#naught eight

[runespoor7]

I feel like JC has some weird gender shit going on. Not even in the normal sense; in the ‘assigned ruined woman by the narrative’ sense. Like. Wow. JC, you really gonna get called childhood sweethearts with your rogueish evil shixiong? JC, you really gonna be left alone with naught but a single child, a widow in all but name? Wangji is out there trying to assign himself widower vibes but JC is getting constant woman scorned and wronged wife energies forced upon him from get-go.

Even his father was like *looking at an eight year old* “I see my nagging wife in you”

THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING

his parents really took a glance at that toddler and decided to project the most unhinged gender possible on him. JC, assigned neglected wife at birth.

JC performs it so conscientiously too! It's so so so important to how he is with WWX and how he views himself. 9yo JC after he's known WWX: "there he is. the cad that will break my heart." and can't ever everrrrrr stop loving WWX or break away from the utter grip WWX has on him. JC has known since before WWX came into his life that he was made to be neglected/scorned, by the person supposed to stand by his side and to whom he's supposed to be loyal.

Also lmao at the left with a child thing. It's totally that, except JC WISHES he was a widow!!! He's not even granted that dignity by society! But nah he's the ruined woman who was seduced and abandoned by someone who promised her marriage and then went off and died after making her look for a fool, while she was making excuses for him, and everyone knows what a chump JC was for it! Was WWX lying all along? Was is ever even real ?

(JC gets the answer to that question when WWX breaks it off at the temple by telling him nah, it was only duty to JC's family that made stick by JC's side. Probably not how WWX meant it! But wow, way to put it the least personal possible way. WWX's most intimate organ in JC's body had nothing to do with feelings for JC or JC as a person. Way to make sure JC never, ever reaches out for fear of being that nagging, clingy, shrewish, needy embarrassment of a person)

#chengxian #mdzs #assigned neglected wife at birth #jc's totally UNHINGED and dependent-on-wwx gender #imagine getting dumped for the younger biddable starry eyed version of you who is ULTIMATELY lacking in autonomy and needing protection (wn) #for the snotty judgemental-to-others and blindly-loyal-to-his-love protector you lacked the power to succesfully be (lwj) #protector being a role that the person who dumped you also RELENTLESSLY refused you could be

[wintaerbaer]

dawning (kth)

summary: He’s never invited into your world during these late night sessions. You always push him away or ignore him. This is new.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader

rating: sfw

genre: established relationship au, angst, bit of fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 2.2k

warnings: heavy depictions of depression and panic attacks, a brief line where taehyung worries oc is s**cidal

a/n: another piece from my aggressively depressed era when i was trying to work some stuff out in my writing, but this one is very self-indulgent (and has a happier ending than the last one lol). and the background picture of the banner is mine! :)

MASTERLIST

He doesn’t hear you get up.

He wakes in the middle of the night and rolls over in bed to find cooling sheets in the spot next to him. Lying flat on his back, he listens for sound but there’s nothing, just the chirpings of nighttime insects and the cars passing by on the streets below. It’s not the first time he’s woken to find you gone, but it hurts the same.

The fact that he’s not enough for you.

Taehyung swings his legs out of bed and sighs as his feet press against the hardwood floor, rubs the heel of his hand into an eye. The clock on the nightstand reads 2:53am, and you really could be anywhere. There are nights when you’ve just gotten up to curl on the window seat in the living room, but there have been other times where you’ve left the apartment altogether. Sometimes you go to your favorite twenty-four-hour diner for a cup of coffee, and on one horror-filled night, he’d even had to call the cops to help track you down when you’d decided to take a late night walk in the park.

You say you just need to clear your head sometimes, but if he’s honest with himself, he’s terrified that you’re trying to get yourself killed.

He stands, snatches a sweatshirt off of the chair in the corner, takes a breath as he slips it over his skin.

He’ll find you; you’ll be okay.

He saunters into the living room, moonlight painting everything a pasty white, and confirms what he already knew to be true: you’re not here. It looks as though you didn’t touch anything either, everything being just as the two of you had left it before going to bed – wineglasses and dirty dishes on the coffee table (he’d take care of them in the morning), television remote precariously balanced on the arm of the couch.

The only thing different is your missing shoes by the door.

He slides his feet into his own sneakers, mentally running through all the places you could possibly be: the diner, the park. Hell, you could be wandering around the city mindlessly—how would he find you then?

The thought speeds him on as he hastens down the stairs and outside. He could try calling your cell phone, though you almost definitely wouldn’t pick up. You probably have it on silent anyway. You do that a lot; you say the noise bothers you.

But at times like this, it scares the shit out of him.

He strides down the sidewalk with purpose. He’ll check the diner first, and if you’re not there, the park will be next. Last time, you were found traipsing around the pond by the south end, and it’s possible you might be there again.

These worries are for naught though as he spots you through the window of Stella’s, coffee mug cradled in your hands.

The bell tinkles as he walks in the door, and your eyes immediately snap up to lock with his, some emotion swirling there that he just can’t put a name on. He slides into the booth seat across from you, signals your usual waitress for a cup of coffee, and makes an attempt at a smile.

“You were gone.”

“Yeah,” you say, quiet. “Just needed to clear my head.”

He takes a moment to study you, assesses the pain in your posture. “Scale of one to ten?” he asks. You frown at your cup, think.

“Eight.” You fiddle with a spoon. “I woke up and it was hard to breathe.”

He sighs. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

You’re frowning at your coffee again, haven’t looked him in the eye since he walked in. “You seemed peaceful,” you say. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

He reaches across the table to take your hand; you stiffen but doesn’t pull away. “I’ve told you, you’re never a bother. If I can help, let me help.”

You slide your hand from his grip, and there’s a long silence before you whisper, “What if you can’t?”

“What happens if you don’t let me try?” he asks, and your eyes finally meet his.

You say nothing—just stare at him—the hurt that he sees everyday peering out from under your lashes.

“Please, sweetheart, just try to help me understand what’s going on in your head.”

You break eye contact again to look long and hard out the window, and he knows he’s lost you.

“I can’t,” you say.

He slumps back in his seat, once again defeated. A cup of coffee is set in front of him, along with some creamer, and he gives the waitress a feeble smile in thanks, decides to focus on this task instead.

He pours the creamer into his mug and reaches down the table to grab a few packs of sugar, carefully tips them in. He doesn’t look at you, just slips a spoon into the cup and stirs, trying his best to not get angry.

Because he does, he wants to help. And you won’t let him in. He’s so tired of waking up to find you gone or crying in the bathroom or curled up by the window with that blank look on your face. All of this hurts him too; why can’t you see that? He just wants back the girl who wasn’t afraid to take a leap and kiss him on a rainy night in April after an umpteenth study date, and he knows you want that woman back too—he can see it in the way that you look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

He looks up at the sound of your voice and is horrified to see tears streaking down your face.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this hard,” you choke out, and any frustration that he was previously feeling dissipates immediately.

He slides into your side of the booth and hesitantly wraps an arm around your shoulders. You neither lean in nor resist and so he pulls you closer, tightening his embrace until you’re muffling your sobs in his shirt.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I promise. I’m right here.”

Taehyung just so happens to look up when you walk into the room, hair swinging past your shoulders and a textbook tucked under your arm. You’re pretty, beautiful actually, but you carry yourself in a way that suggests you don’t know it. Your eyes flick up to his and he reflexively looks down at his desk, embarrassed to be caught staring.

He busies himself with his phone, trying to act nonchalant, and he can feel the blush creeping into his face when you quietly take the seat next to him.

“Can I borrow a pen?” you ask after a few awkward seconds. He nods and fumbles around in his bag, still not looking at you for fear that he’s making a fool of himself—he can’t even find a damn pen. And sure enough, when he finally does locate one in the very depths of his backpack and hands it to you, your lips are twisted with barely held back laughter.

He’s thankful when the professor walks into the room and your eyes are no longer trained on him, making his heart beat faster than it ever has.

It’s barely a week before Taehyung once again wakes to find your side of the bed empty. He scrubs a hand down his face, gives a light shake of his head to clear the fog of sleep.

The clock on the nightstand reads 4:37am.

He rolls out of bed, rubs at his bicep where the faint prickling of pins-and-needles irritates the muscle. Then comes the habitual check for any noises that might indicate that you’re still in the apartment.

Nothing.

He slips on a jacket, slides his feet into a pair of boots, and tromps out of the room, stumbling into the wall ever so slightly from the grogginess that still weighs him down. He hopes you’re at Stella’s; he could use a cup of coffee right about now.

He crosses through the living room and is halfway out the door when he hears the voice.

“Hey.”

He spins on his heel and almost topples over. You’ve got your knees pulled up to your chest on the bench seat by the window, half of you bathing in pearly moonlight, the other half veiled in shadow.

“Hi,” he blurts. “I thought…I thought you were out.”

You shake your head, the bare hints of a smile gracing your lips. “No.”

He scratches at the back of his neck, never knowing what to do in the situations where you’re actually here. On most nights he just putters around, keeping an eye out while you impassively stare at the streets outside.

But tonight, you toe the vacant spot next to you.

“Sit with me,” you murmur.

That immediately gives him pause. He’s never invited into your world during these late night sessions. You always push him away or ignore him.

This is new.

He nudges off his shoes, drops his coat on the couch, and slowly makes his way over to where you’re curled by the window. Deciding to let you set the pace, he takes a cautious seat, back straight, hands in his lap.

“This okay?” he asks.

You cant forward, hair swinging to cover your face, but he thinks you’re laughing at him just a little bit and the knot in his chest loosens ever so slightly.

You guide him back so that his spine is pressed against the wall of the tiny nook, his legs swinging up to bracket the spot where you kneel. Then you turn so that your back is resting against his chest, before pulling his arms to wrap around your waist.

“This,” you whisper. “This is better.”

He lets out a long exhale, can’t help burying his nose in the hair at your neck. “Love you.”

You hum, leaning back in his embrace, and little by little, he feels the tension leave your body. It warms him from head to toe, holding you, the city lights keeping you both company.

And after a while, still propped up against him, you fall asleep.

His heart is in his throat, absolutely stunned into silence by the way the sleek, midnight blue dress you’re wearing hugs every curve and slope of your body. He truly doesn’t know how he’s gotten so lucky or what he could have possibly done to deserve your presence in his life.

You slide up to his side, a coy little smile flirting with your mouth as you slip your hand into his.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You aimlessly walk through the streets, arm in arm, laughing at the most random things and goofing off, and when he looks at you, you just seem so…happy.

You get to the park and he feels it’s now or never, so he pulls you to a halt. You look up at him, your tongue poking through your smile, and he’s lost all of his words, doesn’t even know what he could say that would ever be enough for you. Enough for this.

So he merely gets down on his knee and pulls out the ring.

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to, because you immediately gasp out a “Yes!” and join him on the ground, tightly wrapping your body around his. He clutches you to him, makes a silent promise to do everything in his power to make you happy.

To give you a reason to smile.

He’s jolted awake by your hands on his chest, shaking him violently. Eyes snapping open, Taehyung finds your face hovering over his, clearly panicked and crying.

He immediately bolts upright. “What? What’s wrong?”

You curl against his chest, sobs racking your frame. “Can’t,” you choke out. “I…I-I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” He tugs you tight against him as you shake your head.

“I-it’s suffocating,” you mumble. He tries to loosen his hold and pull away, but you latch on with a “No!” and he hesitantly wraps his arms back around you.

“I…I woke you up,” you say, sobs beginning to subside.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “It’s fine.”

“You wanted to…to help.”

Oh.

Wow.

“You want me to help? Just tell me how. You want to talk about it?”

You shake your head again, vigorously. “Please. No.”

“Then how—”

“Here,” you blurt. “Just stay here.”

He gives your shoulders a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” You press closer. “I know.”

He rubs his hands up and down your back as you gradually ease into him, your breaths evening out, and for the first time he feels hopeful. You may not be close to talking about it—may not be anywhere near opening up fully—but at least there’s this.

At least you let him hold you up.

The clock on the nightstand reads 6:13am.

a/n: pls consider liking, replying, reblogging, or sending an ask! <3

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic #bts fanfic

[iaure]

𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁; 𝗳𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗼𝗿

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟthe dearest collection - part one/beloved 𓆩♡𓆪 part two/prized 𓆩♡𓆪 part three/devoted 𓆩♡𓆪 part four/desperate 𓆩♡𓆪 part five/blind 𓆩♡𓆪 part six/watcher 𓆩♡𓆪 part seven/ardor 𓆩♡𓆪 part eight/fervor

this is very heavily inspired by @//clusterfuck-yandere's yandere leon headcanons; please check out their works. this is something of a love letter to their puppy obsession series. roadmap for future dearest parts with dates

yandere leon s. kennedy headcanons; reader is a survivor of raccoon city.

tw: general yandere behaviour, stalking, harassment, ptsd, entrapment, delusional thinking

notes: the formatting will be slightly different in some parts, as using the headcanon format with dialogue can feel quite clunky.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ guess who's back?!?!?! muerte is here and ready to rumble!! minor hiatus over - and I'm coming in swinging! melania content is going to follow shortly, as I missed it on my roadmap, but i wanted to prioritise this!! wahh!!!! ᏊΦ ꈊ ΦᏊ

this couldn't ever possibly be enough.

♡ you were so close to him.

♡ for the first time in so long, you weren't hidden away, like some fairy tale.

♡ your face was certainly something-a mix of horror, confusion, and what he was sure was simply complicated happiness, not disgust.

♡ but Leon didn't mind, nor care.

♡ this would go swimmingly!!

♡ he'd gotten all dolled up and everything.

♡ there was no coworker to hide you away. no job to steal your time.

♡ it was just him and you! alone! in your apartment!

♡ his joy was practically overflowing.

♡ he knew you'd understand!

♡ you were so sweet, so kind...there was no way you wouldn't!

♡ at your silence, he realised you were most likely nervous.

♡ after all, saying 'we need to talk' is always scary.

♡ you were probably worried sick that he was upset with you! that he was angry that you couldn't see him!

♡ but he'd never be angry at you. never.

♡ "i'm not mad at you! i swear!"

♡ he gave you the best smile he could, despite his heart launching into his throat.

♡ you were too cute!

♡ he was gonna date you, marry you, woo you, sweep you off your feet, get a house together-

♡ "get out of my apartment."

♡ the vitriol in your tone was enough to make his heart drop to his shoes.

♡ where did this come from?

♡ it made his stomach churn.

♡ all he did was love you. how would that garner such anger?

♡ the fantasy of how this would play out began to tear at the seams.

♡ he knew that you had no pity or love for him, in that second.

♡ he didn't understand how this could've started off so poorly, but he knew that he needed to get out what he needed to say now.

♡ "wait, wait, please!" he begged. "please, i just need you to listen to me!"

♡ your face shifted into something uncomfortable, like you were watching a bug, and he felt so...small.

♡ why did you feel this way about him? what did he do wrong?

♡ he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, just from the sheer pity and disgust of your gaze alone.

♡ you crossed your arms.

♡ "then talk."

♡ he immediately been pooling out his confession, stuttering and stumbling over his own words and embarrassment.

♡ he could barely hear what he was saying, let alone you possibly understanding it.

♡ he was functioning purely off of fear now, ready to sob and beg to whatever higher power that he had a chance.

♡ you put your hand up. "i don't understand gibberish."

♡ the force with which Leon's jaw clamped shut was biblical.

♡ he felt like a puppy who'd been chastised, wanting nothing more than to please you, to make you happy.

♡ his brain ran completely blank. he didn't what to say, what to do, how to fix this.

♡ wait! the flashcards!

♡ he began fumbling into his pockets, yanking out the flashcards. but some fell out of his hands, some were upside down, and others were smudged.

♡ it felt like the world was ending.

♡ you were watching him, and the sheer humiliation of it all felt like his entire existence was for naught.

♡ no, no. he couldn't give up. you gave him a chance, and if he blew it, he'd never forgive himself.

♡ he had this one opportunity.

♡ he stared up at you, at how you towered over him while he was sitting. you were so...perfect. how could he compare?

♡ he took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. calm...

♡ and he knew what he had to do.

♡ "i love you!"

♡ he was sure that his honesty would win you over, would bring back your love for him.

♡ but you raised an eyebrow, and he could only stare in horror.

♡ "and why does that warrant you breaking in?"

♡ your line of questioning made his heart fall into the earth's crust.

♡ he could only gape for a second, trying to realise just where along the line this went so wrong.

♡ it totally wasn't when he barricaded you in with him, right?

♡ "i...i needed to talk to you. and you've been avoiding me, so..."

♡ your frown was worse than any kind of possible nightmare he could have.

♡ "and how does that translate into you harassing me? stalking me? scaring the hell out of me?"

♡ the guilt was eating him alive. he absolutely, totally, completely went about this the wrong way, and now he's paying for it.

♡ you get up to move, and instantly, he knew it was now or never.

♡ if he let you get any further away, then he'd be giving up.

♡ he made an unceremonious dive for your legs, praying and sobbing against everything that you wouldn't just kick him in the shins.

Leon looked up at you, at how your face contorted into confused disgust. You looked at him as though he were nothing more than the dirt under your feet. And he hated to admit just how much he liked it. You were looking at him. It was everything. The smell of you overwhelmed him, eyes wide and a flush on his cheeks.

"Please! Please don't!" He hated just how much this made his heart thunder in his chest. You were looking at him. All he wanted was your eyes on him, all the time. If you looked away, he'd just...die. It'd be all over. Look at him, every day, please? "If you leave, I'll die! My heart would just stop beating! I can't live without you! You're everything to me! You're my world, and-! Please!"

You looked at him, scanning over his face as your nose scrunched up. Your mouth was slightly askew, tired from your work and from Leon...and you were perfect. Tears came to his eyes from just how overwhelming the entire situation was. This was the closest he'd been to you since you let him sleep in your bed. He knew he needed you to move, to get away from anywhere away from him.

He stood, gently tracing his hand up your body as he began to lead you back to the couch. Your movements were so slow, so uncertain...but that was alright. This was all about you and ensuring your own sense.

He had to come clean.

♡ he confessed to having known you on the internet, even back then.

♡ the look on your face was...something. you didn't seem as surprised as he thought you would be.

♡ he confessed to having come into your home before. he admitted to snagging some of his own prizes, to indulging a bit. he admitted to making sure you got home safe, in his own way.

♡ there was a lot he confessed, but he didn't particularly care or mind.

♡ he could see you think, could see your opinion shift in and out as he spoke.

♡ he wasn't sure what all your thoughts were. but you didn't look at him with disgust anymore.

♡ it leaned more towards pity, truthfully, but he certainly didn't mind.

♡ you didn't hate him anymore.

♡ this had gone the absolute best way possible.

Leon kept on talking, praying that the more he did, the more likely you were to love him back. To give him the dedication he gave you. All he ever wanted was you. If you'd feed him even a sliver of that...he'd be happy beyond belief.

"I've loved you for...god, so long now. It's been months, I think. You were always just so nice, even to people you didn't know, you know?" He played with his hands, hoping that you'd take what he said to heart. "Back on the forum, I didn't like that you were trying to help everyone by yourself. And you were always so sweet when you responded to me. It felt like I knew you my entire life. The people from Raccoon City, the people that know what happened...it's really a world of it's own."

The memories of what had happened, those he met. Those he left behind. Marvin. Ada. Those that he failed. There was nothing that could even come close, Leon was sure of that.

"Trying to save those two...I never said their names, did I? Sherry and Claire. Sherry was maybe ten, I think. She was under my care for a while, and I saw how the outbreak was scary. Caring for someone like that is scary. And you were trying to do it for so many people. I wanted to help you."

"You know stalking someone is scary?" You looked up at him with those pretty eyes, but your voice was gentle now. Sweet, succulent, worried. He cast his head down in shame.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm sorry."

"When you sent those messages, I was scared shitless, Leon." Your voice was firm, but quiet, trying to get the point across. "I thought you were going to kill me or kidnap me or something."

"Never!" Leon's heart leapt back to his throat at the idea. He'd rather die than any harm come to you, at all, ever. "I'd never do that! Swear to god! I wouldn't ever hurt you! I just-! I was scared. Scared that you hurt yourself, or something. I wanted to respect your privacy for as long as possible, but...I really wasn't sure what happened."

You stayed quiet, and the fear of you getting mad again began to well up.

"And I love you. I really do." Leon bit his lip, trying not to cry again. "I know I didn't really talk about my family."

"Mhm." Your eyes flicked across his face, he saw, and he couldn't help the flush. "You knew all about mine."

"I'm sorry."

"Your family?"

"They're...well, my parents died when I was a kid. And a cop took me in. And there was a lot of people liked me when I was a teenager for my looks, and it really messed me up. Literally right before the outbreak, I had just broken up with my girlfriend."

You raised an eyebrow and Leon faltered. Maybe you were the jealous type. Maybe you didn't like that he had a girlfriend.

"Am I a rebound or something?"

"No! No! I didn't mean it like that!" Leon felt like shrieking, trying to temper his voice but horrified at the idea that you'd think you were a rebound. His ex couldn't possibly begin to compare to you, in your divine glory. "She didn't really seem to love me, and I wanted someone who wanted more than just a guy who was nice-looking. And you were nice to me when you didn't even know who I was. And you were nice to me at the bakery, and during the power outage, and it was just a lot."

A lot. That was one way to put it.

You finally spoke, and your hands reached forward a bit to actually hold Leon's. He gave a stuttering gasp, and his eyes went wide. You were touching him. He wasn't forcing it. He wasn't reaching over for you. It was you. All you. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to hold his hand. You wanted him! You wanted him!!

"What do you want out of this?"

"What?" He had to snap out of the haze of you holding his hand, tilting his head. "What?"

"You came in today hoping for an outcome." Your words were stiff, almost practiced. "What's that outcome? The best case scenario?"

Leon went still. What did he want? The best outcome was that the two of you would date, be wed, have a house, share insurance, get two cars, and Leon would come home to you, and...well. Maybe capping it at marriage was the smart idea.

"I want to marry you."

"No."

"Okay." He gave a bitter chuckle at your quick response, face falling with a wince. That was...to be expected. Of course you'd say no. You were the practical type.

"However."

"However?!" He gasped, lighting back up again. However what! He felt like a dog, with someone opening a bag of treats.

"I'm open to dating-"

Yes!!!

God loved Leon. He was the world's favourite person. He was the luckiest man to breathe. The possibility that you would even entertain the thought of dating him was everything. He could touch you. Hug you. Kiss you! Hold you! Hug you! He thought of hugging twice, but the idea was just too good to pass up. He scooped you up into his arms, cheering as calmly as he possibly could.

"I'll be the best boyfriend ever, I promise! I'll do everything for you, I'll move in right away-or you can move in with me! We'll figure it out! I love you! I'm so excited! This is the best day of my life! I love you so much!"

"L-Leon!" You gasped, trying to get some words out past his bear hug. "On some conditions!"

Leon let you go, keeping his hands on your arms. His grin was like the sun opening up. If you asked him for the moon on a ring, he'd like the band with the stars and forge it all with the sun and make metal out of the night sky. He'd do anything.

"Of course! Anything!"

"One-don't threaten Selia."

"Who?" He paused. He knew only of a handful of people, but Selia wasn't a name he recalled.

"My coworker?" At your words, Leon's eyes went wide, with a 'ooohhh'. "I, believe or not, like hanging out with her."

"Okay." Leon nodded.

"Stop stealing my stuff. Ask first."

"Sounds good!"

"And just walk me home. Don't stalk me."

"I mean, I was doing that before..."

"Don't sass me."

"You're the boss!" Leon leaned down to kiss you, the joy in his heart about to make him combust. If he was going to die of joy, he wanted to sneak a kiss in first, so he can say he had the single greatest experience mankind could possibly achieve. But when he closed his eyes, he felt something that wasn't quite your soft lips. It was the palm of your hand, a bit sweaty against his mouth. He opened his eyes, blinking fast and still on top of the world.

"Mmh mmh? (Too soon?)"

"Yes, Leon. Too soon."

𓂋

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#yandere leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #yandere resident evil #yandere x reader #yandere resident evil x reader #˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ dearest updates #divagaciones (per) #˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ palabras muertas

[ludwig-holy-blade]

The Eyes of the Beholder

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male Dayne Reader

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the realm’s delight, did not feel beautiful today. It was the early morning on the isle of Starfall and Rhaenyra was sat upon the beach as she was oft to do every morning. Her gown had been soaked around her ankles and bum for the better part of an hour now, though she had hardly noticed. 

Her thoughts were awash with doubts as she stared out towards the Torrentine. It was only eight days ago that she had given birth to her fourth son and it had become strangely apparent to her that she was not the beauty she once was. After ten years of marriage Rhaenyra and Y/N had produced no less than eight children together. The thought brought a smile to her face. She and her husband had been rather over eager in their passions. 

The truth was however that those births had added weight to her once slender form. While Rhaenyra and her husband enjoyed the new size her breasts and bottom she had quickly become quite frustrated with the weight around her middle. This frustration was often made worse whenever she saw Alicent, still slender and slim despite having birthed four children of her own. She often feared that in time her husband would grow disgusted with her and in time would seek out others. There were so many after all in Dorne alone not to mention across the Narrow Sea and in Westeros itself. 

These thoughts liked to creep into her mind in the early morning and late into the evening. They would often leave her quiet and staring into the mirror, reminiscing on her once beauty. 

The sound of splashing dragged her out of her thoughts.

The reason for Rhaenyra’s love of watching the waves in the early morning was twofold. On one hand the sound of the waves and the cool air were calming and brought her a sense of peace. On the other, was her husbands love of swimming. Lord Y/N Dayne loved to swim around the entire length and breadth of his Island Castle and Rhaenyra loved to watch him. 

Y/N had also gotten bigger over the last ten years except unlike Rhaenyra Y/N had turned said weight into muscle. This was made easy due to her husband’s love of swimming and many other forms of exercise, he often spends hours training with his houses ancestral blade Dawn and loved wrestling and grappling. Rhaenyra loved to watch him train, not only was it incredibly attractive to watch Y/N’s muscle flex and move but it also made Rhaenyra more comfortable, it was a comfort to know just how well her husband could and in fact would protect her if needs be.

The sight before her was one she had seen many a time but still never grew tired of witnessing. Her husband came out of the water in naught but his small clothes and while a grin broke out across her face at the sight of him and thoughts of more amorous activities flooded her mind she couldn’t stop herself from covering her stomach. 

Y/N approached sluggishly, as there was no way possible to exit the water attractively. A smile broke out across his face as soon as he saw her, his true smile, the one that reached his eyes. The slow walk turned to a quick stride as he got closer. The sight of his approach made Rhaenyra’s heart beat faster and heavier, made her smile almost painfully wide and made a blush spread across her face and ears. 

He came and sat before her folding his knees under him. He looked nearly boyish in that moment, smiling like a fool without saying a word. The two of them simply sat there gazing at each other simply smiling. 

“Hello gorgeous.” Were the first words spoken, quietly, as if he was speaking reverently of her. Rhaenyra merely took him by the face brought his lips to hers. joy flood into her as it often did when they kissed. 

They parted for a mere moment and Y/N stopped to look at her. “What’s wrong Rhaenyra.” She averted her eyes though she knew she couldn’t hide her upset. She never could, not from Y/N. “It’s too early in the morning to be so distressed.” Rhaenyra had turned her face into her shoulder, a vain attempt to hide herself but Y/N had followed her turning his face with her. No longer desiring to hide from her husband, it was to want to she knew, Rhaenyra steeled herself. Taking a deep breath she spoke. 

“Do you still find me beautiful Y/N?” The shock that over took his face would have been funny if Rhaenyra was in a joking mood but she remained stoic. Y/N appeared almost offended by the very question when he answered. “Why wouldn’t I Rhaenyra, your as beautiful now as you’ve ever been.” His response was earnest and yet still Rhaenyra’s face was still downcast. “Who would call you anything but lovely Rhaenyra, tell me they’re name, I'll strike them down with a god’s wrath.” A laugh bubbled up from Rhaenyra. “No one Y/N I swear no one had offended me so.” A laugh interrupted her and she brought her hand to his cheek once again. “Though thank you for caring so much as to kill someone for my pleasure.” The two of them laughed quietly. 

“I will be honest with you then my love but please try not to judge me,” Rhaenyra breathed deeply again. “Over the past I have begun to notice, after the children have been born, I have kept more weight on my stomach than I should have been.” Y/N once again began to speak but Rhaenyra’s raised hand stopped him. “I simply do not feel as beautiful as I once did, I know you love me but it does worry me that perhaps one day you will decide to seek out another younger woman.” She wove her hand through his long dark hair, Y/N closed his eyes and took her hand. 

“Rhaenyra I want you to listen to me and hear everything I say.” She nodded. “I have loved you since the moment I first saw you as a boy. You are as beautiful as you could possibly be.” Y/N came forward, making Rhaenyra lie on her back. He settled his hands in her splayed out hair, as he loved to play with her silver locks. Y/N locked eyes with his wife before he spoke again. “There may younger women, prettier women, women with larger tits, tighter asses and the like.” He brought his hand down to stroke her cheek. “There will never be a woman more beautiful than you in my eyes, no one. And there shall never be another woman as beautiful as you to come.” 

Y/N began to kiss Rhaenyra’s neck, long deep kisses which pulled moans deep from within her throat. He descended slowly kissing a trail down her body. He opened her night gown, revealing her breasts to the early morning air, he kissed both of them for some time before moving on. He made his way downwards to her belly and stopped. He kissed it once, twice, thrice then over and over and over again. It was obvious what he was doing but Rhaenyra had not married him for his wits but rather for his honesty and frankness. It was not to say his kisses were ineffective either. Rhaenyra became hot once again, warmth flooding through her chest as Y/N’s kisses continued. 

After much time and many more kisses Y/N finally stopped. Crawling back upwards he sat between her legs, Rhaenyra wrapped them around his waist almost instinctively, and he kissed her lips again. “You may grow as big a house if you so desire Rhaenyra Targaryen and should any man call you anything less than beautiful I’ll kill them and the next generation of their families. No man or woman will demean you in my presence, not even yourself.” 

He brought his lips to hers once again, passion colliding as they embraced. Rhaenyra knew in that moment that no more words need pass between them, Y/N intended to prove his loyalty the best he could. It was long into the morning that they loved each other and Rhaenyra in that moment, could not have felt more magnificent. 

#rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen #House Dayne #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader #male reader #dayne!reader #house of the dragon #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire

[merotwst]

DRAGGED MY FEET RIGHT DOWN THE ISLE !

‹ . housewardens ›

. ficlets

⇝stuck in a failing and/or loveless marriage with them.

[ n: thank u for 600 followers, everyone! special thanks to @v-anrouge and @/love-thanatopsis for helping me so much with this fic i love u sm this is for u i hope u like it ! not proofread. ]

{ - - - → tw. angst. cheating, alcohol, arguments, aggression, mention of children on kalim's part, gaslighting, mentions of divorce, unhappiness and basically anything u would associate with marriages that just aren't working out exdee. just sad vibes here so stick around if ure in the mood to cry </3 }

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riddle rosehearts ‹ heartslabyul ›

he sat behind his desk, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. but despite the lingering tiredness of the day, you would think riddle would be ready to head himself to bed and get some proper rest, right? wrong. he feels like a man being sent off to war.

he'd have much rather spent the night in his office with a blanket and a pillow on the couch. the neck pain would be an easier form of misery to endure than having to spend an hour in a room with tension he often compares to a sinking ship with no lifeboats.

it almost seemed like you lived in separate worlds. he worked, you did whatever it is a dutiful partner does. only you did it far, far away. to your parties you went and talked to your friends, to his meetings he went and shared some good brandy with his own company. you both come home and head to your own separate chambers.

when you're out together you put on a good display of affections for everyone to see. holding hands, kissing each other on the cheek, smiling as if it were all just you against the world. how suffocating.

but behind the facade is an empty world. an empty house. empty hearts. just the clinking of sliver ware on the quiet dinner table sitting eight feet away from each other on both ends. silence was the only way to keep yourselves afloat. distance was your own form of a makeshift lifeboat because your vows at the altar were your own ways of saying it was ‘every man for himself’.

you were two strangers forced to live under the same roof.

and if it were not for his mother trying to salvage your miserable marriage—the marriage of her own engineering—by getting you both to sleep in the same room together, he would have been perfectly content with that dull, dreary, miserable lifestyle. the lifestyle once again, enforced onto him by his beloved mother.

the redhead leaned forward from his leather chair. a breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. his hand reached for the whiskey on the table and took one last sip before standing up, mentally hoping you were out to a party with your insufferable company of people. because if not, it's going to be another long night of sad, silent agony in a king sized bed—a sinking ship with no lifeboats.

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leona kingscholar ‹ savanaclaw ›

“open this door right now, [name]! stop acting like a damn brat!”

as the prince yells out that last word he pounds on the door more aggressively than he initially did. it echoed across the halls. the sounds reverberate and bounce back to reach his ears reminding him of the torment of his existence. all his efforts, efforts he never wanted to exert, all come in for naught. this always happens to him. this was the bane of his existence. falena gets the light shone in his face and the cheers and acknowledgement of everyone around him, he gets to pound on a door trying to get his partner to come out of their bathroom because they are late to the party where it was essential they should attend.

‘it takes two to tango’, they say. how does one dance when the other party can't even sit down for one second and look you in the eye without making you feel like you're the biggest burden to have ever arrived in his life? how does one cope with the resentment that's so evidently there? the contempt held for you when you enter a room together and he immediately drops your hand the second everyone starts looking away? you aren't his partner. you are nothing but a prop to him. to get his family off his back. he couldn't even do as much as acknowledge you whenever you entered your chambers alone.

people surround you day after day but you've never felt more alone in your life.

and as leona banged and screamed and twisted the knob the way he twisted your heart up and squeezed it dry, you pulled your knees close to your chest. biting your quivering lower lip till the metallic taste of blood filled your senses.

the light from the open door illuminates the room. your comfortable corner in the bathroom invaded by the lion's dominating presence. and as he watched you, gripping the fabric of your attire like it was your only other anchor to sanity, you felt him soften. ever so slightly, his shoulders eased up. his eyebrows raised a little from their initial cross direction and his eyes showed a hint of melancholy—no... pity. his shadow loomed over your curled up form, cast from the light outside that only reached you and him.

he did not do anything else. he just slightly clutched the key he held in his hands that he used to open the door a little tighter. he watched you for a moment, as if he were observing a small animal being cornered by a predator. silence enveloped the room only broken by your occasional pathetic sniffle and sob. he then turned on his heels.

“change your clothes, they're all wrinkly now. we leave in ten minutes.”

he closed the door to the room and the darkness enveloped you once more.

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azul ashengrotto ‹ octavinelle ›

the vase shattered as it hit the wall barely missing your husband's head. all the jewelry on your dresser tossed and strewn all across the floor. the clothes, the shoes and all the other vain things he'd given you as a consolation for never being home, never being available, never being a husband.

the thing about azul was that he could be a good actor whenever he wanted to be. it's essential for a businessman to know when to play a poker face, when to seem interested or whatnot. he'd mentioned that in passing back then when he would actually talk to you before you were married but now you forget the details. now that you think about it, back then he must have been acting, too. to gain your affections. to make you fall in love with him. so he can achieve his own greedy little goals. you look over at him and can't help a bitter laugh escape your throat.

he gave you a sharp look, “what is it that you find so humorous in this situation, darling?” the businessman asked in a mocking voice, “finally gone mad, have we?”

you turn to him, a small, resentful grin on your face, “oh honey you know i'm always mad for you!” you scream the last part as you hurled one of your favorite shoes at him. your husband was quick to evade this causing it to fly directly to one of your bedroom lamps. the two items fell to the floor with a clatter and smash. the sound of breaking glass mirrored your breaking heart.

azul opened his mouth, a string of insults flowing from his tongue so freely and you mirrored this by shooting your own painful words at his direction. the mingling angry voices bounced across the four walls of the room.

this was not the life you envisioned with him. where was the sweet, suave man that held your hand so gently and softly as he brought you to dinner? where was the kind, generous soul and took a short portion of his day to see you and personally deliver his flowers to you? where was the funny, charismatic person that charmed your family so much they were practically begging you to marry him? where was the husband that vowed to love and to cherish you at the altar?

that man was replaced by the empty space on your bed, the flowers delivered to you by random people you didn't know, the shoes and clothes and other ridiculous things he probably doesn't even pick out himself. and you would sit alone at your home, in front of a full sized mirror that reflected your pathetic state by showing you the tears that streamed down your face night after night that azul spent on his stupid company. the company which you made possible for him by marrying him. what a fool you are.

objects flew, tears shed, hearts broken.

but the saddest of all is that each and every one these things only seem to come from your side of the room and not his.

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kalim al-asim ‹ scarabia ›

you sat in your bedroom, watching the seconds tick by. the clock's hands showed it was two in the morning. normally you would expect a married couple to be in bed together asleep at this hour, but not for you. these days, it seemed to be a somewhat better though. as of late, he was usually out because of the hectic pressures of being head of the family and jamil would attest to this fact.

he'd promised you he wouldn't see her anymore. you wanted to make it work. you begged him to try to make it work with you—even if only for the children. and he agreed. and somehow, this sparked some home in your bitter situation. and that made it bearable for you.

you sat, then stood, then paced, then sat again. restless energy built up in your body thinking of what to say to him when he comes through the door. things were looking up and you wanted to help him relax after another very stretched out day. it's the least you can do for him. after all, no matter what the situation, kalim was always kind to you. he always made you feel like you mattered and listened and made you feel valid. you are essentially the parent to his children and so he made sure he was treating you well to an extent.

but that... that just isn't enough. you're his partner. you needed to feel like his partner. someone he could turn to, someone he could talk to, someone he could run to whenever things got bad. but kalim always kept you at arm's length. he was your husband but he could never completely be a husband.

because he did not love you.

he loved—loves her.

it shows on his disheveled hair. it shows on the perfume that you smell on his clothes. it shows on the lipstick stains on his neck. it shows on the look of shock on his face when he sees you awake. waiting. disappointed.

your twiddling fingers drop to your sides the same way your heart dropped and shattered on the floor. the exhaustion evident on your features when you sit down heavily on the soft cushions of the sofa.

“[name]... i... i thought you were asleep...” kalim sputtered out. he sounded like a child who was just caught snooping around the kitchen late at night.

if only it were as simple as stealing cookies from the kitchen cupboard at two-thirty.

“and i thought we were trying, kalim,” you replied flatly.

he didn't respond. you didn't want to stay. you couldn't. so you stood up and looked him straight in the eye—they looked guilty. and... they feel sorry for you. you hated it.

you turned around, not giving him time to finish whatever ‘explanation’ he had come up with again. you couldn't bear it. you refuse to cry for him—not anymore. you're exhausted and you couldn't bear to be inside that suffocating room with him any longer.

“i'll sleep with the children tonight.” you say before heading to the door leaving your husband and your broken heart along with him.

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vil schoenheit ‹ pomefiore ›

‘there's no business like show business!’

this is true for the most part. it has its ups and downs but vil personally never had much of a say in the matter of whether he would be in the public eye or not. all his life he'd been under the spotlight. the blinding flashes of the cameras, the bright lights of the stage, the softboxes and umbrellas that would make any normal person squint and and turn away don't even make him flinch. but that's not to say it wasn't exhausting.

of course that was the small price to pay for a profession such as vil's. he has made the many greater sacrifices to get where he is in life. and although people who don't live the lifestyle he had would feel the intimidation of the showbiz world, he was surprised you didn't seem like it bothered you much at all.

the people of twisted wonderland adored you when you both started dating. it all seemed like a perfect fairy tale whenever they saw you and vil liked that. of course they weren't really far off. at the beginning it did seem like a fairy tale. you were perfect and even to himself it felt too good to be true.

and sure enough, it was.

majority of your dating life with vil was private but later down the line, after you got married, you both became more public about it. posting more pictures, going out together, attending events.

headlines of ‘the perfect couple’ turn into ‘the luckiest man alive’(referring to vil), to ‘[name]! the real star of the show’.

wherever vil went, people would ask for you. even in movie interviews meant for him—starring him. they were looking for you. they wanted you. they, “only really came because we thought [name] would be here!” in events where he was supposed to be the main attraction.

it's always you, you, you.

and at first he didn't mind. he was proud to have you as his partner. he even did feel like he was the happiest man alive for a while. but the more people asked for you, the more he felt the disappointment and sadness morph into something more bitter. his years and years of endless hard work and silent suffering against neige all came crashing back down in a repeating dance of fighting for acknowledgement. to be recognized as himself. and he thought he was finally over all that. working twice as hard and feeling—being overlooked. but you... he knows you don't do it on purpose. it's not your fault you're so easy to love. vil knows you would never purposefully overshadow him but whenever he sees you in the red carpet waving and smiling at the crowds all cheering and chanting your name like you were some sort of otherworldly being, he couldn't compete.

the way they all run to you without even so much as acknowledging his presence beside you felt the same as getting thrown tomatoes at and booed to him. and he remembers he was even booed at some point for not bringing you along on a public trip!

he didn't know when the sadness fully morphed into bitter resentment but whenever you were alone he found himself criticizing your every move. his subtle, snide remarks of your (perfectly well) clothes turned into full on insults. sometimes he would even guilt you into not attending events you were exclusively invited to.

and he knows you would never betray him. so you take it all quietly. you knew leaving vil would only villanize him more in the public eye. no matter what, he was still your husband and you made a sacred promise on the altar.

you both smile for the cameras in public, the mirage of the most perfect couple to be advertised to the whole of twisted wonderland. but behind closed doors are the heated arguments, the endless screaming, the nights you spent alone in your once lovely home curled up in bed.

your husband might have loved you once, and this hurts him just as much to admit—but vil can never love you again in circumstances like this. but you're both given no choice but to bear it.

there really is no business like show business.

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idia shroud ‹ ignihyde ›

there is no doubt idia shroud is a clever man. he’s a genius in more ways than one. he knows how to stand out in his own. he knows how to turn a situation in his favor and this isn’t just because of his years and years of experience in strategy games or looking for ways to try and escape social situations he hates so much, but also because he’s just a master at running away from situations.

the only situation people thought he could never escape from was standing with you at the altar. the “most horrifying” day of his life.

to think a hermit shut-in nobody like him would find himself in a lifelong commitment with someone is just absurd. but here you are in your miserable state of trying to get him to get out of his room. constantly bugging him to spend time with you—he’s already married you! is that not enough?

idia shroud is a clever man. he’s a genius in more ways than one. he knows how to turn a situation in his favor. and he’s spent enough time with you to know exactly how to break you without getting his hands dirty.

he finds himself buying a different house, far from where you are. under the guise of working better with no distractions. lies of saying he would call but never did.

endless nights of you pacing your room, phone to your ear hearing the ringing over and over and over again.

it just kept ringing and ringing and you wanted it to stop. you needed it to stop. you needed an answer.

and when the other line of your connection was the sound of company—of a companion—who was willing to give you the attention you deserved from such a cruel life, idia finally shows himself.

idia shroud is a clever man. he’s a genius in more ways than one. he knows how to turn a situation in his favor. and he’s always known how to win a game. you've fallen into his trap. he has the receipts of your conversations with the other person you were seeing, the photographs, the evidence. and as he slid the piece of paper and pen towards you on the other side of the table, a cocky grin on his face feeling like he'd finally got exactly what he wanted, he caught a glimpse of your sadness.

your melancholy in the way you picked up the pen and read through the divorce papers of his orchestrating. idia felt a tsunami of guilt wash him away as the sight of all the pain he caused you was so vividly clear to him now. but instead of signing, you drew a line across the piece of paper that was his path to ‘freedom’. and what idia saw that replaced the sadness in you was anger. resentment. betrayal of the worst kind.

there is no doubt india shroud s a clever man. he’s a genius in more ways than one.

but he is also a fool to think you were going to take all these hits lying down.

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malleus draconia ‹ diasomnia ›

people had given you a heads up before you got married that malleus draconia was a serious man.

he married you, sure, but you didn't know what you expected out of this marriage. after all, a marriage arranged by two families didn't really promise much on the love department and your made peace with that.

but you didn't expect the lack of affection to be in this extent.

he wouldn't touch you, let alone even look you in the eye. malleus was constantly busy in his study or going out to attending other formal gatherings. The only times he would come around to spending a portion of his day with you was during dinner. and they were long, painfully quiet dinners.

he had a duty as the prince of briar valley, after all. but you understood that. but sometimes you lie around your empty bedroom thinking about how your life could have been so much more better. the agonizing silence, the awkward touches, the forced smiles. it all felt so terribly depressing.

surely your husband could at least pretend to be comfortable when he's spending the day around you. but somehow it's always just some form of... indifference. whenever you would show small forms of affection like touching his hand or giving him a kiss, he would just stand there, not returning. not reflecting the same amount of affections as you did with him.

and of course you tried your best to make it better. consulting those closest to him to you try to understand him whenever he talked about things he was interested in. you tried to show support on his projects and his interests. you even tried to get invested into the gargoyles and architecture he so dearly loved and finally you thought it worked.

the occasional invite to tea, the small acknowledgements, the small talks about the things he liked. you felt like all your hard work started to pay off.

but when you made your way through the long corridors of the castle with a box of something special in your hands picked especially for the prince one afternoon, your feet came to a halt in front of the mahogany double doors of his study.

two voices—muffled by the barrier between you and the people in the room but it was enough to hear the all important parts of the conversation.

“it all is such a pain, lilia,” he said, “they're constantly trying to catch ny attention. to show me affection. but it all just feels so... miserable.

“i have tried to take your advice. to be more open and responsive to their advances but it just doesn't work. i cannot love them the way they want me to.”

the conversation goes on but you could no longer listen. the ringing in your ears were far louder drowning out any other sound around you.

you made your way back to your chambers silently slipping away.

that night malleus asked about the present left in front of his study and you only sighed softly in response

“it's simply my misery, sir.”.

© merotwst 2023 • do not steal, translate, copy or reproduce

#. merowrites #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland angst #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle angst #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #leona angst #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #azul angst #kalim al asim #kalim al asim x reader #kalim x reader #kalim angst #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil angst #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #idia angst #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader

[ms--lobotomy]

@liar-anubiass-blog hi! Tumblr has a habit of deleting the very ask I want to write for when it is its turn. Here's your Emps being a bit of a silly billy.

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summary: you are a poor unfortunate immortal who the emperor happened to take an interest in before the whole imperium of man thing. have fun with that

word count: 1353

content warnings: a bit of gore, a bit of longing for death, a very yandere man (god?) thing, also this shit is TOXIC toxic so beware, also he uses female words so if youre not a girl just pretend he used masculine pronouns i guess

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It all started when you were minding your own business, crossing the street sometime in the 3rd millenium. It was late at night, and you were walking alone to your car, parked a little ways away from your workplace. You started to cross the street. A car barrelled towards you, moving haphazardly through the street. You barely had time to turn your head before it collided with you, flattening your frail body. Bones cracked open, flesh fell apart and blood poured from every opening.

After the offending car had frantically drove away, you felt your bones moving back to where they should go and fresh blood oozing back into your form. Soon you were standing up right where you had been before you were struck, work uniform and all. You raised a hand to your cheek. The blood was inside, where it was supposed to be.

You never told a soul about the event. After all, who would believe you? But this was not the only thing you found strange. As you grew older, you never aged. It was a little strange around your 30s or 40s, but you knew something was up once you hit 50. Faking your death was challenging, but you somehow made it work, ready to start life in a new city.

And city to city you roamed, never staying in one place for too long. You began to hate, loathe this curse that had been put upon you. One part of humanity that everyone else had shared was no longer yours. You wanted to die, you wanted it to end when your time was up. But time marched on, and so did you.

You'd moved onto your next city, ready and resigned to this process you had carved out for yourself. Get some crummy job serving slop to people who sometimes yelled obscenities at you, find a place to rent for a little while, and hunker down and hope your secret would be safe.

But something was different about this city, you felt a pair of eyes on you no matter where you went. You weren't sure where they came from, but you now walked a little brisker and you certainly now slept a little less soundly. You requested, you begged to work at the back of the seedy restaurant you worked at, a request which was never granted. So you toiled away at the front, ever cautious to remain inconspicuous.

But all of that would be for naught in the end. You were once again walking home from work, complete with a disheveled uniform. He was a taller man who hadn't had to do much to keep up with your brisk place. He was adorned with long black hair, honey-brown eyes and golden skin. His voice was deep and commanding.

"I know what you are." He put a hand around the back of your neck, his index finger tapping it lightly.

You froze. He stopped walking next to you, looking down on you. "Hell of an opener," you said after a few moments of silence. "Ever introduce yourself?"

"You'll know who I am soon enough," he replied. He tightened his hand around the back of your neck. How tall was he? Maybe around seven or eight feet? "Keep quiet and follow me or I'll snap it."

You felt a lump form in your throat. You'd been very careful to keep your secret from the outside world. If your neck was snapped in broad daylight and you somehow came back from it, there would be no more secrets to keep.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

You walked through the busy streets, never meeting the gazes of the city folk. Some of them looked at their feet when you stared back at them, some of them kept looking. "What a lovely couple!" exclaimed an older lady before meandering past the two of you. You thought your feet were going to fall off before the strange man turned into a more suburban area of town. "Not too far left to go," he said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

As soon as you felt you couldn't do it anymore, he led you up the steps of a beaten-down two-story house. His grip was tight enough that you couldn't even consider running away. With his free hand, he pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the door. As he turned it, his hand trailed town towards your waist, grip tight as ever.

"Welcome to your new home," he smirked.

"My rent is due tomorrow," you remarked.

"You're not going to need it ever again," he said, pushing you into the house. This strange man had a maximalist aesthetic, little decorations were crammed into every corner of the place. He closed the door and led you through the halls, going slow to let you take in every little bit of it.

"So you're kidnapping me," you said flatly.

"That's a bit of an unkind way to put it, don't you think?" he asked. He pulled you close to him. You felt your heart beating in your chest. Not now, you thought.

"Think about it this way. You have a secret. A secret that I have as well. Don't you want to hide? Don't you want to slip under the radar?" he asked again. His hand slipped off of your waist and he knelt towards you, taking your hand in his.

"Do I know you?" you asked. You tried to pull away, but his grip was so tight it was bound to leave a nasty bruise.

"You may not know me, but I know you to your heart," he replied. "I've seen all that I need to see. You working long hours at that dead end job all but broke my heart. Those customers didn't see what I saw. I saw a beautiful individual stuck in a terrible existence. I saw you before me, living in fear. Don't you think you deserve to be freed from that existence?"

Your mouth hung slightly open. "You were the one following me," you said softly. "How did you have the time for that?" You pulled your hand away from his, and this time he relented.

"You can't explain the day you died and came back, can you?" he asked. "It's a little bit like that, don't you understand? I'm like you. I can help you. I can save you."

Your expression softened. "How?" you asked.

He stood up. He towered over you still, casting a shadow over you. "How about we head upstairs," he suggested, grabbing your arm and tugging you up the wooden stairs.

His bedroom was just as cluttered as his house was, if not more. There may have been around a dozen pillows on his bed, partially obscured by silky curtains. Light filtered through a window on the side of the room, illuminating books and statues and other little pieces of art.

"Where did you get all of this?" you asked. His hand trailed down your arm to meet your hand, engulfing it.

"I've lived a long time," he replied, leading you to the bed. He sat on it, pulling you onto his lap. "Longer than you have. Longer than you could comprehend." You could hear your heart beating in your chest again as he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, and you sat there for a moment, still. The curtains to the window fluttered slightly, the light made its way onto the both of you.

You weren't supposed to feel safe. You'd never seen this man before today, he all but kidnapped you. But you thought of your old life, hiding in nooks and crannies that the world couldn't find. Even if you would have to leave this area one day, you knew you weren't the only person afflicted with this curse.

You leaned back into his touch. You relaxed, going limp in his arms. He turned and planted a kiss on your exposed neck, just above where your collar ended.

"Good girl," he said.

#warhammer 40k x reader #emperor of mankind x reader #emperor of mankind #reader insert #warhammer 40k #warhammer lobotomy #oops i went a little apeshit but thats ok #i kinda wanna write a sequel for this but its like 10 pm and im folded

[chiefdirector]

Storing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

Soft muttering came from the almost empty detective’s bullpen. The only light came from a far to dim desk lamp and the far too bright computer screen in the back of the room. It had been a while since this desk had been used, Grey had told the Sergeant in charge of the detectives at Mid-Wilshire to keep the desk clear, despite knowing all the terrible things about long-term missing person cases, he could help but hope that (Y/N) would return home, and when she did he knew that she wouldn't want anything to change.

The desk had been tidied, the papers she had left sprawled all of it had been neatly stacked up and filed away. The blunt pencils in her pot had been sharpened and the almost dead pens had been replaced with new ones. Although, it was all for naught as the desk looked as messy as ever as (Y/N) remained hunched over the paperwork she was filing through.

Due to the happenings in her home that morning, she had requested an expedited return to the LAPD. Tim, Lopez, and Grey had supported her claim. She was reinstated, but only fully in the office. If she were to leave the station on shift, she would have to be assisted by another officer or detectives due to her still healing shoulder.

Tim watched her work from a distance, a pained expression flashing across his face as he realised that she wouldn't be resting any time soon. There was nothing he could do except to watch her. He knew that she would talk to him when she was ready but it still upset him. Watching her be like this made him realise that a part of her was still on the run, and he may see that part of her again.

– - - - -

Morning soon came, and with it an influx of officers.

(Y/N) stood from her desk with a stretch and moved to make her way into the morning briefing. This was one of the things she missed most about being a detective, the rapport with other officers built in rituals like this. But today’s meeting was nothing lighthearted at all. Instead of taking a seat, she walked to the back of the room and leaned against the window as Grey began to talk.

“As we know, yesterday morning Officer and Detective Bradford’s home was broken into, we have  no arrests yet but we are expecting more activity. So we will continue to have one unit outside. Smitty, you take Nolan today. Harper you will be with Detective Bradford, see if you two can jog any memories of hers that will help.” Grey flipped through the papers in his podium, looking for the rest of the specialised assignments. “Lopez, West. You will be going to a series of addresses in which Regina Diaz owned to see if you can find anything else. The rest of you will be business as usual, but you may be called back for another assignment. Dismissed.”

(Y/N) pushed herself of the window and walked down the aisle between the desks to greet Nyla and John. “I assume you wanna head out soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you at the shop. Dont be long.” Harper said, walking off, leaving her alone with John.

“Is she…?”

“Always like that? Yeah, but you grow used to it.” John smiled. “You want me to show you where the shop is?”

(Y/N) laughed and nodded. Nolan gestured for her to follow him. They walked in silence for a few moments before John couldn't contain himself anymore. “How are you doing? Being back here and all; I read your file before the Diaz raid. It must be a big adjustment.”

(Y/N) nodded, processing Nolan’s words. “Yeah… you’re right. It’s definitely an adjustment.”

John stopped in his tracks, noticing (Y/N)’s hesitation. “I haven’t upset you by asking that, have I?”

“No, not at all,” (Y/N) pushed her hair back from her face. “It’s just that nobody has asked me that. How I’m adjusting that is. Everyone just expects me to be the same old (Y/N), but I don’t know if she exists anymore. And i’m scared that once people realise that, they will no longer want to help me put a stop to all this.” She took a breath. “Sorry, I was rambling. Just ignore me.”

John reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her in her place. “Don’t apologise. That’s perfectly normal. If anything, you're doing better than most; if I were you, I would be out of my mind.”

“Thanks Nolan, I appreciate this.”

“Anytime,” John smiled, “Now I better get you to Harper before she castrates me and then get to Smitty before he forgets me… again.”

(Y/N) laughed, “He hasn’t changed then.”

“Unfortunately not.”

- - - - -

“Take a left at the next exit,” (Y/N) said, looking up from the GPS on her phone. “And then just follow the road down to the end.”

“Okay,” Nyla said, taking the turn as instructed. “You know, I get what you’re going through.”

(Y/N) hummed, turning her head away to look at the industrial buildings they passed. 

Harper tried not to roll her eyes at (Y/N)’s silence and carried on talking. “I was deep undercover too. I got caught out by one of them when I was with my daughter, it almost cost her her life, and it cost me custody of my kid.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) started, but was cut off by Harper continuing to speak.

“Don’t apologise. She’s fine, and I got her back. My point is that you don’t need to shut Tim out. He wants the best for you. He’s really trying.”

“I know. It's just hard knowing what could happen to him by my being here. And it would be all my fault. I don’t think I could live with that.”

“He did. He blamed himself for two years because you didn’t come home. He thought you were dead, everyone did.” Nyla pulled over the car. “We’re here. But don’t mind me asking, why are we at a storage facility?”

(Y/N) got out of the car and began to walk through the maze of lockers, Harper hot on her heels. “When I caught wind of Regina’s operation at the house, I knew that it could end badly for me. So I opened this storage facility in Tim’s name.”

Stopping outside locker 4823, (Y/N) pulled out a key from her back pocket and put it in the lock, turning it open. As the lock fell to the ground, she opened the locker. The inside was pretty sparse, a couple of cardboard boxes, a gun case and two polaroids were on the ground. 

“This is every conceivable threat I ever received in the last two years. If there is a pattern with the break in, we will find it here.”

Part Thirteen | Part Fifteen

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh  @kmc1989  @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie #bottom of the river #chiefdirector

[bloofinntoona]

Of Serpents and Whispers: To be Ominis

Part 1 of the Ominis Gaunt series: Of Serpents and Whispers

Word count: 1.2 k

Themes: Angst, gen, TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of pain from the Cruciatus Curse

Pairing: (to come) Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader, Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Summary/Author's Note: I wanted to expand Ominis' story since his background and storyline wasn't as polished as the other main student characters. Will dive deeper into the story further on!

Darkness.

Ominis Gaunt saw the world differently compared to other people. Being born without the ability to see, Ominis was used to navigating the world through his other senses. There was more than meets the eye anyways. Visuals are overrated. Ominis could feel the coldness of winter through the prickly sensation of snow falling on his skin, or how refreshing it is to inhale the scent of dew-covered leaves in spring mornings. To be quite honest, it was an advantage to block out the snide looks that his family gives him on the daily.

Some might say that being born into the House of Gaunt is a blessing. The Gaunts were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Ominis thought otherwise. Behind the splendor of the Gaunts’ massive manor, there was darkness weaved into the family name. Like many of Slytherin’s descendants, the Gaunt family was obsessed with keeping their lineage pure. Magic had to be kept between Wizard-kind only. These words were burned onto Ominis’ ears ever since he was little, as well as the screams of muggles when his family casted Crucio and other dark arts on them. They said that they did it for ‘practice’ and because ‘muggles are beneath us and they don’t deserve to live’. Ominis begged the differ. He could see neither muggles nor pure-bloods alike. It doesn’t matter. everyone was the same through his light-grey orbs.

Ominis Gaunt wished he was born into a normal family when his own parents made him stand in front of a cowering muggle. The boy couldn't see the terrified expression of the man, yet the gritting teeth, the wails, and pleas sent shivers down his spine. He could feel the wand in his sweaty grip slipping and falling down, the sound echoes around the chamber. Ominis thanked the universe that he couldn't see the disgusting looks of his snickering siblings, taunting the youngest of the Gaunt family. He heard a loud slap and felt a stinging pain on the backside of his head. “You foolish child,” his father grunted, “how many times do I have to tell you to cast the Cruciatus Curse on this… creature.” 

Ominis’ tears well up, shaking his head profusely. “Please, father, I cannot do this!” The nine-year-old boy fell down on his knees, begging for just a little bit of mercy from his family.

Yet it was all for naught. “Avada Kedavra!” screamed his father, followed by a loud thump! Ominis couldn't hear the pleas from the man anymore. He sits down, hugging his knees, blocking his siblings’ cruel remarks. Despite his inability to see, he can feel his father’s disappointed gaze burning onto him.

“Crucio!”

Ominis could only feel pain. His whole body stung, it felt like there were a thousand knives jabbing him all over his body. On top of that, he couldn’t scream as he felt a hand squeezing around his throat. The boy thought he would die there and then, yet the pain subsided after what it felt like hours.

“You are no son of mine.”

Ominis’ relationship with his family was never the same after that. Not like it was good before, but he could feel that Gaunts’ wished he would disappear. He solidified his hatred towards the Dark Arts, promising himself that we will not wield it. This view was shared with his favorite family member, his aunt Noctua Gaunt. Ominis didn’t get to see Noctua a lot as his aunt was deep into studying Salazar Slytherin’s past. He didn’t mind though, he loved hearing stories about the Hogwarts Wizarding school that he will attend. Not only Ominis was keen on learning more about magic, but it was an invitation to get away from his dreadful family. 

Despite not hearing back from Noctua after a while, he was beyond delighted to receive the invitation letter on his 11th birthday. Ominis ran his hands across the scruffy envelope paper, feeling the pointed folded edges. He flipped the envelope, opening the seal to produce the parchment inside. He ghosted his fingers against the paper, reading the invitation through the Braille letters embossed. It only took him a day to quickly pack his belongings and head to school.  

Being the only blind student is one thing, but carrying the Gaunt name did make an impact in between the first years. It didn’t help that Headmaster Black escorted him into the sorting hat ceremony. What a pompous twit, Ominis thought. Gone were the expectations of having new friends and living a normal life at Hogwarts. Ominis sat down at the end of the long table.

However, an arm around his shoulder took him by surprise. “I’m Sebastian Sallow! And this is my sister, Anne!” chirped the boy. He grabbed Ominis’ arm, resting it on what Ominis suspected was a little girl. “Sebastian, don’t be rude! Sorry, my name is Anne. We saw you were sitting alone, so we thought we introduce ourselves?”

Ominis chuckled and introduced himself, “I’m Ominis Gaunt. Pleasure to meet you.” The children talked about how excited they were to be sorted. Ominis knew that he would be sorted into Slytherin, but he was pleasantly surprised to hear that his new friends were sorted into the same house.

The universe might not hate him after all.

The Hogwarts students were convinced that Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne were joined at the hip. Wherever one went, the other would follow. Contrary to popular belief that Sebastian was the most mischievous of the trip, it was Anne who was the biggest troublemaker. Ominis would use his family name to sweet-talk Headmaster Black from giving the twins detention. He didn’t mind, Sebastian and Anne were his found family. He would rather spend his holidays at Feldcroft. The Sallows loved to have Ominis at home as well, making the small house livelier after the loss of their parents.

However, good things don’t last forever. Ominis could vividly recall the blades of air passing through his skin as he flew to Feldcroft one night. Sebastian had sent him an owl notifying that Anne was cursed by the goblins. The boy was horrified to see one of his best friend crying, writhing on the bed. Daresay it reminisced him of the muggles that his family liked to torture. Ominis couldn’t do anything but to hold Sebastian as he cried in his arms. 

Seasons changed. Anne had to pause her studies to rest at home. Sebastian was able to joke around again, but Ominis knew that he had a new goal in mind - to save Anne. It’s not like Ominis didn’t want to try, but after dealing with Dark Arts throughout his whole life, he understood that there was no cure. At least a cure with minor consequences.

As if Ominis’ life wasn’t eventful enough, he didn’t expect that there would be a new student joining the fifth year. Sebastian said that it was pretty comical seeing an older student walking towards the stage among the short first-years. Ominis did hear Sebastian murmuring that the new student was pretty, yet he dismissed it since Sebastian was a notorious flirt anyways. It took them by surprise that the sorting hat announced “SLYTHERIN!” after being placed on top of the girl’s head.

“Well, this shall be fun.” Sebastian chuckles as he helped Ominis to stand.

“Yes, it shall be.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #ominis #ominis gaunt x reader #angst #ominis gaunt angst #hehe #ominis gaunt fanfic #will do more parts if it do well hehe

[abitohoney]

Bend and Break (Not Just the Rules)

Chapter 3 of 5 - Bring the Walls Down AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5

Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Tags: Sevika/Reader, Modern AU, College/University AU, Professor Sevika, Student Reader, Humor, Porn With Plot, Eventual Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, a lot of this is probably super cliché and a bit silly, but I don’t give two shits cause it’s fucking hot and funny, Drinking, Masturbation, Smoking, Teasing, Size Difference, Enthusiastic Consent, Dom Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Sub Reader, Light BDSM, Impact Play, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, (yes I like the emotional whiplash of both kinks), Vaginal Fingering, Strap-Ons, Orgasm Delay, Choking, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Aftercare

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: When a hot professor in your field of study enters your radar, you’re quick to jump at the opportunity to get closer by taking her class. Temptations eventually lead the two of you to bend and break more than just the rules.

AN: This is already in process over on AO3. Trying to catch up here.

After waking up completely sober the following day, what little regret you held for your inappropriate advances the night prior had been squashed by your determination to win your professor over. By the next class, you had already set your plan in motion to do exactly that. Not a wild approach though. You started slow, showing up in a slightly more revealing outfit than usual and your hair and makeup done a little nicer. Just a subtle change, so as to not look as obviously desperate for her recognition as you really were. Unfortunately, it appeared to have been a bit too subtle.

Professor Sevika was even more stoic than usual, not paying you a lick of attention. She wouldn’t so much as spare you a passing glance or succinct reply when you greeted her in your usual chipper tone. Hell, she even refused to call on you when you raised your hand to answer her questions or ask your own. Her eyes just conveniently passed over your head, ignoring you entirely. It was as if she’d put several walls up between the two of you since that evening you attempted to kiss her. But you were bound and determined to bring those walls down, one way or another.

You continued on like that for nearly the entire week, showing up in slightly more provocative clothing each time and paying extra care to your appearance, all for naught, seemingly unnoticed by your professor. However, by the end of the week, she had finally approached you on your way out of the classroom.

“I could use your assistance this evening if you have time,” she stated, gray eyes on yours through her glasses.

You smiled up at her sweetly, feigning innocence despite your mind racing with ideas that could easily get you into trouble. “Of course. I can always make time for you, Professor.” You adjusted your hold on the books in your arms, not-so-inconspicuously pressing your arms against the sides of your chest to push your breasts up and out more for her.

Much to your disappointment, Professor Sevika’s eyes remained unflinchingly locked on yours. “Then be here by eight.”

“Yes ma'am. I…” you trailed off as she promptly strolled past you and out of the room before you could finish.

She was either in a hurry to do something before her next class, or- as far as you were concerned- she was just trying to avoid you and your attempts to garner her attention.

She wouldn’t be able to hide from you later that night though.

You arrived on campus early to assist Professor Sevika, hoping to get some time to observe her as she finished teaching her last class. You were surprised, however, to find her leaning against the brick wall several feet off the path to the back entrance of the engineering building.

It was dark where she stood, just outside the glow of the nearest lamppost, and had it not been for her bringing a lighter to her face to light a cigarillo, you would not have even realized it was her.

You stopped in your tracks and watched her, mesmerized, as the flame danced near her mouth. It reflected off her glasses and painted her rich, brown skin in an orange glow. She hadn’t noticed you yet, her attention on the task at hand.

So that was why she smelled of warm spices and smoke.

What you would have given to smell her again, to bury your face in her neck, or her dark hair, or her chest. As your mind started to wander, you automatically changed course and headed in her direction.

It wasn’t until she’d tucked her lighter away in those tight slacks of hers that she finally took notice of your approach. Her brows raised momentarily, seemingly taken back by your sudden appearance, or maybe even feeling as if she’d been caught doing something she didn’t want you to see.

“Evening, Professor Sevika,” you greeted with a sweet smile when you came to stand at her side. You realized, now that you were close enough, that she wore a dark leather jacket over her blouse.

As if she couldn’t get any fucking hotter.

“You’re early,” she mumbled around her cigarillo.

Your gaze fell to her dark lips as they moved. “You’ve said that before,” you replied playfully, recalling she’d said the same exact thing on your first day of class.

She huffed a laugh, nostrils flaring and blowing tiny plumes of smoke from her nose.

That drew your attention away from her mouth temporarily and you watched the smoke curl and twist as it rose higher before finally disappearing completely.

“Don’t you have a class right now?” you asked. You took in a deep breath, reveling in the scent. Clearly, that was where most of her scent came from. That lovely mix of warm spices. And you realized then, there was a hint of vanilla too. Your attention dropped back to where her lips wrapped around the cigarillo.

“Test day. Ended early,” she replied bluntly. Apparently noticing how transfixed you were on her mouth, she raised a brow. “Does this bother-”

“Can I have a hit?” you interrupted without thinking, too lost in thoughts about her mouth. If she wouldn’t allow a kiss, maybe you could have something else intimately related to one.

Her brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard by your request. “You sure about that, sweetheart? This is strong.”

Keep calling me sweetheart like that and I’ll be sure about anything you want.

“Yea.”

She hesitated briefly, eyes scanning the area before finally plucking it from her mouth and passing it to you, smoke billowing from the corner of her mouth and away from you.

You barely contained your coy little smile when you smoothly let your fingers brush over hers to take the cigarillo from her. Narrowed gray eyes met yours suspiciously, but you were certain you played it cool enough to make it look arguably accidental.

“Thanks,” you said softly before bringing the wet end to your lips.

Gods, did it taste just as you expected. Very similar to how she smelled. Warm, spicy, smoky, strong, and just a tad sweet. Your eyes fluttered shut as you imagined her lips were pressed to yours instead of the brown paper of her smoke.

Alright, be cool. Don’t mess this up.

You took a long, slow drag and held it in just briefly. Unfortunately, that was where your suave move ended. Before you could even pull the cigarillo from your mouth to expel the smoke, you began coughing and sputtering as your throat burned.

Your eyes blurred as unshed tears filled them. Blindly, you managed to hand the cigarillo back to your professor while simultaneously coughing into your other arm like a fucking inexperienced idiot, which, in all honestly, you were. Whatever she was smoking packed more of a punch than you were prepared for and you were starting to wonder if it was something more than just a cigarillo. Probably needed to be considering how much she seemed to hate all her students. Except you.

When your throat and eyes finally cleared enough to regain your composure, you rather reluctantly raised your gaze to meet your professor’s. She was watching you with a raised brow and barely contained amusement, her lips curled up at one corner.

“Told you it was strong, sweetheart.”

Had anyone else spoken to you with that kind of snark, you would have had a few choice words and maybe a little something more, but coming from Professor Sevika, especially when followed up by that damn knee-weakening pet name, you’d let her have fun at your expense any day.

“Yeah. You weren’t kidding,” you laughed awkwardly and turned to glance toward the entrance, hoping to hide the way your cheeks burned hot enough that they very well could glow red.

You wrapped your arms across your chest, running your hands up and down the sides of your arms as the chilly night air raised goosebumps on your exposed skin. You were beginning to think that your plan to wear such a flimsy top and shorts was not your best idea. Though, in your defense, you hadn’t intended to spend this much time standing around outside.

“The classroom is unlocked if you want to go inside and wait,” she said quietly.

You turned back to her in surprise and realized she was watching you attempt to warm yourself. Hell if you were about to leave her though. You were finally starting to chip away at that first wall. She was acknowledging you again, even talking- albeit in her typical short and blunt manner. “Oh no. I’m alright. I’ll keep you company,” you insisted with a smile.

“Suit yourself,” she murmured before taking another drag.

The two of you stood in silence for a while. She seemed comfortable doing so, simply staring off into the distance as she slowly smoked. You, however, were terribly uncomfortable in the awkward quietness, not to mention terribly cold. At least until Professor Sevika decided to take care of that for you herself.

“Here. Take this,” she insisted, shrugging her jacket off her shoulders.

Your body stiffened, heart racing as she not only brought her jacket to you, but also draped it over your shoulders, warm fingertips subtly ghosting along your neck. Suddenly, your entire upper half was wrapped in a bone-melting warmth and your head was invaded with the potent scent of her. That warmth spread clear up your neck and across your cheeks, only this time it was not from embarrassment. You peered up at her, feeling terribly small as she stood so close to you. Her expression was unreadable, but the way she paused, for just the tiniest moment, and let her eyes meet yours, convinced you she was having conflicting thoughts.

Good.

“Thank you,” you said softly, but instantly regretted it, as that seemed to knock her out of whatever thoughts she was having and she put some distance between you again.

She gave you a short hum in response and the two of you went silent again. Despite having maybe not made the best decisions the other night, you still would have killed for at least a fraction of that liquid courage again. To ask the hundreds of questions that plagued your mind.

At least you had the comfort of her jacket wrapped around you though. And with every single breath you took, you could smell her.

By the time Professor Sevika had finished her smoke and the two of you made your way into her classroom, you were feeling a bit more confident. Maybe it was from the single hit you took, or maybe it was how relaxed, warm, and fuzzy you felt wrapped in her coat, but you immediately took to asking what she’d like you to assist with, but in a less than academically appropriate way.

“So… what can I do for you tonight?” you asked as you followed her to the desk, tone taking on more than just a hint of flirtation.

She either didn’t catch it, or chose not to acknowledge it. “You can help me by grading this homework,” she said as she took a seat and pulled out several folders from her briefcase. She handed one to you, which you took, but not without first hesitating, hoping she would spare you a glance now that you were in the light of the classroom, and notice your appearance.

You had done your hair and makeup extra nice that night and wore a very pretty top paired with cute shorts, all with the intention of catching her eye. Unfortunately, it seemed that wall remained untouched. Still, not a problem. You’d just have to make yourself more noticeable. She was bound to look at some point. So rather than taking a seat at one of the student tables, you grabbed the closest chair and pulled it up beside her desk, making sure you sat such that your exposed legs were well within her view.

She didn’t immediately notice your presence as she pulled out a thermos from her bag on the floor, but the moment she sat it on her desk, she quirked a brow at the homework you had placed beside her own pile of papers.

“Is it okay if I work here with you?” you asked with feigned innocence as you deliberately uncrossed and recrossed your legs.

Bingo!

The little flit of her gaze down to your legs and back up to your eyes was not quick enough for you to miss, nor was the way her pupils dilated behind her glasses.

Those glasses. Those fucking glasses. Both a gift to your gay little heart, and the bane of your existence. They made an already gorgeous woman that much more appealing, but they also got to sit on that beautiful face all damn day, while you could only dream of doing the same.

You broke away from her gaze to observe her nose. Another feature that only drove your mind further down the same gutter. It was on the larger side, but in the best way. Fit her face perfectly. Cute, kissable, and undeniably perfect for riding.

“Fine.”

That short reply knocked you from your thoughts, and you’d almost forgotten what you’d even asked her.

That’s right. You’d asked if you could sit with her. Would rather sit on her though.

Her tone was stoic and unreadable, so you tried to read her expression instead, only to find her turning to her bag again to retrieve a small flask that she then popped open and poured into her thermos. She side-eyed you as you watched with blatant curiosity, but she said nothing and took a long drink of the mixed liquids.

Something told you that was not just coffee or tea. And considering her other habit you learned of that night, you were pretty sure you had a good idea what it was.

“You’re drinking while working? On campus?” you asked softly, as if someone else could hear despite the fact that your professor had been the only other person you had run into in or around the building that late.

“Guess this makes us even, hm?” she asked, raising her brow in a challenge.

Your eyes went wide for a moment at that snarky comment, but then you caught how the corner of her mouth tugged into a smirk.

She was fucking teasing you!

You grinned wide at that realization. “I suppose you’re right,” you admitted with a playful lilt.

She hummed in response before handing you a red pen and starting to go through her own pile of papers.

The two of you worked in silence for a while.

Grading the homework was unfortunately incredibly boring. Almost mindless with how easy it was. Soon enough, your thoughts started wandering again. Your gaze was drawn to Professor Sevika’s lips again as she took another drink.

“So is there something in particular you fancy in your drinks?” you questioned.

Without regarding you, she hesitated, her red pen pausing in its marking. You thought for a moment she would simply brush off your question. It wasn’t really appropriate between a teacher and their student. But then again, you were pretty sure nothing going through either of your heads would be deemed ‘appropriate’.

“Whiskey. With vanilla.”

Vanilla.

That was the second time that night you’d noted she liked vanilla, so you programmed that useful tidbit into the memory banks for later use.

“Sounds delicious,” you murmured, gaze locked on her lips as she brought the thermos to her mouth again.

“I suppose you want to try this too,” she asked. Though her tone was impassive, her tiny lopsided grin said she was amused.

“Please?”

To your surprise- and delight- she passed the container to you without further question. You took the opportunity to turn the simple task of tasting it into a scene, complete with licking your lips before pressing the rim against the pout of them, your eyes fluttering closed, and releasing a low, soft, and very suggestive moan as you took a sip. It burned your throat much like the cigarillo had, but at least you had managed to take it smoothly, without so much as a flinch.

The theatrics ended up pleasantly worth it, because as you opened your eyes, you found a pair of intense, stormy gray eyes locked on yours. She said nothing, but she didn’t have to. You could see the desire. The way her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, and her grip on the pen threatened to snap it in two. Hell, you swear you could even feel it. The tension in the air was palpable. And gods did you want to just have her bend you over the desk and fuck you right there.

“Delicious indeed,” you said in a sultry tone when you finally handed the drink back to her.

She said nothing, took the drink, and returned to grading her pile of papers, but you saw how she damn near tore through the sheets with how hard she dragged her pen across them.

Just as planned.

The two of you worked through the remainder of the papers quietly again, but this time you were more than comfortable just sitting there thinking about your tiny victories, and your assured future ones. Not to mention sneaking quick little inhales of her coat collar.

If she tastes even half as good as she smells...

When it finally came time to leave that night, you were tempted to ask if you could keep her jacket, but opted to accept what progress you'd made that night and just hand it back. Though not without first working a bit more of your charm.

At the door to the classroom, you turned to Professor Sevika with a saccharine smile. “Thank you for letting me borrow your jacket. That was very kind of you.”

Though she did not offer you a reply, you were certain it was only because she didn’t trust herself to speak without giving away the desire that burned beneath that hard exterior.

“May I?” you asked as you slipped the jacket off and held it up to her, offering to help her put it on.

She hesitated, eyeing you suspiciously, but eventually gave in and turned to allow your assistance.

You had to stretch on your tiptoes to get the jacket clear up to her shoulders, but it worked in your favor. As you lowered yourself, you let your hands drag down along her arms for 'stability', reveling at the feeling of all that muscle beneath. Temptation nearly had you squeezing her bulging biceps, but you managed to reign yourself in, keeping your intentional touches less... obvious.

She slowly turned to face you again, and you could have sworn that even behind those glasses you could see the hunger in her eyes.

“Goodnight, Professor,” you said, tone honeyed and suggestive. You didn’t give her a chance to reply, knowing full well she wouldn’t anyway, and strode out the door wearing a broad smile.

You showed up to class the following evening early as usual, but instead of donning your typical attire, you strode in wearing a snug tank top and tiny shorts that left very little to the imagination.

Much to your chagrin, Professor Sevika did not immediately take notice, even as you made sure to make enough noise to announce your presence. So you took your time getting to your seat and greeted her as you always did.

“Evening, Professor Sevika.”

Nothing. Not so much as a glance. Not even one of her typical murmured single-word replies or hums of acknowledgment. Apparently she had put that damn wall back up. Maybe simply because she was in the presence of others, but no matter. It wouldn’t be a problem. You came prepared with a backup plan.

The moment one of your male classmates took his seat at the opposite end of your table, you sauntered over, face adorned with a flirty smile. He didn’t seem to sense you coming, his attention on his phone until you leaned the backs of your exposed thighs against the table beside him.

His eyes flit from the pair of legs that entered his periphery to your face, his expression twisted in confusion.

“Hey…” you trailed off for a moment, realizing you had no fucking clue what this guy's name even was, “...you. How are you?”

He shifted nervously in his chair and his gaze dropped back to his phone. “Oh. Uh- fine. I guess.”

How… interesting.

You internally rolled your eyes at his boring response and glanced over your shoulder toward your professor, who, unfortunately, was still far too interested in whatever she had going on her laptop. You turned your attention back on your classmate and hoisted yourself up onto the edge of the table. Your leg brushed alongside his arm- intentionally. That garnered a similar reaction from both of you, only for entirely different reasons. He shivered, seemingly in excitement at the contact, while you shivered in disgust. It would be worth it though, you reminded yourself. Professor Sevika had to notice at some point. She'd have to see how close you were to him. How excited he was. How flirty you were. The contact.

“So how are you liking your courses so far this semester?” you asked, still feigning a tone of interest. You really couldn’t give two shits about this boy, but neither he nor your professor needed to know that.

“It’s- it’s nice. Real nice,” he stammered, his throat bobbing when his gaze fell on the point where his arm touched your leg.

Good god, why did you have to pick this dweeb to pull this on? You released a flirty laugh, ignoring how confused he looked at your reaction. It wasn’t even for him. Another glance over your shoulder and you finally caught her.

Professor Sevika’s gray eyes fell on you and your classmate, but only for the briefest moment before she slowly shook her head and returned to her work. It wasn’t quite what you were hoping for. You wanted her to make eye contact with you, but that would have to wait for another day, as the rest of the class started filing in.

“Well, let me know if you ever need any help studying,” you said loudly with a fake smile before pushing yourself off the table and making your way to your seat.

And that was how much of the remaining semester went with Professor Sevika. It was a bit like a game of tug of war, or more like who can break or rebuild faster. You’d make some progress when meeting as her assistant, slowly chipping away at those stony walls of hers, only for her to put them right back up during the following class. But with each passing evening you spent alone with her, you could feel the increasing tension. Like her resolve was ever so slowly breaking. And even during class, when she’d catch you blatantly flirting with your fellow student, you knew behind that look of mock disgust and disappointment, that she was feeling the heat of jealousy, of the desire to claim you. It was just a matter of time before you would completely bring the walls down.

CH4 >>

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #fanfic #honey writes

[celenawrites]

play pretend

pairing - Gaz x Reader

warning - Just some light angst. Nothing graphic, as far as I can remember.

word count - 1.1k

AO3 Version

note -

This is a product of a medicine reacting badly + with migraine + sleep deprivation. I am unhinged and I regret nothing, except for not proofreading this fic before posting. Bone apple tit, y'all!

You can tell that Kyle is falling out of love with you.

Distance seems to have that effect on people it seems - it has the strange ability to turn companions who have promised each other affection for an eternity and more into mere strangers in the blink of an eye. 

You had sworn to yourself that you won’t let this happen to you. 

And you’re failing miserably. 

His deployments now last for months (going as far as stretching up to six or more months), and sometimes you forget what he looks like - his face turning into a blank haze of nothing as you desperately look at photographs you have of him and you try to remember the love of your life between hysterical sobs. He’s eager to please his squad and make his leader proud (you had met Price only once and he had seemed a kind enough man, and he cared deeply about Gaz) and despite your objections, you swallow your words and see him off with a watery smile and a light kiss against his cheek.

You rarely call, and his muffled voice from the mobile speaker sounds foreign to you as he promises to return home to you safe and sound. You hum at him, not entirely trusting his light promises and the background noise of your television sounds more convincing anyway. Otherwise, the pre-recorded sound of his voicemail message greets your ears whenever you muster up the courage to give him a ring, and when the beep follows soon after, you find yourself staring dejectedly at the phone in your hand before you press the red button to end the call.  

It’s easier to text him, easier to pretend over carefully typed out letters and words over the small screen device than to admit to yourself that the grasp you had over this frail relationship is slackening. The man of your life turns into someone different, someone unfamiliar day by day and you’re not sure you can fight fate for the demise it has in store for your relationship. 

He comes back after eight months of distance and unbearable silence.

You’re a light sleeper, so you feel his warm arms wrap around your waist tightly and you breathe lightly and pretend that he has not just dragged you close so that his bare chest touches your back as he falls asleep in a proper bed for the first time in almost a year. 

You act as if you didn’t notice how his arms hold you more out of force of habit than out of love. How he didn’t gently wake you up with a soft kiss against your skin, reverent as he turns you over to face him and let him memorize each square inch of your very being, memorize the love his heart holds solely for you. 

In the morning, it is strange to see him occupy the empty spaces that rightfully belong to him - the chair beside yours at the dinner table, the extra pile of war books he has recently borrowed from the local library, and his aftershave and toiletries all stocked up in the vanity cabinet of the bathroom.  You’re not used to it. 

The atmosphere at your home is stifling - you can tell he’s trying to make up for lost time; he invites you to the sofa to watch a romance movie, like you used to. He offers to order takeout for dinner, and even tries to fix up your car engine that keeps on whirring weirdly. You politely refuse his kind offers to assist you throughout the day with a myriad of excuses - legitimate and forged  (the idea of spending time with Kyle making your heart ache). 

All this progress for naught, you think. 

Things will go back to the way they used to be when his burner phone rings with a familiar number and his captain summons him back for another long mission. You pity him, really. 

A high-stake job where he could lose his life, and a girlfriend he could not fully commit himself to; a shitty girlfriend who’d always want more out of him like a bottomless pit of despair and want - more love, more attention, more time. 

More More More More-

No wonder he doesn’t love you anymore. 

When you come back home from work, you find Kyle plating up takeout from your favorite Vietnamese place - pho, bánh xèo, and cao lau noodles. He invites you to eat first before you dress down into PJs and go to bed. The food is steaming hot, and he laughs as you burn your tongue on the steaming broth. It reminds you of when you first fell in love with him. 

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you cannot help but blush at the gesture as he asks you to pick out a movie for both of you to watch while he cleans up the plates and the takeout bags set on the dining table. He settles down beside you as you press play and watch ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’ before you settle in for the night. 

What an apt choice, you think in dry amusement as you curl up on the sofa and cover yourself up with the throw blanket kept nearby. 

The warmth of another body sitting beside you is welcoming yet unfamiliar. Kyle focuses his sharp eyes on the screen and his arm slowly stretches behind you until he finally gets the claw clip out of your hair and his deft fingers curl up into your scalp, gently massaging your stress away. You almost melt at the gesture, your spine tingling with comfort and pleasant shivers as your boyfriend plays with your hair at intervals for the duration of the movie. 

There’s an air of finality in the room that you can feel as you lean onto your boyfriend’s firm shoulder, your head resting on him as your heavy eyes focus on the stream of color and blur of characters the big television screen reflects back to you and illuminate the otherwise dark room with. 

You know what will follow next after the night is over. You’ve worried and cried and mourned over the untimely death of your relationship for weeks now. Your tears have dried up, and despite the sweet gestures Kyle bestows you with, you know that this will just make it harder for you to deal with the final blow. His sweetness just makes it harder for you to deal with all of it. You’d rather deal with him being mad, or being an insufferable asshole - anything that will make it easier for you to accept the end of your wonderful relationship, instead of him being his amazing self after so long and giving you a glimpse of the past you so cherish and miss dearly. 

But for tonight, for your sake and his, you play pretend that everything is alright. This is just another night of the many nights you have spent with Kyle. Everything is alright, and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is still madly in love with you, as you are with him. 

Everything is the way it should be. 

#call of duty #cod #cod:mw2 #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty angst #call of duty x you #cod gaz #kyle gaz garrick angst #gaz angst #char.gaz #celena.writes

[valdomarx]

i acknowledge that the professor yana/master reveal was one of the greatest twists doctor who ever pulled off, HOWEVER it does fuck with the timeline severely.

because the eighth doctor met jacobi!master multiple times. ok, one of those times the master wiped his memories, but at other times he knows who he is immediately. 8 even spent weeks or months body swapped with him, so he definitely knows what he looks like.

and night of the doctor confirmed that eight regenerated into war master, who regenerated into 9, then into 10. and day of the doctor explicitly shows that all versions of the doctor remember the time war. 10 should have all those memories and should recognise jacobi!master as soon as he sees him.

so logically the only explanation for why 10 doesn't recognise yana is that, unlike war master, yana doesn't have a beard. 10 has a good pair of hearts but naught but fluff between the ears.

the master: ahh, doctor, we meet again

the doctor: master, my oldest friend and greatest nemesis

the master, swiftly shaving off his beard and putting on a puffy shirt: good day, i'm a bumbling old professor

the doctor: hello new person who i certainly have never seen before! can we be friends?

#was literally lying awake the other night thinking about this #don't try to make sense of dw canon that way lies madness #anyway i love the idea that the ''''''master of disguise'''' is actually terrible at it and it only works because the doctor is an idiot #(affectionate) #thoschei #doctor who

[whisperinggbreeze]

Eight hundred years ago, there was a prosperous kingdom known as Xianle.

They were famous for their riches and extravagance, but most of all, they were known for their crown prince.

The Crown Prince of Xianle was pure and beautiful beyond comprehension, and skilled in both cultivation and the arts. By the way he was described and even worshipped, one even could have believed he was a god.

And then, at only seventeen years old, he ascended to heaven and really did become a martial god. The Heavenly Emperor himself even showed an interest in him. Many believed he was the luckiest boy in the three realms.

Three years later, the kingdom of Xianle fell into ruin.

An epidemic raged through the kingdom, leaving untouched only soldiers. On top of that, a part of Xianle known as Yong'An was also locked in a civil war with the capital. Soldiers from Yong'An overpowered the weakened Xianle and took over.

The remaining residents of Xianle blamed their god, their crown prince. If he couldn't cure them or save their kingdom, was he any better than a god of misfortune?

In reality, the Crown Prince of Xianle attempted to save his kingdom and failed. He was banished for descending from heaven to help mortals, and his efforts were for naught.

Soon after his banishment, the Crown Prince of Xianle turned his back on the world. He attempted to summon the disease that had plagued his kingdom, killing his last and most devoted believer in the process.

For hundreds of years, cities and kingdoms were laid to waste by his hand. He taught the crown prince of the new Yong'An kingdom, and then brutally killed the prince's family, wiping out half of the kingdom. Many believe he also orchestrated the downfall of the kingdom of Banyue. He became one of the four heavenly calamities, becoming known as White Flower Collecting Souls as his old name was erased by time. His eerie but docile title led many to underestimate his wrath and evil until it was too late.

For the past century or two, barely anything has been heard of White Flower Collecting Souls, leaving the three realms asking two questions: where has he gone, and when and where will he strike next?

---

part of the prologue of my hualian swapped role fic! gonna do a part for hc next 👀 I am slowly but surely working out the lore and plot, and I think this fic will probably mostly follow the plot of tgcf with a couple of alterations (still unsure what to do about lang qianqiu and his backstory, but I don't want to spoil whatever I decide to do in case the fic ever gets to that point)

i had a lot of fun writing this part! ive kind of forgotten exactly how the tgcf prologue goes but I tried to base the format loosely on that (the prologue is supposed to be told from an outsider point of view; this is basically XL's legend/myth/established or popular "story")

#yeah even if some parts of the story are a bit exaggerated because people generally Do Not Like XL #XL is undoubtedly way more of an edgy bitch in this #especially for the first couple of centuries after xianle's downfall #he deserves it though honestly #he deserves to decimate a couple of kingdoms #(for legal reasons this is a joke) #VERY excited to write HC's part of the prologue (im not sure i even have his full story figured out yet ngl so this'll be interesting) #mxtx #mxtx fanfic #mxtx tgcf #tgcf #tgcf au #tgcf fanfic #tgcf fanfiction #tgcf xie lian #tian guan ci fu #calamity xie lian #xie lian #mxtx fanfiction

[eorzeashan]

Long time no swtor thinkpiece, but.

Thinking about Eight in the IA class story and then who he is post-Alliance; going from a bold, daring and casually ambitious wildcard to someone who feels as if he's lost most of his zeal to become rather...listless. Empty. Not to say that he isn't fulfilled by his work in the Alliance (who all make exceptions to have him do anything but murder all day) but he starts picking up more mundane activities like, peeling potatoes for the Alliance cantina, or doing minor tasks that don't involve much thought on his own volition-- a stark change from a man who only cared about his blade and who it fell on. It's like he's been soundly defeated by the circumstances surrounding him.

Then there's the issue of his companions, who only knew him as their cunning leader who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals, even using some of them in the process, who now appears to be an entirely different person. One who quietly fades into the background, instead of being in the thick of it. He's changed.

His skills haven't waned, but his voice is flat, his eyes without gleam, his all consuming desire that drove him to accomplish the impossible by the day naught but simmering ashes by the time they reunite with him in KOTXX. He even apologizes to some, without explanation. This distresses Vector, in particular, who witnessed the worst of his sides way back in the day. "It's not me you should apologize to, Agent." Vector can only quietly say, "I have never held you in ill regard for the choices you've made, anathema as they were to my principles." It's a conversation that peters off, but one that Eight never had, never had soon enough --his firm refusal to rectify or acknowledge that Vector could choose him over his own ideals is one that gnaws at him on the inside for years, on his own belief that people cannot change what they truly believe in, and so there is no point in trying to make amends for what bridges he burns in the pursuit of his own wishes. This, and many other denials, compound over the years into a rather hurtful self-made solitude that follows him long into the Alliance. (A mother will never give up her son. There is no other way. I cannot change my nature as a weapon. Their rejection of me is something I must accept.) A punishment, but for who?

Perhaps he still feels he's failed the last mission Keeper entrusted to him. The one that asked him to become a real, living person, and not just a sword dressed in imperial colors.

Eight spirals during the events of the Eternal Empire. He watches his downfall happen in real time. There's little he does about it. His home is gone, as are the people he fought for--Keeper, Watcher 2, Intelligence--and this new age is only filled with allies he cuts down faster than he can imprint their names into his memory. He's alone in this fight at the behest of others who do choose their ideals over him, who, in the end, turn away in fear and disgust when he bloodies his blade in their name. He makes no effort afterwards to right his image in their minds. He plays the villain, if others will not. For the first time, he tires of killing.

This leaves him alone, an outcast even among friends. Eventually, amongst the ruin their failed Alliance leaves in its wake, someone asks why things turned out this way; his lack of a will in the greater fight comes to light and sets several alarm bells off. Lana reduces his duties on the battlefield. Others, out of shared guilt and a fear of the bloodshed he wreaked on their orders, give him a wide berth to live normally for a while. It's not much and does little to his disillusionment and estrangement with his allies, but...it's a start.

Eight the Assassin turns into just Eight. And Eight the former agent, ex-Cipher, killer extraordinaire who never once dreamed of the stars, turns into someone who quietly watches the sun set on a world he barely recognizes,l but still stays up to see it, potato peeler in hand.

#swtor #oc: orradiz #ooc #kotxx #this is just. rambling thoughts. #eight gets so damn lifeless after but he's...healing. living. what else is living but moving past your will to die #eight's weird complex about the ideals of others and people being unable to treat him as anything but a stepping stone for that #and he used to treat others like that as well #and wuh OH keeper still haunting him like a decade later #he's just. he had so much energy back in the class story and it all faded away #he's a lot wiser now but also has so much shit to work through and he has no friends. i said it #the retired and mysterious life of ex agents #HELLO? IS ANYONE OUT THERE DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND THISSSS

[empirearchives]

“That one never sleeps” — Napoleon mentioned in John Quincy Adams’ diary

Pictured: The Elephant of the Bastille. Commissioned by Napoleon. It was supposed to be made of bronze, but only a plaster full-scale model was built.

Between diplomatic appointments, John Quincy Adams met his wife and son in Paris. He was at leisure, passing time as he wrote in his diary “as agreeably as any part of my life.” By happenstance, the visit of Adams coincided with the return of Napoleon from Elba, called the Hundred Days, which ended with his defeat at Waterloo. In his diary entry of March 28, 1815, Adams mentions a chat with the doorkeeper of the elephant, who told him that 200 men once worked on the job, but now, under Louis XVIII (the restored Bourbon monarch), only 7 or 8. With Napoleon’s return, said the doorkeeper, work on the fountain would resume “because that one doesn’t sleep” (car celui-là ne dort pas). The artist was unable to persuade the government, when the monarchy returned, that the elephant had naught to do with Bonaparte. It figures in Victor Hugo’s masterpiece Les Misérables when a ruthless crook occupies it and, showing a loving heart, shelters a street urchin. The basin remains today.

— Aaron Burr in Exile: A Pariah in Paris, 1810-1811, by Jane Merrill and John Endicott, pp. 99

—————

Adams’ diary entry, date: 28 March 1815

We rode round upon the Boulevards to the Porte St. Antoine; and visited the works, at the Canal de l’Oureq and the colossal Elephant to be erected in Bronze, for a public fountain on the spot where the Bastille formerly stood— The model in clay is under a shed—it is 55 feet high, and 45 feet long— In a separate chamber, shewn to us by the door keeper, as a special favour, there is a small model in clay, marked out in pieces, as the great bronze original work is to be cast— He told us that there had been formerly two hundred workmen constantly employed upon it— That while the king was here, it was almost abandoned—not more than seven or eight men kept at work. Now it would be resumed Car celui la ne dort pas, and in two years the work would be completed.

(John Quincy Adams Digital Diary)

#John Quincy Adams #Adams #napoleon #napoleonic era #napoleonic #napoleon bonaparte #the hundred days #hundred days #Paris #Aaron Burr in Exile: A Pariah in Paris 1810-1811 #Aaron Burr #first french empire #french empire #Victor Hugo #les mis #Les Misérables #Elephant of the Bastille #Bastille #france #19th century #history #1800s #french revolution #napoleonic paris

[lokischocolatefountain]

1. For Old Time’s Sake || Red Tape, Red Line

Series Masterlist

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: G (check ratings for each chapter)

Word count: 3.4k words

Summary: Javier runs into an old friend in DC.

A/N: Javier for Day 3! Thanks for the love for the last two fics. Here’s more and here’s my favorite- Javi. I do have a series of him in my Married!Javi fics. Buuuut, it doesn’t follow a chronological order. Unlike that, I’m trying to have a coherent storyline here. Writing a linear story happens to be my downfall so I’m gonna wait and see how this pans out. Hope you like the first instalment of this story!

Wallet, keys, ID, gun, badge.

He froze with his hand on the hotel side table holding only a generic lamp after he’d taken his possessions- wallet, keys, ID. There was no gun to slip into the back of his pants and no badge to strap on to his belt. After eight years of the routine, he’d grown used to the metal digging into his lower back, used to the danger it possessed and the illusion of safety it gave him.

When he’d woken up that night from an imagined bullet to his chest, he reached for it on the same table, his heart seizing up when he found it empty. The quiet streets of DC and the streetlights pouring in through the window helped ground him, told him where he was. He’d taken to repeating the mantra that had been helping him come to after his nightmares. You’re home. It’s over. You’re home. It’s over.

As he slipped into his suit jacket, he wondered if the mantra was even true anymore. When he told himself that it was over and he was home, did he mean the states? Because DC wasn’t home. But was the US home anymore? Laredo? Bogotá? Shit, if it wasn’t the first three, it definitely wasn’t that last one.

He bent down and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, hand slipping inside to retrieve the red pack of Marlboros he stored inside. Everything was perfectly packed- shirts and pants ironed perfectly, socks rolled up and underwear folded neatly. With everything else in chaos in his life, this bit of orderliness brought him comfort. He once took some pride in how well he could pack his life up within minutes. Not since that hijo de puta rubbed in his face that despite his shit lifestyle, he had a wife and children to go home to. A family man, he’d called himself.

While he couldn’t even look his dad in the eye or bring himself to visit mom’s grave, men like Berna took themselves home to wives and children every night. It must need some level of delusion to be able to do so.

It wasn’t over. Nothing was over. He’d been fired- well, he resigned. Columbia was supposed to be behind him, but there was still work to be done, paperwork to write up, politicians to schmooze. As the day passed, he was passed around from desk to desk, bureaucrat to bureaucrat, all praising him or letting him know just how hard he’d made their lives. State, Defense, DOJ, CIA, the fucking White House— Javi of the past with the hot blood, wide eyes and the need to prove himself would be ecstatic to know where he’d land up in the future. He wouldn’t be too pleased with the journey, though.

He’d won.

At least that was what the ambassador had said. But it didn’t feel like it. While he’d grown up and let the cynicism of life get to him, there was still that younger Javi taking up too much space in his head, telling him that he had failed in what he’d set off to do and sold his soul in the process. That the last eight years had all been for naught. I went after Medellin and Cali and all I have to show for it is the fucking nightmares. Now that would make for a wonderful print on a t-shirt.

“Good afternoon, how may I help?”

“I have an appointment with The Assistant to the Chief of Staff. I’m Javier Peña,” he said, sliding his ID across the rich mahogany desk to the woman. She took his ID, checked her computer, his face, the ID, repeated the process and then slid the ID back to him.

“Mr. Peña, Mr. Reed is in another meeting right now, but he’ll be happy to see you once it’s over. I can direct you to our waiting room.”

Great.

He smiled, nodded and followed the woman through the state department his eyes roving over the workers as he wondered how many of them had to stay late nights to fuck up the progress he and his fellow agents made on the field. How many of them typed up letters from the Secretary of State with directives to back the fuck off right when he was about to nab a valuable target. How many of them were assigned to Colombia, how many to other countries where they played around in their own interests.

He’d always held these people with contempt and not much had changed. They got to sit in their cushy office with the nicest computers and air conditioning while he and his colleagues chased goons in the streets of a foreign country. These couch potatoes who wrote condemnations and pulled visas and told them how to do their fucking job as though they knew what it was like to have a kid threatening to kill you with a hand that was too small to be wrapped around a gun if you didn’t drop your own.

Did any of these people think about men like him? Think about what it was like when you lost yet another partner and had to live with the image of him bleeding out on the road as you woke up from yet another nightmare with yet another realization of what you should’ve done to save his life in that moment.

They did not, he decided when the clock ticked and ticked but there was no word for him. The receptionist came by once or twice to apologize on her boss’s behalf and offer him coffee. Coffee to add to his sleep deprivation? No thank you.

He politely declined both times, willing himself to not take his anger out on the poor woman. She was just doing her job.

When the clock hit six, he got off his chair and stepped out of the waiting room. He’d known frustration. More often than not, he was left clutching his head in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other as his lungs burned from the cigarette between his lips as another step in his mission failed spectacularly. He knew frustration, but nothing like this brand of idle frustration where you had nothing to do but sit on an uncomfortable chair in the office of some prick who got paid more money a year than he would make in his entire life for doing fucking nothing.

So much for being a hero.

“Javier?”

He stopped outside the elevator door, turning around to see the face that called out his name.

Goddamn.

Her name slipped out through his lips, his tongue rolling around with as much practiced ease as it had done all those years ago. She looked exactly the same, yet completely different. Slightly taller as she walked up to him with the same smile, lips painted a deep red. Her hair was down instead of up in a bun. Her eyes gleamed with the same light he’d found in them over a decade ago. Although there was a new addition— crinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. She’d exchanged the more practical field uniform for a nice blouse and skirt. A matching jacket hung off her arm and her hand was wrapped around the handles of a handbag.

“What are you doing here?” They asked at the same time. They exchanged smiles and he followed as she lead him into the elevator.

“I was supposed to meet someone. A Mr. Reed.”

“Ah. He wasn’t here for most of the day. Some fire to put out.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Did they have you waiting the whole day?” She asked, removing the lanyard with her ID. She hissed when it caught in her hair and he stepped in, untangling the thing from her hair and taking it off for her. He took the card between her fingers and read her name out loud.

“Policy Analyst. Damn, Glasses,” he trailed, using her nickname from their time in Quantico. “You really did get yourself the nerdiest job. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

He handed her ID back to her and she shoved it into her bag, smiling at her nickname rather than shoving him like she used to. Or threatening to tell on him to their training officer. “Alright, Pissy Pants Peña. You got me.”

He let out a laugh at her rebuttal. The name surprised him just as it had the first time she used it against him in a moment of weakness even though she’d claimed that nicknames were “so unprofessional and rude. I will not call my fellow trainees rude names just to look cool around other trainees.” The first time was when he’d aggravated her more than usual and she spat out the name he’d earned when he had so much to drink that he pissed his pants.

“Are you free to grab a drink? It’ll be nice to catch up,” he asked, hopeful that a drink with an old friend would make his terrible day a little less terrible.

“As long as you don’t piss your pants,” she joked, lips curving up in an easy smile before she gave him a clear yes.

She took him to a nearby bar, a favorite of the State Department staff, she said. Many recognized her there, including the bartender who asked her if she’d like her usual.

“You don’t do tequila shots anymore, I’m guessing.”

“Ah, no,” he chuckled, thinking back to his training days when they went out and got drunk on the rare days off from their intensive routine. “These days, I—”

“Whiskey?”

“Yeah. How did you guess?”

“You look like a whiskey man. I can just picture you sitting in a dark corner of a bar, all alone and serious, avoiding paperwork or thinking about how to bend the rules.”

“Oh? That so?”

“Mhmm,” she said, sipping on her glass of red wine. She was always a wine drinker. A wine snob, one might say. She did that little swirl that wine drinkers did, took a whiff of the drink and then a small sip.

“Is that part of your job as policy analyst? Analyzing lonely men in bars and guessing what’s in their heads…”

“No, but I’ve had to creep on lonely men drinking their whiskeys in my last job.”

“Oh? What was that?”

“CIA Operative.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. She didn’t seem the CIA type. But then again, it could be his generally positive regard for her and negative regard for the CIA that made it hard for him to imagine her being part of those bastards.

“And you left because?”

“I found out that I had to do things I didn’t want to do in order to survive in the CIA. Didn’t have the stomach for it. I thought that if I just followed all the rules and did my job, I could succeed, but…” she sighed before taking a sip of her drink. “I learned that doing the right thing and doing my job contradicted each other a bit too much.”

Under the dim light that hung above her head, she didn’t look as naïve as she used to. Following every little rule will get you nowhere, Glasses. He’d made fun of her for it several times, told her she didn’t know what the real world was like, that she was in for a big shock. Little did he know that he would be in for just as much shock if not more. While she was intent on doing everything by the book, she at least knew that certain things could never change. Her ambitions weren’t too big. While he and their other classmates talked big about changing the fucking world, she said she just wanted to do her part, just help things along. She saw the nuts and bolts of the machine, know how the gears turned and pointed to every mechanism that would stop him from realizing his lofty dream of “winning the war on drugs, baby!”

“There is no war. It’s just money and politics and even more money. And a fuckload of racism.”

Javi of the past chided her for her cynicism, but if she told him that now, he would buy her a drink.

“Oh and there was the time I got shot, so I can’t really be on the field anymore. My insides are too messed up,” she said, moving the fabric of her shirt aside to reveal a healed bullet wound peeking out from under her bra strap. “Guadalajara. And this is just one of seven. The guy was a terrible shot, though. And my surgeon was fucking amazing, so I live to tell the tale.”

“A lot has happened, huh?” He remarked, considering her wound carefully as he wondered where the other six bullets had hit her body. The knowledge that she’d look completely different underneath her clothes compared to what he remembered covering in kisses infuriated him. He needed to relearn the body he should’ve taken more time to learn. To strip the proper clothing off her and acquaint himself with what was new and reacquaint himself with the familiar. Would he even remember what was new? Was the one time enough for him to register her in his mind?

“Hmm yeah. A lot. Like your work with the cartels. You and your guys always found a way to get on our nerves in State.”

“Oh?” He feigned innocence. “I didn’t know I was pissing you off, Glasses. I’m sorry.”

“Aww, he’s sorry. Don’t even try me, Peña. It was almost like you and what’s the other guy’s name…? Murphy? Like you two were fucking shit up just to get on my nerves. And then Duffy and Lopez. Duffy always pissed me off, but then he and Lopez had to go have their faces plastered on the papers. I thought it was just some other Javier Peña but then that happened and I was sure it was you.”

“I didn’t ask Duffy and Lopez to do that, I swear. They did that all on their own.”

“Really? I knew you and Duffy were close back in the day. And it looked like something you would do, breaking the rules like that.”

“Now give me some credit, hermosa. Maybe I’ve learned to follow the rules a little in the past few years.”

“As one of the people who had to put out the fires you started, I’ll have to disagree respectfully.”

“I’m surprised I have your respect now. I didn’t have a modicum of that back then.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I had some respect for you.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. You always…you wanted to do the right thing. We have differences of opinion on what the right thing was, but you always wanted to choose the option that would do the most good. I always admired that.”

“I’m not that person anymore.” He was the man who lied to his agents that the Ambassador did not prioritize the safety of their Cali insider. He was the man who got into bed with Los Pepes and did it again to rescue Christina Jurado. Whatever good she’d seen in him fizzled away the moment things got hard for him. He wondered how she would’ve done it. Had he been the type to follow rules like her, would he have kept his soul intact?

“I’m not surprised. I’m not the same person either. No glasses for one,” she joked, getting a light chuckle out of him. Her light demeanor dulled just a little and he could see through her eyes some kind of darkness that wasn’t there before.

“Things are rarely as we expect when we’re at the heart of the problem. Making the right choice is more…complex because— we have to choose between option that will all hurt people terribly in one way or the other.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink, his mind reeling with all the times he needed to make decisions like that. They tended to be a lot more complex that he imagined when he was young and idealistic.

“Job like that, if it doesn’t change you, are you even human?”

“Right,” he said, not fully agreeing with the sentiment. The standards were completely different for the two of them. Sure, she would’ve faced those choices in the CIA. But she left. Long ago, he assumed, from her senior position at the State Department.

Whatever she had to do as CIA operative, it made her leave. Unlike him, she had the moral clarity to do it as early as she did. She looked more at ease now.

Maybe it was the fact that she had a cushy office job now, but the perpetual tension in her shoulders was missing. He’d prefer her version of change to his. Perhaps he should take up an office job, be relaxed, sit back at a desk and attend meetings about when to have meetings. His body sure couldn’t handle the field anymore. His knees and ankles still felt his jump from a balcony when he chased Jurado in Curaçao.

As much as he liked condemning himself to hell for his sins, as much as he liked withering away in shame when people heaped him with praises, it felt good to be on the receiving end of her empathy. The job did change everyone. If Glasses, the goody two shoes, stickler for the rules, ultimate teacher’s pet could understand that… Maybe he should too. If the field had changed someone like her, of course it changed him.

“So, umm… it’s getting late,” she said, looking up from her watch. “I have a rule about not having more than two drinks and,” she held up her second glass, half a sip of red wine resting in the bottom. “I had an early day today and will have an earlier day tomorrow. I got a meeting.”

Shoulders slumped, he nodded at her slowly. He didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want to lose the piece of a much calmer past. “It was great seeing you again, Glasses.”

“Likewise, Triple P.”

He tilted his head to one side, smiling at the new nickname. “Pissy Pants Peña is quite the mouthful, so… And it would be weird if my bosses heard it. We aren’t in our early twenties anymore and stupid shit like this could ruin a career.”

“Well, I no longer have a career to be ruined, so… But thanks anyway,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Nah ah ah,” she said in a sing-song voice, reaching into her bag. “You’re in my city, I’m not letting you pay. It’s bad manners.”

“Is it now?” he said, sliding a wad of cash across the bar to the bartender. “Is that one of your rules?”

“It is. You’re a guest in D.C. and it’s poor hospitality to not buy you a drink,” she said before turning to the bartender. “Josh, don’t take his money,” she said, handing the man some dollar bills from her purse. Josh ignored Javier’s money and took hers instead, alluding to whatever loyalty he had for her. She did say that the place was a State Department favorite. It made sense that she was on a first name basis with the guy.

He thumbed his mustache, the bristles scratching his finger gently. “What if I have a rule about that? That it’s poor manners to make a beautiful woman pay for her drinks and mine…”

“Then I’d expect you to say thank you for aiding you in your rule-breaking. I know how you love to do that.”

He grinned and licked his lips slowly, taking her in as she walked ahead of him. She never wore clothes like that before, pencil skirts that hugged her ass and high heeled shoes that made her hips sway in the most mesmerizing rhythm. As though feeling his stare, she turned around suddenly, making his head whip up so fast he could’ve broken his neck. Or it was just his old age.

“So, umm…Lunch sometime? We could continue this conversation,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Or not!” She added quickly. Painted fingernails scratched at each other, chipping away at the already lightly chipped red paint. “I know you’re really busy.”

“Never too busy for you, Glasses. Drinks again tomorrow night?”

“Yup. I’ll see you here at 6:30? If my schedule doesn’t change too much, that is.”

“6:30 is good.”

.

.

.

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Tiger Inside Chapter Five

Stray Kids Mafia (Ongoing)

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Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 3.6k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and do not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

Mafia.

An organized body of criminals, known for having a complex and ruthless behavioral code.

The way of life was nothing new to me. I was raised by the code, living under my Father’s strict rule. Although raised among criminals, my childhood was far from unsavory. Father was a caring member towards his own family, but bent on ensuring all members were well versed in the art of self defense. Should the need ever arise, I shall not be caught with the inability to fight, gun in hand by the age 14.

By the age of 16, things started to look bleak, a looming threat hanging over the heads of the Choi family inching closer with each passing day. Jiho at age 22 was kept under strict eyes, spending more time away from home with Father on family business, close under his wing.

The distance from home proved difficult in terms of defense. By age 17, I stood by my Mother as we watched our home engulfed in flames. Father and Jiho returned by the next day, the four of us finding safety within my Grandfather’s home.

The attack on my Mother came next. Jiho had stayed home, Mother and Father leaving this time for negotiations. A long night followed with no word from the two of them before the sound of the front door finally opening with Father’s arrival.

Mother never returned.

He never told us what happened that day, taking a vow of silence on the matter. With that target my fate was sealed. I was sent away to Gangnam, taking on the identity of Siu and making a new life for myself. I spent the first years in solitude, too scared to leave the comfort of my own home. By age 21 my journeys out of the apartment were more often, before I found myself in a beaten down alley staring down a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign posted outside of an unassuming door. Upon entering I was greeted by a barkeep only a few years older than myself. Through a toothy smile he introduced himself as Seongho, a gentleman who quickly became my closet confidant. A peer in which I was desperately in need of. We found comfort within each other, both just trying to maneuver the drag of day to day life together.

Now I find myself sat in front of 7 men, the bitter truth of my past finally creeping up behind me and embracing me with an icy grip. Years spent learning to conform to the norms up in flames. Years spent running in the shadows all for naught. I crossed my legs as I sat firm, holding myself strong in front of those before me. I studied the four new faces with a flat stare, waiting for one of them to finally speak.

“You all don’t need to look like deer in headlights.” The group shuffled in their seats, clearly unsettled by my presence. “Care to introduce yourselves so I know who I’m now sharing a home with?” I watched as each began to introduce themselves in turns.

Seo Changbin was the first to speak up. Age 26 and hair similar to Minho’s chestnut. His brawny frame was emphasized by a white button up with sleeves rolled to three quarters, the buttons of which seemed like they were holding on for dear life. Specializations in combat being no surprise with his figure, in charge of anything relating to weaponry.

The next in line was smaller in frame than his former, but still hid strength in the arms. His hair was a deep black, and although shorter, styled similarly to that of Hyunjin’s with a crisp slick back with enough gel to hold an elephant down. He said his name was Han Jisung, a year younger than Changbin, with expertise landing him as a sniper with a deadly aim.

Kim Seungmin. Initially I was struggling to read him, a slight smirk adorning his face that seemed he was trying very little to hide. Sitting at the same age of Jisung at 25, he handled all things chemistry. Focus centered to that of poisons, and tending to the medical needs of the team. A field I’d be first to admit that I didn’t have a strong set of skills in, I’d have to take some lessons from him later on that.

A chipper one was next, his smile stretching cheek to cheek once reaching his turn, clearly now less tense as the introductions made their way down the line. Yang Jeongin fell in line with the previous two with his dark hair, each contrasting the painful bleaching the other’s must have endured. His initial unassuming presence and being the youngest making him the dark horse of the team, working alongside Changbin with specialties in close combat and all things espionage and infiltration.

My gaze fell upon the three I already had the pleasure of meeting under unfortunate circumstances. All silent through the current interactions.

“Now you three, I know your names, but what is there to expect from you?” Felix’s usual smile stretched across his face before speaking up.

Age 25 landed him in the youngest of the group as well, his skills within computer technology led him to handle anything technical. Any hacking needed by the group was tended to by Felix, skills commonly used in pairing with Jeongin when in need of infiltration.

“Oh speaking of which” Felix dug into the pocket of his pants, retrieving my phone from the depths and handing it over to me. “Was meaning to return this to you, just had to take some security precautions.” I turned the phone over in my hand, observing it. My confusion evident on my face on how he even came into possession of it in the first place. “Sorry, had to do some pickpocketing as I led you to bed last night, can’t say it was very difficult with you essentially already being asleep the moment you stepped foot within the door ” I let out a huff as I laid the phone in my lap, leaning forward with arms crossed over my knee as my gaze fell on Hyunjin.

Hyunjin sat back with arms crossed. Although his initial demeanor seemed similar to our previous night, his voice held a bit more comfort, closer to that of our days spent conversing at Blossom. Aged 26, his hand was best behind that of a sniper rifle. A keen eye for distance and grace with a finger on the trigger.

All that was left was that of the mighty, silent Minho. My chin sat in the hold of my fingers, staring him down with brows raised, a look daring of go on, impress me. He stared back with tongue in cheek and lips pursed before speaking. With a deep breath his eyes turned to his fingers, gently tapping on the armrest of his chair as he spoke. Sharing an age with me, he found himself by Chan’s side, being the main line of communications and negotiations. I could quickly tell why I was paired with him, his specialties being that with most categories in the group. He was a key player in the team, with the flexibility to fall in line with whatever assistance was needed.

I nodded my head with a soft hum, piecing together the team that was now presented before me. As expected, their skills were well balanced, supporting each other's needs and creating a cohesive flow within the group. I was curious where I would end up landing within them, and if I would find any of my own hidden expertise beyond the broad training I received when I was younger.

I had the pleasure of getting to know them all a little better that night. They were a lively bunch, energies definitely feeding off of each other with every joke and bout of laughter. If you had found the group in the corner of a bar one night, you would have never predicted them to be the Mafia, simply friendly and welcoming. I also got to experience Hyunjin and Felix in their full glory as well, finally seeing the two of them relax within the comfort of their own home and not tense under the tight suits and imaginary masks they had to adorn during their time at Blossom. Besides the uptight Minho, I could possibly see myself enjoying my time here with these boys. My own worries temporarily fading away for a couple hours before we all decided to try and get some rest.

I was tossing and turning all night with the inability to sleep. Exhaustion was not playing in my favor like the previous night, unfamiliar surroundings making any chance I had of relaxing nonexistent, the noise of the clock on my bedside table creating an agitating sound within the darkness with every tick.

My mind couldn’t stop from racing, the conversation with Jiho constantly replaying through my mind. Not only had I been pulled back into this world, but I was now being asked to delve face first into leading it by his side. Unlike Jiho, I had not had the ability to learn beside our Father, I didn’t possess the same knowledge he had the chance to learn by experience. In what way would I be able to catch up to his level? Was it even possible?

In frustration I threw the blankets off of me and hung my feet over the side of the bed, rubbing my face in my hands trying to settle my thoughts. I needed to go get water, something, anything that could just give me the opportunity to calm myself.

I crept through the dark halls, trying to find my way downstairs to the kitchen. The house had an eerie stillness to it in the night, each step on the stairs causing a deafening creak breaking through the silence.

Finally locating the archway to the kitchen, I slid my hand across the wall in search of the light switch, squinting in adjustment once the light finally hit my eyes. I was only reminded of my unfamiliarity with the home when I realized I had no idea what cabinet the cups occupied.

“Didn’t take you long to start rifling through the house I see.” I jumped at Minho's voice, turning to see him leaning against the archway with arms crossed.

“Oh please.” With a glare I turned back to my mission of locating my water vessel. “I just need a damn cup.” I grumbled in frustration before finally opening the last cabinet, an array of glasses for options. Grabbing one, I crossed to the sink and began to fill it. “Is it really such a crime to feel dehydrated?” I leaned against the counter behind me, staring Minho down as I took a sip. “What are you doing awake anyways?” His eyes followed the glass as I set it down next to me.

“I’m a light sleeper, and was curious who was fumbling their way through the house at such an hour.” He made his way to the island, pulling out a stool and sitting down.

“Fumbling?” I scoffed as I crossed my arms. “I was hardly fumbling. Plus, I wouldn’t have had such a hard time if the interior of this house wasn’t so dark.” My eyebrows raised as I stared at him with humor, feeling like my unfamiliarity paired with the dark aesthetic of the home created a proper reasoning for my inability to move through the halls smoothly.

“Well you’re going to have to get better at moving in the dark if you’re going to work with us.” His sharp stare felt like it was piercing through me, his tone flat with little emotion poking through.

“You act like I have no idea what I’m doing.” Once again, my irritation found itself cozy at home within my veins. The audacity he had to act like I was some helpless child needing my hand held, like I was some frail girl who was flung into this without a single thought in my head. My hand gripped my other arm, finding grasp on the sleeve of my sweatshirt as my jaw tensed.

“Have you stopped to think maybe you don’t?” Minho’s abrupt change in demeanor put an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, the first true emotions he’s shown to me since my arrival being that of resentment as his voice raised.

“What is your problem with me? It’s like you decided your distaste for me before I even walked in the door.” My tone quickly matched his own, paying no mind to the raise in volume between the both of us. If this was the game he wanted to play with me, I had no worries in meeting him on a level playing field.

“Maybe I just don’t like the idea of letting someone in that has a giant target on their back. You’re putting all of us at risk by being here!” He leaned against the back of the stool, face painted with anger and putting a hostile feeling to the air.

“You act like I wanted to come here! Like it was my life’s greatest pleasure to uproot everything I’ve built for myself to come here, I would have much rather stayed on my own!” My hands settled forward on the island counter, head tilted in annoyance as I could feel my heart rate starting to spike and my body temperature rise.

“Then leave!” He rose from his seat, leaning his own hands on the counter, leaving the two of us face to face as he spit his words. “No one is holding a gun to your head, you’re not a prisoner here. Figure this shit out on your own instead of putting us in danger!”

“What the fuck are you two down here yelling about at one in the morning!?” Chan’s groggy and irritated eyes stared down the two of us from the entryway. “Whatever this is can wait until the morning, both of you shut up and go back to bed.” My eyes scanned over Minho’s expression one last time as my tongue ran across the inside of my cheek.

“It’s fine. We were finished here anyway.” I pushed past Chan into the hall and made my way toward the front door, needing to put as much distance between this house and myself as possible.

“What has gotten into you? You seem to forget that she may be new, but she’s still a Choi. Her word is above us Minho.” Chan’s blunt voice carried from the kitchen as I slid my shoes on and grabbed my jacket, storming out into the cold night and slamming the door behind me, cutting off the rest of their conversation from my ears.

I didn’t know where to go, or even know where I was, I just knew that I needed to be as far from that house as possible. It felt like every emotion was hitting me collectively at once, the anger, irritation and offense all boiling through my blood in deep contrast with the pain and hurt that I had been trying so hard to ignore tearing apart my chest. Everything I knew had been swept out from under me in an instant, any sense of normalcy pried from my fingers, and this is what I had to adapt to as my new normal? I just started running, my feet taking me wherever they deemed necessary.

The road was shrouded in complete darkness, the trees shielding out any possibility of the moonlight seeping through. My ears were ringing, cheeks stinging from the cold air hitting the tears that I was unaware were now streaming down my face. There was no way I’d be able to train alongside Minho, not when just my presence sent him into a tizzy, any time I open my mouth causing an issue.

My fists clenched as I ran, trying to diffuse my anger with any source of self relief. My endurance wasn’t as strong as it once was as I could feel the sprinting finally catching up with me and my legs beginning to feel weak. Unaware of how long I had actually been running for, I began to let up on my pace. My winded breathing began to take over as I slowed to a stop and rested my hands forward on my knees, catching my breath. This was all too much at once, I couldn’t even stop to process a single bit of information that was being hurled at me before a new problem came up. I never got a moment for recovery, how could I possibly handle any of this when my entire life just imploded before my eyes.

My gasps for air turned to sobs as my tears hit the concrete below me, my arms and legs uncontrollably shaking. It was all too much. So many layers that were crumbling on top of each other, I had watched as each bit piled up on top of each other, the weight becoming too heavy for support as it all came tumbling down in a single moment. The argument being the straw that finally broke the metaphorical back of a camel that was once standing as strong as a mountain.

I pushed myself to the edge of the road, leaning my back against a tree as I struggled to get my breathing settled, my brain now sitting in a post panicked haze. My head eased back and fell against the bark, a shaky deep breath following. A quiet hum in the distance brought my head up in the direction that I had traveled from, headlights appearing in the distance. I pulled my hood over my head in an attempt to keep my face shielded from the bright light cutting through the darkness. The vehicle slowed as it came closer before coming to a halt in front of me, the tinted window rolling down to reveal Chan in the driver’s seat. We sat in silence for a moment, not a word exchanged as he reached across the passenger side and opened the door.

“Just get in please, it’s too late for you to be out here alone.” I closed my eyes with a sigh and slid into the passenger seat, resting my head back against the seat with heavy eyes. Chan turned the car around, making its way back to the house in painful silence. The ride was brief, my feet only taking me so far in a short period of time. As the car came to a halt, Chan sighed as he switched off the ignition and turned to me, pausing to choose his words before speaking.

“This is unlike him.” I raised my head slightly, barely catching eye contact with him before he continued. “I think the stress of this all is just getting to him, but that doesn’t justify him taking it out on you.” Chan scratched the back of his neck, head hanging low. “You’ve got the most on your plate out of all of us, and I understand that, but we all just need to at least attempt to make the most of this situation to at least make it all bearable.” I opened my mouth to protest, yet words failed to make it past my lips. “I’m not here to be a mediator between the two of you, but I had a talk with him and told him he needs to stand back and let you decompress from everything before you two destroy each other." His hand rested on my shoulder, both of our tired eyes meeting. “Just get some rest, we can work all of this out when we aren’t all deprived of sleep. I’ll have Felix give you a proper tour of the house in the morning, and I’m gonna keep you and Minho apart until you both cool down.”

“I can play nice Chan, it’s him you need to get a rein on.” I scoffed as I opened the door and made my way up the steps to the house, the familiar dark looming exterior making me feel small. I hung up my jacket and glanced forward to see the light still on in the kitchen at a distance, Minho’s figure still seated at the island, staring down at his crossed hands on the counter in front of him. I let out a huff and made my way up the stairs to my bedroom, closing the door behind me and dropping myself onto the bed in the darkness.

I reached up, pulling my phone off the nightstand to check the time. Multiple texts and missed calls from Seongho littered my screen. I swiped to unlock it, eyes adjusting to the bright light in front of me and attempting to view the string of messages left.

6:20PM: Hey Siu, your shift started 20 minutes ago, where you at?

7:00PM: Siu? You good?

7:42PM: Seriously, you’re starting to worry me, just say something at least, this isn’t like you.

9:00PM: If you don’t respond by the time my shift is over, I’m showing up at your place.

11:00PM: I’m dead serious, you better say something.

It was very quickly nearing 2AM, so I knew his shift would be over shortly, and the last thing I needed was for him to show up to my empty apartment already panicked. I quickly typed out a response to him in a fog, telling him I was alright, but needed to explain everything to him later. Shutting the screen off, I buried my face into my pillow and shut my eyes, trying to force myself to finally fall into a slumber.

Next Chapter

#stray kids mafia #stray kids #skz mafia #skz #lee know x reader #lee know enemies to lovers #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #jeongin #fanfiction #stray kids freeze #lee know mafia #lee know mafia au #alternate universe #lee know fic #drunkewok