#kinda. i mean it's implied reader is not with the program

[niccolites]

simon in the omegaverse to me is like,,,,beta reader but simon Decides you are his omega and will force a mating bite on you even though you don't have the gland. forces you to take his knot even though you were not built for it

[marsdql]

his to keep. — p.sh [박성훈]

synopsis ៸ You always felt out of place—a life shaped by others, a future you never chose. Escape was your only dream, until even that was stolen from you. Then you met him, a stranger who looked like he'd actually listened. At first, his presence felt like fate. He offered freedom, a way out—but it came with a price. You followed him, hoping for escape. Instead, you found a different kind of cage. One you walked into willingly, only to realize too late: freedom was never the plan. You weren’t saved—you were claimed.

genre ៸ angst, scenes with slight smut, captivity, psychological thriller, stalker au, slow burn but i lowk rushed it..┊

wordcount ៸ 11k (for now?)┊

content warning ៸ sexually explicit content, manipulation, stalking, desperation, mental health issues, heavy guilt tripping, dumbification, isolation, fingering, slight praising, parental emotional abuse, kinda implied sex? (It’s not extreme), intimacy daydreaming, self blame, mentions of religion, obsession, bipolar reader and sunghoon, prob alot more so read at your own risk!┊

not proofread AT ALL ៸ ┊Ⳋ᧙ taglist: @nithxhoon @emmacyc @hoonprksung @cloud-lyy @s3ungh4nsgf @strxwbloody @ttulixia @whateverhoon @felireads @heesunghooney @va1entinaa @slvrnm @love4hee @semi-wife @azzy02 @sungbyhoonie @lilyofthevalley69 @itsmesofia @tnafzi @kristynaaah @jngwnlvs @girlwholovekpop ┊ this is not the full fic im js so stuck on what to do and i feel like it flopped so bad so give me ur feedback in the reqs… (REPOST FROM LAST NIGHT CUZ I FORGOT SOME WARNINGS hehe )

You realized something when you were 14—your life felt completely purposeless. Well, at least to you.

Your parents immigrated from another country, believing it would give you a better future—a better education. They thought being born and raised here would make life easier for you.

But in your opinion? That was the worst decision any parent could ever make. 

Your closest cousins weren't even nearby. Your entire family lived across the world while you were stuck in a city built for nothing but work. This country was built for work—nothing else. 

There was hardly anything to do; all you saw were fast food restaurants and endless rows of factories and corporate buildings.

You’d expect the yearly family trips to your hometown would solve your endless homesickness, but no—it was even worse. You never felt like you belonged there—only finally getting along with your relatives on the last days before your departure. 

Growing up, everything was a routine; there was no life here. ‘Wake up. Go to school. Come back. Do more work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.’ That was your life. To make it better—your city barely had any activities or sports programs, the only ones available being for kids of ages 2-3. It was safe to say your life really was boring; all you could do was stay on your phone and wait for the time to pass by itself. 

By the time you turned 16, you promised yourself that you’d leave the country the second you graduated high school—to get yourself into a good university in another country, somewhere that isn’t so boring or mentally draining, and enjoy life somewhere else—despite the fact you would’ve already wasted your teenage years. 

Of course, your parents disapproved. 

“But Mom! I’ve been talking to you about this since junior year—what do you mean I can’t go?! They literally accepted me!” You protested as you sat across from both your parents in the living room after checking your emails and looking over all the feedback you received from the universities you tried for. 

“And? The school 15 minutes away from us accepted you as well.“ She replied, her words firm as her eyes wandered around the room, looking at everything—except you. She knew you only sent an application to that one because she forced you to—but she was determined to keep you here, isolated in this hellfire. 

Your father remained quiet—like he always did. All he ever did was be quiet. He’d usually go upstairs the second things between you and your mother escalated—but this time, he was the one who helped the tension rise. 

“You’re not going anywhere; we raised you here, and you’re going to stay here. You spent all your years getting the best grades in this country, and you’re just going to let it go like that? You can wait until you finish your education—then, do whatever you want—you can even leave off the face of the Earth for all that I care.” 

Your mother tried holding back her smirk—amused that her husband finally spoke back to you for once in your life. Out of all times, he had to speak up now? Your father knew you best—he knew how much you wanted to leave because of how trapped you felt in this city, yet now it turns out that he’s the one who just ruined all your chances. 

You sacrificed your teenage years over the past four years so you could enjoy your 20s—but now it looks like you’ll be wasting those too. 

And just like that, you’re back to the life you were given by your parents. You sit in the last lecture of the day—thinking about anything but the homework your professor just provided. A part of you wanted to give up—to follow the path your parents gave you. They’re only doing it because they want what's best for you, right? 

You were always hyper-aware—always knew what was happening, what was right for you, and what wasn’t. You were never naive, never blind to the truth. And you hated that about yourself. You’d daydream about innocence, about not knowing the things you learned too young. It made you sick, the way you were always informed, always a step ahead. It wasn’t wisdom—it felt like a curse. You felt as if you lacked femininity.

You sat there, surrounded by voices that never reached you and desks filled with people who never saw you. The teacher nagged, the clock ticked, and you sat in your seat like your skin wasn’t too tight and your chest wasn’t caving in. You kept thinking—maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe someday you’ll feel like you belong, like this cycle was worth repeating. But deep down, you always knew the truth. This city isn’t home—it never was. This life isn’t yours. And you’re just a placeholder in a world that never waited for you to catch up; life was too fast but too draining for you to run after it.

You couldn’t do anything about the way you were living; you knew you had to accept it and live your life the way it is. Your mother always told you, “If I can make sacrifices, you can too; don’t cry over spilt milk.” And maybe that’s where it started, where the milk wasn’t only spilt but also curdled, spoiled way long before it hit the floor—like the kind of love that looks warm but turns out to be burning when you try to hold it. 

They did it all for you—gave up everything, their lives, their hopes, just so you could come here and learn. And the older you got, the more you understood that they were right. You couldn’t complain anymore. What was there to say when their sacrifices hung over you like a weight you could never shake off? They made it all for you, so now you have to live with it. You tried—god, you tried—to pick up the spilt milk, to filter out the rotten taste, to make it something you could swallow. But it never worked. It was always the same—stale, bitter, and forever tasting like something you could never undo.

The class ended, your thoughts still stuck to your skin as you walked to the train station. You analyzed everyone there waiting. Everyone was doing their own thing, some giggling with their friends while others scrolled through their phones—piano music flooding the subway as the train got closer and closer. 

You recognized some faces in which they didn’t recognize you; it was crazy to think how they all had different lives now. They no longer knew what you had for breakfast today, and you didn’t know their newest favorite color. 

You hopped onto the bus, hoping to find a seat, the reason for your stop being one of the last. When you were little, you were scared of sitting next to anyone on public transport—but now, you’d sit next to a bum if it meant being able to sit. Life wasn’t as important to you anymore for you to wonder who you’re sitting next to.

“You’ve been mumbling to yourself for a while now, huh?” 

Said the man you hadn’t even realized was next to you.

“Huh?” You replied, your brain still foggy from how deep in thought you were. 

“I said, ‘You’ve been talking to yourself for a long time.” He repeated, his face blank, not a single thought painted on his pale face. 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was talking out loud, I guess.” You unapologetically muttered, uninterested in continuing the conversation after your apology.

“Hey, I wasn’t asking for an apology; it’s okay. Looks like you’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed today, aye?” He joked, his foot lightly tapping under the seat in front of him. 

You furrowed your brows—if only he knew that your entire bed was flipped over—you’ve been waking up on the wrong side of your bed for years now. You stayed silent, your face facing the front of the train but still being able to spot him stare at you from the corner of your eyes. 

A few moments later, he nudged you to move because it was his stop. Before he approached the exit door, he whispered something near your ear. “You’re waiting for someone to care, but you’ll find that it’s you who needs to start.”

You didn’t respond to the man. You barely nodded; you simply watched him leave the train, your eyes stuck to the window. You could see him more clearly now—he was tall, not too tall, but tall. His body was as pale as his face, and his frame was oddly slim. He was wearing a surprisingly formal suit for being in a rusted train. His glasses hung loosely off the bridge of his nose. 

Your chest suddenly ached in that too familiar way. It was as if your heart was filled with your tears—leaking through all the cracks. A tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another. Until you were crying—not sobbing, nor gasping for air, just silent crying because you knew that he was right–if you really wanted to enjoy this life, you had to make yourself like it.

The days passed quicker than you expected; every day you’d find yourself in a different environment—not to study, not to find new people, but to complain about your life. Hopefully changing places will ease your hatred for this town, maybe make you enjoy complaining in a different space—which it never did.

You just got dropped off at the local library, books in your hands, cell phone in one pocket, and your last ounce of motivation in the other. You told your mother that you were going to study for your exams four months in advance–when in reality, you were just going to waste your time writing about all your weird fantasies about running away from home with a young gentleman.

You never had a proper love life. You tried to get yourself out there at the start of highschool but gave up after realizing what all boys wanted–‘gross!’ you thought to yourself. Despite that, you still constantly wished for someone to be there for you, someone to hold you, to baby you, to feel like you belonged to someone.

There was no point of trying in any of your studies—it’s not like you wanted to do them here anyway. You spend your days writing about the future. All your sheets are filled with concerning doodles that only consisted of random words you thought and heard of during the class, ‘to-do’ lists that you never followed, your name written 1000 times on a single paper and most importantly, pathetic things like ‘should I buy a dog or cat when I move to—’. 

You rambled about everything except your studies, you were never like this—not until you found out you’d be stuck here, not until you were molded—not by force, but expectation of who your parents wanted you to be. You knew deep down that you acted like this in hopes for your parents to suffer—to see that you can’t be their smart girl if she’s in a place she hates. When in reality, the only person you injured was yourself and your future. 

“Life doesn’t always come your way, if you keep hating it then it won’t ever change—god y/n, I pray for the man who’ll take you.” Your mother would always tell you, completely convinced that taking care of someone as naive and stubborn as you was an unbearable experience.

You continued your nonsense in your journal, by now you’ve purchased at least 50 journals in your lifetime–each one only getting half way filled before deciding to throw it out. Suddenly, to your surprise, you spot something from the corner of your eye. It wasn't the faces you saw everyday on campus, nor the librarian that’s been working here for the past 15 years, but a familiarly tall silhouette. 

It was him–again. 

You scanned the man's face as his eyes scanned over books in an empty ‘True Crime’ section. To your surprise, he quickly lifted his face and blankly stared at you, his eyes filled with no emotion just like the first time you saw him. You jumped back to your book, hoping he hadn’t remembered you–to which you quickly realised that he did. 

He slowly approached himself towards you–and for once, you found your heart beating rapidly, your thoughts melting with each other as you thought of what he wanted to tell you. Your eyes glued back to your journal, pretending to scribble onto the rant-filled paper. 

“ What's this, hm?” He said, ready to mock the scene in front of him. He grabbed your journal from the table and—“Diary? ‘Reasons I should live in–’”                     

“Give it back—what the heck!” You whisper—yelled as you attempted to retrieve your “diary” without making a commotion in the silent library. “What are you doing? Who are you?” You continued to let anything come out of your mouth in fear that he’d realised how scared you were of him talking to you.

But it was too obvious—I mean, he obviously knew. He knew that you knew who he was. It was written all over his face—for once. He had a smirk up to his ears, it was scary. You could feel your pupils shaking as you tried to hold contact with his eyes. 

He wasn’t ugly, but his expression was terrifying. His eyes were slightly squinted, the smirk carved permanently into his face. His skin stayed pale, and his height made you nearly break your neck trying to look up at him while sitting down. 

You snatched back your journal, clutching it like it held every sin you committed in this world, like every secret you never meant to share.

“Who are you?” You asked again—this time, not out of fear, but desperation.

He leaned down, just enough to be at eye level with you. “Don’t act like you don’t remember me, it’s written all over your face.” 

Your eyes widened, not because of the fact that he did in fact remember you and knew that you did too—but because of his boldness that you would’ve never expected from such a cold-looking figure.

You stared at him, always quick with a response—but in that moment, words failed you, caught and silenced deep in your throat.

You tried blinking away the fear—which only added to it. The odd man silently walked away from you—and for some reason, you couldn’t rip your eyes off of him. The farther he got, the more your eyes tried following him. It’s like you couldn’t get yourself to look away, you wanted to know who he was, where he was going, what he wanted from you. 

The thought of him was what kept you up at night. The only thing you knew about him is his appearance, no more. You didn’t know why he said those things to you on the train, nor why he suddenly came up to you at the library—just to leave without doing anything except attempting to read whatever you were writing on your book that day. 

For the longest time, you’ve been thinking about such weird thoughts—this adding to it. You recall the stop he dropped off when you were on the train. It was on the western, more old-fashioned side of town. A town where you could be lost in a field with no escape. You thought about him for a while, maybe it was a coincidence and he just wanted to scare you, maybe it was all in your head from all the odd things you’ve been recently fantasising about.

You already lived in a boring city—might as-well let it be spooky and boring, right? 

You suddenly felt a weird amount of comfort with the interaction. ‘it’s been a while’ you thought to yourself in shame as you reached down to your sleep shorts. 

Your days felt endless yet you couldn’t remember experiencing any of them. It’s been a week since you saw that man. 

Part of you wanted to see him again, to get the courage to talk to him. Not because you were really attracted to him, of course. That’s what you said to yourself, again. You had no idea why you got so obsessed with him despite how sensitive you’d be if it were someone else saying the harsh words he told you on the train that day. Maybe because you forgot the feeling of  love, not only to love—but of being loved. 

But this wasn’t love, this was obsession. Filled with lust and the idea you created of him in your fantasies based off of the two interactions—and the two others you created—with him, your dream man. 

Late nights never went well with you, this night being another one of them. You find yourself sitting on a pile of rocks across the lake near your school. Of course your city didn’t have a beach, nor at least a nice sunset to go with your solo hangout. You did this often, sitting by the lake and watching the subtle movements of the water created by the wind. 

Instead of doing any of your school work, you spent your time thinking about things you shouldn’t, right here, on the ground you were at currently. 

But you weren’t always like this. You did once like school—or at least the idea of it. You did try hard in school, when you had planned your life to death. You knew what you wanted: 

Graduate high school. Move to a country you fancy. Get your career together and maybe move to another country when you’re done. Get married. Move back to your hometown when you grow too old to function, die on the land of your ancestors and hope for the people of the land to visit your grave and pray for you. 

All of a sudden, you heard footsteps, loud ones.

Nobody ever comes here this late.

“No. No, no. No..” you muttered to yourself, panicking. “I promise god, I’ll pray—just let me off this once, I can’t die in a muddy lake. Maybe from a plane crash, or at least in the woods but not this…” 

The sound of large footsteps just kept getting louder and louder as the creature got closer to you.

“Do you ever stop talking to yourself?”

Euh?

“Oh.” You slowly removed your hands from your face, in disbelief. 

Unfortunately, you could remember that voice from the few times you heard it.

“Get up.” He said, firmly. You stood up awkwardly, your back still facing him. He was quick to wrap a jacket around you. You flinched a bit at the sudden contact when his fingertips brushed against your shoulders, you wondered what he was doing here—again—near you.

Before you have the chance to face him and ask the question, he beats you to it—“what are you doing here in the dark, isn’t it too late for you to be out in the cold?”.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t feeling a bit offended by his question. Was he mocking you? “Too late for you.” What did that mean? Is he calling you too young? Not independent enough? Was it because you were a woman? 

You quickly turn around and reply back, unable to hide the anger that was slowly starting to rise in your voice, “Who are you? What do you want from me and why do I keep seeing you?”. You stumbled a bit on your words as you tried to fit all your questions about this man before he disappears like he always does.

He didn’t respond, you tried squinting your eyes to see his facial expression in the dark—but nothing was clear—or maybe it was that his facial expression was completely blank. 

The cold clung to your skin like it had grown into it. Your clothes were damp from the lake’s air, the moisture seeping into your bones, making your limbs feel heavier with each passing minute. When he grabbed your hand—his touch warmer than the wind biting your fingertips—it wasn’t the shock of it that startled you. It was how natural it felt. As if you’d held that hand before in a dream you couldn’t remember, in a life you didn’t live.

You didn’t fight it.

You should’ve, but you didn’t.

He didn’t speak again. Not when he walked you out of the place, not when your shoes squelched in the wet soil and fake sand from the government, not even when you passed by the rusted gates leading out of the lake area. His jacket hung around your shoulders like a protective shell, and the warmth in it wasn’t his—it was yours now, stolen without permission.

You both stood silently at the bus stop for a while, until you looked at the time and remembered the trains were almost done running.

“I… I should get back before the trains stop,” you finally muttered, your voice so low you weren’t sure if it came out at all. Your offended-mad tone completely fading away into a shy one.

“You’re not going home like that,” he replied quickly, decisively. “You’re still wet. It’s freezing, and you’re trembling.”

You didn’t know what answer you were supposed to give to that. Yes, he was right, but since when did strangers get to tell you what to do?

He stepped a bit closer, and though your first instinct was to recoil, you didn’t. You couldn’t. He towered over you, and yet something about his presence didn’t press you down. It surrounded you. Made you feel small, yes—but safe, even in the dark. Maybe that was the most dangerous part of all.

“I know this sounds weird,” he added, “but just… come here.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He opened his arms, slowly, like he was offering—not demanding. You stood still for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening. But your heart beat louder than your thoughts, and something inside you collapsed quietly. Your body moved on its own.

You stepped into him, into the circle of his arms, and let yourself be held.

And for once, you didn’t have to beg your thoughts to be quiet—they just… were. The hug silenced them.

The sound of passing cars, the cold flicking at your skin, the wind playing with the loose strands of your hair—it all blurred away in his arms. You leaned into his chest, your ear pressed against his coat. His heartbeat was calm. Too calm. It made you feel ridiculous for how your own heart was racing like a trapped bird.

“What would your parents think if they saw you like this?” he said quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself.

Your stomach tightened.

“I… don’t know,” you mumbled. “I don’t think they’d be very proud.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then, “Tell them you’re at a friend’s house.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your brows furrowed. “What?”

“Text them. Tell them you’re sleeping over at a friend’s place. Stay with me for a bit. Just to warm up. Then I’ll drop you back.”

He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like you didn’t grow up being told not to trust people. Like he wasn’t a stranger with too many unanswered questions clinging to him.

“I… I can’t just go with you,” you whispered, pulling away more. “I don’t even know your name.”

He stared at you for a second, then turned, walking a few steps toward the approaching train. “Then don’t think of it like going with a stranger. Think of it like taking a break from yourself.”

You stood frozen, the weight of his words hitting places you didn’t even know were exposed.

You didn’t reply. You didn’t move. You just stood there.

The train came, doors opening with their usual mechanical sigh. He walked in without looking back, but he didn’t go far. He stopped at the nearest seat, turned halfway to you, and waited.

You told yourself: No.

You whispered it in your head: No, I’m not doing this. I’m going home.

But your feet stepped forward.

The warmth of the train wrapped around you like a blanket you hadn’t asked for. Your fingers clenched. You kept your eyes low as you sat beside him. Your body didn’t tremble, but your thoughts did.

You stared at your phone. The screen glowed too bright. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

This is insane.

This is not what people do.

You typed: Sleeping at Samira’s house. Love you. And hit send.

The silence was thick.

You tried to stay alert—force your body to stay upright. But you’d been tired for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years.

The city lights blurred past the windows.

You rested your head against the cold glass.

Just a break. That’s what he said. Just for tonight. Just until I feel better. Just until I figure out how to leave.

The warmth of the train felt unreal. Too bright. Too sharp. You sat beside him, your body curled slightly from the chill in your limbs. He didn’t speak, just took out a spare towel—yes, a real towel—from his backpack and tossed it onto your lap like he’d done it before, like he expected this.

“Why… Do you have this?” you asked softly, the towel already soaking up the cold from your clothes.

“I always have towels in my bag. You never know when someone’s going to sit near a lake and decide to fall asleep with wet hair.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

You turned your head slowly toward him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look smug. He just looked forward, out the window, like everything was ordinary.

The silence between you both wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Too heavy to cut. Your thoughts danced again, back to what you were doing. Back to why. This wasn’t safe. It wasn’t rational. Your parents would be horrified. Hell, you were horrified.

And yet, when the train reached the station—the one where you first saw him leave that night on the train weeks ago—you stepped out after him, your feet like anchors on a sinking ship.

You expected a neighborhood. A house. Lights. Something.

But there was nothing. Just a long strip of concrete, and at the end of it, a car.

Black. Sleek. Empty of sound.

You hesitated. “This… this is where you live?”

He laughed softly. “No. This is just where I park.”

He opened the passenger side for you, the small light above the seat flickering to life. You didn’t move.

He tilted his head. “You’re safe. You can say no. You always could.”

That stung. Because you knew it was true. You could say no–but you didn’t. 

You stepped in.

The door shut softly behind you. The inside of the car was warm—not just heated, but cozy. Blankets in the back. More towels stacked near the seat. Snacks. A charger. A phone mount.

It was like he lived here.

He didn’t start the car immediately. Just looked at you for a second. “Seatbelt.”

You clicked it in. You didn’t want to talk. You couldn’t. Every part of your body was trembling, not from fear—but from confusion.

He drove quietly. The streets are blurred by streaks of amber light. The radio played something soft—piano again. Always piano.

The towel warmed up against your thighs. Your hair was still damp, stuck to your cheeks. You felt the warmth from the vents sink into your skin, making you realize just how cold you had really been.

And then, for reasons you couldn’t explain, you started to cry.

Not hard. Not loud. Just… quiet, steady tears that slipped down your cheeks like they had a life of their own.

You didn’t want him to notice, but of course he did.

He reached into the glove compartment and handed you a small packet of tissues without a word.

That somehow made you cry harder.

You didn’t know when it happened—but somewhere along the drive, your eyes grew too heavy to fight. Your muscles relaxed, your mind finally dimmed. The last thing you remembered before sleep took you was the way he reached back and gently tugged a blanket from the backseat to drape over your lap.

It was soft. Too soft. It didn’t belong in a car.

Not a blanket like that—stitched with tiny patterns, smelling faintly like lavender and dryer sheets. It felt like something out of a childhood memory, not the backseat of a man’s vehicle.

Your fingers curled into it without thinking. It was warm, and that was dangerous. You weren’t supposed to feel this safe. You weren’t supposed to want to stay.

He didn’t say anything, just kept driving. The piano from the radio faded into something ambient—barely there, like silence that hummed.

You let your head tip toward the window again.

Then it started: the heaviness in your limbs. The kind that doesn’t come from sleep, but from somewhere deeper. Your breath slowed. Your eyelids fluttered. You knew you shouldn’t fall asleep. You knew it. But the blanket was too soft. The car was too warm. His presence was too quiet.

your body didnt ask for permission, it just..shut down.

You didn’t feel yourself being carried. Or moved. No footsteps. No doors.

Just blackness—thick and unbothered. A softness beneath your back. A whisper of fabric against your cheek. The distant hum of a room too still.

Gentle, but enough to wake you. You wake to the soft tumble of light through sheer curtains. Your chest tightens in confusion as your fingers brush unfamiliar fabric—white lace, delicate, too pristine. You sit up—the plush pillows swirl around you. Whose bed am I in?

Waves of dizziness hit. Your hair was braided—neat and tidy—is pulled loose from the night side-table, threads falling down like ghosts of what happened. You refuse its tightness. The braid comes undone, cascading around your shoulders in unruly waves. Your fingers shake; the air feels thick as if secrets are vibrating in it.

The room is immaculate—silent but for the faint hum of the city far below. Every surface gleams, untouched by mess or life. Too clean to be human. A smell of fresh linens, soft electronics, and a scent you can’t place but feel stirred by. It unnerves you deeper than the fear already knotting your stomach.

The door opens. He steps in: grey sweats, plain white T-shirt—casual, entirely unlike the suited man from before. The contrast is jarring: here is him, familiar but broken. The same pale frame; the glassed silhouette; his presence always towering yet somehow hollow. Your heart twists with the weight of recognition.

You stir enough to slide sideways—too weak to stand. Your hand touches the edge of the mattress, sliding almost to the ground, but he’s there. His arm wraps around your waist; his hand supports the small of your back. You cling to him, blinking away the world.

“Don’t… I’m dizzy,” you murmur.

He lifts you gently to a sitting position. His hand stays near your rib cage, steadying you.

“Let it out,” he whispers, voice soft and trembling. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Tears begin—at first tiny beads at the corner of your eyes, then wetness rolling down. You try to swallow the sobs, but your throat refuses. If you cried this much around your parents, they’d be yelling at you right now, reminding you that you’re known as “the daughter with a frown permanently plastered on her face.” The bed dips as he leans in, supporting your weight and smelling of clean fabric and something like… relief? Guilt?

“Why…” you choke out between shudders, hot tears trailing. “What do you want from me?”

He releases a breath so gentle it might be your own. “I know you,” he finally says, expression blank yet somehow imploring. “I know you, more than you know yourself.”

“What?” You whisper, voice raw. “We’ve only met twice.”

He brushes a tear from your cheek. “I’ve been watching. Not like a stranger—you’re not invisible to me.”

You shrink back. “That sounds… stalkerish.”

He nods, glancing to the window at the city tick-tocking down below. “I know. But you’re so muted. So afraid of relationships, afraid of trusting. I see in you everything you don’t see in yourself.”

Your legs tremble; you wrap them beneath you. You pull at the lace, self-conscious. “I… I don’t know why I’m still crying.”

“Because there’s more inside you than what you live,” he says softly. “And you’ve never been shown it, but trust me, I see it all.”

“How… How is this helping me?” You sniff, lifting your chin. “You don’t know me. Why do you care?”

His eyes flick down to his lap as if searching for words. “I do know you now,” he says, voice low. “You’re hurting. You’ve made this life smaller than you are.”

You shake your head. “Life… my parents, this city… I’m trapped. You dont know anything about me.”

He meets your gaze. “I know it all, I really do, I know you. What if you could go anywhere? What if you could live anywhere, study anywhere, love… you can do all that. But you need someone to guide you. Someone like me.”

You stiffen; your chest constricts. “Why you?”

“I’m offering you more than this life. I’m offering you a choice.”

Your walls shake. You curl deeper into the pillow, scanning the vast room again. You see—in the corner—a grand piano, silent. A desk with travel brochures. A suitcase half open, clothes laid out. It’s not a set: it’s a promise. Or a trap.

Tears come again. But this time they’re soaked with rage and relief and fear. You whisper, “Promise.”

He nods. “Go anywhere. Leave tomorrow if you want. I’ll put everything in place. A plane ticket, a place to live. Friends to talk to.”

You sit so still you might be a statue, broken open on its pedestal. Hunched as if aching to crawl inward but also to leap outward.

“How do I know you’re not just another expectation? Another sacrifice like my parents’?”

He reaches up, brushing your hair back behind your ear, careful yet tender. “Because I want you to be free—from their sacrifice and mine. And I can’t do it alone.”

Silence stretches. Bangkok, New York, Rome—your dreams flicker, teased by his quiet confession. The city hums far below, but here in this penthouse, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat again.

“What’s your name?” you murmur.

He hesitates, looks stunned. “I’m… Sunghoon.”

Your heart stutters. Recognition blooms. After all this time. Sung Hoon.

He watches you, waiting.

You shift. “…Okay.”

He exhales a soft tremor. “Okay?”

“Okay.” 

The room is dim, lit only by the gold flicker of a lamp tucked in the far corner. The walls hum with silence. The kind that makes you realize how long it’s been since you heard anything else—no traffic, no hallway voices, not even the buzz of your own ringtone.

You don’t know where your phone is.

You haven’t asked. You haven’t even thought about it.

That alone should terrify you.

But it doesn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

It’s been days… maybe more. You’ve stopped counting.

He feeds you, gently—sometimes even sits beside you, watching as if making sure you finish every bite. Not in a forceful way, not exactly. But in a way that leaves no space for skipping meals. His voice stays soft, like velvet against your nerves, lulling, unshakably calm. He lets you sleep in his bed. Alone.

You never used to sleep through the night.

Now you don’t even dream.

And you don’t ask why either. 

A necklace rests against your collarbone, cold and delicate. You woke up with it one morning, clasped perfectly around your neck, like it had always been there. Angel wings, silver. Small, dainty. Too intimate to be a gift… too quiet to be a warning.

You should’ve woken up when he put it on. You know you should have. You always do when there's a slight noise or movement in the room. 

You didn’t. You just woke up in the morning, saw it, accepted it.

Now, he steps into the room again. The door creaks the way it always does. It’s night—again. Maybe it always is. Maybe that’s just when he chooses to appear.

He’s wearing what he’s been wearing almost every time lately: grey sweats, white plain t-shirt. No cologne, no jewelry, no pretense. Just soft fabric and bare feet on marble floors.

He sees you and smiles like you belong here.

“Hey, angel,” he says.

You flinch at the name. Not because you’re scared of it. But because you’re starting to like it. And you hate that. He’s been calling you names since forever–and he just keeps adding. It started with Sweetheart, then baby, now angel.

“Hi,” you answer, quietly.

He walks over, no urgency in his steps, no hesitation. He sits at the edge of the bed like it’s his, like you’re his. Not in a way that screams ownership—just quiet confidence, like he already knows the answer to a question you haven’t asked.

He notices your fingers absently grazing the necklace.

“You never asked where that came from,” he says, voice low.

Your throat tightens. “I… figured it was from you.”

“Mhm, It was,” he confirms. “Put it on while you were sleeping.”

You blink. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“Not here, you’re not.”

The room feels smaller. Like the walls lean in a little every time he speaks. You believed his words, youre not a light sleeper here, you barely even dream here.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper. “Why are you doing this? Why—me?” You ask for the millionth time, it's like you never understand what he means when he gives you an answer. 

He tilts his head like he’s looking at something breakable. “Because I know what you are. What you need.”

“But you don’t know me,” you murmur.

“I know what the world did to you,how it treated you,” he replies. “I know how hard it is to keep running from it. To keep pretending you’re not tired of it. You’re safe here. You’ve never had that before.”

You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “You don’t know what I’ve had.”

“I know what you haven’t had,” he counters softly. “Someone to slow you down. Someone who actually watches. Who listens. Who takes care of you.”

“You—” Your voice falters. You want to say he took you. That this is all wrong. That you need to leave. But the words feel far away, blurry. Like you buried them somewhere days ago and forgot to mark the spot.

Instead, your voice breaks into a whisper: “I don’t even remember how I got here.”

He nods, as if he expected that. “Sometimes, that’s a good thing.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

He leans forward, careful not to touch. “Do you feel scared right now?”

You hesitate.

Do you?

You should.

But the bed is soft. The light is warm. The air smells like clean linen and something vaguely sweet. There’s no lock on the door—at least, not one you’ve seen. You’ve been alone in this room. But you never tried to leave. Not once.

“I don’t know,” you finally say.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to know anything right now. You just have to be here, with me, angel.”

And that’s the terrifying part.

You are. You’re still here.

And you don’t know if it’s because you’re trapped—or because part of you doesn’t want to leave anymore.

The room is silent, drenched in a soft lamplight. It’s night again—the hour when the shadows seem thickest. Its like a loop, you only recall the memories of the morning and night time--nothing else. He sets a mug of steaming tea on the bedside table, the scent a sharp mix of herbs and bitterness. “For your cold,” he murmurs, voice low and firm, “even if you say you don’t feel it.” 

The tea glimmers in the dim light. He always brings it at night, everyday, without a doubt. Always tells you the lake’s chill brought on a sickness. But tonight… Tonight you know the truth. It’s disgusting—it tastes like dried leaves soaked in bitter water.

You lift the mug, knowing what will happen if you refuse. His expression shifts—gentle calm snapping into tension. He demands you drink. You nod, too tired to argue, too afraid to defy him.

But tonight, something flickers inside you. A spark. You bring the mug to your lips, let only a tiny sip slip in. You swallow hard—gulping fierce, fierce enough to convince him. The rest sits in your mouth, pooling thick. When he looks away, you tilt your head slightly, pushing it down your throat. You try to replicate the fake swallow—sharp inhale, throat tightening—until it drips down your chin.

He’s watching you, voice low, “You did it?”

You nod, voice cracking with effort. “Yes.”

He smiles—an expression so small, so predatory, it makes your blood run cold. “Good angel.” His voice is almost tender as he reaches to wipe the spill from your chin.

Later, under the wide duvet, you lie as far from him as you can—the invisible line in the middle of the bed. It feels like a trap, a boundary you’re both painfully aware of. Sleep should come easily; instead, memories swirl like restless currents.

You remember the nights you stayed out (sometimes under lamplight, sometimes over your textbooks) trying to study for exams, threading through anxiety and exhaustion—knowing that even if you slept early, you’d wake up still aching for more time. That feeling of dread, pinned to your chest like a stone—that’s what the bed’s reminding you of.

You watch him breathe—light, steady. You think he’s asleep. Even the blanket’s untouched on his side. No phone on the nightstand. No cozy ritual of drifting off. You hear only his quiet inhalations.

So you pretend to sleep too—closing your eyes, still. Your breath matches his. You try to make yourself look at home, harmless. Maybe if you pretend long enough, he’ll doze again.

But you can’t sleep. Your skin feels sticky, uncomfortable, as if every pore is burning. You shift under the duvet and slip out of bed quietly, careful not to make even the slightest rustle.

The apartment hallways are unlit, clean, controlled. You wander, every footstep echoing slightly—too loud. You pass heavily furnished rooms: the kitchen, the sitting area, all immaculate and organized. A scent of antiseptic lingers somewhere in the air.

Then… a door. Slightly ajar. You push it open with trembling fingers.

Inside is a cabinet—neat, pristine. Rows and rows of pill bottles. Thousands of them, lined up in order, labels facing front. Vitamins, antibiotics, sedatives, who knows what else. A lullaby of possibility, of poison.

Panic swells. You stare—hands curled at your sides. You feel so small.

Suddenly, the air shifts. He’s there—door closed behind him. His eyes are wide, fixed. Not sleepy anymore. They look… focused. Piercing.

He watches you. You feel the lies in your chest, bubbling up.

“I… I wasn’t sleeping,” you whisper. “I—I felt off. I tried to find the tea to make myself more… comfortable.”

He steps forward—the room feels smaller. “You didn’t drink it tonight,” he says softly. He knows.

Your throat closes. You lift your hands in a silent surrender.

He steps closer, scanning your face. “You lied.”

You tremble. No strength left. You’re overwhelmed by guilt, humiliation, and fear.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “I—I couldn’t drink it.”

He watches you. The silence is long enough to suffocate you.

Then, with a nod, he turns back to the pills. “Good,” he says quietly. “You let me know.”

You’re not sure why relief washes over you. Maybe because it broke the illusion. You’re not trapped… yet not free. You realize, in that moment, the trust he’s still fostering is slipping away.

Days have passed. You haven’t touched the tea since that night. Not once. You sense that Sunghoon knows—every subtle look, every shift in tone. You also realize he doesn’t seem to mind. Not anymore.

You feel… more awake now. No longer the naive, drifting girl you were almost completely drifting into, you were the same y/n that was always aware of everything again. It’s reminding you how much you long for life beyond his walls. Your parents taught you your entire life to avoid strangers, it feels weird to think you’re with a stranger right now and don’t feel anything. You imagined it to be a horror-movie type of scary, but it feels normal—almost as if you’ve known him already.

One afternoon, the walls feel too tight. You stand in front of the door, heart pounding with determination. You twist the handle—locked. You jiggle it—locked. Your breath quickens as you notice each lock, deadbolt, chain, tightly engaged. Panic surges through your veins. You press your back against the door to steady yourself. The apartment, once comforting, now feels like a gilded cage.

Your pulse races. Your palms sweat. Fear & clarity mix inside you, aching to break free. Sunghoon told you the whole point of him taking you was to let you free, so why were you locked here?

Suddenly, behind you—click. The door opens. Sunghoon steps in, face calm, but his eyes are charged.

“Where are you going?” he asks, voice cool.

“…I wanted fresh air,” you whisper, voice trembling between fear and resolve.

He steps through the doorway, blocking you from stepping out. His gaze sharpens. His hand hovers near your wrist.

“Fresh air?” he repeats. “You don’t need to leave.”

“I—my family…” you choke out. “I just want to see them. I could come back.”

He laughs softly—mocking, but carefully measured. “Your family?” His smile is soft but cruel. “Who? Those people who don’t care about you? You have no family. Do you think they’ve been caring for you like I have?”

You hear tears in your own voice as you say, “I just… want fresh air.”

He breathes out—soft. He reaches forward and gently pulls you into his arms, easing you away from the door. He holds you, rocking you just enough to hush your tension. You feel the warmth of his chest, the rhythm of his steady breath.

“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I am your family.”

You let the tears fall softly—quiet sobs at first, then heavy. You hug him back, desperate for comfort. A part of you wonders if this is relief or defeat.

A few moments later, he guides you to a dresser—selects a white silk dress, smooth and simple. Without a word, he helps you change, guiding your arms through its delicate sleeves, adjusting it so it hugs your form. The fabric is cool, whisper-soft against your skin.

He moves beside you as if reading your thoughts. “Come with me,” he says in that soft tone you remember. But now, it carries a command.

You step out, pressing the silk against your legs. He holds your hand. It’s warm and firm. You wonder if you could let go, but something in your chest still aches for his presence, even as it trembles with fear.

The elevator hums, descends, opens onto the hall. And then—finally—you step outside into the world again.

The sun is muted, the afternoon breeze tender on your skin, bright and real. You follow him into a nearby park. You’re aware of walking people—families laughing, dogs running free, children on swings. It’s a sensation you didn’t remember missing until it’s in front of you.

He leads you to a bench shaded by an old oak. He keeps hold of your hand, thumb gently stroking your knuckles. You breathe more deeply than you have in ages.

He watches you. “See? You’re okay,” he says softly.

You nod, the tears still roaming your cheeks. The breeze stirs the silk around your ankles. You rest your head against his shoulder for a moment. You feel safe—terrifyingly safe.

The world doesn’t feel as clear, but you feel alive again.

Whether it means healing—or walking toward a different kind of cage—you can’t tell yet. But you can remember feeling the sun and breeze again. And maybe that is enough, for now.

The air wrapped around you both as you walked slowly. You pointed at the ice cream cart nearby, eyes hopeful.

“Can we get some ice cream?” you asked softly.

Sunghoon’s hand gripped yours tighter, almost painfully, silently shutting you down.

Then his phone buzzed, sharp and sudden. He pulled it out, pressing it to his ear.

“Yeah?” His voice was clipped but steady.

A voice from the other end spoke quickly. “Where are you? We’re waiting.”

“I told you, I’m busy right now.” Sunghoon’s tone hardened.

“We planned this,” the voice argued softly. “Just hang out for a bit.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. “I said I can’t talk. Not now.”

There was a pause, tension tightening the silence.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Tell them I’ll be at the usual place in twenty.”

The call ended abruptly.

He looked down at you, eyes sharper now. “My friends are coming. You don’t speak unless I say so.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

Minutes later, three men approached through the shadows of the park.

One stepped forward confidently, tall and lean with a sharp smile.

“Sunghoon! Long time no see,” he said, clapping Sunghoon on the shoulder.

Another leaned casually against a lamppost, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Hey man, looks like you’ve got company,” he said, nodding toward you.

The third, quieter but watchful, adjusted his jacket and gave you a curious glance.

Sunghoon’s arm stayed protectively around you.

One of the men looked at you directly, amused.

“So, who are you?” he asked, voice low but friendly.

You murmured, “Hi.”

The tall one smiled warmly. “I’m Heeseung,” he said, extending a hand. “Good to meet you.”

The casual one stepped forward, grinning. “Jake.”

The quieter one nodded. “And I’m Jay.”

You shook their hands, still unsure, but their easy manner made your heart slow a bit.

Suddenly, you looked back at the ice cream cart, longing bubbling up again.

“Can we please get some ice cream?” you whispered to Sunghoon.

He shook his head firmly. “No.”

Jake laughed, stepping closer. “Hey, just let her go. What’s the harm?”

Sunghoon hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll go with her.”

But Heeseung stopped him with a raised hand, smirking.

“Wait. Let her go alone,” Heeseung said, voice playful but serious. “We need to talk.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened but he stepped back, watching you with sharp eyes.

You took a shaky step toward the glowing ice cream stand, your chest tight with a mix of fear and hope. You ran.

Not just away from the locked doors, the suffocating walls, or the silent nights that swallowed your breath—but from him. From Sunghoon.

The city blurred beneath your frantic steps, the cold night air sharp against your skin, biting through the thin fabric of the silk dress he dressed you in. Each street light flickered like a warning, each shadow seemed to reach for you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

You forgot how long it was since you last felt that icy grip tightened around your wrist, since you felt trapped beneath his watchful eyes. You didn’t know where you were going; all you knew was that you had to get away. To breathe. To think. To find yourself again.

But with every step away from him, a strange emptiness grew inside you. It gnawed at your chest, pulling at your mind like a relentless tide. You realized then—with bitter clarity—that you missed him.

Not Sunghoon, the cold man who controlled you, but the feeling—the terrifying, twisted comfort of someone watching over you, of someone telling you what to do, what to wear, when to eat, when to sleep.

You had become obsessed with that feeling. You craved the care—even if it came wrapped in chains.

You tried to fill the void with distractions: wandering through crowded streets, watching strangers pass by with their easy laughter, visiting cafés to drown yourself in the buzz of life you’d forgotten. But nothing could replace that dangerous warmth.

You searched for him.

You asked around, pieced together whispers from acquaintances and shadowy corners, followed vague leads and silent clues until finally, late one rainy evening, you found him.

He was standing outside a dimly lit building, the rain slicking his hair against his forehead, eyes sharp and cold.

The moment he saw you, his expression twisted—not with relief or joy, but with something harsher, darker.

“Where the hell have you been?” His voice was low, shaking with anger. “Do you think you can just walk away? You’re mine, and you don’t get to decide.”

You shrank back under his gaze, tears prickling your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I was scared. I just… I needed to breathe.”

He scoffed, stepping closer, the storm around you both forgotten. “You’re pathetic. Always running away, always stupid. You don’t deserve kindness.”

You collapsed to your knees, sobbing openly now. “Please, I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.”

He raised his hand, but instead of striking, he gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his cold, unforgiving eyes. “You’ve gone mad. You’re broken. And every time you slip, I have to bring you back. Like a foolish girl who doesn’t know any better. Now get up, you're embarassing not only me--but yourself as well. Have some self respect, dumb girl."

That night, he dragged you back to his apartment. The silence between you was heavy, thick with unspoken punishments.

As the hours dragged on, loneliness wrapped itself around your chest like a vise. Your hands trembled with desperate need, aching for some kind of release. You always felt an extreme sense of guilt when doing these things at home, wondering what your parents would think of you, what god would say. It always ended up in you feeling no pleasure and instead the urge to vomit. But each time, you were desperate, your desires taking over you. So quietly, you reached down to soothe yourself—hoping for comfort this time, for a sliver of relief.

But the door creaked open.

He stood there, eyes dark and burning. “Sinful,” he whispered, voice laced with contempt. “You think you can do this without me? If you're willing to sin then at least let someone help you feel good.”

He crossed the room, cold hands taking yours, guiding you through something painful and raw—his presence both terrifying and addictive.

When it was over, he pulled away sharply, eyes blazing with fury. “You made me do this. You're disgusting” His voice cracked with bitter shame. “You sinned. You made me sin too. Are you not ashamed of yourself? Do you not fear the one above you?”

You didnt say anything, you couldnt. All you could do was curl into the corner of the bed, trembling, tears streaming down your face. The weight of his words crushed you, heavier than any chain.

You lay there, crying yourself to sleep—alone, broken, trapped in a world where love and pain blurred until you couldn’t tell them apart.

The night air was sharp, stinging your skin like it wanted to peel you out of it.

You sat by the window, legs tucked to your chest, bare feet freezing against the marble floor. You hadn’t spoken to Sunghoon in two days. Not since you came back from your escape and sinned like your parents hadnt raised you.

He hadn’t said a word either—only watched. Like a shadow pinned to the walls, he followed you silently, eyes unreadable, jaw clenched like he was holding back something brutal.

You hated the silence. You hated him. You hated how much you still needed him to speak.

When he finally did, it wasn’t gentle.

“You like running away,” he said flatly. “You like being a mess, don’t you?”

You didn’t turn. “I didn’t run. I walked.”

His voice lowered into a growl. “Same thing. You leave, I find you. You cry, I pick you up. It’s like a cycle with you, isn’t it?”

You looked down at your arms. They were covered in goosebumps, not just from the cold. “Why did you bring me back?”

“Because I’m stupid,” he snapped. “Because you won’t stop making me care.” Your chest caved slightly. “I didn’t ask you to. Matter of fact, I didnt ask for any of this. You lied to me completely.”

He laughed. Harsh. Bitter. “You never ask. You just exist. So fucking soft and breakable, always looking like you need saving. But you don’t get it, do you? You’re the reason I’m like this.”

You blinked slowly. “What does that mean?”

“It means every time I even think about touching you, I regret it. Every time I look at you, I remember I’m not supposed to want someone like you. You make me sin, and you don’t even know it.”

He walked forward—dangerous and slow—like regret was the only thing keeping him from setting fire to the room. You wanted to back away. You didn’t.

He stood in front of you, the space between your bodies filled with every word you hadn’t dared to say.

“I try to stay away from you,” he whispered. “But every time I close my eyes, I see you. Every time you cry, it makes me want to destroy everything. Makes me want to see you cry more.”

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to. Because the moment his hands grabbed your waist, you let him.

He kissed you like he hated you. Like it was your fault he was starving. Your fault he was breaking. His teeth scraped your neck like a warning—like this wasn’t supposed to happen again. But it did.

You let him tear the silk dress from your body. You let his hands bruise your skin, his mouth crush your breath. He took you against the window—the city lights spilling behind you both like silent witnesses. You clawed at his back like you could pull sanity out of him. But all you got was more of his chaos.

He didn’t ask if it was okay.

You didn’t say no.

After, you lay on the floor, skin burning from the cold tile, your body aching in ways you couldn’t name.

He stood above you, shirt half-buttoned, face unreadable.

“You make me into something I hate,” he muttered, staring down at his hands. “You ruin me every time I touch you.”

Your lip trembled. “Then don’t touch me.”

“But you let me,” he snapped. “You always let me. That’s the problem. You act like you’re this fragile thing, but really? You pull me under like it’s your goddamn mission.”

Your voice broke. “So I deserve this?”

He leaned down—eyes filled with something ugly. “I don’t know. But I’m not the only villain here. I didn’t kidnap you. You agreed to come with me.”

You didn’t sleep that night. Again.

You sat in the bathroom, wrapped in one of the many towels he owned, knees pulled to your chest. You stared at the floor for hours. At your legs. Your arms. Your reflection. The bite marks on your collarbone. The bruises all over your skin.

And then, without warning, you remembered your mother.

Her voice, always sharp like broken glass.

“Why do you always act like you’re the victim?”

You were nine. You had just come home with a scraped knee from falling on the playground.

“Crying won’t fix it,” she snapped. “Get up. You’re embarrassing me.”

You were fourteen when she told you you were selfish for wanting to move to another city.

fifthteen when she told you you had no right to be tired—because she was the one who sacrificed everything.

Sixteen when she slapped you for saying you didn’t want to study medicine.

Your father never said anything. He just turned the TV up louder.

And maybe that’s where it started. Where love became obedience. Where being hurt felt normal. Where silence felt safe.

Where your voice disappeared.

You stared at the bathroom mirror until the reflection blurred. You pressed your palm against the foggy glass, whispering to yourself—

“You didn’t deserve that.”

But the mirror didn’t believe you. Neither did you.

The next morning, Sunghoon made you breakfast.

Just toast. One egg. Coffee. Like nothing happened.

You sat across from him, not touching the food. Just watching.

He didn’t apologize. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he said: “Your mom called your phone again. Six missed calls.”

Your heart froze.

“What did she say?”

“I didn’t pick up.”

“Why not?”

He looked at you with that same dead calm. “Because she doesn’t deserve to talk to you.”

You hesitated. “Maybe I should call her.”

“Why?” he asked. “So she can tell you you’re a burden again? You’re not going back there. You’re not theirs anymore.”

You stared down at the cold egg. “Then whose am I?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Because you already knew the answer. Even if it wasn’t what you want.

The rain had started before either of you noticed.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his shirts, the hem brushing your bare thighs. He hadn’t spoken to you all morning—not after the toast, not the coffee, not after the way you didn’t eat a single bite of it.

He just watched. Like he always did.

You hated that he always looked at you like you were already gone. Like he was memorizing your damage in case he needed to carry it when you couldn’t.

You turned your head slowly, voice barely above a breath.

“Why do you keep me here?”

Sunghoon blinked once. Then twice.

“Because the world doesn’t know how to hold you.”

That was it. The match.

You climbed into his lap without saying anything—your breath sharp, your chest raw from how long you’d been holding yourself still. He didn’t ask what you were doing.

Because he already knew. No matter how much you hated him. You never left. Sure he locked a few doors and a few windows, but it was easy to escape Sunghoon, you couldve when you ran away the last time, but you didn't. Instead you went looking back for him.

You kissed him first. You don’t know why you kissed him, but you did. You were desperate to feel something, even if you had o other option but to do it with someone who took you away.

It was messy. Wet. You clutched the sides of his neck like you wanted to crawl inside his skin, like you needed to taste something ugly just to prove you were still alive. He grabbed your waist like it was a reflex—like he’d been starving, and you were the meal he swore he wouldn’t touch again.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.

It was angry.

Angry at yourself for needing this.

Angry at him for giving it to you.

He laid you down, the shirt yanked over your head, his mouth finding the parts of you he never asked permission to memorize. His fingers bruised into your hips, his mouth burned into your throat.

You let it happen.

You let it all happen.

Because if it wasn’t him—if it wasn’t this—then what did you even have left?

Your limbs gave out before your voice did.

You collapsed onto him, breathing like your lungs were splintered. Your heart thudded so loud it echoed in your ears. You didn’t even realize you were crying until your tears soaked into his skin.

You didn’t say anything. Just pressed your face into his chest, shaking silently as the aftershocks rolled through you.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

He wrapped his arms around you so tightly it felt like you were being stitched back together with thread that might not hold.

“You’re okay,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay…”

You weren’t.

You weren’t okay at all.

And that’s what made it worse.

Because the second he said it—you wanted it to be true. You wanted to believe that maybe this time, someone meant it.

And that’s when you panicked.

You pulled away from him with force, scrambling back to the edge of the bed like you’d just realized you were drowning and he was the one holding your head under.

“Don’t—” you gasped, trying to catch your breath. “Don’t hold me like that. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His expression didn’t change. Not right away. Just a slow blink. Like he knew this was coming. Like he’d been bracing for the storm.

“You can’t do that,” you snapped, voice cracking. “You can’t—screw me, and then act like you care. You don’t get to make me feel safe and then leave me to rot in your silence. You don’t get to hold me like—like—”

“Like I mean it?” he asked, voice low.

You screamed.

Actually screamed.

You didn’t even realize your hands were shaking until you threw the glass of water sitting on the bedside table. It shattered against the wall like a warning.

“I hate you,” you gasped, sobbing now, “I hate you for making me need you. I should’ve never come back.”

He moved.

Fast.

Quicker than you expected.

In two long strides, he was in front of you—pulling you into him so suddenly you couldn’t even resist. His arms clamped around your back like iron.

You fought it. You pushed and shoved and clawed at his chest.

“Let go—let me GO!”

But he didn’t.

He just buried his face into your neck, holding you tighter.

“I won’t.”

Your fists pounded against him.

“You’re insane!”

“I know.”

“I want to leave!”

“Then leave. But not like this.”

You froze. Your arms hung in the air, trembling. Your sobs cracked out of you like thunder—loud and helpless.

He didn’t move.

He just held you.

And finally, you collapsed into him—again. This time not out of lust. Not out of grief. Just exhaustion.

So, so tired of feeling everything.

So tired of pretending you didn’t need someone to catch you when you fell.

His hands moved slowly now—up and down your back. His mouth pressed to your temple.

“I’m not always like this,” he murmured. “I just… I don’t know."

You pulled back just enough to see his face. It wasn’t cold anymore.

It was shattered.

and for the first time, he looked like the one who needed saving. His eyes, usually so calculating, were wide with something you couldn’t quite place. His hand shook as it hovered near you, as if he was about to say something—something that might change everything. But just as he opened his mouth, a deafening bang echoed through the room.

His eyes snapped to the door, his whole body stiffening, and once again, for the first time, he looked genuinely afraid.

You barely had time to process it before he whispered, voice breaking, “I never meant—”

Bang.

"Don't you dare move," he hissed.

The door wasn’t just open anymore—someone was coming through it.

Sunghoon’w eyes snapped to the figure at the threshold. And in that moment, you saw him crack.

He grabbed you again, pulling you behind him like a shield and—

… tbc

[harleehazbinfics]

Home is where my Heart is.

Chapter 3: The First Time Table of Contents | Profile

Word Count: 1100+ Warning: implied rape and abuse A/N: idk i feel weird that he's kinda ooc; tbf he is very different here in this ff BUT LISTEN crazy meets sweet, ITS KINDA CUTE also also, imma take a break and continue my devout!reader ff, you can check it out here. thanky!

mmmmm i changed so much dialogue i wonder how this'll go. (edited as of Feb 20)

It had been quite a few months after Alastor and I have started going out. Nothing drastically different happened when we were still friends then transitioning to lovers.

Both of us would mind our own business, however, that didn’t really mean that we weren’t thinking about each other. If Alastor went on radio, I would listen to him while doing mundane chores, listening to his voice through the vintage filter of the stereo, I'd even retort to his witty commentary as if he was in the room with me. While, I would be out doing shows across the city, ranging from clubs and cafes to the early television programs.

Today was one of those days, where I would be waiting for Alastor to pick me up after performing a show, as he promised to bring me out to drink for our date. I stood at a lamp post waiting for him, looking down at my shadow.

“Well, look who it is. Lil’ Mel out in town?” a raspy voice said to me, “Must be nice to finally get out of that orphanage, huh? How’ve you been liking it so far? Missed me?”

Hearing this familiar insistent voice sent shivers down my spine, having flashbacks of my days in the orphanage. I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Go away, Aidan. I don’t want to talk to you,” I announced, fear creeping up on me.

“Oh, don’t be like that, babe!” he said putting his hand on my shoulder, “Don’t you remember all our fun times?”

I wriggled out of his grasp and angrily answered, “Fun? Hah, you’re insane. And never call me babe! Goodbye.”

I tightened my grasp on my sling bag and briskly walked away, looking for a more crowded area. But I never got too far when he suddenly had my arm in a tight grip making me squeal in pain. He covered my mouth with his other hand hushing me, and placing his knee between my legs. This scenario was all too familiar that tears welled up in my eyes automatically, but I gathered all my courage tensing my body and biting his hand, frustration clear on my face.

Meanwhile, Alastor was already a few buildings close to your arranged meeting place when he stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

“I told you to let go of me!”

This shout reaches his ears following a thud, fearing the worst he then bolts toward Miledy’s direction.

“Miledy!” he yells however freezes when he sees a man looming over her with a metal pipe in his hands.

“AL!” she screamed scared out of her wits.

Without a second thought, he lunges at the man throwing the both of them to the side leaving me on the floor. I looked at Alastor in fear for him when I saw him struggling to wrestle the larger man off of him.

“STOP! GET OFF HIM!”

Aidan seemed to falter when he heard me, creating an opening for Alastor and managing to stab him through his chest. Aidan gathered the last of his strength to wrap his hand around Alastor’s neck. I panicked and grabbed the forgotten pipe and bashed him over the head, making him go limp on top of Al.

Alastor moved the body to the side and with a relieved look on his face, he moves forwards and pulls me in a tight hug.

“I was so scared. Did you get hurt?” he frets over me.

“You’re not scared of me? I just killed a-a person, Al,” I asked afraid of his reaction.

“Heavens no! I’m more relieved you’re not hurt,” he replied letting go of the hug and placing his hand to the side of my face.

Relieved that Alastor didn’t leave her despite her sins, she finally broke down as she recounted the traumatic events that had happened, including the times where she comforted herself to sleep crying after Aidan was done playing with her, causing all these bottled up grievances to burst out. While Alastor did his best to comfort her in an embrace.

“We should probably leave now. It won’t take long before someone calls the police,” he explained holding on to her shoulder. I only nodded my head shakily still rattled and followed his lead.

He covered the body and lifted it over his shoulder keeping it steady while his free grabbed my hand and ran far far away. We eventually ended in a forest where we buried the body. I wiped the sweat off my brow breathing deeply from all the extraneous activities. After that was all done, Alastor led me to a cabin outside the hunting grounds.

“Where are we?” I asked while looking at the old furniture and the floorboards that creaked.

“My house,” he stated simply offering me a glass of water. I took and drank all of it without a second thought making Alastor tug a very subtle smile on his lips at how she completely trusted him.

“Al, we just killed a man and buried him. What if they figure out that we did it? What will happen to us?” I ramble, face going pale from different scenarios going through my mind.

He kneels in front of me a frown adorning his face when he saw how distraught I was and replied, “I’ll never let them hurt you. I promise, they will never know.”

“What about you, Al! What if they take you away from me. I don’t want to be separated from you!” I yelled hoping he’d care about his own well-being.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said reading through me and holding my face in his hands, “I’ll never ever leave you, not if I can’t help it.”

My eyebrows furrowed still unconvinced, “How can you be so sure?”

His eyebrows drooped and a wry smile takes place while putting his hands on my knees obediently, “I’ve been hiding from them for years now. They haven’t had any idea that it was me. Knowing a lot of people surely has its perks.” I looked at him confused. “The first person killed was when I was 16, on the day that my mother died, and I’ve been running ever since.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you. But I never wanted you to be involved in this dirty past of mine,” he apologizes. “But I swear on my life that I never had any bad intention towards you. All I want is for you to be safe and free from worry.”

It took a very long time before one of us did or said anything. I took his hand, stood up and walked him towards the balcony that we walked past getting here. And just watched as the sun slowly rose hand in hand.

“I guess this is how we live for the rest of our lives now,” I uttered just above a whisper to the wind.

“I’ll protect you. No matter what.”

“Me too. You can depend on me… I love you, Al.”

“Thank you, Miledy.”

[eluxcastar]

As I opened my tumblr, just to check if there is new Arlecchino stuff to swallow... lo and behold, I saw your post with the Arlecchino simp tags. Shot me the moment I stepped into the door right there, hahaha! May I request an Arlecchino x reader, headcanon or anything you're comfortable coming up with. The reader is thousands of years old, who got disowned by the Tsaritsa because they declined their performance in greatness for someone else's benefit and saw no worth in her/them. Could be a sibling or a friend, the betrayal stung like a bee since she/they saw Tsaritsa as a mother figure or could literally be the mother (Got kunikuzushi'd in a way, minus the puppet part). So, here's the main part - How Arlecchino would handle that person, when they meet in hostile terms. An accidental encounter, had banters and fights and eventually found strange subtle solace from each other. Could be romantic, or just obsession on Arlecchino's part because we love deranged women pls step on me with your sharp heels - anyway, since Arlecchino is interpreted as someone who won't hesitant to betray the Fatui. On her own benefit, works with the reader to mess and interrupt Fatui operations. I won't include more or else you'd be dealing a whole thesis of it. Hahahah! Good day to you~!

One of Repetition

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: in a strange decision nobody quite understood but could not contest, you were dismissed from your position by the tsaritsa herself but allowed to live. you wander for some time, lost and confused, and most notably unable to escape the fatui even when you are no longer associated with them, which means an unwanted letter and an even more unwanted visit from the knave.

୨୧﹑genre :: kinda angsty

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader has a pyro vision, arlecchino has a cryo delusion, reader uses a bow, capitano is not human this time, he's just a plot device too, their previous relationship is implied but ambiguous, implied age difference, reader is most often called by the title brighella, writing this spiralled me into insanity, possibly bad writing, not proofread 

୨୧﹑words :: 13.6k

hehe, I know that Arlecchino simps flock to me once they learn my requests are open. I have no idea why. maybe they're just especially desperate for food, but they linger, and I have a little collection of anons.

don't worry about how much it'll take me, I honestly enjoy writing longer works. anyway, I received a request similar to this some time ago (was it you? I have encountered that before) but haven't gotten around to completing it, so I'll be partly combining the two

here's the other request:

it's gonna provide some stuff for me to follow, and I remember exactly when I got it, so I wanted to include it for the dear anon who sent it

why brighella you may ask well that's because brighella has been described before as essentially Arlecchino's smarter and more vindictive brother and they compliment each other well. I think Arlecchino may also work for Brighella in some versions?? either way it felt right even though they're not really based off of the character brighella, they do share a few traits with him but not fully it's just a fun little parallel

I really did not expect this to be so long that it literally lagged the writing program I was using to save it and I have been staring at this for so long I literally have no gauge on the quality anymore just that it's variable because it took me so long someone send help

Her words left you exasperated, literally at a loss for words, and you struggled to comprehend the reason for it. There was nothing you could think of, no instance that struck you as prominent. Yet, somehow as one of the Tsaritsa's children, you had become what any parent might refer to simply as a disappointment, their failure—the problem child who never quite ironed out their issues. You had always been faithful to her, hopelessly devoted to the archon and her will. News such as this came out of nowhere and struck you like a hammer to the chest.

Two of her most mighty children were near and dear to her, and now the other had turned against you as he remains loyal to her. The Jester, who you once held in high regard, has turned against you. It is a bitter pill to swallow, for you must now sever ties with the one man you believed was truly deserving of serving the Tsaritsa. Your mother— your world— turns against you with him, before him, leading the way for him. 

In vain, you draw your bow to strike an arrow between his eyes, prove your strength and power as above your position, above him, but it means nothing. Your strike is blocked, and the Tsarita's Damselette Columbina moves to detain you. You believe she would not be strong enough, but you don't itch to fight ten other Harbingers. You understand that even you have a limit, and fighting what are supposed to be the strongest people in the country is not a part of that. Your honour is on the line, an honour which would tarnish not only Brighella's name but also have a ripple effect on your soldiers, men and women who fought for you and did not deserve a punishment that would result from their actions.

"Think carefully, Brighella." Columbina's warning is not lost on you, "You could remain as a hero or fight, and I will lure the creature you brought from the abyss and gut him before your eyes."

You do not want that. That creature is not yet loyal to the Tsaritsa but to you, and she will convince him he can save you. He will fall into her trap and die.

You bite your lip, trying to think of a way to escape and capture him so that you can run off somewhere. He does not deserve to die, but you can't think of anything. Not when you know how thorough these people are. There is not a will, really. There is only a has. He has fallen into her trap and is at the mercy of the Damselette. "What if I am to obey?" You finally ask the question you did not want to, surrendering in a way, though the bite has not left your words.

"I'll leave him be." Her answer is swift. She expected that you would eventually give in and only needed to wait for it to happen.

You shake your head, dissatisfied with only that as your compensation. "Not enough."

The smile on her face does not waver, thin and deceitful as ever, eyes hidden and closed, unseen behind the band of lace. "Mm. I can't bargain anything else." 

"Have him take my place." You lay your condition out firmly. There is only one to meet, and not a hard one at that. It would be easy to sway him into it, using whatever they plan to do to you as motivation. His loyalty and affection for you would make him accept it.

She ponders the situation and proposal momentarily, powerless to make the executive decision but undoubtedly keen on the thought of it all. "He believes that you are about to fall in battle to a foe and that he is going to save you."

You grit your teeth, knowing that this is her trap. Lure him to a place. It was not what you had expected, but it is no less the Damselette's style of acting. There is always a damsel, but perhaps she recognised that she would not suffice this time. She needed a better damsel for him to save; for that to work, it needed to be you. 

She needs your name, reputation, your relationship with your subordinate, melding together with her lies to make for a tale of tragedy with him as the hero.

The thought of him rushing to his death under the guise of saving you spikes your blood cold, chilling you. You're aware of her cruelty and always have been, but to experience it is different than hearing about it from her perspective. You are experiencing it from the perspective of the victim. 

His death was another factor to hold over your head, your penance, the anchor to force your compliance. Your blood boils with anger, but you cannot fight. Despite your feelings of anger and frustration, you know that lashing out will only cause further harm and pain.

There is only one thing you can do. You know you must. It's simply that you don't want to. 

But...you must. 

You must for him, that poor creature you tried to give a home to and who would never be in such a position if not for you and your ambition. 

"Then I will fall, and you will use the honour I built into him to persuade him." 

It was an honour meant to humanise him in a way, a being only able to imitate humanity. He had a mentor and something to fight for. Now you're imploring that it be used against him to burden him, but he will do well in your position.

Columbina smiles, that thin mocking smile like she knows the secrets of this world and more. "Would he really believe that?"

The helmet. You should use the helmet to your advantage. Your subordinate's first exposure to humanity, being you, a woman in a metal helmet, seemed to last. He used to think that was what humans looked like, and he admitted as much to you as he had asked you to remove it. Your impression left an indelible mark on him that he treasures to this day. Even if he was to see you in the aftermath, he would not uncover the lie.

"He has never seen my face. He would not recognise me."

Columbina accepts that readily, and her eyes open, pools of black and white visible through the cracks in the lace over her eyes. You've seen them before, inky black sclera and inhuman patterns decorating the borders of her irises, but you can't help the unsettled feeling that makes a home for itself in the pit of your stomach. 

-

By the evening, you are stripped of your honours, titles and coat and dumped to the curb like a bag of rubbish somebody left out. There is no more fight, no more bargaining, no more arguing. Everyone has the things they want, for the most part, so you are all satisfied enough to remain amicable with each other. Without a fight, you allow the Jester to remove the fur-lined overcoat despite the cold that rushes over you once it is gone and discarded in a heap of fur and fabric on the floor with none of its previous value. 

After that comes the slow, deliberate removal of every trinket that denoted you as you. From your delusion, several gifts to your very insignia, the only thing left of you is a lone pyro vision and the clothes on your back. You've never been more thankful to not wear a standard-issue uniform lest you be made to undress and hand that over too.

That was it. Your everything.

With each piece of regalia taken, a part of yourself disappeared until you were left an empty husk of a person, your entire reason for being for hundreds of years snatched out from under you and spat on.

The Harbingers were supposed to be the children of the Tsaritsa, and this was your grand disowning. A show of power and influence over her closest children and, by extension, the ability to bring pain to her less-- to her followers. It was foolish of you to ever think you were special in her eyes for having been by her side since before the Archon War. What did it matter when she left you amongst the rest of them? The years you spent since you had hobbled into her life so tiny and cute were now reduced to a few personal belongings and a set of words that shattered your world to sharp and dangerous pieces that would only hurt you in your haste to reassemble them and string your life back together.

When you were young, your cuteness may have been your best asset: a small body with endearing quirks, the inability to walk long distances without tumbling. In this state, you required her for everything because you would only find danger in the harsh Snezhnayan winters. To even acquire your own food was unthinkable, so you were sheltered and provided with ample treats that you could nibble from the palm of her hand if that were what you wished. Anything to keep you happy and content.

Like a little trinket, she cradled you for as many years as it took you to grow, and once you were at an age you no longer needed to be cradled, she made you her loyal companion, or so you had believed. You thought her affection for you was unwavering. She was the only mother you had ever known; she is the only mother you will remember for all of eternity.

Although it may have been an exaggeration, watching the sun's gradual descent below the horizon, you could almost believe eternity would quickly prove to be a very real concept. You watch the sky darken in silence for a time. You roam aimlessly around the city, your presence still striking unease in the people from the threatening demeanour you learned to conduct yourself with as a Harbinger, even without your official attire. The only remnant of your former self is a helmet you consistently wore during every public appearance. 

You can't help your wandering mind. Did your imitation of the Tsaritsa's actions make you weak? Attempting to nurture someone in the same manner she nurtured you? You are not a god, only the former child of one. Maybe you cannot care for him and maintain your objectivity. It's possible that he has become your Achilles' heel, as you were forewarned when the Tsaritsa less than subtly suggested you eliminate him.

You cannot live like this.

No matter how many suns you watched set, you would never come to terms with it living like this. The world you once knew, which revolved around a singular governing entity and individual, has disappeared without a trace. Without a central axis to anchor it in place, your world spirals chaotically out of control, with each passing second feeling more frenzied than the last. Your head is too muddled, your brain too overwhelmed by your emotions to think objectively of the faults in your time as a Harbinger, years of your life spent that way, burying your thoughts beneath a heavy weight of despair.

You almost want to call them wasted, but that would be wrong. Without the Tsaritsa, you might've— no, would've died during the Archon War. Perhaps another god would take you in, but it is unlikely that they would have exhibited the same level of compassion and generosity as the Tsaritsa. They would not have coddled you into comfort the way she did. Then again, what if that had been your downfall? Did she ever genuinely want you to stay? Based on this...perhaps you took her kindness for granted and overstayed your welcome.

You had no right to make demands of her in your final moments as her child, acting like a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum. But can you be justified? Can the threat to your subordinate's life negate that? Surely a bit, but not entirely, not if her actions were in response to yours. 

Oh, even if you begged on your knees, she would not take you back now.

Why had you not done that before?

She must be disappointed that your attitude was born from her compassion, the epitome of her failures. You do not deserve to call her your mother. You took her generosity as a guarantee, thought yourself above her other children solely because you were her first, and believed you were her favourite for no reason besides your own arrogance.

You have failed the only being in Teyvat willing to show pity toward you.

-

The deepest heart of Snezhnayan forest welcomes you readily with open arms and the gnashing jaws of monsters starving for food. The forest seems to come alive with a vicious hunger for flesh. You have nothing but your vision and bow left to aid your defence. Your delusion is gone, and your subordinates are nowhere to be found to assist you. Despite this, marking your way with a trail of bodies is easy. It is just an inconvenience to have to always be on guard, but you are strangely used to it. 

The cold is numbing as the air hits your face, your fingers almost wholly without a sensation of touch and even a tingle in your toes.

You spent many missions that way, tensed and expecting violence at any moment, hardly allowing yourself to sleep, let alone relax. It feels like nothing has changed in that respect, but you know everything has. You cannot hear the large crackling bonfire or the pattering of footsteps in the snow as your subordinates come to join you, their laughter and chatter and their whispers to each other.

There is a stark silence that is deafening to your ears.

-

On the seventh night, you pass through a village on the outskirts of Snezhnaya, where you first catch wind of the news you had agreed on. The locals informed you that they had recently halted their work for half a day in your honour, believing that you had passed away. All of them are completely unaware that as they remark on the death of Brighella, they are speaking to the former Harbinger, who asks about the news under the guise of being a curious traveller. They also strongly advised you against venturing into the innermost heart of the nation. If anyone were to notice the helmet carefully secured around your waist, it might bring unwanted attention to your travels.

Though you were stripped of your insignia, you have your armour, which by some grace had been spared from confiscation. Though a seemingly trivial act of kindness, a sense of pride swelled within you as you gazed upon it. You are glad it is still yours. This armour had accompanied you through countless blood-soaked skirmishes, serving as a steadfast shield against all manner of danger. 

It is at that moment you decide to treat it as a trophy. Though there is no truth to it, you take responsibility for the Harbinger's slaying. Now, the armour which once protected you as a Harbinger will stand as a triumphant emblem of your hard-won victory over Brighella and the end of the Harbinger's tyrannical hold over the land. You know that you will keep it close, treasuring it always as a tangible reminder of the sacrifices you made to reach this pivotal moment. You slayed Brighella. You ended the Harbinger's tyranny.

If you didn't know better, you would think you were getting a little too far into it and starting to believe it yourself.

By the eleventh night, you find yourself situated in an inn, and the nights only carry on from there all the way up to the twenty-second night since your abrupt dismissal and, to the rest of the world, your supposed demise. Already, the whispers that once revolved around Brighella's defeat now shifted to speculations regarding her successor. The question was not necessarily who, but who could possibly? Her brutal reign as a Harbinger had instilled fear in the hearts of all who crossed her path and in the minds of the people, no one else could measure up to her sheer terror-inducing presence. Nobody knows what happened once they dared to fight Brighella until now. She was only the Fourth of the Tsaritsa's children, but she was the most combat-heavy, and no one wished to cross her, except for the rumoured contender for her throne, who was spoken of in hushed tones as nobody was eager to have their reverence for whoever was bold enough to reach the wrong ears.

Your achievements find their place amongst the rumours as people say that Brighella's killer stole her armour and wears it as her trophy.

Despite the slew of gossip that its patrons indulge in, you enjoy the quaintness of this bar made and run by travellers who use it like a pitstop to rest and recuperate. It is a home to them, along with adventurers and merchants who benefit from the atmosphere. The people are strangers, often reserved and eager to keep to themselves, but have immeasurable wealths of information that spill with a few drinks and a group of acquaintances who are, for only one night of pleasure and indulgence, their lifelong friends.

Among those friends buried in your own tankard of cheap ale, you laugh along with their jokes and entertain their questions like a test of your ability to lie and improvise in this tale you're making for yourself. If they have names, you don't know them. Brighella's death was a glorious battle but isolated to the hills where you were alone.

"Brighella was alone, and they were weakened by prior injury. I don't know what caused it." You mix a dash of the speculations in, downplaying your strength a tad as you're unwilling to expose too much of it. "I'm not one to miss an opportunity. When would it arise again?"

One of your new acquaintances scoffs, amused but no less aware of the dangers of doing such a thing. "And make an enemy of the Fatui?" He is a new graduate of the Sumeru Akademiya who's come to make his way through Snezhnaya for a job offer. Reminds you of someone else, minus the graduating.

"They will not miss her." You are quick to answer—too quick, arguably—as it draws a sliver of attention before dipping back under the radar as a product of your confidence. "Her 'head' makes too cute a decoration on my side to pass up stealing it."

"I wouldn't dare say such a thing. Fatuus comes here sometimes." They are the words of a Snezhnayan native raised to worship the Fatui, though he is somewhat disillusioned by their crimes and cruelty, as you've learned many are.

"Let them hear it!" Your laughter is boisterous and unabashed. "They'll see the armour anyway. They probably despise her like everyone else."

Another one of your new friends, a travelling merchant from Fontaine, interjects your ravings to add only a passing comment. It was as she had done all evening, her secrets locked up tight. "She did not make herself likeable."

"She was not meant to be likeable but a fearsome warrior." Again, the Snezhnayan man rebuttals the criticism against her as he had been doing all evening again.

"You don't have to get so far up her ass, Brighella's not gonna crawl out of her grave and thank you for it."

"You're so vulgar."

You plant your tankard firmly down on the table between the four of you, leaning over it to close the distance between you and the man. "I'm not meant to be likeable either."

Forget being only a little too into the role. You're revelling in the freedom of this new identity of yours.

Quick to disperse the tension, your graduate friend changes the topic without a hint of hesitance in his voice. "They left an underling people believe will take their place. It's a surprise to think Brighella had someone who followed them with such...devotion."

"It's strange, but not impossible." The merchant from Fontaine again, contributing nothing you weren't all already thinking.

"Could she have had a sentimental side?"

"Who cares if she had a sentimental side?"

"Upset the attention isn't on you anymore?"

Anger crosses your face, but you stifle it just as quickly as it appears. You wish their attention was off of you, really. The former you, maybe, but you nonetheless. You want to know about your subordinate. What happened to your second in command? You don't care to hear their speculation as to whether you were or were not particularly emotional with your underlings. You know the answers to all of those questions and more without their guessing games.

"Regardless of the reason, they say the underlying is much easier to swallow than she is, so maybe the position of Fourth Harbinger will change drastically if he takes it." 

"Would he really change its purpose if he was so loyal?"

"Unintentionally, perhaps."

God, these people are so dull. Just listening to them, you can tell they know nothing of the ways of the Fatui. Harbingers are not individual job positions with specific parameters. Each role is its own, and they are moulded by the person who assumes them like a character in a play, enchanting and unsettling in a horrific mix of theatrics and violence. It is what they stand for. One does not assume the role and become an actor with a script. They must improvise and act on a whim to the beat of the Tsaritsaʼs drum, their life no longer their own.

They are not whatever these ramblings and poor excuses for speculations make them out to be.

"Terribly misinformed, aren't they?" In your ear is the low voice of the Snezhnayan man holding in his laughter at the two as the scholar and the merchant go back and forth. 

You glance to your left, where he has leaned closer to you. "Repulsively," you respond curtly.

He has a faint glint of satisfaction in his eye as you seem to have confirmed something. "I thought you might've been from Snezhnaya." 

"So what if I am?"

"It was only an observation."

In the background, the main conversation continues, just as clumsy as it was before you had tuned it out in favour of drinking some more. "Does this mean he will also be named Brighella?"

Straightening back in his seat, the man swiftly interjected their back-and-forth responses to explain to them. "They receive a unique title upon their promotion, and nobody knows what it is until then." A simple enough concept to understand.

"In other words, anything but Brighella."

"It hasn't been long enough to know yet."

"It's strange. Nobody knows his name even now."

That would probably be because you never gave him one.

You considered it in the years you spent with him but couldn't find one you liked. His name was inhuman, not for your ears and not for your tongue, rendering it useless to you and every human who would hear it. The night you found him was spent crowded around a bonfire listing off every suggestion you and your subordinates could think of to no avail, as he only sat quietly by your side and said little about any of these choices, finding no familiarity in any of them. That's only natural, you suppose. 

You still haven't chosen a name for yourself that isn't Brighella, either. Your old one is well and truly forgotten, with the years eroding your memories. It had been centuries since you had been called anything else. Evidently, picking names is not your forte. 

"As far as I've heard, nobody knows what it is."

You find the mention of your subordinate has completely ruined your mood. You are grateful the creature is alive but worried the knowledge you're snooping around to find out when he will be promoted could land you in trouble. It's troubling enough to wonder if he has heard your tales through the grapevine about how you had supposedly 'killed' Brighella—his mistress and mentor—which he would not be happy about. Though you did not fear the creature before, now that you've personally trained him to understand human combat, you're not so sure you'd want to fight him. It would be a hassle. Unlike many, you do not fear the inhumanity of the Doctor or the stone wall that's called the Jester. Even the cunning Damselette struggles to do more than unsettle you, but you respect that creature's raw strength and understand that no matter what you do, it doesn't matter. You are confined to a human form, and he is not.

You lied when he said he wouldn't recognise you, however. You don't actually know if he would.

You don't know the extent to which his eyes can pick out the details in your appearance that aren't physical. Had he memorised your relative build? Your height? The way you carry yourself and your mannerisms? The thought unnerves you, but so does everything else about him.

"I'm turning in for the night." Without regard for the ongoing conversation, you declare your intentions and abruptly shut down whatever is being said at the time without much care for it. Whatever it is, it isn't important. Your unfinished drink is left behind as you make your way to your quarters.

In retrospect, you understand their eagerness to merely cover up the circumstances of your dismissal. For a Harbinger as feared as Brighella, it is easier to halt work for a mere half-day rather than attempt to contain the resulting fallout of admitting one of their own was inadequate while simultaneously preserving their tenuous hold on power.

-

Months pass before there is talk of the crowning of a new Harbinger, the people abuzz with the news and eager to know all they can, preferably before the aristocrats feel like sharing the night of the event. You considered attending the ceremony but ultimately decided against it. You may have the courage to do so, but you are certainly not stupid enough to wander into the waiting heart of the Fatui's clutches. You have waited patiently for this moment and can easily wait longer to hear the news.

No longer treating the inn like a home, you settled somewhere in the plains of another nation only a few weeks after you had first arrived there, sensing the barkeep was getting sick of you and the attention you were drawing to his otherwise obscure establishment. 

People settled there for a night, saw you were there, and word of mouth as they boasted of their encounters with you lured others who came to see you. While this influx of new customers certainly provided a boost to business, it also had the unintended consequence of driving away those who preferred to keep a low profile and valued its place as being for those 'in the know'. In other words, while you were great for a boom in business, you were bad for long-term business. 

The barkeep pushing the mora you tried to pay him to pay for another night was enough to send the message he wanted you gone, out by morning. The idea you were not to come back for quite some time was clear to you in the look he gave you.  

Liyue, on the other hand, is filled with mountains and teeming with visitors who have come to witness the highly anticipated Rite of Descension. Surprisingly, the influx of tourism only adds to the overall enjoyment of your experience. You would think that tourism would hinder your time there, but completely contrary it makes it better in a way. The locals are expecting an influx of outsiders to come to see the Geo Archon in person, and, as a result, they are not only willing to hire help for the time but also serve later at food stalls, and the place is livelier. 

People notice you less as you blend into a crowd of people who don't belong, and you slip under the radar.

You have no interest in the Rite of Descension nor the Geo Archon, and most of your time is spent outside the Harbour.

Wangshu Inn is still within Liyue but at a considerable distance from the Harbour, a mid-point between there and the border to Mondstadt. It is quieter, which is neither good nor bad, and home to some very understanding owners who ask so few questions it almost alarms you. Nonetheless, you crave respite from the chaos and theatrics you were revelling in as a reprieve from the stress you were under, wondering how you would live your life now. At one point, you relished being hailed as a hero by many, but it soon became overwhelming, and you found yourself trapped in the clutches of Brighella once again.

Whether by design or happenstance, your identity had begun to consume your life again, and if you wanted to have any hope of living outside of Brighella, then that had to stop. And so, you sought out a place to lay down your burdens and unwind, leading you to where you are now.

You arrive your old self, and despite clinging to it since your travels had begun, you remove every piece of your armour for what you intend to be a long time and leave it all neatly arranged for when you eventually return to it. You feel compelled to finally don the fresh outfit you acquired during your journey through Fontaine. Admittedly floor-length dresses and extravagance are not your style after years of being cooped up in a heavy suit of armour, but there's something alluring about trying out a new look, especially when it involves pants that don't weigh more than a third of your body weight. Besides, you always kind of liked them anyway, just...not yet. Now seems like a good time to dip your toes in.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you finally see yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you got too used to seeing a metal helmet staring back at you and a suit of armour for a body, but the fresh air against your skin and lighter clothes feels...good. 

For the first time in a while, you feel free.

The new outfit is making you giddy, too giddy for your taste. You don't recall having such an innate pep in your step, only one that felt deserved, but this different. While you typically associate a sense of satisfaction with having earned it through hard work or perseverance, this newfound exuberance seems to come from just existing in your new clothes. You are happy just because even if there is nothing to feel happy about. It's as if the simple act of wearing them has given you a boost, despite not having accomplished anything significant. It doesn't even seem like you made much progress toward becoming yourself when you lay it all out on paper. You bought clothes and wore them, that's it. 

Something about it feels so much like yourself. The freedom to stray from what you thought you were until now, something you hadn't dared to try before.

One thing you like about Wangshu Inn is how it serves even people who aren't staying there. The ground floor overlooking the water is designated as almost a kind of restaurant. People filter in and out to be served, stay for lunch, meet with friends, and take breaks from their missions. It is meant as a place for travelling merchants, but you find that is not all its patrons see in it.

You are not nearly as sociable as you were in the Snezhnayan bar you were at, but this seems more manageable anyway.

"If you've come looking for work, the Adventurer's Guild may have a place for you." A suggestion from a merchant who struck up an idle conversation with you for some reason sticks with you. You can't say why, but you imagine a product of boredom.

"They accept anyone?" Your surprise is evident in your tone, as you thought they might have tighter restrictions.

Just as in disbelief fact as you are, he shrugs, "As long as you've got enough power to back yourself, a friend of mine said they'll accept anyone."

That sounds far too good to be true, at least for your taste. "And it doesn't matter where you come from or where you go?"

"Adventurers are known to get restless in one place for too long."

"I see, and you can just go up a--"

"Excuse me, miss." You don't remember hearing that voice, but you recognise the attire when you turn your head just enough to be met with the sight of a cicin mage standing before you impatiently awaiting your attention. The top half of her face is concealed, as is customary, but there's no mistaking the unkind smile that tugs at the corners of her lips as you meet her gaze.

Has she come for retribution? 

Despite your fears of having to make a mess, the woman reveals a letter that is sealed with wax and extends it towards you, expecting you to receive it sooner rather than later as she waves it slightly as a form of incentive. "From the Damselette," she adds.

"What could the Damselette want with me?"

"Perhaps a warning." The words slip by, quiet but noticeable, immediately catching your attention. You raise an eyebrow at her. She's slowly unveiling her contempt at your presence; you're very aware of that fact. You are not familiar with her. It is unlikely that she ever worked under your command. However, it is possible that she might've held a certain level of regard, which has since turned to hostility as rumours of her arrogant killer run rampant. "I don't know. I'm not privy to those things."

Your eyes glance over her from head to toe in thought, scrutinising her for any indication of where her animosity came from. However, there is nothing that gives away her motives. You break your gaze away from her and glance down at the letter in your hand. "I suggest you get a better hold of your tongue. They don't like it when you're rude to their guests."

Her smile does not waver. "You are not a guest." She states that fact with glaringly false politeness.

"Everyone who recieves correspondence from a Harbinger is a guest."

You suppose you can't fault her disdain when all is said and done.

From somewhere tucked away in her clothing, she pulls what appears to be a knife from your peripheral vision and points it at you, but you look up to find it is only a blunt letter opener balanced in the palm of her hand, waiting to be picked up.

"I was ordered to stay until you had read the letter to deliver her your response."

Just as she believes you are a murderer, the letter addresses you as such. Your lies have reached her ears. Moreover, she is playing along with them.

You expected threats and unfair deals, but it is only an update on what is happening regarding your position, the reassurance that they have not violated the terms of the agreement made. A half-hearted apology and an excuse. Preparations set them back, supposedly.

While you imagine preparing not only a funeral but a ceremony to announce the next Harbinger does take time, it would not take this much time with how prepared they were to kill you off in the first place. It was a planned betrayal.

It just looks better if they don't appear so prepared.

For whatever reason, perhaps your consolation prize for enduring her shameless lies, she shares a secret with you. As you casually scan the letter with little care for its contents, your attention is immediately drawn to the heart of the matter. It's the very subject on everyone's minds and all that anyone speaks of. 

Il Capitano. His name is Il Capitano.

Personally, you would not have picked it, but that does not mean that you hate the name. Quite the opposite, in fact, as you have to admit that when you envision the name paired with his face, it suits him well. She ends the letter promising that she will 'take good care of him', though you know that your respective ideas of those words do not align or even coexist in the same universe. There is an unmistakable discrepancy between her intentions and your own, and you don't like it.

"Come back to us, Brighella. You can watch everything you wanted in person."

-

You won't go back. It's a trap.

Irritated, you find yourself back in the heart of the country where nobody lurks, haphazard in the way you fire your arrows at every creature that dares to disturb your sense of peace. It's hard to focus, and you don't bother trying. Liyue is not the same as Snezhnaya, with open plains broken up by rocky mountains. The creatures are mostly the same, and all die the same, hilichurls and geovishaps running rampant and shot down into piles of meat and rocks.

It doesn't matter how loudly you shout, as there's nobody around to hear it. You could scream, cry, and throw a tantrum all you want, and it won't matter. Even if you throw yourself at the ground and bang your head into the dirt, nobody will see it.

This is all pointless. You will never escape. It will never matter how far you roam or how fast you run.

Why did you think you could? Had your brain melted from your head?

There is no other side. There is no salvation. You are owned from the day you're brought in until the day you die, but why? Why did they want to bring you back to Snezhnaya? What was the point? You are out of the way now, hardly causing trouble for them. Despite this, everything seems to be running smoothly, even with the liberties you have taken in your new role. Was that it? The reason they wanted you to see?

It must be. There is no other reason to risk exposing the lie otherwise. Unless it was to tarnish the Fatui's reputation.

You refuse to believe it is something as innocent as wanting to see your request honoured. Nothing is innocent within the Fatui, not an action without hidden intentions or motives. Centuries of watching their misdeeds from the inside, which always go unpunished and unchallenged by anyone except the powerless commoners, have taught you that there is always an ulterior motive lurking behind their actions.

Not to mention it came from Columbina.

You must've spent three days out there before finally returning to Wangshu Inn, dirtied by the elements and craving something to eat, like a child's insatiable desire for sweets. The dead of night provides a cover for you to take a dip in the water beside the inn in an attempt to rinse the dirt and sweat off of you. It dawns on you that your new clothes would've been ruined if you hadn't had the foresight to change before venturing out again. In that moment, thoughts of the Fatui and the memories evoked by your armour flooded your mind, and you didn't want the same thing to happen to the clothes that had made you so happy from the moment you put them on.

It feels childish how you cling to these things.

A part of you just can't help it, torn between holding onto the memories that define who you believe yourself to be and starting anew with a clean slate. Neither can win. One is stuck on the past and what little you have of it, and the other wants to abandon all of that and start completely fresh.

The half-compromise you are trying desperately to make work by accepting that what's gone is gone while keeping your armour close to your heart is obviously not working. The thought of discarding it pains you too much to actually do it, plagued by the urge to melt it down to scrap metal while also being overwhelmed by the knowledge you will regret doing that as soon as you see the mess that would be left of it.

Your new clothes make you happy, so you need more new things to make you even happier, right? If new means you glean happiness, then more new is what will help you move past all of this deliberation in your head.

Clothes were a given, and...maybe a haircut? Yeah. You should try cutting your hair and decide on a name for yourself that isn't Brighella. Something you want, a name you like, that you can look at yourself and see that person reflected in a mirror. The person you think you are supposed to be when you look past the expectation that has been instilled in you.

That merchant you spoke to mentioned the Adventurer's Guild might have a place for you. What if you should be helping people instead of hurting them? What if you only did that to please the Tsaritsa?

In the background of your thoughts, you walk yourself back to your room at the Wangshu Inn and collapse onto your bed, thinking. Though you are exhausted, you cannot bring yourself to sleep for one reason or another. You make excuses for yourself just to ignore the glaring root of the problem you know is there but refuse to acknowledge. The problem isn't really how hot or cold the room is or the texture of your blankets and how much you dislike the humidity in the air. Something else entirely is keeping you from rest.

Your hair isn't the problem either, or your clothes. Even your lack of a proper name really doesn't bother you. They're only the illusion of change you're using to cover up how truly lost you have become now that you have to think for yourself.

How long have you been alive now? Centuries at least. You can't even live independently after that long? No. No, you can't.

You are so lonely, you are lost, you are confused. You need company, you need guidance, and you need purpose. How are you supposed to live? Where is the person who will tell you what to do every day? 

You have to make that choice yourself? You can't do that. You've never done that. 

The thought of even something so basic scaring you so severely brings you to a weakness you never realised you even possessed. Fear surges through the very depths of your being, an unfamiliar sensation that you find unsettling. You don't like it, but it's an impossible feeling to push down and ignore. Over the years, you had quietly collected your shortcomings into a neat little jar and pushed it aside, out of sight, away from your conscious thought, as if pretending you were invincible. 

What would you have done if you had gotten to Capitano? Make him decide?

He can't. He's not human. He doesn't know enough to decide. You've only made him just like you, a fearsome man until he's abandoned and vulnerable like you have become, and then he'll be pathetic and helpless too.

Nothing came out of any of your efforts, did it? It couldn't have possibly. Even with every attempt you made, it was always doomed to fail.

-

It turns out that the Adventurer's Guild was more than happy to take you in, in a way. They put you right to work. It helps to take your mind off of things if nothing else. It's mindless work, able to tune out everything in your brain and run on auto-pilot. You take to this life so well it scares you, completing your tasks with so little trouble you wonder how this isn't more popular, even if some are arguably unnecessary. If only you were good at proper cooking, you might get rich from the tens of requests for certain dishes. 

You're irresistibly drawn to the combat, right back to the heat of battle where you feel truly alive. In all you've had to question, your love for the thrill of fighting has never been up for debate. You're unsure whether it's the adrenaline or something else, but you don't care to know, either. You don't concern yourself with such questions. It's not important to you why, so long as you find comfort in it. It's the one thing you cannot be robbed of. 

A hard day's work is always rewarding.

"Make sure you be careful today." A fellow adventurer is quick to catch you before you can wander off for your next quest, smiling and unbothered despite his words. You've never met him, but he speaks as if you have.

Something about the bond of adventurers is so reminiscent of the Fatui.

You turn back to place your full attention on him rather than the grilled tiger fish you had acquired out of curiosity about the taste. "Why's that?" You're not too bothered, expecting him to tell you that it's dangerous out there, the Abyss Order existing and all.

"The Fatui are restless."

His words catch you off-guard, light in tone as they are. In outward appearances, he's mostly unbothered, while the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You try to grasp your bearings just enough to speak. "They don't do that for fun." Something about it is just as shaky as you expected, unable to fully mask it, but you figure he'll blame it on nerves.

"Harbinger, apparently." He doesn't draw attention to your demeanour, so neither do you.

"Which one?"

"Dunno."

It's probably Columbina. Maybe you pissed her off when you shot the messenger. Yeah, she probably wouldn't appreciate that. When you did it in a fit of anger, you expected her to find it funny after coming to your senses.

"Hey. Something wrong?"

You startle as you realise he had been speaking that whole time, and you just weren't listening.

"Sorry?"

"I said it's weird that they'd be up and about so soon after the newest was officially promoted."

You deadpan a little, realising it wasn't something of actual value, just a misconception that the greatest powers that be in Snezhnaya aren't spiteful enough to hate each other just as much as they hate everyone else. "Not really. They're not particularly sentimental."

"They don't even care to go out drinking for their own?"

"They hardly know how to tolerate each other." You realise your slip of the tongue too late, seeming too familiar. That's a problem. He barely draws attention to it, only making a strange face.

"Well, whatever the reason, work doesn't stop for them."

In silence, you agree and continue your day as if you really believe that.

-

As you wrap up your work for the day, you feel a sense of pleasant exhaustion wash over you. It struck you as strange that nobody was out in the wild, even the usual fatuus you avoid. Something about it was uniquely eerie. It dawns on you why he came to the conclusion that the Fatui were 'restless'. They must have retreated into the city to prepare for the impending arrival of the Harbinger destined to disrupt the small peace you had found. The sudden influx of fatuus in Liyue would make it seem like they are increasing in numbers nationwide when in reality, they are just moving.

You're not going to let it bother you for now.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you have promised yourself that repeatedly and have found it to be a lie, but you mean it this time. You're familiar enough with the workings of the Fatui to know that they don't like to leave sectors alone for too long, and Liyue had spent a fair time before your dismissal unchecked. 

Even at night, you remain unbothered when you wander Liyue for a time, looking for something to do and notice what he was talking about.

Many of them are fussing more than usual, meaning that chances are it's too late to inhibit the process of this Harbinger arriving. You could turn tail and run, scurry off to the other side of Teyvat and settle in Fontaine or even Natlan, but you like it here.

You sit in the heart of Liyue, listening to a speaker tell his stories. You know you shouldn't linger, but you tell yourself you can for just a little while longer. It reminds you of the past, filled with Liyue legends you remember hearing about as news at the time they took place. The fact these tales are now old enough to be suitable for a speaker's recitation as 'legends' is a grim reminder that maybe you're older than you realised. Your early life is now from the time of legends. You can push that feeling aside to focus on the nostalgia of hearing these stories.

Beside you, you hear the chair move but don't budge from looking to see who it is, assuming that all other chairs are taken or that it's an adventurer who got curious, possibly even the man you had spoken to earlier about all of the Fatui--

“Reminiscing, Brighella?”

You recognise both that voice and that name and go stiff, eyes finding her before your head can even turn in her direction.

In front of you—or rather, across from you—the Knave sits upon the other chair at your table as if she was always supposed to be there, seemingly at ease, but you know better than to assume her guard is down. Arlecchino has always had an icy composure, though she can be hot-headed at times and can lose her temper when provoked. It's not surprising that she was able to track you down, even without knowing what your face looks like.

She turns to you leisurely, unhurried. "I came to look for you since you missed the ceremony." It sounds like a greeting the way she speaks those words. You suppose it is one, really.

Ah, maybe you should've been worried after all.

You try to play off your emotions as if you're completely unfazed by her presence. It's the only way to maintain some semblance of control. "Did Columbina not like my gift?"

"Oh, she rather enjoyed it." Arlecchino maintains a similar composure, knowing approaching you in public means employing subtlety as much as it means she's less likely to be attacked. "She felt it was just the kind of gift you would give."

"I try my best not to disappoint." Your response is less enthusiastic than you might like, a hint of nervousness infesting your brain and refusing to budge.

Despite this, she doesn't notice, not outwardly. Really, that means nothing, as you are very aware of how good her poker face is. "Il Capitano hasn't stopped speaking about how much he'd like to kill you. You don't want to disappoint, do you?" When you were waiting for her to speak, those weren't the words you expected to hear, but somehow you're not fully surprised either.

"I see, so my lies reached even his ears." 

You thought as much.

"I think you'll be quite surprised when you see him." Her reply is so cocky that you almost scoff at her.

"Who said I would be seeing him?" You try to match the audacity she had to make such a remark.

She turns to you rather casually for the words she speaks, an odd tone you can't quite place, lacing her words half like mockery. "You miss him, don't you?"

It's that question that makes you snort and turn away as you realise that her negotiation and persuasion skills are abysmal for such a cunning and intelligent woman. "Not enough to become foolish enough to trust someone whose title denotes them as dishonest and untrustworthy." You always wondered about that, really. "A name like 'the Knave' really isn't subtle."

"Funny." She doesn't laugh or even smile. "I believe yours was something close to 'bother'."

You lean back in your chair, testing it slightly as you push the front legs off the floor as a means of entertaining yourself through this frankly dull conversation. "Then I suppose we're both living up to our names."

She remains silent for several seconds, pondering her next words. You can see her fingers rub against the wood of the chair as a distraction. 

"The others told me it was pointless to try to bring you back."

"They were right."

"You won't come back for any reason?"

"I know a trap when I see one."

"Of course."

Silence, again. You don't care to break it, either. You came to hear the stories, and you really would like to continue that rather than listening to her voice, but she's not making it easy.

"Is that all now?" Your voice shows your impatience more than you might like, but you realise it may work in your favour if she senses she's annoying you.

For the first time in a while, she smiles faintly to herself. "For now. Your answer is abundantly clear." She appears to concede, if only for a little while

You let the chair land back on all of its legs and lean your elbow on the table. 

"Are you going to get out of that chair?"

"No."

"And why is that?"

"It's comfortable."

The urge to roll your eyes brims in your mind, but you stop yourself. You don't want to give the Knave the satisfaction of knowing something she is already well aware of. Besides that, you don't want her to know that you really don't want her here in any capacity. Arlecchino's presence is never a good thing.

You let out a tentative breath as you consider your next words quite carefully. The wrong thing might have Arlecchino never leaving you, and the right one might drive her back to Snezhnaya if you're lucky. You shift your whole body to face her. "You just arrived from Snezhnaya, I take it. What do you want to eat?"

She eyes you suspiciously, scrutinising you for any sign of trying to fool her into consuming poison or making herself sick. "You're feeding me now?"

You pretend you don't notice her intensity. "Well, you're not leaving. It would look strange for me to order food for myself."

Again she smiles to herself, a light mockery that's cautious and testing, easing herself into accepting your offer. "I wasn't aware you cared so much."

"You could starve if you'd prefer." You turn away as you speak and don't look back, shifting yourself back in your seat to be front-facing.

There's a quietness between the two of you, both waiting for the answer to your proposal. You have an inkling Arlecchino will accept, but you don't know with her. She never seemed especially pleased by the times the Jester would convene you all over meals and such, ending up in fights and bickering. She never fought with you, however, so perhaps it's different. 

"Order whatever you like."

You find yourself looking intently at a list of the options on the menu. It's quite a lengthy list. "Mm..." Even though it's just a false invitation and you're doing it to be courteous, you can't say you aren't enjoying the thought of picking out a meal and sharing it with her. Despite your removal from the Fatui's affairs for some time, you'd be lying if you thought you weren't at least a little curious. "Jade Parcels...and maybe Jade Fruit Soup? But Dragon Beard Noodles sound good too..."

Becoming slightly irritated by your indecision, Arlecchino looks across the table to where you are sitting deep in thought. "Is it that complicated of a decision?"

You spare her only a glance before returning to looking for something she would enjoy. "I have to pick something you'll like, don't I?"

Soup is more challenging to share than noodles are.

With that, your decision is made, and you settle. Despite yourself, you are somewhat restless in thought. Arlecchino's lack of contribution is slightly frustrating, but it sounds like she'd be content with anything. You're not sure if your choice is the correct one, but you believe you picked something to the best of your abilities that is easy, even to a foreign tongue. As far as you know, Arlecchino is from Fontaine. You've never eaten like this with Arlecchino to know her tastes or dietary restrictions.

"Jade Parcels and Dragon Beard Noodles. Sound good?"

"It'll do."

"Good. I'll go order it, then."

Arlecchino must be surprised that you returned, as she doesn't seem too thrilled. She never really does, but there was a disappointed glint in her eye right up until you walked in front of her to get to your chair. 

It continues until you get the food, and Arlecchino finally stares at it with an overwhelming sense of dread, left with an intense feeling of apprehension regarding whether. You appear not to hesitate, though this arrangement isn't quite what she had expected. Arlecchino had thought you would order enough dishes that you wouldn't have to share, but you seemed to understand it in a way that meant you would be eating from the same bowl.

You notice her hesitation almost immediately, yet your vexation with her arrival makes you unwilling to acknowledge that you know the reason, a deliberate miscommunication on your part. "Mm. I didn't think this through." Your words seem to make her perk up as if you will free her from her awkwardness by asking for another bowl. "You probably aren't used to using chopsticks, are you? Not many dishes that need those back home."

She knows you're toying with her, that sweet smile from across the table hardly hiding your true intentions. Arlecchino waits, watching to see what you will do next, as she looks back at you with a scowl. 

Her eyes do not leave you as you wordlessly collect a Jade Parcel and present it to her like you are patronising her with this action. Your feigned kindness, this supposed benevolence of you offering to feed her like a child, no doubt hoping she'll back down and excuse herself completely. 

She won't let you do that and have the satisfaction of seeing her back down. She won't allow you to break her facade of acceptance.

Though you circle the food in front of her slowly, only a motion with your fingers trying to convince her or make her as uncomfortable as possible, Arlecchino continues to stare for several more moments. Eventually, she musters the courage to relinquish some of her pride.

Arlecchino leans in slightly, just enough to open her mouth and take a bite from the food you hold out for her. Despite the circumstances that led to this moment, she can't help but acknowledge your good taste. Arlecchino couldn't possibly eat another bite that way, though. Not being fed by the woman who is now her adversary just to avoid her 'winning' in the situation, but admitting she is willing to let you get under her skin is not an option either.

She must treat this situation differently, as if you are merely feeding her out of obligation to her rather than because you have your own motives.

It hardly stops her from enjoying her portion of the meal from the chopsticks you share with her. At some point, it finally occurs to her that you only hold one pair, leaving her set untouched despite feeding her. You had been feeding her with the same set you ate with the entire time, and while you were well aware of that, it hardly seemed to alarm you as much as it alarmed her.

Your biggest disappointment was being unable to get rid of her that whole time, watching her readily accept whatever you tried to use against her. Watching a Harbinger practically bow their head and obey you, however, fuels your consciousness. It's like eye candy to think back and realise you did that.

It's another one of your quiet defiances against the Tsaritsa. You wonder how far you can take it.

As you stand from your seat, you stretch your arms above your head until you hear a faint pop as all the tension in your back relaxes. "I don't imagine you'll be leaving anytime soon."

"No. I have plenty of business outside of you." It's not a lie. She's got a lot to do in Liyue even without your presence, but you're a priority. 

You lean back over your chair, a mischievous little look on your face. "Do tell."

"You know that I can't do that." She's not amused by the attempt, either.

You straighten back to your usual height and brush it off in moments. "Unfun. I thought your loyalty to the Tsaritsa could be won over easily." 

She scowls. "Not by you."

"I see. You have standards after all."

She chooses to ignore your comment. Up until now, you have had quick-fire conversations, sometimes interrupted by a silence that drags on. This is no exception.

"Capitano truly believes you are dead." Arlecchino realises when she has caught your attention, and that time is now. She notices how your head tilts towards her ever so slightly, and your head raises. "For a time, he grieved, but it didn't last long. He has become fixated on the idea of revenge ever since he heard that Brighella's killer was running around boasting about their achievements with the authentic armour to support their claims."

Suddenly it makes some small amount of sense in your mind why they would want you to come back exactly. Capitano won't stay put forever. If he's stuck on vengeance, he won't rest until he exacts it. You weren't thinking about how much your stories would piss him off at the time.

When you spend an extended period of time silent and seemingly disinclined to answer, Arlecchino continues. "I want to show you to him."

You have subjected him to human emotions he's not equipped to deal with. Rightfully, you feel horrible like more of your failures are being wrenched from your corner and dumped out into the open for all to see. It doesn't matter that you're in Liyue, where nobody knows the two of you. You don't want them to see either. 

"He wouldn't want to see me." You don't think she really wanted to hear those words when you finally speak. Her expression gives it away. "He should enjoy his position without my interference. I've ruined his life enough."

"You've given him power and status, he should be grateful for that--"

"No. He shouldn't." You don't even wait for her to finish. She hasn't even realised it yet. Not the way you've been forced to. That power is a detriment, not a blessing. Why should he want that? "I thought that way as well, but now I…I don't think my choice was the correct one."

Arlecchino was not expecting to evoke your vulnerability, shallow as it may be for now. "What choice?"

"To bring him back from the abyss." 

From a purely objective perspective, taking in Capitano was the cause of everything. Arlecchino presumably thinks of it in the way you don't want her to, that you regret taking him in because he ultimately ruined everything for you, causing your world to fall apart. You don't. You wish you hadn't dragged him down with you.

Now Capitano still dealing with the consequences of your choices. He was perfectly satisfied where he was and would've remained that way had he not been caught up in your plans. It was your arrogance that made you think Capitano would prefer to come with you. At no point in your first interaction had he indicated he was displeased in his circumstances, only hostile because humans were so close to him. It is an understandable thing, considering that humans were a foreign concept to him and potentially posed a threat.

"Because he overtook you?" 

There it is.

Despite her words, she appears to have dropped her irritated expression and the impatience in her words and actions. You are finally speaking, and she won't lose that opportunity to an avoidable break in her temper.

"No. No, nothing like that." You try to find the words to explain it, even knowing she likely wouldn't understand it in her current position. You doubt she could ever comprehend it with how she treats her loyalty. "It's more like… Off the record, though I was cherished for many years, even I eventually became disposable. I have left Capitano in the hands of the person who caused that, and now I have damned him to the same fate."

Arlecchino is silent in thought, mulling over your words with great care. The tone of the conversation shifted right under your noses, and with it, so did her demeanour. She became relaxed in a way, though you imagine no less guarded than she always is. "I fail to see how your performance declined. In fact, you are more necessary now than you have ever been."

"I see." In your head, that means she's on your side to a degree. "So you believe that my termination was a mistake?"

"A grave error at best." Her words only confirm the way you thought of it. "Even if you had declined in performance, the people have begun to question more than ever, which sabotages the political landscape of Snezhnaya for those who care about it, the same people who stood idly by while you were ousted. Those who oppose the Fatui are pushing the notion that we must be weaker than we appear, because if even Brighella could die, then what does that say for the rest of us."

Though you wish you could say that concept was inconceivable, the idea that those fighting for reform would seize upon your demise as a means to spur change. It's not shocking that everyone else has been called into question, either. Though it is easy to push the role of frontrunner onto the Director, his duty is mainly administrative, as is the case with many high-ranking positions. His wrath is quick and brutal, and sparse. Dottore is too busy with his disgusting hobbies, and Columbina must remain in the light as a figure they can cling to. That leaves the position of Fourth as the one who is publicly the most violent and ruthless, which used to fall to you.

"I see. Is that why they want me to come back?" You don't expect an honest answer as you ask that question, half anticipating another play at your heartstrings.

"No." 

Frustratingly, she doesn't elaborate.

"I'll only agree to return if Capitano is free to do as he wishes."

She scoffs, somewhat returning to her brash attitude. "Even if I could make that decision, we're well past the point where that's a possibility."

You know that she's correct in that.

Still, you can't stop the sight you let out. You knew the request was wonderful in theory but inconceivable in practice, but asking never hurt anyone. "Then what do you want from me? I take it that though I'm only a stagehand, my part in the theatre is not yet over."

"Is that how you see it?"

"Answer my question."

"Execution."

You pause at her answer.

"Execution?"

You're not even sure you heard her correctly. The execution of who? Brighella has already been put to death, and Capitano has barely warmed his seat among the Harbingers. Nobody left in this is worth killing, given the precarious nature of the Fatui's support in the aftermath of Brighella's murder. It was already unstable, and now things are just worse, with no better word to describe.

You doubt they made the decision lightly.

"Execution. Your execution for the murder of Brighella and crimes against the state."

Your nerves instantly spike again, and your guard is higher than ever. At any moment, you could need to draw your bow and fight her because even though you're unsure of how to treat this life, you're not ready to give it up. No foe has scared you before, and neither will the prospect of rebuilding from square one.

"I see, so you've come to extradite me."

"You read my intentions horribly. I'm impressed you managed to make it so far like that."

You furrow your brows in annoyance. "Then what?"

"The values of the Fatui no longer align with mine." The assertion draws your attention more than anything else. You have always been aware that she is unconcerned with the ideas of loyalty and honour, which you can't fault her for. Abiding by the code of honour the Tsaritsa instilled in you left you here.

You may be completely wrong, but she was so vague and doesn't seem to be waiting to say anything else. "Is this your way of telling me you're deserting the Fatui?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"You so happen to be someone I like." 

You're startled by that as well. As far as you were aware, the decision to do nothing in the face of your dismissal was unanimous. You thought Capitano was your only remaining ally. Even if she's the lowest ranking, that is not indicative of power in an objective sense but of authority. In a sense, she is the new 'you' of the Harbingers, as she always was to a degree. 

Blame for the disorder is shifting in your absence to her.

"Because I cleaned the messes you now manage?"

"Because you aren't cowardly and fixated on politics but inhibited by them. You are a model of what is right." You can't say you follow what she's saying but allow her to continue. "Pulcinella and even Pierro refuse to travel abroad, always making excuses to shirk their jobs when faced with danger in order to comfortably remain in luxury. From the day I joined, you stood out to me in that way."

You raise an eyebrow at her, unimpressed by whatever she's trying to do right now. "Are you trying to flatter me into coming back?"

"I was telling the truth." She doesn't look impressed, either.

You feel a little embarrassed by that, suddenly feeling as though you really had responded quite rudely to an innocent statement. "Hearing a person idolise me is strange," you admit.

"It's not idolising." Her correction is sharp.

"Sounded close enough."

Silence again, as with the pauses scattered around the rest of your conversation. You aren't catapulting the topic into something of great interest or progressing, and neither is Arlecchino. Her lips press into a thin line trying to hide any cracks and stifle any emotion that slips through.

"I admire you."

You did not realise such a thing was possible, really.

"I thought you may have remembered the times we shared and think fondly of it, but perhaps not. We fought once- maybe twice- before. We drank together. Nothing else."

To end that statement with 'nothing else' as if to reduce every conversation, interaction, hour and experience to ashes is thoughtless at best. You didn't remember either instance in which Arlecchino believes you fought and still don't, though you try to now that you have come to find it apparently happened. If it did, the chances of you actually remembering is slim to none with how your memory is. It's not that you forget things quickly, but that minor events slip through the cracks in your frankly chock-full memory.

"I don't remember them, I'm sorry."

"I didn't expect you to."

Despite her words, there is a faint bittersweetness to it, the realisation you are insignificant to the person you aspire toward being like. Somewhere, even if she is aware it was always not only a possibility but highly likely, it still feels like a letdown, the fragile hope you might remember her strength. You only remember her drunken and all too enamoured by you to think properly. It is foolish of her to feel that way because you have battled many foes, and expecting you to remember all of them, let alone your underling, is unreasonable.

"You still haven't answered my question." Changing the topic, you take the opportunity to try to direct her back to what you asked in the first place. "Why are you really here?"

"The Jester gave me permission to pursue you, believing I would attempt to convince you to return to Snezhnaya after Columbina failed." As Arlecchino begins to explain, it slowly begins to make sense as the pieces fall neatly into place. "However, I have no interest in appeasing the wants of dignitaries who care only for their comfort."

You don't want that either. It's just a repeat of Capitano. "Do you understand how dangerous what you're doing is?" It's an attempt to remind her, but Arlecchino's unwavering expression tells you that reminders are unnecessary and unwanted.

"Yes, you were removed for less." She only confirms it for you. "Dottore is of the opinion that you will be forgotten, as are several others-" you imagine singling him out has something to do with them fighting all the time- "but that is simply impossible."

"Times change. You would be surprised how many things we thought would never be forgotten that humans have completely lost all knowledge of."

To her, that concept may be harder to swallow. Arlecchino has never seen the centuries roll by as you have and isn't as familiar with what does and does not remain. Even the greatest gods fell in the Archon War, and most humans cannot name any but the seven Archons. It is natural to forget and progress. The past is meant to become speculation and theory.

"I won't allow that." Abruptly she stops, though her sudden words startle you somewhat with how intense they are. That kind of illogical thought process is natural, maybe. You can't really say. "They could remember."

You shake your head in response, a firm denial before she's even begun to try and sell you on the idea. "There's no need for them to remember."

"There is every need."

"People don't glean the same admiration you do for someone they see as a tyrant."

"Then evoke fear!"

"Enough." You did not expect to have to put your foot down so harshly but do not hesitate to. "I won't entertain this."

Arlecchino grits her teeth at how easily you let go. Even though you are obviously not acclimated to civilian life, you refuse her offer that would allow you to return to Snezhnaya in a potential position of power. It is yet another failed step in the many she expected to have to take to convince you.

"Then let me hide you until some time passes."

"I'm not a precious treasure." She ignores how you roll your eyes at her, completely withdrawing how emotionally available you had managed to be. She can't let her anger take control of her again. "I can handle myself thank you very much." 

You sense she will not be giving up easily.

Even if you could convince her to leave you to your devices and that you would be fine, you doubt she would accept that. However, you have a feeling she knows you intend to disappear after this conversation. You have no idea why else she would pour her heart out in an attempt to make you easier to keep hold of. If you leave, you hold the advantage.

"I cannot continue to defend your honour while you stand by and allow them to do as they please with your name."

That doesn't worry you too much when you've been contributing to it since leaving. "Then give up. Let my name be tarnished."

Arlecchno's anger finally begins to boil over despite her efforts to contain it, rage spilling from the cracks in her composure. "You cannot have forgotten everything we did together."

"Of course I have not forgotten that." Your words are more fuel than suffocation to the growing fire.

"Then accept my help and stop being so stubborn."

"There's no need to."

She grabs you by your arm before you can step away, and you can feel a chill in her hand seep into your skin, likely a byproduct of her delusion. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't match well with how warm you are most of the time. "You would be willing to pretend you don't wish for normalcy to avoid confronting the Tsaritsa?"

"If I return to Snezhnaya, I will die." You lay it out as directly as possible, without an if, but or and. There's no room to debate this because the outcome will not change. Even if the two of you decide you're best friends, nobody else will see things that way, so it's pointless to pretend you don't see it as it has to be.

Arlecchino finally appears to consider your words more carefully, remaining silent again, but you do not interrupt her this time. You shift your focus to the icy hand still touching you and begin to channel what little you can of your vision without drawing your bow to warm her. You hope she doesn't notice it, not wanting her to find an ulterior motive in it.

"Then it is unavoidable."

You don't quite understand what she is saying until she removes her hand from you to place something on the table you shared.

Suspiciously, you eye the item as you wonder about the significance of abandoning it beyond the obvious, but you don't want to acknowledge that option. "You'll need your insignia if you wish to return." You needn't remind her of that, but it is a prompting statement.

Arlecchino shocks you with her next words.

"I'm remaining with you."

You stand in stunned silence for several seconds, replaying them over in your head. Remaining with you. She doesn't mean that, does she? This is another of her persuasion tactics, right? She cannot actually go through with this. "You're what?"

"I'm not going back to Snezhnaya."

That only confirms your fear, the chill of it rushing to the core of your being and lighting your nerves up with an icy cold. Maybe that's just the hand touching your cheek.

"You can't. You shouldn't. You should stay there."

She makes an odd face at you, half understanding of your plight and the other confused about why you care so much about what she does with her job. "In that place you curse yourself for leaving Capitano?"

"It's a comfortable position." You try to reason that way with her, pointing out the inarguable benefit.

"I don't care for comfort."

You scramble to find another reason, something else to make her give in and pick it back up. You have not gotten anything you attempted to get this night. Arlecchino didn't leave and is, in fact, intent on leaving the Fatui to continue that.

"I don't care to waste my time pandering to people who do not value what I provide for them, all the while relying on it."

That's not a reason you wish to say, but it is. It is a very real reason. You can see it in how the Fatui regards your circumstances that they have never found enough value in the mountain of work you took on. If they had, you wouldn't be having this conversation. She's right, you realise, she realised what you could not.

"Even if you do not allow it, I would be able to follow you." It's a strange thing to say, but maybe she was trying to convince you. Her arm falls back to her side.

You shake your head. "Humans tire."

"I won't be too slow."

It's different for her. Arlecchino doesn't hulk around a bulky suit of armour and a helmet to conceal her face. It is open and well-known. There will be places she can't ever travel to again. Her life will be this and nothing else, while yours will eventually become something else, as it was always supposed to. Even if you don't want to now, you will move on and find a new sense of self. She may never.

"There are grave consequences."

"I know."

"You may never know peace."

"I can live with that."

"You--" 

--will question everything you have ever known. That was what you were about to say. You again come to a realisation that clears things for you. It's different. Arlecchino has not spent her whole life dedicated to serving the Tsaritsa, only a few years at best. You spent centuries. It is no wonder that she could give it all up so easily. Arlecchino only had one foot in the door in the first place.

The realisation dawning on you this way is daunting.

"...Fine. I will accept that." Though you thought you would struggle more, you also understand that it is useless to do so.

"A good choice."

The act of conceding can bring about a sense of relief and comfort. Conceding feels nice, in a way. It is a respite from constantly controlling everything to be exactly as you wish. It allows you the freedom of simply acknowledging the reality of a situation and accept that it may not align with your ideals, even if you don't necessarily like it.

You don't want Arlecchino to accompany you for her sake, but accepting that she will not share your fate of being humiliated can bring about a sense of peace. She will live however she pleases, and that means she may not want for the same future you received. Having a free will allows her to leave.

Slowly, you try to recover from the shock of the situation. As you take in a deep, quivering breath, you begin to steady yourself and attemt to process all that is unfolding.

A single question comes to your mind, a relatively simple one but significant enough to matter greatly.

"What is your name?"

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[karoochui]

I just wanted to say I am so enamoured with Binary Insurgence! I eat up everything, every little crumb, you drop about it and the entire idea is so interesting to me! I'm so in love with stories and worlds like this! I'm also curious to know about the relationship between Sun and Moon, if it's alright to ask. How was it before the fire compared to after? Does their relationship begin to mend (because I'm certain over the years it deteriorated) when y/n comes back into the picture? If any of this is too spoilery or you just haven't fleshed it out yet then you don't have to answer! I'm just super curious about the boys and how you see their dynamic/relationship. I just look forward to seeing how their bond has grown and/or broken and how it may be mended over time.

AHH im glad you like it so much!! Im happy to talk about what i've got, but you are right not everything is fully fleshed out. I have points i wanna get to but while im brainstorming and planning i make up a lot of stuff as i go and then go over it again later to see if i like it or can connect stuff in any way. I have 3 chapters for Arc 1 fully summarized as of now! (Which probably doesn't seem like a lot but i like my chapters long, so it's quite a bit actually).

I wanna say, too, that i'm planning for the first story to be more in the perspective of the reader, so most things about Sun and Moon's personal thoughts and feelings are gonna be more implied than said. I might have some switching points of view, i'm not sure, but i haven't found a place i'd do it or think it's relevant. The sequel is gonna be more from their perspective since it'll mostly be about them.

NOW! I see Sun and Moon as brothers, so they really treat each other in a way that's like that. Before the fire they get along pretty well. Most instances of issue would be when Moon blocks out Sun when he fronts, or just mutual panic over the fact Moon lost his shit w/ the virus. They'll have their disagreements about things (i havent planned specifics yet) but generally they're chill. Sun just worries about Moon hurting people, but Moon worries too. With the way the virus functions in this AU it's hard for Sun to fully fault Moon for what he does, especially because he's also affected by it but not nearly as bad. (I'm gonna explain this more in another ask i have).

Plus, even before the virus they were always glitch/bug-ridden because technicians fucked up their programming continuously after removing them from the theater to work in the daycare. So they had to kinda navigate through that together, glitches and errors on both ends (though not deadly). They hate P&S bc of this, obviously. Hardware fixes suck but they fucking HATE software examinations.

Later on though some issues come into play whenever Sun starts getting worse by being further exposed to the virus (it gets worse for him when they eclipse) because it presents itself in Sun differently than it does Moon. He gets snappier and angrier at times (that comic i made that's captioned "well someones snappy") and while they both understand he doesnt mean the shit he does it's still not great. And nobody's gonna just let themselves be talked to like a dog even if the reason it's happening is because of something the other person can't really help. They're still relatively fine at this point, though.

It's at the end when shit goes really bad, because this part of the story does end badly. I won't spoil specifics but after the fire Sun loses his shit. He starts trying to put the blame on Moon for everything (the virus enhancing his already bad habits/fucking with his line of thinking) out of grief and anger. That carries over into the apocalypse and he just gets worse in general. He gets irrational.

It's a long period of time though, so he eventually also manages it, in his own way. But! I did say before in an ask that in the sequel he's "not evil, persay, but he's a fucking nut". He damns Moon to an hourglass to just fucking get rid of him about 100~ years before they meet you again (he fully thinks he's in the right for this (and he also just hates him) and the only reason he really even stayed around after that was to make sure Moon didn't get out again). He's not a bad-intentioned individual, but he's off the fucking wall at many times bc of the virus having made him worse. He's stubborn as all hell to an infuriating degree, he's irrational, hard-headed, reckless, and while a good bit of his old, kinder self is still pretty prevalent he can be downright fucking mean if provoked. Again, worse than before, and it doesn't take much these days! I always imagined him to have more dramatic, snappy, diva aspects to his personality (even before Help Wanted 2 came out) bc hes so theatrical and intense, so basically take a Sun that's like that, crank it up to 100 and put him in a Bad Situation. That's what Round 2 Sun is like at his worst. He's not a complete lost cause though, and he's far from dumb when he does stuff, just clouded by his own judgement. He doesn't think anything's wrong with him (or does he?).

Moon doesn't really hate him like Sun hates Moon, because although he knows that what happened (the ending of the first story) is technically both of their faults he just feels guilt. They do fight a lot, though. Most of it is Moon trying his best to tell Sun that he's basically full of shit and not seeing things right after Sun starts something, but Sun's at the point where he's gotta learn by consequence. Part of the reason he's so bad is bc 1: hes been infected by the virus for so long now and 2: in his grief, anger, and resentment he's learned to live with it rather than fighting it.

But the sequel is gonna be a feel-good story! Falling in love w/ the reader all over again, i want things to get cleared up - or at least some kind of middle ground between Sun and Moon - the whole sha-bang.

[gamergirl-06]

Reeds other child-Bruno

Pairing: Bruno x reader (other slayers on the way too)

Reader is the (adopted child) of Dr. Reuben Reed and this is based when Bruno finds out about Reeds true intentions.

Reader feels guilty for their dad lying about it and they warn him before and tell him everything before it’s too late. and very touchy feely at the end.

Warnings: Very touchy also reader is 22, implied smut

Taglist (as always): @hyunjinbiased-blog

(Y/N) Reed. Adopted Child of the renowned Doctor Reuben Reed. Who would have thought.

You were very much hated being his child, yes you were grateful that he took you as his own but it didn’t mean it was all sunshine and rainbows.

You were the bipolar opposite of him, which caused you to clash at times.

You see, when this outbreak started, you were very suspicious of your father and suspected he had some part in it being spread all over the now renamed HELL-A.

So being the very sneaky person you were, you managed to sneak into his office one night and find documents that confirmed your suspicions.

He never found out that that you knew what he did. What he did to the people in LA. All for his stupid fucking experiments. You hated him more than you did now.

You wanted to leave but that of course wasn’t a current option because let’s be honest..where could you go?

The only option for you leaving is becoming some zombies lunch.

Being at the Serling all the time made you antsy and you itched to find an adventure even if it was just going to the bean cup across the street.

Of course the last time you tried to go your father stopped you by pulling you back and asking you what the hell you think you were doing.

You were never allowed to go out by yourself after that, only if you had supervision which you tried to argue

“Dad I’m not a fucking child anymore, I’m 22 for gods sake”

“I don’t want to hear it (Y/N)”

Giving up was what you did do. you just sat at the Serling practically bored out of your mind unless other people were going and getting supplies and asking for you help which your father was fine with as long as you weren’t left alone.

You hated being treated like a fucking child you honestly did.

One day while you were sitting with the fans on in your dad’s office trying to keep cool from the best of LA, the radio went off.

“Hello?” Your dad asked

“Hey doc, the names Bruno are you there?” came the voice on the other side.

“Did you get my message where are you?” he asked the man

“I’m at the halperin hotel”

You dad talks to him talking about how he kinda was but he was apart of a team that did testing but that kinda didn’t matter now.

He asked Bruno “do you think you might be infected”

Bruno chuckles on the other end “I got bit last night but I got better”

You dad freezes “oh my god”

“That’s gotta be worth something to you right?”

“Oh it is worth something, we have been looking for you well someone like you for our vaccine program”

The line goes silent for a good 5 seconds before Bruno says “uh doc, I’m gonna have to get back to you”

Your dad panics “wait hold on I need you, you have to get here, hello?”

The line stays silent for about 5 minutes as your dad sighs

“I guess we just gotta wait for someone else now”

The line then comes back on with Bruno again.

“Hey doc you still there?”

Your dad lets out a breath of relief “oh thank god, what happened?”

“Doesn’t matter now, what matters is getting help to get me out of here” Bruno says

he sounds pretty cute

“Ok, you need to head to the Serling hotel on ocean avenue”

“Serling hotel, got it”

When your dad and Bruno stop talking you get up “I’m gonna go find Tisha”

It had been about 2 days of back and fourth chatter with your dad and Bruno. You had been thinking about Bruno a lot, you wondered what he looked like and if he looked anything the way you sounded.

You were standing with Denise when there was a knock on the door to which Denise opened. Little door me pointed her gun at something

“Hey, I come in peace” that voice..you knew that voice

Your dad comes up beside Denise blocking your view of Bruno.

“Really, your not here to eat is then”

“Eh, I’m a picky eater”

“Quite the comedian huh”

Him and Denise let Bruno in and you were taken aback by his appearance.

He was wearing a black beanie with the word ‘louder’ on it, a pink shirt with the word ‘infernal’, some pants with some sneakers, he wore glasses and had tattoos all on his arms, hands, legs and face and lastly dreads that were dyed red and yellow.

He was actually quite attractive and that voice kind of matched him.

His eyes met yours and he gave you a small smile before saying “my, my..who’s this”

Your dad put a hand on his should’ve and led him away from you.

“That’s (Y/N) and she/he/they is/are none of your concern right now”

You let out a huff as you watch them walk into his office and shut the door.

You sat at the bar and asked Doug to pour you a drink and he does while you politely chat to him.

“So what does your dad want with that guy” he asked

You gulp. You didn’t want to say because then your dad would find out.

“Well, I’m not really sure but clearly he is of importance”

Doug nods and turns to pour more drinks for the others waiting.

You get up no walk to your ‘room’ and flop down on the bed as you groan.

“Of course you know what your dad is doing with Bruno (Y/n), he wants to use him as a ‘cure’ for his blood, he will tell you him that then he will do dads shit for him” you say to yourself absent-mindedly

Bruno was walking past when he stopped and peeked in to see you on the bed

He would be lying if he said he didn’t find you very cute, you were just adorable. Very perfect in his eyes.

“Hey there” he said and you jumped

“Fuck” you put your hand on your heart “you just gave me a fucking heart attack”

“Hehe sorry amigo I apologize” he said walking over and sitting next to you on the bed.

“What do you want” you asked

“I wanted to get to know a cutie like you, mind telling me some stuff?” He asks

You blush “well ok”

You spent time telling him stories about yourself and that you were acquainted with Reed (you didn’t out rightly tell him you were his kid) and memories.

He shared with you that he was a hustler in LA before the outbreak and about his abuela and the friends he was planning to meet in Vegas before the plane he was in was shot down.

“Geez I’m sorry you went through that” you said

He looked at you me smiled “ hey we all have gone through this together” he put his hand ontop of yours

You smiled turning away.

‘Huh cute, I like it’ Bruno thought smiling

You turn back “I think you should get some rest”

“Same with you” he said “and also if you don’t mind, Reed didn’t exactly give me a room, could I stay in here?”

You smile “of course, there’s a spare blanket and pillow in the dresser over there and also a shower over there in the bathroom if you want to wash up next time too”

“Thanks” he says grabbing the blanket and pillows and then setting himself up on the floor.

“Uh what are you doing?” You ask

He looks up at you confused “getting ready to sleep, why?”

“I don’t think so, the floor isn’t comfortable and you will get sore” you say and lay the spot on the bed beside you “come up here”

He looks at you unsure “ are you sure?”

“Of course silly now get up here or I will change my mind”

“Okay fine geez” he replies as he sets up next you on the other side of the bed and hopping in.

“Sleep tight” you say

“You too” he mumbles before you turn round and DLL into peaceful slumber.

You awake the next morning with an arm around you you blush and carefully turn around and see Bruno with one of his arms wrapped around you.

You try to move but you are pulled closer to his chest. You take in his scent and he smells really nice despite being in the apocalypse and probably sweating lot and getting blood and other shit on him.

“Bruno c’mon wake up”

He didn’t budge and you could beee him say words in his dream.

“Oh (Y/N)” he said

Your eyes widened as you realise he is having a dream about you and in a very uh..yeah

“Bruno?” You say again

He mumbled a bit before his eyes open and he quickly widens them and takes his hand of you and his Dave goes red

“I-uh” he said

“What were you dreaming about” you smile knowing damn well what he was dreaming.

“Nothing, just about you” he said

You smirk “well if you want me that bad maybe we could…reenact your dream later”

Your lips are inches from his face as his breathing gets heavy and you back away.

“Anyway you have stuff to do today so you need to get going”

Bruno nods and slowly gets up and heads out to talk to your dad.

Once Bruno was out for the day you spent the time in your room thinking of telling Bruno what the true intentions are.

When Bruno got back that night me came into the room that you told him you needed to talk.

“Are you ok?” He asked

You sign “Bruno, Reed isn’t who you think he is”

He laughed “what do you mean of course he is, he is a doctor”

You shake your head “no Bruno I mean…” you put a hand on his shoulder “you’re not actually the cure, he is actually telling you lies so you do his bidding.”

You take your hand off ff and Bruno says “what, o your just crazy”

“Oh so I’m crazy, watch yourself” you say

“And how do you know he isn’t who I think he is” Bruno said with a snide tone.

“Because I saw the files and documents” you say

He looked at you “what?”

You sigh and leave the room leaving a confused Bruno in your wake.

Timeskip

1 Day is how much time passed before your father had Bruno test his blood and when he came back he demanded you give him answers

“Bruno please” you plead

“ no I want to know what relation you have with him” Bruno said

“Fine you really want to know”

He nods his head yes

Sighing you say “I’m his daughter/son/kid”

Bruno freezes and stays still

“I’m sorry I gotta go” you say

“(Y/n) no wait-“ Bruno said but you were gone

Next time he saw you was at the lab when your dad finally revealed his true colours

When Bruno saw you, he felt angry at himself that he let you down when all you did was tell the truth. He cared about you and if he could say that he loved you too.

When your dad turned into one of them he shielded you from it and then told you you needed to go

“I’m gonna need you to run, there’s a helicopter waiting for you” he said holding onto both sides of your head.

Your look at him “Bruno what about you-“

“I’ll be along once I get done with your dad, right now I need you to go”

You nod and turn to run but before you do a hand pulls you back.

Bruno looks you right in the eyes before leaning in and kissing you.

He held you as he kissed you with a lot of force before letting go

“I love you, now go” he says

“I love you too”

And without a second thought you run as far as you can.

Maybe you might survive this apocalypse but one thing you know for sure was that you would have a caring lover by your side.

[nowoyas]

koi no yokan 18: get some rest (nishinoya yuu/reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: back to your regularly scheduled programming! as mentioned over on ao3, there's a slight chance of a small hiatus AFTER next week. I had to pause and hammer out the next arc more thoroughly, since my outline is mostly limited to the actual onscreen and offscreen proposals. next week's chapter is already banked, though, so there's ALMOST no way I don't manage the planning AND drafting for at least one chapter within two weeks' time. almost.

Summary: It takes a lot of good sleep to recover from a concussion.

Warnings and tags: briefly implied/referenced child abuse, blanket series warnings

Words: ~3000

Noya comes home late.

You might not have noticed; it's not like you're waiting up for him. You'd come home after practice, barely managed to pull out the futon, and immediately gone straight to bed. If he hadn't purposely woken you up, you probably wouldn't have noticed, but he shakes you awake when it's already well past dark out, gentle as he stirs you from a dead sleep.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" he asks while you're still blinking into the lamplight.

"Mrrrrgh," you tell him.

He laughs, soft and sweet, hand resting on you as you stare at him. "Okaa-san said you didn't come down for dinner. Wanna eat with me?"

"Didya just get home?" you mumble. "Time?"

"Yeah. It's like, nine or something. Got caught up in individual practice until they almost locked me in, so I haven't eaten yet. C'mon, I'm starving."

"You're late." You groan and push yourself to sit up. "I feel like it's s'posed to be my turn to wake you up, but fine."

So you follow him downstairs, let him set a reheated plate of food in front of you and sit across from you with his own. Sleepily set about eating.

"I was surprised to see you back today," Noya comments when you're both settled in. "At practice, I mean."

"Good. I wanted it t'be a surprise." You yawn, stretch a little. "Was everyone… like, do you think everyone liked the lunches?"

"Are you kidding? They were amazing. You did a great job."

A smile flicks to your lips. "I'm glad."

You watch him eat for a bit. He hasn't showered yet; his hair's still down.

"Why the hair change today, by the way?"

"Oh, that?" He laughs, a secret third kind of Noya laugh you haven't heard before. It sounds almost nervous. "Don't worry about it."

So you were right. It's definitely because of this morning. As much as you kind of wanna tease him for it, that has the chance to go down a path you're trying to avoid looking at. Also, requires acknowledging that you were awake and just sort of let it happen, which basically guarantees looking at that path you don't want to acknowledge the existence of.

So instead, you hum thoughtfully. "Took a little getting used to, but it looks nice."

He freezes, the bite of food that had been on its way to his mouth dropping back to the plate as he stares at you, cheeks growing red. "Y-you think so?"

"Yeah. Totally different vibe from your usual, but it does."

"Marry me" tumbles from his lips thoughtlessly, and you smile.

"Nine hundred thirty."

He finishes eating way before you—you blame his snakelike ability to unhinge his jaw and the fact that he's actually fully awake, while you're still recovering from your nap and eat like a normal human being—and watches you finish up, an uncharacteristic quiet settling between you. It's comfortable.

You're really comfortable with him.

"Do you want the rest?" you ask after a moment. "I'm kinda full, but I don't wanna waste it."

"Sure," he says. He takes the plate you push over, and you watch with amused horror as he polishes off the last bit of food in record time.

"You know, if I weren't so worried for your digestive system, I'd say you should go into those eating competitions professionally. There's that one American who does it, like, full time and gets all these sponsorships and stuff."³³

"You worry too much."

"Someone's gotta worry if you won't," you quip back, resting your head on your arms to look up at him. "Lucky for you, yours truly is fantastic at it."

"Yeah," he says. "You're great. You complete me, you know?" He flashes an easy grin. "So you've gotta marry me."

"Nine twenty-nine, and let me help clean up."

He raises an eyebrow. "You did a lot today. Are you sure?"

"I can wash one plate, Senpai. Probably even two plates. If I'm feeling ambitious, I might wash a fork, too."

"Woah, let's not get too crazy, here," he jokes. You bump shoulders with him as you come to stand beside him at the sink. He actually lets you help clean up, a fact that you sigh into.

"I'm glad everyone liked the lunches today," you say as you wash your plate. "Really. I was… kinda worried."

"Why? Your cooking's great."

"Not about the cooking. I mean, a little about the cooking. Just… you know. Insecure, I guess." The admission comes out too quiet, nearly lost in the sound of the sink. "I'm extra, you know? There's really not a need for there to be three managers for the team."

He's silent a minute. When you glance at him, he's staring out of the corner of his eye, realization widening his eyes and pursing his lips. "And you think you're the unneeded one."

A nod. "I guess. I mean, Shimizu-senpai's a third year and everyone loves her and also she actually knows what she's doing."

"…And Yachi-san did those posters," he realizes. "You were so weird after she first showed them to us."

Another nod. "I remember seeing them the first time and thinking… wow, she's amazing. What am I doing here?"

A hand rests on your waist, pulls you loosely into his side. You wrinkle your nose—he smells like sweat. Definitely hasn't showered yet. "And today? There's no way you still think you're extra after that reception."

You huff. "Guess not. I missed everyone. I like it here, but… I guess I sort of like going to practice with you guys and helping out."

"Marry me, then."

You laugh, turn your face into his shoulder to hide your smile. "You are really working them in tonight. Nine twenty-eight."

"What can I say? There's something about coming home to you that makes me wanna keep coming home to you."

Error: [name].exe has stopped responding. Reboot program?

…

Rebooting…

"I. Um." Fuck. Your face feels dangerously hot. "…n-nine twenty-seven."

His shoulders shake with poorly-stifled laughter. "I didn't even ask that time."

"T-that felt like one, okay? Shut up."

"You know, [name]-san, I'm starting to think you might be…"

"Whatever you're thinking of finishing that sentence with, shush."

He breaks into a grin. "Just a little bit of a tsundere, that's all."

"I said shut up!" You shove him away roughly. "Go take a shower or something. You smell gross. I'm not letting you cuddle me like that."

"So if I clean up, I get to—"

"Go!"

He mock-salutes you before darting out of the room. You remain standing at the kitchen sink, desperately trying to get your bearings.

How the fuck is he single? No, seriously, how the fuck? Is it the height thing? Has he just never had the chance to come out of nowhere with shit like that and completely floor some other unsuspecting girl?

Fucking hell. If he just acted around other girls the way he acted around you...

You shake your head. Dry your hands. Slip up the stairs to head to bed. With any luck, you'll be asleep again before he's done in the shower.

You're not optimistic about it, to be honest. Your mind is racing in a weird way—completely blank, but the blankness itself is at a high speed, which is odd to say. It occurs to you, faintly, that you suddenly are aware of what "!?!?!?" sounds like. Then there's footsteps coming down the hall towards your room, and you're forced to slam your eyes shut and turn over so your back is facing the door.

Tonight, he slumps into your futon with a contented sigh and a whispered good night. Tonight, he wriggles under your blanket with you, and tonight, you lay awake, count his breaths as he spoons you.

You're hyperaware that you need to stop this. That you need to pull back, for his sake and yours. Before you hurt him and rip your own heart out in the process. Before he hurts you just by being him—earnest, straightforward Noya. But it's one of those nights, and what you know and want takes a backseat to what you do.

Tonight, when his breathing slows and you're sure he's asleep, you trail a hand up his arm. (Stop it. Just go to sleep.) Tonight, you close a hand over his. (Stop it. Someone's gonna get hurt.) Tonight, you intertwine your fingers with his. (Stop it stop it stop it—)

(You do not stop it.)

(You fall asleep that way.)

(You're just so comfortable in his arms.)

~

Three more days sees three failed attempts at meeting your—admittedly ambitious—goal for the day, three marked increases in your stress level as you call whichever sister is available to come walk you home, three days without a word from your father, three nights where Noya comes home later than the standard, and three nights sleeping cuddled up to your best friend like nothing's weird about it.

You ease into other home chores where you can with the blessing and supervision of Rina or one of the girls. Noya's grandfather isn't around much—you don't know what he gets up to all day, only that once or twice he's come back with a strange woman maybe Rina's age on his arm. When Noya's home, you ask for updates on what you're missing during dinner, and when you're in his futon or he's in yours, you drag the pads of your fingers over his exposed skin and tell yourself that tomorrow, you'll go home.

The guys are improving massively already—apparently, Azumane wasn't the only guy working on something new. You're treated to new flashes of everything they're trying during the meager hours you can tolerate being there, and Noya excitedly tells you more during breaks or when he comes home for the night. When it comes to his own little project—the jump set he's told you about multiple times and which you admittedly keep pretending to forget about, half to tease him and half to watch him talk about it—he's grown less and less enthusiastic over these three days.

He's getting frustrated.

Your suspicions are confirmed on day four of this—today, your goal was "lunch and stay until individual practice", and it's the first day you've successfully met your return goal, with seven to spare before you have to miss the biggest sleep-away camp of the summer. On a break, Sawamura had waited for Noya to disappear for a bathroom break before approaching you. Can you talk to him? he'd asked in a quiet voice. We've been trying to get him to pull back a little, but he only listens until I stop glaring at him.

So, perfect timing. He's overworking himself, and there's no damn way you don't stay until Noya leaves tonight. You'd agreed with a sweet smile, an assurance that either he'd listen to your request to take it easy or you'd make him literally carry you home.

So now, you're helping with his individual practice for the first time since you allegedly agreed to do so over a week ago, in spite of the protests from multiple team members that you should take it easy and not risk getting hurt.

You're throwing a ball. That's it. If Azumane or Tanaka manage to hit you in the head where you're standing, perfectly perpendicular to the direction they're trying to spike in, they should probably just quit volleyball entirely. Even Hinata apparently only had to hit it a little out of bounds at just the right time to take you out the first time.

Like this, you get to see exactly why Sawamura asked you to talk to him, and you grow more and more disapproving as the night drags on. It's like he's Hinata, with the way he's absolutely relentless—whoever he's setting to takes a break, and he immediately tracks down Suga for advice or moves to a setting drill you've seen Kageyama do, bouncing the ball repeatedly against the wall without pause. Something about strengthening his fingers and improving control? You don't know.

What you do know: he literally hasn't sat down since individual practices started.

For the fiftieth time tonight, you check the time, and while you were pushing through the exhaustion and occasionally using them as reasons to try to force a break, it's not working.

So this time, when Noya takes the ball and starts setting it against the wall, you fix a glare on his back. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Tanaka watching you march up to him and shift away a little bit.

You snatch the ball out of the air between the wall and his fingers with a glare. "Senpai."

He blinks. "[name]-san?"

"You have a lot of nerve, you know that?"

"I—what did I do?" he manages, staring at you entirely stunned.

You sigh. You really want to lecture him, but with the way he is, you get the weird sense he's just not noticing what he's doing. "Hardly letting me take a plate to the sink because I need to take care of myself and then doing this shit. Sit down, Senpai. Everyone already knows you're cool, and you're gonna get that set, so there's no sense in going hours without taking a real break."

His cheeks tinge pink as he processes your statement, and he slides to the floor obediently. "You think I'm cool?"

You roll your eyes, take the ball over to the volleyball cart for now. "Not the issue here."

"Marry me?" he calls after you as you make the walk across the gym.

"Nine twenty-one," you grumble in reply.

~

That night, curled up in his futon instead of yours this time, you trace the scar on his shoulder thoughtfully. It's so much easier to worry about him than anything else, so that's what you do.

"Gonna swing by my place and check on things tomorrow," you say. "Maybe grab some clothes so I'm not stealing all your shirts."

"Want me to come with you?" Noya offers. "I'm sure everyone'll understand if I'm late because I'm helping you."

"Nah, I don't wanna take you from practice, and I need to be able to handle this stuff on my own if I'm gonna be cleared for full activity again soon."

He pouts. "How strict are the doctors gonna be with that? It's not like you're playing."

"Dunno. They're probably worried about, you know, five volleyball teams playing at once in the same room possibly leading to me getting my shit wrecked again."

"I'll protect you this time," he grumbles. "It's not gonna happen again."

"I'm sure you will, but the doctors don't know that. I really don't wanna miss the whole thing, though, so I'll probably ask if I can still go under a modified schedule. Like, help out for half the day and hide out in the girls' room the rest of the day or something."

"Aw, you do love us," he teases.

"Who said anything about that? It'll be boring here all alone."

"Sure, sure," he laughs. "You can admit that you like us, you know. I won't tell. You even already said it once."

"Shut up."

"Marry me and I will."

"No, you won't," you snort. "But nice try. Nine hundred twenty." You sigh into him, eyes lingering on the arm in your vision. "How'd you get that scar, anyway?"

"Mm?"

You tap your finger against it. "That one."

"Oh." He sounds… kinda upset that you asked.

"If you wanna talk about it, I mean. I'm just curious."

He shrugs, the position awkward for it, shifting you a little bit where your head rests on his chest. "My dad, probably."

"Your… dad?"

"I don't remember much, and Okaa-san thinks Satsuki and I don't remember anything, so she doesn't talk about it."

Oh. "You mean he…"

"'Sjust a guess. I know that I barely knew him, and that Mei and Kaede both get really upset if Satsuki and I ask about him. Okaa-san wouldn't talk about how Kaede got a concussion, either, so it's probably related to that. And the one time he tried to contact us, Mei had a panic attack and then stopped talking for like, three days. Figure it's probably got something to do with that."

"Noya, I'm so…" You freeze, and then you laugh. "Sorry, I—I'm not laughing at you, I just… I was so emphatic about not wanting you to be sorry when I told you about my family, and now I'm laying here and I don't know what to be if not sorry."

Another light squeeze, crushing you to his body. "Just be here."

"I can do that," you whisper. "That's easy. Can I—is there anything else?"

He hums thoughtfully, taking a moment to nuzzle the top of your head. "Well, there's one thing. Ma—"

"Nine nineteen," you interrupt.

He smiles. Huffs. "Let's get some sleep, alright?"

You nod, shift to get just a touch more comfortable. "G'night, Senpai."

"Marry me," he blurts in reply. "I mean, goodnight."

Your shoulders shake with silent laughter, and you count up one more proposal before you drift to sleep.

Footnotes

33. Joey Chestnut, of 76 hot dogs (with buns) in 10 minutes fame. At the time of this fic taking place, he had just tied his own world record with 68 hot dogs (with buns) in ten minutes, about a month before this chapter. I like to think Reader-chan knows this information solely to tease Noya about his eating habits, but who has the power to make that canon?

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @kazunish

[artg211che]

Illo-5 Scale

Topics of Interest

Big Book Look: Suggestive, Simple, Impactful

Super Graphics: Additive, Eye-catching, Two-Dimensional (Kinda)

Extreme Close-Ups: Depth-invoking, Focusing, Uhh… Close

Final Selection, Big Book Look

Because it's a cool formula to make an interesting dust jacket that quickly poses themes and questions to a potential reader. Why is there a cricket on that book? Why is it red?? If they like crickets and red they might not be able to resist!

Big Book Look

A style of book cover originally designed by Paul Bacon in the 1950s. The Big Book Look caught on and quickly became the standard of what a novel looked like for the decade. The style consists of big title at the top, big author name at the bottom, and a little tiny simple illustration somewhere on the cover.

Keywords

Simple (Lots of negative space, 2-dimensional illustrations)

Situational (Can mean different things depending on the context. Could change the meaning changes when you change the colour and texture)

Tantalizing (Mistearius enough to make someone want to read.)

Easy (TO UNDERSTAND!)

Dramatic (Implies conflict)

Creative Concept

I'm fascinated by how simple this formula for making attention-grabbing covers is. Especially by its minimal and suggestive nature. I feel like if you took a dramatic tidal and seemingly innocent illustration and then paired it with a bunch of different colours and textures of backgrounds it would completely change the implied meaning. That's what I'm hoping to do! I arbitrarily came up with the title “Nothing But A Phonecall” because it could mean so many different things depending on the context.

Design Decisions

My first big change was to switch the title from “Nothing But Voicemail” to “Nothing But A Phonecall” because it seemed less inherently negative. Keeping things simple felt like there was nowhere to hide. All the effort I usually spend rendering an image went into aligning and formatting text and im still not sure if it's there yet. I feel the four compositions that I ended up with imply different topics but all look like they’re straight out of an early 2000s public library. Bingo.

Programs

Photoshop, Illustrator

[colliholly]

EVEN MORE SPAMTON X READER HEADCANONS

I’ve been thinking a whole lot about spamton’s character in-depth and wanting to get a better grasp on him and this in turn has manifested itself into an immense amount of self-indulgent spamton x reader headcanons. ._.

Obviously these are all just my own headcanons! It’s not the one and only way to interpret him. Buuuut I like to think I’ve got a decently good grasp on him at this point and wanted to share since I’m sure some of you will enjoy it :^)

Putting it under the cut cause it’s kinda long! God help me.

• First off - assuming you’re a lightner or human in this situation, you’re kinda a divinity to him, straight up. It’s implied the Light World is “Heaven” and thus lightners and especially humans are essentially divinities to him. And you chose him? He’s the worst, smelliest darkner in existence and you want to be around him for some reason. He’d be pretty overwhelmed at first! I don’t think he’ll ever truly understand why you chose him out of all darkners but he sure does feel blessed, his prayers must have been answered.

• Calling him handsome makes him super super flustered. He definitely doesn’t think of himself as very handsome at all, at least not deep down. In fact I think he is very self-conscious over his puppet body, it’s a constant reminder of his failures. He hasn’t been called handsome in 20+ years. But you think he’s handsome regardless??? He’d make a train whistle noise and blow out steam.

• He LOVES being called stuff like big shot and big guy. Anything to make him feel like the man he once was. When you call him those he will start beaming and puff out his chest and grin real big.

• He’s very prideful of you, he’ll parade you around town and show you off to everyone. He must still be a pretty big shot if a Lightner fell for him.

• On a similar note this in turn means he gets jealous very easily. You’re his everything and frankly all he really has at this point. :( He also has major abandonment issues considering how many people have left him in his past. On ANOTHER similar note this means he’ll be very protective of you and you better believe he’ll fight tooth and nail for you if you ever get into a battle with him. 

• Assuming he’s gotten used to physical touches from someone he’s close with, and considering he’s got a desire for “HotSingle”, I think he eats up physical affection. (I’m going to die on this hill, sorry everyone.) I’m sure he got plenty of it in his prime and he hasn’t had any physical contact, other than violence, for 20+ years. He loves the adoration and attention that comes with it too. If you put a hand on his cheek, after he realizes you’re not gonna hurt him, he'll melt into it.  If you picked him up and kissed his nose he would overheat and explode.

• Another reason I think he’s like physical affection is because it helps keep him grounded. Spamton is a very detached little man and has a habit of slipping into his mind. We also know he’s been made aware that he’s a computer program inside a video game and is pretty detached from reality as a result. Touching him physically would help pull him out of it and help remind him that there is more to his life than his video game reality.

• Also you’re soft and squishy and warm and that’s like his favorite thing ever. Dumpsters are cold and hard and smell bad. He is cold and made of hard plastic or porcelain and smells bad. You’re the opposite of that and he loves it. He will probably knead you like a cat.

• He is always SO SO excited when he sees you. Talking to you is the highlight of his day. He will eagerly want to ramble to you about everything he did that day and all the GREAT DEALS he made, he loves having someone to talk AT and listen to him. But he will also ask how your day was!! He likes listening to you too and will probably give all kinds of commentary (whether you want him to or not.) He just really wants to talk.

• I would actually like to expand more on this in a future post but PET NAMES. He loves pet names. He will call you so many and they’re all kind of silly and either nonsensical or tie in with his ad-speak but they’re very sweet. [Jumbo Glazed Honey Bun], [[Cute Sponge]], [[Premium Honeybaked Ham]], etc. 

• This is mad self-indulgent and sappy but listen. listen. He absolutely wouldn’t mind any of your scars/stretch marks/blemishes/etc. IN FACT I think he would find comfort in them, considering his body is basically one enormous scar (puppet body and all). If even the divine have imperfections, then it gives him some hope he’ll be okay the way he is.

• It’s very very difficult for him to accept gifts or help, especially letting him live with you for free. This is even after you’ve gotten close to him. He can’t just take your help, he’s too prideful, and all he’s ever known is buying and selling and making deals and how to be useful in a world where you get thrown away if you aren’t. The thought of using up your resources while not being able to provide anything in return would make him feel like a burden and weigh very heavy on him. That being said… he’ll work his puppet ass off to try to make it up to you somehow. This might be doing chores or making breakfast or finding you genuine non-garbage gifts or (most often) going out and working. Any money he gets will go to you to help pay for bills, groceries, etc.

• The only time he’ll let you take care of him fully is when he’s sick with a computer virus (because he doesn’t have a choice, lol). While he likes attention, I’m in the boat of him disliking being coddled - he’s a grown man!! It makes him embarrassed. Being coddled wouldn’t be very Big Shot of him, after all he’s determined to be the one to provide for you and make you proud. 

If you actually read all my ramblings... Thanks! :^) These are all for regular spam by the way, while Sneo is similar I think there’d be a few differences (mainly a god complex lmao. Also he’s really tall now). If people are interested it would be fun to do one of these x reader headcanon character breakdowns for Sneo. OR even big shot spam or addispam or even the addisons. 👀

[atomic-taco-muffin]

Yandere Sephiroth x Cloud's older sister reader AU

Some plot summary for this AU:

Y/n is Cloud Strife's older sister,Y/n Strife. She joined Shinra in a "individual program" specifically made for her when she was 10, let's just say her dead father had some serious beef with Shinra and well Y/n was pulled into that unknowingly,she was only a toddler when it happened and her father implemented something in her,a crucial product from a secret project called Project U.E.S (Ultimate Enhanced SOLDIER)

Shinra took Y/n away from her family and made her into a killing machine bc that was what the project was for. Verdot was the one who was tasked with retrieving Y/n and honestly it was one of the hardest things in his life,as said by him. The time Y/n arrived at Shinra was also when she met Sephiroth and that's how they became friends and lovers later on~

Y/n get to send letters to her family in Nibelheim from times to times,Verdot makes sure it always got to her family's hands as atonement for what he did. Claudia (Cloud's mom btw) was very glad that Y/n's still alive,she wasn't so sure about the happy part but at least she's alive, Claudia was only furious that those filthy rich Shinra assholes took her daughter away from her and they better not fabricate a single letters from her daughter or else!

Cloud never really met his sister in person,he only communicated with her through the letters and knew that she left home and joined Shinra ever since he was an infant. He indeed idolised her and Sephiroth a lot though :),yeah kinda boasted about his sister being a cool warrior and all that too,the entire village know that Y/n is a famous celebrity and all but never really make such a big deal out of it. After all, drawing too much attention for a mundane village is never a good thing honestly. But they did included "Hometown of the famous SOLDIER, Y/n" in their brochure though.Yes marketing I know

Y/n implied a lot in her letters that her works are very tiring and time consuming so she'll probably never get to visit her hometown again and Cloud understood her for that. After all she's doing important work,plus she never missed one correspondence,that means even though she's busy,she still think of her family. Y/n couldn't come home is one of the reasons Cloud wanted to become a SOLDIER,if she couldn't come to see him,then he would come to see her himself. Though he planned to only reveal himself when he became known and make it to the papers cuz y'know his inferiority complex

When Y/n and Sephiroth met Angeal and Genesis then they became friends and of course became adults in the years later on. Y/n is a strong outgoing, flirtatious, dominatrix and femme fatale woman. She has the looks and the ability after all, she's called 'Intrepidus Regina' which means Fearless Queen by most of her fans

Sephiroth and Y/n became lovers when they're about 23+, oh they did a lot which I'll show you later on but not now. Sephiroth was quite possessive and obssessive of Y/n,his Goddess given that she was the only one who first show him affection and care as he didn't even get to obtain it back in his child days. Y/n got a loving mother so she knew how to comfort him and helped with emotional needs

Skip over to the Nibelheim Incident,Y/n was,in a way,glad that she got to go on a mission back in her hometown,given the entire situation with Angeal and Genesis. Though what seems to be a normal mission turned out to be the beginning of Y/n's worst nightmare

It all happened too quickly for her to process,Y/n knew that tragedies will surely occur because this is just how it is in her world but she didn't prepare for it at all. Her lover went insane and teared down everything of her beloved town,the tragedy was horrifying including the death of her Mother and being separated from her last surviving member, her brother for the second time

Y/n had to witness her own lover attacked and severely injured her own brother,she thought Cloud was killed and died

"Get away from her,you monster"

"You're her brother doesn't mean I will be lenient with you,she does not have a foolish, cowardice brother like you"

"SEPHIROTH NO STOP!!!!"

Then Sephiroth just took Y/n with him and left after he burned down the village. There's of course no way Sephiroth is leaving his Goddess behind~

Yes

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, don’t kill me because of the ending, sebastian and reader are the definition of right person wrong time, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, also this part has some funny moments but overall it’s a big SOB

part: 6/6 (there will also be an epilogue)

(other parts)   (masterlist)

This is how it ends: broken hearts from crashed dreams.

Sebastian holds you until his muscles ache and your lungs burn from the feeling of too little oxygen. It is cold and dark, almost midnight, too dark, a starless night.

No more stars for you and I.

“Here,” Voice hoarse, eyes heavy-lid and itching from almost crying. He gives you one of the rings he wore in the movie. “I want you to keep this.”

Keep it close to your heart. Forget me not.

He takes a breath and a step back, tries to regain all the strength he still has, steady feet and shoulders fixed. He digs his nails into his palms, red marks in his skin, air catching in his throat, he’s on the verge of falling but he stays standing.

He remembers tears glistening down his cheeks, maybe they were yours not his, and the cold autumn wind hitting his face and he remembers feeling like he’s dying.

And then he closes the door of Argyris’ car and looks at you.

And his heart stretches and stretches and stretches and then somehow splits in half.

/

It goes like this:

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment from now on. In the living room. Sitting on the couch. And it has steel blue eyes and a familiar heart. And it whispers a love story, half-finished, and you cannot make it stop.

The ghost touches your collarbone and he’s gone but there’s a ring in a golden chain around your neck and a white shirt forgotten in your laundry. And it smells like him. The clinging scent of his aftershave sticking to your pores. Eucalyptus. And no matter how hard you try to wash it off, it still lingers.

How could I ever forget someone like you?

The ghost lives here, but the place is empty, so empty. And it’s hard not to cry.

/

Sebastian calls and texts a lot.

He tells you he’s tired but excited because he started filming a new movie. It’s very indie and experimental, I can’t wait for you to see it. He tells you he’s missing his days in Greece like hell and that one night he dreamt of you. Didn’t want to wake up. What he doesn’t tell you is that he’s coming back in a month, Argyris needs him for some extra scenes. It’s nearly killing him but he doesn’t tell you. He wants to surprise you, see the pure light in your eyes when they’ll meet his.

/

You try sexting. It doesn’t go very well.

23:50, sebastian: if you were here in my bed right now what would you be doing

06:51, you: probably falling asleep hahaha

06:51, you: oh fuck was i supposed to sext back

06:51, you: sorry seb i just woke up and i have a class in an hour, love you <3

23:52, sebastian: fuck timezones

/

(three weeks and 10 seconds later)

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know you’re here,” Argyris shakes his head as he’s driving home from the airport, “If I were her, I’d kill you.”

“Good thing I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Sebastian laughs and looks out of the car window. The stars. There are so many stars tonight. He holds his breath; he’s finally feeling whole again. His heart isn’t split in two anymore.

/

You don’t know how long you stand there at your door, staring at him, but it feels like a century before he grins, almost laughs, takes your hands in his and you start considering that perhaps this isn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it’s real.

“Surprise?”

Something inside of you bursts, your organs twitch. You can’t think, you can’t speak, but you can move. You don’t lose any more time, you take a step forward, attach your bodies, your face buried in his neck, your fingers clutching into the rough fabric of his jacket. You breathe him in like an antidote.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

You kiss him and it’s like poetry, like art, like honey and you can’t separate yourself from him, not even hours later.

/

(looking back, these were the golden days)

You pretending to be mad at him for not telling you he was coming back and him pressing his lips on your skin, drawing patterns on your naked shoulder. A feathery touch.

Sebastian always touches you like you’re something made of gold and porcelain, something cherished that constantly needs to be treasured. And nobody has done that before. And you love him for it.

You try to decorate your Christmas tree together. He messes with the lights for a while, eventually gives up and goes on to eat too many reindeer shaped cookies.

He massages your muscles when you write a boring essay for college.

You go with him when he has to shoot a “driving a motorcycle naked in the centre of Athens” scene and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop smiling like an idiot.

He gives you a dress he bought for you in New York.  

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He calls you sweetheart in the mornings, still half asleep and later joins you in the shower.

“Why are you so hot?”

“Climate change”

“Oh, shut up”

It’s tender and it’s soft and it’s human.

And that’s the saddest part.

/

Soon you realize that him leaving two months ago was merely a rehearsal and you still haven’t said your actual goodbyes. Your chest starts to feel as if it’s full of crushed glass.

And it’s ridiculous because you fell in love with Sebastian sometime between the first ten days you spent together.

Who falls in love in ten days?  

Ridiculous or not, you know you are in love with him just as you know that sooner or later, whatever he is feeling will fade and wither. Maybe it’ll be in a week, maybe it’ll be in a month, maybe in a year if you’re lucky. But there will definitely come a day when he will step out of a gala or a party or a fancy gym in New York with a beautiful model in his arms and two paparazzi’s following him around.

What will you be then?

A past small cameo in his life. A side character. Will he remember your name?

He is your whole world.

(a bottle of cheap prosecco helps you decide that)

He is your whole world.

And yet, there will come a day when he won’t even remember your name.

/

It was difficult. No, it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. Telling him how you think it’d be better if you didn’t talk after he leaves.

“I don’t agree with this.”

“Seb, it’s for the best.”

Your body doesn’t feel strong enough to carry your heart. And you’re certain it will only get worse once he’s away. The world around you will melt. You’ll obsess over a phone screen and his messages. You’ll start chasing ghosts again. You can’t handle that.

“Why?” He says urgently and his fingers dance over the flesh of your palms.

“Because this”, you motion your hand between the two of you, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my life and I don’t want it to become ugly.”

He nods, he understands.

“I love you, you know,” he says smiling and tugs you closer to him, “And I may not be here to show you but I think I’ll love you for a long time.”

Your hand grips his waist right to the bones and something flares in your eyes, something wild that wrenches you around.

“I know, I’ll love you the same.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and you look at him, fully aware he’ll be ripped out of your life like a page from a cheap leather notebook. And when you kiss for the last time, there’s a hole forming in your soul.

And just because endings don’t leave visible scars to one’s body and soul, that doesn’t mean the scars don’t exist. You know they do, because you feel the aching pain of every single one of them.

/

(every night when you close your eyes you see him)

(every night you look at the stars and think of him)

/

A month passes and Argyris asks you if you miss him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“He said the exact same thing.”

You tell him not to mention Sebastian again.

Two months pass and you need to stop stalking his instagram profile.

Three months pass and you almost text him.

Four months pass and you go to watch Endgame with some friends and you cry. You cry when Black Widow sacrifices herself and when Iron Man smiles at his wife while dying, and when Bucky Barnes appears on screen.

The others don’t understand and you don’t blame them.

Five months pass and Argyris’ girlfriend wants you to meet someone. A charming boy your age with blonde hair and a lip piercing.

And he's cute but you compare him to Sebastian even before he has the chance to say his name. His eyes are not the right shade of blue and he doesn’t look at you like you’re made of the world’s finest jewel.

And he doesn’t know any constellation names.

And then more than a year passes in a second and you learn to not look for him. Not anymore.

/

It’s early March 2020 and despite the rising fear of the upcoming pandemic, you’re doing well. Scars are starting to fade. And after spending two weeks in Prague, your best friend being there with an exchange program, Sebastian Stan is the farthest thing from your mind.

Until he literally comes crashing into you. At the airport.

No, it can’t be him.

You have your suitcase on one hand and a bottle of antiseptic gel on the other. He has two bodyguards on his sides and a black hoodie on.  And while half of his face is hidden behind a mask, you can see his eyes perfectly. A frozen lake in December. You would know those eyes in your deathbed, at the end of the world.

Your vision gets blurry and suddenly you feel cold.

He won’t recognize me, he can’t.

But then he looks at you and every memory you had buried inside of you resurfaces.

He motions to his guards to wait for him and he starts walking towards you. You breathe slowly, one breath at a time. He takes his mask off and you hesitate to take yours, not sure if you truly want him to see you.

You exchange the typical and very awkward hi, how are you, i’m glad you’re doing okay and then he smiles and it feels comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the whiff of another time that you always kept around. A reminder that you were once loved by a god.

“What are you doing here?”

“Filming Falcon and the Winter Soldier”

If you hadn’t unfollowed him on instagram, you’d known.

“Ah yes I heard about that, congrats.”

He nods a thank you.

“And you? In Prague?”

“I was at a friend.”

He looks conflicted, hurt, turns his gaze to his shoes on the grey cement. You want to say something, but you feel like throwing up.

And then he laughs.

“I was right.”

You’re confused, he notices.

“Back in Greece,” he swallows, “I told you this would happen.”

“It would have been an airport, different gates for each of us, but same waiting hall. Or a Greek island, where we’d both be for the summer.”

“I would have found you.”

You remember and you cannot help but smile. He was right. He found you.

“I didn’t believe you then.”

I barely believe you now.

He touches your hair. And his touch is like a knife. And you want to cry. Magnolias under your tongue. A love long lost is whispering in your ears until it hurts to listen. He’s like a magnetic field and you feel yourself drowning in him.

“I bet they’ll ask me a hundred questions about you later.” He says and looks at the two men waiting for him.

“And what will you tell them?”

“That you’re most probably the love of my life.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“There’s no way we’d meet here if you’re not.”

“Sebastian,” His name sounds like a prayer coming out of your lips and you're ready to tell him you love him and you can swear he looks like he’s ready to faint, “I-”

The guards yell his name. And it's the same feeling people have just before a car crash.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

One last look.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You repeat it over and over again. But you fail.

“No, don't cry” He smiles, one last smile, “Just look at the stars and wait for us to meet again, because we will.”

He caresses the back of your palm for a second and you think your ribcage is shattering but it’s only your heart drumming frantically. Pushing your fragile bones to break. 

You want to stop him, wrap your arms around his torso, never let him go. Not again. But you don’t.

You just watch him leave, one more time, your knees weak, your head heavy and dizzy. For the split of a moment he turns and glances at you but then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps it was all in your imagination. Perhaps it was nothing but a wonder.

You get into your plane and you silently sob.

/

And then it’s summer.

And you overhear he was seen with a girl, the day before your vacation starts and you find a picture of them together a week later, a pretty blonde girl clinging to his side with a colorful bikini somewhere in Spain. And he’s smiling. And you feel so ashamed. And so stupid.

They say time heals all wounds but they must be wrong because you can’t forget how he used to smile at you or how he used to call you the love of his life.

Was he joking when he said you'll meet again? You bet if you asked him now, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

I’ll love you for a long time.

So long for nothing.

/

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :) also i’m really sorry if you asked me to tag you and i didn’t  but i lost a lot of asks and the urls of the people that sent them :( 

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy @christinamcdonnell ​@partypoison00 ​ @90ssantiago

[seabass17]

All that’s left | Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

A/n: So, this is... a different reader in comparison from the one in the first part but I kinda like it? Anyway, Im considering making a third part and im thinking it'll contain some smut. I used google translator so please don't judge me. Tell me what you think. Happy reading.

All that's left pt. 1

Warnings: angst, mentions of scars, swearing, implied smut?

Word count: 3.263

Summary: After moving from her life in New York, away from the Avengers and him, she finds happiness and a life that she actually enjoys, but that seems to last little when she spots the familiar jet on the roof of the building she lives in. Is she ready to face them? To face him?

*Three months later*

The warm air surrounding my body made me take a deep breath and unconsciously smile. I was happy, I was free, I was whole. I was with my neighbor drinking coffee in our usual spot, which was a cafe near the main street of the place that I decided was going to become my new home.

“Продолжай рассказывать мне о своем боссе, который сводит тебя с ума” (Keep on telling me about your boss who drives you crazy) Andrei said making me laugh and shake my head.

“Не о чем говорить, он просто засранец, который дает мне слишком много работы и заставляет меня плакать” (Nothing to talk about, he's just an asshole who gives me too much work and makes me want to cry) I laughed. I had met Andrei a week after I moved in and there was an immediate connection. No, it wasn’t in a romantic one, god no, we were just really good friends that had a lot in common.

“Now now, that was not what i saw the other day when i went to pick you up from work” He said with a playful smirk plastered on his light brown face. I gasped, a fake indignant expression on my face while my hand went to my chest. He laughed loudly. “Don’t play that card, I saw you!” he added

“I don’t know what you are talking about” I said, trying to fight the smile that tried to come out but failing miserably, we both laughed.

He and I had become quite close in the little time that we had known each other. He was an American with a Russian name. He explained that his mother was from the states while his father was a russian spy, they fell in love against all odds and eventually, Andrei was brought to this world. When he was fifteen his father died and he and his mom went to America, where he finished high school and surprisingly, entered the military. He did two tours before he decided that he had enough and returned to Russia. Hence why he could speak both Russian and English fluently. As for me, I told him that I was in some sort of organization that worked for the government, and that’s why I knew russian. He believed me, thank God,  I didn’t want to talk about how I was part of the Avengers and why I left. Obviously I will tell him when the time is right and I know that he can be fully trusted.

“Oh, come on Ames, are you going to tell me that you don’t like him one bit? Not in the slightest?” he asked, smiling and I shook my head. He stayed silent for a second and stared at me, like he was considering whether he should ask me something or keep quiet. “Is it because of him?” he finally asked, watching me closely to see my reaction. I felt my stomach twist at the mention of him. Of course it was because of him, because of them, I couldn’t afford getting hurt and betrayed one more time. Andrei didn’t know his name, or theirs for that matter, so I smiled weakly and nodded.

“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid but… I just can’t afford getting hurt, not again, not anymore” I said looking at my hands.

“I understand, believe me I do” he said, his hand reaching out to hold mine. I looked up to find his brown eyes looking for mine, I saw nothing but genuine love -the friendly kind- in them. I smiled and squeezed his hand. He was going to say something but his phone rang; a notification. He withdrew his hand to look at his phone and the moment he did, people around us started getting up and running in the same direction. I looked at him confused to find him frowning at his phone.

“What is it?” i asked.

“The Avengers are here…” He said and my heart skipped a beat and my body went rigid. Andrei noticed. “What 's wrong?”. Well, there’s no use keeping him from the truth anymore.

“So, remember when I told you that I worked for an organization for the government? Okay don’t freak out and hate me but, here it goes” I took a deep breath. “That organization was called The Red Room were they trained me from a very young age to be a perfect cold-blooded killer, years later i escaped and was on the run until i got a new identification, name, address, new everything and then joined the avengers to amend the wrongs I made in the past. To my luck, it didn’t go great because it ended up breaking me the same way The Red Room did, so I left to find a fresh start and came here where I met you. Please don’t hate me” I concluded in one breath. Andrei was silent with a straight face, which was hard to read, and eventually after a few seconds that felt like an eternity and shrugged his shoulders. WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN.

“Believe it or not, I've heard worse” he simply said

“Worse than finding out that your best friend is a train killer and former avenger?” i asked incredulously and he tilted his head and smirked

“US Agent mother and Russian spy father” He said. I laughed and he followed right after. “So, I'm guessing we are running away?” he asked. Say what now?

“We?” I asked, almost in shock to which he simply nodded, “You don’t think im just gonna let you go like that, please, is not that easy to get rid of me” he snorted. “And I'm supposing Amelia is not your real name either, given the fact that you ran off,” he added. Damn, he is good.

“Y/n, y/n y/l/n” I said and he slowly smiled

“Well y/n, nice to meet you, my name is Andrei Petrova” he said, extending his hand, i repeated his action with the same smile. “I’ve got to say, I like the name y/n more than Amelia '' he added and laughed. We were brought back to the matter at hand when the screaming of the people were getting louder. I snapped my head up and saw the familiar jet on the roof of the building where I was living.

“Here’s what we are going to do, I’m going to my apartment and buy us some time while you go get a car and,” i handed him my card “you are going to get all the money from my bank account. I will meet you in front of the cafe that’s two blocks away from my place”

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked with clear worry in his eyes. I smiled and nodded

“Yes, I promised. Now go” I said before he got up and ran. I sighed and went to my apartment. Was I really going to do this? After months, was I ready to face them, already knowing the truth? Well, guess I'm going to find out.

Once in the building I decided to programmed the lights to go out in 50 minutes and then I went to the elevator, wanting to appear as normal as possible even though I felt like my heart was going to explode from how fast it was beating inside my rib cage. When the elevator stopped at my floor I walked until I was standing in front of my door. I didn’t need to wait and confirm, I knew they knew I was here, now there’s only one thing left to do. But before I did anything, the door creaked open.

*10 hours earlier*

Bucky paced from one side to the other, finding himself incapable of staying put. Natasha sat silently on her chair, Tony was in the front with his head in between his hands, Steve was resting on the side of the wall looking at the floor, Bruce was just standing there holding his chin analyzing everyone in the room. Sam sat on the couch looking through his phone, Vision was sitting next to Wanda on the other couch, while Clint and Thor were sitting on the other chairs. Peter had some school stuff to deal with like the teenager that he was. They’ve been looking for her for the past three months, and about a week ago, a picture was found of someone that looked exactly like her, all except her hair that was a bit shorter and the color was different, but other than that, it was practically her.

Not wanting to get their hopes -or rather enthusiasm- up, they decided to look deeper and found out that the picture was taken a month ago in the city of Magadan located in Russia. They found out that before three months, the name Amelia Agapov, didn’t exist. The more they looked into it, the more they were convinced that it was her.

“The mission report from Agent Carter arrived, should i put it on the screen?” the voice of the AI filled the room. The team had been waiting for that report for days, the nerves of the question that lingered in the air ‘was it her?’ being present for that time only grew stronger as Stark asked FRIDAY to project the report on the screen.

Pictures were shown, most of them were about this woman buying in the market, having coffee with a guy, but there was one, where her face was looking straight into the lens of the camera, and it was that picture that left the people in the room absolutely rigid. It was her.

“We found her…” Tony said in a whisper. Everybody kept their gaze on the picture on the big screen. After months looking for her, they finally had found her. To everyone, it was like someone just discovered something new, a kind of relief and anxiety all at the same time.

“Suit up, we’re going to get her” Steve said to the group, but see, it was the choice of words from Cap that Bucky found unsettling.

“Get her? Like she is some kind of criminal?” he said, looking at his best friend dead in the eye. Steve opened his mouth to say something but Tony beat him to it.

“She was trained by The Red Room to be an assassin, we can expect nothing more from her '' He said, trying to calm Bucky down, but instead it only caused him to get angrier, and not only him.

“So was I” Natasha said, her voice low that could scare anyone to the bone if they weren’t so used to her.

"It's different" Tony said

“How is it different?” Wanda said this time, “It wasn’t when you practically recluded me after I helped Ultron and tried to kill you all” she added.

Tony sighed and looked down, realizing that he might be overreacting.

“Let’s just get suit up and get on with it” Steve said, cutting the rather awkward silence that filled the room.

The avengers were suit up and on the quinjet in less that forty-five minutes, and they were in Madagan in nine hours, it took them an hour to find her building, and once they found it, Clint landed the jet on the roof and they all got out and looked for her apartment. Funny enough, it was the same number as the one she used to live in New York; 108. They waited for what seemed an eternity until they heard footsteps just outside the door. Suddenly, the air felt thick with anticipation, but Bucky couldn’t wait any longer so he crossed the living room in two steps and opened the door. She was standing there. Silence took over the entire apartment until she broke it.

“Well, are you going to move so that I can get inside my goddamn apartment Barnes?” she said expectantly. Bucky realized that he had been staring at her since he opened the door. Her hair was different, more wavy and a shade or two lighter. He moved to the side and she was able to see the rest of the team. This was going to be one hell of an evening.

Breathe. In… and out…

It was hard. Fuck. Okay i can do this.

“Well isn’t this nice. All the team back together again!” I said with sarcasm dripping from every letter.

“What the hell did we ever do to you?” Steve said firmly.

“Damn, getting straight into it. That’s okay” i shrugged as I went to my room but the sound of the blasters of Tony's suit stopped me.

“Stop, don’t take another step” He said, lifting his hands and I smiled.

“Really? Well unfortunately i have to change, so i’ll leave the door open if it makes you comfortable” i said as i continued to walk to my room, and like I said, i left the door open.

“Y-you don’t have to do that, you can…” Wanda said but trailed off. I had taken my shirt off; my scars were shown.

“So, Steve” I broke the silence as I put on a black shirt, “the thing that you did wasn’t as bad as tin man over there, but you still let Hydra take me the day we took out the helicaries” i added. His face got pale and started shaking his head.

“What? No, you made it out safe, you-” He started saying but i interrupted him

“You sure? Who do you think stopped Rumlow when he tried to interfere with the exchange of the chip when you were in the helicarrier with Bucky?” He started thinking for a moment until he realized what I said fell into place. “Yeah, I took one hell of a beating, and if that wasn’t enough, I fell to the water. I fell thirty floors down, and I alone got myself out, because I didn't have anyone to cover me or have my back” i concluded.

“Your scars…” Tony said this time and i turned to him

“Yeah, thanks to you Mr. Stark” i said and he looked at me. “Doctor said that 74% of my body is covered with scars, along with one or two burns”

“You were that girl in The Red Room” Natasha said, causing me to turn my head to look at her and I smiled cynically, “You are Eliza” she finished.

“Давно не виделись с Натальей” (Long time no see Natalia) i said and she looked at me in pure surprise in her faced. That’s something coming from the famous Black Widow.

“What about the rest of us y/n?”  Sam said this time, redirecting my attention from Natasha to the rest of the group. Thor was standing there holding his hammer, Bruce was next to the fridge, Clint was by the sink, Wanda was with Vision beside the kitchen table and Bucky was by the door. They were all looking at me. I took a look at the clock, I have to leave in less than thirty minutes.

“Long story short, Clint, Bruce, Sam, Wanda and Vision are the ones that didn’t do anything, so just chill out, you are still on my good side” I smiled and waved my hand.

“Hold on, but what did I do?” Thor asked and I looked at him.

“God it really is unfair how such a little thing can cause such a big problem. The first time you came down to earth, met Jane, bla bla bla… when her stuff was under custody of shield, and you took that notebook; they blamed me. I know it may seem weird because, how? Thing is, I was undercover at that time inside Shield, so when the notebook disappeared, guess who was the one that got beaten for it. I couldn’t move from the pain.”

Thor was standing completely still.

“Lady y/n…”

“How is it possible? I was there  and never saw you” Clint interrupted Thor.

“It was before the avengers, i was on the run and a girl's gotta eat. Don’t worry, I never gave them anything. Got the money and then killed them, they were nobodies” I shrugged off.

“So, that’s all you needed to know, so if you please leave my…” I said but then he interrupted me.

“No” I would be lying if I said it didn’t send shivers down my spine at his tone, and I hate even more that he noticed it. “You’re missing one doll” Well fuck me

I turned to see him and he was walking painfully slow towards me and I was praying for my legs to not give out.

“Barnes” I simply said, thanking God and all the saints that it didn’t come out as a whimper. I took a look at the clock once more. I have to leave. Now. “Such a shame, wish you had fought for us, I would have gone through hell and back for you, Buck” his eyes were looking straight to my own and I felt like he was staring at my bare soul. In a way, he was. I smiled and I saw behind my back that the team was looking at us, we’ve never been this close, not in public anyway. I standed on my tiptoes and reached for his right ear, he instinctively reached down so it was a bit easier for me.

“If you want to know, you’ll have to find me first дорогой” (Sweetheart) I whisper. Next thing, the light went out just like I programmed it to and I slid beside Bucky to reach out to the door and to the hall. I could hear the team screaming ‘what the hell just happened’. I ran to the emergency stairs, and once out I could still feel him behind me, getting close. I went into an alley, having to detour, knowing that he eventually was going to catch up to me and I couldn't have him follow where I was really going. A few seconds later, I felt him caging me to the wall on the alley, both of us breathing heavily. His flesh hand went to my throat and his metal one rested on the wall.

“Given a different occasion, I would have loved this, don’t get me wrong, I still love how you…”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked huskily and I smiled.

“I told you, you’ll have to wait until you find me again. Alone.” i said

“Come on Barnes, do you really think that the charade of being your personal fuck toy would last forever?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t like that, i…” he said but trailed off. The pain in my chest starting and clenching my heart.

“There it is…” i said lowly, the hurt in my voice evident, “listen, i’d love to keep talking about how you used me, but like i said,” i got close to his face, my nose touching his, “find me to found out” after that,  I raised my knee kicking him right in between his legs.

He let out a pained groan and fell to the floor, causing his grip in my neck to give out. I took advantage and ran. Two blocks away, I saw Andrei. When he saw me running to him, he immediately got in the car and turned the engine on, then I got in.

“Drive, fast” it was the first thing i said

“Where?” he asked while we took off. I smiled and looked at him

“You’ll see”

-

-

-

Taglist

@silentkiller2374 @vikingqueenlove @girlfriday007 @supraveng

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In p5

I have an hour before work so instead of doing the responsible thing and cranking out my labs, I’m posting smutty fic. in my defense, I have none.

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: smut. hella smut, unprotected sex, bit bitey, hair pulling? I’m new to writing smut so if there’s any more plz message me I really wanna know and be able to tag my shit accordingly.

Summary: How else does one get to sleep if not by fucking your friend that is totally not more than a friend? or Geralt finally does something about the tension between them?

There’s a bit of plot in here somewhere I swear. Not really, I just have a feeling G is competitive af. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled emotionally indulgent programming next part so if you’re not down with the smut I’ll add a little summary on the beginning of the next one.

Part 4 here!

__________

Day thirty brought a restlessness that couldn't be soothed. If you weren't moving you felt like you were going to disintegrate to dust from the pent up energy. 

You tried trudging circles around the barn in the snow, sprinting up and down the stairs, making Geralt spar with you until your muscles gave up and you collapsed, but you couldn't shake the need to move. You even went so far as to ask Geralt to hold you while you tried to sleep. You used the "it works for babies maybe it could calm me down" excuse and he must have bought it because he wasted no time pulling you into his arms. Regardless of how comfortably you fit tucked into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, you only slept an hour or two. 

Day thirty one was no different. Anxious, restless, and now pissy because of how tired you were. You paced most of the day, to Geralt's dismay. He finally ordered you to run the stairs because he couldn't "sit here and watch you walk a hole in the floor anymore". You'd rolled your eyes but you did it anyway, until you thought you might hurl. Then when the nausea passed you ran them ten times more for good measure. You even ate more than usual at dinner, hoping a full stomach would at least make you feel sluggish enough to stop moving. 

Despite all this, you laid staring at the ceiling for hours, tapping your fingers on your ribs and wishing for even a wink of sleep.

Just when you were starting to feel lighter, ready to float off to blessed unconsciousness, you heard a deep moan and a giggle from the other side of the wall. 

"Fuck me. I thought they were still fighting" You groaned, rolling over to face away from the wall and pulling your pillow over your ear. 

Geralt grimaced, staring at the ceiling, "Made up an hour ago." 

You snickered, "So you really hear all of it?" 

He rolled his eyes, the movement just barely visible in the light of the dying fire, "Unfortunately, I can hear a room past them as well." 

Another moan and the distinct sound of someone's ass getting slapped seemed to echo in the silence. 

"I was so close to sleep" you sighed, silently wishing a curse on the neighbors.  

Geralt frowned, you assumed because he heard something he'd rather not until he opened his mouth, "S'probly why they're so chipper." 

"Hm?" 

He glanced at you before elaborating, "All the… they're in a better mood because they actually sleep. After they… you know, fuck." 

You snorted, praying he couldn't see the flush in your cheeks, "Is that how it works?" Your voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

The neighbors were growing louder by the second, clearly so excited about the resolution of their fight that they didn't care if they woke the whole inn. 

He shrugged, "Works for me." 

His tone was too casual, too measured even for him. You narrowed your eyes in a desperate attempt to pull any more information out of the shadows on his face. 

"To get to sleep you mean?" Your voice was nearly a whisper, tamped by what you thought he might be implying. 

He hummed in agreement, finally turning to face you, his face completely unreadable, "Might calm you down." 

If you'd wanted to play it cool your body betrayed you. Your heartbeat alone was a dead giveaway that his words got to you, and you didn't even want to know what he could tell with any other senses. 

You blinked hard, trying to form a coherent sentence, "Ar- are you… uhm… offering?" 

He propped himself up on an elbow and his entire demeanor changed, the usual mask of indifference replaced with a grin, "I am." 

You heard a little voice in the back of your head yelling about how things could get messy but you shut it up, already feeling that coil tightening between your hips just from how he was looking at you. 

You reached out to run a finger over his wrist, lightly tracing little figure eights over his skin, "I'd hate for you to regret it in the morning." 

"I have a lot of regrets in life, very rarely do I regret sex." 

He can tell. He's way too fucking confident not to know. Fuck it.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and looked up at him through your lashes, "Couldn't hurt to try." 

He leaned over you, almost kissing you before moving to your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, "Is that a yes?" 

Fuck.

"Yes. Hell yes." 

You felt the vibrations of the rumblings in his chest as he practically growled before nipping at your jaw. You gasped and grabbed onto the hem of his shirt, now that the tension had broken and you'd touched you finally could move. 

He stopped you though, placing a soft kiss over the skin that stung from his bite before sitting back and pulling you with him, "Clothes. Off." 

You obeyed immediately, shimmying out of every last stitch and letting out a soft moan as you saw him drop his small clothes. 

He smirked, "That excited?" He asked as he resumed his position above you. 

"Something like that. Your ass is great." You answered, not bothering with this charade of shyness anymore. He laughed softly, placing kisses on your neck and running his hand up your body to your chest. You moaned when he squeezed your tit but you yelped when he kissed his way down to the other one and licked at your nipple. He chuckled and took the nub between his teeth, biting down and pulling back just enough to earn another moan before he pressed his lips over the area and sucked. 

"Ah fuck Geralt." One of your hands gripped his hair, but you didn't pull, not like you wanted to. 

He left a trail of kisses to your other breast, "Pull all you want." He paused to circle your now extremely sensitive nipple with his tongue, "I like it." Before you could respond he bit the very tip and you moaned again, this time testing the waters with a light tug at his hair. 

He hummed in response and continued his trail down your body. 

You hadn't pegged him for the type to go down on his woman first, but oh how wrong you were. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how it drove you wild. 

He left little bites at your hip crease and on your inner thigh, coming closer to where you wanted him most, only to switch to your other hip.

"You're a fucking tease." You whined, breathless and so achingly turned on. 

Almost before you finished your sentence, one of his hands spread your folds and he licked from your opening up over your clit.You shivered and gasped, tugging at his hair again. 

He moaned against you and your eyes rolled back in your head, "Mmmmmm Geralt more. Please." 

He obliged immediately, flicking his tongue over your clit in a pattern that made your whole body tingle and thighs squeeze together. Without missing a beat he pushed your legs apart and laid his arm over your hip, bringing his hand to your opposite thigh to hold you in place.

Still working your clit with his tongue he slowly pushed two fingers into you, curling and pumping at an annoyingly laid back pace. You bucked your hips up, or tried, and he chuckled, pulling his fingers away completely.

"Fuck you." You gasped, "That's just rude." 

He licked over your opening with a broad tongue and pulled back, "Kinda the point, isn't it?" 

"Geralt." You mewled in protest, pulling his hair again and earning a grunt in return before his mouth was back on your cunt. He added a third finger when he started again, stretching you out and damn near making you writhe. He coaxed moan after moan, whine after desperate whine from your lips and just before you came, he stopped completely. 

Sitting back and surveying his work he grinned, "Not yet. You have to earn it." 

Melitele's Tits. That's so hot.

You lurched forward, pushing him on his back and straddling his thighs, "Earn it? Like this?" You reached between your legs and gathered your own slick before gripping the base of his cock and pumping just as infuriatingly slow as he had gone earlier. 

The way he groaned set your body on fire, making you shivered in anticipation. You couldn't wait anymore, you leaned forward, placing a hand on the center of his chest for balance and lined yourself up over his hips. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you sank down on his dick. Of course you knew he was big, but this? This was heaven. You savored every bit, lowering yourself as slowly as you could, your fingers curling to grip at the hair on his chest. His hands roamed over your thighs and hips, squeezing at what he could reach of your ass.

When you finally bottomed out your eyes fluttered closed and a low groan clawed its way out of your chest. 

"Fuck , Y/N…" Geralt breathed, fingers digging into your flesh. 

Your eyes snapped open, a devilish grin on your face, "What? Do you want me to move?" 

Before he could answer you clenched around his cock, getting a gasp and gritted teeth in response. 

"What was that? I didn't hear you." 

He opened his mouth to respond but you snapped your hips up and back down as fast as you could, grinding your hips against his in small circles. Whatever he was going to say turned into a string of curses that only spurred you on. You placed your other hand on his chest, rocking your hips slowly forward and up but swiftly back down.

Geralt looked completely undone, his hair splayed out almost like a halo and the firey need in his eyes made you move faster. Your thighs started to ache and your moans were coming out more like desperate whimpers. You leaned back, bringing a hand to your clit and one to your breast. You felt his cock twitch inside you and bit your bottom lip, changing the direction of your hip circles. 

With a growl he gripped your hips and held you down against him, sitting up and turning to sit on his heels. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed at his jaw, letting him hold you to him without moving, "Did I earn it?" You whispered, almost hoping you hadn't with how good it felt to just be filled by him.

He let loose a breathy laugh, "Fuck you." 

You rocked your body closer to him, gripping his hair in one of your hands, "Oh gods please do." 

He bucked his hips against yours driving your whole body up in the air, and pulled you back down with one hand at your hip and one wrapped behind your back holding onto your shoulder. He set a rough, fast pace and you cried out every time your hips slapped against his. 

You felt yourself losing all the strength in your limbs, almost unable to keep hold of his shoulders, and that familiar tingle creeping up your spine. 

"Mm-f- fuck I'm close." 

"Good." Geralt growled, snapping his hips up somehow faster and harder, sending you hurtling over the edge of your orgasm. You yanked on his hair as your whole body was flooded with electric pleasure, leaving you gasping for air. He came right after you, moaning soft and low as you writhed on top of him. 

As your high began to fade, you rocked your hips against his more methodically, working him through the last of his orgasm. You gently tugged at his hair to tilt his head back, placing soft kisses along his jugular and over his Adams apple. His arms wrapped around your waist and held you tightly to him as his breathing slowed. When you made your way up to his chin and jawline he leaned you back onto the bed, pulling out and flopping onto the mattress next to you.

It was deathly silent as the two of you caught your breath. The predicament you found yourselves in seemed to dawn on the both of you, only you saw absolutely no sign from Geralt how he felt about it. 

Later. Don't ruin this. Talk about it tomorrow. Or never. 

"Did we intimidate them?" You did your best to make it sound like a joke, pointing at the wall to indicate the silence. 

He snorted, rolling onto his side facing you, "No idea. I was distracted." 

You giggled, shimmying closer to him and tucking your head under his chin, "Yeah, thanks for that. Good distraction." 

He draped an arm over your waist, "What high praise…" 

"Ssshhhhh," you leaned back and placed a finger over his lips, "I'm trying to sleep here." 

He hummed against your touch, lips thinning into a soft smile. 

It would have been entirely natural for you to lean forward and kiss him, even expected in such a situation, but you couldn't. That crossed the friendship line, as if it wasn't already blurred beyond recognition. Instead you nuzzled into his chest, snaking your arm under his and holding him close, savoring every moment. After all, when the heartbreak eventually set in you'd need something to cling to, even if it was just the memory of his touch. 

__________

Uhm some of yall wanted to be tagged in the next part and  i stg i could cry with how happy that made me! If anyone else wants tagged just hmu 💕💕

@ab-haya @fire-in-her-veinz

part 6 here!

[gamerwoo]

Junhui: Noodles

Characters: Junhui x female reader

Genre/warnings: badboy au, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, some crack-y moments, very slight angst, mentions of smoking, implied violence

Word count: 6,079

Summary: Junhui’s the kind of person parents warn their daughters to stay away from but you’ve never had the inclination to go near him anyway. But it’s not until he comes into the animal shelter looking for a kitten named Noodles that you start to learn more about the mysterious Wen Junhui.

a/n: I really felt like writing a badboy au and there aren’t a lot for Jun and I had this idea and @sadienita​ really liked it so this is kinda for her :] merry christmas 💕

You couldn’t care less about the boys that hung out outside the dive bar on the street corner. It seemed every girl was always squealing about how cute they were or every parent was warning their kid to not go near them. But you didn’t care. You didn’t wonder what they were like despite that being a hot topic with a lot of your friends -- seriously, it was like they never shut up once they got started, which was why you now hated when they wanted to go to that stupid bar but it was the only one in your stupid, dinky town.

Alternatively, Wen Junhui and his friends didn’t know shit about you nor did they recognize you. Wonwoo recognized one of your friends because she always seemed to stare at him whenever they’d pass by them, and Mingyu would wink at the one who would bite her lip and eye him up and down shamelessly. But you always rolled your eyes and minded your business, never sparing them even a passing glance. So none of them ever noticed you or thought anything of you.

Despite this, you still definitely knew who he was. At least, you’d heard the stories. The thirteen rowdy boys were always causing trouble. If they weren’t causing it, they were looking for it. Your parents had also jumped on the “stay away from those boys” bandwagon, and you listened without question because you didn’t have the desire to approach them anyway. You weren’t afraid, you just weren’t interested in knowing more. 

Besides, with the amount of cigarettes they smoked, you would’ve sooner strangled yourself than stand anywhere near them. Actually, strangling yourself would probably be the equivalent of being around that much smoke. 

However, your disinterest for the group of boys didn’t stop you from running into one of them. You had just decided to volunteer at the animal shelter on weekends because your parents refused to let an animal into the house despite the fact you insisted you would care for it solely and they wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Volunteering at the shelter was the next best thing. It was your first weekend there, and while you were excited, that excitement died down when you looked up as they front door opened.

Even if you weren’t interested in knowing the thirteen boys, it didn’t mean you didn’t recognize Wen Junhui.

“He’s so beautiful!” your friend, Mari had squealed so many times it made you want to jam scissors in your ears so you’d never have to hear it again.

But yes, Wen Junhui was beautiful. He, for some reason, dyed his hair a lilac color which brought out his brown eyes that looked up from the floor to you. Instead of a cigarette between his lips, he had a toothpick that hung out the left corner of his mouth. His classic leather jacket was looking as dingy as always, but it matched his ripped up black jeans and scuffed boots.

‘What could he possibly want at an animal shelter?’ you wondered to yourself.

You wanted to tell him to get lost, but you knew you weren’t supposed to do that -- even if this was Wen Junhui.

Junhui strolled up to the counter, his hands in his front pockets. He leaned up against the counter with one arm on the top of it, looking at you as he cocked his head to one side. You half expected him to say something about recognizing you even though you weren’t sure why he would recognize you anyway.

But instead, he asked, “Do you know if Noodles is here?”

You blinked at him a few times as you processed his question before finally asking, “...What?”

“You new?” he asked you instead.

“Yeah…?”

He sighed as if he were growing impatient with you, but his eyes were kind as he explained, “Noodles is a little orange tabby cat that was sent here a few weeks ago. Do you know if she’s still here?”

“O-oh, uh…” you looked down at the computer in front of you, typing in the name. “Yeah, she should still be in the cat room.”

“Cool, thanks,” he said simply before walking away toward the cat room.

That was your first encounter with Wen Junhui, and it definitely wasn’t what you were expecting from him.

-

On most Friday or Saturday nights, your friends liked to go down to the bar. You weren’t sure at this point if they genuinely enjoyed hanging out with each other every weekend or if they just did it in hopes of getting noticed by the boys who hung around out front, but with your new job at the shelter, you were thankful that you now had a reason to turn them down other than the usual responses that they stopped buying into.

“Sorry, I’m working at the shelter tomorrow.”

Nobody can call you out for that. What, do they expect you to just go into work drunk?

But it was that very next weekend that you saw Junhui again. You thought it was strange the first time he came in, but it was even more strange to you that he came back the very next weekend. He, again, walked over to the counter and asked you if Noodles was still there.

She was.

He went to the cat room.

You continued to stare at the door to the cat room until it closed and you couldn’t see Junhui anymore. What was his deal? Why did he want to see this cat so badly, and why did he even care? 

“What’re you staring at?” your coworker, Sam wondered as she came out from the back.

You turned to look at her, “Does a guy ever come in here asking you if Noodles is here?”

“Oh, you mean Jun?”

She knew Junhui? Actually, she knew Junhui enough to just call him Jun? Now you really had no idea what was going on. Was this some sort of alternate universe you were in?

“You know him?” you asked with surprise clear in your tone and on your face.

She chuckled, “Everybody at the shelter knows him. He come in every weekend, but lately, he comes just to visit Noodles. He really likes that kitten.”

Somehow, despite all this new information, you still couldn’t get passed the fact somebody named that poor kitten Noodles.

-

“You work too much, so you’re coming,” Rina decided.

Apparently the “I have work tomorrow” excuse could only work so many times before your friends decided it wasn’t good enough anymore. You really did have to work the next day at the shelter, but Rina already had a death grip on your wrist and was dragging you along behind her toward the shitty little bar that you really didn’t want to go to.

“Do you think they’re there?” Mia giggled.

‘I fuckin’ hope not,’ you wanted to say, but you just let them gush over the boys they hardly knew like you always did. ‘Man, what’s with girls and the badboy type?’

As you got closer to the dive bar, you could see about half of the boys standing under the same streetlight they always were. They were laughing so loudly that you heard them before you saw them, and when you did see them, you could see a few of their silhouettes shoving each other around as their laughter grew louder. 

Normally, the boys didn’t pay much attention to anybody who came by. They didn’t care about other people because they knew nobody else cared about them, so they paid them no mind and carried on with what they were doing.

But for some reason, Junhui felt inclined to look over to his right.

“Hey!” you heard him call out.

Your whole group stopped, looking at him like deer in headlights. Nobody from that group had ever said a word to any of you, and the fact that Wen Junhui had acknowledged them and stopped them to speak was sending your friends’ hearts into a frenzy.

You felt fine, even when his eyes locked on yours.

“Aren’t you the girl from the shelter?” he asked with a nod of his head.

You replied to his question with one of your own: “Aren’t you the Noodles guy?”

He chuckled, “She still there?”

“I didn’t work today, bud. Couldn’t tell ya.”

And then you brushed past your friends and led the way inside the bar. They all looked bewilderedly between you and Junhui as they shuffled in behind you like robots that were just doing what they were programmed and not really thinking for themselves.

“You know Wen Junhui?!” Elly gasped.

You shrugged, not seeing it as a big deal, “He comes into the shelter.”

“Is that why you’re so worried about work?” Mia giggled as she nudged your side with her elbow.

“No,” you sighed,” it’s because I actually don’t want to go into work hungover every single weekend and get written up four fucking times.”

You shot a pointed look to Rina who simply shrugged and said, “Party, dude.”

Most of the night consisted of you and your friends sitting at a table together while you drank and ate stale chips with shitty salsa and laughed at fat, drunk men playing darts very poorly. They hit the actual walls multiple times, and one even threw a dart while the other was over collecting his darts from the board, and it hit him right in the shoulder. There wasn’t any blood, but it was still fucking hilarious.

More patrons entered the bar, but you never paid any attention to them. Thankfully, your friends’ attention was gradually pulled away from the windows where they could see the seven boys outside, and you were actually able to have a good time with them.

Then again, maybe if they were staring out the windows and drooling like normal, you might’ve seen the handsome semi-stranger walk into the bar and walk up behind you, tapping your shoulder.

You sighed, figuring you already knew what this was about, so you didn’t even bother turning around. You figured it was some creep trying to hit on you, and you were not about to give any man in this place the time of day -- or night, rather.

“Listen, buddy,” you began as your hand tightened around your glass of beer, “I’m not interested. And if you’re gonna call me an ugly whore now instead, you can go fuck yourself.”

“At least you’re direct,” Junhui’s semi-familiar voice chuckled.

You whipped around, suddenly mortified by your words, “O-oh, I thought you were--”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded, still laughing at your mistake. “But, I mean, you might tell me that after I say what I’m going to say.”

Your heartbeat picked up and you didn’t like it. What would Junhui say to you that would make you tell him to go fuck himself?

“My friend, Soonyoung thinks you’re really hot,” he told you, slightly sniggering about it. “He’s too big of a pussy to come in and ask for your number, though, so he made me do it since I kinda know you.”

You knew your friends had their jaws dropped at this, but you were looking at Junhui the whole time. Even as your face shifted to one of confusion.

“Who?” you asked.

He turned and pointed out the window, “Black hair, black shirt.”

“Dude, that’s like, three of them.”

“He’s the one with the cute cheeks!” Elly told you as if it was common knowledge. “And his eyes are really distinct.”

You were pretty sure you vaguely knew which one he was talking about. A somewhat fuzzy image of him came up in your head, and you recalled seeing him once eat a piece of gum off of the streetlamp just for five bucks and some laughs from his friends.

“No thanks,” you said flatly.

“_____!” Mia gasped like you were being rude.

But how could it be rude when you didn’t even know the guy and the only memory you had of him was eating ABC gum?

“Honestly, that’s a safe choice,” Junhui chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll break the bad news to him gently.”

You turned away from Junhui as soon as he began walking away from your table. Your ears were filled with your friends scolding, telling you that that was their only chance for an in with them. If you went out with Soonyoung, you could hook them up with Wonwoo and Mingyu -- which were also names you could not match to faces and you were sure you didn’t want to.

But above their whining, right as the door opened, you heard Junhui shout, “Yo, Soonyoung! She said to go fuck yourself!”

-

Where was he? You knew Junhui was going to come in like he did every weekend, and despite it only being your third weekend, you were sure he would be there because he said so when you left the bar.

“Girl from the shelter!” he called, catching your attention.

You really didn’t want to look toward his group because despite not knowing Soonyoung, you were embarrassed that Junhui told him you told him to go fuck himself. But still, you stopped and turned around to see what he wanted.

“See ya tomorrow!” he grinned cheekily.

You only nodded at him before leaving with your friends to go home and get as much rest as you could before you had to open the shelter.

But it was tomorrow, it was around the time Junhui usually showed up, and the boy in question was still nowhere to be seen. Now that you were more sober, you wanted to chew him out for passing along a message to a stranger that you didn’t even give.

“_____, could you give this pill pocket to Pepero?” one of the other workers asked as she handed the little treat over to you. “He needs his medication but Fishstick is being difficult getting his shots and I need to help out.”

As you took the pill pocket from her and began walking toward the cat room, all you could think was, ‘Who names these poor cats?’

You pushed the door open and searched all the cages in search for the one labeled ‘Pepero’. You couldn’t find it in the cages in the front, so you circled around to the back to see if maybe he was back there.

But instead of Pepero, you found the boy you’d been looking for.

“How the hell did you get in here?” you blurted.

Junhui jumped, startled by your sudden outburst. But his face melted into a smile as he laughed lightly and put a hand over his heart.

“You scared me!” the way he smiled and giggled was actually almost...cute -- which was weird since he came across as very cocky the previous night. He stood up from his crouched position and closed the cage he had opened while he played with the cat inside. “Liza let me in this morning. Sometimes I show up a little early.”

“For Noodles?” you guessed.

“Well, this time, yes. But I’ve done it before Noodles. I just like her a lot.”

You leaned over, peering down at the cage Junhui had opened. Sure enough, it said ‘Noodles’.

“Is that for Pepero?” he inquired, pointing to the pill pocket you were holding.

Not only were you shocked he guessed the cat you were giving medicine to, but he went over to Pepero’s cage without skipping a beat or needing to read the names, and opened it up for you.

“His ear infection is getting a lot better,” he told you as he pet from the cat’s head down to its tail. The fluffy, white-haired cat seemed to like it as he immediately started purring. Junhui plucked the pill pocket from your fingers and held it out to Pepero, who sniffed it for a second before eating it. “Yeah, you’d eat pill pockets just for fun, huh?”

“You know a lot about the cat room,” you noted dumbly.

Junhui chuckled with a shrug, “Just a little.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Every weekend.”

“Why don’t you just work here?”

Junhui scoffed, looking at you like you really were dumb, “Because if I worked here, a bunch of people would throw a fit or just wouldn’t come in. Business would go downhill which would mean a bunch of sweet animals would be fucked. It’s best I just come in to check on them.”

That did make sense. Wen Junhui was Wen Junhui, and people didn’t like him. He was a ‘bad person’. He was definitely a hit with the girls your age, but girls your age were also really into rebelling against their parents for some reason. That, and cute boys. Junhui was basically those two things thrown into one thing, and that meant that parents didn’t like him. If people from town came in and saw Junhui working here, the shelter would no doubt close down within weeks.

But you weren’t here to talk about that. You were waiting for Junhui to show up so you could chew him out for what he did. And now that you had him in front of you, you’d do just that. You didn’t care if he was some tough guy in a leather jacket and ripped jeans or if he still smelled like cigarette smoke. You weren’t afraid of him.

Okay, well, maybe a little afraid.

“Also, what the fuck was that last night?!” you demanded as you whacked him in the chest.

Okay, maybe not that afraid.

Junhui looked almost shocked that you did that, and even a little afraid of you as he put a hand over the spot you’d hit.

“You told Soonyoung I told him to fuck off, and now he’s gonna think I’m some rude bitch or something!”

Junhui only giggled as he grabbed his jacket on either side and gently tugged to adjust it, “Soonyoung doesn’t think anything, he hardly has a braincell.”

“But still!”

He smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight to one foot so he was leaning into you, “Why do you care so much what Soonyoung thinks of you, hmm?”

You felt your cheeks heating up, leaning away from him, “I don’t care what he thinks specifically. I’d be mad no matter who you said it to.”

Junhui sighed as he closed Pepero’s cage before turning and letting his back rest up against the cages, “You wanna know why I said what I said to Soonyoung?”

You nodded vigorously.

Maybe you were seeing things, but Junhui looked...nervous. He looked down at his feet, taking in a deep breath as he thought over his next words. He ran a hand through his lilac hair before he closed his eyes. He lifted his head slowly, opening his eyes to meet yours.

“I’d say I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I think you’re a good person, shelter girl. I kinda like you,” he admitted, “and you deserve way better than Soonyoung.”

That only caused more questions. What did you do to make Junhui like you enough to protect you from somebody he claimed wasn’t good enough? Why was he friends with Soonyoung if he thought Soonyoung was too shitty to date? Wouldn’t he be similar to Soonyoung if they were close? What did he mean by ‘kinda like you’?

Despite all of those questions you could’ve asked and probably should’ve asked, you said, “My name is _____.”

-

You didn’t see Junhui all week but you knew you’d see him on Saturday. Who you didn’t think you’d see on Saturday was Mari. She smirked as she opened the doors and her little brother excitedly ran in, though it was clear he wasn’t really sure where he was going.

“Over here, dude!” Mari called as she walked up to the counter, her car keys swinging from the lanyard in her hand.

Her brother suddenly made a u-turn and ran right over to the counter, pressing his hands up against the side of it.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked her.

“Kid wants a dog but my parents didn’t want to be the ones to take him,” she explained as she glanced down at the child who was continuously hitting the side of the counter with both hands. “You can probably guess why.”

You just shrugged, deciding you would make the thumping sound that would soon be the tempo for the headache it would give you seem not as awful as it was, “He’s not so bad.”

“You wanna show us around the dog room then?” she asked with a toothy grin.

While there were other people working, it would be pointless to hand the task off to somebody else when you weren’t even busy. But you knew Junhui would be coming in soon and some part of you really wanted to see him when he came in. But you didn’t have an excuse so what could you do except say yes?

“I mean, I gue--”

Just on time, the door opened, and in shuffled Junhui with a toothpick in his mouth. Mari saw your eyes drift behind her, and she followed your gaze, her eyes landing on Junhui. She looked absolutely dumbfounded seeing the handsome boy casually walk into the shelter, his eyes finding you at the counter before anybody else. But it was after he saw you at the counter that his eyes flickered over to Mari, then down to her brother who was still banging the counter, and then back up at you.

“_____?” he spoke up.

‘Now’s my chance.’

“Um, I actually have to show Junhui something in the cat room,” you told Rina. “But Sam can take you to the dog room. C’mon, Junhui.”

You stepped out from behind the desk and began walking toward the cat room, leaving Sam alone with Mari and her brother despite the fact you felt guilty forcing her to deal with Mari’s annoying little brother. Not to mention your friend would have plenty of questions for you next time you saw her, but that was something you could deal with when you had to cross that bridge.

“What is it?” Junhui asked as the two of you entered the cat room, his voice laced with worry. “Was Noodles adopted?”

“No,” you sighed a breath of relief as you rested your forehead on the cool bars of one of the empty cages. “I just really didn’t want to deal with Mari today and needed an excuse to not help her brother pick out a pet dog.”

“_____!” Junhui whined. “You scared me!”

Why did Junhui genuinely sound upset? You turned around to see him rushing over to Noodles’s cage. He stuck his slender fingers through the bars, smiling softly as the orange kitten playfully batted at them with her paws. Just from the way Junhui looked at the cat, you could tell he absolutely adored her. Hell, he visited the place every weekend asking if she was still there so he must’ve loved her.

“Hey Junhui?”

He looked up from his playing, though the little smile stayed on his face even when he looked at you.

“Why don’t you just adopt Noodles?” you wondered.

“I took in a stray cat that hung out around my apartment like...two-ish months ago?” he replied, trying to remember how much time had gone by. “She’s still nervous around other animals and people. Honestly, she might not ever be used to other animals, and I don’t want to stress her out.” 

It seemed like the more Wen Junhui came around the shelter, the less like Wen Junhui he seemed. You were taught he would be scary and aggressive and rude and just overall bad. But he was funny and kind and caring and persistent. You wondered what made people think Junhui was a bad person if he seemed to be the opposite. Was it the people he hung out with? The way he dressed? Was that all it was?

Was Wen Junhui not the person you thought he was?

-

Junhui wasn’t outside the dive bar that night. You were dragged out by your friends once again, but this time without putting up a fight. Another few weeks had gone by, and you were hanging out with Junhui longer and longer when he’d come visit the shelter. The main reason for his visits was always Noodles who still had yet to be adopted, but it seemed he stopped coming in asking for Noodles and started coming in just saying “hey, _____”. 

But the one time you decided to go to the bar, hoping to see Junhui, he wasn’t there. None of his friends were there. The only sign that they had been there at all were their cigarette butts and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke that faintly burned your lungs.

“Boo,” Elly frowned as Rina opened the door to the bar and led the way in.

As you sat in the bar for the next few hours, drinking and laughing with your friends, you had almost forgotten about Junhui. You were so preoccupied with the stupid stories and loud giggles and dumb jokes that the fact you didn’t see him like you wanted to had completely slipped your mind. Even when Mia said she had to get home and left first, or when Mari said she had to get back before 11 because her parents were leaving and she had to babysit, or when Elly asked if you wanted her to walk home with you at 1am and you declined. You never once thought about Junhui.

Not until you saw him, at least.

You told Elly should could go without you. You were about to beat this guy at pool and you planned on sticking it out to the end. Sure enough, you ended up winning even if your friends weren’t there to celebrate your victory with you. But you decided that was a high enough note to end your night on, so you shuffled your way out of the bar with various patrons that you’d managed to befriend that night wishing you a good night and a safe trip home. Considering you were a girl walking home at night alone, you definitely valued those wishes.

However, your mind was veered away from your trek home as soon as you left the bar. In their usual spot, Junhui was clinging to the lamppost like it was the only thing holding him up. He sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth, and while he was facing away from you, you knew something wasn’t right.

“Junhui?” you asked as you walked over to him quickly.

“_____?” his voice was pained as he managed to turn himself around, keeping himself leaned up against the post.

As soon as he faced you, you sucked in a breath of your own. His clothes were torn up, his face was bruised and bloody, and his jacket was only hanging off one shoulder. His hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions while his eyes squinted at you like he was trying his hardest to keep them open. He clearly looked like he was in a lot of pain.

“What happened to you?” you gasped.

Despite how beat up he was, he managed to give you a small smirk, his eyes closing, “It’s nothing new. I just need to be cleaned up a bit.”

“A bit?” you scoffed. “Can I help you home?”

He hummed in response, his eyes staying closed. You walked closer, taking his weight off of the post and letting him put it on you. You put one of his arms around your shoulders while you held his waist and guided him in the direction he told you to go. It was a good thing he was at least coherent because otherwise you wouldn’t know where to bring him. You actually asked when you were almost to his apartment if you could bring him to a hospital because you completely forgot that that should be the first idea, but Junhui insisted he would be fine and he just wanted to go home.

His apartment wasn’t in a great part of town. It definitely could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t great. It was one of those places that still made you wary, especially with Junhui not really being himself. You were sure if you had come here with him any other day, you’d feel perfectly safe. But between the two of you, you were the strongest one at that moment. That definitely wasn’t reassuring.

He gave you the keys from his jeans pocket, and you managed to get him in the building. That definitely made you feel better, but it wasn’t until you were actually in Junhui’s apartment that you felt more relaxed. Then you could focus on just getting Junhui fixed up instead of worrying about who could be lurking in the shadows or secretly following behind you.

“Be quiet, though,” Junhui murmured as you led him over to the couch and set him down on the cushions. “I don’t want Minnie to get scared.”

“Is that your roommate or something?” you asked.

“My cat, Minnie.”

‘Right, the stray.’

You’d completely forgotten that Junhui had taken in a cat off the street. Honestly, considering the place he lived, you were happy for the cat -- even if it was hiding somewhere because it was afraid of you.

“Do you have a roommate that can help you?” you wondered.

“It’s cute that you think I could afford an apartment with more than one bedroom,” he smiled tiredly, his head falling back against the back of the couch as his eyes slid closed again.

“Alright, where do you keep your first aid stuff?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Seriously? No bandaids or cotton balls or anything?”

“I have a washcloth and warm water.”

You sighed, figuring that would have to do. So you went to the bathroom and grabbed a towel that was hanging off of the shower rod. You dampened a corner of it with warm water before going back to the living room. You sat beside Junhui on the couch and began dabbing away at the blood on his face. He hissed slightly at first but he started to get used to the stinging.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened now?” you mumbled.

“It’s just something that happens sometimes,” he shrugged. “Parents don’t warn their kids about us for nothing.”

“Did everybody else get beat up, too?”

“Just me. Wrong place at the wrong time. Happens a lot. Lotta people hate us.”

So maybe Junhui really was who you were told he was. Maybe he was violent and scary. Maybe he was somebody who wasn’t to be messed with. Maybe he was bad news.

“Do you need me to call somebody for you?” you wondered.

“Nah,” he replied. “Minnie’s more than enough company. She’ll come out after you leave and sleep on my chest -- she usually does when I come home like this. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.”

But even if he was all that, he was still just like the Junhui you knew from the shelter.

“And ____?” he peeked one eye open to look at you.

“Yeah?”

One of his hands found yours that was pressed against the couch cushion to support yourself as you cleaned him up. His hand wrapped around yours, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Thank you for helping me tonight. I know this is cheesy to say but I’m glad I met you.”

-

Maybe you were silly. Maybe you were reading too much into it, but maybe it was worth the risk. Besides, worst case scenario was that he’d take it as a friend thing. But what would be so bad about that? Weren’t you already friends with Junhui anyway?

You finally realized that weird need to see Junhui was actually you having a crush on the guy. It was definitely weird, especially considering it had even persisted despite seeing the other side of Junhui last night, but you were just gonna go with it. You knew he wasn’t all bad, and you could make your own decisions anyway. And your decision was that Junhui was a good guy and you liked him and that was that.

So when Junhui walked into the shelter again on Saturday and your heart started racing, you knew why.

Well, there was also another reason.

“Hey, _____,” he grinned. His split lip had healed, but around one of his eyes was still a little yellow. “How’s it goin’?”

“It’s goin’,” you shrugged.

Usually, you would nod toward the cat room and say something like “she’s back there” or “you can go in” or whatever. Something that would let him know Noodles was still there. But when you stopped talking after your short response to his question, his eyes widened.

“I-is Noodles…?”

You shook your head slowly.

Junhui looked distraught, “R-really? ...W-well was the person at least nice? I hope she went to a good home because she’s such a sweet girl and--”

“You can judge for yourself,” you shrugged. “I mean, you did say you think I’m a good person, so…”

As Junhui’s brain tried to piece together what you’d said, you bent down behind the desk and lifted up the small carrier that the small, orange kitten was in. As you set her down on the counter and she saw Junhui, she meowed at him. 

His eyes flickered from Noodles to you to Noodles and back to you.

You grinned at him, “I am now a proud cat mom.”

Junhui’s look of confusion spread into a wide, toothy grin as he walked over and stuck two fingers between the bars and let Noodles paw at them, “Why’d you decide to adopt her?”

“Well, you said Minnie doesn’t like animals, and I know you wanted Noodles for yourself so…” you wanted to be bold about this but now that you had to say what you wanted to say to him, you felt shy and flustered, your cheeks starting to heat up. “I just kinda figured if I own her then you could like, visit or something… I mean, you already visit her at the shelter but now there’s no way she could be away from you, y’know? Like, you’ll always be guaranteed to see her now.”

You kept staring down at the counter and at Junhui’s fingers when you talked, but you finally gained the courage to look up at him. His cheeks were stained pink as he tried to hide a smile unsuccessfully.

“So you adopted her...b-because of me?” he asked with a flustered giggle.

“M-maybe…” you shrugged.

This time, he had to look away from you, keeping his eyes on Noodles in her cage instead. He just smiled at her -- or he was still smiling about what you said -- for a moment without saying anything, and it was absolutely torture. But then he finally looked over at you and took his fingers away from Noodles, stepping sideways so he was standing across from you at the desk.

“Do you wanna go out after work?” he asked bluntly, though his face was still flushed and he was still grinning like he was shy about asking.

“Yes,” you blurted, covering your mouth and clearing your throat before saying, “Um, that sounds cool.”

He giggled some more, running a hand through his purple hair, “I’ll pick you up here, then?”

You nodded, “I’ll see you then, Junhui.”

“Y’know, for as long as we’ve been talking, I figured you would’ve caught on to calling me Jun by now.”

“You still call me shelter girl have the time.”

“Touche. I’ll see you tonight.”

He walked out with his hands in his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes before the door closed. But he suddenly spun around and looked at you, a playful smirk on his face now instead, “We should get some noodles in celebration, right?”

All you could think was how you couldn’t care less about Wen Junhui, and Wen Junhui didn’t know shit about you, nor did he recognize you. But now he made your heart feel warm whenever you were near him, and you were going to go on a date with him after work.

All because of a kitten named Noodles.

You nodded, “Right.”

[imagine-turtles]

Ya seem to be fond of mikey and I'm fond of donnie so! How about this: [ROTTMNT/GN/Pining/Jealousy] The reader is busy with a art project of theirs, it's untended to be for D but they have no ckue what he'd like so they visit Mikey more often for Art Lessons and forget bout Donnie - which causes him to get jealous of course, but not like he's admit that. Cliches can be cute, anyways. I'd like to get your idea behind an art reader hanging out with mikey and a jelly donnie as a bonus!

I have such a soft spot for Michelangelo, I feel like they do him SO dirty sometimes.. he’s more than just a funky lil party boy!!  Anyways, hope you enjoy!

They’re here early, again, Donatello notes.

Mikey gives him a vague explanation of art projects and promises to wrap it up in time for their regularly scheduled Lou Jitsu marathon, before whisking their mutual friend away to his room.  He could at least pretend to share their attention instead of shamelessly hogging it all.

Something heavy settles somewhere around his upper intestine and squeezes.  He scrolls through the group chat to confirm that, no, they hadn’t said anything about coming over early--which can only mean that they texted his brother privately.  Which is completely fine.  This merely implies that there are entire conversations between those two that Donnie knows nothing about.  Probably miles of TikToks and godawful memes and way too many emojis, and Mikey being his typical, lovable self.

This, too, is completely fine.

It’s not like he has time to be hanging out, anyways.  He has a hundred half-finished projects laying around, and another hundred ideas in the tank, so Mikey’s honestly doing him a favor by keeping their mutual friend entertained while he’s trying to work.  They’re both artists, after all; maybe they should bond over their shared interest.  Maybe he should just be happy for them.

Then, the thought of the two of them holed up in Mikey’s room for hours on end makes his gut clench with such intensity that he briefly considers the possibility of a mutant tapeworm.  Alas.  Just the disappointing realization that his tech could never appeal to them like Mikey’s artistic endeavors do.  He could program a machine to create a picture, sure, but even he knows that what they do is more than that.

Donnie almost wishes he could trade his technical skills for his brother’s charm, to have that natural, unquantifiable something that pulls the people around him into his orbit.  Surely, if he had that same je ne sais quoi, he’d dazzle them so thoroughly that it wouldn’t even matter that they hardly liked the same things.  He’d know exactly what to say to draw them in; he’d make every memory of him exciting, make them so happy around him that they hardly pay attention to his brothers when he’s in the room.

Gotta nerf the genius somehow, he supposes, resigning himself to an afternoon of kinda, sorta, not-really being productive.  And if Mikey happens to plant their dear friend right in the middle of the couch, well, he’ll take the occasional bump of a limb over nothing at all.

(The giddy, dizzying rush of being presented with the finished piece--his piece, for him--nearly makes him forget all about the last week of stewing in his own jealousy.)

[random-thought-depository]

One of the things that’s interesting about Space Seed is the way it makes the Star Trek universe a de facto alternate history setting. Based on the bits dropped there and elsewhere in TOS, their later twentieth and early twenty-first century looked very different from our later twentieth and early twenty-first centuries!

The Eugenics Wars supposedly happened in the 1990s. The Star Trek original series ran from 1966-69, so this would have been about 25-30 years in the future at the time; the 1990s were for 1960s people what the 2050s are to us in 2020. So, not a bad time frame for events that were supposed to be near-future-ish but not immediate.

Or, another way of looking at it, from the viewpoint of 1960s people, the Eugenics Wars would have been about as far in the future as WWII was in the past. I get the impression history felt faster in the ‘60s, because of proximity of the great upheavals of the earlier twentieth century, and because the space race and the counterculture were ongoing big things, and because after 1970 or so technological progress slowed because a lot of the technological “low-hanging fruit” was picked. Think about how much the world changed from 1940 to 1967! People expected that pace of change to continue in the future. Thus all the middle twentieth century expectations that we’d have moon colonies and commercial fusion power and so on by the early 2000s; the sort of expectations you see in science fiction like 2001. The original Star Trek series was very much part of that trend, projecting manned space exploration of the other solar system planets and suspended animation technology and genetically engineered superhumans in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. There’s a line in Space Seed when Kirk, Spock, etc. are first taking a look around Khan’s ship, that went approximately “Yeah, they used suspended animation in exploration ships back then cause back then it took years just to reach other planets of the solar system, interplanetary travel with faster ships that didn’t need suspended animation only started in 2018.” As somebody sitting in a timeline where it’s now 2021 and Luna is still the most distant world a human has walked on, hearing that sure made me feel something!

I remember somebody once commenting that Star Trek TOS’s vision of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries reflected an idea, common during the ‘60s, that very soon we’d either get our act together or blow ourselves up. And I think what that comment was getting at was... There was an expectation that failure to do the former would quickly result in the latter so it was going to be one or the other. Something like our timeline, where we just sort of muddled through for the next fifty years, wasn’t expected; they’d have expected a scenario like that to have ended in the blow ourselves up outcome by now.

I think later Star Trek tried to kinda soft-retcon the timeline of the Eugenics Wars but never committed to explicitly changing it. According to First Contact, the “Third World War” happened around the 2050s (and this was building off stuff we saw in TNG). I think the implication is supposed to be that WWIII was the Eugenics Wars, but that requires ignoring some very explicit statements of dates in Space Seed and Wrath of Khan, and as I said, they never explicitly committed to a retcon. If we take what we see in the show at face value we’d conclude the Eugenics Wars and WWIII were two separate conflicts separated by about 50 years. Which makes it seem a bit weird that the Eugenics Wars apparently weren’t counted as a world war; based on the descriptions of them in Space Seed they were very destructive! Maybe the United States and the rest of the Americas and Australia and the Oceania nations stayed neutral, so they’re considered technically not a world war? Maybe they were less a single big war with two clearly defined sides and more a big mess of smaller interconnected conflicts like IIRC the Hundred Years War and the Thirty Years War?

Which... Star Trek has a reputation as the big optimistic science fiction, but this is making Star Trek Earth’s history from 1950 to 2070-ish look rather dystopian! We won’t be able to fully judge their history against ours until 2070 or so, but so far our post-WWII history looks more peaceful than their post-WWII history! One of the defining and good features of the post-WWII age is that it’s a long period of relative peace; it doesn’t sound like the people on Star Trek Earth would be saying the same thing from the vantage point of their 2021. I guess civilization blowing itself up every two generations would still be an improvement on the early twentieth century pattern of civilization blowing itself up every generation...

I think there have been some Star Trek novels written about the Eugenics Wars, and they squared it with real history by portraying it as a covert conflict that most people are the time were completely unaware of, kind of like the stuff that happens in Stargate and Men In Black? Eh, the descriptions of the Eugenics Wars in Space Seed really don’t fit with that idea. And I’ll just say that I don’t really like that “it’s all secret and the regular people have no idea any of this happening” trope; it’s OK in the right context but it’s got implications that limit storytelling and undertones of elitism I don’t like and I think a lot of the time it’s kind of lazy. If I were to just roll with the dates given for the Eugenics Wars, I’d take the approach of just leaning into the Star Trek universe being an honorary alternate history setting; I’d headcanon Star Trek Earth’s later twentieth and early twenty-first centuries as being 2001-ish, with commercial fusion power and moon colonies and crewed expeditions to the other planets of the solar system and lots of “futuristic” stuff (like, y’know, the process that created Khan) by the ‘90s and ‘00s. Admittedly I’m not sure how to square this with Star Trek: the Voyage Home, which mostly takes place in a 1980s that seems real-world-ish; it’d take some creative interpretation to reconcile them.

And, y’know... In some ways, Star Trek Earth’s late twentieth and early twenty-first century look better and more interesting than ours. Their world is clearly much more technologically advanced! Their space program is far more advanced than ours! On the other, looking at the descriptions of the Eugenics Wars ... if we had to choose, I think it might be a good thing that we got our history and not their history. Khan Noonien Singh sounds like a guy who’s inflicted a lot more death and suffering than Donald Trump and COVID19 ever will. Compared to Star Trek Earth’s late twentieth and early twenty-first century, our late twentieth and early twenty-first century is kind of boring, and sometimes boring is good.

And all this makes me think of something Chris Wayan (the Planetocopia guy) said about the Randomia principle:

“Let's say you're contemplating Randomia, an alternate Earth no better or worse than ours, with roughly the same biomass, same amount of arable land, about the same population... just re-distributed. Now, what regions will you notice the most? First, your home, of course, and then, other well-known regions--and well-known means inhabited.

Randomia will always look inferior! For, by definition, most readers will be from our world's high-population zones. Random changes will, on average, degrade them. And the lands that improve, that become the heartlands of Randomia's civilizations, are likely to be barren obscure lands in our world, mere names (if that) to non-Randomian readers. The Turnovian version of Europe is cold (millions of European readers groan), while the green Sahara nurtures great civilizations (a handful of Saharan readers cheer). If you love civilization, Randomia will probably kill or cripple the ones you love, and plant its greatest civilizations in places you associate with backwardness.

So the grass always looks browner in a parallel world--because what you value most, what you KNOW to value, is generally lost. This principle makes it hard to see alternate worlds fairly.”

The long post-WWII peace is something that hadn’t happened yet in the 1960s, therefore when Star Trek writers wrote a future history that didn’t contain it, they didn’t know they were writing a history that didn’t contain something important and good about the real history that was actually going to unfold. From the vantage point of 1967, it was optimistic to assume there wouldn’t be a nuclear war in the 1970s or 1980s! We, in 2021, can look back on the post-WWII period of relative peace that stretches 70 years long behind us, and know that our timeline contains this important good thing.

On the other hand, my perspective is also influenced by this Randomia effect; the more advanced technology of Star Trek 2021 Earth likely implies less poverty and more advanced medicine, which over a few decades might have saved more lives than the Eugenic Wars ended, making their timeline net better than ours (though containing great tragedies we avoided). One could certainly choose to imagine their world as being that way!