#truly will never forget the ‘they’re in the forest where there’s no sun so they’re all white as fuck’ argument
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sometimes it makes me really annoyed how fast the male characters in genshin become favoured by fans lmfao it’s so unfair 😭
#male character has a sad past: fans make intricate soulful art and fanfics abt them for years#female character has sad past: fans are like awwwwww:( and then forget abt them#like i can GUARANTEE u kaveh will have content created for him even months and months after his release#shenhe content after her story quest??? crickets. silence.#i would even argue that shenhe’s story was WAAAAAAAY sadder and heartbreaking but 🙄#idk it’s just so unfair that ppl aren’t as interested in women like ik this has been a pattern for YEARS and likely will never change but#it fills me w so much rage#women are always better they’re always more interesting GRRRRR#i feel like the reason i hate kaveh so much is because how unfairly he is loved by fans compared to other characters 😭#everytime i look at him i am simply reminded of colourism and another missed chance for a sickass design#i’ll literally never be over how much sumeru broke my heart lol it was actually so gutting 😭👍 i didn’t realise the colourism was gonna be#THAT bad and i didnt realise the fans were THAT colourist racist AND stupid#truly will never forget the ‘they’re in the forest where there’s no sun so they’re all white as fuck’ argument#can u believe that was real#anyways . anyways#ik everyone is sick of me talking abt this LOL it just rly annoys me because i liked this game sm before 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 and the fans r#everywhere so i get spammed w content of characters i Do Not Want To See 😭
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Here's the first half of it :3
Stella Luceat.
The rhythmic beeping of his monitor could be heard throughout the room.
Beep
Beep
Beep
A reminder of what is soon to happen.
A reminder of my luck.
A reminder of death.
The lights in the dank hospital room buzz. They’re too bright and would give anyone a headache.
I get up from my chair and move it to his bedside to hold his hand for what may be the last time. He and I. It was supposed to be us against the world. Us, against whatever would happen. We had plans, colleges, and lives. But he had to drive. He had to take me to it that night. What ‘it’ is, I may never know, as about 5 miles from the stop, we got T-boned by a drunk driver. Oscar was immediately knocked out. He didn’t feel the pain of the car crushing his left leg. Or the breaking of multiple ribs. Nor the slam of his head hitting the dash.
However, I did. I felt my arm break. I could feel my head slam against the car door. I experienced the pain at seeing the ambulance come and take his limp, cold, bloody, and broken body away. But that body was alive. It was alive, for now.
Oscar now lies upon his hospital bed, surrounded by his family and friends. We are all circled around him. I like to think he’ll make it. He’s more than strong enough to pull through, but I know he won’t. I saw how he looked. He looked dead already…I had thought he was. But these 13 days with him strapped up have done no good. He’s still in pain. He’s going to-
“Addam- “
I look up and I see Ben, staring at me. Ben is Oscar’s twin brother. They have been my best friends for 12 years. The two look so similar. Bright blond hair, green-grey eyes, and tall and lengthy. But Oscar has the height on the both of us. Oscar would always run around us and-
“Addam,” Ben says calmly, pulling me from my thoughts once more. It sounds like he’s talking to a lost child. “It’s time. He needs to leave.”
“No…no he doesn’t. He could make it. He’s pulled through before and he can- “
“Addam. He’s in pain. He hurts. He needs to go. Even if h- Oscar pulled through, do you think he would be okay? Do you think he could live a normal life? Do you wish for him to feel like that? Pain, all day, just because you couldn’t let go.” Ben knows it is not my choice. I know it is not my choice. Oscar is gone. But he’s here, as a shell of himself. He has been gone since the second they hooked him to the tubes and the wires that made the beeping.
The beeping.
I will never forget.
I couldn’t ever forget it.
Sitting at his bedside as the color drains from his face. My eyes traced over him for the last time.
My eyes trace his eyes, which used to light up under the stars. My eyes trace his nose, which he would press to my collarbone as we would dance. My eyes linger on his lips. Oh, how I wish to hear one more word from them. Any word at all. I wish with every ounce of my being for him to say “I love you” once more.
I wish for him to open his eyes, look up at me, and smile. Good lord, that smile lit up rooms. Brighter than every star we ever looked at.
Beep
..Beep
…Beep
…
One last breath, and he’s free. One last long, unending beep. He’s gone. Behind me I hear Oscar’s mother scream out for her son. I look over my lover’s face. All at once, I realize-
He’s gone. He is really, truly, gone.
And the world crashes down around me. The stars fall, the Sun stops shining, and the world turns a murky grey. I gasp and sob out. Dead. Oscar is dead. And there is nothing I can do. Nothing to bring him back.
Tears streak down my face as the families move around me to say goodbye, but I’m too far gone in my own head. The room is spinning, and my body feels like Jello.
Gone is dancing in his room past midnight, where the only noises that could be heard were our quiet laughs and the humming of his voice. Gone are the stakeouts in the woods at our spot, where we would whisper about the stars that night. Gone is chasing one another through the forest and tackling the other down just to lie on our backs talk our futures. Our future…that was no more.
The future that you ruined. The future that you so cruelly stole from him that night he drove you. He shouldn’t be dead, you should be.
What- what is that? Who is that?
I am you. We are us.
Why are you…speaking to me?
Ah, but I am not. You are speaking to yourself. I am merely just a voice that you gave to the thoughts.
“Addam.”
I am quickly pulled from my thoughts. My face is wet and puffy, and the room was still spinning. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Earth would crack open right then and eat me alive.
“Addam, it’s time to go. There’s nothing you can do.”
I look around and realize everyone is gone, sans Ben. His mother must have left. No one had moved Oscar’s cold body from the room, and his hand was still in mine. I wished upon every shooting star I had ever seen that he would wake up and move to kiss right there. He always would kiss away my tears.
Once more I take in the room. The blinding bright white lights still buzzed. The room still was small, and the colors were dull and basic. The bed that my lover had spent his last minutes in still took up most of the room. But there was no beeping.
And yet, I heard it. It was there.
The beep, beep, beep, of his heart. His heart, that was no longer mine.
Ben walks over and rests his hand on my shoulder. He knows the hurt and the pain. He understands, as half of him is gone forever.
“It’s time. You won’t want to be in here when they take his body.” Ben’s voice is comforting, like a warm blanket. It’s keeping me tied to the Earth. If it was gone, I’d surely be sailing through space.
Slowly, and ever so carefully, I rise from the chair. I grasp Oscar’s hand closer to my chest and I commit to memory every line that ran over his body. Every millimeter of him. Then, I lean over him and brush the hair on his forehead away. I press a kiss to his head. I press a kiss to his nose. I press one final kiss to his lips. His cold lips that used to be so full of life. The lips that would have the loveliest words and songs spill from them. I fall into his limp body and hug it close. He smells like himself, but more sterile. Tears pool in my eyes and spill down from my face onto his scratchy hospital gown.
Ben’s hand rests on my shoulder.
It’s time. I know it is. But I can’t leave. He’s still in this room, and I can’t leave him.
“Oscar-“ I hear Ben sob a bit. He’s a mess too. “Oscar is gone, Addam. It’s time to leave.”
Gasping between my sobs comes my reply. “I know…I- I know. I can’t leave him. I can’t. Then he’ll be gone. He’ll be–“
“Addam, he is gone. He’s just…just a corpse now. Lifeless. They’re going to be here soon to take him. We need-“ Ben paused. A few more stray tears left his eyes. “We need to leave.”
Ben knows I cannot handle seeing them take my beloved away. It would break me more. I slowly get up from my chair, gently placing Oscar’s hand back on his bed.
Finally, I pulled away from the hug. Our last hug. Wiping the tears on my face out of the way, I lean down and press one last kiss to Oscar's forehead. Ben's hand is upon my shoulder, and he is pulling me from Oscar. I wouldn't ever leave.
We walk slowly from his bedside to the door; each step feels like the world is being set ablaze. I stop at the door and take hold of the handle. My hand quivers on the handle
Do it, wimp. You are no good to him now.
You killed him.
Your fault.
Your fault.
Your fault!
Sobbing out, I wrenched the door handle open.
Step one. My right foot is out the door. Oscar is still gone.
Step two. My left foot is out of the door. My body follows.
I turn around one more time to see Oscar. He still lies on the hospital bed, in his scratchy hospital gown, under the all-too-bright lights that would give anyone a headache.
I turn around and take another two steps. And then three. Four. Five. The steps continue until I am at the front of the hospital. Turning to face Ben, I realized he was struggling to leave his brother in that room. How it hurt him to take me from that room, because it pained him to leave too.
We both understand how it's different now. How we have both had a piece of ourselves so crudely taken from us. How we are to move on is beyond me.
3 months. 3 long, loud, and wretched months since he left me. At every turn, I imagine him. He is everywhere, he is nowhere. Everything hurts too much without him near, so I tend to lie in bed for most of the time.
It is loud in my mind. At all times. It sounds like me, but it is not. It tells me I am to blame for my beloveds, and I believe it.
Look at what you have done. It speaks to me again. It is never not.
This is your doing. You are why he’s gone. Why must you go, and ruin others’ lives for your own greed? Hm? Why were you so eager to see what he had for you? He would be alive had you just not shown how desperate you were. Desperate for his time.
I roll over on my bed. The voice…the voice is correct. If I hadn’t been so needy, so desperate, Oscar would be alive. Oscar would be beside me and laughing, not dead and underground. The voice is quite good at letting me know this. It always reminds me.
Worthless.
How could he have ever loved you hm? How did he stoop so low just to be with you?
Look at you. You act like this even after realizing it was your fault. Why are you so pathetic?
I know. I know I am. I did this.
It should have been you. It should have been you in that crash. He should have lived, and you should have died. You show no worth to the world, so why stay? They all know it was you that killed him. It was you that allowed him to drive that night.
You’re right. You always are. It’s my fault. I should just end it. Ending it will relieve the others. Then they could move on. Ben and his mother could move on, knowing the murderer of their son was dead.
Yes. This is right. You’re worthless. They won’t care. They won’t miss you. No one will. Let them move on. Let them be free. Let them-
“Addam! Addam, are you there? Addam!!”
I come back to my senses. It’s Ben. Why is he in my room?
“Addam! What’s up dude! Hey, are you okay? You were mumbling to yourself, and it sounded kind of…not great.” Ben said. He sounded concerned. He shouldn’t be concerned.
“I’m fine Ben…thank you for asking.” I’m not fine. He knows that. Ben has been present for enough of the panic attacks and breakdowns to know I am not well.
The beep, beep, beep still echoes in my head. It’s like never ending static. The noise will forever bounce in my head.
“Addam, dude, it looks like you haven’t left your room in years-”
I quickly cut off Ben. “It’s only been a few days, Ben.”
“Whatever, the technicalities don’t matter…Here’s an idea! Why don’t we leave the dark dingey despair room and take a walk! Through the woods! You love the woods!”
You’ll only bother him. Decline
Decline and rot in here. Alone. Like you deserve.
“Err, I am going to have to decline your offer, Ben. I don’t exactly feel up to it…” Hopefully Ben will just leave me here. Here, where I am not a burden.
“It wasn’t a suggestion, Addam,” said Ben. “You need to leave this room dude, or it’s going to start messing with you mentally. That’s not what Osc… he would have wanted is it? He wants you to live Addam.”
It is what he wanted. It’s what you deserve.
“Ben I-“
“Addam. Please, just a small walk through the woods. One small, tiny, walk to clear your head.” Ben was pleading with me now. Why he wanted me from the room confused me.
I sigh out. “…if I go, will you leave me alone?”
A smile spreads on his face. “Great! Er- I guess I’ll meet you downstairs?”
And with that, Ben turned to exit my room. But, before exiting the room, he turned to look at the wall that my desk is on.
Above the desk are a multitude of things. Band posters, constellation identifiers, year-round star maps, and pictures.
Pictures of the three of us growing up, with the earliest one dating to 2 weeks after we met. The most recent was of me kissing Oscar on the cheek, while Ben was in the background, making a goofy face. My favorite ones were from when we were 15. We had gone and slept out in the woods so we could catch a super moon.
I had three pictures from that night.
The first one was of the three of us, roasting hot dogs as the sun was going down around our camping spot. Ben was pulling his burnt hot dog out of the fire and frowning in the back. Oscar off was crying from laughter towards the left in the picture, and I was smiling at the front of the photo.
The next one was of Ben sleeping, as Oscar drew a sharpie moustache on him. Ben would wake up the next morning and be so mad. His sophomore photos had showcased the last bit of sharpie moustache that wouldn’t wash away.
The final one was one of my favorite photos. It was of me and Oscar as we watched the super moon. Ben had woken up and took the photo of us while we embraced and watched the moon.
Ben touched the photo of his brother drawing on him and smiled. He proceeded through the door but stopped again.
“He loved you more than every star he ever saw. He loved you so much Addam, and it would hurt him to see you like this…so please come with me, out of this room. Take a break from the sorrows and live a bit. Breathe in the woods with me, please.” And with that, Ben left.
Leave him. Stay in the room while you’re full of your self-pity.
I don’t listen to it. I need to have some time. And so, I tied up my all-too-long black hair and grabbed the black hoodie that was at the end of my bed.
Taking a deep breath, I put one foot out of the door.
He will change his mind. He will leave.
Another breath. Another foot.
And one more.
And one more.
Eventually, enough steps to make it down the hall. Then enough to make it down the stairs.
Ben is at the bottom of the stairs. He was waiting. He didn’t leave.
He should have.
Ben breaks the silence. “Are you ready?”
12 / 22
“As I can be.” I said back.
Out the door we went. Immediately, I am hit in the face by the smell of autumn in the air. It caused me to shiver a bit, which made me thankful for my hoodie.
Ben led the two of us to the edge of the woods. Almost immediately, I calmed a bit. Ben looks over his shoulder to see me. He cracks a smile and walks on.
The woods, for quite some time, were a safe place for the three of us. As we grew, it became an escape from the world. Somewhere where nothing nor no one could get to us. The three of us met in the woods. Oscar and Ben were building a small fort together, and I had accidentally stumbled upon them. In the 12 years that have followed, we made that small fort our little secret decompression area; it’s most common use being for when one of us needed a break from the world.
As we walk through the woods, I am reminded of those wonderful times. It doesn’t hurt to think about it. Out here, the voice can’t find me. We walk onwards, stopping occasionally to see things that we did over the years. A tree or two with carved names, a few more with arrows pointing one way or another. A tire swing that Ben’s mother had helped to set up when we were younger. A little pile of branches that we made as young boys around the time we were obsessed with making forts.
13 / 22
At last, we make it to the spot. Our spot. Where we practically lived for years. Our little spot, where nothing was nor could go wrong. Essentially, all time would freeze whilst in our haven.
Ben sat down with a huff on the fallen trunk of the tree that passed through the middle of the spot. That trunk had been subjected to many expeditions, shipwrecks, and blast offs. It saw us grow up.
"So," Ben started. "Are you feeling any better?"
I took that question into account. Am I feeling better? If I was honest with myself, I would say no. But, I do feel a glimmer of joy, something I hadn't felt since he died.
"Yeah, I'm feeling a little better." I say, in hopes that Ben wouldn't worry as much.
"Mhm. And how sure of that are you? How okay are you really?" Ben counters.
"Really Ben," I start. "I'm feeling better. This helped."
I gave him a weak smile to prove my okay-ness. Ben raised an eyebrow...but eventually let me be. We sat there for quite some time until Ben got up to search for something.
"Ben? What are you doing?"
"It's here...it's on this log I know it-"
Ben continued to search along the trunk of the tree until he found it.
"Here! He told me it'd be right here!"
14 / 22
With a sigh, I get down off the trunk and walk to where Ben is hunched over.
There, carved into the trunk of the fallen over tree, is an O+A with a heart carved around it.
Oscar and Addam.
I felt my knees get weak.
Run. Run now. Look at what you have done.
Get out.
Get out now.
I walk back from the tree, careful not to startle Ben. Just far enough so I can-
Run. Now. Go. You did this.
Far enough away now. Run. I ran through the trees, low hanging branches smacking me in the face. My heartbeat speeds up and my breathing got heavy.
What am I running from?
I was dead by paragraph two
“6/10” LIES
10/10!
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Tumblr Exclusive: Forestborn
Do you like shapeshifters, epic quests, magic, dark forests, and obstinate princes? Well, have we got an exclusive excerpt for you!
Forestborn is an upcoming @torteen novel by debut author Elayne Audrey Becker. Becker graduated from Vassar College with a BA in classics and history. She is currently continuing her education at the University of Aberdeen in Scotland after time spent as an editor with a New York publisher. She grew up with a lake and woods as her backyard, spending long days outside and visiting national parks with her family.
Forestborn will be available at bookstores everywhere from August 31. Read the exclusive excerpt below, and thanks again to Elayne for sharing her inspiration moodboard with us!
Forestborn By Elayne Audrey Becker
One
I find her deep in the Old Forest, facedown in the dirt.
Sharp pain needles my palms where I’ve balled my fists so tight, the nails have carved half-moon marks into the skin. Snaking across the twig-strewn ground, gnarled roots press against my boots like a warning as I roll the young woman onto her back. Best to be sure.
No, she is certainly dead. Cold, stiff, and hungry like the rest; even with forest debris masking much of her shirt, the threadbare cotton dips in unmistakable rivulets across her bony frame. I swallow my disappointment and push her eyelids shut, wanting to spare her kin the sight of those empty, pointless eyes.
“Sorry,” I murmur, sitting back on my heels. “I’m guessing you didn’t deserve this.”
Around us, the trees lean inward and down with ominous uniformity, leaves and branches straining against their holds, drawn to the dead woman as if tethered by ropes. The sway, the humans call it. I ignore the prickling in my belly. They’ll straighten out soon enough when the magic leaves her body.
With a final nod, I push to my feet and wend my way back to the forest’s edge. It’s a close wood, with broad oaks in summer bloom crowding the grassy floor, their leafy canopy admitting shafts of sunlight that glitter like crystal chandeliers. All in all, too peaceful a setting for someone driven to madness to die alone. I breathe it in deep to savor the scent while I can, grateful that for whatever reason, these trees never seem drawn to the magic in my own blood. I’ve had enough of vengeful wilderness to last a lifetime.
“Well?” Seraline asks, her knuckles nearly white where they clutch the hem of her shirt.
I shake my head. “Dead.”
Her shoulders sink. Though Seraline is sturdy as iron when she’s in her aunt’s tannery, shaping leather into draft horses’ yokes, standing a determined two paces behind the tree line now, she seems shakeable as snow.
“Come on,” I say, nodding to the stony town just across the open fields. “You’re going to be late.” I don’t ask if she plans to examine the body for herself. Seraline may have insisted on coming as a show of support, but our friendship has many limits, her discomfort with the dead and dying the least of them.
After a brief hesitation, Seraline falls into step at my side, sweeping her seeing stick across the ground in broad strokes. “Poor thing.”
I nod, my jaw clenched tight.
This time of year, the late summer air hangs heavy even in the early morning, enough that the back of my neck is already slick with sweat. The barley fields remain mercifully empty as we pick our way through the dusty rows, but still I plow forward with my head down and shoulders bent, half from habit and half spurred by the hour. Seraline isn’t the only one who’s running behind.
“Will you not come with us?” she asks, her head tipping to the side as we near the town. “Aren’t you due back in Roanin, anyway?”
“I can’t,” I reply, making it sound like an apology. I’m not really sure why we still play this game when we both know it’s futile. “I have a few things to take care of first.”
“Today of all days,” she snorts.
“You know how it is.” In truth, I’d give my right arm to stay away from the capital today. But there’s no help for it.
“Her husband deserves to know,” Seraline adds after a while. “The two of them were inseparable.”
“He will know. The trail wasn’t hard to follow.”
Seraline is always trying to persuade me to talk to the deceased’s families. She believes I have a softer manner than many in uniform, and once she even called me heartless for refusing. That time hurt the most. But it isn’t my job to report any deaths I uncover to next of kin. Only to the king. And it’s not like she’s stepping up to volunteer, anyway.
Briarwend is a humble farming town that stretches all of three streets, a collection of squared off stone shops that deal in necessity rather than charm. Its weather-worn residents are the same. When I began seeking intel here four years ago, long days tending the surrounding fields made the people lazy and open over a couple of pints. Lately, they’re just hungry, poor soil and rising taxes leaving gaping holes that only tempers seem to fill.
Each night under dwindling lamplight and over stained, sticky tables, the pub dwellers deal out anger and judgment like tossing seeds across the earth. The battered forest walker I helped home last night is not the only magical person I’ve found bleeding on cobbled streets. The humans’ anger is growing fists.
Seraline’s family is fixing their horse’s harness to an old wooden cart when we reach their cottage home. Most others have long since departed.
“Where have you been?” her mother demands, tightening the leather straps. The roan mare stamps a hoof, ears flicking nervously in my presence. “We should have left hours ago!”
“Lela needed my help. And you’re not ready, anyway.” Seraline shrugs.
“Nor are you. Breakfast is gone, so you’ll just have to wait. Go get changed.” She studiously avoids my eye, as if I’m not even there.
Seraline bids me farewell with a light touch on the shoulder, which causes her little sister to quickly interlace two pairs of twisted fingers and pull them apart. The sign to ward off bad fortune.
“You shouldn’t indulge my sister,” the dreadful Arden says once she’s gone, stomping over and swiping a greasy hand across his forehead. By far the weakest sibling in this family of four. “Seraline is delicate. She can’t be tramping about the kingdom with the likes of you.”
Which is ironic, really, since he was eager enough to sidle close last year, when he thought empty flattery might earn him a kiss. That was before a too-often empty belly soured his tongue, before he learned who and what I was. And though I truly could not care less what this boy thinks, I’m dismayed to find my stomach still burns with anger and something close to shame. My gaze drops to his pant leg, which bears splotches of dried blood from the night before.
“Problem?” Arden sneers, white skin burned red from long days in the sun.
A slow tingling feeling bubbles up from my core, threads of numbness that tiptoe across my arms and legs. I force myself to breathe deeply, to beat the threads back. “I know it was you,” I mutter.
He traces his chapped lips with two fingers, beady eyes darting to his mother before he leans forward, his smile stiffening. “You know nothing,” he hisses.
“You forget I have certain resources at my disposal.” I raise a hand in front of his flaking face, where my nails have sharpened into claws. “And that I know where you live.”
I stare until a satisfying trace of fear tinges Arden’s expression before stomping away toward the town’s single inn, which is little more than a guesthouse with four creaking rooms. If Helos were here, he would tell me to not take the bait, that I’m better than that. What he never seems to understand is that I’m not better than anything at all.
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nostos.
well it’s not exactly monster fucking but um... here there be monsters.
Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader
TW implied non-con, nsfw-ish, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, um somebody gets munched...
Every good writer needs peace and quiet. Fresh air and a change of scenery.
You’re not running away, it’s more of a… tactical retreat. Two weeks disconnected from well meaning friends, pushy family members and your eternally irritating editor, with nothing but the beautiful, sprawling forests to keep you company.
The mountains are familiar, if isolating, you think, leaning against the porch railing with a warm mug in hand as the breeze picks up and the tall maple and birch trees rustle in response. The leaves are turning vibrant reds and gold with the falling temperatures and even in the eerie quiet of the cold morning, you can’t deny that it’s breathtaking.
It reminds you of your childhood, the countless vacations you’d spent here with your family, always in autumn, always in time to watch the leaves change before the first snows of winter set in. Fond memories of running through the trees chasing after cute little bunnies, giggling even when you tripped up and scraped your knees. There was something mystical about the forest back then, something special. But it’s been years since you’ve been here last, and the first time you’ve ever come alone.
And yet it feels different somehow, colder despite the nostalgia. You’re no longer a child, looking at the world through innocent, wondrous eyes. The forest is just a forest.
Of course, you weren’t an idiot; disappearing off the grid was one thing. Disappearing off the grid without anybody knowing where you were going was another entirely. They’d been surprisingly supportive of the plan – until you told them where it was you were planning on running off to.
‘Why go back to the mountain, honey?’ your mother had asked, her smile wavering and an odd tightness in her eyes. ‘Why not go to the coast instead? Or spend some time in the city?’
But this isn’t a fun little vacation. You don’t want to be distracted by beaches and crowds, you need space to finish your book and time to work through your mess of an emotional state without any interruptions. You want to be untraceable, at least for a week or two.
God knows the last thing you need right now is your ex tracking you down to try and apologise again.
Part of you had thought – somewhat naively, perhaps – that by coming back you’d spark… something. Your memories of the mountains are full of warmth and happiness, but as you stare out into the wilderness, all you feel is a cool chill that runs down your spine and the goosebumps that prickle at your skin.
Setting your now empty mug down, you pull tighter at the thick knit cardigan draped over your shoulders. Enough reminiscing, your manuscript awaits.
—
The mountain’s too quiet. You don’t notice it so much during the day, the sound of music softly pouring from your laptop and the gentle clacking of keys as you type enough to distract you from the eerie stillness outside the cabin. Even at night, you’re preoccupied with dinner, and then curled up on the couch with a warm throw rug watching reruns of your favourite shows on Netflix.
It’s only when you lie down, burrowed into the blankets to try and sleep that you notice just how silent the forest at your doorstep truly is. At first you think it’s simply being away from the hustle and bustle of home. There’s no cars driving past, or the sound of neighbours floating through your open windows, there’s not even the distant hooting of owls or dogs barking.
But it’s more than just quiet. There’s nothing. Even the trees seem to still once the sun falls beneath the horizon. And it shouldn't bother you, shouldn’t unsettle you, and yet…
The first few nights, you don’t sleep well. Tossing and turning in bed. When you do sleep, your dreams are plagued with unpleasant things. Not nightmares as such, but an uneasiness that bleeds into otherwise pleasant thoughts. On the fourth night you wake, gasping for air. Whatever dream you’d been in the grips of fades like smoke, and as you draw in another shuddering breath your throat itches and burns.
Water. You need water.
You don’t switch on the lights as you fumble your way down to the kitchen, trying to preserve what little remnants of sleep are still in your system. Even with the moon almost full and the night sky clear, the canopy shrouds it.
And it’s in that darkness, as your eyes flicker up from the faucet, that you see it for the first time.
A shape, huge and looming, silk shadow against black.
For a moment, as your heart hammers against your ribs, a chill creeping down your spine, you don’t dare trust your eyes. Maybe you’re asleep still, dreaming, or your mind’s playing tricks on you, because there’s nothing that should be lurking in the woods outside of your window that size.
Two golden, cat-like eyes peer back at you.
They’re still there when you race to flick on the lights, unblinking, curious as you skitter backwards, hand over your racing heart.
You’re tired, emotionally drained and this–
This is nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination, a child creating monsters from the shadows in their bedroom. Yet even as you run back to the safety of the bedroom, yank the curtains shut and huddle under the meagre warmth your blankets afford you, squeezing your eyes shut, you feel it out there still, watching.
And in the stillness of the mountains outside, you swear you hear footsteps.
—
You wake to fresh snow, too early in the year, even at these altitudes. It dusts the ground, covering the mossy paths in glittering white, clings to the branches of the trees – the red leaves looking like droplets of blood scattered across a grey sky. The snow will undoubtedly melt as the sun rises, turn to slush and mix with the dirt, but for now it’s a thing of beauty.
For a moment, you allow yourself to forget how tired you are, how unsettled, venturing out from the cabin with wide, excitable eyes. It never used to snow when you were here as a kid, and while you get the occasional snowfall back home, it’s nothing like–
You stop dead in your tracks.
There’s two human footprints imprinted on the snow – only two – right outside your bedroom window, crisp and clean, as if they’d been left just moments before.
—
Your mother sounds worried when you call her. Of course, you don’t tell her about the lone footprints at your window, or the creepy pair of eyes you’d seen through the dark, you know how that sounds. You’re not crazy, and even if some part of you truly believed what you’d seen, your mom is the last person you’d admit it to.
Once upon a time, when you were little, she’d indulged in stories of fairies and spirits, but that was a long time ago. Now she turns up her nose and sneers at the myths and legends that your grandma still spouts, dismissing them with a scoff.
It’s not the kind of thing well-adjusted adults talk about in polite conversation.
She’s a good woman, but you can’t tell her this.
And you’re not even sure you’re entirely sold on it either. The eyes could have been from a wild animal – big cats might be rare in Japan, but they do exist here. You were half asleep (half terrified) when you had seen them, you don’t want to make a fuss over nothing. The footprints are less easy to explain away. If there’d been tracks leading away, you could convince yourself that it was a lost hiker and nothing more.
But there weren’t any tracks leading away; just the two footprints. And what kind of hiker doesn’t wear shoes in weather like this? It’s possible that this is some kind of prank, a mean spirited trick designed to unsettle you – a job well done, by the way – but you can’t quite bring yourself to believe that either.
In any case, you’re hardly going to admit over the phone that you’re freaking out over some footprints in the snow. God knows she’s already worried enough about your mental state, has been ever since the breakup, and you’re not going to give her any more ammunition.
But perhaps there is something to that maternal instinct, because despite your best efforts to reassure her that you’re doing just fine, that your novel’s going great and you’re so glad you came out here, she still sounds entirely unconvinced.
“Honey, you know you can tell me if something’s wrong,” she tells you, her voice strangely hesitant. “You don’t sound yourself, are you sure everything’s okay?”
You don’t know why you called her at all. You always have been a shitty liar, and she’s always been able to see right through you.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Honestly the fresh air’s doing me good,” you tell her. “It’s weirdly quiet here though, I’m not used to it,” you laugh, and even to your ears it sounds hollow and fake.
There’s a heavy pause on the other end of the line, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture it, your mom leaning against the kitchen counter, teeth worrying into her bottom lip–
“I just don’t like you out there all by yourself.”
Relax, what’s the worst that could happen?
The words almost, almost slip out, an instinctive reaction to a mother’s well meaning but overbearing concern. But it feels like tempting fate, and whether or not you’re fully convinced that there is something strange happening, you’re not that bold. Instead you begin to tell her (again) that everything’s fine when she suddenly speaks again.
“Bad things happen in those mountains. Just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”
Abruptly, the line goes dead.
Pulling the phone from your ear, you glance down at the illuminated screen, only to frown when you see the little ‘SOS Only’ flashing in the top corner. Huh, you’d had a few bars when you’d started the call, but…
The weather’s gotta be messing with your signal. Stranger things have happened, right?
Shaking your head you resolve to give her a call tomorrow. And yet, even as you try to put her parting words from your mind and throw yourself back into your writing, you can’t help but feel that familiar sense of cloying unease seeping through your skin once more.
What the hell had she meant, ‘bad things happen in those mountains’?
—
A good night’s sleep can do you wonders.
Well, theoretically speaking. You can’t remember the last actual decent sleep you’d had, but regardless, the point stands. All you need is an uninterrupted eight or nine hours, and this… paranoia will go away. Things’ll be clearer in the morning, so long as you sleep.
The mantra doesn’t help you any, of course.
You don’t need to peer through the window to feel those watchful eyes staring. And maybe it would be easier to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of your neck if it weren’t for the noises.
Music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the mournful wails, like a wounded animal crying out in pain. It’s incessant, inescapable, reverberating inside of your eardrums until it’s all you can focus on.
It’s instinctual, you think, the urge to creep from your bed and try to find the creature making that sound and help it. But even as your feet touch the cool floorboards, your gut clenches, hackles rising. Something deep inside of you warns you from leaving the safety of the cabin.
Whatever creature is making those noises, it’s not calling for help.
You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but you must have because at a certain point in the morning you blink your eyes awake, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.
And this time it’s not snow that greets you, but the mangled remains of a doe ripped apart on your porch. Deep, jagged gouge marks run along its flank, organs spilling from the cuts and there’s little left of its neck, the whole thing torn out with teeth. Yet for the gruesome injuries, the only blood you find is congealed, pooled beneath the poor creature.
Whatever happened to it, it didn’t happen here. The knowledge doesn’t soothe you like it should – the park ranger you spoke to on the phone mentioned that while it’s rare, sometimes bears venture a little too close to buildings, though he sounds doubtful even as he says it.
He sounds even less interested when you tell him this doesn’t look like a bear attack, but promises they’ll send someone down in the next few days to check everything out. In the meantime, he suggests, it’s best to stay indoors.
Yeah, not gonna be an issue.
And so with no feasible way of moving it, you’re left with the butchered corpse of a doe just outside your front door. And the thing that bothers you isn’t so much the body, though you still can’t look at it without wanting to throw up, but the fact that it was just… left there.
Not eaten. No, aside from the missing throat, the deer’s all there. Ripped apart with its guts spilling out, but otherwise untouched. Growing up you had a cat, the sweetest little thing, but every once in a while she would get out of a night, find some poor little creature to torment and without fail, she’d bring it back home, leaving it half dead on the doorstep like a gift.
‘See what a good hunter I am?’ she seemed to say, smugly sauntering back inside.
It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t hunger that drove her, but instinct. As you stare out the window at the doe, at the milky white emptiness of dead eyes, you wonder whether that’s the same here. There’s no tracks in the dirt, no blood smeared across the ground – it wasn’t dragged here. No animal could’ve done this.
A gift?
Or perhaps something less benevolent. A threat. You’ve crossed into territory you don’t belong and the deer, cruelly ripped apart and left to bleed out on your doorstep is a line in the sand.
Either way, as tears fill your eyes, a sob tugging free from your chest, you realise that it was a mistake to come here. You don’t know whether you trust your eyes and your ears anymore, but there is something deep inside of you that tolls like a warning bell and as much as you’d like to bury your head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing wrong here, you can’t.
Bad things happen in those mountains.
You need to leave.
The next ferry to the mainland doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, but it’ll have to do. Once you stop shaking and calm down enough to carry a conversation, you call the local cab company to arrange a pick-up first thing.
You can survive one more night, you just need to throw yourself back into your writing… if you can only just ignore that sense of foreboding prickling at the back of your neck.
—
There’s a boy running through the trees, giggling as he glances back at you. His hand’s outstretched, wrapped ‘round yours tugging you along as he laughs at you to hurry up.
It’s late, the sun dipping below the horizon, but you don’t wanna go back just yet.
You’re having fun, playing in the forest. And the light is golden, filtering in through the pretty red leaves, your sides burn a little from all the chasing and laughter but it’s a good kind of ache. You don’t want today to end.
His name is Kohsuke, you remember, and he lives down in the village by the valley. He’s only one year older than you, and you’d follow him anywhere.
You think you might be a little in love with him.
‘C’mon, hurry up! It’s only a little further!’ he calls, and you nod, scrambling over the fallen trunk of an oak tree. There’s old spirits who live in this forest, he’d told you, and today you’re finally gonna see one.
It’s dark now. Cold too. You’re tired and hungry and you kinda want to go home, but Kohsuke won’t let you. ‘Just a little longer! Don’t you wanna see them?’
You do. Of course you do. It’s just that you’re starting to get a funny feeling in your stomach… Can he hear the footsteps too? Is somebody following you?
There’s a voice in your ear, a soft, silky purr that makes a shiver roll down your spine, but you can’t make sense of the words, they’re not in any language you understand. You don’t tell Kohsuke – he can’t hear it, otherwise he would have said something. You just clutch his hand tighter, skipping closer.
‘W-we should go back, Koh,’ you murmur, wincing when it comes out in a childish whine. ‘We’re gonna get in trouble.’
You aren’t supposed to stay out playing after dark, he knows it as well as you do. ‘You trust me, don’t you? Stop being such a chicken!’ he snickers as your cheeks heat.
The voice at your ear growls, low and threatening. You need to go back, now.
You blink, and the scene changes.
You’re curled up on the forest floor, hands covering your eyes. Somebody’s screaming – Kohsuke – crying out your name through ragged sobs, pleading–
There’s a crunch, a ripping sound, a wetness sprayed across your cheek.
Kohsuke’s not screaming anymore.
Something warm and heavy touches your head, drags through the locks of your hair and you just huddle tighter, eyes squeezed shut, shaking like a leaf as more tears spill. You don’t wanna die here.
The crunching sounds continue, and you keep your eyes tightly shut. It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.
It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.
It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.
It can’t–
A loud knocking jerks you back to consciousness, your body jolting upright, almost swiping your laptop off the table as you try and gather your bearings. Right, you’d been working on your novel, sitting up at the kitchen table, you must have dozed off… A quick glance out the window tells you that you must have been out of it for a while – the late afternoon shadows are starting to creep in, the sky a golden orange.
What the hell was that dream?!
“Hello? Uh, anybody home?” a masculine voice calls, another loud knock sounding. “We got a call about a wild animal attacking deer…”
Oh, you think, trying to shake yourself out of your stupor, the wildlife people, yeah. You feel a little nauseous, feverish and trembling, though maybe that’s just the result of your erratic heartbeat.
Swallowing down the bile in your throat, you turn your attention to the door. Truly you hadn’t actually expected that they’d send anybody out to investigate, much less that they’d arrive before you left, but you can hardly turn him away now.
Especially not when there’s a freshly butchered deer corpse lying only a few feet away from your front door. Quickly, you run a hand over your hair, taking a moment to try and collect yourself before you answer.
It doesn’t work – there’s a knot in your throat and for every step you take towards the door it feels like your legs are gonna give out from under you. You move in a daze to unlock the door, only just remembering to school your features into an expression slightly less alarming as it swings open.
A ranger, tall with a shock of black, messy hair that reminds you oddly of a rooster greets you with an easy grin. “Oh good, I was starting to think nobody was home. You the one that called?”
Distantly, you nod, fingers clutching at the edge of the doorframe. The ranger glances over at the remains of the deer, still lying in a pool of half dried blood, studying it for a moment, hazel eyes sweeping over the deep gashes in its side. You can’t bear to follow his gaze, you’re not sure you can look at that thing again without throwing up.
He whistles lowly, shaking his head, “Well you don’t see that every day,” he laughs.
Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly. It’s not his fault, you know that, but you can’t help the flicker of irritation that sparks at the cavalier attitude. This is just his job, you get it, but you don’t exactly feel like laughing right now.
“You still think a bear did this?” you retort, the words coming out a little sharper than intended.
But the ranger takes it in stride, shrugging as his smirk widens. “A bear, huh?” Amusement glitters in his eyes, sharp and mocking. “Why don’t I come inside and you can tell me all about it?” he offers, stepping closer towards you.
And there’s no reason for your heart to skitter, your blood running cold as he looms over you in the doorway, still wearing that stupid, irritating smirk. There’s no reason for your insides to clench either, or for the tiny, jerky step backwards you take, your body moving of its own accord.
The ranger pauses, head tilting to the side as he stares at you.
Really stares, like he’s waiting for something. And as discomfited as you are (and as much of an asshole as this guy is), a weary apology is halfway to your tongue when he shifts slightly, propping an arm up against the door – the last, dying rays of light catching his face.
It’s just for a second.
A heartbeat.
But long enough for you to watch those hazel eyes shift to gold, pupils elongating into slits.
You stumble backwards, breath coming in a short, ragged gasp as your eyes widen into saucers. “What are you?”
The ranger before you chuckles and you catch a glimpse of his teeth; pearly white and glinting, sharper than they had been only moments ago. “Why don’t you let me in and find out for yourself, kitten?”
You shake your head, retreating further into the cabin, heart pounding.
“No? You don’t like this body, is that it?” he asks, a cruel edge to his smirk as he takes a half step backwards and slowly spreads his arms. “Something more familiar, then.”
And you don’t think there’s any room left in your heart for more fear, your stomach already twisting in sickening knots, but you blink and standing right there in front of you is Kohsuke.
It’s a punch in the guts, a knife slipped between your ribs, yanked ruthlessly through your still beating heart. He’s beaming up at you, those same adorable dimples, the same ridiculous bowl cut, bleeding youthful innocence. “How about now?” he asks, holding out his hand and wriggling his fingers like he expects you to take it. “You’ll let me inside now, right?”
A strangled noise escapes you as you fall to your knees. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision – you blink them away but more take their place.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks, and you wail in response.
It’s too much. You shake your head, hugging yourself tightly, as if your arms are the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.
He calls your name – not in Kohsuke’s childish lilt, but that deep, ancient purr that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Let me in.”
“Go away,” you gasp through tears. “Please– please go away.”
The creature shifts again, the dark haired ranger back in Kohsuke’s place. He eyes you, those unnatural gold irises watching with utter enthralment as you sob pathetically on the floor, still pleading – though you know it’ll do you no good – for him to leave.
“Last chance, kitten. Let me in, or I’ll make you come out.”
He – it – doesn’t sound nearly as put out by the prospect as it should be.
And you don’t know why giving permission matters, all you know, all you care about, is that it’s keeping that thing at bay for now. It can’t come inside and so long as you don’t leave the safety of the cabin, it can’t hurt you. The words are nothing but an empty threat.
Right?
You shake your head, defiant even as your voice hitches and trembles, “No.”
“Stubborn little thing,” the creature croons, the smirk on its face widening until the visage no longer resembles anything human – mouth splitting its face in two, rows of long, sharp teeth revealed. “So be it.”
A low growl resonates in its chest, and you can only watch, petrified, as thin, vein-like black marks begin to appear over pale skin, growing thicker, cracking as shadow curls from underneath. The creature itself starts to grow too, limbs elongating as muscles ripple and swell, claws bursting forth in place of fingernails, shoulders broadening – until it’s towering over you, wreathed in thick shadow, grinning with that terrifying mouth.
This is the thing you’d glimpsed that first night. A creature ripped from nightmares and primal fears, strong enough to tear you apart with a single hand. That’s what it’d done to Kohsuke, to the doe, what it’d do to you if you gave it half a chance.
“You wanna play, kitten?” it asks, head tilting to the side.
Slowly, it backs away from the door, keeping its gaze fixed firmly on you. For a moment, you think that it’s going to disappear back into the forest, or plant itself by your window to watch for another night, waiting you out till dawn, but instead it stops by the old oak that overhangs the porch and stills entirely, simply… waiting.
“Let’s play.”
Abruptly, the oak beside it bursts into flames. It takes only a heartbeat for the entire thing to be engulfed, red and orange flames licking along the trunk, the gnarled, spindly branches, even the leaves are alight, burning away into ash and floating off in the breeze. The heat from one tree alone is searing, the crackle of burning wood and your own horrified, shuddering breath the only sounds in the night.
It snowed only a few nights before, but the fire spreads with unnatural ease, flames racing across the canopy, embers lighting up the undergrowth, and in the space of a few seconds there’s an inferno raging through the forest before you. And through the smoke and the red, burning haze, the creature watches, smirking.
The heat from the wildfire sears painfully at your skin, the air around you suddenly thick with smoke, stinging your eyes, choking your lungs, and yet you can’t seem to tear yourself away. It’s like a dream, a nightmare, some kind of… hellscape.
And for a moment you forget that there was a purpose to this, too lost staring in mute horror as the forest you’d played in as a child burns–
At least until a single leaf from the oak tree, edges curling as it’s consumed by flames, falls, carried by the breeze and lands on the wooden railing of the porch. With a soft whoosh, the old wooden beam catches fire, and with your chest heaving, panicked breaths falling from parted lips, you rise to your feet as flames spread, the fire eating everything in its path until the entire porch is alight, burning.
Run.
You don’t know if the voice in your head is yours or not, you don’t have time to care. You scramble for the back door, throwing it open, and you run.
Run until your lungs burn, til’ your bare feet are scratched and bleeding, run, pushed forward by the sweltering heat at your back, the chilling crackle of laughter that follows. You run through tears, through pain and air so thick with smoke that it hurts to breathe.
And you know the creature’s giving chase, you know that you won’t – can’t – outrun it, nor the inferno that blazes around you. You know that it’s futile, that you’re probably running to your death, but that’s human, isn’t it?
To run when you’re scared?
The sky’s awash with a hazy red glow when it catches you, throwing you to the ground, and still you try to crawl. Desperate, choking on broken pleas and sobs, nails raking through the dirt as you try to pull yourself forward.
And when your pants are ripped from your legs, a puff of warm air ghosting over the nape of your neck as you’re shoved back down, those long, black arms settling either side of you, caging you in – you know that you’ve lost.
“Mine,” the creature growls, and you barely have time to scream before its cock shoves into you with one brutal, merciless thrust. “Mine.”
#yandere haikyuu#yandere kuroo#yandere kuroo x reader#yandere kuroo tetsurou#yandere kuroo tetsurou x reader#monster fic#horror fic#tw noncon#tw: noncon#tw: blood#tw: gore#tw: minor character death#tw: animal death#i am sorry#except not really tho
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Broken trust, pt.2
Part one
Summary: Too quickly does the Darkling find his rogue Sun Summoner, but his arrogance will cost him.
Warnings: slight fluff, angst
==========================
Faith – Y/N’s floated away from her a very long time ago, like a leaf being pulled away on the tide, and into the sea to become lost and alone, likely drowned. But she had faith in Aleksander. She always trusted him, not doubting he’d protect her. That’s why this is much more painful than it had to be.
“Running doesn't matter, I'll hunt you down if I have to.” Kirigan spoke through gritted teeth, as if he knew she could hear him, feel the palpable anger and betrayal he struggled to contain.
And still she ran. She ran without looking back, cutting through the forest with her breath caught in her throat. She ran, flinching with branches leaving cuts across her face, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, he’d find her and if he found her, Y/N didn’t know if they’d both walk away unharmed.
Finding a cave, she ventured inside. She sat curled up against a wall, shivering in the darkness. She clutched the kefta she wore in Little palace, clinging to his already faded scent. Just hours ago, his arms were wrapped around her, his lips claimed hers. She was his, undoubtedly in love with the very man who turned out to be the enemy.
A sob escapes her, whimpering as her hand covers her mouth to assure her silence. Risking being found because she needs to cry is stupid. Aleksander would expect her to cry.
“Where have you been?” The Grisha asks, breathless as it seems.
His presence alone commands awe, respect and his charisma can make any human stop and forget what they’re doing so long as it pleases him. He is magnetic, electric, someone you can get lost in before knowing what’s happening.
“Answer me.” He insists, lower his head to her level. His eyes narrow at her quivering lips, just then realizing she’s shaking.
“Leave us!” He orders the Grisha who came running once the light reached them outside the tent.
He taps her shoulder, the air around them turning static with contact, “What is happening?” Her shaky voice sounds and his eyes soften.
“You truly don’t know?” Raising an eyebrow, the Grisha steadies Y/N before letting her go. “My name is general Kirigan and you”, he points at her, his forehead wrinkling momentarily, “are the Sun summoner.”
A breathless chuckle escapes her, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m a map-maker.”
“No”, Kirigan raises an eyebrow. He steps closer, his hands gripping her arms gently, “You are a Grisha.”
Swallowing thickly, her eyes flood with tears. One by one, they make tracks down her cheeks, stunning Kirigan.
“You need not worry”, wiping the tears off her left cheek with his thumb, Kirigan smiles softly, “I will protect you.”
Huffing, Y/N shakes her head. “I never should have trusted him.”
Suddenly, she felt her airways constrict. Gasping for air, she clutches her chest, unable to breathe or think clearly. Darkness etched into her vision, blurring it until there was nothing left. She felt her mind drift, the last she heard was a whisper she once adored.
“I’ll carry her back.” Aleksander states, his eyes never moving from her. He didn’t expect to find her, especially not as quickly as he did, but the ring she wore lead them straight to her location. Once again, she trusted the wrong person and once again, it brought them closer together.
Upon his return, he had laid her on his bed, hoping to speak to her somewhat peacefully this time around. If she could just feel the way his heart aches for her, maybe then she’d believe him he’d never do anything to bring her harm.
Groggy, Y/N groans. Her hand moves to her forehead, rubbing her temples.
“You’re safe”, Aleksander tells her, but the sound of his voice made her open her eyes wide, sitting up so quickly her vision blurred.
“St-stay away!” She pushed herself back, hitting the headboard.
“I won’t hurt you. I saved your life." Kirigan leans in, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"How? By taking my freedom, mind and identity?" She snaps at him, her nostrils flared with frustration and anger bubbling up to the surface.
"The chains are broken now.” Kirigan sighs, “You know the truth.” Wetting his lips, his eyebrows knit together, “Are you really free?"
Shaking her head, she narrows her eyes at him, "You are still my captive, no matter how beloved you once were."
Giggling, Y/N stumbles back and into the table. A few figurines fall to the ground, but it doesn’t seem to phase Aleksander who smirks as he rests his hands at each side of the table, essentially trapping her.
Raising an eyebrow, she looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Are you about to ravish me, oh sweet Darkling?”
Chuckling, he cranes his neck just enough for the tip of his nose to brush hers. Hearing her inhale sharply and hold her breath, Aleksander couldn’t help but peck her lips. It felt innocent enough, something that wouldn’t scare her but would satisfy his need to feel her closer to him.
“Don’t go looking for trouble, sunshine”, his lips twitch, amused how her hands have clutched his hips, pulling him closer to her.
“Maybe I like trouble”, she whispers, breathing heavily so much so he could count each and every breath passing the lips he wished her could kiss for an eternity, uninterrupted.
Biting her lower lip, her hand rests on his left cheek, caressing the scruffy beard with her thumb. “Come on, Darkling”, she teases, “What are you afraid of?”
“You”, he responds without a second thought. His response came so quickly, catching Y/N off guard. “I’m afraid of loving you”, he exhales through his nose, his clenching under the palm of her hand before he speaks again, “Afraid of losing you.”
“Please”, crosses his lips and Y/N’s heart skips a beat. Aleksander is a man of many virtues, but begging wasn’t one of them. He’s the man who demands and makes things happen. Such men don’t strike you as someone who plead often. And this was Aleksander pleading, asking her to do something irrational, to trust him, the only thing she couldn’t do.
“What could you possibly say to make this okay?” She swallows thickly, averting her gaze as if looking at him for too long could destroy her very essence.
"They called me the Darkling as an insult. You were the only one who used it as a term of endearment." Aleksander reaches for her hand, but she pulls away once again. “Let me put your mind at peace.”
Pressing her lips, she exhales through her nose, “You made me into a weapon. I'll never find peace.”
“I didn’t make you into anything”, he remarks, “You were born as my equal, to be my other half.”
Nodding to herself, she swipes her thumb under her left eye, “I sure feel like your equal now”, glancing at him she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her bottom lip, “You can still do the right thing. I believe there is a good person inside of you. The man I fell in love with must be somewhere underneath the darkness you're flaunting. Be him.”
His eyes narrow, clouded by his own sorrow, “It's too late to go back. You can't even look at me.” Standing, with his back turned on her, Aleksander allows tears to fill his eyes, “Do you even love me?”
“Of course I still love you, but trusting you is a different question.” With a heavy sigh parting her lips, she stands too. “You can’t force me to stay with you and expect unconditional love. That’s not how this works.”
Blinking fast, Aleksander refused to look at her. All she’d see is his weakness – his feelings for her have made him soft, too easily swayed by emotions and he mustn’t reveal it.
“You can’t catch sunshine, my dearest Darkling”, she wraps her arms around his waist. Resting her right cheek on his back, between his shoulder blades, she pulled him into her embrace, “You need to let me go and find my own way.”
“You’d be dead by nightfall.” He snaps, trying to push her off but she holds onto him even tighter, silently weeping.
How can she stay when every cell inside her body is screaming for her to leave? How can she leave when every single molecule she’s made up from is aching for just one more touch?
“If you love me, you’ll have to trust me”, her voice is shaky, unsteady as she feels. “Staying will make me resent you. I need some distance, time.”
“I can’t”, he shakes his head, wiping his tears away before she can see any.
“Then I need you to remember”, her hold on him lessens.
With a frown etched on his forehead, he turns to her with a lump at the back of his throat, “Remember what?” His words rip through her like glass shards do to skin, but he can barely tell if she’s shaking because he’s started to tremble himself.
A smile breaks on her lips, just as bright as the light she once emitted to contrast his. “Remember I love you.”
And once again, without a warning, Aleksander found himself on his knees.
He didn’t love her, he desired her most of all. He desired her gaze on him as desperately as the air he needs to breath. He desired her skin against his as the food he’d need to live. He desired her lips to speak his name in ecstasy more than the water as he thirsted for her light more than anything else in this world.
And in his desire for her he had lost himself entirely. He had lost his cold exterior, becoming putty in her hands. He had lost his ruthlessness he planned to aim her way, directing it to any and all who’d harm her. He had lost his resolve to stay away, so he’d give into her with all he is.
So with that desire and the loss of him, he hated her for all of it. He hated her with burning passion. He hated her so much it consumed him.
Or so he told himself so. For in the end, he did nothing to push her away.
He couldn’t.
Not now. Not ever.
Logic demanded him to stop her, but his entire logic went out the window the day he found her in his tent, stealing his grapes. He’s no longer a part of the living anymore either. She’s become his cornerstone and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, it didn’t change. It’s become factual.
He didn’t hate her, not even a little, not at all. Aleksander Morozova, Aleksander Kirigan, The Darkling, the unforgiving general, the Black Heretic, the Shadow King – all of him loved all of her, even as she had put a knife through his heart. The very heart that beat for her was now bleeding because of her. A betrayal, he realized, the very same as she had felt when she learned of his lies.
“We will see each other again”, she croaks, her tears crashing around him.
Gasping for air, he desperately fights the pain so he can keep his eyes open longer. This might not kill him, but it will slow him down. This time around, she’ll run and as she takes off the ring, he realizes it won’t be so easy to find her again.
She kisses his lips, so softly he’s unsure if it’s a well crafted dream.
“Moya lyubov'”, he manages to say as she stands and heads to the door. He can’t speak, but he’s screaming on the inside, hoping she’d look back at him. If she does, there was hope.
Reaching for the knob, Y/N sighs, glancing over her shoulder at her Darkling with unimaginable pain tearing her apart. But sometimes you have to break in order to create something more beautiful. She knew he’d hate her for it, but she walked out the door anyway.
PART 3
#the darkling#the darkling x reader#shadow and bone#aleksander kirigan#aleksander morozova#aleksander x reader#kirigan x reader
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Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!
for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain
hello, dear heart!
I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕
ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!
warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows
>>
soulmate requests / follower celebration
<<
There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.
Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.
It's one of yours.
A burn, on his forearm.
And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.
First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.
Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.
The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.
He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.
Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.
As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.
And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.
-
You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.
Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.
At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.
The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.
The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.
Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.
There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.
In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.
Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.
"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.
You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.
And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.
Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.
And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.
Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.
Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.
-
The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.
Why does he keep coming back?
You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.
She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.
It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.
But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.
For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.
He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.
"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.
"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.
"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."
Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.
Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.
And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.
-
Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.
Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.
You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...
He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.
His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.
He couldn't go to you.
But, he couldn't stay away.
-
He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.
Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.
"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.
Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.
Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.
He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -
Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.
You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.
The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.
Later, words would come - they had to.
But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.
<<
taglist:
@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina
#din djarin x reader#soulmate requests#anonymous and elle#elle only posts soulmate rqs at weird hours thats the rule
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Time Can Heal (But This Won’t) Chapter Three: Bloodstains
You’ve been a lone demigoddess, daughter of Hecate, ever since your home of Hellas sank beneath the waves centuries ago. You loved the Darkling until he crossed you and you fled the Little Palace. Now you’re disguised as a mere cartographer. Can you face him again, knowing what he’s done?
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There was no way around it, no way to avoid it. Like it or not, you would be returning to the only place you’ve ever truly called home since you left behind the sinking shores of Hellas, past a people who would never rise again. You had seen Os Alta built, walked the newly constructed halls of the Grand and Little Palaces with the Darkling before you knew enough to run from him. This is where you’ll be going- not to a new future, but a chance to drown in all the memories you’ve tried so hard to forget.
However, you’ll have to survive the journey to Os Alta first. You’re not here as an esteemed guest or prisoner, you’re here as a double, a lure. Someone who can be killed so that Alina Starkov walks out alive. You know this as well as your ice-eyed Darkling who rides next to you, who thinks nothing of you but that you share a name with a woman he thought he could manipulate. That is all.
So you force your gaze away from the Darkling and back towards your hands, which grip the reins of your offered steed. You mentally catalogue the scant few weapons you had on you before you were dragged along after Alina- two knives, a medium length dagger, and the small pistol all First Army soldiers were forced to have on them. You’ve never particularly cared for guns, though- they’re dirty, loud things, nothing compared to the damage you could wreak with a syllable from your tongue. Then again, if it came down to it, you’d rather have a pistol in your palm then risk using your magic in front of the Darkling. In the end, you’re here to stay hidden, not reveal yourself in the most dramatic way possible.
That being said, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. You’ve learned long ago to listen to the voices that whisper past your ear, speaking of dangers lurking in the woods and ill-intentioned beings who wait for women who walk alone. Some are remnants of past protection spells, and others are shades from the Underworld who’d managed to conjure up some corporeal strength and warn you of an attack. You are the last living Hellenid to walk the earth, and so they feel duty-bound to protect you. Through you, your people live on, and so even the dead watch your back.
So when the voices come, you listen. Your eyes flicker shut for just a second as you listen, past the thump of your heart and the pattern of horse hooves on the dusty ground. The carriage rolls noisily some distance in front of you, and then you hear it stop. Around the bend, you hear the disgruntled mutterings of the guards even though they’re too far for a human ear to pick up. A tree has fallen down, blocking the path. You know it’s a trap even before the shots ring out.
You hear the choked screams of men falling with arrows through their throats and eyes and begin to panic. They’ve come for Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner who could damn the Fjerdans to a lifetime under Ravka’s watchful eye. They’ve come to kill her. You sense the Darkling rearing his horse beside you, and his stallion picks up into a canter. You don’t have to say a word, just listen to his commands to his men. There are more men attempting to circle behind you and pick you off, you can distract them and the remaining attackers trying to get into the carriage.
A Heartrender turns to you, gesturing for his fellow Grisha to follow you. “Come, Alina! We have to get you to safety!” This command is far too loud for any self-respecting Second Army soldier to ever utter, but to the Fjerdans, it is nothing out of the ordinary. Ravka already swears by its legions of witches, why shouldn’t the ice-haired drüskelle believe themselves above the pathetically obvious Grisha? They follow you without a second thought.
You wait a minute, listening to the sound of boots crashing through the forest floor after you, then jump down from your horse in one swift motion. Your knives appear in your hands and you sprint towards your attackers, knocking them down again and again. You slam the hilt of one knife into a Fjerdan’s nose, and you can hear the bone shatter as if it was your own. Light flashes off of the Grisha steel blades as you slash and stab, drawing blood without taking a break.
A small part of your mind gleefully notices the way the Fjerdans are running towards you now, drawn towards the sunlight reflected by your knives. They think you the Sun Summoner now, all because of metal polished to a shine. And why shouldn’t they? You have enough power to tear this continent in half, to let the sun pierce the planet’s very core. Why shouldn’t you be feared? Why shouldn’t you be the Sun Summoner yourself?
The man in front of you cries out, and you come back to your senses. Your eyes follow your knife, twisting in his windpipe, and you withdraw it hastily. You wipe the scarlet blood on the grass before turning to fight another Fjerdan attacker, but none come forward. You realize that they’re all dead, either by your hand or by the Heartrenders. Although, you notice with a sickening twist, most are killed by you. You’re supposed to be a shy First Army soldier, and you’re not exactly playing your part quite right.
Across a clearing, you see the Darkling helping Alina to her feet. She looks stunned, most likely due to the body of a Fjerdan lying at her toes. It’s been sliced perfectly in half- so he’s used the Cut. No wonder she looks as if the world has just been exposed for being woven from nightmares. She glances over at you and blanches even further. Shame twists in your gut as you realize your hands are covered in blood, none of it yours. You were borne of a race of warriors, fighting has been in your history for as long as Hellas has stood. To Alina Starkov, however, this is a massacre like she’s never seen before. You carefully sheath your knives again once you’re sure there’s no blood left on them.
You stare at the bodies, forcing your eyes to remember every last detail. May your gods or their Saints watch over them, wherever they may go. You don’t have enough coins to place under their tongues as per the Hellan tradition, although even if you did you couldn’t risk drawing the Darkling’s attention with such a specific ritual. Instead, you burn their faces into your mind. Memories and legacies were how your people retained their power, and being forgotten was a large part of how they crumbled away. At last you can remember these men.
A voice sounds from in front of you, and you look up hastily. “Do not pity them. They attacked the Sun Summoner, your friend.” The Darkling stands before you, something strange in his eyes. You’ve seen this look before, a few centuries ago. You had been careful to hide the true extent of your magic from him, perhaps knowing even then that he would want nothing more from you then the power you could give him.
In that long ago instant, you had let go, allowing your spells to run wild as stallions through the air. You were attacked, yes, but you had used it as an excuse for true bloodshed. It had been so long since you had truly tested your limits, always making sure to hide what you truly were, even from the other Grisha. You wanted to see what you could do, just this once. Even then, you were just scratching the surface, but the wash of inky emerald over the scene threatened to drown out the world. Bodies dropped, trees were stripped of bark, entire buildings crumbled despite the strongest of foundations.
The few other Grisha present looked at you with true horror, but not the Darkling. No, he looked at you as he does now, with a sort of hunger that could consume entire countries and never be filled. He saw no girl or lover, he saw a weapon. He saw you standing before him, pulling a blade from your chest and offering him the hilt. He’d take it, not caring (or even relishing) your blood still dripping from the blade. The things he could do with you were unimaginable even in your worst nightmares, and it would never be enough. The worst part is that you thought you might go along with it, that you’d be willing to watch the end of the world with him.
This is how the Darkling looks at you now, a weapon ready for the taking. You remember hastily that he’s likely expecting something of you, so you duck your chin and do your best to summon up the modesty expected by the likes of Y/N Stassov, mapmaker and nothing more. “It’s just, well, a lot of death.” The Darkling inclines his head. “Maybe. Where did you learn to fight like that?” You don’t like this line of questioning, where it could lead. “The First Army. Sir.”
The Darkling’s lips quirk at the last minute honorific. “I’ve seen no First Army mapmaker who could take out a dozen Fjerdans with a pair of knives. Maybe I should send some of my soldiers to learn from your generals.” You panic, sure he’s testing you, then realize that he’s joking. Ridiculous. You force a smile. “I think they’re probably fine with their heartrending and all that.” The two of you have begun walking back to the horses now. The Darkling mounts his steed, then looks back at you. “Maybe so.” When he takes off, you’re not sure which scares you most- him figuring out who you are, or the idea that he would not look for you at all.
The Darkling calls for the party to take a respite that night, waiting until the moon shines low in the sky for everyone to tie up their horses and rest in a long-abandoned barn. Alina runs over to you as soon as she gets off of her mount, flinging her arms around you in gratitude. You can tell from the hammering of her heart whenever she looks at the Darkling that she hasn’t forgotten his use of the Cut, and probably won’t for a while.
“Saints, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this alone.” You can sense the eyes of the Darkling and the other Grisha on your back, and you know what’s expected of you. To them, you are no more than an otkazat’sya mapmaker, someone utterly unworthy of their Sun Summoner’s company. They’ll leave you to make your way back to Kribirsk when Alina is safe at the Little Palace, and they no doubt expect you to make her path easier.
So, you smile, smoothing back an errant piece of her hair into place. “That’s a lie, and we both know that. If you can punch an irritating officer or survive the Fold, you can ride a horse to Os Alta. Promise.” Alina rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.” You raise an eyebrow. “It totally is. Believe me. Now come on, chasing after you all day is exhausting. I intend to go to sleep right now.” Alina grins. “That sounds good to me.”
Despite your weary eyes, you can’t seem to fall asleep at all. Alina sleeps next to you, the few Grisha lookouts stand unmoving at their posts. Eventually, you get sick of tossing and turning and staring up through the rotting beams through the barn roof. You stand, making your way quietly out of the barn. If the sentries see you, they do not stop you. Evidently, they trust you enough to let you walk around, or they view you as useless enough to not stop you from trying to run. Either works for you.
You don’t go far, just outside of the doors lying at odd angles on their hinges. You take a seat on a rusting metal bench, leaning back against the faded paint of the barn walls. You stare up at the sky, eyes tracing the constellations. Somewhere up in the night, there were once heroes and monsters, prideful queens and stubborn kings whose stories were famous enough to warrant them a place amongst the stars. You’ve been looking for them for a while, though, and know that the skies are empty of all souls who were once cast up there. It’s just another reminder that you are well and truly alone. The last remainder of a long dead culture.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You startle, turning to see the Darkling walking out of the barn beside you. You manage to cover up your surprise with an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d woken anybody.” The Darkling shrugs. “You didn’t. I was already awake.” This feels somewhat surreal- here you sit, a false face and a fake history as a farmer turned soldier. Here stands the Darkling, looking just the same as always. It makes no sense, though- why would he keep seeking you out? Why would the general of the Second Army keep looking for an otkazat’sya soldier? He must know you, somehow. There’s no other explanation for it.
The Darkling clears his throat. “Thank you for speaking to Alina. I appreciate your words.” You dismiss the gratitude with a lift of your shoulder. “She’s my friend. I couldn’t exactly make her feel worse, could I?” The Darkling turns to look at you now, familiar quartz eyes seeming to tear you in two. “You could. You could have refused to play along with the role of double, you could have refused to fight by her side, you could have done your best to turn her away from us. You did none of that.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I could have resisted a team of the most skilled Grisha in all of Ravka? I intend to keep my life.” Something almost like a smile appears on the Darkling’s lips. You’ve seen this look before, in sunset afternoons and deepest nights. It’s so familiar that it seems to cut at you like a knife. You almost want to call out to him now- know me, please. Remember me. If you look close enough, you will see the woman you pretended to love. We could pretend again, if we wanted to.
You silent the murmurings, and he speaks again. “All the same, it was appreciated.” You turn back towards the sky, partly to take in the sight of the night sky again and partially to hide the smile giddily appearing on your own face. How is that after all this time, all these hurts, he still has this effect on you? “Well, I want her to have some good memories after this. I’ll be shipped back to Kribirsk, I don’t really want to leave on bad terms.”
The Darkling remains silent for so long that you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, opened up too much. A simple mapmaker would never confide in a centuries-old Shadow Summoner, he must suspect something. Surely, hopefully, he does. But instead, he turns to you, a softness present in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It rounds the edges of his quartz gaze, making it easier to fall hard and fast. “You aren’t going to leave for Kribirsk. You’re staying in Os Alta.”
You stare at him, night sky forgotten. “What? But I’m no Sun Summoner.” The Darkling laughs quietly in the night. “No, but few of us are. I have a personal guard, the oprichniki. I would like you to begin training with them once we arrive.” The sentence is phrased so casually that it almost floats by you completely undetected. The monumental weight of the words, however, is enough to shake you whole. The oprichniki are not Grisha, so you would fit in, but they are the Darkling’s special guards. Only the toughest and bravest of fighters are selected, certainly not a mapmaker who’s best skill is pretending to be a Sun Summoner.
You tell him as much, so stunned by this that you forget to hold your tongue. When you remember who you are and who you’re doing your best to pretend you’re not, you wish you had remained silent. For some reason, however, the Darkling doesn’t seem taken aback by this momentary lapse. Instead, it just makes his lips twitch even more. He is most certainly hiding a smile. “I saw you fight, Miss Stassov. If you can do that without any of our training at all, I’d say you’re a good candidate.”
You lean back against the barn wall. “Oprichnik. Me.” You whistle quietly, letting the sound echo in the night air like the call of a dove. The Darkling inclines his head. “You are free to turn the offer down at any point-” his smile grows at your raised eyebrow- “Although it is not an offer I take lightly. You have potential. Besides, keeping you in Os Alta will be a support for Miss Starkov.”
You furrow your brow. “I thought you would want to separate her from her old life, not keep having ties to it.” It’s what the Darkling would do when you knew him. He would have cut out another mapmaker without a second thought. The Darkling considers this. “Perhaps. But if she feels too alone, she may draw in on herself and feel unwilling to use her power at all. You have your merits, Miss Stassov. Perhaps more than you see yourself.”
You barely hear him when he goes back inside the barn. He has always had this ability to disguise his footsteps, letting the shadows cloak him in sound as well as in sight. For once, it doesn’t trouble you. Instead, you’re troubled by the future ahead of you. If you were an oprichnik, a guard loyal only to him, there would be even more chance of the Darkling finding out that you were Hecari, the woman he’d loved and who had run from him, feigning death rather than stay by his side and fear his knife.
Being near him, though, it makes you think back to every moment you’d shared. Could it be possible that you had misheard? Would the man you know, the man drenched by moonlight who makes offers of joining the ranks of the oprichniki to mapmakers he’s barely met, truly want you dead? The answer is yes, you know that. But your heart whispers differently, telling you that you could be wrong on this. You’ve always trusted your whispers, the ghosts of the past. The only problem is that these aren’t Hellenid spirits now, they’re your own. Longings for what might have been, what you left behind.
In the end, you retreat back inside the barn. When you sleep, you dream of a quartz-eyed boy, dark-haired and smiling before he thought to use you.
series tag list: fave @underc0vercryptid, @hotleaf-juice, @aleksanderwh0r3, @kaqua, @nemesis729, @imma-too-many-fandoms
#the darkling#the darkling imagines#the darkling x reader#the darkling oneshot#the darkling series#aleksander morozova#aleksander morozova imagines#aleksander morozova x reader#aleksander morozova oneshot#aleksander morozova series#shadow and bone#shadow and bone imagines#shadow and bone oneshot#shadow and bone series#grishaverse#grishaverse imagines#grishaverse oneshot#grishaverse series#sab#sab imagines#sab oneshot#sab series#general kirigan#general kirigan imagines#general kirigan x reader#general kirigan oneshot#general kirigan series
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Reanimate
Characters: Ganyu, Zhongli, gn!reader
Word Count: 3,930
Warnings: Character death, violence
Premise: There is something cruel in the sudden death of a loved one, especially one who should’ve gone on so much longer. And yet perhaps that is not the cruelest twist of fate. Perhaps death is sometimes a small mercy.
In which the reader returns as a member of the Abyss.
Author’s Note: I decided to give archons ichor-like blood just because. Also sorry I did my best to be ruthless, I hope I didn’t get too carried away
Ganyu
In all the thousands of years of her existence Ganyu had never received the answer to the question of her humanity. Which pieces of her were adeptal and which were mortal? It was a foolish question perhaps, but something that had haunted her, almost as much as you.
She’d received a sort of answer one day, though not one given but rather one snatched away. It was a little time after your passing, when Ganyu still couldn’t discern the nightmares of her sleep from the memories of her waking moments. She was laying up on the peak of Mount Hulao, wondering why the sun should be shining up in the sky, when the familiar lilt of Cloud Retainer’s voice traveled up to her ears. There had been more adepti frequenting her abode than usual, all peering over the mountain, making sure their ward did not drown herself in sorrow. Ganyu didn’t know who Cloud Retainer was talking to now, but her words were as clear as ever.
“Poor darling, she was born with the heart of a human after all.”
At the time Ganyu had felt almost affronted, as if some great wrong had been laid at her feet. Yet even as there had been anger there was also curiosity. What did it mean then, to have a human heart? Perhaps there was weakness in it, but it seemed there was also privilege. For even as she curled around herself, bleeding out from some invisible wound, she could still picture your smiling face, and the happiness she’d gleaned from it.
Now this picture swam in her head once more, floating in stark contrast to the image now in front of her.
You had returned, how in Teyvat had you returned? Ganyu knew the ways of the world, knew that half-adepti could be killed. Had she not experienced proof of this when you’d died? Had the demon which stood upon your corpse, laughing at the blood coating his hands, not shown Ganyu that even those blessed with immortal age could not escape the wrath of the world? How could you be standing here in front of her now then, as alive as you’d been those thousands of years before?
Though perhaps you weren’t alive, perhaps this was simply a trick of the Abyss. For there was no light in your eyes, no flicker of recognition in regards to the person you’d once pledged your soul too. Ganyu was bewildered, glancing this way and that at the heralds surrounding you. “What have you done to them?” She pleaded, voice barely audible. “What monster did you create?”
And yet she couldn’t bring herself to harm you, to take up her weapon as she had done so many times before. If the Abyss was tricking her than the likeness was impressive. Your attack patterns were familiar, an old dance that Ganyu had learned so long ago. You stabbed this way and that, as if Ganyu was being attacked by a needle rather than a sword. And yet she still could remember the dance, and had only a scratch on her arm. She’d always chastised you that your form was too artistic.
“Why don’t you remember me?” She now turned to you, ignoring the Heralds which lay frozen upon the ground, having no qualms in their destruction. You narrowed your eyes in response to her callings, seeming as mute to her entreaties as you had been to your name. Did you even remember it?
Ganyu jumped back as you once more aimed to stab her. Unfortunately it seemed as if you had learned somewhat from this fight, or perhaps just retained the memory of the sparring the two of you had often shared. Stretching out from your lowered position you rammed your back into Ganyu, causing her to topple to the floor. Flames coated your sword, which you now pointed at the pinned half-adeptus. Ganyu’s eyes widened, as panic truly began to run through her. Once more she called out to you.
“Stop.”
“What?” Ganyu watched as your arm faltered and your face contorted itself into a frown. You narrowed your eyes, breath coming faster now.
“Stop saying that name!”
“But it is yours.”
“It is the name given to me by a liar. It is the name of a weakling.”
“It is the name of the person I love.” Ganyu knew she should be running, should be taking advantage of your weakness. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull herself away, desperate in the hope you might return to her.
“That person died thousands of years ago.”
“And yet they’re standing right in front of me.”
“Thanks to those who the gods would destroy. Thanks to those who understand the true nature of this world.”
“And what is that?” Ganyu felt her voice falter, shocked by the venom in your words.
“Cruelty. The cruelty of the gods. They betray humanity, betray that which they’re sworn to protect. They’re nothing but fickle creatures, no more than beasts. The only thing they truly love is their own superiority.”
“You’re wrong. You know you’re wrong. You… you love the gods.”
“How could I love such monsters? You’re deluding yourself. Deluding yourself as you always did. You were always too soft… Ganyu.”
As if reinvigorated you took a deep breath. Taking a few steps forward you loomed over Ganyu. She couldn’t help but notice your eyes, how glassy they seemed to be. For a moment she was so seized by them she barely registered the sword raised above her head.
Yet the practice which had led her out of the darkness of your death now refused to let you take her life. Rolling over Ganyu jolted as your blade came crashing down into the stone right next to her ear. Running back towards the exist of the lair in which she’d found herself Ganyu foundered one last time.
“Come with me. There are so many who miss you. Cloud Retainer and Moon Carver and Madame Ping. Come back with me. We can go see the statue they’ve created of Skybracer for the Lantern Rite, I know how much you liked the festival.”
“I’d rather die again than be a traitor to humanity. You’re part human yourself. And yet you bow and scrape at the feet of tyrants.”
“And aren’t you also part adeptus?” Ganyu felt tears pooling at the corners of their eyes, their salty warmth stinging her frigid skin. “I wish you’d taken my hand.”
“And I wish you and the rest of the traitors would just die!”
“So be it.”
Ganyu tried not to remember the scream that pierced your throat as your leg buckled, tried not to think of the blood that pooled where her arrow had lodged itself at the top of your knee, droplets landing in icy circles on the barren ground where she herself had just been lying. Instead she ran, ran out of the domain, ran away from the person who had once brought her such joy.
The moon outside was a smiling crescent, its light casting a cold shade on the trees around her. The stars which seemed so far away were now hunters, she was their prey. She plunged through the scraggly forest, desperate to reach the safety of Jueyun Karst. The sky seemed to be burning away, or perhaps swallowing up the world. Finally a familiar mountain ridge was spotted, and Ganyu let out a cry of relief. She was halfway to the top when the darkness descended and the night swallowed her whole.
Ganyu dreamed. Or perhaps she did not dream. Perhaps she simply remembered. The wind rustled her hair, and the faint sound of a flute echoed in the air. She lay on your lap now, smiling sleepily as you recounted some odd experience, expression one of soft, sedate joy.
“I’d never truly met a pilgrim before. They were quite unlike what I expected. The poor man, he nearly fell over in his attempt to bow as low as he possibly could. I told him that there was no need, that I wasn’t important enough for that, but then he only seemed surprised when I talked. Perhaps he expected some divine wisdom, although according to you I might only be able to offer him a somewhat incomprehensible account of the Archon War, since my mother saw approximately half of it.”
“Still, you must have made him very happy.” Ganyu smiled up at you as you twisted your expression into one of exaggerated solemness.
“Perhaps you are right. For what are we but being to give our souls to the happiness of humanity? Although I must admit that I have already pledged mine elsewhere.”
“And where might that be?”
“How silly of you to ask Ganyu! Honestly, you’re becoming quite forgetful. Why, it’s right there, in your heart.”
“Y-you shouldn’t say that.” Ganyu stammered, a familiar blush dusting soft warmth over the bridge of her nose. You merely laughed, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. Your lips tasted of lazy summer sun, and Ganyu found all embarrassment replaced with a sense of utter contentment.
“Why not? It’s the truth. And it will always be the truth.”
“Even when you and I have turned into enemies?” This surely was no longer a memory.
“Even then. For in my heart you will never be anything but my beloved. And don’t you forget it.”
“I… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What a foolish thing to say Ganyu. Of course you know! You always will.”
“I… I love you.”
“I love you too. Always.”
When she awoke the half-adeptus gave herself up to the small luxury of crying. She knew that she couldn’t stay here, knew that there was work to be done, the work she’d promised to the people of Liyue. Yet even as she told herself to get up Ganyu continued to cry, to sob as if in great pain.
For indeed what is more painful than the sudden, utter shattering of one’s heart?
Zhongli
Throughout the millennia of his existence, throughout all the changes that had been wrought on the former geo archon, Zhongli could feel at least a little bit grateful to time.
Time had been kind to the archon, for it had let him retain all those things that mattered. He could still recall the soft tones of Guizhong, the excitement as she explained some new contraption; he could recall the way that the familiar tones of a flute once echoed throughout the canyons of Liyue, the call of an adeptus who was still young and untethered to the sins of others; and, if he focused but for a moment, he could still recall the look of surprise on your face, the exclamations of protest, and the soft smile that brightened your expression as you finally reached out to take the glaze lily from him.
How he missed you, you his most perfect half. It seemed so long ago, and yet so painfully close, the day you two had met. You were a minor deity, formed for the benefit of humanity, made incarnate by the prayers of those early inhabitants of Liyue who could not simply lock their doors to keep the dangers of the world out. You had been an odd deity, the combination both of hope and suffering; the longing for peace combined with the knowledge that such a thing was unlikely.
“It’s very odd, being a deity born of human hope.” You’d commented once. You’d joined Zhongli to look out upon the sunset, climbing a mountain that would one day be dwarfed by the pillars that would spring up after the last of the Archon War.
“I should not see why it would be any different than any other deity. After all, we all live to give to humanity in some way.” You’d shook your head at his response.
“Zhongli, you weren’t made from humanity. Even if the people of Liyue foundered, even if they moved or lost faith in you or no longer needed a geo archon, you would live on. We who are born from humanity, we will fade if we are forgotten, if human prayers no longer reach us.”
“I doubt there will be a scarcity of the need for hope anytime soon. Alas the dangers of the world are not yet gone.”
“Perhaps not, but one day humans will be able to fight and hope for themselves. And then who knows where we lesser deities will be.”
Your odd conversation had worried Zhongli at the time. Not because he truly believed that you would disappear, no he had too much faith for that, or perhaps too much love. No, it was the way you had said it, as if you had resigned yourself to some terrible fate. He’d held you closer for the next few days, as if to remind you that you indeed existed, as if to assure himself that he would not have to lose another person who he held within his heart.
The death of Havria had been a shock, but Zhongli could tell you were more shaken than he was. For some time, the amount Zhongli could never calculate, you had said little, withdrawing into yourself. Old shadows had reared their ugly heads again, and now you seem at their mercy, drowning in your own self-imposed prophecy.
“My love, do not fear your own disappearance. You are not like Havria, you have no one who might betray you.”
“It’s not that Zhongli. It’s… it’s just the reminder of how fickle humans are.” You sighed, eyes fixed not on the archon sitting in front of you but on some unseen horizon. “Gods are fickle, they always have been. But that’s what you expect, and you cannot hold it against them. Humans on the other hand, humans are supposed to be static, even as they grow their faith is seen as assured. It’s… uncomfortable, a reminder that such an assumption has no real basis except one of hubris. Who else might fall at the hands of those they protected.”
“Not you. I could not imagine them harming you. You are their incarnation of hope after all, of the human will to survive. And no human can live without the will to survive. Besides my love, last I checked you had rejected the chance at a domain.”
“And leave you? Of course I did.” Your tone was indulgent, but the smile that passed your face was distracted. “I hope that I won’t meet death in such a way. I thought to be forgotten was the cruelest fate, but perhaps it’s not; perhaps the cruelest fate is to be betrayed by the ones you love. How much Havria must’ve suffered in her final moments.”
“But you will not meet either of those fates my love, I promise it.”
Zhongli had ended up being right, as neither of those paths were to be the one you walked. The one placed in front of you was perhaps one you would’ve approved of, though Zhongli could never truly bring himself to accept that. When the Qingce had threatened the quiet settlements which grew out of the harbor you’d come to the aid of humanity. In a manner that felt much too passive in Zhongli’s mind you met your fate. What was the emotion of your final moments? Zhongli could never find it in him to delve into that question. He could barely find it in himself to think of you at first, drowning his sorrows in the blood he spilt to ensure the continuation of Liyue, and then in the millennia of his rule afterwards. Even his tears had seemed distant, as if they were wetting the face of another person, someone very far away and very different than he was.
There were reports of a disturbance in the Guili Plains, of the agitation of Ruin Guards, and of whispers of the Abyss. Zhongli realized that it was no longer his duty to look into such things, that his resignation of the post of Geo Archon also relieved him of the duties of scouting the plains of Liyue for such dangers. Yet just because the stipulations of a contract have shifted does not mean the contract no longer exists. Zhongli’s duty to protect Liyue remained. He was not perhaps a deity from humanity, but he was destined to protect it nonetheless.
The domain that he’d managed to find was oppressing, the atmosphere tense. It made Zhongli think of older times, though not so long ago. It made him think of a razed city after the smoke had cleared, though this location was sure to be crawling with enemies. A pity there were no allies to fight alongside him now.
And yet you had somehow managed to follow him here, somehow managed to appear once more, after a millennia of buried loss. Upon entering the chamber in which you stood Zhongli could do nothing but stop in his tracks. You had appeared. Somehow, despite your death, despite the years, despite the fact that you’d never known the Abyss in your long ago existence, you were now here. Zhongli felt dazed, mind clouded, limbs made of stone. He made no effort to move, not when your eyes lit up in grim, impersonal recognition; not when an all too familiar claymore appeared in yours hands, not when you lunged forward and geo-infused steel slammed into his shoulder.
Zhongli knew something was wrong, knew that he must’ve made a mistake a some point in his long, drawn out existence. Whatever it was he couldn’t piece it together, could barely continue to stare at you as your weapon battered him over and over again. Blood was sticking to his gloves, his shoulder, his neck; small golden trickles opening up every time you swung your claymore. He knew he should fight back, knew that this wasn’t truly you, could not be truly you. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to fight back, to harm even an illusion of the person he once loved.
Eventually he found himself slumped against a wall, eyes still gazing up at you in mute entreaty. He hadn’t tried to call for you yet, hadn’t yet attempted to break the spell washed over you. The words stuck in his throat, those lovely words that belonged to you. He could not fight and he could not call out. Instead he sat there, frozen, heart beating erratically as he tried to find the ground beneath him.
“You’re a surprisingly abysmal fighter, Morax.” The voice was yours but the words weren’t; you would never call him such a thing. Perhaps it was that which finally enabled him to speak.
“And you have changed in a millennia”
“I learned of your treachery, of the crimes you committed when I was gone. Of the people you slaughtered.”
“I do not know what spell they cast to bring you back in such a state, but you cannot believe what you have been told. My love, since when did you mindless follow the rules of others?”
“Mindlessly?” You barked out a laugh, though it sounded almost like a cry to Zhongli’s ears. “The only time I mindlessly followed someone was when I was with you. You tricked me, you lied to me. You pretended to care, only to betray my existence the moment I was gone. Morax, the god of Liyue. What sort of god slaughters people for attempting to create a civilization just as he once did?”
“You were not there for the life of Khaenri’ah. You do not know what took place.”
“I doubt I needed to be there to understand the facts. You betrayed humanity Morax. Do you not deserve to pay for such a crime?”
“Zhongli.”
“What?”
“You used to refer to me as Zhongli.” At that moment the ex-archon pulled himself up. Standing up he managed a smile, though inside he felt as if he were fracturing. “If your anger must be removed in such a way, so be it. Take it all out on me. But, when your rage has finally been spent, please come back to the light. This place, it is too dark for you.”
“My rage can only be quenched in death.”
“So be it.”
Zhongli was not sure how long you hacked away at him, claymore swinging in a wide arc as the future scars which Zhongli would wear multiplied. His clothes were in shreds at this point, his coat barely clinging on to the semblance of what it was made to be. The metal which he wore was stained a rusty golden color, and his shirt was now damp with blood and sweat.
Perhaps this was his rightful punishment, the result of having ruled Liyue too long, having grown too old. Perhaps you truly did hate him now, having somehow reincarnated into a being of pure wrath. Perhaps he’d somehow meet his end here, and perhaps then you would be waiting for him, you and all the ones he’d lost, restored to your former selves.
And yet another part of him knew that he was tethered to his contract, to the promise to protect the citizens who now bustled about, enjoying their newfound freedom. And that part of him knew that this could not truly be you. Even if the Abyss had managed to coax your body and soul from the other side they’d only managed to bring back a shadow. A shadow could never replace you, for it knew none of you complexities. It could only haunt those around it, in hope to be paid the same amount of attention.
It was this knowledge that allowed him to fight back, even as he willed himself not to hurt you. Claymore met polearm, and the ground seemed to shake around the both of you. If any other members of the Abyss had managed to rouse themselves within this time they were almost assuredly crawling away, for surely the structure would fall at any moment. But Zhongli cared not for this fact; the walls could crumble around the two of you for all he cared. There was nothing else in the world, only you, the weapon in his hand, and the contract in his heart.
Finally you began to falter, the energy you’d contain slowly draining away. Slowly Zhongli began to regain the upper hand, beating you back into the edges of the abode. Finally at one point you slipped, and Zhongli found himself kneeling over you, polearm planted into the ground, barely grazing your cheek.
“If you have truly been brought back to life, then I beg you not to throw such a thing away on the revenge of those who never knew you.”
“I won’t listen to your disgusting lies any longer!”
“You loved me once, do you not remember that?”
“How could anyone truly love a tyrant?”
Zhongli sighed, but his hands were trembling violently. He knew it wasn’t you, that it could not truly be you. And if it was, then Zhongli was ready to pay the price in suffering.
Contracts were the most sacred concept of Liyue. One must abide by them, whether it benefits them personally or not. Though he was no longer Liyue’s god, Zhongli was no less tied to those promises he’d made. This was his price, the price of power and influence, the price of his continued existence.
“When time has run its course and the world of the gods comes crashing down, I will see you again.”
He did not expect your blood to run red.
#genshin impact fanfiction#ganyu x reader#zhongli x reader#ganyu#zhongli#genshin impact#requested#scenarios#my writing
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summary: namjoon worships you, only you, and would dedicate his life and soul to show you the depths of his love and devotion.
pairing: namjoon x f!reader / word count: 2.1k / genre: smut (NSFW, 18+), warlock!namjoon/patron!reader, sort of a fantasy!au
warnings: sexually explicit content, religious imagery/talk of worship and blasphemy, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, talk of magic (does that need to be a warning)
this is part of my 1.1k milestone event!
a/n: @ whoever it was on my google survey who wanted to see a fantasy!au and also wanted to see more stuff with namjoon- this is dedicated to you! I swore I wasn’t going to even think about things for my 1.1k milestone but I saw your response and immediately got hit with inspo; I’m sure this isn’t what you were asking for when you said fantasy but! I hope you like it anyway! unbeta-ed bc I smashed this out in an afternoon and @hobi-gif is asleep rn and I’m impatient OOPS
“You give me too much.”
“Oh?” The sound of your voice, heavenly, shining. Dripping with amusement. Affection. “You would spurn my favour?”
“Never,” Namjoon whispers. A confession, each word a benediction. “Never, my lady.”
The sound of your laughter, smooth and light. You tilt your head, bare the unspoiled column of your neck, shimmering, glimmering, glittering. Your skin shines with the finest fragrant oils, dusted with ground gold leaf, iridescent. Your body gilded and girded, as always, in the finest cloth and metal and jewels, reclining, utterly at ease. Glowing with your divine power; divine grace.
Divine beauty.
Divine.
Namjoon is blessed, to have you as his Patron.
For all that his words are audacious, you do not strike him down. Him, a mere mortal, sworn to your service; you’ve always allowed him space to speak, to talk. Far more than he deserves, nothing better than the dust under your feet, marring the ground that should be unblemished and clean for you.
“I wish but to reward you, dearest,” you murmur, and a shiver trickles down Namjoon’s spine.
His soul is sworn to yours in a never-ending pact, magic tied intrinsically to you, his Patron, his Goddess, the source of his power. A warlock whose oath promises his utter devotion—blessed, he truly is blessed to be able to call himself yours. Where others had given their souls to the dark beings of the nether, begging for power, strength—here Namjoon is, in your heavenly aureole, not fey nor fiend, but a deity.
His deity.
“I would never be so presumptuous, my lady,” says Namjoon.
“And I would reward you for your humility. Is that not what you want, Namjoon? Is that not why you swore yourself to me? To be rewarded with the powers that you now command?”
Namjoon is monstrously powerful, now. He’s always been intelligent and sharp and quick, but now—with you at his shoulder—he’s far, far more than that. The fabric of the universe picks itself apart at his will, with your guiding hand, and reforms itself as he sees fit. Mere mortals tremble as he passes, a behemoth draped in endless strength, so strong it shines out from him, always.
An endless reminder of his devotion to you.
He’d always chased knowledge. Found himself still ravenous for it, even after plundering the world’s greatest libraries, learning from the best and brightest, from wizards in their lofty towers to witches in haunted forests; it had set him on this path. Had led him to opening this connection, creating this pact, binding himself to your will, all in the pursuit of more, more, more. His parents had always warned him to be careful, cautious, not to ask for more than the world was willing to give—but the world hadn’t blessed him with magic, for all his intelligence.
So he’d looked for magic in an otherworldly place.
And there: he’d found you.
There, he’d sworn his being to your will, for just a drop of your power. He’d laid himself down at your mercy and you’d given him all the strength he’d never wanted and more besides. Given him more than he’d asked for, more than he deserves, frail and mortal and weak that he is.
“I would give my soul just to lay myself at your feet, my lady,” Namjoon confesses.
You smile. So pleased with him, always; it leaves him breathless, even as his knees ache from kneeling, marble cold and hard under him. Your eyes are the only ones he prostrates himself in front of, now. You are the only one he will kneel for.
And oh, he kneels so willingly. Would worship you on his belly if that’s what you asked, would crawl in the dirt if that’s what you wished; would give you everything he has and more, hand over fist, if he could. Utterly beholden to you, bewitched, body and soul.
You are benevolent to him, for all that your smiles are edged with something almost irreverent, a mockery of the shining halo that’s settled atop your head. A trickster God, maybe, an ancient being long gone from the history books, your name etched into wax tablets that have long since crumbled to dust, carvings sat atop pedestals that have been long eroded to time.
He might have cared, once. Might have sought to find you, your name, find out what exactly you are, what the price he is to pay for the power you give him. But now?
Namjoon finds he no longer cares, enthralled as he is.
“Then come, my love,” you murmur. “Closer.”
Namjoon trembles. When he kneels at your feet, head tilted, staring at your bared skin, the arch of your feet, the jut of your ankles, the smoothness of your calves, the swell of your thighs before they’re hidden away from his roaming eyes by the drape of linen; he trembles. He is so close he can touch you, can smell you, the fragrance massaged into your body, heady and dizzying.
“Worship me, then,” you say, that ever-present smile on your lips.
“I would not dare touch you, my lady,” Namjoon says.
You throw your head back and laugh. Namjoon stares at the line of your bare throat, the slope of your breasts, curves barely hidden, blindingly white robe slipping as your gold painted shoulders shake in mirth. White and gold, gold and white, unflawed, perfect.
“Are you so afraid of me?”
“Never.” Namjoon’s heart is pounding, pulsing in his ears. “I dare not defile you with my unworthy hands.”
“And if I commanded you so?” An eyebrow, raised, a question. “Would you refuse your Goddess her dues?”
“I am not worthy,” Namjoon says, even as he aches. Even as you spread your legs, draping cloth keeping you just safe from his eyes, hungry as they are. “I would dirty you, my lady.”
“Such as it is.” Your voice is low, almost gleeful. Delighted. “Touch me, Namjoon.”
He kisses your feet first. Bows his head, lips trembling as he presses them to the top arch of your foot. Your ankles. Lets his eyes flutter shut as he trails his unworthy lips across your warm skin, pressing his devotion into your body with his mouth.
And when you beckon for him with a lazy curl of your hand, he goes, so easily. Pulls off each of your rings, lets them fall, bright rain that falls forgotten to cool marble. Casts aside the circlet on your head, spinning as it lands on cold stone. Pulls his hands across your bare collarbones, pulls your robe apart, pulls your naked body out into the open.
There’s no shame here, in your nakedness, majestic and proud, every inch of your body swathed with heavy, divine power.
Your lips are cocked in a smile. You blink up at him, lazy and slow and content, amused at his shaking fingers and almost-slack mouth, overwhelmed.
“Am I so awe-inspiring?”
“The moon and stars and sun shine less than your beauty,” Namjoon murmurs, and you laugh.
He falls to his knees. Buckles in the face of your strength and beauty, as he always does. Always will.
When he presses his head between your legs, you moan. The smell of your arousal thrums under the jasmine rubbed into your skin, an orgy in a summer garden, and you taste so human, gasping at the first swipe of his tongue through your folds. You scrape your fingers through his hair, pressing him deeper; Namjoon feels he could die happy, here, between your thighs, so blessed and favoured, to be allowed to worship you, as perfect as you are. His cock hardens between his legs, ignored and neglected, so focused and intent on you. Forgets himself in the face of giving you everything you demand.
Beckoned into the embrace of something holy, here he is, defiling you with each curl of his tongue, each touch of his fingers. And he willingly commits these transgressions, reverent even as you come apart under his touch, venerating you as an idol, rather than a Goddess. Drinks down the way you shake in pleasure, pupils blown and swallowing your beautiful irises, your piercing gaze lust-hazed.
“You worship your Goddess well,” you praise.
And when you push him down onto your throne, astride his hips with glittering eyes and an arched back, Namjoon thinks this is profane. Thinks that he should not feel so starved or deprived, even as you sink down on him, tight and hot and wet. And yet each gasp he pulls from you is a blessing from the divine, for all that this is carnal, the slap of skin on skin, the thrust of his cock into your fluttering cunt.
Even the kisses you share are a violation of you; he is not worthy to touch you, to press his lips against yours. But you urge him to, urge him to lick at your mouth, bite at your lips, kiss-swollen and flush, parted as you pant into his open, willing mouth.
You throw your head back in ecstasy. Each lilting noise pulled from your lips goes straight to Namjoon’s throbbing cock, blood thrumming in his veins as he thrusts up into you, chasing your pleasure, pliant under the scratch of your fingernails, the grasp of your hands.
“Do you—oh—do you love your Goddess, Namjoon?”
“To not do so would be blasphemy.” It’s graceless, the way he speaks, grunts slipping out between gritted teeth. Utterly human and base as you take him, ride him, reach inside and wrap your fingers around his heart and soul, already yours. As if your naked skin pressed against each other isn’t blasphemy enough; your movements in the throes of passion and ecstasy isn’t sacrilegious.
You keep your eyes trained on Namjoon’s face, bracing your fingertips on his sweat-slick chest as you arch back, imperious and regal; Namjoon might have taken you apart with his fingers and tongue, but you’re the mistress of this kingdom and you know it.
When you trail a finger over the swell of Namjoon’s reddened, plush bottom lip, it feels almost taunting. The gesture itself might be soft, tender—but Namjoon remembers that he doesn’t know what you’re a Goddess of, all over again. Remembers that he doesn’t know the source of your power, what you really are, that he doesn’t even know your true name.
(Remembers that he doesn’t know if you’re a Goddess at all.)
(He remembers. Doesn’t care. You’re his Goddess, before you are anything else. You’re his Goddess and he is devoted to you, forever, always.)
“Mine.” You suck in a breath, air punched out of you as Namjoon slams into you again, hard and sharp and fast, sullying you. His palms are covered in gold, smeared over your body and his, the carved marble of the throne underneath you. Dirty; tarnished. “Mine, mine, you’re mine, little mortal, aren’t you?”
Namjoon is utterly yours.
“Yours,” he moans. “Yours, my lady, I’m yours.”
You laugh even as you cum again, hiccupping as you grin at him, wicked and sharp. You’re so tight around him, hot around his aching cock, and it doesn’t take long to lose himself in your heat, painting your insides; defiling even there, too. The proof of Namjoon’s impure touch dribbles down your thigh as you lift away, sated, your smile all edged with teeth.
“My most loyal follower, humblest of my servants.” You trail a cool finger around his face, through the sweat at his brow, dirtying your hands even more. And yet, in Namjoon’s eyes you still shine, untouched and perfect, his wonderful Goddess. ��Oh, your soul always tastes so sweet, Namjoon. Will you always worship me with such piety? Will you always come when I call?”
To know his taste lingers on your tongue, even when he’s not there, fills him with pride. Flows in his chest, swelling in size, pressing against his ribs and lungs and heart, squeezing those delicate parts so tight, squashing them small. There’s no room for anything inside him other than devotion for you.
“Always,” Namjoon replies. “I would always be your most favoured, if you wished.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes,” Namjoon confesses. “Yes, my lady, with all that I am.”
Would spend the rest of his days on his hands and knees at the base of your shrine, lay out offerings at your feet. Would lay himself on your altar, a willing sacrifice. Would let you tear him apart and swallow his still beating heart; it’s yours, anyway. He doesn’t need it anymore.
Yes, Namjoon loves you. Most ardently. Even if it comes with a price: his soul, bound to yours, forever.
taglist: @beyoncesdragon
#btswritingcafe#houseofddaeng#magicshopnet#btswriterscollective#namjoon x reader#namjoon x you#namjoon oneshot#namjoon smut#namjoon fanfic#bts x reader#bts fanfic#bts oneshot#bts smut#namjoon au#namjoon scenario#1.1k milestone#joy.masterlist
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Crowza - 2
Hey, I’m on AO3 too! It’ll be the first thing updated when I finish a chapter from now on, but only by like, a few hours. :P I’ll be updating this fic on the first of every month so you guys know when to expect it next. This was sitting in my Docs almost done for weeks and I finally sat down and went “I’m writing the rest of this.” and did it, so here’s chapter two!
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Sunlight filters through the branches and leaves of the old oak. Phil lifts a wing over his face, grumbling about how the sun is always at the perfect angle to blind him every morning. Of course, he does this song and dance every spring. He’s not exactly an early bird, which is why he never blocks it. It helps him get up in the morning.
The tiny bird hybrid resigns to his fate and sits up, blinking blearily at his old home. A torn picture of his boys hangs on the far end of the hollow. He grins, happy to be greeted by their faces. The photo had been yoinked last year when it fell out of Tommy’s jacket during one of his more daring excursions. Always so chaotic, that one, Philza chuckles to himself as the thought crosses his mind. Good memories.
He walks to his stash of nuts and jerky and various other bits of food he collected and preserved the autumn before migration. He crafts a quick granola bar, thanking his lucky stars that chocolate is so easily preserved, and enjoys a sweet homemade breakfast. Pleased chirps escape him as he basks in the perfect simplicity of it all.
Today is full of plans. A lot can happen in a few months and Phil needs to make sure there’s no new predators in the area that might get the jump on him, so he’s going to patrol the area. His territory needs to be safe. He’s always very careful about going about this. It’s rare, but if humans decide to start building near him, he’d need to know.
That and he needs somewhere to get coffee. He’d think that centuries of drinking the stuff would convince him to invent a tiny coffee machine, but why create something that will break eventually when he can just sneak into a human’s house and borrow enough to last him a month of two? Of course, he won’t be borrowing that much today, but the next time all three boys leave the house, he’s certainly going to stock up. Today, he just needs a little pick-me-up.
Phil walks to the edge of his home and ducks under the branches protecting it from outsiders, then hops up them like a staircase to get the best vantage point to take off flying. A low mist hovers over the pine forest, the sun’s rays burning away at it and painting the morning in brilliant hues of gold. Phil launches himself into the air, powerful flaps disturbing the mist and sending him high above the trees. The sky above is void of clouds as he spreads his wings and coasts. The air he breathes chills his lungs but the morning sun provides a warm contrast to the feeling. Appreciation for the peace fills his chest as if it were something physical.
Spring truly is his favorite season. The crisp scent of pines and melting snow permeates the air. A few shy birds send their song up, declaring their presence to the world. This is home, this is where he loves to be, where he longs to be every winter when he has to migrate south. Occasionally, a crow joins him in the air, lazily flapping in the soft breeze.
Phil casts his eyes towards the ground, watching for any stray movements. He’d heard of mountain lions moving into the area from Kristin. They’re fleeing the forest fires west of them, she’d said. She thought maybe they were the cause of the odd feeling she has and Phil was inclined to agree, but you can never be too careful. Eventually, after finding nothing, he flies to the humble house his boys call home.
When the birdman reaches the cabin that houses his boys and nothing is amiss, he decides to land in a nearby tree and rest. The sun had climbed to about midday and he has yet to find anything that would tip him off. He fluffs his feathers as a chill sets in, the branches and needles of the tree warding off the sunlight, and takes out some squirrel jerky he packed for lunch. Perhaps it simply isn’t time to find this ominous omen Kristin gave him and he’s jumping the gun.
The door to the home opens and two people step out. It’s the blonde and brunette from the previous day. Philza watches them as they talk about something with low voices. It’s a bit odd to hear the youngest one talking so softly. Tommy’s usually boisterous and loud, throwing banter back and forth with Wilbur and giving the occasional sibling shove.
Philza hums as he takes another bite of jerky. When he goes on his coffee run inside the house, perhaps he’ll look for any clues. The thought that something could be wrong with them twists a knot of worry in his stomach. A chill goes down his spine as he realizes he hasn’t seen Techno out and about these last few days. He forgets any plans to raid the house later and throws all caution to the wind. Oh Ender, please let him be okay and not deathly ill or something.
Tommy and Wilbur climb into the red pickup next to their house and drive away. Phil immediately swoops down out of his tree and soars the short distance to the old cabin, flapping to slow himself so he can land quietly. It was his saving grace that they like to decorate the windows so he doesn’t crash into them all the time. He flap-hops around the house until he finds a window cracked open and slowly opens it further so he can crawl inside. It’s harder to find open windows further into the season since so many bugs come out.
He listens hard and looks around for any movement, staying stock still.
Nothing, the house is silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace.
He carefully steps in further, wings poised to take off at any given moment. The inside is just as cozy as the outside. The walls are decorated with photos of the trio, of a family Philza has watched grow up over the years. It’s surprisingly clean, the hand-knitted rainbow blanket folded over the back of the old leather couch. It smells like pine smoke and coffee, and bacon. Phil would find it funny if he wasn’t so worried for Techno at that moment. He hops about the living room, making his way towards the kitchen. If he can’t find anything here, he may as well get some coffee.
There’s nothing amiss on the coffee table. Phil’s claws leave tiny indentations on the softwood as he walks across it. The lamp next to him offers a little bit of light but he can see fine with the natural light coming through the windows. There’s an ad for an animal shelter in the newspaper, a comic making fun of teenagers with phones, news of the new president, and an article about a pipeline being built sometime next year. The birdman frowns at that, making a mental note. He’ll need to put an end to that before it ruins his home. He shakes his head. Right now is not the time! He needs to see if there’s anything wrong! His gaze gets caught by the fashion magazine open to a page on robes and turns a few pages, admiring the modern clothes that differ so much from his own- Oh right! Techno!
He flaps into the kitchen and trots across the counter towards the calendar hanging on the fridge. Today is circled in red with the word “ADOPTION” in messy, bold lettering. Adoption? Techno and Wilbur aren’t married, right? They can’t adopt children, right? Confusion replaces the worry in his mind but he shrugs. As far as Phil can tell by all the clues, Techno isn’t in any danger and it’s safe to get some coffee from the pot on the counter opposite of him. He hops over and crouches on the edge, dipping his rabbit-skin waterskin in and filling it full of the delicious drug.
There’s a cough from upstairs in the attic and Philza nearly jumps out of his skin. His feet slip on the edge of the pot and his wings flare out to make up for the sudden loss of balance. The mug next to him falls off the counter and shatters on the linoleum flooring with a loud crash. Oh god, oh fuck. There’s no way Techno didn’t hear that. The bird hybrid quickly reaches into the pot and retrieves his waterskin and swiftly flies back to the window, heart pounding.
He knows he’s leaving a few feathers behind, but it doesn’t matter as long as he himself doesn’t get caught. He can hear the telltale creaks of a ladder as he takes off into the open air again, inhaling deeply and landing back in his tree. What was he thinking?! Going to check on one of the beans?! He put himself in unnecessary danger just for some person he got way too attached to!
From the safety of his branch, Phil watches Techno shut the window he’d made his escape from. The piglin hybrid seems fine, no hint of any severe illnesses. The cough didn’t even sound that bad, like he was just clearing his throat. That was too close. He can’t let it happen again. Phil takes a swig of his coffee and flies off to keep scouting out his territory. I’m going to give myself a nice preen tonight, he thinks as he coasts over the trees. That nearly gave me a heart attack.
He goes back to doing his routine check-ups and patrolling around his territory, promising himself he would do better to keep himself safe. Surely he’s not losing his edge, right? Surely not…
#crowza au#crowza#sbi#crowza chapter 2#philza#dsmp fanfic#sleepy bois fanfic#sleepy bois inc#sbi family dynamic#sbi family au#technoblade#wilbur soot#tommyinnit#tiny philza#tiny!philza#tiny!phil#1.6k words#g/t#g/t writing#mcyt g/t#mcyt#dsmp#dream smp g/t#random writings#my posts
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『lifetimes; H.R』
one-shot; huang renjun
A/N: it’s been a hot minute since i posted the teaser but welp it’s finally here :] this has got to be one of my favourite things i’ve ever written so please give it some love!!
𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: not a lot of it but fluff (♡), angst (❆), fantasy (✯), author’s favourite (ツ)
𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: some mentions of death but nothing too explicit
word count: 2.8K
pairing: huang renjun x reader
disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
With chocolate eyes that dazzle golden under the light, he scouts the forest. The canopy is thick above his head and shudders every few seconds when some creature hurriedly passes by. The trees' branches sway in the breeze, and he can almost hear their rumbling under the chirping birds. The ever-so-green grass is dank under his boots, and he can still smell the rain that ended just a couple minutes ago. The Sun, though, seems to have no recollection of that. He is as argent as always, here in the Violet Woods. The place is dazzling, alive, and crisp; far too different from his own home, but also far less foreign.
Graceful fingers reach for the periwinkle flowers just left from the tallest red oak, kissing their soft petals as he wonders where they are. Renjun is positive he's at the right place, and this is the right time. Noon, by the bush of forget-me-nots. He could only hope they hadn't misremembered this week's chosen spot. Knowing them, it's perfectly possible. Maybe he should head to the muttering roses, where they had met last week, and wait there instead...
Laboured breaths and feathery footsteps sound from behind him a second later, and he doesn't have to turn around to know it's them.
"You're late", he states, fierce gaze still burning in the flowers.
Renjun doesn't expect an apology, not really, but the mellow hand they lay on his shoulder is just as startling. Still kneeling, he twirls to face them at once, and he doesn't miss the dim look of urgency that paints their features.
"Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?"
They don't answer him. Instead, their lips curl into a small smile that Renjun supposes is meant to calm his nerves. It doesn't work very well, or well at all, and he stands up to his full height, holding their hand in his.
Both of their hearts beat loudly, wildly attempting to escape their ribcages. However, neither of them shies away from the proximity. Renjun and Y/N idly stand together for a second, basking in each other's warmth when they speak for the first time today.
"Father knows about you."
If the incoming information is anything short of shocking, he doesn't let it show. His keen, fox-like traits remain the same as he searches their eyes for something else—fear, rage, or any other emotion. Something that would tell him what to do now.
Nodding slowly, he gently squeezes their fingers, waiting for them to continue.
The way Renjun looks at them is enough to make Y/N's throat tighten in concern. From the palace, all the way over here, they've been trying to conceal it, but they no longer can.
It's freezing cold, even against the strings of sunlight that filter through the trees. Its' grip is vicious, instilling into their body a form of despair they had never felt before. It is the dawning realization that their little world is shattering, and there's little they can do to save it.
"...And he calls you a filthy mortal."
Somehow, Renjun finds it in him to snort. Out of all the things he thought they would say, that was certainly not one of them, but it makes him happy. After all those months, they still manage to catch him off-guard. Will they ever stop doing that?
"Aren't you elves so kind?" he laughs, lifting his other hand to gently flick at their pointy ears.
Y/N simply huffs, dodging his fingers and escaping from his hold to pace around the trees.
Watching them in silence, Renjun thinks their race truly is something else. Elegant, breathtaking, stunning, unmatched, perfect. Sharp edges give way to soft curves that make him question the existence of all deities. Should he turn his face in shame? Should he go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness over sins he didn't commit? Should he declare them as his one redemption and worship them until his breath forever ceases?
Sighing dreamily, he thinks he, too, would be an arrogant bastard if he looked anything like an elf.
"Don't put that on us, Renjun. You, humans, have a terrible tendency to destroy and foul the space you occupy" Y/N turns to him.
Placing their hands on their hips, they know they're falling into the usual routine: bickering about historical events between the two races until one gives up. That's how their rendezvous always begins, and they wouldn't have it any other way, but today something hovers in the air between them.
Doubts.
Renjun can't keep himself from speaking.
"He will banish you some time, Y/N. You know we can't keep this up forever."
He's right, and they know. Had it not been for the strands of sunshine dancing across their frame, they would have shivered. The thought of getting banished from their realm is terrifying. Y/N is still incredibly young for an elf—just over their 75 years—but they've lived enough to know how it goes for elves who get exiled.
For an elf, banishment isn't being outlawed from your homeland. That is most indisputably sad, and Y/N would cry about it for some time, missing nature's presence from her forests. Although that's not the part of the exile that frightens them: it's the loss of immortality, their lifelines cut too short from straying from their hearths.
Death is no friend of the elves, as everybody knows. The mere idea of perishing from disease or poison is strange to their minds, if not altogether catastrophic. It's not normal, as it is not natural. It's almost reason enough to stop Y/N from making her offer, but the pink haze in their eyes wouldn't allow them to.
"Run away with me then", they mutter, slowly closing the distance between them and the boy once again. Something in Renjun's eyes shifts, and his pink lips part to speak, but not yet.
"Protect me from the dangers of mortality. We could go south to the Cristalline Planes, Injun", Y/N stops in front of him. "Or, maybe even head west, since I know you've always wanted to see Wistful Shores."
Hope shines bright in their complexion, burning with such richness it nearly turns into despair. What they're doing is not asking—they're pleading, and Renjun nearly collapses to the ground at the honeyed tone in their voice. However, the glow of their fingers, smoothly tracing the shapes of his light robes, grounds him. Their touch is as delicate as the breeze, and it takes all of his self-control not to say "yes" right away.
"And let you give up on eternal life for me? That is possibly the most foolish decision I have ever heard of", he says, stoping their movements to lace his fingers between theirs.
For a moment, everything around the two of them stills and fades into silence. The woods are quieter than ever before, and even the tree's lullaby comes to a halt. Nothing exists out of their eyes, embedded deep into the others'.
His might just be Y/N's favourite thing in the whole entire world. The vibrant, sunny brown of his orbs reminds them of the goodness still left in mortals. They shimmer, sparkle and flicker with every bit of emotion Renjun feels, for they are too honest not to. It would be nothing short of a crime if they ever lied about his heart.
Y/N's are what he would describe as literal gateways. To where? Well, that, he will always argue. Some nights, when the stars are out, he could swear the entire universe is right there, before him. On other occasions, when what surrounds them are the glistening streaks of dawn, Renjun sees magic in its purest form. He could spend all of his life staring at them and still feel like there's too much left to explore.
"I don't think this foolish decision is yours to make, then", they decide, lightly squeezing his hands and glancing down to the ground. "I would rather live one more hour with you than one hundred lifetimes on my own."
There is a sharp intake in his breath as if a blade had buried itself deep in his stomach. It pains him just the same, he realizes. Hearing them say that and knowing they speak the truth brings tears to his eyes because he knows this is the point where he has to stop them. Stop them from wondering about the "what if's" and from asking that of him. Gods know if they ask again, he won't have the strength to decline.
"I, on the other hand, would like for you to live a very long, happy, fulfilling life," he remarks, hoping the shaking in his voice is not too evident. "And for that to happen, you can't be that much of an idiot, okay? Don't give that away for some human prince, Y/N."
"And what if that human prince is all I care about? What if he is my entire existence, and my one reason to sleep through the nights is to dream about him? What then, Renjun?" they challenge.
It's rare to see elves speaking in any way that is not moderate, light, but the fire in their voice is nothing like he's ever seen. It's the same anger that fuels them to pull him closer, resting their palms on his warm cheeks and wiping away the tears he didn't know have fallen.
"Then you must tell me what does that make me. What is this between us?" Renjun mutters, eyes closing with soft flutters. Guilt claws at his chest for not immediately putting an end to it but savouring the moment, feeling himself fall a bit deeper for the elf as each second ticks by.
"Love", Y/N simply states, sighing when his hands come together to hold the small of their back. "It's love."
"A part of me wishes you had not said that", he leans into their touch. "Had you said 'nothing' and stopped torturing me, my heart would have been broken, but I would have been fine. How can I be, now, when all you've just done makes me cherish you more?" he chuckles bitterly.
He knows what they're about to say, and he can't stand to hear it, so he continues talking, eyes indolently opening to scan their features.
"Things are different for us, Y/N. While you don't have to worry about succeeding the throne, that is my fate. To be a good ruler for my people when my own father dies. I can't leave them behind", Renjun breathes, hating the way their hopeful look melts into denial.
"You have a brother, you know? Leave him to rule. We've both seen what it's like to wear the crown, Injun", they grimace.
It is true. Being part of the royal family means you grow used to many horrible sights and dark secrets. He can't help but wonder what it will be like to live all of that and not have you to keep him sane.
Shaking his head to dissolve querying thoughts, Renjun attempts to focus on something else that is not them. It's dangerous to be that close, feeling their own ragged breaths fawning over his face. He is just one touch away from all he has ever wanted, but one touch away is still forbidden. In that one touch lies his downfall.
As if hearing his prayers, the wind blows stronger, running through his silken, dark locks and messing up Y/N's. It backfires, though. The urge he has to resist now is to run his hands through their hair, pushing away all of the wild strands that frame their face, and he curses. Nothing could ever make this any less difficult for him.
"If Chenle ever becomes king, I pity the people that will live under his hand."
He smiles, and Y/N realizes he must be attempting to make a joke. They wish they could laugh, but the conclusion behind his words hangs in the air. He won't change his mind, will he?
A sob leaves their body as suddenly as the tears come. Their vision turns misty, and the cold awareness that hits them is too much to manage. Wordlessly, Y/N falls to their knees, hugging their own body in attempts to calm the heartbreaking cries pouring from their lips. The pleasant spring evening turns cold and unforgiving, and the elf loses their bearings for a second, only to realize Renjun has dropped to the ground in front of them.
Neither of them dares to open their eyes when two bodies become one, and the only thing they know is each other. Fingers grasp at robes, armour and leather, and rough sobs blend together in utter heartbreak. Renjun pulls them so close he's not sure which limbs are his or whose tears he's tasting, but it hardly matters. This is where they end.
How much time they spend lost in each other's embraces is unclear. Neither Y/N nor Renjun knows, and they don't want to. Acknowledging time is dangerous here because it means accepting this moment won't last forever, and that is something they can't—won't do. It won't be so until they let it, right?
Wrong, and they know it. The Sun is going down.
When sobs have turned into whimpers and clutches have turned into caresses, Y/N takes the courage to pull away and look at him.
The prince's eyes are red and puffy, much like theirs, they imagine. His pale cheeks are stained with dry tears, and his pretty lips still tremble from the deep breaths. He doesn't meet their gaze until they call his name.
"Renjun", they call once more, admiring the blue hour lights shifting across his dashing features. "I—" Y/N gasps, and he's suddenly terrified of what they'll say. "I think maybe... maybe we should no longer meet. I can't bear to look at you and know you're not mine to take."
Just like that, his fears were confirmed. In his mind, he knows this is how it was supposed to go all along. This is for the best, he reminds himself, even if right now it feels like having your soul ripped to shreds.
"Don't say it like that, Y/N. I've always been, and I'll always be yours", he flashes a watery smile. "Perhaps just... in another lifetime."
The pain becomes too much to handle, and all they can do is close the space between them again. Their last and first kiss is salty, from the tears they both still shed and bittersweet, from the goodbye it speaks.
How poetic, they think, to say goodbye right by a bush of forget-me-nots. I'll surely never forget him.
"Go now", Y/N whispers as they part, "before I kiss you again and never let you go."
A heartbroken chuckle leaves his lips while he touches his forehead against theirs.
"Remember me, Y/N", he begs, slowly dragging them to their feet. "Remember me like this, young and well, learning what the flowers you mark our spots with look like. Always see me like this: grateful and completely in love with you."
"How could I not, my prince?"
And in truth, how could they not?
To say Y/N never forgot about Renjun is a misunderstanding. They never forgot about him, and they never stopped thinking about him either. His are every emotion they've felt. Every split of every second in every day of their life was and is dedicated to him. His smile is all they see when they close their eyes, and his laughter sounds right by their side whenever they visit the forget-me-not fields. He lived in all of the things surrounding them, and even in the name of that corner right by the tallest red oak: Prince's Lair.
Likewise, his very soul was bound to Y/N from the day they met to the day he died, still in reverence of how much devotion it is possible to feel for someone. He grew older and eventually found a family, yes, and he even went to war. His eyes held visions he would never wish for anyone to see, but they were still his first thought in the morning and the last one in the night when he allowed himself to weep for their lost future. He got to see the most distant borders of many kingdoms, and he got to meet people in all of them. Yet, no creature on this Earth ever compared to Y/N—his Y/N.
Even at the tender age of 18, Renjun was wise.
Aeons of praying upon the stars never changed their fortune, but maybe there is something else to their fates.
Y/N never stopped loving Renjun, and Renjun loved them until his days were over, but their paths never crossed again.
Perhaps in another lifetime.
#huang renjun#renjun x reader#renjun oneshot#nct dream#renjun angst#renjun fluff#nct fantasy au#prince!renjun
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camp staghorn - 2
alright, here’s part 2, starting to get good now! next part features rowan’s side of the story its very exciting. anyway, enjoy! also send in prompts (preferably rowaelin) if you want, i like a mix of things im writing or i get bored.
masterlist, main masterlist, AO3
~~~
It was the first official day of camp. Aelin was slightly disappointed by the basic ice cream sandwiches that were apparently the well sought-after prize, she almost felt bad for sabotaging Rowan over such a thing.
Nonetheless, Aelin got dressed along with the rest of her campers. They sleepily weaved around each other as they readied for the busy day ahead. Pulling on a generic tank top and shorts while shoving her hair in a ponytail, Aelin decided she was ready enough.
“Alright, everyone has to apply sunscreen before we go!” Aelin reminded the group as she squeezed toothpaste onto her brush. She received a couple of okays in return.
Finally, she and the rest of the camps made it to the dining hall where eggs and mini pancakes were being served. Aelin spotted Rowan Whitethorn from across the room, hunched over the small, white table surrounded by his friends from the other day.
She made her way to the line forming for food, consequently passing Rowan’s table in the process.
“Hey, Rowan, look it’s the girl who kicked your ass!” She recognized Fenrys as the one making the snide comment. Rowan only glared.
Aelin tossed him a sweet smile, “The ice cream was delicious by the way!” She didn’t linger for a response, instead, she joined Lys in line, but she heard Fenrys laugh and slap Rowan on the back.
The rest of breakfast went without consequence, Aelin sat with Elide and Lys while keeping a close eye on her campers. She thought she’d likely just have to endure Rowan’s glares and frowns for the rest of the week in retaliation for her behavior.
Boy, was she wrong.
+++
It was midday and the afternoon sun was beating down on everyone. Aelin felt sticky with sweat and sunscreen as she sat down with the rest of her campers on a bench painted with a peeling, light green rouge in front of the stage.
Every day, before lunch, the camps were scheduled to gather back in the center. It was a time for kids to hydrate and camps got the chance to perform skits or play games. So far, Aelin’s group had gotten plenty of time on the rock climbing wall. She was enjoying herself despite the weather, she was having fun getting to know her campers.
Now, Aelin was desperately gulping down water as Gavriel appeared on stage.
“Hey, guys! I hope everyone is having a good first day at camp so far! As you know we at Camp Staghorn like to take this time for some fun between the camps! First up on today’s agenda camp 12 has a special skit they’re apparently dying to perform, so without further ado, everyone give it up for camp 12!” The crowd responded in claps and even a few whistles.
Gavriel exited the stage and handed Rowan the microphone as he did so. Rowan hopped on stage with his group of boys in tow, they all looked giddy, practically bouncing in their shoes.
“Hi everyone, I’m Rowan, camp 12’s counselor, and today-”
“We will be baking a cake!” A little boy screamed into the mic, interrupting Rowan.
“Uh, yes, a cake.” Rowan was adorably awkward on stage, Aelin had to admit.
Rowan passed the microphone down to another little boy, “First, we need a volunteer!” The boy shouted enthusiastically into the mic. Hands shot up around Aelin, kids were half out of their seats jumping up and down in an attempt to obtain the boys’ attention.
“Hm,” the boy mused as he surveyed the crowd. Rowan bent down and whispered something in his ear and that’s when the boy pointed right at Aelin. “We will take you as a volunteer!”
Aelin’s girls giggled and started trying to push her out of her seat, she rolled her eyes playfully and made her way on stage. Once she was up there the boy instructed her to sit in a chair that had been pulled onto the stage. Aelin did as told and waited. She wasn’t quite sure what was about to happen but Aelin was never one to turn down the spotlight.
“Alright, everyone knows the first ingredient that’s called for in every cake recipe is flour,” Rowan now spoke into the microphone once again. Aelin waited patiently for directions when suddenly a mound of flour was poured into her lap. It coated her, the flour stuck to her sunscreen and covered her face, attempting to wipe it off was futile.
“Don’t forget the eggs!” A boy yelled and then Aelin truly almost lost it.
An egg had been cracked atop her head and was sliding down her hair, she could feel it. The kids were laughing hysterically now, all thinking it was one big joke but Aelin was seeing red. She was honestly shocked and trying to process what the hell just happened.
“We need sugar too!” As soon as a granule of sugar made contact with Aelin’s hair, she hopped out of the chair, still wiping at the flour around her eyes.
“What the he- heck!” Aelin demanded, turning to face Rowan with a scowl.
“Did I not mention it was a human cake?” Rowan grinned, looking mighty pleased with himself.
Aelin wanted to punch the stupid smile off his face. She wanted to curse him out with every dirty word that she could think up but the laughter of children reminded her of their audience.
“I’m afraid you didn’t,” she responded in the coldest tone she could muster. Rowan only shrugged then wiped his finger through the flour on her cheek.
“You’re a little under-baked.”
It took every ounce of Aelin’s self-control to walk off the stage and back to her cabin to wash off without murdering Rowan Whitethorn.
Poor Rowan had started a war with the wrong girl.
+++
As dinner approached Aelin had thought up about 10 different ways she could get Rowan back and she kept a mental list of all of them.
Her campers were well aware of Aelin’s foul mood and let her have her space as the day went on. The wheels kept turning in her mind until Aelin deduced she had a perfect plan to get him back tonight, it wasn’t anything too crazy, no. Aelin wanted to start small, minor inconveniences until she could really fuck him over as the week progressed.
Aelin and the girls were taking a stroll around the lake when she turned to them. “How do you guys feel about getting camp 12 back for their little skit this afternoon?”
The girls raised their eyebrows and a little girl named Ansel spoke up, “Like a prank war?”
“Yeah, like a prank war,” Aelin considered. The girls giggled at that and were totally on board as Aelin explained her master plan.
+++
The camps were meant to be eating down at the lake tonight, cuddled up around campfires and each camp had their own pre-packed dinners to bring down there. Aelin and her girls went to the dining hall early, ready to snatch up camp 12’s dinners well before they came to collect them.
Nobody was even there to question Aelin and her campers as they retreated with the dinners, slipping out of the dining hall with ease.
Now, it was time for phase two. It was a fairly simple plan, easy to execute. They stuffed all the dinners into a trash bag and ventured into the forest where there was a collection of mini ziplines that traversed a flowing creek.
It was just too easy to tie up the trash bag onto one of the ziplines and send it off until it was dangling above the middle of the muddy stream.
“Looks good girls, now let's go get our dinner,” Aelin turned around to the group of girls all wearing wicked smiles.
So, Aelin made her second trip to the dining hall that evening to claim her camp’s dinners. She decided to leave Rowan a little note on a napkin where his food was supposed to be, she intended for him to know exactly who had done it.
I heard there’s special dining tonight at the staghorn mini ziplines
-A
She even added a little heart for emphasis.
~~~
taglist: @live-the-fangirl-life
@rowaelinismyotp
@gosuckadickghostman
@camilamartinezdunne
#rowaelin#rowaelin au#rowan x aelin#rowan whitethorn#throne of glass#throne of glass fanfiction#aelin ashryver galanthynius#rowaelin fanfiction#fenrys moonbeam#lysandra#elide lochan#camp staghorn#aelin galanthynius
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Trans Fest fic claim
Thank you so much to the @hptransfest mods for organising this wonderful fest once again, and to @april-thelightfury115, @secretlycrazyhummingbird and @drarryruinedme7 for the encouragement and help!
Luna-centric (with a dash of Luna/Ginny/Neville) | 800 words | General Audiences | Trans, Asexual, Polyamorous Luna, Advice Columnist Luna, Fluff, Feel-Good, Gender Euphoria
Summary: Advice columnist Luna Lovegood receives a question from a trans teenager: what does home feel like?
Read Dear Luna on AO3 or below the cut:
THE QUIBBLER
31st March 2014
Q:
Dear Luna,
Thank you so much for running this column. Your advice to others has been eye-opening to me in the last few months, and I think I’m finally ready to ask you a question I’ve been asking myself for years. I’m 17, trans, and I live with my parents at the moment. I wouldn’t say they’re bad parents—they love me dearly, and I love them too—but I don’t think they quite understand me. I don’t think I can be myself in their house: not fully, not without justifying myself to them. So I often find myself wondering about the idea of home. What does it feel like? How do you know you’ve finally found a place you can call home? Is it even possible to find one if you’re incapable of feeling at home around your own parents? I’m kind of terrified that I’ll always feel like a stranger around the people I love.
Thank you in advance!
Bee
A:
My dear Bee,
What a beautiful, wonderful question to ask. Home is arguably the most simple and yet convoluted concept humanity has ever come up with: it is as plain and as universal as a feeling of belonging, and yet so intricate, so abstract, that no two people would define it the same way: often not even the people You share a home with, or who feel like home to You.
Home can be a place: your parents’ house, or Hogwarts, or the treehouse You hide in when You want to forget the world; home can be a person—a parent, a lover, a friend—or a group of people, or the place where You get to spend time with them. Home can be multiple and singular, tangible and ineffable all at once: home can be a memory, a hope, or a daydream. It can be a cheap hair clip or an invaluable family heirloom. Home can be You, too: your mind, your body; a means through which You radically love and accept yourself despite it all.
I would say, for me and at this moment of my life, home is the gardens of my beautiful house in the hills, where I get to spend time with my partners and with myself: where I help Neville tend to his plants and watch Ginny practice her Quidditch manoeuvres, and where I lie on my hammock and mull over my thoughts about questions like yours while I listen to the birds. Home is our kitchen, bathed by the sun rays during golden hours and smelling of homemade muffins; it’s my favourite wrinkles on Ginny’s face when she can’t stop laughing and the way Neville pulls me closer when he’s about to fall asleep. Home is having our friends over, and knowing that they, too, call our house their home, because they feel welcome, safe and happy when we’re together.
Home is my favourite dress that I own right now: it’s a vibrant red and it caresses my legs with the wind and has enough pockets to collect every rock on the river shore, and it makes me feel like I’m walking over the clouds instead of underneath them. Home is my body, too: the joy I experience through it, and the beauty of being able to exist in the world as myself and nobody else.
But, most importantly, home is all the things, people, and places that have been home for me throughout different moments of my life, and which I carry close to my heart even if I’ve outgrown them: the small clearing in Hogwarts’ Forbidden Forest where the Thestrals used to nap after their afternoon meal. The first flower I ever tucked behind my ear, long before I felt at ease within my body or mind. The names I tried out for myself before I fell in love with Luna, and the people I shared heated kisses with before I learned to love the fact that the only kisses I truly want to give are of the domestic, and not the passionate kind.
And this is because home, dear Bee, isn’t one single thing we must hope and wish for all our lives: home is not final, nor is it immutable. It’s all the big and little ways in which we fall in love with life and with ourselves. It is that which makes us feel whole, understood, embraced, and at ease at any given moment of our lives, no matter how lost, stranded, or hopeless we might feel. Home is so overwhelmingly universal, even in its ephemerality, that there is no one person incapable of experiencing it, because how could a human never come across anything that makes them feel whole, even if only for a fraction of a second?
Or at least that’s what home is for me. You might find, with time, that home to You is something entirely different. But isn’t that the best part, after all—to know that You get to discover all the things that are home to You?
Love,
Luna
(Reblogs are incredibly appreciated!)
#OTPshipper98#hp trans fest 2021#Trans HP#trans luna lovegood#Asexual luna Lovegood#Polyamorous Luna Lovegood#Luna x Ginny x Neville#Luna x Neville x Ginny#Ginny x Luna x Neville
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Old Friend: Mad Sweeney - American Gods
Mad Sweeney x friend!reader, platonic
TW/CW: Anger, mentions of violence, mentions of pollution, arguments, insults, yelling, etc.
Word count: Almost 1.8 K
I tried.
Summary: An old nature god wants to fight but has lost their will until an old friend gives them a stern talking to.
•
That field had once been filled with trees and animals. Now, it was almost completely barren save for the insects and grass. Thousands of trees, thousands of them, cut to the stump and even the stumps were ripped out. Thousands of homes lost and torn away by humanity. Thousands upon thousands of animals scattered from their homes and pushed out by greed, and a lack of empathy and understanding. Thousands of innocents gone, dead, or pushed out.
That was a constant thought as you sat in the empty field.
There was once a time when humans respected the earth and its bounty. When humans gave back and treated their home with kindness and respect. Those days have long since passed. Now, they flood the oceans, rivers, lakes, and ponds with filth, and they take too much. Always acting like what they take is never enough. They tear apart the land to build or to farm, forgetting the ways of old and what would happen if they went too far. Forgetting the wildfires and the earthquakes, the tsunamis and tornados. Forgetting that the earth was very much alive and willing to destroy those who destroy them.
Maybe it was time to make them remember. To strike fear back into their hearts and make them pray again.
You stood and screamed into what was once a beautiful forest.
The humans had gone so far and done so much damage. You needed to stop them before they destroyed everything, even themselves. You needed to protect what they took advantage of. You needed to fight against them.
But, how could you? Your power was shrinking. Sure, some people fought for the earth, but none believed in you. You were only kept alive by leaching from the worship of other gods like yourself and the belief of the common human held for the planet. None was your own. None knew of you. None truly believed in you, not even by faint memory. You were worse than a forgotten god, in your book. A parasite simply living because you were too stubborn to let go. Maybe it was time to.
“You seem more pissed than usual,” a familiar Irish voice said.
You looked over your shoulder to see Mad Sweeney standing there, smoking one of his disgusting cigarettes.
“Leprechaun,” you growled before turning back. “Go away.”
You could hear him approach, the dirt and what was left of the trees crunching beneath his feet. He stopped beside you.
“It’ll grow back,” he said. “With time.”
Scoffing, you said, “But how much of that is left?”
‘For us and for them?’ you thought.
He nodded in understanding. “Not much. Not enough.”
Though you fought hard, tears pricked at your eyes.
The world had once been beautiful, peaceful, but since the humans forgot, they had destroyed so much. Hell, even before they forgot, their kind seemed determined to destroy each other and what was around them.
Though you weren’t around during prehistoric times, you had met other gods a long time ago who had. They had faded away many years ago, but they had passed on their stories. Stories of hunter-gatherers and small tribes. Stories of wanderers rarely passing by each other. Stories of a world so new and a people so young that they had yet to look to the stars in search of more.
You wished you had lived during those times. And that you had passed long before this one.
There were those who hadn’t forgotten, who tried to live by the old ways, but they were dwindling every day. They tried but rarely for long. It simply wasn’t sustainable in this day and age. You blamed that New God, World for that. Then, there were those who spoke of change, but rarely changed in the slight. Those were the type of people you hated most of all.
You knew it wasn’t entirely humanity’s fault.
No, it was, but you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe that such a promising species could be so cruel and hateful.
Humans had created a world where innocents were murdered with no rhyme or reason, where wars slaughtered millions for the greed of man. At least the Aztecs did it with purpose outside of riches with their human sacrifices. These modern humans had made a world filled with bigotry, hatred, and pain. These once brilliant creatures devolved, fighting and killing each other for no reason. They had done that for many, many years, but now, they were destroying the world around them, too.
It was the corporations that filled the world with their waste, thinking nothing of it, and exploiting the natural resources around them. You knew that. But the empty, heartless, cruel monster behind those corporations were human. The CEOs who didn’t care. The menial worker who was trying to survive in a soulless world. The executives who allowed this to go on and even encouraged it. As long as money lined their pockets, they didn’t care what happened to the forests and the oceans. The only ones who did were the tree companies who replanted their unnatural forests. After all, if all the trees are gone, how are they supposed to make more paper, pencils, planks, etc, to sell?
It was the governments who didn’t care because it didn’t involve them until they had to say something. They only ever seemed to do anything when they were called out on it. Sometimes, even then, they didn’t.
It was the media who only ever paid attention when nature struck back or when there was a good headline. They rarely even batted an eye at the beauty it had to offer.
It was the technology that caused ignorance and made people so addicted that they rarely enjoyed it unless it was to take pictures for their social media accounts or something of the like.
The leprechaun placed a hand on your shoulder.
“Are you going to do something about it? Or are you going to stand here, moping about like some fuckin’ coward?” He asked. “You a fuckin’ coward now? Is that how it is?”
You glared. “Let me mourn for my loss, Leprechaun.”
He snorted. “In the words of a wise god, ‘Angry is good. Angry get’s shit done.’ Don’t mourn, Y/N, get angry.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “You think I mourned when my people were attacked? No. I got angry and I fuckin’ took care of it.” Flicking the cigarette to the ground, he spoke again, turning toward you, “The forests are growing smaller, nature is being taken over. The people? They’re losing respect. Show ‘em why they should fear you. Make ‘em remember before there is nothing left to remember.”
He spoke of all the things you wanted to do. But the fire inside did not burn as bright as it once had.
You glared at the leprechaun before he succumbed and picked his cigarette up, stuffing it in his pocket. “Sorry,” he said.
You turned to the barren land.
“I will think about your words but I make no agreement of what is to be done.”
Mad Sweeney scoffed, letting his eyes wander over the torn ground.
“You know who’s responsible for this,” he said. “Do something about it.”
Tears fell down your face.
“They have a solution for everything. Every disaster, every famine, everything. There is nothing I can do. I want to. I want to fight back, but I am not as strong as I once was.” You sighed, pained, and looked to the ground. “Age has whittled me down. And they have grown too powerful.”
Mad Sweeney rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck that,” he said before gesturing widely. “Without their technology, they’re nothin’. You fuckin’ hear me. Nothin’. Without the ability to work as one and without the ability to spread the information, they are as weak as a forgotten god.” Standing in front of you, he looked you in the eye. “Make the sky rain with blood. Poison ‘em. Burn ‘em. Shake ‘em to their very fuckin’ cores. Make ‘em beg and pray to the Earth, to you, again. Destroy what gives ‘em the power to forget and they will pray as they always should.”
You nodded to yourself.
The leprechaun was right, of course. They were nothing without their New Gods. Still, his words seemed too unlike him. And too much like a certain other god. Like a call to war.
“He put you up to this, didn’t he?” You asked.
The leprechaun straightened.
“I don’t need his fuckin’ permission to get yer mind in the right fuckin’ space,” he said. “We’ve known each other a long, long while, Y/N. Longer than I care to remember. Yer very fuckin’ essence is that of the Earth. To protect it is yer only reason to live. Are you really going to stand by and let it be destroyed?”
You looked at him, taking in his words. Separating anger from logic, you nodded and stared out, the wind and bright sun making you glare.
“You are right, old friend.” Your voice sounded distant as you considered your options. “But, as I said before, I am old, Leprechaun. Too old. This is a younger god’s fight.”
It pained you to say. You wanted to fight against them. To bring back the Earth’s power. The anger you had felt before dwindled. You were too weak and too old.
Mad Sweeney scoffed. “A younger god’s fight? Really? Yer pullin’ that bullshit on me? Mr Wood, or whatever the fuck they call him, left his forest behind. Most nature spirits and gods, like Pan and his satyrs, old Asintmah, Aranyani, and Grand Bois, have lost their will to fight. Are you going to do the same? You going to give up?” He hissed. “Nature is more powerful than anything humans could ever believe in or create. Don’t tell me you believe the bullshit the fuckin’ humans pour out about how they can fight nature. Look at fuckin’ Chernobyl. Look how nature has retaken it. There is no species more destructive than humans and nothing as powerful as nature. An immovable object against an unstoppable force.” The leprechaun sighed. “Take it back before nothing is left.”
After getting no response, Mad Sweeney shook his head, muttering “Fuckin’ coward” under his breath and began to walk away.
“Where?” you called after him.
He turned back, mouth slightly agape.
“Where would we meet?” You asked. “For this war he is calling.”
Mad Sweeney smiled. “House on the Rock, Wisconsin.”
You nodded.
“I’ll see you there, old friend.”
“And I, you--” Mad Sweeney paused. “--Old friend.”
#mad sweeney#Pablo Schreiber#american gods#fanfiction#american gods fanfiction#old gods#pollution#anger#platonic#mad sweeney x reader
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.heather. (m)
hyunjindrabbles
warning: alocohol, partying, blowjob
word count: 2.7k (based off the song heather by conan gray)
••••
Don’t fall in love with your bestfriend; just don’t. Don’t let it get to your head with those words they say, you’ll just end up hurt.
Though he never knew how You felt, You were too late. You lost your chance, to heather, You wanted to hate her but how can you hate such an angel?
It hurt that warm September night, when he showed up to your 19th birthday party. Heather with him. You shouldn’t have to fake a smile on your birthday, but the way she had him wrapped around her finger made jealousy burn in your stomach. You decidedly drank away the heartache with copious amounts of alcohol.
You’d drank a lot more alcohol ever since then, all from the pain and emotional turmoil swirling through your head. You found yourself waking up in his friends bed; weather for comfort or some form of sick twisted revenge You cooked up in your head. But he was with Heather.
You’d avoided his texts and calls for months, it was November, the air was brisk and turned your nose a bright shade of pink. You were walking through the streets of Seoul, your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets. The familiar buzz of your phone in you pocket. You took it out glancing at the screen.
1 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣
You unlocked your phone to read what he said. You and Chan had been hooking up a lot recently, so you assumed it was something about your plans.
C: 𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙣 ;) 𝙗𝙪𝙪𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙜𝙤 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧??
Chan always loved parties, but he was a responsible partier. He always toke care of you, in more ways than one.
Y/n: 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙢𝙚 𝙪𝙥!
You decided to head back to your small apartment. Somehow the space felt colder than the outdoors, you were always alone nowadays. Your friends all had their own lives to worry about, on the outside it probably seemed you didn’t care for yourself, your constant intake of alcohol and an occasional cigarette.
You were just hurt, questioning why he hadn’t chose you, 𝘽𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙖 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙤𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣. You mind pointed out to you, a sigh left your lips. Taking a seat at your vanity, your eyes studied your tired face — the dark circles that sat beneath your void eyes, your lips not lifting from their pout.
You felt sorry for yourself, the nearly unrecognizable person who stared back at you in the mirror. You sighed rubbing your hands over your face, you were a complete stranger to the girl you saw in the mirror months before.
•
You sat in Chan’s car looking in the mirror attached to the sun visor, you expertly made yourself look my presentable and lively. You took a swig of the small bottle of alcohol you had thrown in your bag. Chan chuckled beside you.
“You know, I can’t fuck you if you get blackout drunk.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Just looking out for you.” He smiled, patting your thigh then getting out of the car. You rolled you eyes before following suit.
It was 10:35, the bass heavy music from changbin’s private home moving through the cool night air. He’d bought the house to throw parties in an attempt to avoid annoying neighbors, it was located in the forest, almost like a cabin.
Chan came up beside you, squeezing at your ass, “You good spending the night here? Changbin said he’s cool with us taking one of the guest rooms.” He winked at you. You nodded in agreement, biting at your lip.
The house was crowded with sweaty bodies that danced wildly to the pounding music. Chan’s lips pressed to your ear telling you he would go get the two of you drinks. So you mingled walking through the house.
“Y/n!” A voice called, you turned to find Changbin who was visibly and audibly being effected by the alcohol he consumed.
“Hey, Binnie!” You smiled, he was like a brother to you. He knew about you and Chan but he trusted Chan with his life and he knew he’d never hurt you.
“Where’s the party animal?”
“Right here.” Chan’s voice sounded as he came closer with two cups, ultimately handing you one before giving Chan a bro hug.
“Man I needed this.” Chan said before downing a sip of the strong beverage in his cup.
Changbin snorted, “You’re so dramatic.” He turned to you before sipping at his own cup, “Did you know your boyfriend was so into the theatrical scene y/n?”
Your cheeks blazed at the question, Chan taking notice only to punch him lightly in the arm. Changbin looked to him then you then back to Chan.
“Oh come on, just date already, what do you have to lose?” Changbin shrugged before gulping down more alcohol.
“Come on don’t take him too seriously, loosen up.” Chan said to you once Changbin had walked off to greet more people. You nodded drinking before allowing Chan to lead you to the crowd of dancing people.
But your thoughts lingered back to Changbin’s words. What did you have to lose? The trust and respect of your bestfriend? But, did Hyunjin really care what you did now a days? The answer was no, but you tried to convince yourself he would. You chugged the rest of the cup making Chan chuckle.
“Go easy there ok?” He said close to your ear, you waved him off before kissing his lips.
“I can handle a little alcohol Chan.” You smirked before dancing against him, or on him rather.
His veiny hands held your hips, as you swayed your hips. His head dropped on your shoulder and you heard him grunt lowly in your ear and you chuckled.
“That turned on already? You poor thing.” Chan’s head popped up instantly, his eyes narrowed at you.
“You better shut that pretty mouth of yours.”
“And if I don’t?” You tested, Chan scoffed lightly. He picked you up in the middle of the crowd and threw you over his shoulder.
“CHRISTOPHER!” You exclaimed not having expected his actions. Your cheeks where red, partly because you were upside down but also due to embarrassment the skirt you had on wasn’t that long.
When he did finally set you down it was in the privacy of a bedroom, the door to which was promptly shut behind him. He pulled your arm down signaling you to get on your knees which you did gladly. Now facing Chan’s 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩, the front of his pants pulling tight. He undid his belt and the button of his pants before pushing his garments down just enough so he was free from the restraint.
You scooted towards him eagerly sitting on your heels and starring up at him through your lashes. The small nod he gave was all you needed before taking him in your mouth, you knew you wouldn’t have the control for long so you took advantage of the brief moment. Swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, then taking him fully in your mouth little by little before pulling back. You knew it drove him crazy, and left him begging for more before he took the reigns. You knew Chan’s body well, you were fully aware of what pleased him, what made him feel good and he you.
You took all of him, the tip hitting the back of your throat lightly, then pulling off of him completely a string of saliva still connecting you. And with that Chan reached to your neck, carefully wrapping his fingers around it, before he brought his cock to your lips beginning to thrust into your mouth and down your throat. Tears formed in your eyes as you chocked around him, as spit dribbled down your chin.
Chan loved you like this, so pretty and at his dispense. It was times like these where his domineering side shown through, when his hand wrapped around your throat could feel himself. Times like these that he forget that you weren’t truly his yet, that there was another, who ironically happened to be his bestfriend. Chan loved you, you were just too blinded to see that, when he stayed when he held you until the sun came up the next morning, that it meant more.
•
Hyunjin and Heather showed up to the party, hand in hand, and a now drunk Changbin approached them.
“Hey love birds! Finally decided to come to a party, it’s been to long!” He slurred over his words, a wide smile on his lips.
“Hey Changbin, where’s everyone else?”
“Ah! Felix and Jisung are mixing drinks in the kitchen they’re not too bad, Jeongin is passed out on the couch, Seungmin and Minho are fighting about if cats or dogs are better and— Chan and Y/n should be around here somewhere,” Changbin looked around for them, “There they are!” He pointed at them, Hyunjin looked to see you leaving a room whipping your chin on the back of your hand. But the initial shock came from how Chan groped your behind and smirked before whispering something in your ear, to which you seemed to giggle.
He watched you leave Chan’s side and stalk into the kitchen. He couldn’t place the feeling of betrayal he felt in his chest, had he really been gone that long? Was he that distracted?
“Hey,” you greeted Jisung and Felix who were concentrated on making crazy strong drinks, “What is this?” You looked into a cup on the counter, it was pink like it had been poured straight from a bottle of pepto bismol.
“That my friend is the, 𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙪𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧.” Felix answered in a ‘matter-of-fact’ tone.
“How appetizing— can I have it?”
Jisung shrugged, “Sure, just be careful.” And so you took it, it was crazy sweet but you could taste the buzz of the alcohol on your tongue. It went straight to your head and you giggled at the numbing feeling.
“Y/n?” You turned, a smile on your face that quickly faltered, 𝙃𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙟𝙞𝙣.
“You’re here.”
“Can I talk to you? Outside please?” He asked, his voice was stern, you nodded following him out into the yard where you sat on a step of the deck. It was just us. Your heart couldn’t help but race, but when he turned around to face you again he seemed hurt.
“What?”
“What are you doing Y/n?” You gave him a look of confusion, “I saw you and Chan.” You instantly brought your cup to your lips, there was no way you were about to have this conversation sober, feeling glad for how strong the beverage was.
When you didn’t answer right away he continued, “So what, are you two dating?”
“No.” You took another sip.
“So you’re really just sleeping with him?”
“It’s more complicated than that.” You mumbled.
“Then do explain, especially the part where my two bestfriends are sleeping with eachother behind my back.”
“Would you ever date me?” You asked suddenly.
“What? How does that have anything to do with-“
“Just answer the question.”
“You’re my bestfriend Y/n.” Was all he said, 𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝.
“I’m not good enough.” You stated.
“Don’t say that.”
You shrugged, “I don’t meet your standards,”
“Y/n-“
“-You want someone whose perfect, skinny, pretty, So when you take off their clothes you don’t flinch. Someone perfect, and I’m not that. I-I’m damaged, broken, fat, ugly— you’d never love me. Sometimes I just wish I were heather.”
“What did you just say?”
“Hmm, which part?”
“The last part.”
“You’d never love me. What am I wrong?”
“Y/n, you know I love you-“
“But not like heather.” You stated taking another hefty sip of the alcoholic beverage in your hand, you still weren’t sure what was in it, but it sure helped to numb the heartache.
“You wish you were heather. That’s what you said right?” He asked, you couldn’t put together the emotion in his tone, due to the alcohol running through your system. You simply lifted the plastic cup in his direction before bringing it back down to your lips, letting the liquid slide down your throat once again. “So what are you saying?”
“I wish I were heather. You’re smart string-bean, figure it out.”
“Stop saying that.”
You snorted, “No can do string-bean, I’m just being honest, lying is bad you know.”
“Please stop wishing to be her.”
“Why?” You decided to test him, “but I do wish I were heather. I 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 wish I was heather. I wish you would love me like that.” You were on your feet now, stumbling forward to hyunjin, “I wish- I wish you would kiss me like I were heather, touch me like I were heather, fuck me like I were heather. So no, I won’t stop, because I really, 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮, fucking wish I was hea-”
Your words were cut short by the unexpected lips on your own. You felt the warm tears of your bestfriend on your face before you saw them. 𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜? You wondered, 𝙒𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪? You shoved him off.
“Don’t you dare kiss me because you pity me!” You pointed at him, your lips still tingling.
“No, y/n that’s not it! I lo-“
“Just go back to your 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙, I’ll be going back to Chan now.” You slurred, turning your back on him.
“What so he can just fuck you like a whore and leave?!” You whipped back around to face him.
“Don’t you fucking dare, don’t you dare try to tell me what’s good for me now! Where the fuck have you been the past four months, huh?” Tears began to invade your vision, “You’re crazy thinking you can just come back into my life and tell me what to do with it! Chan was there, you weren’t. You can’t just kiss me, especially when you have a girlfriend. I still don’t even understand why you did that; why would you ever kiss me hyunjin? I’m not even 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 as pretty as her.” You sighed, “Please just- just leave me alone from now on.”
This time when you turned back to the house you didn’t look back, just let the pounding music soothe your broken pieces. You were angry the way he indirectly called you a whore for sleeping with one man, and the way he couldn’t have been more wrong about the whole situation. Chan didn’t just fuck you and leave. There were of course times like that because he had things to do in life like any person, but most of the times he stayed, he helped you with a lot of things. He understood the things about you Hyunjin just simply didn’t get anymore, you didn’t blame him. He’d grown up much different than you had. He was practically raised to marry someone like heather, to have a perfect family with her.
You were never an option. And you never would be.
•
Chan held your hair back as you threw up in the toilet. His free hand rubbing circles on your back, in order to soothe you.
When you finally leaned back from the toilet and against the wall, Chan brought a towel up to wipe off your face. The way he smiled so warmly at you, with not a hint of disgust making you melt.
“Better?” He asked.
“Much.” You sighed, “I’m sorry for being a burden.”
He shook his head intently, “You’re never a burden to me, Y/n,” he kissed your forehead, “Far from it.”
•••
The years that followed that night at the party were long, filled with new obstacles, but that’s life. Chan helped you through the brute of it, he was by your side without a question or complaint.
You fell in love, with someone who you knew loved you the same, in a small apartment at 3am sitting at the piano next to him watching him play the instrument effortlessly. It was in that moment were you realized, Hyunjin had faded from your thoughts. That it’d been years since you even spoke to your bestfriend. But you knew it was for the best, he was happy and so were you.
Things worked out, maybe not in the way you imagined or with whom. But you wouldn’t change this ending for the world, you learned you didn’t need to be heather to have happiness. You just needed to be you.
#skz hyunjin drabbles#hwang hyunjin#bang chan#hyunjin angst#skz smut#Chan smut#stray kids hyunjin#stray kids oneshot#hyunjin drabbles#hyunjin fic#hwang hyunjin oneshot#hyunjin x reader#chan x reader#stray kids drabbles#hyunjin#Chan#skz#stray kids#skz fic#stray kids smut#stray kids Chan#skz angst#stray kids angst#hwang hyunjin drabbles#hwang hyunjin angst#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#hyunjin fanfic#Chan fanfic
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The end of the world - Negan (fluff/angst)
!Don’t copy or edit my work, without asking for my consent!
Request by @negans-attagirl : First of all: I love your stories! Would you have time writing a story with Negan/OC where the OC is a psychologist and Negan is her patient and he is like the sassy king we now during sessions, she tries to suppress her growing feelings for him but sooner or late gives in. A nice sidekick would be if she gets stalked by another patient and Negan saves her one day before they get intimate. I hope that’s not too specific. Anyways thank you so much! 🥰🥰🥰
Decided to include the request into something I’ve been working on. Inspired by Billie Eilish version of the song. Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Negan and the reader have to live through the end of the world, the day where the apocalypse started
tw: angst, this could be triggering for some of you, mentions loss of loved ones.
(Credit to gif owner)
“Negan, right?”, she double checked his name, eyes drawn to the tall, handsome man, “damn right doll”, his raspy voice made her shiver. His leatherjacket crunched with every step he took, plopping down in the chair in front of her, eyes shamelessly checking her out, already forgetting, why he had decided to visit her office.
He’d turn up once a week, barely talking about his fears, his nightmares, that kept him laying awake at night, his sassy comments would keep her on her toes, flushed cheeks hidden away from his curious eyes. “Sweet lord, doc that skirt does some things to me”, Negan chuckled, towering above her, tongue darting out to wet his lips, hands slowly wandering down her sides. “I’m your therapist Negan, we can’t”, she sounded unconvinced, shaky voice echoing through the room.
But he wouldn’t be Negan, if he’d ever listen to her, lips meeting hers in a passionate kiss, drowning out the sounds of her moans. Both had been hooked on each other from the first day on, he’d ask her out on dates and at one point he’d ask her to move in with him, followed by the night, where he proposed. He’d keep her sane, would protect her at all costs, shamelessly in love with her.
They had their lives planned out in front of them, would try for kids at point point, living together in a small house, just enough for their little family, but sometimes dreams would simply not come true. Something both would have to accept rather sooner than later.
Breathe the air again, it's a beautiful day
I wish this moment would stay with the Earth
Some primal paradise
It should have been a day like any other, should have been a day, where they’d savor their time together, getting lost in each others embraces as they were watching show reruns, giggling about the words they knew by heart by now, it should have been a day like any other.
But it wasn't.
Both woke with a heavy feeling clouding their minds, they took a few extra moments for themselves, touching and kissing each other, as if they were trying to remember how to other one would taste, how their skin would feel underneath their fingertips.
Negan was towering above her, hands cupping her cheeks, lips pressed against hers, “I love you”, the words were burned into her mind, words she’d never forget, till her last breath would leave her body. “I love you too”, the words carried some heavy weight, engulfing him like a thick blanket on a cold December morning, cradling him in its fabric.
“Maybe we should take some time for us, somewhere else, where we could just be on our own?”, (y/n) combed her hand through his hair, staring at the man who’s last name she had been carrying for years by now. “I’d love that doll”, he smirked at her, even though Negan didn’t truly felt the wave of happiness crash upon him, like he had desperately hoped for.
They had been wrapped in each others arms as the broadcast went live, reporting about the killings, the accidents, how the government and the armed forces were desperately trying to get the situation under control, empty words, lies, that would stick to them for a while. He bit his tongue, rising from the sofa, “pack a bag doll”, they had to leave, had to make it out of there, Negan knew, that they’d only manage to make it, if they’d leave now.
If the end of the world was near
Where would you choose to be?
Tears were blurring her vision as she grasped his hand a bit tighter, (y/n) couldn’t reach her parents, with trembling limbs she blindly followed him, not being able to focus on anything or anyone. “What if something happened to them?”, she sobbed, holding onto him, “we need to check on them, see, if they’re alright Negan”. He desperately wanted to give in, wanted to drive her over to her parents house, like they’d do any Sunday, eating lunch together as they’d talk about god knows what.
But he knew, that there wouldn’t be any Sunday lunches ever again, at least for a while.
Negans mind kept working on autopilot, dragging (y/n) along with him, out of their apartment complex, head whipping from one side to another, running towards their car. “Negan?”, she frantically repeated his name, couldn’t truly grasp what was going on, she felt confused, anxious and panicked. The smell of something burning hung in the air, the sound of sirens echoed through their street, “listen to me”, he grasped her chin, forcing her glassy eyes up to his.
“We need to make it out of here”
His words didn’t leave any room to argue, didn’t give her any time to come up with a remark, Negan started the car and reversed out of his spot, driving towards the highway, they’d be able to make it out of there, to save themselves, nothing would rip them away from each other.
At least, that’s what he thought.
We would love again
Under glorious suns
With the freedom that comes with the truth
She tried to drown out the screams, tried to forget about the weird walking people, wondering what was going on, wondering what was happening, but the rapid beating of her heart brought its realization with it, the end of the world was near, at least that’s what it felt like. (Y/n) watched a few cars crash together, people ran around the streets, crying for help, watching them speed by as they were making their way towards the highway.
“Fuck”, his raspy voice ripped her out of her thoughts, they were surrounded by hundreds of cars, stuck in a thick traffic jam, apparently they haven’t been the only ones, who wanted to get out of the city. “It’ll be alright”, it sounded more like a question, her shaky voice made his heart clench, Negan felt sick, he wasn’t one to get anxious, wasn’t one to lose his focus, but today all of his beliefs had left him behind.
Hours seemed to pass by, the screaming wouldn’t stop, cars would honk all through the afternoon, cursing as they were stuck, not moving forward. “What’s wrong with them?”, (y/n) pointed her finger towards a group of slow walking people, blood was dripping down from their clothing, their hair was hanging into their faces, their skin had turned greyish, the sight made a lump form in her throat.
Both kept their eyes focused on the nearing crowd, Negan's instincts seemed to kick in, like a few of the drivers near by, he pulled (y/n) out of their car, strapping their bags, running towards the forest, not looking back once. “Doll”, Negan panted, eyes finding hers every now and then, they were surrounded by quite a few people, all running into the same directions, crying and begging for help. Groans echoed through the night, the chilling sound made her shiver, lose her focus for just a second.
A second enough to make her let go of his hand, falling behind, losing all sight of him.
If we had five more minutes
Would I, could I, make you happy?
“Negan?”, (y/n) screamed, tears were welling up in her eyes, her breathing quickened, she tried to pick up her speed, but it seemed like she got lost in the crowd, getting pushed into another direction. She called his name over and over again, swallowing down her sobs, by now the sun began to set, her feet were hurting, she was sweating, feeling more exhausted than ever.
He couldn’t find her anywhere, couldn’t hear her voice, no trace of his wife as he combed through the crowd, he tried to move against the current, tried to make his way back, but the people seemed to pull him with them, not giving him any chance to make a run for it. “(Y/n)?”, he’d call her name every now and then, he wouldn’t give up, not on her, not on his (y/n).
“Here”, one of the guys pushed his baseball bat into Negan's hand, tugging Negan with him, eyes focused straight ahead, running through the forest, hoping to make his way out alive. The thought of her wouldn’t leave his mind, his heart was aching for her, praying that she had found somebody to keep her safe, Negan wouldn’t rest, not until he had found her.
If we had five more minutes of air to breathe
And we cried all through it
But you spent them with me
On our last few drags of air we agree
I was and you were happy
-----------------------
There’ll most likely be a part 2 xxx
#Negan#negan imagine#negan x reader#negan angst#Jeffrey dean morgan#twd#the walking dead imagine#the walking dead
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