enough all your furniture touched one way or another. Together, all of you. You and them and your things, your sanctuary. You wanted to watch a movie, order takeout. Thats what you did. They grew close to you, wrapped their arm around you. You offered a few blankets. The heater was always unreliable. You laughed. You joked. It was good. You thought things were going good. The story was coming to the end, the resolution, and it should have clicked. You should have told them, explained to them, but you weren't worried about that. It didn't cross your mind like it did everyone else's.

The bedroom is the most lived in. His button down shirt flung on the floor. You step over it. His shoes, his pants, all of it leads from one door to another. His bathroom. The door is shut, but you can hear him humming to himself beneath the running water. He never makes his bed. Says it's better to crawl back in just like the night before. It smells like him. This whole place does. His cologne, his soaps, everything trapped between the linen. You go to your drawer, the last one in the dresser, and pull out a pair of pajama pants and a big t-shirt. You don't fear the door will swing open. You don't worry someone's watching. He's not. You change without a second though, for a brief moment as naked as you'd ever be in his bedroom. You leave your clothes in a neat pile.

It wasn't a third or fourth date kind of talk. It wasn't any kind of talk. You didn't say it unless you had to, and even then you were reluctant. It wasn't fair to compare your story to others, people who had it so much worse. It wasn't right to use that terminology. It wasn't fair to real victims. So you danced around the subject. You made excuses. And when it was time, because it always was, you'd end it. You believed you couldn't ask someone to live without. . . to deprive them of something so natural, so human. It wouldn’t be right or fair. That was asking too much. Even when you really liked them. Even when you really found yourself falling for them, there was always that roadblock. This thing you still can't get over, you might never get over. Please, you'd beg, don't make me say it. You wished they'd just get it without the questions, the accusations, the hypotheticals.

You take your place in the bed, climbing through the pillows and covers. He notices, though he doesn't say anything. Instead, still humming, he turns out the lights. He throws himself into the mattress, half landing on you, making you laugh. Didn't see you there, he smiles. Of course he did. He always does. For a while you're both quiet, staring up at the ceiling, until he moves to his side. You follow, facing one another. Bad date? He asks, his voice small in the black of night. Like you're at a sleepover, afraid of getting caught by the adults if you talk too loud. You nod, your head rubbing against the pillow. Fuck em, he says. Isn't that the problem?

Beneath the blankets their hand slides down your thigh, between. . . You want to jump. You want to grab their wrist hard enough to break it. Instead you smile, standing up, saying something about popcorn. When you come back with a full bowl the credits are rolling. They don't want to watch another. They lean in, filling the gap, kissing you hard. Needy. You do what you think you should, what's right: you kiss them back. But then they're leaning further and their hands find your shirt and you can feel your heart speed up. It feels like it'll crack through your ribcage. Um, you try, I don't- I can't- I think I should probably get to bed. It's late. They look confused, before they assume. I'll join you, eagerly they say. No, I didn't- fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I think you should leave, you blurt out.AIt's the only way to make them stop. Angry. They always leave angry and hurt and frustrated. You really did like them. You really wanted to see them again. They slammed the door and that was enough of a tell to delete their number.

It's my fault, you hear yourself before you realize what you're doing. If only. . . But you let it drop before it becomes something he feels like he has to refute. He doesn't respond. The conversation always goes like this. A date. A rejection. You find yourself coming back to him. Of course you love him. Of course he loves you. But it's just not something either of you can have, not like that. So you date. You try to, at least. You try to find someone who can live without. And in the meantime, you have him to fall asleep next to. In rare moments, moments when you let yourself cry and relive all those terrible memories, moments where your date doesn't listen to the word no, he might hold you. Tight. Like he doesn't know how to do it properly. You're not sure what kind of night it'll be. You're so close you can see the sleepiness in his eyes. Thanks for letting me spend the night. Did I have a fucking choice? You roll your eyes, punching him somewhere close to the arm.

They were angry. They always were. And confused. Confused why you didn't want them. Why didn't you want to go further? Why couldn't you? What was wrong with you? But Rome understood. He got it. You two, it was the same. Different, but the same. So he holds you when you need it, even if he's unsure how, and never questions why you come back. You always come back. Because even when your dates go well, they will inevitably end.

#writing #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy drabble #roman roy oneshot #roman roy fic #succession #succession imagine #succession drabble #succession oneshot #succession fic

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forsworned · 3 years

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[♥] collegeau! to date or not to date {rengoku kyoujurou x reader}

Genre: Comedy, Slight Fluff, Slight Sensual Themes

Categories: F/M

Relationships: Renguko Kyoujorou/Reader

Word count: 2,791

a/n: continuation of unintentionally roomates which you can find here ,,requests are open

➽────────────── ────────────── ──────────── ❥

It had been some weeks since she had gotten used to Kyoujurou being her roommate. So far neither of them had walked in on each other naked--yet. He was pretty tidy and would call her out in a teasingly kind of way that she'd sleep with her mouth wide open which made her pretty insecure, but he insisted it was "very cute." Which didn't make it any better. He could concur that it probably wasn't a good idea to show her the picture he had taken of her (he actually would look at it when he was having a bad day or he just wanted a good laugh; he also nearly made it his homescreen but decided that was maybe a little too far).

Mid-terms would be coming up soon and Kyoujurou wanted to do something fun before all the stress would settle in from piles of homework assignments and study guides. He suggested that the both of them should go to the amusement park and [name] was more than delighted to go, but there was a small issue with this. She didn't know if it was a date or just them simply hanging out. He just brought it up so casually when they had just finished a round of Super Smash Bros. and [name] was trying her hardest not to be a flustered mess about it.

"Just ask him." Shinobu's usual singsong voice was now monotonous. She had had enough of [name]'s shit to say the least. Always inquiring about Kyoujurou since Shinobu and him had been in the same graduating high school class and friend group. Not to mention mid terms were coming up and pre-med was no joke.

[Name] visibly sulked at her friend's tone. She didn't like being a nuisance to Shinobu, even though it wasn't hard to irate her nerves, but this time she seriously needed help and Shinobu was being nothing less than unpleasant.

"Shinobuuuu," [Name] whined. "This is a big deal for me. Please give me advice and I won't bring it up ever again."

The ravenette's eyes darted to the [h/c] pleading gaze, and it was enough to make to [name] squeak. Shinobu let out a sigh before speaking.

"Fine," [name]'s expression brightened, but Shinobu's finger pressing into her forehead made it falter a little. "but you don't need to stop talking about him. Just do it a lot less. I need to focus on exams."

[Name] cheered in triumph and fist pumped into the air, which in turn made Shinobu laugh. She wanted to be there for [name] in anyway she could, just within some restrictions and limitations. Shinobu's face suddenly went gravely serious.

"So here's the game plan."

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

[Name] took a deep breath before looking at her reflection. Her outfit was subtle yet cute. A simple blue top and beige skort to prevent panty reveals yet still have the illusion of wearing a skirt. Hair was pinned and pulled back abover her neckline since the sun would be beating down and she wanted to take every precaution to avoid any excessive sweating. Make up was light to circumvent it from melting off her face. Yes, [name] was over meticulous because she was resolute in this hang out/date to be absolutely perfect. And if Kyoujurou had decided to reject her than at least she'd look hot getting her heartbroken.

He had already left over an hour ago since he had to tutor a student in history at the tutoring center. A work study job that he picked up to help cover his tuition and endlessly spoke about when he got back to his dorm when you two were winding down from your day.

[Name] spritzed her best perfume to all her pulse points to extend the life of her scent as it hit her body. She threw it in her bag along with her make up just in case she needed to freshen up. One last look in the mirror and she was finally off to her date, er, hang-out thingy.

The autumn air was irregularly warm and humid. Well, not irregular for Okinawa at least. It was a sub tropical climate which meant mild winters and the moist summers were what [name] favored most about it here.

As she walked out of the dormitory and into the student parking lot, she was nearly blinded by the blond tresses sitting on the bench. Like quite, literally blinded. The sun was bouncing off his fiery hair more than usual and it was causing [name] to squint at him when she approached him. For some reason (she had an exact reason being that she looked super hot), [name] felt bold, and advanced toward Kyoujurou with hands concealing his vision. He visibly tensed and she couldn't help but feel a smile tug at her lips.

"Guess who."

His body now relaxing at the sound of her voice and she felt the apples of cheeks rise into a grin against the palm of her hands. "[name], you're finally here!"

She released her hands as he got up to face her and his jaw went a little aslack as he oggled at her profile. [Name] was stunning, indeed. His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he dryily swallowed. His hair that was now pulled back in a high ponytail let his bangs frame his face beautifully, swayed in the small gust momentarily. She could've sworn that he was blushing at her, but then again it was quite hot...

"You look--um, quite sharp!" He stammered. Kyoujurou mentally socked himself in the face. Sharp? That was the best he could come up with?

[Name]'s expression was now in a state of bemusement before she laughed melodically. To him it was a beautiful melody that he always tried to sway out of her with corny jokes and memes. "Well, thank you Kyoujurou. You look quite sharp, too!"

[Name] wanted to die. She looked sharp? Sharp?! No, she looked Hot! With a capital freaking "H".

Nonetheless, [name] shook it off. She was determined to make this flawless even if it was off to a rocky start. Thankfully the ride to the amusement car was starting to make up for it. The both of them jammed to the playlist they had put together earlier and discussed which rides they were excited about most.

"$50?!"

"You really don't read things thoroughly do you, [name]."

[Name] ignored his attempt at poking fun at her. It was always like this whenever she freakishly exclaimed about information that was news to her, but had been there for well however long the inital post had been there for and Kyoujurou had always made it a point to call her out for it.

"Well, I can't make you pay for it." She deadpanned. And she absolutely meant it. Kind of. Not really. It would mean that it would technically be a date, right? Right? A guy paying always meant that it was a date. [Name] mentally nodded at herself reassuring herself.

"Well, that's too bad." He inserted his card into the chip reader and thanked the attendant while grabbing his receipt.

[Name] bit back a smile as they walked side by side into the park. "Well, I'm going to pay you back."

He looked at her with an uncharacterstically sultry gaze. "No, you are not."

His voice demanding, dropped an octave and it sent a shiver up her spine. [Name] would be lying to herself if she said that it didn't make the her stomach knot up. Kyoujurou pulled out his phone pointed it towards her, trying to get a good angle and lighting.

"Now, give me a smile!" He beamed in his usual cheery tone. [Name] smiled posing her usual peace sign as he clicked away at his phone. Had she just imagined that?

The day seemed to slip past them as they took pictures with their phones and disposal camera they bought at the one of the stands for a whooping $25. Which was a total rip off, but then again bottled water was $5. The pair were laughing as they looked through the pictures they had taken throughout their trip.

"Oh, no. You are not keeping this one." She reached over to tap the trash can on his phone screen to get rid of the terrible photo that was her inhaling funnel cake. But before she could, Kyoujurou moved his screen away from her as he chuckled at [name] getting flustered. There was no way he'd let her get away with such a cute picture.

"I am definitely going to be framing this as soon as we get back." And that made [name]'s face inflame in embarrassment and shock. She was definitely, not going to let him do that.

"You delete that, right. Now!" She tried her best to extend her arms in every which way Kyoujurou was flexing his arms out but to avail. [Name] knew she wasn't going to get her hands on his phone, but she kept leaning over in an attempt to get an advantage on his long arms. That was until she clambered into his lap, face first into his crotch.

Kyoujurou froze and his breath hitched as he lowered his arm down and let unholy thoughts pass through his head but he quickly shook them off. "A-are you alright, [name]?"

Nope, now [name] was definitely going to die. She slowly rose out of his lap and plopped back into her seat, trying her best not to make the situation even more awkward. She shot him a smile in a strive to shake off the graceless action of diving face first into the crotch of her crush.

"I'm all good." She took a deep breath before looking up at the darkening sky. Kyoujurou couldn't tell what she was thinking, but it looked almost as if she was unfazed which he was very thankful for.

"Let's go on the ferris wheel before we leave!" That snapped him out of his thoughts. A grin now making its way back onto his face and a sound of approval emitted from his lips. "Let's do it!"

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

[Name] snickered to herself as they entered the ferris wheel seating after letting several people ahead of them. It was all going according to plan, well, not the face planting into Kyoujurou’s lap. That was definitely not in the plan she and Shinobu had concocted.

“So, here the game plan.” Shinobu stated matter-o-factly. Her name were in a crouched position as if in a very important football team meeting. “You’re gonna look hot. Like I’m talking Jennifer’s Body hot. And then—“

”But i don’t have clothes like that.”

“Shut up. We’ll go shopping. And your make up has got to be perfect like I’m talking no melting off your face looking like the Corpse Bride. Oh, and you’re drowning yourself in sexy perfume every thirty minutes.”

”But I—“

”Speak out of line one more time and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Fine.”

“Back to what I was saying. You’re gonna take loads of pics start it off friendly and lighthearted and then bam! You get him on that ferris wheel and get your flirt on. End the night off with a kiss at the top of the ferris wheel.”

Shinobu was extremely gifted in giving pep talks and revving them up. Which was probably why she was captain of the cheer team at their university.

[Name] felt like she was a crazy high. She could practically run four miles nonstop with the attitude she had in that moment.

Shinobu and her high fived, one leg kicked up in to the air with the most triumphant looks on their faces. “We got this!”

She shook her head as if to shake away the thought.

”You, ok?”

She smiled at the slightly dampened Kyoujorou who’s cheek were tinted pink from the heat. Beads of sweat has slid down his temples, but that only seemed to add to his sex appeal.

”More than ok. I love ferris wheels. They’re so romantic.”

Those words left her lips and turned in a smile that was as sweet as candy. Kyoujurou’s heart leapt in his chest as he eyed her intently.

”You could say that.”

He done fucked up again. Kyoujurou wanted to kick his own ass at this point. Why was he so terrible at flirting? It made him look like he didn’t pick up any social cues at all. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. There were many times where Tengen would point out that a girl was being extremely flirtatious with him but it would simply go over his head. He would usually reject the notion claiming they were just being nice which in turn would lead to Tengen face palming. And he thought he was doing such a good job at the start.

The silence was deafening as they reached the top of the ride and it suddenly came to a jerking stop. The view was wondrous. The sun kissed at their faces and grazed the tops of trees and the peaks of roller coaster rides. Brightly colored lights flashed simultaneously down below, but [Name]’s stomach felt like it was caving in the longer she stared. Very romantic, indeed.

Her face must’ve looked a little green because Kyoujurou’s expression turned into a worried one. “You sure you’re okay, [name]? Have some water.”

She grabbed the bottle he handed to her and instead of water falling like she usually did, she pressed her lips against the same place his had been. Kyoujurou’s eyes widened in surprise as she absentmindedly guzzled his drink down and gave it back to him. His hands turning into fists as he flexed as hard he could to keep the warmth that was rising away from that region.

“Thanks.” She gasped. [Name] wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she leaned back against the seat. So much for her game plan. She sighed to herself as she collected her thoughts. What difference would it make if she just told him right now.

”Kyoujurou.” The name left her lips so effortlessly. He loved the way she said his name. He would think about it mostly in the shower, but more innocently before he went to sleep.

He raised his eyebrows fully attentive now. She turned to face him as she leaned forward. A different look on her face. Soft and flustered. “I like you, a lot.”

His body stiffened for a moment and a cool breeze swooped past their longing gazes. The sudden realization had dawned upon him that those words weren’t just make believe. She had really uttered them into existence. He hadn’t noticed how close her lips were to his until he felt her minty breath fan against his nose. He didn’t pull away.

[Name] closed the distance between their lips and Kyoujurou instinctively leaned in more as soon as they made contact. His hand cupped her cheek to deepen the kiss and she sighed in delight. A smile now etched on her face had now infected him and he pulled away to look at her. He caressed her cheek as she giggled and he gazed her puzzled.

”Did I do something wrong?” If he kissed her wrong he definitely wanted to know. One thing about Kyoujurou was that he was always open to constructive criticism. She shook her head. The content look on her face still evident.

”Not at all.” She leaned in once more. “I just didn’t expect you to be so frigid.”

She giggled again at his surprised, yet embarrassed mien. However, [name] stopped giggling when she saw the determined look on his face.

”Well, I can do better.” He suddenly captured her lips and she instantly melted at his hot touch. His hand loosely on her waist and she moaned a bit as their kisses turn into feverish open mouthed ones. His lips detached from hers as he felt the the ride coming back down. [Name] felt like her whole body was in flames and there Kyoujurou was sitting there as cool as a cucumber.

The ride shifted the shuttle as the two got up and his hands slipped in hers as he lead them out. She couldn’t believe the stunt he just pulled. Her fingers on her lips still feeling the ghost of his. He laughed heartily at her reddened face and that captured her attention.

”Don’t worry. We can continue that when we get back.”

[Name] was speechless, but somehow was even more flushed than before. Kyoujurou chuckled at her again as he pulled her in for a side hug as they headed back to his car. The smug look never left his face.

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gukyi · 4 years

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good luck charm | kth

summary: kim taehyung has nearly everything he’s ever dreamed of: an apartment in new york city, a lead role in an off-broadway play, and a best friend to share it with. but even still, there’s one thing missing—love. and when he goes on the hunt for it, he dots every i and crosses every t, leaves no stone unturned, but forgets to look at the person who could ever love him the most: you.

{friends to lovers!au, roommates!au, actor!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, unrequited love word count: 11k a/n: a huge thank you to MK for commissioning me for this piece–i hope it’s everything you dreamed of!!!! these are tough times, but i hope this can serve as a distraction to everyone!! please stay safe and wash your hands! if you’re interested in commissioning me, check out this post! also, if the pictures are unclear, click on them for higher resolution!

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer.”

You see a tuft of purple hair sticking out behind a basket of orange pansies, two nimble hands with long fingers fiddling with the stems.

“I bet you say that to everyone,” you tease, as Namjoon peers out from where he’s hiding behind a shelf of flowers, greeting you with the same warm grin he always wears.

Namjoon pauses, gaze tilting upwards as he corrects himself, “my favorite customer who’s about to confess to her best friend of four years with a bouquet arranged by yours truly?”

You roll your eyes, thankful that there’s nobody else inside this little flower shop. Not that you seem to have an issue exposing your entire life story to certain strangers, especially if they’ve got dimples and colored hair to match. Namjoon has always been something of an exception—perhaps he is one of the closest friends you have here in the city, where everything moves so quickly you barely have time to say hello to a new acquaintance. Namjoon and his flower shop are a respite, a safe haven in a bustling world, where time always seems to move slower than it does outside.

“Don’t remind me, I’m sweating just thinking about it,” you tell him, trying to cover your nervousness with a laugh.

“Ah, well how could I forget, when you came to me to arrange the perfect bouquet for tonight?” Namjoon says. He chops a wilting flower from its stem and places it behind his ear. Even though it’s a little sadder, a little less lively than its comrades, the bright yellow of the primrose complements his hair nicely, making him look even more ethereal, magical, than he already does.

“Who else would I ask besides the best bouquet-maker in town?” You ask as Namjoon leads you to the counter, where various bouquets have been laid out in vases, ready for pick-up. It’s a secret garden here, all green and fresh and calm, a sharp contrast to the industrial machine outside.

Namjoon heads to the back, a room behind a little wooden door that’s the slightest bit too short for him, so he has to bend down to avoid hitting his head (he still hits his head rather frequently, though), as you breathe in the scents of the flowers surrounding you, the roses and the daisies and everything in between. It’s not much, but it does calm the thick beating of your heart ever so slightly, and that’s enough.

He emerges a minute or so later, banging his head on the way out. In his hands is one of the biggest bouquets you’ve ever laid eyes on, thick with some flowers you recognize but more you don’t. It’s breathtaking and gorgeous and impressive, all at once.

“Namjoon, you know that I didn’t ask for this many flowers,” you chide as he plops the bouquet down onto the counter, clicking away at the ancient cash register to his left.

“Consider it a good luck gift,” Namjoon tells you with a wink.

You sigh, pulling out your card to pay him. “I could use all of the luck I could get.” The likelihood of tonight going more right than wrong is miniscule. But what else can you do, besides try? “What do they all mean?”

“Well, the daffodils represent honesty and truth. The red carnations mean love, obviously. So do the chrysanthemums. The baby’s breath is just for decoration, but it also means everlasting love. The gardenias are for secret love. And the freesia is just because I thought it went well with the bouquet,” Namjoon says expertly, pointing to each one as he tells you what it means. “I don’t know if Taehyung’s super up with his flower meanings, but I think that even the gesture will say more than enough. But if he is, this is just a bonus.”

“I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?” You say, the nerves overtaking you. You were hoping to just act calm and collected, thank Namjoon for the bouquet and be on with your lives, but even you can’t help but seek advice from him.

Namjoon lets out a laugh. “If you think it’s going to go so badly, why have you planned so much?” He poses. “It’s normal to be nervous about this sort of thing—what if I mess up, what if he doesn’t feel the same way, what if he rejects me—but I think that, deep down inside of you, there’s a part that thinks that it will all be worth it. And I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sucker for happy endings, but I think that that’s the most important. The part of you that doesn’t want to spend the rest of its life thinking about what might have been.” Namjoon’s phone lights up next to him, his lockscreen a picture of him and another boy, shorter, but with the same dyed hair. The two look so happy together. He gazes down at it, exhales, and shuts his phone off. “Just my two cents.”

“You’re wise beyond your years, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him with a smile. Maybe you are nervous about the what ifs, nervous that this whole thing could blow up in your face, but is it so naive of you to listen to that whisper in your heart? The one that says, maybe he feels the same? “I wish you’d take your own advice, sometimes.”

“It’s different,” Namjoon murmurs to himself. “He and I… this is all we’ll ever be.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” you tell him. You know the feeling. Perhaps, if tonight goes well, it will encourage him to give it a shot himself. “You never know.” Namjoon looks up at you, smile wide but eyes sad. There’s clearly something more that he isn’t mentioning, but you won’t push it. You get it. How could you not? “What if he does feel the same?”

The bell above the door rings on your way out, fingers clenching onto a bouquet, praying and wishing and dreaming that maybe this will all be worth it, in the end.

Something is up with Kim Taehyung.

When you return to your apartment, Kim Taehyung is slouched on your dinky loveseat, arm deep inside a six-month-old box of Frosted Flakes, as an episode of Jeopardy! plays on his laptop, his eyes empty and glazed over as he stares at Alex Trebek, wordless.

You nearly jump in shock, terrified that he’ll spot you and the enormous bouquet in your hands, terrified that he’ll ask you about it, terrified that your entire plan for tonight will get flushed down the toilet the moment you and him lock eyes. But it doesn’t, because Kim Taehyung doesn’t even acknowledge you when you walk in, for better or for worse, and you manage to stash the bouquet into a vase in your bedroom before rounding on your roommate, because something is up with Kim Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung hates Frosted Flakes. The only reason they’re in your apartment to begin with is because Jungkook had brought them over one time when he was visiting, and even then they were stale. Now they’re extra stale. So stale that they make a hollow sound on your countertop when you tap them against the laminate.

Kim Taehyung normally shuffles through Jeopardy! like it’s nobody’s business. He gets at least a quarter, if not half of the questions correct, and always earns more points than you. But he doesn’t even open his mouth when Alex Trebek says, “This Renaissance artist left Florence to serve as principal engineer for the Duke of Milan’s army” and you know that he knows it’s Leonardo Da Vinci.

Kim Taehyung normally has plenty to say, especially to Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip, who currently resides in your living room. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has been your honorary second roommate ever since the two of you moved into this apartment four months ago. Taehyung made him a little museum placard that is framed and hanging on the wall above him, and he has an account on every social media website under the sun. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has more followers on Instagram than you do. But today, both he and Sawyer are silent and unmoving.

“Tae?” You ask, treading over to the couch as he empties the box of Frosted Flakes into his stomach, finishing up the episode. “Is everything alright?”

“Mmrph,” he mumbles in response. You suppose that means he said fine, which means that no, everything is not alright.

“What’s going on? You’re normally really excited the day of your shows,” you ask. At least he hasn’t entirely turned into a soulless hermit, and he moves his legs off of the couch so you can sit beside him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Taehyung says, louder. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?”

You smile softly, shaking your head as you reach a hand out, letting it rest in his lap before he takes your hand in his. “No, it’s not. Tonight’s a big deal, isn’t it? You must be under a lot of pressure to do well.”

“I’m just so worried that I’ll fuck it up and everyone will hate me forever,” Taehyung says, exasperated. It’s almost as if he’s tired with himself for being so negative.

“You’re not gonna fuck it up and nobody is going to hate you. I’ll always love you, you know that,” you assure him.

“Yeah, I know,” Taehyung says, but the worst part is that you’re not sure if he really does.

“It’s okay to be nervous, and to worry. Tonight is really important. But you’re an incredible actor, and you’ve always been so good at what you do,” you tell him, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand softly. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”

Taehyung lets his head rest on your own and the two of you sit together on the couch in silence, watching as the minutes on his laptop clock tick by. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and soft, firm underneath his chest. You wonder if he can hear yours. Hear how it’s picking up speed, hear how it beats only for him.

“You always know what to say,” Taehyung tells you. “I wish I knew how to do that.”

You grin sadly to yourself, happy that the two of you are side by side so he doesn’t have to see your face. How could Taehyung tell you something like that? How could he, when every time you’re near him, you’re speechless?

You never really considered yourself to be a theater person when you were younger. You would fall asleep when you went to see plays with your parents or on a school field trip. You never made an effort to go see the performances that your school put on. You were one-hundred percent confident that you would go through all four years of university without seeing one of the fifteen different theater groups’ shows, not because you hated them, but because they never crossed your mind in the first place.

And then, you met Kim Taehyung.

You met Kim Taehyung halfway through your freshman year because the two of you were in the same Cinematography in the 1900’s class. And then, suddenly, you were eating the same shitty food in the dining hall after class ended at seven in the evening. And then, suddenly, you were studying together, spending nights watching Jeopardy! on his laptop when you didn’t feel like doing any work. And then, suddenly, Kim Taehyung mentioned in passing one day that he had a show that Friday, and would you like to come, it would really mean a lot to him, he thinks you’ll really like it.

And then, suddenly, you were a theater person.

That night was the first night Kim Taehyung had ever taken your breath away. And every performance, every night, every fucking moment after that, he never stopped.

Tonight is no exception. You can’t say that you’re super well-versed in theater fame and its technicalities, but you think that this may just be Taehyung’s best performance yet. Here, in this theater off of Sixth Avenue, to a crowd of two, perhaps three hundred people, Taehyung is nothing short of amazing. He never is. From the moment he steps on stage in a raggedy old flannel and jeans, eyes wide with dreams, he reels you in and makes sure that you won’t leave this theater, won’t leave here unscathed. But the fatal blow is halfway through, when he finally spots you in the third row, sees you staring up at him in wonder, and he smiles.

There is so much that you wish you could tell him.

After the show, you race back to your apartment, desperate to finish up the last of the preparations before he arrives, after taking off all of his makeup and his costumes, saying goodbye to all of his co-stars. Normally, you’d hang around, let him introduce you, but tonight is different. Special.

[September 8th, 9:35PM]

You: Had to go home bc I’m planning a special something for the star of the night! Sorry I missed all of the fun afterwards You: Something very important to tell you

Taehyung: ohoho Taehyung: I wonder who that could be Taehyung: Coming soon. I have something to tell you too! ^^

You stare at the text as you grab the vase of flowers from your room, setting it up at your very unimpressive kitchen table. What could Taehyung possibly have to tell you? Other than perhaps a thanks for showing up (as if you weren’t going to).

What if, that voice whispers. The part deep in your heart, the one that you wish would shut up sometimes.

“No,” you say aloud, perhaps more for yourself than anyone else. “No. I have something to tell him. I have to tell him this.”

You never know, she says. He might. What are you waiting for?

You pull out all of the scented candles in the apartment, setting them up on the coffee table and on the windowsills. There’s a plate of macarons that you had purchased from the fancy bakery in Midtown sitting by the vase, a little treat for the two of you since your diets usually consist of premade Costco pasta and takeout.

There is so much you want to tell him. So much to say, and no way to do it. It seems impossible. As the minutes tick by, as he gets closer and closer, you wonder if you even have the courage to open your mouth. It’s not as if this is life-changing news. It would be so easy, so easy to just pretend that this is nothing but a celebration of Taehyung’s very first major off-Broadway show, to push down the ache in your heart and tell that voice to stay quiet, if only for a little longer. You’ve lived like this for so long already. Who’s to say you can’t live like this forever?

Taehyung comes home as you’re flicking through late-night television show reruns and fiddling with a Rubix cube, anything to keep your mind occupied and your fingers busy. You hear as he fumbles with the lock—his key has always been a little bit off—and scramble to get everything ready, shutting your laptop and putting the Rubix cube on your designated Weird Stuff Shelf. The apartment smells like a hodgepodge of vanilla, flowers, cinnamon, and champagne, and the flowers are already starting to wilt slightly. But it’s now or never, really.

Taehyung swings the door open with a grin and gasps in excitement when he sees you, standing in the hazy, flickering yellow light of the kitchen, surrounded by candles, with a plate of macarons and a vase of flowers on the table.

“Oh my God!” He says, overjoyed, high off of the adrenaline from a successful show, eyes still sparking from the spotlight. “Y/N! What is all of this?”

“Just a little something from me to you,” you say awkwardly. You have no idea how to tell him. You’re not sure if you even will. “To celebrate.”

“Dare I say, this apartment has never looked better,” he tells you, beaming. He walks over to where you’re hovering by the kitchen table, knee deep in it all, admiring the sight before him. He leans over you, ever so slightly, as he takes in the scent of the flowers, the macarons sitting before him. And then he turns to you, the glow from the candles making his eyes warm and caramel-y, almost as if they’re shimmering in the light, and he says, “You did all of this for me?”

“Of course,” you tell him, because you would do this again and again if it means you could see him like this. If you could watch him burst through the front door for the rest of your goddamn life, watch as he comes home to you. “Tonight’s special.”

“It wouldn’t be without you,” he tells you honestly, candidly. He tells you that because he means it. You wish you could say the same things to him. “You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

It’s now or never. If he takes one step closer, turns to look at you one more time, you don’t know if you’ll still have the courage. You don’t know if you even have it right now, but tomorrow, when you wake up, you don’t want to regret this night. You don’t want to wonder what if, what might have been. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“I have something to tell you,” you breathe out, words heavy on your tongue. You can feel your heart seize up, almost like it’s holding its breath with you.

“Right, you said that,” Taehyung says with a nod, stuffing a cherry macaron into his mouth. “I have something to tell you, too.”

“Do you want to go first?” You ask him. You just need a little more time. You just want to hear his voice once more.

“Okay,” Taehyung says happily. “I got a girlfriend!”

Oh.

Well.

Okay.

“Really?” You ask, trying to make it sound more like a Really? That’s great! and not a Really? I thought that we had something special. You don’t think that you’re doing a very good job.

“Yeah!” Taehyung says. He’s ecstatic. It tears your heart in two. “I mean, I know I’m just… a super, hopeless romantic and I fall in love with people when they hold the door open for me, but I’m really happy with her. It’s Ariel, actually, she played Lucy! Isn’t it funny how even though our characters never even officially met, we still found something there?”

“Yeah,” you say, emotionless. Taehyung is far too excited, far too joyous to notice.

“I just—I wanted to tell you, because you’re my best friend and you deserve to know,” he says, breaking off half of the raspberry macaron and holding it out to you. “What did you want to tell me? Did you say it was important?”

“Oh, uh…” you fumble, shaking your head at the macaron. Your stomach has never felt smaller. It’s like there’s nothing left to say to him. “I think I’m getting transferred to another office.” It’s not news. Your job told you that last week. But it’s something, and it’s better than being honest. Anything is, at this point. “They might pay a little more.”

“Yay!” Taehyung says. “That’s great! Now, maybe we can fix up the lights in the kitchen. So they don’t read horror movie every time I try to make pasta at 2AM. I’m happy for you, you deserve it!”

You smile, putting on a brave face, just for him. “Me too.” You can’t muster up the strength to say anything else.

Taehyung spends the rest of the night gobbling down the macarons and telling you all about Ariel, as you try desperately to tune him out. Even the sound of your own thoughts would be better than this. Anything. Anything. Eventually, after it’s long past midnight and Taehyung realizes he’ll need his sleep for the show tomorrow night, he bids you goodbye and sets off to his room, a bounce in his step.

You stand in the middle of your apartment. Even though it’s small, and even though you have him, it’s never felt emptier.

Namjoon always says that flowers don’t just need food and water to stay happy. They need love, they need to be surrounded by happiness. He says that they can feel it, that they react to it. That’s why he always tries to be happy when he’s working. Because he hates seeing the flowers so sad. He says they remind him of himself.

It’s no wonder why the flowers in the vase look even more wilted than before.

Here’s the thing: You had pretty much always known that it was going to hurt like this. There had always been that part of you, deep down inside, that knew that there was no way it wasn’t going to hurt like this. That knew that there was nothing you could do to stop it from hurting like this.

And still, foolishly so, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, telling him would make it stop. You gave into this fantasy that, even if he didn’t feel the same, even if he let you down easy, even if he told you that he just wanted to be friends, it would be better.

That’s the worst part of it all, really. The fact that you never even told him. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t. You never told him, and now, somehow, everything is even worse than before.

The flowers have long been thrown out by now, tossed out after hardly a week, unable to stand the tension in the air, the emptiness that lingered far beyond that night. Still, you remembered to keep one, plucking it from the vase before it died of secondary sadness. Because even if they hurt you, even if they tear at your heartstrings one by one, you’ve always had this terrible habit of never letting go of what you love. You pressed the flower with an old college textbook, placed it into a thin little vase, meant for one flower only. A red carnation, to remind you of what you could have had. What might have been.

Kim Taehyung is significantly less worried this time around as he prepares for the opening night of his latest play. He wakes up early and does some yoga in the living room, pushing all of the furniture to the walls so he has enough space to Downward Dog in peace. He watches a couple episodes of Jeopardy! as he eats the Pad Thai he Doordashed to your apartment, and gets half of the questions correct. Even from your bedroom, you can hear him talking to Sawyer.

“I’m excited for tonight, Sawyer,” he says to him. “I don’t know, last time I did Shakespeare was sophomore year in college, I think? I was Mercutio. It was fun and I got to use a sword. Y/N came to that show, too. I annoyed her so much that night that she told me that she was glad Tybalt killed me, but we had a good time anyway.”

Sawyer doesn’t say anything back, because he is a Suspicious Floor Dip in your living room. But it’s so lovely to hear Taehyung’s voice again.

“Do you think that Y/N’s been acting weird, lately?” Taehyung asks. “I just feel like—I feel like she and I aren’t as close these days. She works in her room a lot more and some days I don’t see her at all. Which is crazy, because we live together. My ex always said it was a little weird how I lived with my best friend who is also a girl. But I don’t think it is. Do you think I did something wrong?”

No, you wish you could say, leaning against your thin bedroom door as you hear Taehyung wonder aloud. Never, in a million years. It was me, you want to tell him. I got my hopes up and now I’m paying the price. It’s not you. It’s never you.

“Yeah, I guess she’s just busier these days,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “She did get transferred to that new office a couple of months ago. But she’s still my best friend. I’ll never stop telling her that—she deserves to know that no matter what, she always has me.”

“Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Therapist, huh?” You interrupt, finally getting the nerve to open your door. Taehyung’s on his way out, all dressed, backpack on his shoulder. He has to be at the theater a few hours before the show begins, anyway.

“He’s just so easy to talk to,” Taehyung jokes. “Did you… uh… did you hear that?”

“The part about being your best friend?” You ask with an eyebrow raise, making Taehyung smile. You don’t mention the other things you heard. You don’t think that would make things better.

(You’re not sure what will, at this point. Telling him is off the table. You distantly wonder if it was ever on the table to begin with.)

“Just making sure you knew,” Taehyung says with a grin. “Don’t want you forgetting about that.”

“How could I?” You muse, and it makes him smile something fierce and makes you wish that things were different.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Taehyung says. He must know the answer, already.

“Of course I am,” you tell him. “Who do you take me for?”

“I’ll look for you in the crowd, okay?” Taehyung says, a hand on the doorknob as he gets ready to leave. “Keep an eye out for me. Promise?”

It’s always been so hard to say no to him.

“Promise,” you tell him.

That night, you sit a little further back, shadowed by the mezzanine above you, but Taehyung finds you anyway. As he schmoozes his way through the storyline on stage, he sends a wink your way, a couple of the girls in the row in front of you giggling to each other when he does. You sort of wish he was really winking at them. That way, it would hurt a little less.

Afterwards, you linger around in the lobby, waiting for him like you always have, like you always do, like you always will. You don’t have anything special waiting for him back at your apartment. There’s nothing left to tell him.

You spot his head of soft, wavy brown hair far before he spots you, can make it out in a sea of cast members as they cheer for themselves, celebrating another successful opening show. Your face lights up when you see him, when you see that he sees you. This is how it has always been. This is how it should be—you find each other in the crowd, grinning as you congratulate him, as he introduces you to his cast members and then invites you to the afterparty. You spend the night together, high off of the adrenaline and just a little tipsy, before stumbling back to your apartment, basking in the afterglow.

You want nothing more than for things to go back to the way they were.

And then, you see her.

“Y/N!” Taehyung shouts excitedly, and it takes all of your strength to not let your face fall as she comes into view, hand interlaced with Taehyung’s. “I knew you’d be here!”

“How could I not be?” You say, letting Taehyung wrap you in a one-armed hug rather than two. “You know me.”

“This is my girlfriend,” Taehyung introduces proudly, motioning to the pretty girl beside him as she waves at you good-naturedly. “Madison, this is my roommate and college best friend, Y/N.”

“Taehyung talks about you non-stop,” Madison says with a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“All good things, I hope,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the love of your life’s new girlfriend? How else can you salvage this conversation when you already see it going terribly? “You both were really good tonight. I’m happy that I came.”

“Me too!” Taehyung grins. “Did you see me wink at you? I promised you I would.”

You nod, eyes desperately scanning the rest of the room, the rest of the people, the floor, anything to keep from watching as Madison drapes herself over Taehyung, intertwines their hands as she leans against him, like she can’t get enough of him.

“Hey, do you want to come to the afterparty? It’s at Alex’s house, apparently he has this brownstone in Brooklyn all to himself, I’ve heard it’s gorgeous—”

“No, actually, I have a lot of work that I need to catch up on,” you interrupt. You don’t think you’d last five minutes there, where the only person you know is Taehyung, where he’s got a girlfriend on his arm the entire time. You aren’t even sure how you’re faring now, if you’re even breathing, standing before him and his equally-gorgeous new partner.

You just wish everything could go back to normal.

Taehyung’s brows furrow, disappointed. “Oh, you do? But—”

“Yeah, I’m just—I’m really sorry, Tae, you know I want to. But I should get going. It was really nice meeting you, Madison, I hope we can see each other again sometime—” You spew out a few more goodbyes and even more apologies as you rush towards the exit, turning away so you don’t have to see Taehyung calling after you.

On the way back, you bump into Namjoon, who’s closing up shop for the day. He looks positively exhausted, always working diligently from morning to far past sunset every day, but he smiles when he sees you, setting aside his tired eyes to say hello.

“Hey, Y/N, fancy seeing you here,” he greets. “How are you? How’d it go?” He gives you a sort of grin that means that he thinks it went super well.

“Not great,” you tell him truthfully, because it’s late and you don’t feel like hiding things anymore.

“Oh,” Namjoon says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he thinks that none of the things he has to say will go down very well. You know the feeling. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, even though it’s not. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Namjoon asks solemnly.

You frown. “Do you really think we should both be having this conversation?” Namjoon has his own secrets, his dreams of a short boy with colored hair by his side. “You aren’t much better.”

“No, I’m not,” he muses to himself. “But it is a big deal, Y/N. Please don’t act like it isn’t. You love him, don’t you? Even if he doesn’t love you back.”

You love him.

It’s not a secret anymore.

You love him like the stars love the moon, surrounding her in their light, making sure she never gets lonely. You love him like an old Hollywood movie, film faded and worn, getting played once in a while to make sure you never forget where you started. You love him like a flower, carnations, daffodils, chrysanthemums, perking up when you’re around him and wilting when you’re not.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a sigh. Certainly, there are more important things to dwell on. You’re looking for a new job because being an office temp isn’t exactly what you were envisioning for your life. You want to start fixing up the bathroom, because the grout by the shower is starting to disintegrate. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip is a fire hazard. “I’m okay with just being friends.”

Namjoon smiles, and it’s so sad, but not with pity. It’s sad with I know, and sad with feeling, because he gets it, and that must be why you’re here, standing on the sidewalk at ten on a Friday night, underneath the street lamps as the city begins to open its eyes. “But when you have him the way you do, how can you be okay with any of it?”

Taehyung comes home late that night, and you only know because you’re running to the bathroom at the same time he fumbles with the door. He takes longer than usual, which means he’s drunk, and you can only hope and pray that he’s alone. You watch as he finally manages to unlock the door, stumbling inside, managing to turn on the main overhead lights in your apartment as he does. From where you’re peering at him from the darkness of the hallway, you can make out dark red, purple spots all along his skin.

You pull the bathroom door almost shut, leaving it a little ajar so you can gaze out at him, watch as he pours himself a glass of water and downs the entire thing before he makes his way to the hallway, heading for his bedroom. From here, you see the way his hair is mussed, all fucked up from someone’s hands in it, see the marks up close, the way they line his neck, his jaw, his collarbones. He finds his way to his bedroom and shuts the door behind him as you stand, trapped in the bathroom, mad at him for not knowing but furious at yourself for being so ridiculous.

Love was never supposed to hurt like this.

The next time that you attend one of Taehyung’s opening nights, you don’t stick around long afterwards.

You were planning on it, of course, like you always do, because ever since college you’ve made a point to see him after a show, tell him all of the things you wish you could say to him all of the time, you were amazing, you were brilliant, you were perfect in every way. You even have a small bouquet of flowers in your hands, arranged by none other than Namjoon—a pity bouquet, an I hope that you two can still be friends bouquet—ready to give to him, ready to see them sitting on your kitchen table as a reminder.

And then, you see the way he kisses her, overcome with joy, running on that post-show high. You see the way he pulls her into him and plants one on her, arms wrapped around each other as they celebrate, in their own special way.

Suddenly, the flowers feel like dead weight in your hands.

You manage to catch one of the few co-stars of Taehyung’s that you recognize, one who was in Our Lives with him. His name is Seokjin, and he’s gorgeous. Broadway material. Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony material. He stops to say hello to you, and you ask if he could give the bouquet to Taehyung, tell him it was from you.

Seokjin’s nice. He doesn’t ask why, he just nods. It saves you the trouble of telling him. Nobody wants to listen to your sob story. He says goodbye to you, and that he hopes to see you again soon. You hope so too.

You spend the night curled up in your room pretending that everything is fine. You don’t see Taehyung when he comes home, and you don’t see him the next day, either.

It’s not as if you’ve started to avoid Taehyung entirely. You live together—it would be downright impressive if you didn’t see each other for a whole day. It’s just, sometimes he still—

“Y/N? Wanna order Pad Thai?”

“Hey, Y/N, they’re playing The Devil Wears Prada on Freeform, do you want to come watch with me?”

“Central Park is having a Dog Festival, do you wanna go together?”

And sometimes, you just can’t. The thought of spending time with him makes your heart ache, whether it be from not wanting to be too close, or from missing him terribly. Either way, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to muster up the same courage you once had.

Turning to look at the pressed carnation in the vase atop your dresser, you laugh to yourself. It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago you thought that you would finally be able to tell him, to open up your heart and let him look into it like a kaleidoscope. Hard to believe that there was once a time when you thought that maybe, just maybe, he loved you back. It feels like it was eons ago. Like it was another universe entirely.

You know that it’s not right for you to do this to Taehyung. He’s still your best friend. He always will be. He has no idea. He’ll never know.

But sometimes—

Sometimes he comes home love drunk, wasted on kisses, splotches of pink lip gloss decorating his skin.

Sometimes he spends dinner telling you all about the date he went on, the amazing vodka shrimp linguine he had, as the two of you eat Kirkland spaghetti in your dinky apartment.

Sometimes he tells you that you’re his best friend, and that he misses you.

Being in love with Taehyung had always been easy. It was being best friends, and making sure to keep the feelings a secret, that was hard.

Taehyung isn’t home tonight. You hadn’t asked him where he’d be. You didn’t think that it mattered.

And you tell yourself, over and over again, that it doesn’t matter. That you don’t need to know where he is every second of every day. He’s got a life outside of what exists in your stuffy apartment, a whole world of people craning to see him. He has reviews written about him in The New York Times and people lining up outside the theater for his autograph on their Playbill. There’s so much more to his life than what he has with you.

It’s better this way, you tell yourself, even if it’s not. Even if every time you step into your apartment, glance over at the vase on the kitchen table, you are reminded that it’s worse. Every time you see a damn carnation, daffodil, chrysanthemum, you can’t help but wish that things were different. You’re even starting to avoid Namjoon.

That night finds you at a small Italian restaurant in a tiny alley off of Ninth Street. You’ve never been, but it had good reviews on Yelp and you could do with spending some time alone, wallowing in your feelings somewhere other than your bedroom. You’re starting to feel suffocated just being there. It would be good for you to get out.

It would be good for you to get out, because the apartment reeks of what ifs, of what could have beens, and you can’t spend more than five minutes inside without throwing yourself your own personal pity party. You hardly see Taehyung nowadays because you can’t bear looking into his eyes anymore. Everything is awful, and you wish that it wasn’t, but you don’t know what to do to fix it.

But Fate seems to love doing that thing where it’s out to get you. From the moment you met Kim Taehyung, Fate decided that you would be her next target. That no moment with him would leave you unscathed. And tonight is no exception.

It’s just your luck that, ten minutes after you’re seated, the bell above the door rings to signal another customer, and you look up to see Taehyung and his girlfriend strolling in, glowing under the warm yellow light. You’ve never been more thankful, in that moment, to be seated right beside the bathroom, just out of sight of the booth that the hostess leads them to. It’s terrible, and it’s terrible, and it’s terrible. You watch as they order two glasses of a fancy rosé and giggle as they cheers to their show, to their lives, and to themselves. They spend the evening in the light of a single exposed bulb above their head, laughing and smiling and talking.

The craziest part is that once upon a time, that would have been you. You and Taehyung would have decided that the night was a restaurant day and not a stay-at-home-and-cook-meal day. You would have found a quaint little place on Yelp and gotten the cheapest food on the menu. Once upon a time, you looked like that.

[April 17th, 7:34PM]

Taehyung: [image sent] Taehyung: MMMMM look at this yummy yummy fish that I had tonight!! Taehyung: We should go here sometime!! I think you’d like it hehe

You look down at your plate. The food in front of you tastes like ash.

“Congrats,” you say when you hear Taehyung leaving his bedroom, feet padding against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Huh?” Taehyung asks, eyes wide. It’s almost as if he’s surprised to see you out here, sitting on the couch, answering emails. Like he can’t believe you’re in your own home. You can’t blame him. “What are you talking about?”

“The review on The New York Times,” you tell him distantly, switching over to the tab on your computer where you read it. There’s a picture at the top of Taehyung and his co-star, front and center, holding hands as they look off into the distance, staring into an unknown future. “It’s your first five star review, isn’t it? They even listed it as the Critic’s Pick.”

“Oh, I… uh,” he begins, “I haven’t seen it yet. Been too busy.”

Bitterly, you wonder why. Even when you two are further apart than you have ever been, even when he spends all day out of the apartment and you spend all day inside, even when you barely fucking see each other, you can’t help but click on the articles that mention him, scroll through every review that mentions his name.

Things might be different now, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be proud of him. Of what he does. Of who he is.

“Well, they said great things,” you tell him, sparing him the trouble of looking. “You deserve it.”

“You’re coming tonight, right? You have to, if the play is getting such good reviews,” Taehyung asks, an olive branch. You’ve spent so much time doing everything you can to keep your relationship as distant as possible, hiding in your bedroom and eating dinner at odd hours. But this is the one thing that you both can still hold onto. Taehyung’s shows, his performances, and you, in the audience, always finding his eyes. If everything else is in shambles, at least you will always have this. “I think you’d like it.”

“It sounds very Matrix-y.”

“Well,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “It sort of is. But it’s also about love. You’d like that, right?”

You suppose you’d like it a little more in another timeline.

Taehyung continues, barely giving himself time to catch his breath. “Basically, these two kids are playing this life-simulation game where every move they make directly corresponds with the actions of the characters they’re playing as. Cue me and Lancaster. And we meet, and slowly fall in love, over a series of chance encounters. You know, a coffee shop, the bank, a restaurant.”

“Really?” You ask, brows furrowed.

“Why?” Taehyung’s eyes widen in concern, smile downturned ever so slightly as he takes in your expression.

“I don’t know—” you begin. There’s just something about the storyline that rubs you the wrong way. “Maybe I’m just being cynical. But is it really possible for two people to find love like that? Through chance? Luck?”

Perhaps, Namjoon would say. You can hear his voice echoing in your head now. After all, wasn’t it luck that brought the two of you together?

You shake his thoughts away. Namjoon’s got his own set of problems—he’s in no position to be the wise one in this scenario.

Taehyung shrugs, as if he’d never given that a thought to begin with. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think that love can blossom anywhere. Just so long as you nurture it, water it and give it lots of sunlight. I just—I think that if you look hard enough, you can find love anywhere.”

You turn to face him, blinking up at him as you stare at each other, sitting on this damn couch in the middle of your apartment. Taehyung waxes poetic in front of you, tells you that if you just fucking look for love, you’ll find it. But he doesn’t know—and he never will. You’ve been looking for love for the past four years, you’ve been searching in all of the nooks and crannies of your body, and the only place you’ve ever found it has been in the deep pit of your heart, dusty and quiet and forgotten. Even now, staring into his eyes, scanning every bit of his irises for even a sliver of it, a spark, you come up empty.

How could he say something like that, when he lives with you? When he looks at you while you’re eating takeout or sitting and watching a movie together. Does he just not see it? Or worse—does he know, and just refuse to say anything?

Suddenly, your body turns cold. It’s hard to believe that someone as hopelessly romantic can’t see what’s right in front of him.

“I wish that was how it worked,” you say sourly, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You snatch your laptop from the table and head into your room, leaving Taehyung alone on the couch, speechless.

He may be the one with flowers blooming in his heart, but you have been drowning for the past four years, and never have you felt further from the surface than right now.

You don’t go to Taehyung’s opening show that night.

Taehyung leaves to get ready at the theater at three in the afternoon, and you bid him goodbye before holing yourself up in your bedroom and keeping yourself busy. You start watching the newest season of Stranger Things and tidy up the knick knacks you have scattered all over the place. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Taehyung texts you during intermission.

[June 3rd, 8:55PM]

Taehyung: Hey are you here?

You don’t respond.

By ten at night, you end up with the cleanest room you’ve had in years and half of the season left to watch. It’s not a great kind of busy. The red carnation atop your dresser stares into your soul and you nearly throw it out three different times. But it’s an okay kind of busy, because you don’t know if you could have beared to see Taehyung on stage tonight. See him dancing around with a beautiful girl on his arm, confessing his love for her and pulling her in for a kiss.

Over the years, you have seen Taehyung kiss so many people. From the shy freshman boy cast next to him in a student-written play in college to the model-esque women on stage in an off-Broadway play with him. And it never used to hurt—not like this. You saw him lock lips with another and you supposed that that was just show business.

But it’s not show business anymore. It stopped being show business that night, when he came home to an apartment lit up with candles, the sweet scent of macarons wafting through the air, and told you he had found someone. It hasn’t been show business since, not when Taehyung is looking for love and finds it everywhere except where you wish he would look most.

Maybe you’re just being selfish. Taehyung doesn’t have to love you for you to love him. You knew that. You lived with that. He’s your best friend. He always will be. You can’t do anything to force him to love you back. You had always been fine with just being friends.

But just—knowing that he doesn’t feel the same. Having that certainty rooted deep within you. That’s the part that hurts the most.

Taehyung comes home earlier than he normally would on a day like this, catching you in the kitchen as you brew some chamomile tea, hoping that it will calm the waves that crash against the pier inside you. You turn to meet his eyes, and suddenly, you feel like you can’t see anything in them at all.

“Why didn’t you come tonight?” He demands. “I looked for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“Here,” you tell him. “I was thinking maybe I would go tomorrow.”

“But you’re always at my opening show,” Taehyung says, like you don’t know that already. “Why didn’t you come? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t,” you tell him. You don’t think you’re drunk or tired enough for this conversation. At ten at night, you’re still cognizant, aware of what consequences this conversation might have when you wake up in the morning.

“Then why weren’t you there? You know I need you there,” Taehyung pleads, coming up to you as you stand in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“No, I didn’t know that,” you tell him firmly. You went to his opening shows because it was tradition. Not because it was necessary.

“You’re my good luck charm, for god’s sake, Y/N,” Taehyung says, fists curled up at his sides. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to burst at the seams, like there are so many things he’s holding at the tip of his tongue. “I did such a shit job tonight without you there. I spent the entire first half of the show looking out into the crowd so much that Lancaster asked me if I had taken anything before we started.”

“That’s not my fault,” you tell him. “I didn’t know that you thought I was your good luck charm, or whatever.” And, because you’re bitter and petty and heartbroken, you add, “I would have thought that would be something your girlfriend is.”

Taehyung loses it. “What’s been going on with you, Y/N? Why are you being like this? Ever since my first show, I feel like we’re drifting further and further apart. You never want to spend time with me, you never want to come to my afterparties, you barely spare a glance at my girlfriends when I introduce them to you, and now, you’ve stopped coming to my shows. All of these things that I thought that we shared, ever since college. Tell me, Y/N, am I doing something wrong? Is there something that I’ve missed? Because it feels like we’re fucking strangers.”

The water finishes boiling, the kettle whistling on the stovetop as steam billows from the spout. “I’m not obligated to do any of those things, Taehyung,” you tell him harshly. “Just because we did them in college doesn’t mean I have to keep doing them now. What, did you think we’d still be doing that sort of stuff when we’re thirty? Forty, fifty? They were just college traditions.”

“‘College traditions’?” Taehyung asks, astounded. “Were all of those nights that we spent together just college traditions, too? Are we not allowed to do those things anymore? I miss you, Y/N. I hate not having you around and tonight was the worst it’s ever been. I don’t know what to do or say, I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t even fucking know what’s broken.”

“I just need space, Taehyung,” you tell him, hands gripping the edge of the countertop as you stare at the laminate, eyes tracing the lines to keep you from meeting his own. “I just need some time to myself, that’s all.”

“But why, Y/N?” Taehyung pleads, He reaches over to grab your hand, holds it in between the two of you like a lifeline.

“‘Why?’” You echo angrily. “You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?” You tug your hand from his grasp. It’s clear you’re beating a dead horse. You wonder why you even tried in the first place. How naive you were, standing in the kitchen surrounded by scented candles and flowers and macarons, dreaming of a life with him by your side. Foolish.

“Realized what?”

“That I’m in love with you!” You shout, and the world goes silent. The kettle stops whistling, the water having evaporated into nothing, the packet of chamomile tea left, forgotten on the countertop. You stand there, breaths heavy, chest heaving, as you look at Taehyung, angry and mad and in love, all at once.

“You’re what?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” you hiss. “I already know that you don’t feel the same.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” You turn on your heels, storming into your bedroom and collapsing against the door. Finally, finally, finally, you let the tears wrack your body, sending shivers down your spine. There’s salt on your tongue and smudged liner beneath your eyes.

You thought pressing flowers makes them last forever. But even the red carnation is starting to shrivel.

Subject Title: New Project????

From Park, Seojoon, to me

Hi Taehyung,

You did a great job last night in Chance Card! Really proud of you for accomplishing so much. Pretty soon you’ll be on Broadway and be too big for a small manager like me. You’ll need an agent, and a publicist, and a stylist, and a dog-walker…

Anyway, just emailing to let you know that Hugo Cleveland reached out to me to see if you were interested in auditioning for his next play. He personally wanted to see if you liked the part, and would give you preference if you did want to audition. It’s called Cupid, and it’s another one of those modern-day retellings of an old tale. I thought you might like it. Attached is the script and a short description of the play. Let me know if you’d like to give it a shot! I think this might be the project that gets you onto Broadway!!

As always, contact me if you need anything at all.

Park

Taehyung, still in bed despite it being nearly noon, taps around on his phone, pulling up the description of the play. He hates reading PDFs on his phone, so he’ll check out the script on his laptop later.

Cupid by Hugo Cleveland

Cupid chronicles the tale of the world’s most well known hopeless romantic—Cupid himself. Set in a world of magical realism, Cupid has the power to make two people fall in love with a single shot of his arrow, and spends his life walking around the city of New York, bow and arrow by his side.

The only problem is that Cupid has no way to make people fall in love with him, because his magic operates under the assumption of soulmates—a single person meant for another. And as the years have gone by, he has searched and searched and searched over millennia, desperate to find love, but it’s almost as if everyone has soulmates except for him.

Little does he know, he need look no further to find the person he shall spend the rest of his life with—not when his best friend has always been by his side.

Taehyung glares at the description like it’s personally offended him. He knows that it’s just a coincidence that he happens to receive this email the morning after his fight with you, but he can’t help but feel like God is playing the world’s worst practical joke on him.

Cursed with the memory of an actor, he replays last night in his head over and over and over again, looping the feed back and forth as your words echo in his mind.

You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?

He never knew what he was supposed to be looking for. You were just friends, you had always been just friends. But then he looked out in the crowd and couldn’t see you anywhere, couldn’t make out your eyes even in a sea of hundreds like he always does, and it felt like there was more than just another audience member missing. He spent the rest of the evening getting his hopes up, thinking that maybe you’re just sitting somewhere else, maybe you put in colored contacts, maybe you’re hidden by some really buff guy in front of you.

He missed you, last night. He’s been missing you a lot recently, missing the way the days you spent together would bleed into nights. Missing the way you wrap your arms around him and smother him in cuddles, missing the way you always remember his takeout order for the fifteen different restaurants you frequent. Missing the way he once thought that you could spend your whole lives together.

Realized what?

He supposes that he has always been a bit foolish. All of his ex-girlfriends broke up with him, never the other way around. And while they all ended on good terms, they all said the same thing to him: it always seemed like his heart belonged to someone else. But he misread that, too. He just thought that he hadn’t found the right person, yet. He would keep searching until he did.

That I’m in love with you!

The craziest thing about it all is that your confession didn’t even shock him that much. After the initial surprise wore off, it was almost as if the dust settled around you, the storm finally calming. Like finding the last puzzle piece after thinking it had been lost for days. Like feeling everything click into place.

Taehyung has been thinking a lot about last night, but his least favorite part is always this:

I already know that you don’t feel the same.

He wishes that he could have told you. He wishes that he could have been strong enough, could have realized what he had before it slipped through his fingertips. Wishes that he could have reached out and grabbed onto you and never let go. There’s nothing more that he wants to do than see you again. You live in the same tiny New York apartment, and you’ve never felt further away from him.

Taehyung wills himself out of bed and washes his face, clearing away the leftover makeup and the sleep in his eyes. It’s a fresh start. It’s a new day.

He sees you standing in the kitchen, making that tea that you had left forgotten last night. He catches your eyes for just a second before he loses them again, watches as you turn your back to him in a desperate attempt to avoid contact.

“I got a new potential show to audition for,” he says loudly, breaking the silence.

“That’s cool,” you say, emotionless.

“Do you want to know what it’s about?”

You don’t respond. Taehyung takes this as a cue to continue.

“It’s about a boy on a search for love,” Taehyung begins, rallying himself despite only being able to see your back. “And he goes out and sees all of these people falling in love and wants that for himself. And he wonders why nothing is sticking, why he can’t seem to fall in love with anybody. And then he realizes that the reason he can’t seem to fall in love with anyone else is because he’s already found his person.” A pause. He’s just summarizing a story, but this feels like a confession. “His best friend.”

You turn around sharply, tea sloshing in the cup in your hand. Taehyung inhales, then exhales. It’s now or never. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“Don’t you think I’d play this part well?” He asks.

You shrug, closing your eyes and breathing heavy. He can tell that you’re holding something back, trying not to burst at the seams. “I’m not sure, Tae.”

“I think I would,” Taehyung tells you confidently. He takes a step closer to you, reaches over to take the cup of tea from your hands, placing it on the counter. “Because I’ve been doing it for so long, already.”

You gasp when he kisses you, a gust of air escaping your lips and immediately mixing with his, seize up at the feeling of his lips on yours. Immediately, Taehyung wonders if he’s overstepped a boundary, or two, or five, but then he feels you relax under his touch, feels you reach your hands up to cup his cheeks as you press against him insistently, drunk on the taste of his lips on your own.

Taehyung’s kissed a lot of people in his day, but this one is different. He’s felt sparks, seen fireworks, but with you, it’s as if he’s sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. As if he’s returning to an apartment filled with the things he loves after a long day out. As if he’s coming home.

All of these emotions, all of the little things tucked away in the corners of his soul, in the dark attic of his heart, come bubbling up to the surface, and all he can do is hope that you can feel them, swallow them up like wine, as you press your lips against his, grinning.

Finally, you pull yourself away, almost as if you think you’ll get drunk if you keep going.

“How long?” You ask.

Taehyung shrugs. “I don’t know. A while now, definitely.”

“Really?”

“I think so,” Taehyung says. “I guess that I was wrong, what I said before about looking for love. I looked everywhere, I wanted to see it in every spark that was set my way, but I forgot the most important place. I should have known.” You curl into his touch, resting your head against his chest as his arms wrap around your waist. “How about you?”

“Forever,” you breathe out. “It started and it never stopped.”

Taehyung beams. The flowerbud in his heart had been shuttered for so long, hardly watered and never in the sun. And then suddenly, the curtains opened up and the clouds began to cry, and everything blossomed. You make him feel like he’s always home. You make him feel safe.

You make him feel like a red carnation in bloom.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #v fluff #v angst #v scenario #taehyung scenario #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts au #taehyung au #w: good luck charm #formatting this on tumblr was a BITCHHHHHHH

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the-huntress · 3 years

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Little Moth - Chapter 1 - The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

[Hi guys, welcome to my fanfiction. This is a Resident Evil inspired fanfiction, I wanted to incorporate a number of my favourite characters, and especially our beloved Magnet Daddy. Slow burn, soft smut impending, beyond that who knows… But to be safe I will say that this is for 18+ years of age only. Let me know if you’d liked to be on a tag list for future chapters. Masterlist is pinned. Thank you to everyone that has read so far. <3]

Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: Mention of menstruation, swearing.

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg [18+]

Summary:

Your lifelong friend, Leon Kennedy, has mysteriously gone missing two years after the events of Racoon City. You make a discovery that could lead to his whereabouts; dare you enter the Village?

[Photos are my own] You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at for a moment, arching your back forwards over the desk in the dimly lit room, the glare from the laptop the only source of light. Several windows had been left open on the screen, and despite the turmoil that Leon’s apartment had been left in, this was what had really grabbed your attention.

The most notable of which was a photo, the resolution was grainy, a scan from a black and white film photo, it looked almost like a foetus, but you couldn’t be sure. Was somebody pregnant? It was almost akin to the sort of photograph that expecting parents would show at a baby shower, but this was… different. You had a feeling of impending doom just by looking at this thing.

Next, another very grainy photo of a town, it almost looked like some of the places from back home in England; a church steeple, a castle or maybe a mansion in the distance? A quaint looking village in the snow. And lastly, a very cryptic email;

10/10/2000

Leon,

Know not what I have done, but what I believe must be done now.

Half of the results of good intentions are evil; half of the results of an evil intention are good.

You have the information that you need, please make haste.

A friend.

Well, that’s ambiguous as fuck. You thought to yourself, pushing the chair back and pulling the lighter from the little band on the side of your cap. You reached to your shoulder and cursed. That’s right, you’d given up, “for health reasons”. Putting the lighter back you reached instead for your camera, a notepad and a pen. You’d been tempted to just take the laptop and the scattered papers, but after several years in the police you knew it was beneficial to leave things as they were. Your eyes flitted from paper to paper, taking notes of numbers, flights, times, place names, anything that you could until you’d filled a couple of pages. One page for practical info, and one page, now that you looked at it almost sounded like a fairy tale;

A village, four kings, four lords, and a mysterious ‘Mother Miranda’. You bit the end of the pen and pondered. It was like nothing you’d ever heard of before, what had he got himself into…

Several days ago you had received a text from the man himself;

‘Y/N I am going to be out of

town for a while, something has

come up. Please don’t worry,

will explain soon. Leon. X

P.S. I’ve left Timesplitters in

your mail box, play you again

when I get back! :] ’

And now here you were. You scoffed knowing he’d have had to pay double to send that one, but he was mad to think that you wouldn’t worry, he was like a brother to you, hell, the only family that you had. After a childhood growing up in rural England you had moved to the states with your father and stepmother when you were in those vulnerable years of your teens during the early 90s, but were lucky enough to have met Leon in school. The two of you had become best friends quickly, and even graduated from the same police academy. It was Leon that saved your butt two years ago when all hell broke loose in Racoon City, him and Claire.

You shifted on the collapsible chair in front of the usually neatly tidied desk which was now strewn with various papers and articles. Your thoughts of Claire continued, and you pulled out your Nokia, opened a message and then faltered. It was late. Later than late you realised, seeing the time; 02:08 AM. What am I doing? You didn’t want to wake her, so you put the phone back into the pocket on your belt.

You swept a strand of your hair behind your ear, the outgrown bangs jumping back in the way and you blew at them irritated. You heard a grumble and moaned, looking down at your stomach. Padding across the shiny, tiled floor you left the desk and headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge where you knew there would be left-over pizza. Sure, it was from over a week ago when you were last here hanging out, but hey, it’s pizza, right?

‘Ugh dude, always with the anchovies, why?’ you mumbled, flinging a small fish into the bin and mentally backhanding the back of Leon’s head. Of course, it was his side of the pizza that was left over, probably trying to stay in shape in case he bumped into ‘Ada’ again. You weren’t keen, but then, you didn’t trust her. You looked at your phone again, left on the desk besides the laptop, Leon would be much better off with Claire, but sadly you felt perhaps that ship had set sail long ago.

You went to sit yourself back down at the desk. CRUNCH “Shit!” Your eyes darted to your right knee. “Fuck… you’re not giving me a break are you.” Letting out a sigh you closed your eyes for a moment. Since you were a child your knee had given you problems. A few dislocations, hospital visits, insteps, braces and physiotherapy. You’d had to grit your teeth hard through every physical training session during academy, but you’d made it. Fortunately for you it wasn’t something that many people would be able to notice or spot. You could run for miles with no problem; it was the recovery time in the days that followed that was tough. You knew it was getting worse, and had been reading about how much longer you might have before you’d need a full replacement, but you knew that it could jeopardise your job, you knew you’d likely not get put on the jobs that you wanted, and the thought of being put into the office answering calls made your heart sink.

And then you spotted it, the corner of another window was sticking out from under the others, exposing the corner of a third photograph. Instantly recognising the symbol you felt as though you were falling.

“What…”

Dragging the window and clicking it to full screen you could see this photograph clearly; some kind of mural, was it in stone? It looked as though there were four crests, family crests maybe. And at the centre; “Umbrella.” You breathed. You stared at it for several minutes and quickly took a photo of the screen on your camera, no point trying to get that old thing to work, you thought, looking at the printer at the other end of the desk. You couldn’t help but smirk, memories of Leon trying to print page after page of game walk throughs, whilst trying to find all the secrets in your favourite action/ adventure game, and laughing your head off at him, mouthful of noodles spilling back out into the carton as a hundred pages shot out at him, flying all over the room with cheat codes for a scantily dressed version of the playable character.

You looked at the clock again, time to go. If you were going to do this, you needed sleep and to get going as soon as you could the next day. It might drain your bank account, but it would be worth it. You didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, and more often than not, your gut instincts were right. Grabbing your R.P.D jacket at the door, you took one last glance at the room. It really did look like a whirlwind had hit it, not like Leon when he was in a better mental state at all. You knew that when he wasn’t his best he’d reach a for a drink and then some, but you could see that nothing was broken, and it was mostly clothes scattered, some bits of equipment and where he’d clearly got the luggage bag down from on top of the wardrobe. Nothing to worry about in regard to kidnap or a break in at least; as if that was enough to stop you from worrying about whatever lay ahead in this ‘Village’.

It started to rain just as you got into your apartment building, and you smiled. You’d always liked the rain. Stopping to quickly check your pigeon-hole for mail and seeing nothing you felt something press up against you calf, rubbing itself against the tops of your boots. You looked down and grinned, scooping up a slender, black cat in one hand and kissing the top of her head. “I’m going to miss you Boo, keep an eye on my mail for me while I’m gone, you know how crammed that thing gets.” You winked at her as you set her back down outside Mrs. Little’s door and fished a sandwich bag full of the leftover pizza anchovies out of your R.P.D. bag. “You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you?” Leaving Boo hastily munching into her treats you jogged up the stairs, your knee twinged, but it wasn’t too bad. It just had its moments.

Your apartment was pretty standard for this part of the city; both you and Leon had left Racoon city some time ago, though it wasn’t far from here. It had been destroyed and bordered off and that was all there was too it. You had to tell it to yourself that way to cope. Leon’s apartment was slightly swankier, but then again, he did like his gadgets and liked to keep things tidy, when his thoughts weren’t somewhere else. You on the other hand were happy to know that while everything had its place, sometimes that place would be on the floor… next to the thingy and nestled safely under a cereal box; and that was okay! You picked up the thingy, and looked at it fondly, before folding it up and putting it away with the others.

Stretching and yawning you looked around you, making a mental note of what needed to be done; pack, shower, sleep. You’d get the tickets the next day, and some money too, you’d have to stop off at the currency exchange. What currency did they even use there? Equipment, keep it simple; knives, pistol, rounds, lighter, fluid, compass, torch, camera, medi-kit. A couple of spare pairs of clothes, and you had your light armour that also fit into the case. You knew the contents would raise suspicion, but you had your badge, at the end of the day another cop had gone missing, and your team knew too.

You whipped off the remainder of your uniform and jumped in the shower, the bathroom filling up with steam and bubbles quickly and you sang along to a few songs on the radio. Wiping the mirror to see yourself more clearly you felt all your insecurities flood to you at once, as well as seeing yourself for the natural beauty that you were. You pursed your lips, staring into your own eyes and promised you’d find him safe and bring him back. He’d yell at you for going in the first place, but you knew this wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Traipsing out from the bathroom, you felt the cool air attack your flushed skin. You liked it, you were always a window open kind of person, no matter the weather, the fresh air just soothed you. Of course, that meant the odd moth now and again, like now as you heard the tiny body plummet time and time again against the spherical glass shade of the dim lamp besides your bed. Snuggling up into the loose blankets you smiled at the little creature and pulled the cord on the lamp, smiling again as you felt the moth settle on the side of your head.

After that you actually fell to sleep very quickly. It had been a long day after all; a 6AM start, patrol, arresting some juvies for petty crimes, followed by yet another zombie scare, (false alarm thank God), before filing up all the paper work and heading to Leon’s. Sleep fell like a veil of cool clouds, taking you in and raising you up into the inky blue skies of the night. The next thing you knew, you were butt naked in a dark green forest, dew drops shining on moss like a trillion tiny emeralds. Mist hung thick in the air, and thousands of tiny moths flew up from the ground? No. From you. You were raising your arms up to the skies, the moss covered forest floor moist under your bare feet and between your toes. Behind you the silhouette of a deer… antlers, but much, much taller. In front of you a pair of cold silver-gold eyes in the dark. You felt drawn, ever so drawn, taking one step forward, and then another, your arms coming down now, hands outstretched in caring caress, your heart swelled, your lips bloomed, taking in a short breath, and then; blood. Gushes of it, soaking into the moss, reddening Earth’s green carpet, and dripping down the trunks of the trees, the moths falling from the air around you, their wings sticking and stopping in the thick, red mess.

“Shit!” You fell back down onto your bed, several items around you also crashing down. Hand to your head, you looked wildly about. It happened again. Whatever had fallen this time had been heavy. You turned to see half the cutlery that had been lying on the kitchen tops now on the floor, and the knives and pistol that you’d placed earlier on top of the luggage bag were now in the middle of the floor. A sudden feeling of loneliness washed over you. The same dream, but longer, and this time with blood. “Shit” again, you put a hand to your pants, pulled the covers back and saw red. “Well, that’s one more thing I need to bring with me.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes, and throwing yourself back onto the bed.

Song Suggestion: ‘The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning’ by The Smashing Pumpkins

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil 2 #resident evil village #leon kennedy #Karl Heisenberg #mother miranda #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg fluff

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moonflowerlesbians · 3 years

Note

41 and 45 please. Just can't get enough of your stories

first of all you're so sweet 🥺 second, I did these and I batched in another one for a longer story and the obligatory soft nightmare fic, so I hope that's okay :)

18. "I'm embarrassed." "Don't be." 41. "Is that my shirt?" "Is...is that okay?" 45. "Don't say anything. Just...just lay here with me."

cw for mentions of child abuse

~~~

The motel bed is empty when Dani drifts awake, feeling in the dark for the warm mass that indicates Jamie is sound asleep beside her. Instead, empty air and rumpled sheets greet her, and she frowns. Still lingering in that semi-sweet state of half-consciousness, somewhere between dream and reality, she registers the shadow of the bathroom light through the crack in the door, which stands slightly agape.

Ah.

She rolls over, tugging the duvet over her exposed arms and sparing a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand 3:27 a.m., it reads. Dani yawns and readjusts the pillow supporting her neck. The doctor had said it would help with the stiffness in her shoulders and upper back in the morning, said she had a tendency to sleep curled up like she was protecting herself. Unsurprising, she had thought at the time.

Long minutes pass, faint moonlight trickling through sheer curtains to adorn the carpeted floors with tigerstripes of silver and blue. Dani rolls over again, flipping onto her stomach, her arm coming to rest alongside her head. Jamie’s pillow remains vacant. Dani sighs.

The floor is bracing beneath her bare feet, and she recoils, suddenly regretting the decision to leave the relative warmth of the blankets. Steeling herself, she pads across the room. Dim light filters under the bathroom door, and she can make out muted noises from within.

“Hey,” Dani says quietly, giving the wood three light raps with her knuckles. “You okay?” The noises stop.

“’M fine,” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the door. “Y’can go back to bed.”

Another night, maybe, Dani would have listened. Another time, perhaps, if she had not spent weeks, months, learning the intricacies and peculiarities of Jamie’s vocal pattern, Dani would have returned to the comfort of their queen bed and fallen back into a pleasant sleep. At another time, maybe, Dani would have ignored the hoarseness of Jamie’s voice, the sandpaper-rough scratch of the syllables against her throat, the subtle distress cloaked in a layer of false nonchalance.

Dani rests her forehead against the cool wood, the metal of the doorknob in one hand. “Can I come in?”

Silence, for a moment, then shuffling. The click of an unlatched lock. “Yeah.”

She inches the door open. Jamie sits on the floor of the bathtub, knees drawn up to her chest. Strands of brown hair are sweat-matted to her forehead, others sticking up haphazardly, streaked through with shaky finger lines. Grey eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, with a tired stare that wrenches at Dani’s heart.

“You got room in there for one more?” Dani says gently, crossing to crouch on the tile floor.

Jamie breathes shakily. “Sure.” She slides to make room for Dani, who sits cross-legged, her knees bent at a slightly awkward angle due to the nature of the tub. From this new perspective, she can see the piece of fabric balled tight between Jamie’s thighs and her chest.

“Is that my shirt?”

Jamie swallows, a flash of alarm flickering across her features, and her voice is small, so small and so, so frail. “Is... is that okay?”

Dani’s brow furrows. “No, um, yes, yeah, that’s... that’s okay.”

Jamie mumbles something that Dani doesn’t quite catch.

“Sorry?”

“Was in the dirty pile, so I thought... Doesn’t matter. Should’ve asked.” She can’t quite meet Dani’s gaze, and she’s gripping the lilac sweater so hard her knuckles have gone white.

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine,” Dani says, trying her very best to sound reassuring and not as though she’s talking to a cornered animal.

Jamie has not been forthcoming when it comes to information about herself, not since the night before... well. It has been nearly four months since leaving Bly, and Dani feels a bit like an archaeologist, uncovering fragments of a broken past little by little. Some days, she finds nothing, not even an arrowhead, something to point her in the right direction. Other days, it is as if she discovers a bit of parchment thought lost to civilization, a scrap of knowledge to help translate the whole. A perfectly preserved piece of Jamie in the form of a passport, a solitary photograph from a time Jamie no longer speaks of, the dogeared pages of a beat-up paperback.

“Do you think,” Dani begins, cautious, slow, “you could tell me...why?” There is an out she leaves. A minute shake of Jamie’s head, and she would back away, drop the subject at her feet for another day.

Jamie peers at her through clumped lashes. “Which bit?” She asks with a sardonic sort of chuckle, swiping at her nose. “The bit about your jumper or the bit about being a blubbering mess at three in the goddamn mornin’.”

“Both, if you’re up for it.”

Jamie studies her, blinking in the hazy light as though searching for something, like she expects Dani to laugh as if she’s the butt of a sorry joke.

“Yeah,” she says at last, “yeah, okay.” She takes a shuddering breath. “Told you ‘bout bein’ in the system, foster and prison, yeah?”

Dani watches her intently, hands in her lap, an expression of concern firmly situated on her face. She nods, though she knows only the bare minimum. They skirt precariously around the topic when it comes up.

The extent of her knowledge comes from studying Jamie’s reactions to her environment. The way she shirks from loud noises. The clatter of plates breaking in a restaurant, an engine backfiring in an alley. The way she scans every room before she enters, eyes lingering on corners and curtains, and checks the backseat of their rental car. The way she hoards buttons and pop tabs and coins at the bottom of her suitcase, and the way she methodically counts her things before they leave any motel and recounts them when they arrive at their destination.

Habits formed out of necessity in a life of cruelty, a life in which letting her guard down could mean the difference between life and death. A life she no longer lives, but a life that stays with her all the same.

“Had a dream,” Jamie says carefully, her voice almost too loud in the stillness of the morning, “Hardly remember the details now, but... Think I was in my third home. Fourth, maybe. The dad was a drunk. You could always smell it on his breath. Heavy footsteps you could hear coming.” She glances at Dani. “I couldn’t hear him this time. I think he threw a bottle at me, not sure, though. I couldn’t move, couldn’t yell, couldn’t fight back.” Her chest heaves, and Dani reaches out, then thinks better of it. She retracts her hand, leaving it palm-up on her knee for Jamie to take if she chooses.

“Hate being trapped,” she whispers, eyes darting around the bathroom, “Spent too long in places I couldn’t get out of.” She tentatively takes Dani’s hand, still avoiding eye contact. “I woke up ‘n still couldn’t breathe. Didn’t want to wake you up, so I came here.” She fiddles with the tag on Dani’s sweater, murmuring, “It’s not the same, but it was close enough. Smells enough like you that I could pretend.” At last, she looks up, waterline shining with unshed tears. “Bloody embarrassing.”

“Oh, baby...” Dani croons softly, squeezing her outstretched hand. “Can I... Is it okay if I hold you?”

Jamie sniffles, but nods her assent with a heavy sigh. Dani shifts so that she’s reclining against the slope of the tub, with Jamie comfortably settled between her legs, curled on her side, with her head on Dani’s chest. The sweater is pressed between them, the material grasped tightly in Jamie’s fist.

Dani weaves her fingers through the hair at the nape of Jamie’s neck, lightly scratching her scalp with blunt nails. Jamie shivers at the contact.

“’M embarrassed,” Jamie mumbles into the bunched fabric of Dani’s pajama top.

“Don’t be,” Dani says simply, her head resting on the white shower tile. She cannot tell if the flush rising to Jamie’s cheeks is because of the sweater or waking up in the middle of the night or both, and frankly, Dani decides, it does not matter.

It’s unusual, seeing Jamie like this. Vulnerable. Raw. Dani can count the number of times she’s seen Jamie cry on two fingers.

Once, in the aftermath of the lake, they had held each other close in the lamplight of Dani’s bedroom at Bly and wept for all that had happened and all they had lost, great heaving sobs that tore through walls and rafters and flesh and bone.

The second time, just now, with Jamie trembling in her arms.

She takes such measures to remain steadfast, resolute in her dependability, all hard angles and rigidity. A suave exterior carefully constructed to deter those who would attempt to breach her defenses. Cannons on the parapet he keeps loaded with snark and bite and sturdy shoes, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

She had opened up to Dani, though, a privilege Dani does not vilipend. Took the risk and raised the portcullis to allow Dani to pass through to the inner walls, closer to the center, but not quite there. There was more to discover, Dani knew then and knows now, but patience is vital. Stability. The reassurance that she means no harm.

“Can...Why’d you think you needed my permission?” Dani clarifies, “For my sweater.” Jamie stirs against her, the weight warm and familiar.

“Don’t take things without asking,” Jamie recites despondently, and the weight of the statement catches Dani off-guard. The resignation in her tone, the rhythm of the words are indicative of a phrase spoken over and over again, well-worn and thoroughly beaten into the track of her mind.

(Perhaps, Dani fears in some dark corner of herself, it was not only Jamie’s mind. She thinks of trainers with holes in the sole, bits of cheese swiped from the refrigerator and promptly hidden, and wonders about a little girl left with no one but herself and callous adults who neglect and belittle.)

Dani finds herself shaking her head.

“It’s okay,” she says into the crown of Jamie’s head, her breath rustling wayward strands. “I mean, I’d appreciate a heads up if you want to borrow something of mine just so I don’t think something’s gone missing, but for this?” She pauses, choking on an inconvenient swell of emotion. “God, please, take it. Or wake me up or something, but... you’re not alone.”

Jamie is still, her breath coming in slow, measured puffs against Dani’s chest.

Dani tries, “Most of my stuff isn’t really your style, anyway. Not that I think you couldn’t rock a pink turtleneck.” She considers. “Actually, I’d kind of like to see that.”

The mental picture earns her a wet laugh from Jamie, and that is enough for now, Dani thinks.

“But, you know, if this happens again -- you wake up in the middle of the night -- please, wake me up, too, okay?”

“Still getting used to you, ‘s’all.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

They lay there in the bottom of the questionable motel bathtub until the quiver of Jamie’s shoulders recedes into a steady enough rhythm, in time with the rise and fall of Dani’s chest.

“Come on,” Dani nudges, “think you want to get back in bed?”

“Shit,” Jamie jolts upwards, taking them both by surprise, “God, sorry. Sorry. I’ve kept you up long enough.”

“No, no,” Dani assures, running a hand along Jamie’s upper arm, “I just thought the mattress might be more comfortable for you than I am.”

“Unlikely,” Jamie scrutinizes. She rubs her eyes once more and climbs out of the tub, offering a hand for Dani to lift herself up, which proves more difficult than anticipated on account of Dani’s leg having fallen asleep. She wraps an arm around Jamie’s waist, separating for an instant to nestle beneath cool sheets, then finding each other again.

“Sorry,” Jamie says to the darkness, the hum of the radiator providing the rattling soundtrack to her unnecessary apology.

“Shh,” Dani soothes, her nails spelling out words from covert languages on the skin of Jamie’s back, “Don’t say anything. Just… just lay here with me. We’ll talk in the morning.” Jamie’s grip tightens on her shirt. “Try to get some rest, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

She brushes the ghost of a kiss along Jamie’s hairline, smoothing down the wisps that tickle her nose.

4:14 a.m., the clock reads.

Dani does not close her eyes until she feels Jamie’s muscles slacken, the tension leaching away into cotton and dream. Then, and only then, does she allow sleep to claim her.

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rouiyan · 3 years

Text

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘗𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘋 𝘜𝘕𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘗𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘋 [ 𝘯.𝘫𝘮 ]

synopsis — five times jaemin thinks about texting you.

✧ na jaemin x (fem.) reader. high school au.

✧ genres : fluff to angst. word count : 2.1k ✧ disclaimers : implications of underage drinking ✧ original request.

yes, your earphones weren't plugged in all the way in and your music had practically echoed through the entire study hall. and yes, you'd alerted all the students who weren't already listening to their own music and also the supervisor on shift, an uptight middle-aged man who never paid much attention but also handed out detentions and punishments alike without much thought. and although you ended up on cleaning duty later that day, all jaemin wanted to tell you was that really, there was no need to be embarrassed.

as if you alone aren't enough of a thought, the prospects of talking to you have been looming over and in his head ever since he'd heard the specific song that you'd accidentally blasted. i like you by niki (you have taste). he guesses this is what other people are talking about when they tell of how 'just some person' they've been eyeing becomes a crush. for him though, it's predicated off the basis that you and him have a similar music taste, from what little he knows.

jaemin's leg is bouncing erratically, much to the dismay of the other high school students that occupy the same table at the library. to further their dismay, it's nothing that can be helped because his mind is off elsewhere and his fingers are tapping just as fast across the bottom half of his phone screen, drafting text after text that he knows he doesn't have the heart to send. it goes a little something like this:

hi! i'm na jaemin from your homeroom class and i got your number from the class group chat so i hope that's fine with you haha i was wondering if you wanted to be friends?

too wordy, unsure, unlike him. backspace.

hello this is jaemin from your homeroom. i noticed that we listen to the same music and would like to be friends.

too bland, sounds like a homeroom teacher rather than a classmate, what's with the punctuation? backspace.

hi this is na jaemin, let's talk!

not bad, straight to the point but why does he sound so overly enthusiastic? i mean, he is very enthusiastic indeed but he really needn't come off as so. backspace.

hi this is jaemin, i wanna get to kn—

jaemin shoves his phone under the left flap of his world history textbook, his posture shoots upright, and his fingers dart for the blue pen he'd set down over an hour ago in retaliation to the mountains of homework he'd yet to embark upon. swallowing thickly, he looks to his right to see that you are now advancing towards him— no, the seat besides him.

seeing as he's already looking at you, you don't bother to ask the person on the other side. "is this seat taken?" jaemin shakes his head fervently and gestures accordingly, "it's all yours."

his eyes are zeroed in on the textbook in front of him, he swears. it's just that his peripheral vision is so very aware of your presence that he can't help but notice you go through each of your mechanical pencils to find that none of them have lead in them, your pencil case as a whole included. jaemin rummages around his own and holds out one for you. taking a glance over at your relief-laden smile, he thinks he likes you a little more. you take it from him and turn it over in your hand, once, twice, inspecting the pretty pink before remarking under your breath, "thank you."

his peripheral vision has given way to his actual streamline of sight when he notes that you're left-handed. jaemin's right-handed. and when the two of you bury your heads in your respective textbooks, pencils running across notebook pages to document terms and dates you know you won't remember, your elbows bump and nudge every once in a while, getting to know each other.

it's an exam session, and though jaemin has been accompanying you in the library after school almost every day of the week, he can't seem to understand a single question on the paper. the sounds of a classroom full of students and their pens circling and filling in answers is enough to get him to halt his attempts at milking whatever's left in his brain in favor of giving up. setting his pen down, jaemin sits back in his seat, letting his eyes roam.

his eyes land on your hunched figure not a second later and he thinks oh, that's right. two seats ahead and diagonal to the right, you're focused as ever, the pretty pink mechanical pencil and some eraser exchanging spots in your left hand every other second as you rethink and rethink your answers. that's right. that's why i could never focus on studying.

jaemin fully relents a few minutes later as he stands resolutely to turn in his paper at the front of the room with only about two thirds filled and two thirds of that having been guessed. the teacher gives him a rather unimpressed look as he sets it on the stand but he regrets nothing because as he's making his way back to his seat, you've glanced up in time to catch his gaze and you've unmistakably blushed, head ducking down. but even that isn't enough to conceal the smile that lifts the corner of your lips.

minutes later and the bell has rung, the teacher struggles to yell over all the clambering students to turn in their papers and most of the students themselves are found rushing to the cafeteria to catch the bagels before they run out of stock. jaemin had thought to linger back for a bit, not wanting to be caught within the throng of his antsy peers. he's glad he's done just that because right there on your desk, you've left your wallet.

he fishes out his phone for he's finally landed a solid reason to talk to you outside of your daily study sessions. like déjà vu, jaemin's back at square one:

hi! this is jaemin, you left your wallet in the classroom. wondering if you need it?

well of course you need it, you've run off to the cafeteria. he sounds asinine for pointing out the obvious. backspace.

hey this is jaemin! i saw that you left your wallet in the classroom.. just a heads up :)

the weird creepy smile stares back at him. a hurried backspace.

hi, it's jaemin, your wallet's in the classroom if you're looking for it—

backspace. backspace. backspace. jaemin shoves his phone back into his pocket, standing abruptly in the empty classroom, feet crossing the distance between your desk and his in three lengthened steps. wallet in hand, he thinks of how dumb he'd have been to send a text when he could give it to you in person, when he can talk to you instead. jaemin runs.

there must be more to it, he thinks. how did he not know you were friends with jeno? maybe your parents are friends or older siblings or maybe you're distantly connected to him. jaemin hopes that's the case but he also doubts it with how his best friend's invited you to sit at their lunch table. there must be more to it.

jeno has you sitting at the end of the table because you're left-handed, and he's sat himself at the only other seat beside you. jaemin knows that too, that you're left-handed. insecurity seeps into his demeanor. you're sitting across from him but you've yet to spare him more than a greeting. and then lunch is over and you part ways with jeno right by your side, odd since you share your class with him and not jeno, odd since you hate being late for class. jaemin knows that much with how you arrive five minutes before each period. he knows because he's the only one that does it too.

there's one minute until class starts when he's reached the classroom, having been ambling aimlessly for the most part of the five minute passing period. jaemin has yet to shrug off his backpack, head down and eyes trained on his phone screen. the feeling is almost too familiar.

y/n you're gonna be late, class is starting soon!

he can't bring himself to send it. backspace.

y/n where are you?

backspace.

y/n are you with jeno—

with ten seconds to spare, the door is swung open and there you are, hands on the door frame to keep you upright, panting but also smiling. smiling as if you liked being late. as if you didn't mind being late if you could walk jeno to his own class.

the clock on his nightstand blares 4:28AM. jaemin isn't pleased. he should be after staying up all night to text you, but he isn't. then again, how could he be pleased after he mustered up his courage to text you first, to actually hold a conversation with you, only to be plagued by a measly text his best friend had sent. a single text, buried among hundred of others in the neverending hellhole of a group chat. jeno had only said this: guys i asked her to the dance today. and jaemin wonders why no one else but him paid any mind to it. he wished someone would, any one of them, because he couldn't bear to ask who the 'her' was.

there's a loosening knot in his stomach that grows and grows in pain as it unfurls, a slow sort of pain that trickles when an inkling settles into reality. he clicks on his phone screen once again, just to stare at the goodnight! you'd last sent, funny since it was well into the morning by then. jaemin finds it hard to comprehend how it could have come to this. how is it that he becomes friends with you right when given a reason not to be?

he knows there's no point in it but it feels like a ritual at this point. typing, deleting, drafting undoing.

did jeno ask you to the dance today?

backspace.

did you say yes?

backspace.

do you like jeno?

he supposes he could've come up with a better excuse other than 'having a sore throat,' but the boys will take anything with the state they're in, readying themselves to sneak in a night's worth of alcohol to a high school dance. the group chat stopped blowing up his phone a while back, probably because they've all arrived at the venue. jaemin can only imagine how he'd be feeling if he were there right now.

seat pulled back to the farthest setting and feet hiked up on the dashboard, jaemin sees himself in the setting sun before him. his clean cut tux fits just fine, hair styled just the way the article on 'trendy do's for young men' had instructed. if he'd bought a corsage for his date, it would match the pretty pink of his tie. but he doesn't have a date, never asked, was too late to ask, didn't have the gut to ask. is it really his fault though? he loosens the tie. he doesn't know.

but like the setting sun, jaemin finds solace in hiding under the cover of night. he sits there, shifting his feet every once in a while, until the sun is gone and with it, his carefully constructed composure. perhaps he would have been better off going because then he would have a reason to hold back his tears; he'd be granted the opportunity to wash them out with some fancy wine from chenle's cellar. if he went, he could see you without having to wonder how you look tonight, what color dress you're wearing, if you've let your hair down or tied it back. he wouldn't have to wonder like how he's wondering now.

jaemin's at a loss of what he should be regretting or what he should be glad for. the lines blur in between and they smother what he thinks he knows and what he doesn't until his thoughts bleed into a disarray of sobs that has him choking in the driver's seat of his car, in the driveway of his house, in the dim light of a streetlamp, in the dark. it's the first time that a friday night meets tears.

he knows he'll have to stay off social media for the time being, he knows that he'll have to keep up this act of 'being sick' for a little longer, or however long it takes to be able look jeno straight in the eye and feel anything but guilt. he thinks it's quite mocking to have him fall for someone just as fast as he's forced to fall out. laughable even, but perhaps his folly lies in how he'd never think of 'stealing his best friend's girl.' he knows he'd feel worse.

so jaemin does what he can in the limbo of retrospection. he does what he knows.

you can keep the pencil.

send.

you like it more than i do.

send.

and i like you more than you like it.

backspace.

✧ end note — hope you liked it b <3 i forgot to bump up the opacity on the dividers so they look kinda awkward haha. also to anyone who still has an unfulfilled request, i swear to god i’m writing them, some things just come a lot easier than others heh. have a good day everyone !!

#neowritingsnet #neothestars #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin ff #jaemin fics #nct jaemin #jaemin scenarios #na jaemin #nct scenarios #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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flame-shadow · 3 years

Text

Leisken the Lonely

[headsup- this one has some minor child abuse and bad parents, although it's implied that they get what they deserve in the end]

---

Things are getting worse.

The butterfly doesn’t talk much, but they listen plenty. Apparently, they’re safe to share secrets around. Is it because nobody would listen to them? Because of their stutter? Or because they’re viewed as less than a bug, less than an actual member of society? They don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter which reason because it’s probably all of those reasons anyway.

They stifle a yawn, waft their wings, and hold them out again for the fancy bugs nearby to view. A late night party with rich food and fermented drinks and plenty of whispers and gossip.

Rumors of sickness. Famine. Disputes. Violent disagreements. Should we leave the City? It’s probably more dangerous beyond. Have you heard if they’re going to close the gates? That would protect us, right?

Leisken fans their wings again. They feel warm. Cautiously, they turn their head to observe more of the room. Is anyone else feeling this heat? It… doesn’t look like it. They must be imagining it. Maybe it’s not having drunk anything in a while. Maybe it’s the discomfort of what they’re hearing. Maybe it’s…

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

Leisken jolts off their stool, falling to an undignified heap. Immediately, they attempt to scramble to their feet, but already Mother is storming over, her skirts and scarves roiling. With a tight grip on their arm, she jerks them up and drags them to the side of the room, away from the nearest cluster of socializing guests.

“What did you do?” she hisses.

“I-I-I j-jj- I just-” Leisken stammers, trying to keep from pulling away.

“What is it this time?”

“Mm-mm.. It’s-s-”

“Weakness is what it is. You’re supposed to be working on that.”

“I c-cann- I’ll d-do bbetter- I’ll j-just-” They turn their head to look at their stool. They’ll sit there if it means-

“No. No no no, you’re done. You ruined it. If I let you go back out there..." She clicks in aggravation. "But I won’t. You don’t deserve that. To your room. Don’t bother any of the servants. Don’t leave until I come for you.”

Their wings droop.

“None of that. Retain your dignity.”

Leisken obediently fixes their wings to an approved angle. They notice Father standing nearby wearing his guests-think-I’m-just-a-little-bored-but-actually-I’m-furious-at-you face. It’s hard to keep their wings from drooping again.

Mother waves her hand. “Go on.”

Stiffly, they turn and walk at a measured pace for the nearest side door. “Sometimes, I don’t know why we keep bothering with you,” Mother says under her breath but still where Leisken can hear. They’re sure they were meant to hear it. They resolve to do better next time. They make this resolution all the time. They’re not sure they’ve actually gotten any better at anything.

They stumble, but they make it to the door and slip out, almost catching the edge of a wing in their haste to put the door between themself and the ballroom. And hopefully that voice.

Miserably, they pass by a servant conveying a tray of food to the guests without interaction.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

They trip as they whirl around. Again on the floor. They look around a little frantically, but they quickly stay their terror as the servant, an expression of concern, stops to look at them. But they’re not supposed to interact! Leisken pushes themself to their feet and shuffles quickly away. To their room. It’s nothing special. But they can almost be alone here. Almost be safe. That’s what they pretend, anyway. It helps. A little bit. Maybe.

But they’re still warm. Uncomfortably so. It’s never warm in here.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

Where is that voice coming from?! Nobody should be in here with them! Tremulously, they speak: “H-hello..?”

No answer.

“Pl-please… I n-n-need to- I ddon’t want to k-k-k-k…”

YOU DON’T HAVE TO WANT TO.

They breathe shakily.

ARE YOU HAPPY HERE?

Automatically, they nod, even though they’re not sure what happy feels like. They’re not supposed to reveal their discomfort, much less their misery.

Silence. Warm silence. Hot silence. Oppressive silence.

Leisken stands stiffly and waits.

A gust of cool air washes over them along with Father’s voice: “You missed the servant’s knock summoning you to breakfast. Surely, you aren’t still trying to-- Oh?”

Leisken blinks and stiffly turns to see Father standing in the doorway.

“Practicing your form? Maybe you’re finally learning. Well. Come along, it’s time for lunch.”

Weakly, Leisken follows.

----

Things carry on as they did before.

Except not really.

All those things that Leisken had heard rumors about? They are becoming more than rumors. People are getting hungry and hurt and scared. Leisken is too, but they do their best not to show it. And when they feel the heat, they expect the voice to follow. They do their best not to show a reaction to either of those.

They’re losing it. They know that. They’ve long suspected, but these are… These are hallucinations. Or something. Right? Not real. Nobody else feels the heat. Nobody else reacts to the voice. … unless everyone else is hiding their reactions too?

One day, they notice that one of their antennae aches. It’s not much, but they swear it feel hot even when the rest of their body isn’t experiencing that sensation.

“Leisken. Stay focused.”

“R-right.” they mumble, adjusting their posture.

“Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to irritate me. …I’m waiting.”

They do a quick check of themself, but everything feels positioned how she’d want it to be.

“Your antenna.”

“M-my..?” They thought they were holding them both in the same way, at the proper angle and curve. Hesitantly, they reach up to feel them. The one that always feels warm now is stiffer except for toward the end. The club part feels hotter than the rest. And heavier?

“Something the matter?”

“Mmgh.. I d-d-don’t--”

“Forget I asked,” Mother scoffs in an offended tone as she turns away.

Leisken suppresses a wince as they try to coax the stubborn antenna into an acceptable shape.

---

“Why didn’t you say anything to us about this?”

“I d-d-didn’t-t-thin-nk th--”

“You need to tell us about things like this. You understand that, right? We need you to look your best, and this? This isn’t it.” Mother holds the antenna none too gently, but Leisken can barely feel her fingers over the heat. The swollen clubbed ending throbs painfully. “This won’t do. You can’t attend the party like this. People will ask questions.”

“O-oh…” Not have to attend a party..? That’s.. That’s..! But, they shouldn’t get their hopes up. And besides, the antenna is still...

Mother snaps her fingers toward another bug. “Come here. Take them to get this fixed. If it needs to be amputated, get a prosthetic. Asymmetrical antennae are not what people want to see.”

The servant bows and takes a step nearer Leisken who doesn’t want anything amputated, but… What can they do?

---

“We’ve already had the servants stock it and move enough of our things over. We’ll go there soon enough. ...Leisken, stop playing with that. You’ll just mess it up, and with businesses closing their doors, who knows if we’d be able to get you a replacement.”

Leisken lowers their hand. They’re not used to having the prosthetic antenna. They think they look fine without it. And there are no bugs to show off to right now. Everyone here knows. And it’s not like they’re symmetrical anywhere else.

Besides, the antenna still aches, still feels warm. But that swollen bit on the end... it’s good that was removed. The orange that oozed out startled the surgeon, but the servant assured Leisken that everything would be fine. Their parents wouldn’t learn about this.

They’re soon told to pack up and be prepared to leave. But once they’re in their room, they just sit on the hard bed. What’s there to pack up? Nothing. Their room is decorated with items that other bugs have picked out for them. They don’t care to take anything with them.

They sigh and wonder when they’ll hear the voice again.

---

But it’s not until they’re in the vault, safe and secure as the City falls apart outside, that the voice deigns to talk to them again.

DO THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE SAFE HERE?

Leisken’s breath catches.

DO THEY THINK I CAN’T REACH THEM HERE?

They close their eyes and hug their arms to their body.

“Leisken,” calls Father sharply from across the room. He’s making that face again. “It’s only been a couple weeks. You’d better keep it together.”

They nod and try to relax their body. They’re hot, but they know it’s not because of their clothes. Nor the stuffy vault they’re trapped in. Nor the constant judgmental presence of their guardians.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

They don’t want to-

IMAGINE! NO NAGGING, NO PRESSURE TO BE PERFECT AND PRESENTABLE!

They don’t-

YOU’D FINALLY BE FREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO DO!

They-

YOU WANT THIS.

They do.

THAT’S RIGHT. YOU COULD KILL THEM. EVERYTHING WOULD CHANGE FOR YOU.

It would.

It will.

It does.

---

It’s so dark.

IT’S SO LIGHT, YOU MEAN.

There’s no purpose for anything.

JUST LISTEN TO ME.

There’s no point in hiding the bodies. They’re all hidden down here together. Forever.

FOREVER.

Alone forever…

NOT QUITE. YOU’RE WITH ME FOREVER.

With you…

---

Time has no meaning in forever. It’s always warm and light. Nobody judges them because there’s nobody to judge. They don’t have to adjust their posture because they don’t have a body. Not really. It’s not theirs. It hasn’t been for a long time.

Leisken hasn’t been in a long time.

Leisken was their name, right? That’s… that was them?

Why does that matter now?

Why does it…

Where are their…

What’s over th…

Oh.

...

They…

They need to get out.

They fumble weakly at the locks and mechanisms. They cry and they shake and they try not to think. They’d gotten so good at not thinking.

Out! They’re out! They stumble out into the rain and collapse. What do they feel? They don’t know. But they feel. And that feels significant.

Slowly, they force themself to rise. To stand. To lean against a crumbling stone wall.

Why do they feel so cold? More cold than this rain could make them.

Why do they feel so alone? More alone than the empty streets around them.

Disorientated, confused, tired, terrified.

Leisken moves forward.

---

[bonus art because it's a mood]

#leisken #hollow knight #hollow knight oc #the radiance #mywriting #okay so this one implies things in multiple places but i believe it's still clear enough #art is old but fits well enough

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choco-mark · 4 years

Text

A Marriage of Inconvenience (2)

overall pairing: mafia!jeno x mafia!oc

overall genre: angst | smut | fluff

warnings: language, mentions of violence + death, y/n wanting to kill jeno, jeno being an asshole, oppression of women, murder/homicide, jeno wanting to kill y/n

summary: when two mafia gangs decide to end their family feud after decades, your mother decides to give your hand away to marriage of their son, lee jeno. he seemed to hate you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, but could the resolution lead to something much more than a bride and groom?

words: 4.8k

masterlist

requested by 🤡 anon

18 April

It had been a few days since you blew up on Jeno, and thankfully he found you scary enough to stay away from you for a while. Mark had been visiting your room every now and then to send you messages from your fiancee (one of which had been ‘don’t go to the training room tomorrow,’ which gave you an extra reason to stay there longer than usual).

Today was the day of the mission, or at least, that was what Mark had told you this morning after handing you a box of battle clothing. You took one look at the color of the uniform, repelling it immediately before you realized the expense of the actual fabric and how protective it would really be.

Even the thin overcoat armor was bulletproof, as it was marked on the inner side of the jacket. The boots were heeled, making you a bit annoyed as you would’ve rather stuck with your own classic ones, but you couldn’t pass by the chance to step on someone’s very nice face for being an asshole.

As you were slipping on the last of your clothing, Mark came bursting in, nearly causing you to throw the nearest object at him. His eyes were blown wide open, darting around the room until he focused on you. “Is there anyone else in here?”

“No?” You placed down the glass vase back on the bedside table, walking towards him. “It’s just me. Are we leaving soon?”

Gulping, he nodded. “Yeah—we’re just missing a few people. They’re probably in the training room, or still getting ready. Um, you can come with me, though—Jeno wants to talk to you.”

You scowled at the sound of his name, wanting to do literally anything other than listen to the blond guy boss you around like he needed you to convince himself that he had power. You weren’t sure if he would ever get it; there was no way you were going to listen to anything he said, ever.

You walked down with Mark anyway, making sure to pocket your phone alongside you. Jisung had called you earlier, telling you quietly how he missed you and wanted to see you as soon as he could, and you had just chuckled, saying it would happen soon. It had hurt your heart, hearing your younger brother sound so broken over the call, but there was nothing you could give other than the empty promise of ‘maybe.’

Once you had reached the lobby, you noticed there was a line of Lee fighters, that were all (so surprisingly) male. Almost each and every one of them watched as you walked down the steps beside Mark, looking you up and down like you were some kind of specimen. It made you feel unknowingly self-conscious, having so many men stare at you without an ounce of remorse in their blood.

Jeno was in the corner, sitting next to an elderly but sharp looking man, talking intently with him until the man’s eyes fell on you. You wished you could have spat in his face from the way his eyes skimmed your body, a man who looked old enough to be your father. As you came closer, he stood up, giving you a slight bow, which you returned.

“Thank you for joining us, Y/N,” his voice was raspy, looking from Jeno to you, and then to Mark. “We’re glad to have one of the best soldiers in NCT Park for this mission, who is, I’ve heard, you? It’s an honor.”

Jeno gave an incredulous look to his father, looking at you with huge eyes that you thought they’d better burst from his sockets any moment soon. “Would you take a seat next to my son, miss?”

You cocked your head at the sound of formality, nodding slightly before sitting down stiffly beside Jeno, not feeling the man in front you had good intentions at all. Glancing over at your fiancee, you said, “I appreciate the deal you have fixed with my family; that is why I am here.”

The man nodded, looking up at Mark. “Your brothers are already on their way to the hideout, Mark, there’s no reason to go looking for them any longer. Get the cars ready, and make sure the system is set up before we arrive there. Okay, son?”

You had already found out from Mark that he himself was not a fighter, but a hacker instead. It explained why he always had an electronic device in his hands and why he had a notepad on deck every time he came to visit you; he was always ready, and dedicated to the cause. It reminded you of yourself.

He nodded, scurrying out of the room being followed by a few of the men. Jeno’s father leaned over, completely disregarding his son as he spoke to you. “We’re having you join Jeno’s team for this mission, so please effectively cooperate with him. Proper equipment is supplied in the van you’ll be taking alongside with the team, and if you need any assistance with weapons, my son will help you.” Jeno grumbled softly at the mention of himself, leaning back against the sofa.

“We are infiltrating the hideout for today, so we’ll only be providing blades for this mission. There shouldn’t be many people other than guards outside, and it will be an easy in and out mission for the treasure. Understood?”

You nodded. “And what of the mission? Is there anything I’m required to collect?” Jeno’s dad clicked his tongue at the sound of your voice, almost as if he disapproved of you talking. “Excuse me?”

“I understand you are a Park,” he continued, disregarding your question completely as he looked over to Jeno, who was sitting beside you. “And I am aware that your people raise their women as fighters, and I have nothing against it; any family shall wish to raise their children in any way they please. But in the Lee household, we do not condone any of the sort. You may have already realized that women are of a scarcity to the public eye, we like to keep it that way.”

Explains why your guys look at me like they want to eat me. You raised your eyebrow, scoffing internally at where this was going. What year are we in? Or rather, what century?

“Of course, I am sure my son has already informed you of your duties as his future wife, I believe?” The man pursed his lips, focusing steadily on Jeno. “And how to properly address all men with—well-deserved respect, of course?”

There was a flash behind your eyes, telling you that if you killed this man right now, everything coming out of his disgusting mouth would cease, but you had seen it coming anyway. The misogynistic nature of the palace, the way men looked at you like you were some kind of prey that should kept away like gold, it was very obvious.

But you plastered a smile onto your face, stopping Jeno as he began to speak. “Of course, sir. I am a Park after all, as you mentioned, so I believe it will take me some time before I can become accustomed to their new—expectations. My intention here is—well—to serve as you expect.”

Jeno’s father laid out a bright smile, showing that he believed your obedient antics as he stood up with a clap of acceptance. “I expected a bit of retaliation, as you are a Park, but you seem to have understood your position. I am glad, Miss Park, that you are able to fit our high standards.”

High standards my ass. You stood up shortly after, giving a small bow as he left, walking out of the room, presumably back to his office. With a roll of your eyes, you looked back at Jeno, who was standing next to you. “You assholes really are living in the 19th century, aren’t you?”

He ran a hand through his blond hair, glancing over at you in shock of how you had just spoken to his father versus himself. “You—what the fuck? You literally just said you’d listen!”

“Ignorant Lees,” you scolded, letting out a sound of pure disgust, thinking of the way his father had just spoken to you about women as if they were an object. “No wonder we hate you. Oppression of women like this is something you all should die for.”

But I can’t kill him yet. Jeno sighed at the sight of your defient figure, knowing that you weren’t about to give into the Lee ways. “You’re in our house now, might as well just act like a Lee too. Might make your life a lot easier.”

I need to know what they want from me first. I have to find out what their obsession with me is. “Life isn’t simple, Lee, and especially not mine. I will not ‘act’ like a Lee, and I will not hesitate to slice your ears off for being ignorant.”

“Can’t you just,” he rubbed at his temples, wondering how he was even going to control you during the mission, “act like a lady? Like a girl? Be nice and shit, you know?”

With a soft growl, you jabbed sharply at the man’s stomach, making him fall back into the couch with a loud thud, gaining the attention of the other fighters. You gave them all a little smile, waving them away as you turned back to the man you were supposed to call your fiancee. “You’re fucking crazy—”

You slapped both of his thighs, making all of the others look back at you as you straddled his lap, grabbing his neck between your hands. “Lee,” you said in a hushed tone, pressing a finger to his windpipe as he attempted to speak. “You’re young, you’re handsome, and you’re an absolute idiot. Use that brain of yours to think for a bit, just a little. Think of all the time women treated you so good, listened to you like you were their master.”

Jeno’s breath hitched as your grip on his neck tightened, his surprise turning to anger and then...arousal? “They were all on their knees for you, weren’t they? Giving you exactly what you wanted, when you wanted, making you feel like you were so in control. You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Women are not any less than men,” your tone was so soft now, but harsh in his mind as your hands grew hotter and hotter in his skin. “We never were. You are the same age as me, I am not any less important that you are and most certainly not because I am a woman.”

He didn’t know if he was supposed to be finding all of this so very hot, but he couldn’t help but want the grip around his neck to tighten. Jeno watched you with as steady eyes as possible, but you could see him faltering with your movements, letting you know silently that you had won this time.

“Watch your mouth, Lee,” you spat, a little louder as you got off of him, turning away to where Mark reentered the room, calling everyone out. “It could cause you some trouble in the real world.”

“I don’t really get it either,” Mark said, gaining your attention. “I mean—I heard you talking to Jeno. I don’t really get why my father’s always so—stupid about the whole gender thing.”

You were sitting in the back of the van, beside Mark as he attempted to show you his interesting gadgets that he had set up very intricately. It wasn’t that you were necessarily interested in whatever he was showing you, but rather that there was a less likely chance of you wanting to kill him over the other Lees or Jeno.

You nodded slowly, glad that at least one person had a bit of common sense. “I haven’t—seen any women around other than my servant. Where even—are they?” The question was more to yourself than to him, the curiosity of where they were hidden in the palace intriguing you.

“There are women in the house,” he continued, typing into a laptop that was showing some corrupt-looking software. “I—have sisters. They’re in the east wing, though, away from everyone else. They aren’t allowed out of their rooms unless they want to talk with the others, and there’s an old drawing room where they all gather.”

“Men aren’t really allowed in the east wing,” Mark glanced over at you, shining remorse in his eyes. “Not unless they’re married to them. Or if—it’s their mother. I visit my mom sometimes, but I haven’t seen my sisters since—well, a long time.”

“I mean, I used to sneak up there when I was younger to talk to my sisters—and Jeno actually used to come with me, but our father found us one day and—he wasn’t happy. He gave us a long lecture about how men and women weren’t equals and whatnot, it was basically just bullshit.”

“I still go though,” he let out a short cough, avoiding your gaze. “I see my sisters in my mom’s room all the time, but other than that—I really can’t.”

Your eyes widened at his words. They don’t allow siblings to see each other? What kind of—oppression is this? Isn’t it too much? You thought back to your home, where you had grown up alongside your baby brother your entire life, caring for him so deeply.

It hurt to even think about not having a relationship with Jisung; he was probably the only other person that you truly loved other than your mother. “Are you—serious?”

“Yeah,” his voice was smaller, the clash of the keyboard masking the pain as he gulped. “Um, we’re almost there. There’s—blades in the front, and like—other weapons and stuff. I don’t think you’ll need that many, anyway, we aren’t expecting much resistance anyway.”

“I will slice your arm off,” you hissed at one of Jeno’s teammates, scowling as they eyed you as if you were candy, but then widened their eyes at your harshness. “Which one do you want? I take requests everyday, you know.”

Jeno watched the scene from behind, stepping in to grab your arm and pull you away from them, sheathing the knife you had out back into the safety of your boot. You yanked yourself back, cursing at him for having such a tight grip, wanting to punch this man as well.

You looked so—confident, in Jeno’s point of view. Maybe a little too confident from the way you always stood straight and held yourself up as if you were more powerful than any other one of the Lees in the crowd currently, and he wanted to test it. He wanted to test to see if you, a woman, were just as confident as you portrayed yourself to the people.

“Why doesn’t Park go in first?” Jeno suggested out of nowhere, the sound rattling through everyone’s ears as they looked at him. “Unless, anyone else would like to volunteer themselves? You’re free to go.”

Silence rang through the air, making you look back at the men with an eyebrow raised, surprised that no one offered themselves. Mark scurried over to where Jeno was, whispering a short few words into his ear before his brother pushed him away, scowling. “I don’t really care.”

“—Is your friendly chatter over, Lee?” You asked with an amused expression, titling your head sideways at him as he glanced back over to you. “Shouldn’t you take the lead, as well, the leader of your unit? Or would you rather pass it down to a measly little Park?”

The last word was mockery, allowing a small smirk to break from your face as he stepped closer to you. “No, I’d rather test you. As the leader, I think I’d like to see what kind of skills my future wife supposedly has.”

Future wife. The title burned a fire inside your bones, urging you to move a step forward and stab him. Future wife my ass, fucker.

“If you insist,” you continued, turning around to avoid his stance. “I’ll move in first then, if it’s such a game for you Lees. The rest can follow.”

“Don’t order my men around.”

You clenched your teeth, shooting a sharp gaze to the blond man. “The rest can follow.” Disregarding his want to start another argument, you left him behind, moving past from behind the van to where the hideout was, guarded nicely by large guards.

You wished you had been given another weapon, because the knife inside your boot was not going to kill the two of them without adding suspicion to the other. Fuck Lees and their stupidass policies. They’re gonna get themselves killed.

Well lucky for them, they had you. The blade went soaring straight into the back of the first guard, a pierce to the heart as he fell a silent thud, making the other unaware as he was turned around. You made your move them, whipping your head back once before creeping towards the man, pulling the knife out as quietly as you could.

It didn’t seem to be completely quiet, however, since the other guard had whirled back to see you crouched over the now-dead man. He raised his glock, moving to shoot at you and missing as you sent the blade into the flesh of his shin, making him fall down.

Crawling over to the other man, you wrestled the gun out of his hands slipping it into your belt as you slit his throat with a quick motion, making sure to look away as you did so. As much as you had fought and killed all your life, the one thing you could never get over was the sight of a person loosing their life, no matter how horrible their deed was.

You stood up, looking back to where you had been hiding to see no one, your eyes rolling annoyingly. Jeno has most likely ordered the rest of his fighters to the back of the hideout, giving you absolutely no backup. Eithier he had full confidence in you, or he wanted you to die, and you knew it was the latter.

Moving past the gate, you scanned the area with a quick eye, realizing that there were no other guards to be seen. It was weird, even though Mark had told you before that many weren’t going to be there, but it was odd for a hideout to have less than ten guards. Perhaps, there were more in the back?

As you moved closer to the building, you hid on the side, pressing yourself against the wall as you eased closer to the door. Just as you did so, you felt a hand pulling the glock out of your belt, making your heart jump for moment before you put a hand over the gun and swiped with your other hand, hoping to get the person in the neck.

But a tight grip was met with your wrist instead, your eyes focusing on Jeno’s as he smirked in pride. The motion made you growl, twisting your hand out of his and raising your leg up quickly, giving him a hard blow to the abdomen.

“Fucking asshole,” you watched him collapse, groaning slightly as you stepped closer, and then took a step back. “Trying to play with me? Dangerous game, Lee. Stick to your gun play, maybe, I have better physical skills.”

Just as you turned your head, a hand was on your ankle, yanking you down harshly on top of the man. It was a slight miss, the knife skimming the end of his ear as you took account to what he just did. “Physical skills? Bullshit, Park. You’re weak.”

This wasn’t the place to do any of this, but you sat up hastily anyway, wrapping one hand around his throat as you did so. Judging from the way he liked it so much earlier, you expected that he would go limp when you did that, and the assumption was correct. Your knife pulled up from beside him, coming close to his face instead.

“I’m weak? You’re the one trying to kill me when we’re here for other purposes.” You were tempted to nick his gorgeous face, let just a drop of blood trickle down those sharp features. “All you have is strength, Lee. No brain, no logic, not even a bit of skill.”

Climbing off him, you watched as he shook himself back to his senses, the huge eyes being replaced by his rough ones. “Are you admitting to not having strength then, Park? Because I’ll have to agree with you on that.”

“You’re such a child,” you said for the second time, the words hitting him with a roll of his eyes. “No wonder all you Lees are so competitive, it must be a hereditary disease. The need to be the best, what a joke.”

Jeno’s eyes flashed with your mockery towards his family, his eyes moving quickly to a new guard standing behind you, aiming with a glock towards your head. He wasn’t sure if the guard even noticed him, but he definitely thought he didn’t when a bullet went through his head, marking his death immediately.

“You talk to much but do so little,” he looked over at you, grabbing you by the arm and shoving you forward. “You haven’t proved shit to me yet, then, and I don’t care if you think my family is competitive. We fucking are, and we like to win.”

“Start boasting about skill when you’re the highest family of NCT,” he nudged you towards the entrance. “I haven’t even seen the Parks on the chain, and you know why? Because you cannot win.”

The two of you were now inside the building, pressed against the wall as you tried not to screech back. “Not everything is a game, Lee.”

“Wrong,” the both you were now at the end of the hallway, his breath hot in your ear. “The entire world is a game, Park. We’re all just a bunch of players.”

The last syllable of his word ended with a loud clink to the front of the two of you, a grenade being thrown to end of the hallway. It burst almost immediately, and surprisingly, smoke covered the area instead, the disgusting scent filling up your lungs fully.

Jeno gave out a violent cough, covering his mouth as he attempted to see through the dark colors, his eyes straining as smoke filled his vision. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone inside, it was just the drugs that they were here for, stocked high in the hideout which was barely guarded.

But he knew something was wrong, when he reached forward with his hand to feel nothing but the air, your presence completely gone. “Park? PARK?!” Jeno stretched out both his arms, feeling around him as his heart sped up, his skin only meeting the cool brick of the wall.

Fuck, he had messed up. He had one job, and that one job was to make sure you were safe. It was supposed to be easy, a way to mock you through this whole mini mission, and he had promised his father that he would look after you. You, of course, were the prize after all.

Even Mark’s warning with bright in his head from earlier, the ‘she can’t get hurt, or else you know what’ll happen’ that he had ignored with a thought of ‘nothing will happen.’ “Park?! Fuck, Park! Where the fuck are you?!”

His voice was loud, almost an imitation of himself as he heard it echo through the hallway, not a person in sight or feeling distance. “Jeno!”

Jeno whipped his head back at the sound of his name, the sound being all too familiar as he saw a light at the end of the hallway, the door being wide open as he moved closer, his vision covering him from seeing anything. As he got closer, his knees bucked, almost making him fall before the owner of the voice yanked him out, pulling him back outside.

“Did you see who set it off?” Mark pulled his brother up, his eyes scanning the other’s as he coughed out the rest of the smoke. His mind was going haywire right now, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the smoke or from the fact that he had completely lost you— “Jeno!”

He pushed off Mark from his body, making the other man stumbled back as he took a seat against the wall, leaning back as he rubbed at his eyes. “I fucking—”

Jeno closed his eyes again, thinking back only seconds ago to where he had just murmured into your ear, the bomb going off right as he finished. There was no way you had gotten out, he would’ve been able to at least see you make your way back.

Your presence had gone almost as quickly as it was there, like you had vanished in a single moment, as if you had never existed in the first place. He grabbed his hair in his hands, letting out a low snarl. “She was fucking—right there! Right there, Mark! She was right, fucking—in front of me. I w-was talking to her, and the bomb went off and she literally vanished.”

“You lost her?”

If only he had been more aware of what they were actually doing there, and the mission they had to finish quickly, maybe he wouldn’t have taken his time to mock you. But it wasn’t true, he would’ve done anything in his power to prove that you were less than what you seemed, and it was exactly what he tried to do, while loosing you in the process.

The smoke had dissipated after a few minutes, and a few of Jeno’s team came out the door, hands full of suitcases and bags. Even when inquired by him, they swore that it wasn’t them that set off the bomb, and that it must’ve been a trap that the owners of the hideout set up. But it didn’t make sense, when they told him that they searched the whole building and found no one; there was no fucking way that you could’ve gone away that easily.

“Maybe she ran away?” One of the men whispered to the other, making Jeno perk up to them. “That’s all girls can do anyway, fucking run away from problems like the filthy sluts they are. She should’ve stayed inside like a good girl.” The sound of degradation going to your name set something off inside of him, making him step closer to the batch of men as they chuckled heartily.

“Watch your mouth, soldier,” he grabbed the first one by the collar, pulling him up to his face. “I’ll make you bleach your tongue clean if I hear words like that coming out of you again, hear? You’re talking about Park Y/N, one of the highest ranked soldiers of NCT, and I expect some respect would go to her. Hear?”

Jeno shook of the guy, pushing him back as he turned to Mark, who was watching the scene with wide eyes. There was no way he had just defended your name, no fucking way he had just told his men to respect a Park. But that was what he did, and it had to be done; there was no denial that you were a better fighter than any of them there, even though he wouldn’t have admitted that only a few minutes ago.

And there was no way that you had run away, and he knew it. A Park never ran away from a fight, and regardless you, you were beyond any of the other Parks that he had met in the past. You sounded like you were of a higher breed, so much pride in your body that you wouldn’t have fled like a lower clan member. It was just all in the matter of where you had gone, or rather, who had taken you.

“Jeno, we have to go back,” Mark finally spoke up, his eyes trailing his brother’s as he looked up at him. “I know, I know, but we have to. Father will get—suspicious.” But he would get more suspicious when the team came back, the prized woman he was supposed to watch, gone from their hands in an instant.

He was right, the entire world was a game play, just filled with every human as tiny pawns that were unknown to the common world. But you weren’t a tiny pawn to the Lees, especially not to Jeno’s father, you were the queen on the large chess board, protecting yourself and everyone you. Yet he was wrong, wrong about your weakness, but his heart was bursting inside of him as he looked towards the ground.

“Let’s go, then.”

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well, part two!! so jeno’s not a COMPLETE asshole this time, but i think he still fits the POV. this took a while as well, so i hope y’all enjoyed and be rrrready for the next (and maybe final?) part!!

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nikki-writes-stuff · 4 years

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Unchained Melody (Obsessed!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: It’s two years after Thanos’ snap when you’re kidnapped. You wake up one day in the middle of nowhere, alone in a cabin with none other than Captain America. But he isn’t the hero everyone remembers anymore; there’s a darkness to him, an unhinged edge that’s driven him to stop asking for permission and to take what he wants. And, after watching you for a year, what he wants most is you. (Please read the author’s note!)

A/N: This story contains non-con elements, oral sex, kidnapping, drugging, and a very out-of character, insane Steve Rogers. I like to think that this story takes place in an AU where he kind of went off the deep end after Thanos. So keep that in mind as you read! Parts of it were inspired by this post, and the two songs I mention in this story are Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers and Dream A Little Dream of Me as performed by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Enjoy!

There was music playing from somewhere close by. The song was familiar, but its sound was scratchy, grainy. The soft whir of some sort of machine accompanied its lyrics as you slowly regained consciousness.

Oh, my love…. My darling… I’ve hungered for your touch a long, lonely time…

You gulped even though your throat was as dry as bone, and your tongue felt almost papery as it darted out over your lips. The lighting of the room was dim and low, but your eyes stung nonetheless as they started to crack open. Your limbs were heavy, too heavy to move, and so you made neither movement nor sound as you gradually grew accustomed to wakefulness.

When you could finally make it out, you saw that the ceiling was high and made out of wood, and a ceiling fan was hanging from one of its many exposed beams. You blinked and furrowed your eyebrows as you turned your head towards the music, ignoring the rest of your surroundings until you found its source – an old, battered record player resting atop a dresser that had been shoved up against the far wall.

Your eyes darted around the unfamiliar space, cataloguing everything else within it silently. Plush rugs were scattered about the room, and atop them sat rustic furnishings. In the corner, there were two armchairs sitting in front of two bookshelves; the dresser and a wardrobe were placed on the opposite side of the space, and you were resting on a bed that was right in the middle, pressed against the back wall. There were several heavy blankets covering you, and the quilt sitting on top of the pile was made of soft flannel.

Panic started to seep into your veins, but you pushed it aside as you attempted to sit up. It was as if someone had attached 50 pound weights to the end of each of your limbs. Your movements were sluggish and stilted as you scooted around atop the soft mattress; it was as if you were drunk, but your head was too clear for that to be the case. Clear and confused.

When you were eventually sitting up, you pulled your legs to hang over the side of the bed. There were two doors that you could see. One of them was opened just a crack, but you could see white tile floors on its other side; you were willing to bet it led to a bathroom. But across from where you sat, there was a second one, firmly shut. That was where you were headed.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered what little strength you possessed and pushed yourself off of the bed. The second your feet hit the floor, though, your knees wobbled, and within moments you were falling to the floor. Your left elbow took the brunt of your weight, jarring your body so hard that your teeth clattered together.

“Fuck,” you groaned, rolling over onto your back. You didn’t need to look to know you’d be sporting a bruise soon.

You lay there, closing your eyes and listening to the record that was still turning on its player.

Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea… To the open arms of the sea, yeah…

You had no idea where you were or how you’d gotten there. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep in your bed at home, but after that it was all blank, and you were starting to feel afraid. You needed answers soon, before your anxiety could get the best of you. But judging by how fast your heart was beating, it wouldn’t be too long before it sent you headfirst into a panic attack of epic proportions.

Before you could muster the will to try and stand up again, you heard a rhythmic sound coming from the other side of the closed door. It was faint at first, but then louder as it approached.

Footsteps.

You had no time to try and scramble away as a man barged into the room, his blue eyes immediately falling to your prone form on the floor. Your eyes widened as you took him in – he was a monolith of a man. Tall, built, sturdy – you could see his biceps bulging beneath the flannel he was clad in, straining against the material as he hurried over to you.

“Oh my gosh, doll, are you alright?” he fretted, kneeling down beside you. You tried to squirm away as he reached for you, but you might as well have been fighting against a tree as he resolutely picked you up.

“How did you get on the floor, baby girl?” he continued, placing you down gently on the bed.

You drew your knees up to your chest and inched away from him, narrowing your eyes.

“Who…” you croaked, clearing your sore throat before trying once more to speak. “Who are you?”

He shook his head at your question as he sat down on the bed, seemingly oblivious to your fear.

“Are you hurt? How long have you been awake?”

“Who are you?” you once more asked, ignoring his concern. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

The man sighed through his nose as he arched an eyebrow at you, and in the silence that followed you took the opportunity to study him.

A thick but well-groomed beard had grown out over his face, and his hair was dirty-blonde and of medium length, curling up at the ends as it rested just a bit shy of his shoulders. There was something familiar about him; you could’ve sworn you’d seen him before. You just couldn’t put your finger on it.

“You’re safe,” he finally sighed, snapping you out of your observations. “We’re in a cabin in upstate New York. I brought you here two nights ago.”

Your eyes widened once more, and when he reached out to set a hand on your knee, you drew away as if his touch would burn you.

“Why can’t I remember coming here?” you demanded, scooting as far away from him as the bed would allow. “And for the last time, who are you?”

“Before I tell you,” he started, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, “I’m gonna need you to calm down, ok? Take a few deep breaths; I promise you that everything is ok.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and hugged your knees tighter, but despite your barely-restrained panic, you did as he said. You closed your eyes and took a long, deep breath, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth. You repeated the process twice more, feeling your heart slowly start to beat a little slower, taking the edge off your fear.

When you finally opened your eyes, though, the man was sitting much closer to you than he had been before. It was enough to make you jump, and your heartrate picked up again when you saw the unsettling smile that had spread over his features.

“Good,” he praised, reaching out to set one of his massive hands on your shoulder. “Good job. Keep taking those deep breaths.”

You shrugged him off, desperate to put more distance between the two of you. But if you scooted any further to the left, you were sure to fall off the bed.

“Can you please tell me who you are now?” you murmured. Something was off with this guy; your instincts had been screaming at you from the moment you’d heard his footsteps, but the soft, borderline desperate look in his eyes now had them wailing at a deafening roar despite how familiar he looked.

“My name is Steve,” he finally told you, and then it all clicked into place.

“…Captain America?” you asked incredulously.

As soon as you realized it, it became so obvious. The beard had thrown you off at first, but there was no denying that this was America’s legendary hero. It had been a while since you’d heard anything about him. Apparently, he’d had a falling out with Tony Stark a few years ago, splitting the famous Avengers apart and turning them against one another. And then, after that, Thanos had come to Earth.

It was now two years after his devastating snap, and you’d almost forgotten about Captain America and the heroes of yester-year. But now you were face to face with him in a cabin that was supposedly in the upstate of New York.

The captain didn’t seem to care about your shock upon realizing his true identity, though. At hearing the name of his alter-ego, he’d rolled his eyes and looked down at the bed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I…used to be. But it’s just Steve now, doll.”

“I… I don’t understand,” you stammered. “Was I in danger, or something? Di-did you save me from someone; is that why you brought me here?”

He seemed to consider your words, turning them over in his head before piercing you with his gaze once more.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you could say that; I did save you from someone.”

“Well who was it? Did anybody get hurt-“

“I saved you from yourself.”

You paused, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I…don’t understand. How-“

“You were so…lonely,” he sighed. “You’d been on your own ever since the Snap, right? When I found you, I could tell that you’d lost everything, just like me. You just…floated through life. …It broke my heart.

“But it’s alright, now,” he insisted, leaning towards you. “I saved you from that loneliness. I saved us. Everything will be better now that we have each other.”

You blinked once, twice, before his words finally sank in, and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you came to the earth-shattering realization that Steve, that Captain America, had gone crazy.

That was what had seemed so off about him from the get-go; you saw it plainly now. The frenzied edge to his smile, the way his eyes were opened just a little too wide, how they focused just a little too intently on you. His hands were clenching and unclenching in his lap, unable to stay still as he watched you predatorily; he was completely unhinged.

“No…” You shook your head, turning away to climb towards the edge of the bed again. “No, no, no-“

“Sh, sh, sh,” he hushed, and before you could try and stand up, his arms were snaking around your waist and pulling you backwards towards him. “It’s ok; it’s ok…”

“Let go of me!” you cried, trying your best to thrash around in his grip.

But it was of no use; he pulled you into his lap and pinned your back against his chest. His strength was inhuman as he used only one arm to keep you in place; the other ran up and down your arm in a gesture you were sure he meant to be soothing. But as his fingertips trailed up your bicep and into your hair, you couldn’t stifle the sob that escaped your lips.

“No, no, no, don’t cry, doll,” he begged, running his digits through your tresses. “It’s ok; I’ve got you now. God, I love you so much.”

You froze upon hearing that word.

“…Love me? You… you don’t even know me,” you whispered, but he just chuckled, the sound rumbling lowly through his chest.

“Of course I do, doll. I’ve been watching you for over a year now.��

Your blood ran cold, but Steve carried on, oblivious to the terrified tear that was trekking down your cheek.

“I saw you one day at the memorial park, looking at the monuments they made for the fallen,” he started, leaning forward. You felt his nose bump against your scalp, and you felt as if ants were crawling up your spine as he inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in your scent.

“You were so beautiful; at first, that was the only reason why you interested me so much,” he went on. “But then I ran into you again at the grocery store, and I knew that there was something else about you, something special. After that, I couldn’t get you out of my head – I had to follow you. I had to figure out what it was that was drawing me in.”

You bit your trembling lower lip, and once more Steve shushed you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Whimpering, you tried again to free yourself from his grasp, but his arms didn’t even budge.

“Before I knew it, months had passed. Time got away from me a little while I was watching you,” he confessed. “But I was content to stay at a distance. You weren’t ready for our love just yet; it’s taken you a long time to heal from everything. But then… he came along.”

You froze at the sudden anger in his tone, and it scared you stiff.

“Who…? Who are you talking about?” you asked, jolting when a growl tore its way out of his throat.

“That punk who moved in across the hall,” he clarified. “He wanted to take you away from me; he wanted to touch you-“

“Drake? Drake is just a friend,” you insisted, squirming away from him. You twisted and pulled and finally, finally, managed to tear yourself out of his grasp.

Your limbs were still weak, but adrenaline was fueling your movements as you scrambled off the bed. You didn’t stick around to see if Steve was following you before taking off through the door he’d come in through. Bypassing the cozy-looking living room, fleeing past the kitchen, you saw the front door and made a beeline for it. But when you stumbled outside, your feet skidded to a halt.

Snow.

It was nighttime, but the snow gleamed and glittered under the moonlight. White covered the ground in a thick layer, and even though you were still under the protection of the porch’s roof, you started shivering as you looked out over the landscape before you. The only thing you could see were trees and bushes and the snow as it fell down in fat flakes. There was no car in sight, nor were there any neighbors. Just you and Steve and the wilderness.

“You should come inside, doll. It’s cold out.”

Gulping, you slowly turned around to find Steve leaning in the doorway, watching you with a sickeningly fond smile.

“I know this is a lot for you to take in,” he sighed, crossing his arms. “But we can take it slow; I want you to be happy with me. …All I ever want is for you to be happy.”

You sniffed as fresh tears welled up in your eyes, and Steve made a small, pitying noise as he stood up straight and stepped towards you.

“Aw, hon, don’t cry-“

You ducked the arm that he tried to wrap around you, staggering past him. You looked around the cabin frantically – for what, you had no idea. You just needed to be alone, away from him. You needed to think.

With a sob, you turned back to the bedroom, running past its doorway, past the record player, and into the bathroom. Your feet slipped on the slick, white tile, and you hit the floor hard, this time landing not on your elbow, but on your hip.

“Doll! Be careful; c’mon, I’m not gonna hurt you-“

You turned around and kicked the door shut before he could reach you, rising up onto your knees to slide the lock into place. As soon as it was locked, the handle started moving, and you scrambled backwards on your hands and knees as Steve pounded on the door.

There were three knocks against the door before everything fell silent, and you held your breath as you hugged your knees. The quiet was deafening; the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat pounding in your ears and the muffled sound of the record player. But then, finally, there was a sigh from the bedroom.

“Fine,” Steve huffed. “Stay in there if you need to; I’ll give you some time to think. But I think we both know that this door can’t keep me away, doll. I’m letting you lock me out.”

There was a beat of silence again as he moved away from your door, and you almost missed the next words he mumbled under his breath.

“’Cuz I love you.”

You waited with bated breath for the sound of his retreat, and it was only until you heard the bedroom door click shut behind him that you let your tears start to fall.

_________________

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed. You’d sat there weeping quietly, wallowing in self-pity as you wondered how you’d gotten yourself into such an insane situation. Eventually, once the tears and the worst of your anxiety had passed, you’d moved over to the sink, cupping your hands to greedily drink from its tap until your throat stopped aching. From there, you mechanically gathered towels from the linen closet and spread them out in the spacious bathtub in the corner. Once it was sufficiently padded, you’d hauled your sore, tired body into it and curled up, burrowing your head in your arms as you contemplated your situation.

First, you thought about what you already knew. One, you were trapped in the middle of nowhere, with no knowledge of how close the nearest neighbors or town were to you. Two, Steve Rogers, a super-soldier from the 40’s, claimed to be in love with you. He’d gone so far as to abduct you just because you’d made friends with the guy who lived in the apartment across the hall from yours, so it was safe to say that three, he was insane.

Next, you established your goal – escape. But to accomplish your goal, you would need to form a plan. If he had a car, you needed to get the keys to it. If he didn’t you needed to convince him to bring you into town somehow. And if he had a phone, you needed to steal it and call for help.

You were quickly becoming too tired to think, though, and without meaning to you slipped into a deep, tired, dreamless sleep.

You could have slept for hours or minutes, but you still would have felt just as disoriented as you woke up to a pounding at the door.

“Doll? I made dinner; come out so you can eat.”

Drawing your blankets tighter around yourself, you pressed your back against the wall of the tub as the knob started turning again.

“Are you ok in there? Please open the door.”

You made no move as Steve pounded at the door again, and your heart leapt into your throat when you heard him heave a long-suffering sigh.

“Ok; you leave me no choice.”

A startled scream ripped itself out of your throat when the door was suddenly pulled off its hinges, and you clapped a hand over your mouth as Steve leaned it up against the wall. He glanced over at you as he wiped his hands on his jeans, making sure the door wouldn’t fall over before starting to saunter towards you.

“Sorry, doll. But I did try to ask you politely to come out.”

Steve knelt next to the tub, taking in the little nest you’d built for yourself with a look of amusement.

“You know, we have a king-sized bed in there for when you get sleepy,” he teased. “You don’t have to nap in the tub.”

You frowned, and his smile fell. With a look of disappointment, he combed his fingers through his hair before standing up.

“Come on; dinner’s ready in the kitchen.”

With that, he gently wrapped his hand around your bicep and helped you to your feet, and he surprisingly let go of you once you were out of the bathtub. He inclined his head, silently gesturing for you to follow him before he started walking out of the room.

You wanted to stubbornly crawl back into the tub, but you were suddenly hit with a delicious, succulent smell that immediately had your mouth watering. Your stomach growled loudly, and you huffed before placing your hand over it.

“Traitor,” you whispered to your torso.

You chewed on your lip as you pensively followed Steve into the small, warm kitchen. The table therein had already been set, and your stomach once more let out a wail once you spotted two plates piled high with spaghetti and meatballs. A small basket of garlic bread sat next to a bowl of pre-grated parmesan, and there were two empty flutes sitting next to a bottle of champagne.

“Have a seat,” Steve said, pulling a chair out for you.

Your eyes drifted down from his face to the chair he’d pulled out for you, and with a sniff you made your way to the opposite side of the table, pulling out the other chair and sinking into it. Steve sighed but raised his hands up in a sign of surrender before sitting down.

“I get it; you’re angry with me,” he huffed. “I can understand that. But maybe you’ll feel better if you eat. I promise it’s good; it’s my mom’s old recipe.”

Your eyes never left him as he began to scoop spaghetti onto your plate. His muscles flexed as he reached for the garlic bread next, picking up two large pieces and depositing them on your plate.

“The bread is just from the frozen isle, but hopefully it’s good too,” Steve continued on, his tone casual. You blinked at him incredulously as he started making his own plate, shooting you the occasional smile as he carried on, seemingly oblivious to how crazy the whole situation was.

Eventually, your hunger got the best of you, and you stopped staring at your captor long enough to pick up your fork. The food, you begrudgingly admitted, was very good, and as you ate, you studied the cabin, trying to take in all possible escape routes and objects that could be used as a weapon.

“So.”

Steve’s voice made you jump, and your eyes snapped back to him. He had already finished his food and was currently leaning back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs as he watched you.

“What’dya think of the cabin? It’s cozy, right?”

You didn’t answer him, instead just sighing and setting your fork down. You eyed the glass of wine that he’d poured for you; truth be told, you would love a drink right now. But you didn’t want to let your guard down by getting tipsy; you needed full awareness to make it out of this.

Steve sighed before leaning forward, placing his elbows on the table as he considered you.

“Doll, c’mon. You gotta talk to me eventually.”

“…What would you like me to talk about?” you slowly asked him, voice still hoarse. “The fact that you kidnapped me? Or the fact that you’ve been stalking me for upwards of a year?”

The only indication that your words affected him at all was the small tick of a muscle in his jaw. His eyes didn’t so much as darken at your tone, but you could tell his teeth were clenched together.

“How did you like the music? I tried to pick out some records I thought you’d enjoy.”

“You won’t get away with this. Eventually, someone will find us,” you taunted him. “And when they do, I’ll tell them everything.”

His lips pressed together, and with a clang, his fork dropped to his plate, but he made no move as you pushed your chair back.

“Honey, please,” he sighed, clenching his fists. “Just calm down, ok? There’s no need to be so confrontational. Try and finish your food-“

“I don’t want to finish my fucking food!” you cried out, pushing the plate away from you. “I want you to let me go, you freak! You-“

Your words dissolved into a startled scream when Steve’s fist came down on the table. The loud bang it produced was accompanied by the sound of splintering wood, and your eyes darted down to see a deep crack running along the table right where his hand had struck it.

“Watch your fucking language,” he growled. “I am trying to have a nice dinner with you, and I’ll be damned if I let you speak to me that way under my own roof. Calm. Down.”

In the moments that followed Steve’s outburst, the only sound you could hear was that of your own breathing, fast and scared and impossibly loud within the heavy silence that had fallen over the table. Tears welled up in your eyes as the captain stared you down, and you didn’t dare say anything until he looked away.

“…Sorry,” he finally murmured. “Just… Finish your food, please. I want tonight to be nice. For both of us.”

You felt your blood run cold at his words, but you were too frightened to do anything other than what he’d said. With a shaky hand, you picked up your fork and mechanically began twirling spaghetti onto it once more, not daring a glance up at the man seated across from you.

“Thank you. How is the food?”

“…Good,” you whispered. A tiny voice in the back of your head said, fuck it, and without further thought you took a sip of your wine. And then another. And then, before you knew it, your glass was gone and Steve was pouring you another.

“That’s my girl,” he praised. The words made the wine feel sour in your stomach, but you hurriedly took another sip to calm your nerves.

Once you were finished with your meal, you sat back and cautiously met Steve’s eyes. He gave you a warm, close-lipped smile before leaning across the table, laying his hand out palm up. When you made no move to hold it, he stood up with a grunt, and as he rounded the table you felt a spike of fear stab through you.

But he only knelt down beside your chair, snatching your hand and cradling it between his own.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he breathed. “That’s why it took so long for me to do anything except watch you. But I… I love you, doll. I need you more than I need to breathe.”

He paused, looking down at your hand. As he brought it up to his lips, you suddenly realized just how potent the wine was; your senses were starting to feel foggy at the edges, and his skin felt like a furnace as he ran his fingers along your palm.

“I know it’s crazy,” he mumbled. “I know I’m crazy. But with everything that’s happened… I’m way past caring. I needed you.”

“I…” Your voice trailed off, and with uncoordinated limbs you pulled yourself to your wobbly feet.

“I need to go lay down,” you slurred, but Steve only smiled, standing up and pulling you against him.

“But the evening’s only just begun,” he purred.

It was then that you realized that being drunk didn’t feel like this; the alcohol didn’t explain the heaviness of your limbs and the static in your brain.

“What…What’s in the wine-“ you stammered, weakly struggling against his arms.

“Shhh,” he shushed you. “Shhh, it’s ok. It’s nothing that’ll hurt you. And you won’t pass out or anything. I just…didn’t want you running away again. All that stress isn’t good for you, you know.”

You let out a quiet whine as he picked you up, carrying you bridal style into the bedroom. You could no longer move; in fact, you could barely keep your eyes open as he set you down on the bed. But your heart still leapt in fear when he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Wait here for just a minute,” he said, as if you had any choice. “I wanna do something with you.”

Your body slumped back against the cushions as he turned to the record player, and you watched out of the corner of your eye as he placed the needle over a new track. The sound of an old-fashioned jazz band immediately filled the air, quickly accompanied by Ella Fitzgerald’s familiar, sultry voice.

Stars shining bright above you…

Steve’s arms were wrapping around you once more, and your head spun as he lifted you upwards. He maneuvered you carefully, adjusting your limp arms until they were draped over his shoulders with a patient smile. Your feet dangled, occasionally bumping against his shins as he held you aloft, beginning to sway back and forth with the tempo of the music.

Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you…’ Birds singin’ in the sycamore trees…

Dream a little dream of me…

“I remember when this song first came out,” Steve whispered against your ear. “I always knew that I wanted to dance to it with a woman I loved someday.”

You closed your eyes as tears started dribbling out of them, staining his flannel as Steve swayed with you in his arms. This was so fucked up, so insane, but you were helpless to every one of his sick whims.

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear…

“Still craving your kiss,” he softly sang along, his voice so quiet that you almost didn’t hear it.

He danced to the rest of the song in silence, never loosening his grip on you, and even when the music stopped, he still swayed with you in his arms. The scratching of the needle against the finished record was almost drowning out the frantic beat of your own heart, which only grew faster as Steve carried you back to the bed.

He laid you down gently, making sure your head was supported by plenty of pillows as he kneeled over you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered, pushing an errant stray of hair out of your eyes. “You’re all I ever think about, you know.”

Your eyes widened slightly as one of his hands started creeping up your thighs, and you weakly made a noise of protest as he started prying your legs apart.

“I know, baby,” he cooed. “I know. But I need to show you that you don’t need to be afraid with me. And I’ve already waited so…so long…”

His body shifted until he was kneeling between your spread legs, licking his lips as his palms started inching upwards under your shirt.

“You’re probably not ready for all of me just yet,” he mused to himself. “This is already a big adjustment for you. But…”

He tilted his head, eyes skimming down to the pajama shorts you were still wearing from your house. It seemed like forever ago when you’d gone to bed in your ratty old apartment, alone and totally oblivious of the horrors to come.

Your head lolled to the side as Steve suddenly gripped the hem of your t-shirt, and you willed your arms to fight back as he started taking your top off. But the most you could manage was a slightly twitch of your fingers as he pulled away the shirt, tossing it to the floor before letting his hands greedily cup your breasts.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling them beneath his palms. “I knew they’d feel perfect. You’re so soft…”

His fingertips left goosebumps in their wake as they traced down your chest, skimming over your nipples as they traced a path to your stomach. You squeezed your eyes shut, and a muffled sob escaped your lips as he started pushing your shorts down.

“No, no, it’s ok,” he insisted, pressing a peck to your cheek and pausing in his movements. “It’s ok, doll. I’m not gonna make love to you just yet. I just want you to loosen up a little.”

He gave you a soft smile, rubbing circles against your hip with his thumb.

“I want you to see how good I can make you feel,” he breathed. “And I wanna make you want me the way I want you.”

Pretty soon, you were completely bare beneath his demanding gaze, his blue irises flitting up and down your body as he drank you in.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you like this,” he confessed. “But you’re so much better up close, baby.”

He leaned forward, hesitating a second before pressing a chaste, almost shy kiss to your lips. You could feel his smile as he pulled away only to capture another kiss once again, this time letting his tongue dart out to swipe over your lower lip. His teeth felt sharp as he sucked on it, nibbling and worrying at your lip until pulling away a few seconds later.

The callouses on his fingertips felt rough against the inside of your thighs, and you squeaked when you felt him grind his hips against you, his jeans the only barrier between you and his hardness.

“See what you do to me?” he chuckled, pushing your hair back to whisper against your ear. “You have no idea how many times I’ve cum thinking about you.”

His lips descended onto your neck, sucking bruise after bruise in a bright purple trail down to your collarbone. One moment, his teeth would be biting you so hard that you cried out, but then his tongue would be lathing over your flesh in a way that almost drew a moan out of you. But you were too afraid to get caught up in the pleasure behind what he was doing.

Your lack of response didn’t seem to both him, though, as he dipped his head, pressing a kiss to your sternum before cupping your tits between his hands. He leaned down, capturing one of your nipples between his lips and starting to suck on it. The noise of his tongue dragging along your flesh combined with your quick, ragged pants in a staccato rhythm that matched his hips as they continued grinding against you. Unbidden, a moan escaped your throat, and you wished you could take it back the minute you saw a wide grin spread over Steve’s lips.

“See?” He crawled back up, cupping your cheek before kissing you once again.

“I told you I’d make you feel good,” he murmured. “It’s ok to enjoy this; it’s ok to love me.”

His eyes sought yours out, a flicker of vulnerability rising from their depths.

“Please love me,” he whispered.

Even if you’d been able to fathom a response, you were unable to do anything but look up at him pleadingly, silently begging him to stop, to let you go and end this madness. But if he understood what you were trying to convey, he ignored it, once again crawling down your body until he was face to face with the apex of your thighs.

A grunt escaped your throat when one of his fingers traced your pussy lips, and you were horrified to hear how wet you’d become.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a soft laugh. “You…you do want this, huh?”

You tried to summon the strength to shake your head, but it didn’t come. Instead, all you did was lay there as his digit drew a line from your entrance to your clit. Steve’s other hand came up to spread your legs wider, shoving your thighs apart as his finger descended once again.

“I’ll take care of you, dollface,” he promised, eyes focused on your pussy. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you.”

You made an embarrassingly high-pitched noise as he slid his middle finger inside you, slowly dipping down into your core until he was knuckle-deep. Shame washed over you as you listened to the squelching sound of your pussy, and automatically your walls clenched around him, sending shocks of unexpected pleasure through you.

“Ah, god,” he moaned, thrusting his finger a few times experimentally. “So tight. How are you so tight, baby? Hm?”

He licked his lips before leaning forward, and you whined when you felt his breath ghost over your folds. And then his tongue was delving past them, lapping at your clit at a slow, even pace that immediately took your breath away. Your fingers twitched, aching to grip onto the sheets or his hair or something, even though you knew you were powerless.

A second finger was added to the one still inside you, and another stilted moan left your lips as he started thrusting them, dragging them tantalizingly over your walls as his tongue started circling your bud. Your eyes blinked shut, and you tried to fight against the rising pleasure building up inside of you. But it had been so long since you’d done this with anyone, since anyone had touched you like this. You’d been so touch-starved since the Snap, and so alone, and Steve’s fingers were grazing against that one spot inside of you so perfectly. His tongue was velvety against your clit, and your mind was buzzing with how good it felt.

His words echoed in your head you felt the orgasm swelling up within you. It’s ok to enjoy this, it’s ok to let me love you. I love you…

His tongue left you as he ventured a glance up, and you couldn’t help the small noise of protest that you made at the lost contact. He grinned mischievously, increasing his fingers’ pace as your eyes popped open. A louder moan ripped itself out of your throat, and he chuckled as your eyes started rolling back.

“You’re mine already, aren’t you?” he growled. “Look at how much you want this; you need me. Admit it.”

Your mouth hung open as the knot inside of you tightened, but you needed something more to send you over the edge. You needed his tongue on your clit again; you were desperate for it. All thoughts of morality and fear were gone in the face of your pleasure, and you whined as Steve started to slow his pace.

“Say it,” he commanded. “I won’t let you cum until you tell me you need me.”

You gulped, your head rolling to the side as you tried once more to shake your head; you could barely blink your eyes open, much less speak. But the hard look in his eyes left no room for debate, and one particularly hard thrust of his fingers had you babbling what you hoped were coherent syllables.

“N-need y-oh! Need you, S-steve, please, pl-please-!”

That was, evidently, good enough for him, because in no time his head was between your legs again, his tongue placing fast, light kitten licks to your clit. You bit your lip so hard that you tasted copper, but you couldn’t even register the pain as pleasure wrapped you up once more in its tendrils. You panted for breath as your pussy clenched around him, and when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, you were gone.

You cried out as your orgasm washed over you, your voice raspy and tired. Your body felt as tight as a bowstring despite its temporary paralysis, but slowly you began to relax. Or at least, as much as you could with Steve still lazily lapping at your pussy. He licked up your cum as he watched your face, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes almost looked black. You shivered at the sight, feeling ants crawl up your spine at how possessive the look was.

When he finally did pull away, his beard glistening with your juices, you were completely spent. Sleep was threatening to overtake you, and you were so exhausted that your fear was settled to a dull roar as Steve crawled up to lay beside you.

“You were so good, doll,” he praised. “And you tasted so good… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

He pulled your hair to the side, pressing a kiss first to the column of your throat and then to your lips as he pulled the covers up around the two of you. His arms snaked around your waist, and you could feel that his cock was still hard as he pressed it against your hip.

“Tomorrow we’ll talk some more,” he whispered. “But for now, just sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

In your tired state, you couldn’t tell if his words sounded more like a promise or a threat, but you were already slipping into sleep when he kissed you one last time.

“I love you, doll. And I ain’t ever gonna let you go.”

______

I’d like to dedicate this story to my PPC anon! Thank you for always being so kind to me. Your support means the world!

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #yandere!steve #obsessive!steve #yandere #kidnapping #obsessive behavior

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH108

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 108: Slaughter Secret Society (X)

"Good, good evening..." Qi Leren, who came out of the basement after completing today's training task, glanced over and saw Ning Zhou sitting on the sofa. The uninvited guest sat straight on the soft sofa, who knows how long he’d been waiting.

Qi Leren, who was covered in sweat, subconsciously looked down at his clothes. This time he was fine, wearing a sports vest, and finally he was not curious-looking: "I’ll take a shower and be right back!"

With that said, Qi Leren ran upstairs to first wash himself quickly.

Perched on the coat rack, the big black bird let out a strange laugh and seemed to laugh at Ning Zhou, this master of its that had been left on the sofa. The latter gave it a blank look, and under the deterrent of its master's eyes, it made a whistling sound and looked in all directions casually.

After a quick shower, Qi Leren ran down the stairs with a boiling hot water kettle, and poured Ning Zhou and himself a glass of water. The big black bird that was not entertained rattled discontentedly, and Qi Leren had no choice but to pour it a cup. Unexpectedly, the bird was brazen and pushed its luck: "I'm hungry, I want something delicious!"

It also coveted the few rations Qi Leren had left!

Qi Leren was distressed. There weren’t many "pleasing rations". By now, they had all been fed to this bird... But this was Ning Zhou's bird. Right now, he had to count on Ning Zhou for help. Alright, let's feed…

"Ignore it." Before Qi Leren took out the food, Ning Zhou made a noise to stop him.

Qi Leren retracted the hand he’d been about to feed it with in good faith.

The big black bird looked at its master resentfully, pecked his ear discontentedly, and flapped its wings to fly away.

"Your bird has character... but its very smart. What's its name and breed?" Qi Leren asked.

Even outside of the mission, where Ning Zhou was no longer equipped with the Closed Meditation skill, he was still quiet, rarely saying anything: "It has no name, the species is an eagle, and its habitat is in the Jinghai Desert."

Qi Leren's regional understanding of the Nightmare World basically comes from his playing Nightmare Game, and he vaguely remembered that the Jinghai Desert was the location of the Underground Ant City, hiding the nest-like underground world under its scorching and horrible desert, as well as the scorching Purgatory deep underground, which was a place where demons ran rampant.

There were really too few topics between the two. They’d hardly talked during the Witchcraft Sacrifice. After that, every time they met, the unique circumstances hadn’t allowed them to sit down and chat, but now they were a little embarrassed.

"If it’s an eagle, then doessn’t it speak eagle (English)?" Qi Leren told a pun.*

*{E/N: Ning Zhou says his bird is an eagle (语鹰 yu ying), and Qi Leren tries to joke by saying oh, then wont it speak the language of the eagles (ying yu 鹰语; the same characters but switched), which is a homonym for english (英语 ying yu) }

Ning Zhou gave him a calm, blank look, giving no indication of laughing.

Qi Leren froze, forgetting that Ning Zhou was not a person from the real world. He didn't know what English was!

"Ahem, in the outside world, there is a common language called English. We sometimes use it when we talk. What is Hello, Happy, Hani... Ahem, it’s nothing special, pretend I didn’t say anything." Qi Leren felt that he had suddenly become an emperor of silence, and his heart was in tears. Why was it that he could easily talk to sinister killers when he was acting as Red? Yet now, in the face of his own kind, he often made stupid mistakes?

In fact, he didn’t know what to say to the other party. Why did he say such a thing? Ning Zhou: "...Oh."

For some reason, this silent scene reminded Qi Leren of a long time ago. At that time, he had not yet entered the Nightmare Game, and he was still an unemployed youth who was looking for a job everywhere shortly after graduation. His parents introduced him to a friend's daughter. This sister was dignified and beautiful, that is, she was a little cold. After the exchange of "um, ah, oh, ok, thank you, you're welcome", there was no more…

At this moment, the scene was similar to the picture of that blind date, except the one on the opposite sofa wasn’t quite the right gender.

"I..." Qi Leren was ready to talk about the Slaughter Secret Society.

"You..." Ning Zhou also happened to speak.

The two voices collided.

"You go first."

Two voices collided again, and they went silent at the same time.

Qi Leren began to sweat again. It won't work! This communication is totally impossible! It's embarrassing to sit and talk!

"Are you hungry? I'll make some fried rice." Qi Leren was really a little hungry. It would be better to communicate at the dinner table.

"I don't..." "I'm hungry! I’m so hungry! I'm starving!" Ning Zhou had just said two words when his bird screamed at the top of its lungs, startling Qi Leren.

After being interrupted by it, the atmosphere in the room was finally better. Qi Leren showed a big smile and looked at it gratefully: "If it can eat, I’ll make three servings. Cooking at home is much cheaper than eating outside. Paying the bill when you eat out hurts."

Seeing Qi Leren’s offer, Ning Zhou didn't refuse and silently followed him into the kitchen... A win.

Qi Leren’s mood became complicated when he saw Ning Zhou cutting tomatoes with a kitchen knife. It felt like seeing Dr. Lu approach him; he always felt that the skill points were a little biased.

A pan of fried rice and a pot of soup were finished quickly, and Qi Leren's craftsmanship was OK. After all, he lived alone all the year round, and he would have to eat instant noodles every day if he couldn't cook with his own hands. Ning Zhou, though, seemed almost like a chef, and Qi Leren felt distressed when he thought of his own life experience.

But there was a feeling of friendliness with this chef, and the atmosphere was much better when the two people sat at the dinner table. Qi Leren told Ning Zhou about the Slaughter Secret Society while eating, and how when he saw Ning Zhou listed as the mission goal for the selection ceremony to decide the holder, he’d almost fallen into the trap. Ning Zhou gave him a deep look.

Qi Leren choked for a moment, and he found it was easy to misunderstand, but the explanation made it worse and worse, so he had to bury his head in his food, burping from the anxiety. He was ridiculed by the eagle, who was tasting its unfamiliar fried rice.

After eating, Qi Leren revived his spirits and began to tell Ning Zhou about his plan: "The Slaughter Secret Society’s internal struggle is fierce. The Court always suspected that they could catch Kunagshan because the present keeper agent Lie Yang (Luo Yishan) had secretly leaked his whereabouts, because once the keeper dies, the memento ring will fall into the hands of the keeper agent. Right now, the ring has lost its binding. No matter whose hands it falls into, anyone can use it, but the functions of the half-field are incomplete. The acting ring holder also has the right to hold a selection ceremony to elect the next ring holder, and the new ring holder binds the ring to restore all functions in the half-field. But my presence broke his calculations. He must be worried that I’ll find you before him and sacrifice you to the Lord of Slaughter to become the new holder, so he needs to find a way to get rid of me and hold another selection ceremony. There are too many variables now. So I guess he’ll get rid of me before I finish the task. When there’s only one competitor left, whether the task is completed or not, he’ll become the ring holder. "

Qi Leren's situation at this time was undoubtedly dangerous, but he felt quite safe in this house. After all, the Court’s people shadowed him all the time. It was very difficult for Yang to kill him here. If Yang was being careful, he wouldn’t assassinate him here. The place was too unfamiliar, and his likelihood of failing would be very high. Once he failed, Red would be more vigilant.

In order to assassinate the demonized Red, it was necessary to kill him with one swift and resolute blow and end the battle before he awakened his demonization. The best way was to carry it out in the field. When you entered the field with full confidence and wanted to complete the sacrifice and seize the memento ring…

"There’s a good chance that he’ll rally his men to attack me suddenly and get rid of me after I enter the field. I’ve heard that in many selection ceremonies, it was quite common for candidates to kill each other. The Devil of Slaughter is indifferent to this group of believers, looking at them as no different from beggars. He just likes to watch them kill indiscriminately," Qi Leren said with a frown.

"What are you going to do?" Ning Zhou asked.

Qi Leren glanced at Ning Zhou with trepidation: "This... requires you to be sacrificed..."

Ning Zhou: "..." He had a bad feeling.

Qi Leren was really becoming more and more skilled at convincing his teammates.

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Editor’s Notes: A thank you as always to Miko for explaining untranslatable stuff ^_^”

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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smells-like-mettaton · 3 years

Link

Rating: G

Summary: Papyrus's New Year's resolutions include: trying new fashion choices, helping his brother talk about his feelings, keeping his friends from murdering each other over Monopoly, and admitting his crush on Mettaton.

Word Count: 4333

XXX

“Hmmm… I feel a little… nervous.” Papyrus tugged at the end of his shirt. His very long, very tight shirt. That aspect felt more embarrassing than the fact that Mettaton’s face was cross-stitched into it. “This outfit is very different from my battle body.”

Sans blinked. His grin stayed tight, but still not as tight as this strange shirt. The red-and-pink fabric clung to the invisible magic that filled out his form. His usual crop tops covered just his ribcage, but this full-length shirt… it showed his abs. A full six pack of them. It was weird.

Of course, he knew that if he had physical muscles, he would surely have such a buff physique. A skeleton’s clothed form was based on their perception of their true self, after all. Sans was lazy and round. Papyrus trained daily, and his magic chiseled his form to show it.

He just hoped he didn’t look too chiseled. He didn’t want to intimidate anyone with his handsome figure. Though… perhaps a certain robot wouldn’t mind...

“You don’t have to wear it, bro. I’m sure the bucket of bolts will understand.”

No. No, the ‘bucket of bolts,” the fabulous Mettaton himself, would not understand. He would wonder why Papyrus didn’t wear his Christmas gift to the New Year’s Eve party. And then Mettaton would never believe how much Papyrus cared for him…

“No! Change can be refreshing. New year, new fashion! Yeah!!!”

“...Alright.” Sans shrugged.

He wouldn’t understand. He was wearing the same dingey hoodie he’d worn every day in the underground. At least it smelled a little better now that Toriel was around to occasionally wrangle it off of him and throw it in the wash. (Sans always complained, but Papyrus had caught him sniffing it and smiling dreamily each time.)

“You could stand to freshen up too, you know! Don’t you want to impress Miss Toriel? HMM??”

He elbowed his brother in the ribs (nyeh heh) but it wasn’t as effective as usual. This shirt had long sleeves, which left Papyrus’s arms looking more filled-out than in his battle body. And thus, his elbow had less boney-nudging power.

“Hey. Don’t try to jack-et up my style. ‘Sides, if Tori didn’t like the hoodie, it hood have ended up in the garbage ages ago.”

“Oh my gosh!!! Both of you belong in the garbage then!”

“Only if you’re there too, bro.” Sans winked. “Come on, I think we’re late enough to make an entrance. I know a—”

“Geez, Sans, I know you can teleport. You don’t have to be dramatic about it!”

Sans’s browbones scrunched. “You really are nervous, huh? It’s gonna be fine, bro. You’re gonna knock that robot’s socks off. Y’know, if he had socks.”

Sweat beaded on Papyrus’s forehead. He wasn’t surprised that Sans had guessed the source of his anxiety, but that didn’t mean he had to admit it.

“N-no I’m not nervous! It’s just… hot in here! Let’s take that shortcut and hope that Miss Toriel has been banned from the celebratory cider!”

“Yeah, it’d be a shame to have to lock her in her own garage this time…”

Sans casually slipped his arm through Papyrus’s and led them towards the bathroom. Of course, when Papyrus blinked at the entryway, they were suddenly walking through the tall doorframe into Toriel’s living room.

It wasn’t covered in Mew Mew- or Mettaton-bits. That was a good sign—Papyrus would’ve hated to miss a live chainsaw fight again. At the Gyftmas party, he’d been too busy wrangling Toriel to watch.

Sound always took a second to catch up with Sans’s shortcuts, so Papyrus felt Undyne’s smack on his back before he heard her.

“ACK!” He jumped before attempting to cover it with a cough. Undyne laughed.

“Dude, I know you don’t have to breathe! You can’t fool me!”

“It was a courtesy scream! Of greeting! Because I know how much you love to be intimidating!!”

“Heck yeah I do! Thanks, Papyrus!” She slugged him again for good measure, this time on the shoulder. It felt weird, with his bones covered in layers of protective magic and fabric. “Lookin’ good, by the way! I haven’t seen you in a full shirt in… geez, has it been a year? I almost didn’t recognize you!”

He tugged at his collar, though it wouldn’t keep him from sweating. Toriel kept her house cool, at least. Probably because she was covered in fur.

“I know, I know. It still feels unseemly for a royal mascot to be seen out of uniform…”

“Nah, it’s all good! I’m sure all the monsters with two good eyes won’t have a problem recognizing the Great Papyrus.”

He felt his cheeks warm. “Nyeh heh... heh… so it doesn’t look weird? Sans said it was fine, but you know Sans… he only wears the same smelly outfit, day in and day out! I can’t trust his fashion sense.”

“Then trust me. I practically invented fashion! Like, if you replaced Mettaton’s face with… a spear! Or an anime princess with a sword! IT WOULD INSPIRE FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF YOUR ENEMIES!”

Papyrus hunched his shoulders and scratched the back of his neck. At least the shirt didn’t have a high collar, so he could still feel the tips of his vertebrae.

“I’m not sure fear is the emotion I am going for. Perhaps… grandeur? Or even… admiration??” His skull heated a bit more. Oh, he hoped his cheekbones weren’t stained pink. He hadn’t intended to keep his feelings from his best friend… but Undyne and Mettaton butted heads so often. He just wanted everyone to be friends!

Especially his best friend and the robot he maybe-sort-of had a crush on!

Undyne took a step back, squinting at him with her one good eye. Darn it, she was so perceptive!

“B-but I didn’t say it was romantic admiration!” Papyrus clarified. “It is—”

“OH MY GOSH!!” Undyne interrupted, her voice echoing over the human program Toriel had on TV. “YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON—?”

“SHHHH!” He slapped her hands over her mouth. She batted at them with her face-fins, her muffled shouting seeping through his gloves.

Eventually she quieted. Probably because the whole room was staring at them. Sans and Toriel on the couch, Frisk squished between them. Flowey on the windowsill, leaves crossed and faking disinterest. Alphys with wide eyes, as if predicting what Undyne was about to shout. And Napstablook, Mew Mew, and…

Mettaton.

Papyrus didn’t need to gulp. He did anyway.

“DARLING!” Mettaton spread his arms wide as he strutted towards Papyrus. His heeled boots somehow made a loud CLICK-CLICK-CLICK, even though the living room’s floor was carpeted. “Oh, you look wonderful! Positively ravishing!”

He stopped at arms’ length, then scanned Papyrus up and down. It felt like his robot vision could see right through him. Not that there was much to see—just normal bones. It was still rattling regardless.

“Th-thank you! The Great Papyrus strives to always be ready to be ravished!”

Sans spit out his drink. Thankfully it was just water, and not anything more intoxicating. With Frisk present, adult drinks would be off-limits.

But it still left a puddle on the floor, and wet bubbles gurgling out of Sans’s eyesockets.

“Oh dear.” Toriel bit back a giggle. “Frisk, do you mind getting your dunkle a towel?”

Frisk nodded eagerly, shooting Papyrus a wink before scampering off to the kitchen. Double dang it. Even Frisk could see right through him! Of course, Frisk was a master of flirtation, even if none of it had wooed Papyrus in the end. Perhaps the child could help him… if he survived this current encounter.

He straightened his spine. He was the Great Papyrus, and he would not be intimidated by a soul-fluttering crush.

“I um—I mean—”

Undyne pushed in front of him before he could come up with a super-effective conversation saver.

“Dude, you got Papyrus a shirt with your face on it? Why didn’t you pick out something cool?”

“Please.” Mettaton snorted, even though he also didn’t need to breathe. (They had so much in common!!) “You’d have me embroider your human cartoons instead, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh, YEAH!” Undyne was one of the few monsters who could almost match Mettaton in height, and she made use of that fact. Their noses—er, Mettaton’s nose and where Undyne’s nose would be—were nearly touching. Papyrus wished that meant they were about to hug and make up, but Undyne always kept her friends close and her enemies closer. She’d be more likely to strangle the robot than hug him.

Alphys hovered near her girlfriend, but her stammering was too quiet to break up the intense glare-off. That was too bad; Alphys was the one person who was beloved by both Undyne and Mettaton.

“You care about Papyrus, right? Don’t you want him to look as cool as possible?” Undyne continued.

“Of course I do.” Mettaton nudged her back with one gloved finger. “Papyrus is the very epitome of cool. And thus, the only accessory that could possibly accentuate his natural style is my face.”

Papyrus blinked. Maybe Alphys wasn’t the only person Undyne and Mettaton both respected.

“WOWIE!! You… think I’m that cool?”

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised, darling. I don’t cross-stitch for just anyone.” Mettaton winked—or maybe it was just a blink; his bangs covered the other half of his face—and then turned on his heel. “You may join Mew Mew, Blooky, and I in the kitchen if you’d like. Mew is absolutely desperate to be crushed at Monopoly.”

“HEY! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S GONNA GET CRUSHED, METTA-LOSER!”

Mettaton rolled his eyes. “Seriously. What is the point of an insult if it doesn’t include at least one clever pun? No class whatsoever.”

“Exactly!” Papyrus agreed.

“Hey, Me and Al want in on some metal butt crushing!” Undyne bent down and seized her girlfriend in a headlock, making Alphys’s face burn red. Papyrus wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or lack of oxygen, since that was her natural state around Undyne anyway.

“W-well, a-as long as all c-crushing is metaphorical…”

“Darling, the only Metta-phorical thing at this party is me.”

“UGH!! Papyrus, how can you hate Sans’s puns and put up with this?” Undyne threw her arms in the air, which had the side effect of releasing Alphys. “Come on, babe, I’m gonna need you to come up with our battle strategy!”

“Umm, you do know that Monopoly isn’t a fighting game, right…?”

Mettaton, Undyne, and Alphys all trailed into the kitchen with various levels of excitement. Papyrus was about to follow them when he caught Sans staring again.

Frisk was wiping his face with a snail-embroidered dish towel. His brother didn’t even blink, and his eyelights had gone oddly dim.

“Brother? Are you alright?” Papyrus leaned over the armrest and said in as quiet a voice as he could manage. “Did you want to play Monopoly too? You can be on my team!”

“Nah, it’s all good. I think Tori, Frisk, and I are gonna play Uno. It’s a lot easier for a lazybones like me.” He winked, but Papyrus wasn’t fooled.

“Sans. You made a New Year’s resolution to be more honest about your feelings. As is the time-honored tradition, you must keep your promise or risk a year’s worth of bad luck!”

Toriel and Frisk shared a glance. Had they seriously not heard of this tradition? Frisk had an excuse, being both a human and a child, but Toriel was hundreds of years old!

“Uh. Bro. I didn’t make any kinda resolution like that.”

“I know! You were too busy boondoggling, so I made it for you!” Papyrus grinned. “It’s already written on the refrigerator at home, so don’t even try to get out of it.”

Sans let out a long breath through his nasal cavity. His smile looked strained.

“Alright. You’re always better at comin’ up with that kinda stuff than me, anyway. But it’s no big deal this time. Really. I’ll tell ya after your Monopoly game.”

Papyrus’s browbone furrowed. “Okay… but Toriel and Frisk are my witnesses! You can’t wriggle out of it this time!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, bro.”

After one last knowing look, Papyrus left him in the living room. Perhaps he just wanted some alone time with Toriel, but that look… it had definitely been focused on Papyrus. He wasn’t so smitten by Mettaton’s charms to ignore that.

But Papyrus trusted his brother. And he trusted his own ability to pin Sans down by his gross hoodie until he got answers, if necessary.

“I hope you guys saved me the car!” Papyrus called as he plopped down at the kitchen table.

The empty seat just happened to be next to Mettaton. Had Undyne been wingmanning… (wingwomaning… finwomaning…?) for him already? Maybe he should’ve revealed his crush earlier. Her letter had managed to woo Alphys, after all.

“Oh no…” Napstablook said quietly. “We, umm, didn’t bring that Monopoly…”

“We brought Monster Monopoly!” Mew Mew brushed her hair out of her face with a paw. “It’s way cooler, mew~”

“It’s, umm, a-actually… Pocket Monster Monopoly, if we’re being specific,” Alphys said from her spot in Undyne’s lap.

“POKEMON!” Undyne grinned. “You remember watching Pokemon with me and Al, right, Papyrus? There was the epic fight between the Charizards, and then there was the lab that got Alphys all spooked, and then Ash got turned into a rock and you started crying—”

“I remember!” Papyrus cut her off. Not because he was embarrassed—it had been perfectly reasonable to cry when the human was resurrected by the love of the strange monsters. But Alphys might not want to think about the anime lab that had been reminiscent of her old home.

“Great! Then pick your mon!” Undyne reached around Alphys to push the two remaining pieces towards him.

One was an orange lizard Pokemon with flames on its tail. Was that Charizard? Papyrus had expected Undyne to pick that one, but she’d chosen a blue turtle-looking Pokemon with canons coming from its back. Alphys had presumably let her pick, or else they would’ve had the round pink Pokemon. Mettaton had chosen that one, and was cooing it it as he balanced it on his fingertip.

The other available option was Pikachu. Everyone liked Pikachu. Papyrus set that figure on the starting square.

“Excellent choice, darling. Now it’s time for the real show!”

The real show turned out to be a three-hour long battle royale. Despite Alphys’s insistence that Monopoly wasn’t a fighting game, the board game was interrupted by three and a half chainsaw battles. Two of those were stopped by Toriel entering with slices of pie and fistfuls of fire magic, respectively. The other two were settled by Sans distracting Mettaton with bad puns, and flashing his blue eye socket. Drama queen. It worked though, startling Mettaton and Mew Mew into calling a draw.

“Not that it matters, since Al and I are winning anyway!” Undyne grinned, stacking her paper cash into a tall tower. “I’d like to see your MTT-brand resort come back from that!”

It was true. If anything, Mettaton and Mew Mew were battling for last place. Each of them only held a few mortgaged properties to their name, while Team Shellshock (as Undyne named her and Alphys’s duo) had racked up monopolies on the two highest-priced sides of the board. Napstablook had owned the two purple spaces at the beginning of the board, until all the fighting drove them to vanish into the ground. They later reappeared the living room, chatting quietly with Toriel, Frisk, and Sans, and occasionally calling out “Oooo-no.” Papyrus wondered how he was playing the card game with no arms.

Papyrus himself was rather satisfied with owning the orange properties before Free Parking. His stacks of houses caught the other players as they escaped from jail. Plus, Tangela and Victreebel were rather cute.

“Do you hear her, Papyrus?” Mettaton raised the back of his hand to his forehead and leaned dramatically into Papyrus’s space. “Insulting my brand when she hasn’t even had the nerve to duel me! Of course, I would have to show her mercy, on account of her being Alphys’s one true love.”

“You? Show ME mercy??” Undyne stood abruptly, accidentally dumping Alphys onto the floor. “Oh, uh. Sorry babe.”

“I’m used to it…” Alphys muttered. “Maybe I should just stay down here…”

“No! No more fighting! The Great Papyrus will not allow this lighthearted board game to devolve into yet another brawl!” Besides, he really did not want to find out what Sans would do if the others caused any more damage to Toriel’s house. The scorch marks on the tile would already take hours to buff out.

“Very well, darling. I’ve showed off all of my moves for the night, anyway. I wouldn’t want to let my performance go stale.”

“Oh, like it wasn’t stale to begin with,” Mew Mew said. Mettaton glared at her before—to Papyrus’s surprise—the robot rested his head on Papyrus’s shoulder.

“Wake me up when Mew comes up with some more original material.” His metallic eyelids slid closed.

“It’s Mewtwo to you, bolts for brains!” Mew Mew pointed to her character, the purple Pokemon from the movie.

She’d landed on Alphys and Undyne’s Nidoking space again, but neither of the girls seemed to notice. Undyne because she was busy snapping a not-so-discreet photo of Mettaton on Papyrus’s shoulder, and Alphys because she was still under the table.

In response, Mettaton just started emitting tiny Zs. Papyrus was careful not to move and possibly disturb him, even though his bones wanted to rattle with nervous energy. No one had ever slept on his shoulder before, let alone a handsome robot. Normally he was simply too bony to be comfortable.

Maybe this new shirt would have to become a permanent part of his wardrobe.

“Enough. ENOUGH. ENOUGH!!! I refuse to play under these conditions any longer!!” Mew Mew shoved herself back from the table. Her tail lashed back and forth, and the bells in her hair jingled angrily.

“Mewtwo—” Papyrus called, but she was already in the living room, opening the door to leave. He sighed. Why was it so difficult to be friends with everyone…?

“Oh! Uh, h-hi, Asgore!” Mew Mew’s voice was suddenly respectful.

Asgore? Papyrus had thought he wasn’t invited, since the party was at Toriel’s house. He tried to crane his neck to check on Miss Toriel, but couldn’t turn far enough with Mettaton’s weight on him. Well, Sans and Frisk would surely be there with her. Hopefully with enough moral support, the two Dreemurrs could get along.

If not, they probably couldn’t do much more damage than Mew Mew and Mettaton already had with their chainsaws.

“He made it!” Undyne grinned toothily before throwing Alphys over her shoulder and jogging to join them in the living room.

Which left only Papyrus and Mettaton in the kitchen. Alone.

Stars, he hoped Mettaton couldn’t tell how sweaty he was.

“Finally,” Mettaton murmured, wrapping his arm around Papyrus’s not-bicep. “As much as I adore the spotlight, every star needs a moment to regain their shine.”

Papyrus blinked. Mettaton’s fingers tap-tap-tapped over his sleeve, a rhythm that was both comforting and baffling. What was he doing? Had he been faking sleep this whole time?

“I… are you alright, Mettaton?” He settled for asking.

“Oh my. I am being awfully forward, aren’t I?” He let go of Papyrus’s arm, but still left his head resting on his shoulder. His dark hair obscured his eyes from Papyrus’s angle. “This… isn’t something I’m used to, you know.”

Papyrus cleared his throat. “I, the Great Papyrus, know many things! But you will have to be more specific.”

Mettaton chuckled. “Very well. I am not used to cuddling with such a sweet, sincere, and devilishly handsome skeleton.”

His jaw dropped. Literally. It clinked off of Mettaton’s shoulder and landed in Papyrus’s lap. He had to reattach it before he could ask the question that pounded in his soul.

“Are you… flirting with me?” He didn’t have his dating handbook with him! Or a plate of emergency spaghetti!! How was he supposed to secure Mettaton’s affections??

Though… Mettaton seemed affectionate enough already, without any of those things. Could it be… that he just liked him?

“Finally! I made a bet with Alphys on how long it would take you to notice. The suspense was absolutely killing me, darling. You do know how to create dramatic tension.”

“Mettaton.” Papyrus scooted his chair back, leaving him space to grip Mettaton’s spiked shoulders. “You… like me? Romantically??”

Mettaton’s smoulder looked a little less confident than usual. “Is that so surprising? You’re the only one who shines as brightly as me. Your energy… your passion… you give one hundred percent to everything you put your mind to. That’s what makes a true star, darling.”

“Wowie…” Papyrus breathed. His head felt like it was spinning. Of course Mettaton, being an actor, would be good with words, but… these ones felt sincere. “Would you like to… maybe… go on a date??”

The robot blinked before shooting his signature dazzling smile. “I thought you’d never ask, darling.”

“Are you two done flirting?”

Papyrus jumped at Frisk’s voice. Their head had poked through the entrance of the kitchen.

“Of course not! I, the Great Papyrus, have barely begun flirting!” He puffed out his chest, and Mettaton laughed.

“Fabulous! That’s the confidence I want to hear! It’s no wonder you were able to help Alphys.” Mettaton’s smile softened. It was something Papyrus had never seen before, something that had certainly never been captured on film or broadcast on television. He would like to save that smile forever, if he could. “I must thank you for that, by the way. I… haven’t always been the greatest friend to her. But you were able to do for her what I should have. She has positively sparkled since your self-confidence lessons.”

“I am glad to hear it! Alphys is a wonderful friend, and she deserves to feel wonderful about herself!” He beamed.

“Keep flirting if you want, but you’re gonna miss the ball drop,” Frisk called again, and then their messy brown hair disappeared back into the living room.

“It can’t be that spectacular,” Mettaton scoffed, though he hadn’t stopped smiling. “Now, if I were swinging in on the disco ball… now that would be a way to ring in the new year!”

“We’ll have to plan that for next year! I can’t wait to build a giant disco ball. It will be just like building a puzzle… but spherical! Nyeh heh heh!!”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, darling.”

And then, before Papyrus could blink, Mettaton gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Warmth pulsed through his bones, even though Mettaton’s metal lips were cold.

“Nyeh! Heh!! Heh???” He melted back into his chair with a hysterical giggle. He could see the appeal of Sans’s hoodie now. It would be nice to have a hood to hide his blush in.

But Mettaton was giggling too. The sound mixed with the cheers from the living room as the clock struck midnight.

“Happy new year, darling.” Mettaton winked.

“Happy new year!” Papyrus pulled him into a hug that probably would’ve crushed someone not made of metal. But Mettaton was, so everything was fine. “Have you regained your shine now?”

Mettaton squeezed him back. “Oh yes. I definitely have.”

XXX

“Some party, huh?” Sans yawned when they arrived home hours after midnight. It was a miracle he’d stayed awake this long. He’d even helped Toriel clean up, despite leaving Papyrus to clear the mess from his holiday party last week. Sans definitely had it bad, but at least Toriel was a good influence on him.

“It certainly was!” Papyrus beamed. “I’m sorry I did not spend much of it with you.”

“‘S alright. Frisk filled me in on everything.” Sans winked. “I gotta admit, I was worried at first, but I’m happy for ya.”

“Worried?” Papyrus squinted. “Wait… is that why you were acting weird earlier? I thought it might be about Miss Toriel.”

He chuckled. “Not this time, bro. You, uh… I don’t want you to think I don’t believe in ya, because I do. If anyone could get a superstar boyfriend, it would be you.”

Papyrus’s face warmed. He wasn’t sure that Mettaton was his boyfriend yet, but… he could be! Eventually!! The thought was nearly enough to make him see stars.

“But, uh, I just didn’t want him to lead you on.” He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I’m glad he’s head over stiletto heels for you too.”

“Awww!” Papyrus squeezed his brother’s shoulders with one arm, the other grinding his knuckles against his skull.

“Hey, hey.” Sans pretended to struggle, but he was laughing. “Watch the skull. These things bone’t grow on trees.”

That pun was absolutely horrible, but Papyrus elected to ignore it for now.

“Thank you for caring, Sans. And thank you even more for not scaring him away.”

“Me? Scare anyone? You must be thinking of a different Sans. That would take way too much energy.”

“Oh, you can’t play innocent with me! You were going to give Mew Mew and Mettaton a bad time if they broke Toriel’s dining table!”

Sans’s eye sockets widened, as if he’d already forgotten about breaking up the fourth chainsaw fight.

“Heh. Nah, all I had to do was spook ‘em a little.”

“Spooking and scaring are synonyms, brother!”

“But I didn’t scare him away. In fact, I think I scared him towards ya.” He winked again. “You’re welcome, bro.”

Papyrus just shook his head and let out a soft nyeh-heh-heh. By the time he blinked, Sans had disappeared, probably shortcutting himself to his bedroom. It was rather late, even for Papyrus.

He flopped in his bed, still in his long-sleeved MTT-brand shirt, and dreamt of the fond memories to be made in the new year.

#undertale #papyton #papyrus #mettaton #papyrus & undyne #fic tag #tali writes

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 17)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 16.1

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You couldn't save everyone and it was a decision to sacrifice yourself for the betterment of a family you've began to hold dear. Your existence in the continent continues to confuse everyone, including you and Geralt himself.

Warnings: Blood? Poor Jaskier. Cusses. Implied rape from fuckin' assholes. No more glitters and rainbows. Bloedzuiger from the games? Gifs of Geralt with jet black eyes? I mean..why? shouldn’t it not be a warning? Heh.

Words: 5.9k

A/N: Anybody missed me?! Heehee! Now, I fookin miss Geralt and Midget together. Damn it. *sits in a corner and cries* I can’t believe I’ve surpassed my own curse where I only reach up to 5 chapters then keep a story unfinished due to lack of inspo and will. 😭😂 (Update has been earlier due to my uncle’s birthday tomorrow and I might not be able to use my laptop. Hehehe) We’re in the middle of the whole fic, bb’s. This is where everything’s going to happen now. Probably might earn some temple scratching somehow. Hehehe.

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. (Credits to bi-jaskier and others who deserves credit for the gifs)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

7 BILLION PEOPLE IN EARTH. YOUR DIMENSION. There was a myth that seven people might look exactly like you out of the billion that were born. Though, being identical was a once in a blue moon circumstance that held no support or proof that it happened.

Twins even had their own genetic differences, their DNA's were not even the same or even mutually identical to one another.

But, you were transported into another dimension that you didn't know about and based on their conversation and how you've perceived from what they were saying is that you have already been in their hands when it never even happened from the start.

They sounded like they've already seen you somewhere when they haven't at all.

Chevaliers circled around you with their swords sheathed from where it rightfully belongs. They've had a malicious glint in their eyes, dangerous and full of spite. Disgust even included in their humanized souls---if they were even still human. They were looking as if you were an oddball. Judgemental to the fullest; vaguely telling that you were considered as a freak for being the witcher's woman.

Forest green eyes scanned yours, listless but an anomalous situation from the group of uncharitable gallants who seemed to have similar odious characteristics. This cavalier stood out rather than the rest because his eyes held sympathy and not hostility. He was gracile, the same body built as Jaskier. But, wearing no armor just like the vampire you loathed the most. Other than a brown doublet which matches his chocolate colored hair.

He crouched before you, thoroughly scrutinizing your face under his gaze; finding something distinctive or common with the lass that they have captured three days ago, "Wasn't she the one we captured, Ty? That thief named Savia?" his tone held curiosity and astonishment when he saw the exact same face of the woman.

There was no differences except from the aura he could feel. You had her face, voice and body structure. Entirely the same for his wits to disfunction from what he has witnessed.

The scrubbing echo of gravel, dirt and leather made you turn your head to where it was. Tybalt. The fucking vampire who stabbed you on the hip and tried to sell those women away. He was there, right in front of you; grinning like a mad man like he has caught a mouse in the cage, entirely anticipating this moment to capture you once again with purposes you didn't know yet.

Kolby was nowhere to be found. After trying to protect you from the hands of Tybalt, your Hirikka was pushed back by the vampire and his strength, making you screech as Kolby loudly whimpered and growled when he'd stumbled; his back flat from the far distance before skedaddling off through the woods. The simple escape back to where he belonged pinched a your heart because he had already been a part of what made you happy with your stay in their dimension.

You didn't expect his leave to be so early; in the midst of being captured by the hands of real life monsters.

If people were scared of monsters in this world you were currently in, then they should think twice because the cruel form of life in every damn world was the humanity it thrives in; continuing to become cruel, vicious, evil and cunning because people lived to strive more with greed surging through their veins as their own demons try to conquer.

Humanity was everyone's main enemy and not their monsters.

Tybalt gave you a subtle tilt of his head, his grin utterly sinister; those teeth of his never showing the fangs that you have seen back at the marketplace when he was trying to provoke Geralt as he was butchering off his knightly minions.

The break of dawn was coming to a start. Peachy orange glow of the sun hiding began to rest beneath the mountains and clouds that looked the same back in earth. Its glow have made everything more frightening while you were surrounded by a bunch of armored men and a vampire who obviously had strength and skills to kill you in a blink of an eye.

Geralt never scared you because his heart was good. No doubt about that because he had offer you his house from the first day you've met, even treating your wounds and saving you from an Alghoul who wanted to eat your insides. But, Tybalt was different. He didn't appear to be like a person to trust even the slightest except if you were a princess in the castle.

He had his hands on his hips, eyes digging to examine your face. The way he stood held power and cruelty as he clicked his tongue, "S'not the feisty one. I know this maiden's scent. She's the real one, aren't ye', you wench?"

Tybalt abruptly crouched down in front of you, his fingers speedily grabbing onto your roots and turning them in an aching posture that had you growling, teeth barred from the feral reaction. The wrinkles of his nose shown when he defiled your space, abrasing the column of your neck that ignited an intense shiver from the disgust as you cowered away and struggled against his hold.

You've heard Jaskier's footing come to a stand, his doublet spilled with his own blood. Hair all wild and facial expression livid for their sudden visit. The golden, sharp dagger tightened around his fist as he marched heavy steps towards the higher vampire.

But, his assault came to a stop when one cavalier shielded him before he could have Tybalt within reach, strongly punching him in the gut that made him stumble to the ground in less than a second. Jaskier sputtered out droplets of blood, a pointed sword punctuating the tip on his jugular.

Jaskier's pained moans made you snarl right back at the queen's right hand man which made him instinctively tut, "But, the fragrance has a distinctive scent to it now---I don't even know what's runnin' inside the mind of this whore anymore," Pause. Tybalt huffed, scoffing with a grin as he interrogated, "---What did the witcher do to ye'?"

You could feel his terrible breath on your face. His hold unwavering from the resolute strength that he had when you lowly grated through clenched teeth, your eyes screaming elfish because of how you were trying to dillydally in hopes of seeing a white haired witcher to come running towards you with his horse. But, considering how he was probably out to hunt a monster, he was probably busy and distracted. So, expecting the worst was better than awaiting for a moment that will never come.

"Me." you fooled around despite being in the vampire's hold, "---He's doing me. I've waited for the time to say that if someone ever asks me what my lover does---so, worth it, Leonidas."

From your foolish response, Tybalt sneered before nodding off towards the paladins who surrounded both you and Jaskier; sharing an understanding to do what is needed and before you could even turn your head back to check on Jaskier, they were already beating him down to pulp. You've heard more grunts from the twink of a toubadour which made your eyesight go foggy from being hopeless and such a waste to live in their world where you had no magic to keep everyone out of danger, "No! Don't hurt him!" you shrieked out loud, the gallants never ceasing despite of your pleads.

More blood dripped out of the side of Jaskier's lip as he took another strong blow on the gut; making his body jerk that laid from the outstretched land of the meadow. You've uttered one loud scream to catch their attention, noticing the other gallant that you noticed to be standing on a corner was just watching everything unfold like he didn't want to be involved with their horseshit.

"I swear to God, he's a weakling! Stop!---please, stop! You'll have your witcher! I'll give you your witcher just stop!"

With one signal of his head, the cavaliers stopped their battering. Jaskier feebly straightened his limbs over the short grass, coughing out more blood from their corporal punishments, grumbling out a grouse from your choice of words in which you described him with, "Shit. Rat. I've stabbed three knights in the neck for you."

If Jaskier didn't acknowledge that fact and the risk which he has given to keep you alive, you wouldn't have noticed three dead bodies laying on the farthest end of the meadow where the forest began to meet its field.

You've harshly turned your head back to Tybalt, wanting to spit on his face for being one of the best imbecile in their world but decided against it to not irritate him further until Geralt was around. His eyes were livid, staring back at you and in your peripheral vision, you've seen the back door of your house slightly ajar, a slip of a pair of the prettiest blue eyes hidden behind the hatch that made you swallow from the consternation of Cirilla being found and taken with you.

If one person was needed for capture, it should be you; not the princess. If one was to leave their world, it must be you because you didn't belong to their dimension from the start.

One cavalier took his mask off, shaking his head for his black, medium length hair to fall down his neck as he curiously crouched beside you and Tybalt. Features telling you that he was stupefied from what he was seeing with his fixated gaze on your face, "There's a whole lotta' crazy we got here in the continent! The Butcher of Blaviken created bloodbath for this maiden?"

Though, astonishment isn't the only sensation he was feeling when you've felt his fingers graze upon the lines of your ear; seeming to be bawdy and suggestive from the sudden touch and you couldn't help but wrest away from his reach. Howbeit, Tybalt's hand that was yanking on your head made it difficult to.

"Though, this harlot is less feisty than the other! I would rather much have her for tonight,"

The knight's sentence was sheared off when he was strongly pushed by the shoulder from the vampire; his fingers pulling away from outlining your lips with his fingers as he fell on his ass flat on the ground. You've been pulled by the hair to stand, making you pant harsh breaths from how painful it was feeling. Hands were trying to wrench his fingers from your head but his hold was too tight for you to tweak away.

"Ingrith wants her untouched just like the other," Tybalt droned as he pulled you close to him, seeming to be tall as Geralt. His height being an advantage over your small form as he dragged you anywhere he wanted. The knight who was pushed to the ground grunted from how he was assaulted, scowling from Tybalt's shoving as he cackled in a shady manner when he heard the latter set boundaries from their current captive.

"Ye' know ye' shouldn't fuck with a witcher's tart, Allard."

"I would! The weccan' wouldn't mind, does he?" the disgusting cavalier brought his feet to a stand, dusting the grass from his flat derriere as he looked back at Tybalt with a slight tilt of his head; the longer his gaze holds, it turns even more disgusting as he looked like he was undressing you with those dark hues of his, they were the type of stomach-churning that can make you sick in no time, "Oh, she's probably a fuckin' freak like him, lad." the latter stated as a matter of fact, smirking in between his words as he nonchalantly continued.

"---Where's the freak?"

They were making your blood boil by how you could hear they were treating him. Has it been always like this in his world? ergo, he was living a life where people see him ghostly rather than a gifted human as he was seen in your eyes. You couldn't help but sarcastically giggle from their rude speech, "He has a name and it's Geralt. Don't disrespect him like that when you're actually the real freak, Edward." pause. "---You fuckers are worse than any other human." before you can even think twice, spit drizzled on Tybalt's face when you've fumed and barked back, "---More evil than the devil himself and I pray for each and one of you to go to fucking hell,"

"The devil don't exist here, ye' foolish cunt!"

Without any delay or second thoughts, a deafening sound of a slap has rumbled; it was a saddle-sore, the strong smack lingering longer on your cheek as excruciating as it can get. He probably used a little bit of his inhumane strength because of how you've descended down the ground; the side of your head hitting as your whole body fell. Your palms flat on the terra firma, receiving bruises on the edge of your lips because of how you've nosedived in it.

"Rat---!" Jaskier shouted from the background before you've heard the gallants haul him down to kick his face hard.

The asshole squat down to where you were stumbled down, his face showing no pity from what he'd done; slapping you on the face like you deserve it from being all talk and no help, "I suppose ye' don't know where he is. Fair enough then! Let's give er' a lil' bit of a chase---" pause. "---He must try and serve his purpose to the land of Kaedwen other than being a freak of a mutant and slaughtering monsters for coins,”

You spat out the metallic taste of your blood that went inside your mouth, shifting your eyes to where he was bent. You've placed your fingers on your side, gesturing towards the princess who seemed to be shaking and panicking from inside the house, seeing silver clasped around her hands as she was contemplating how to defend you both from the gallants. She had the sword that her and Geralt uses whenever they were trying to train; the weapon which has been in your hands as well.

But, you subtly gestured for her to stand down and hide. It won't be such a nice sight if she did want to help.

"You sound like the castle's loyal pet. Hilarious."

The whole scenario was a fight or flight, and the logical part of your brain screams to cooperate with what they wanted before anything ends up more badly than it can ever get. You lifted yourself off the ground, sitting on the floor while you give Tybalt the death glare as he grinned because he knew the action he did was a trigger for you to comply.

"Where's the other girl?" he chuckled, watching your fists tightened to your sides when you were on your feet. A bloody, deep gash on your cheek when some stone has scratched it and also from Tybalt's whack.

"Don't even think about it, you asshole." you immediately hissed when you knew he was talking about Cirilla. The latter also stood on his feet, tall and confident that his plans were going on the right path today.

"What? She yer' daughter? aren't ye' a child?"

"I'm no child, you fucker! Stop dissing my height like this!---and yes. My daughter. She's my daughter, so don't even think about it!"

Surprisingly, there was no tears seen in your face. They didn't deserve your tears. These people needed to rot in hell, you mindlessly thought to yourself and irritatingly bit on the insides of your cheeks which slightly drew blood from how angered you were. Peering up at the man who was giving you an obvious snicker because he could read that you were succumbing from how they've caught you in hindsight and in a weak position.

The lion cub of Cintra stood behind the doorway, crying her eyes out from how impotent she was because of how everyone wanted her to stay back. Cirilla knows she could help but people who surrounded her wanted not to use her powers as she has yet to learn and control. Hence, she couldn't do anything but watch another person in her life be in a snare or better yet, drown to die in this person's own blood.

So far, hearing those words hurt her heart because she couldn't do anything when you were unconditionally risking your life for her not to be involved because that's what it's supposed to be.

To you, she was being treated more than she can ever expect; the title of a daughter that she didn't knew she missed to need, a mother despite of being not connected through bloodline. But, a woman who would care for her well-being just like how her grandparents did loved her.

Consider herself lucky even though how unfortunate her life began. She received a father and a mother that will risk everything just for her to be safe and she knew she was crying right now because she cared for you; she was concerned like how a daughter would.

Your jaw tightened because you wanted to bash their skulls over and over again until they were dead. They probably was from how you've intellectually murdered them inside your mind since the moment they arrived. You irately peered up at Tybalt, your forehead tightly creased, mouth in a tight frown as you gave him a death stare.

"You want Geralt of Rivia right? then, take me. He'll come after if you take me, just don't kill Jaskier and my daughter."

Jaskier hurriedly shook his head and audibly muttered out his negations to himself from what you had in mind. You were surrendering yourself to them. The bard promised to the witcher not leave your side as much as he would do, but his family was prevailed over the count of cavaliers who came; thinking Geralt was probably there to fight with. But, no. The opposed held a number and Jaskier wasn't mutated nor skilled to know any form of magic for defense.

He knew today will be a loss and after hearing your next words, the humble toubadour knew that you've risked your life again for the betterment of their kingdom and theirs.

"Tell Geralt I seriously need some saving---and I promise this will be the last time I'm needing him again," you forced a smile, looking at the bard with your vermillion all drenched in claret red liquid while trying to send off the meaning that you would be okay while you were away with them.

Nevertheless, he never heard the fast, anxious beating of your heart for what will welcome you to wherever they decide to put you in.

Rough hands shoved you forward, making you look away from Jaskier as you began to take grudging steps to where Tybalt's horse awaits, the image of your smile falling was the last that Jaskier can remember before you left, "---Also, tell him I have a very important secret to say so he better hurry up!"

Scattered skeletons were buried beneath the dank ground of the gloomy swamps. Nightfall has taken its course when Geralt arrived; surprising to say that he arrived earlier than he expected to. Some trees were dead while the others have been cut-off by their limbs from inexplainable reasons. From monsters who probably lived in the area and based on how the moon aligned, it was already midnight; close to morning.

The witcher was wounded. Abnormally drained and in fatigue from using his little spells to slaughter the Bloedzuiger; his arm, back and torso currently in pain due to its acidic blood that splattered him, slightly ruining the body of his armor and the under shirt he wore.

Geralt has used Aard and Igni to fight off the beast and his energy spiked low to the point that he could sleep standing on the ground. But, the idea of his family alone made him push the plan aside because his family was more important than his life.

The latter even took a faster route to arrive and slaughter the beast earlier than his estimated days.

He was just beyond drained and parched tonight.

Long, begrudging sighs left his lips. His hair was sticking all over, eyes still black from the potion he drank, clothes all wet from being shoved under the water and a face too grubby that also held burnt patches that will surely heal in no time. Though, some will probably earn him a scar or two. He was stalking towards his horse, his silver sword that was used for monsters on one hand when the witcher has heard a tiny step of footing that broke a twig, making him slightly turn his head to the quiet noise he heard.

This intruder took more cautious steps closer and he wanted to curse out loud for all the interruptions that made his life more complicated than it already is.

Human. Geralt knew it was human. This person even had a scent to it. She was a woman who had a strong floral fragrance; rose and earthy.

"You shouldn't be here," he lackadaisically declared to no one in particular as he sighed for the hundredth time this day. Heedful of the woman hiding behind a dead tree as he strolled to where Roach waited, ignoring her as he strolled.

Thus, the woman was strong enough to acknowledge a witcher in his full form as she decided to walk towards him, talking in pure fascination to have seen one in the flesh.

"A Witcher. I've heard tales of your kind. Though, I’ve heard new wicked bavardage from town that this particular beast has slayed my own kind for the sake of saving one. Wouldn’t it be wiser to choose the lesser evil or the greater good?" she scoffed before continuing, “---aren’t you quite miserly to have done such thing by killing less or maybe more than a dozen and salvaging yours?”

Geralt dropped the loot that he has ransacked from the monster, dropping them inside his leather bag with a scowl. This woman's tone of voice perking his ears that made him cease his packing.

"You were never just a mere epic," she sarcastically laughed in spite. The timbre of her voice thoroughly distinctive and familiar for Geralt to be incorrect. He gave her a sharp side-eye, his eyes jet black when his mind went in befuddlement after recognizing a face that he managed to memorize since the moment that this certain woman came in his life.

"You're the witcher they're finding. The butcher! You were the reason I was taken! Feckin' Geralt of Rivia, aye!"

She was you.

A face that always keeps his mind going in haywires. Features that can be considered as a strong weakness for the witcher because of how he'd easily let his guard down with just a glimpse of a face that could ruin his resistance over having another woman be prone of peril in his dangerous, hindering life.

Even only hours of being away from you; half a day to be precised. With just by seeing her face tempted him to reach out for what he longed for; to touch the face of the woman who'd felt deep sensations for him---accepting of what he actually was with no judgement in her mind. The ache and worry in his chest was not helping how he yearned to never leave you alone in the first place.

He couldn't help but take a step close to the woman who also had the same height as you. His obsidian eyes staring straight into her soul like he'd seen the devil and he was happy to worship; jaw tight as his lips came with a lour.

Geralt looked utterly monstrous for a person who wasn't used to seeing his kind.

"Midget?"

The woman instinctively took a step back despite of how she was running her mouth a while ago; fear shutting her confidence that she could confront him for bothering a life she also dreaded to live in. Her eyes filled with horror and disgust in which Geralt clearly has seen without the use of his doubled up heightened senses.

She was not his tiny mortal. This woman in front of him was beyond different. The real you wouldn't look at him in sheer revulsion; no profound emotion in those eyes that he was used to seeing.

She had her brows in a tight twist, sending him a nasty glare that got him humming out in distaste from an attitude he wasn't use to seeing with a face like yours, "I'm not a fucking midget! What a shitty name you've got me! Doesn't sound too nice to hear too! Ya' fuckin' brought me ill-fate!"

Geralt was quick to turn around his heel. Brooding once again from the bafflement that got him thinking again. Why did you have a person who looked exactly like you in their world?

"You're not her." he stated as a matter of fact, sounding confident with his assumptions because the witcher knows he is right. Geralt walked over to his horse, huffing out a breath off his nose from sheer displeasure as he heard the woman jogging to where he wanted to go.

"Apparently not. You're mistaking me with another unfortunate little lady then!"

"Who are you?" Geralt didn't bother to give her a glance no matter how he wanted to relieve the longingness to see your face; to know that you were safe in their home with Jaskier and Cirilla, hoping that everybody was protected and safe from anyone.

But, this woman with him was not you. He needed to remember that.

She tightly crossed her arms on her chest, eyeing the brooding man as sharply as the woman could with her maroon colored cloak strapped around her shoulders, the hood off when she'd arrived to have seen him, "The name's Savia, witcher."

"Why are you here?" he timidly grumbled, his silver sword in a scabbard after the fight. Roach neighed aloud, huffing out a breath when Savia was an arm close to her, acting like she didn't like her.

Geralt couldn't help but raise a brow from his horse's sudden actions, bringing up a hand to shush her with his fingers brushing along her mane.

Savia can't help but take a cautious step back at that; his horse's reaction making her feel unwelcome and unwanted by the pair. Though, her blabber mouth couldn't help but run on and on, being all chatty when she was in the verge of being chased down by gallants. Savia knew she could outrun them like she wasn't even being pursued from the start because she has been doing this for years; stealing lots of valuable things then never being found after as she can always escape from the brutal hands of lords, inn keepers, and a whole lotta' more.

"I've escaped! Stolen goods from the castle? Their riches? Serves them right for keeping me in prison! Oh! I could steal yer' coins too, if you want. But, now I shan't retrieve them after telling all my plans! I'm no fool! I'm a skilled thief. Sounds professional, isn't it?"

She couldn't help but giggle, utterly blowing with the wind from the occupation she had; confident regardless of how unseemly her job was to live. Though, Geralt didn't give any negative reactions because he was the last person to judge someone who had an indecent job just to live in their world.

He kills and hunts monsters for a living. It doesn't sound too appealing for a normal human, correct? Hence, he wasn't in the position to criticize a thief especially when this poacher looks entirely like you.

"---I've killed some knights out there just to escape, ye' know? Maybe a bunch! Ye’ can still count em with your fingers!" the witcher ceased ferreting around in his bag when he'd finally given her his attention. The color of his eyes subsiding and turning back to its normal hue. Gold in the middle of the night like star light illuminating her gloom and it made Savia stare at him in awe because of how he typically looked like without the potion and all.

Well, hearing the gossips about him from the women in the brothels and men who shared their wicked tales were really true because the witcher who stood before her right now was a complete knockout who had a terrifying shadow he left behind.

Savia couldn't help but pout her lips inquisitively, catching sight of his amber heavily examining her face with a gist of feeling that she couldn't recognize because of how she has never receive nor experienced the look of love. But, the woman was sure he was only blinded by the fact that the face she had held whatever he holds dear; a person he had in mind that he swore to protect, desire and care for.

Savia has never seen a witcher look considerate and warmhearted. The opposite of what people claimed his kind to be. He was the butcher of Blaviken. Perhaps, she have been a witness of his character changing with one simple cast of a face he claimed to be important.

She knew that midget was too significant to him when his face turned back to normal, stretched in a way that has him looking anxious, bothered and utterly worried from the words he heard.

"I'm wondering how I've been involved by a witcher I never seen or met. They were weird! Got me bruises because I never knew where you were and I couldn't tell where ye' live!" pause. Savia's lips emitted an awkward scoff, "---Those fucking gallants did a number on me for days that I have been imprisoned. They were thinking you would go and save me---oh, shiver me timbers! No obsidian--golden eyed witcher would save me from my demise!"

Geralt torpidly blinked back at her, his forehead tightly creasing; trying to deliberate what was happening. His thoughts immediately skipping to bad ideas and outcomes because of the fact that you had someone looking like yourself.

"They were shitty and off one's rocker! Especially that sorceress because she wanted to cast me under her spell, trying to get me examined because I didn't belong to their world---wondering if I had some sort of magic in me for her to possess. She was batshite crazy!"

He couldn't help but irritatingly shut his eyes, mutely giving himself a talk while he kept his mouth shut; not risking to be heard nor is this woman close enough for her to know what's inside his thoughts. Geralt chose to stay silent, breathing down long heavy inhales and exhales from the drawbacks that suddenly occurred.

Here was destiny starting again.

Savia loudly huffed before him, raising a cocky brow when she hadn't heard that deep, gravelly voice that sounded unfamiliar from the ones she has always been hearing, "Are witcha's always this silent? I've been doing all the talking! It's like you're a mute!"

The Witcher heard footfalls coming from a distance. Two gallants. It was only a pair for now and if the woman didn't took her flight before the entire horsemen arrives, she would be taken again and be behind bars in the fortress of Kaedwen.

Would he save the thief who made everything more complicated by looking exactly like you? Creating a mishap by stealing jewelry from the queen?

Everything he thought about would result in an intense migraine because Geralt know you'll be accused of a crime that was never done by his midget. Therefore, taking you in for captive would end up being like hitting two birds in one stone; they get to have him running off to where the castle is and also have the accused thief who didn't need no convincing because of how Savia showed up in their lives; ruining yours.

"Fuck. Why did you need to show up now and complicate things---even had to fucking steal ornaments from the queen with a face who is utmost valuable to me."

The frustrated question was sent to Savia who stepped back from the latter; his teeth suddenly barred and feral, sharply staring down at her. Totally irritated by what she'd done. Geralt heard metal being dragged out of its scabbard and it took him one turn of his head to be welcomed by two knights who was ready to pounce on him by seeing what he was.

One of his monikers slipped out of their tongues with such disgust and a hitch of their breath. There was no use for killing cavaliers tonight because this woman hardly have been involved in his life, yet he would still save because of having a weakness that seemed unfair for her to have.

Geralt raised his hand towards the taller knight who opened its mouth to shout at his fellow horsemen who held their torches from a far distance when suddenly a string of glowing, white line shot through his head; casting Axii for the men to take despite of how the witcher was feeling low with his energy that has been used prior to hours before they arrived.

It was a simple magical sign where it compromises hypnotic effect; it can be used to calm down people or animals, manipulate their minds or be used to hex enemies. A triangular white symbol surrounded the string of line which paved its way towards their heads; passing through both as they were momentarily stunned, acting as if they were puppets and Geralt had the strings.

Thus, after a while; Savia was astonished to see both armored men attacking each other like they were in a battleground and they were both forgotten.

Yet, it wouldn't last long.

"Witcher! What did you feckin’ do?!" she squeaked, heart beat racing from the adrenaline rush.

Geralt had not taken a second before jumping on his horse, gripping onto her reigns and pulling to turn her around, quickly nudging her to gallop towards the path back to where he could go home.

He needed to come back home. The heavy and worried feeling inside his chest wasn't just the result of overthinking. Geralt knows that there was something happening now and it wasn't good. He needed to know if you were safe, all in complete set of limbs when he sees you, if ever he could even get to again because the dreaded feeling was rising higher in such a toxic amount that would make him blame himself when you're gone.

Geralt couldn't even think straight for even contemplating about the idea that you were gone and out of his reach.

"Leave before they actually kill you. It can only last for seconds due to the energy left in me,"

He'd run off before Savia can even acknowledge his kindness. The Butcher of Blaviken has helped her escape. He wasn't a murderer nor did he hurt her.

"Geralt of Rivia, right?!" she yelled out to no one in particular after watching Geralt leave with his horse. The simple yell has caught the attention of more gallants, seeing the flames of their torches walking their way through the forest and through the swamps that got her zipping her mouth shut. Those two hypnotized gallants falling on the swamps behind her from beating each other to death.

Savia couldn't help but hum in interest, whisper-yelling her next words as if the witcher can hear her amongst his troubled heart.

"---Thank you for letting me escape! you're helpful after all!"

Geralt please axii my puxii LMAO. FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! (Strikethough over the tags mean I couldn’t find your blog, bb’s.)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443,

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for Henry Cavill: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547

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